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pimpnchips · 2 days ago

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Faded Arch — Lara Raj

⛔️ CW: g!p reader, explicit sexual content, drug use (marijuana), oral sex, sloppy/messy intercourse, praise kink overstimulation, rough dynamics. masc!reader

Summary: As the 7th member of KATSEYE and Lara Raj’s girlfriend, you stay back to smoke while the others go live. But hunger hits, and now you’re high, sitting next to your girl on camera, struggling to act normal while a tent starts forming in your pants.

You told them you’d join the live later.

Your voice was calm, casual, and nobody questioned it just waved you off as they filed into the living room, giggling and chattering, phones already in hand. You stayed behind in the room you shared with Lara, the only person who looked back at you for a second longer than necessary.

She knew what you were doing.

You lit up by the open window, letting the familiar haze settle into your lungs as the soft hum of laughter and fan chatter echoed down the hall. It was supposed to be a quiet night. Just a few hits to unwind. Nothing serious.

But your stomach had other plans.

With the blunt half-smoked in the tray and your head pleasantly foggy, you wandered out of the room in search of snacks. You didn’t even realize they were mid-livestream until every head in the room turned toward you eyes wide, grins frozen, and Lara’s brows lifting just slightly.

“Babe why don’t you come sit down? You don’t look so good,” Manon laughed slightly, rushing you over to sit.

You scratched your head almost to say no but then turned to face your girlfriend which had her eyebrows raised at you and mouthing you to ‘come sit down’.

“No I’m fine im just hungry,” you muttered to manon but mostly your Lara who was rolling her eyes at you.

[user01]: what’s happening rn?

[user02]: i hope y/n is okay

[user03]: dude she has to be in the clouds again

You blinked slowly, your eyes dragging across the room like they were stuck in molasses. The lights felt too bright. The sound too sharp. Everyone’s voices started blending together, but Dani’s cut right through the fog.

“Mami, let’s just come sit first.”

Her tone was light, teasing, but her hands were already guiding you toward the couch like you were a baby deer on ice. You didn’t even resist. Your legs were jelly anyway.

You dropped onto the cushion beside Lara, who was sitting there all proper—arms crossed, face unreadable. Her hoodie was riding up her thighs, just enough to flash smooth skin, and she didn’t even glance at you when you sat. That almost made it worse.

“I’m good,” you said again, but it was half a mumble. Your mouth was dry.

[user04]: not mami lol

[user06]: Lara looks DONE LMAO

[user07]: not her walking like a baby giraffe

You tugged gently on your girlfriend’s hoodie, trying to get her attention.

“Baby,” you whispered.

She didn’t look at you right away. Her eyes stayed on the live, watching the comments roll in with a calm, unreadable expression.

Yoonchae, sweet and kind as ever, handed you a juice pouch the coffee table without saying a word. She even popped the straw in for you.

You blinked at it like she’d just handed you a bomb. “Thanks chip.”

“You sure you okay?” Manon asked, her face stretched in a wide grin as she waved a fan in your direction like you were overheating.

“She’s fine,” Dani chimed in, leaning into frame and smirking. “She just needs to keep her eyes open.”

“I am keeping them open,” you protested, blinking a little too slow.

Lara finally looked at you. Just a glance, but it sliced through you. Her lips pressed tight, like she was fighting the urge to either laugh or drag you back to your room and yell at you. Maybe both.

You tried not to stare, but her legs were crossed and her hand was resting in her lap so casually, like she wasn’t the hottest thing you’d ever seen right now. And maybe it was the weed, maybe it was how she looked at you when she was mad—but your body reacted fast. Too fast.

You shifted in your seat, squeezing your thighs together. It did nothing.

You pressed your lips together hard, trying to bite back a groan as you sunk further into the couch. You could feel it pressing up against your waistband. Painfully obvious.

Absolutely no hiding it all.

And Lara?

She didn’t laugh. Didn’t say a word.

She just leaned forward like she was grabbing something from the table, but her lips brushed your ear.

“Fix your face,” she whispered. “And fix your dick.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. A soft whine slipped from your lips, just quiet enough for Lara to hear. “I’m sorry,” you muttered.

She leaned back, smooth and smug, sipping from a water bottle like she hadn’t just whispered that with a full livestream still going.

You were bricked. High. On camera. And completely at her mercy.

The comments were still rolling in, a chaotic blur of emojis, reactions, and half-spelled-out guesses.

[user13]: why y/n look like she’s buffering

[user14]: nah she definitely smokes

[user15]: she tryna act normal SO BAD

[user16]: Lara is going to get her after this live watch

You sank deeper into the couch, hoodie bunched around your hands, and forced a laugh at something Dani said. You didn’t even catch the joke. Everything sounded like it was happening underwater.

Lara hadn’t said much. She didn’t need to.

Her silence was louder than everyone else’s noise. The way she kept glancing over at you with that faint smirk on her lips like she knew exactly what was going on in your head.

And your lap.

And your pulse.

You shifted a little, subtly adjusting how you sat, arms folded tight across your stomach. Maybe no one else noticed, but Lara’s eyes flicked down for half a second before dragging back up to your face.

Then she looked away like nothing happened.

“You good, babe?” Manon asked suddenly, her tone playful but a little concerned.

“Yeah,” you muttered, not trusting your voice to do more than that.

“She’s just vibin’,” Dani grinned, tossing a pillow toward your feet.

[user17]: me time got her cooked

[user18]: not the way she’s blinking in slow motion

[user20]: Lara’s so quiet I’m scared

Lara finally spoke, but not to the live.

“Come here for a sec,” she murmured, leaning in close enough that no one else could hear. Her hand brushed your thigh lightly, too lightly, and you flinched.

“I’m fine,” you whispered.

She gave you a look. “Did I ask you that?”

You hesitated, heart pounding stupidly hard in your chest, then leaned in like she told you to. Her mouth was right by your ear, soft and careful under the sound of everyone laughing.

“You’re doing a horrible job pretending you’re not turned on,” she whispered.

Your breath caught.

“I—”

“Relax,” she said, cool and steady. “They don’t know. I do.”

Her fingers skimmed along your arm, like she was fixing your sleeve. Like nothing was happening at all.

“I’ll wrap the live early,” she murmured. “Unless you’d rather keep sitting here like this.”

You shook your head a little too fast.

“Thought so.”

She leaned back in, voice clear and sweet. “Alright, we’re heading out. Thanks for hanging with us, you’ll see us again soon.”

Megan made a dramatic goodbye wave. Dani flashed a peace sign. The others echoed her, and the phone flipped just as Lara stood up, grabbing your wrist gently as she passed.

You followed.

Not because you had to but because your knees were jelly and your situation wasn’t about to fix itself.

[…]

The bedroom door clicked shut behind you.

It was quiet. The kind of quiet that made your skin itch with anticipation. The laughter from the others was faint now, muffled behind two walls and a closed door, but it still existed just far enough away to make this feel secret. Dangerous.

You stood in the middle of the room, not quite knowing what to do with your hands. They hovered at your sides like they were waiting for instructions.

Lara didn’t say anything at first. She walked to her dresser slowly, tugging off her hoodie and tossing it onto the back of the chair. Her tank top stuck to her skin just enough to make your mouth dry.

You gripped your pants trying to adjust the discomfort that was painfully harden in your boxers.

But that move only lasted a second as you watched her slowly pull her tank top above her head revealing her bare chest.

A whine left your mouth as she stared at you with a predatory look in her eyes. “Come take the rest off baby,” she softly demanded.

Your legs moved before your brain could catch up, and you were practically sprinting to her, a laugh slipping from her mouth as she watched you.

“Breathe baby,” she whispered, her nails scratching the nape of your neck.

You didn’t even notice you were holding your breath, too focused on undoing the button of Lara’s bottoms with shaky fingers. Your eyes were glazed over with slow, aching desire—so intense it made her throb, wetter than she already was under your touch.

You looked up, nearly losing yourself in the urge to kiss and suck at her perfect breast, but instead your lips closed around her nipple as your hand gripped her waist tightly.

A soft moan left her mouth, heat rushing through her body. She tried to push you back, breath catching.

“B-baby… no—focus.”

Her fingers tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to pull a gasp from your lips. Her eyes locked with yours, dark and commanding.

“I said focus,” she repeated, voice low but dripping with control that made your stomach twist. You nodded, barely able to breathe, and she smirked, guiding your face with a slow tug on your hair.

“Good girl,” she whispered, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Now take off my pants, baby. You can do that for me, can’t you? And don’t get distracted again.”

You mumbled something incoherent as you pulled her pants down along with her black lace panties.

She grabbed your face, fingers firm along your cheeks as she tilted your head back, eyes drinking in your wrecked expression.

“Look at you,” she murmured, voice dripping honey and cruelty. “Mouth open. Eyes glossy. You’re already gone, huh?”

Your breath hitched, knees weak. She smelled like warmth and sin. She hadn’t even touched your dick yet and you were aching.

“Please I need to cum, mommy.”

Her thumb pressed into your bottom lip, and you sucked it without thinking, eyes fluttering closed at the low noise that escaped her throat.

“Mmm,” she hummed, pulling her thumb away slowly. “Strip.”

You didn’t hesitate. Shoes, shirt, and boxers came off in a frenzy, leaving you completely bare. Her eyes scanned your body slowly, letting the silence stretch until your skin burned under her gaze.

When her hand finally moved, it trailed down your chest, nails grazing lightly until she cupped your fully hard cock. You gasped, hips jerking toward her touch.

She smirked. “So sensitive. Poor baby.”

You whimpered.

She pushed you backward gently, guiding you until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. You collapsed, legs falling open as she laughed softly, teasing but loving in that sharp way you craved.

“You want me that bad?” she asked, crawling over you, bare skin pressing against yours as she kissed the hollow of your neck. “Already this messy?”

You nodded, too far gone to speak, reaching for her hips to pull her closer.

She slapped your hand away.

“Nope,” she breathed into your ear. “I’m in charge tonight.”

And she was.

She took her time, dragging her mouth down your body with torturous precision. licking, sucking, teasing every inch. Each touch sent shivers down your spine. She didn’t let you grind or beg. She just looked up at you with those heavy-lidded eyes and said—

“Be still, Daddy”

You watched her cheeks hollow as she took every inch of you, her eyes dark and locked on yours, making you twitch in her mouth.

“F-fuck, baby, I need to be inside,” you growled, voice tight as your hand tangled in her hair. You yanked but not enough to hurt, but enough to make her release you with a wet pop. Her lips parted, slick and swollen, chin dripping with spit and pre-cum.

You looked down at her, cock twitching at the sight of her wrecked face. Her eyes were glazed, pupils blown wide, and that filthy little grin spread across her mouth like she knew exactly what she was doing to you.

“Look at you,” you muttered, breath heavy. “Messy fuckin’ mouth. You proud of yourself?”

She nodded, dragging the back of her hand across her chin like she didn’t even care about the mess. “I’d do it again,” she said, voice hoarse and taunting. “You taste so good.”

That snapped something in you.

You grabbed her by the jaw and dragged her to her feet. “Turn around,” you ordered, chest heaving, cock throbbing against your stomach.

She hesitated only a second too long. You slapped her ass and growled, “I said turn the fuck around.”

She obeyed with a soft gasp, spinning to face the bed as you shoved her forward. Her hands braced on the sheets, back arched perfectly for you.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, staring at the mess between her legs. “You’re dripping.”

“Been ready for you,” she whispered, breathless. “All night.”

You gripped the base of your cock and lined it up, teasing her entrance with the tip. She whined, pushing her hips back, but you pulled away just enough to make her whimper.

“You want it?” you rasped, dragging it up and down her soaked folds.

“Yes,” she choked out. “Please— Y/N just fuck me already.”

You pushed in halfway, teeth gritted at the way her walls clamped around you. She was hot, tight, so goddamn wet it made your legs tremble. You grabbed her hips and slammed all the way in, groaning loud as her body jolted under the force.

“Oh my god—” she gasped, hands clawing at the sheets.

You didn’t give her time to adjust. You pulled out and rammed back in, again and again, setting a brutal pace that had her moaning into the mattress.

“Can feel you clenching,” you hissed, leaning over her back, teeth grazing her shoulder. “You gonna come already? Or you want me to ruin you first?”

“Ruin me,” Lara gasped. “Fuck—I want it. I want it all.”

You wrapped a hand around her throat, just enough to make her gasp, and ramming into her harder. Her body shook, nails tearing at the sheets. She was close.

The way she was clenching against you told it all

“Don’t hold back, baby, ” you growled into her ear. “Come all over my cock.”

She shattered beneath you with a scream, body tensing as she pulsed around you. You didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. You rode her through it, chasing your own release, fingers digging into her hips hard enough to bruise.

When it hit, it hit like fire.

You stayed buried in her, panting against her spine, the high fogging your head like a heavy blanket. Your body felt weightless, yet every drag of your cock inside her pulsed like a live wire. Her body was trembling beneath you, breath hitching, skin slick with sweat.

You tried to pull out—but she shoved her hips back against you, stopping you mid-motion.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she said, voice ragged but sharp.

You froze.

watching her switch your positions as she crawled on top of you, pushing herself up onto her hands, her hair a mess, her ass still arched for you. She reached back and grabbed your wrist, guiding your hand off her waist and down.

Then she moved, slamming her hips back against you with purpose, making your head drop.

“Oh—fuck—” you choked, the high making it hit ten times harder.

“Not so dominate now aren’t you?” she smirked, voice low and wicked. “Good. Just shut up and let me fuck you back.”

You were too far gone to argue. She started moving, slow at first…grinding her ass back against you in tight circles that made your knees weak. You tried to grip her hips, take back control, but she batted your hand away.

“No. Hands behind your back,” she ordered, glancing over her shoulder. “Let me use this cock how I want.”

You obeyed. Fuck. You obeyed.

She bounced back against you. Every movement forced a moan from your throat. You couldn’t do anything but take it, the weed making every slick thrust feel like heaven and hell combined. She was gripping you so tight it felt like you were gonna explode.

“You’re so deep,” she moaned, grinding in harder. “So fucking thick—feels better when I’m in control, doesn’t it?”

You couldn’t speak. Your head dropped back. Mouth open. Hands clenched behind you.

She leaned forward, bracing herself, and started riding you from the front while still bent over—slamming herself back on your cock over and over until the sound of skin slapping filled the room again. You were seeing stars. Your whole body locked up every time she dropped her hips.

“Bet you thought you were gonna ruin me, huh?” she panted, sweat dripping down her back. “Now look at you, fucked dumb.”

You whimpered. Literally whimpered. You’d never been so far gone in your life.

She reached between her legs and rubbed her clit while still bouncing on you, chasing another orgasm while using your cock like her personal toy.

“Don’t you dare come until I say,” she warned, without looking back.

You nearly cried. “Please, Lara.”

She tightened around you, on purpose. Squeezed you like a vice. Her moans got louder, more desperate, her pace wild and relentless as her body started to unravel again.

You could feel it. the pulsing, the slick gush of wetness, the way she threw her head back and gasped she looked beautiful like this.

“I’m coming—fuck—I’m coming—”

She screamed, body arching, and you felt her gush around you. Her whole body quaked as she ground herself against you, milking every last wave out.

She didn’t stop.

She stayed riding you through her orgasm, nails clawing into the mattress, before finally lifting off you with a wet, obscene sound. Your cock twitched in the air, dripping and neglected, your body shaking with the need to release.

“Not done with you yet,” she whispered, grinding her soaked pussy against your length.

“You’re gonna sit there and take it this time. I wanna see that look on your face when you lose it.”

You nodded, trembling, eyes glazed.

“Good,” she whispered, reaching down to guide you back inside her. “Now let mama ride.”

She didn’t waste a second.

Her soaked cunt swallowed you in one slow, brutal drop that knocked the breath from your lungs. You gasped, legs trembling under her, the high making it feel like you were being split open in reverse.

She didn’t ride you gently this time. She took you, hips grinding in slow, punishing circles, keeping you buried so deep you couldn’t even think.

“Look at you,” she purred, hands pressing to your chest as she rocked her hips. “All wrecked. Desperate.”

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. All you could do was breathe her name like a prayer.

She leaned in close, lips brushing your jaw. “Don’t pass out on me yet, baby. I’m not done watching you fall apart.”

Her pace quickened, thighs slapping against yours, the wet sounds between your bodies filling the room. She grabbed your jaw, forcing your dazed eyes to stay open, her lips ghosting over yours.

“You’re gonna give me every drop, you hear me?” she whispered, voice rough. “I want you shaking.”

You whimpered, nodding, your hands fisting the sheets. She was rolling her hips with deadly precision, each grind sending a jolt straight through your spine.

Your body started to buck under her, but she slapped your chest. hard.

“Stay still,” she hissed.

You obeyed, moaning brokenly.

You were twitching, so close to the edge, and your body was betraying you. You couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t slow it. Couldn’t hold back even if your life depended on it.

“You close?” she mocked, smirking against your ear.

You nodded frantically, body locking up.

“Go ahead, baby. Fucking cum for me.”

Your orgasm hit like a freight train, violent and all-consuming, tearing through you with wave after wave of pleasure so intense your vision blurred. You came so hard you felt your body go limp under her.

But she didn’t stop.

“Shit—I can’t take it anymore,”

She kept riding you through it, overstimulating you as your cock twitched helplessly inside her, as you gasped and whimpered and begged with your eyes.

“Aww, you’re sensitive now?” she teased, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Too bad. You don’t get a break yet.”

She kept moving, grinding slow and deep, ignoring your pleas until your entire body was trembling beneath her, face buried in her chest as your mind went blank.

Only when your legs stopped responding and your breath came in shattered pieces did she finally slow down.

She ran her fingers through your hair, smiling smugly, her body still flush against yours. “That’s better,” she whispered, voice soft now. “Look at my fucked-out little baby.”

Your body was done. Twitching, soaked in sweat, eyes barely able to focus as you lay back against the pillows, completely spent. She finally stilled on top of you, her palms pressed to your chest, watching you with that same smug, wicked glint in her eyes.

“You good?” she asked softly, brushing your hair back, but the smile playing on her lips said she knew exactly what she’d done to you.

You blinked once, maybe twice. Couldn’t speak. Just nodded, your chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

She leaned down and kissed your cheek. “You did good, babe.”

Then she climbed off, strutting across the room like her legs weren’t shaking, like she hadn’t just completely dominated you.

She grabbed one of your oversized hoodies off the chair and pulled it over her naked body, smirking at the way your eyes followed her even now, half-lidded, dazed, high as hell and completely owned.

“Stay right there,” she said, pointing at you as she headed for the bathroom. “Don’t move. I’m gonna bring you some water, clean you up… and maybe sit on your face while you recover.”

You groaned, but it was more of a whimper.

The door clicked shut behind her, and all you could do was lay there, blissed-out, covered in her, and totally fucked dumb with the stupidest, happiest smile on your face.

When Lara finally stepped out of the room, the rest of the girls stared wide-eyed from all the noise but she didn’t spare them a single glance.

Only thinking about how fucked out she is.

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velvetsserenity · 3 days ago

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Can you do one of where Sevika is very dominant and very frustrated at s/o for talking shit to her all day!!(i neeeeed it please) love your stories 💕

Thank you for the ask! Sorry it took me a while to write it, but I hope you like it! I changed it a bit: instead of the reader talking about Sevika, it's just s/o teasing her. I hope that's OK? I had a hard time writing that part and felt like I didn't write it well.

Industrial Heat

mechanic!sevika x apprentice!reader

✎ word count: 2.7k

꩜ content warnings: rough scissoring , overstimulation, squirting, breast play, hair pulling, spanking, dirty talk, semi-public sex, power imbalance (consensual), manhandling, workshop sex, mild humiliation, reader gets what she asked for

You’d been a complete pain in Sevika’s ass all day at the shop. With it being the off-season, there weren’t many projects to jump in on— especially not with your limited expertise, as Sevika liked to put it. She stuck you with sorting bolts instead, a chaotic mess left over from the last big job. But you couldn’t just sit at that desk all shift doing busywork. You needed to actually do something. So, naturally, you ditched the bolt-sorting and went looking for a better option.

Sevika was still working on one of her bigger projects, some generator for Zaun. Said she was the only one who’d understand how to fix it. You rolled your eyes at her when she told you so last week. Yet she was still puffing and groaning each time she worked on it, and from your point of view there was little to no process. Also her attitude was getting worse, which was also a sign you learned years ago when you first started working for her.

You twisted around on the high chair, looking over to Sevika with a bored expression. She was bent over the generator fixing god knows what inside of it. A white tank top stained with oil and sweat, baggy jeans where she held a dirty cloth in her pocket. Heavy boots you could hear from miles away approaching.

Instead you had decided this morning when you heard of your boring task you could instead do something more useful, at least to your own entertainment.

It started in the morning, where Sevika asked you to sort out the cabinets holding all the tools. Sevika loved her own routine and hated when anything went differently than planned. So it would be an absolute great idea to misplace every tool she needed for today's shift.

‘’Where’s the welding torch?’’ She looked around a bit more before her gaze landed on you, not suspecting anything yet.

You looked up from cleaning out another cabinet.

‘’Though I put it over there, somewhere.’’ You pointed to the other side of the shop. Sevika followed your gaze before looking back at you again, you already turned back to the cabinet again.

‘’I’d rather you put the tools back immediately after cleaning, saves us both the trouble.’’ She sighs as she walks over to the other side of the shop.

You grinned as Sevika walked over to grab the welding torch. The music was just hard enough to mask your footsteps as you sneaked up to her workbench. Grabbing some bolts and a screwdriver from her workstation. You quickly looked back up to where Sevika was to notice her back was still turned onto you, yes, didn't caught onto anything.

You sat back down again, like nothing happened. You heard Sevika grunt behind you as she took her spot again.

The next ten minutes were glorious.

You barely made it through organizing another drawer of nonsense before you heard it.

Clang. A muffled “What the fuck—”

You turned innocently on your stool, head tilted like a confused little puppy. “Everything okay, boss?”

Sevika shot you a narrow look from over her shoulder. The welding torch now sat neatly on the bench, but her hand was rummaging through a small compartment that was supposed to have a set of bolts. “Did you move my M6s?”

You blinked. “Your what?”

Her eyes rolled so hard you half-expected them to fall out of her head. “My bolts. Medium. Silver ones. Labeled.”

You swiveled lazily back to your “sorting,” drawing out the silence like a stretched rubber band. “Hmm… I might’ve put them in the top left drawer? Or maybe the bottom right. Kinda all blends together after a while.” You said it with just enough faux-innocence to sound like you meant well. But she knew better. She always knew better.

The sound of a metal drawer being yanked open had you biting back a grin.

It was by far the most satisfying. Not just because she’d clearly noticed— but because she hadn’t stopped you yet. That meant you could keep going.

So you did.

A few minutes later, Sevika turned away from the generator to grab a ratchet, only to find that particular tool mysteriously missing, too.

“Are you kidding me,” she muttered under her breath, arms bracing on the table, head dipped low like she needed a moment before she committed a felony.

You didn’t even look up from where you were “sorting” a group of mismatched washers. “You know, Sev, if you just labeled your workbench drawers like a normal person, maybe you wouldn’t lose everything.”

“I didn’t lose shit,” she grunted.

“No? Because from over here, it kinda looks like you’re doing more grumbling than fixing.”

That earned you a look. A long, slow one that had her full frame turning toward you, elbow perched on the bench, wiping sweat off her temple with the back of her hand. Her jaw ticked. “Maybe if someone wasn’t fucking around with my tools—”

“—Our tools,” you interjected sweetly.

Sevika’s glare could’ve melted steel. “You want a wrench to the head?”

You shrugged. “I’d rather the ratchet, honestly. It’s missing anyway, right?”

She exhaled sharply through her nose. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably bored, yeah,” you sighed dramatically, stretching your arms overhead, making a show of arching your back and yawning wide. You peeked over at her mid-yawn just to see if she was looking. She was. “You could at least let me weld something. I’m not that bad.”

“You caught a rag on fire last time.”

“Yeah, well. Fire happens. Builds character.”

She was walking over before you could get another word in, boots loud and fast and full of attitude. You straightened just in time for her to lean down, one hand bracing the table beside you, the other gripping the back of your chair.

Her face was close. Not kiss-you close. But close enough to feel the heat of her frustration, and maybe a flicker of something else underneath it.

“You want something to do?” she asked lowly, voice like thunder about to crack.

You blinked up at her. “Obviously.”

Something in her jaw flexed. Her eyes dropped to your mouth, just for a split second and when they came back up, they were darker. Rougher. That tension she always carried between her shoulder blades rolled down her spine and snapped taut like wire. And before you could so much as flash a smug grin—

She grabbed you.

Fingers curled hard around the front of your shirt as she yanked you up from the stool, chair screeching back with a violent scrape. You barely got your footing before she spun you and slammed your chest against the edge of the worktable, the impact sending tools clattering across the surface.

“Fucking—Sevika—!”

You barely got the words out, breath caught somewhere between startled and thrilled. She was already on you, crowding in, one thigh pressing between yours, her hand shoving up under your shirt like it belonged there. Which, to be fair, it kind of did by now.

You tried to shift, to glance over your shoulder, but her palm flattened between your shoulder blades and shoved you down just a little more. Not painfully. Just enough to remind you where you were.

Her hand slipped under your shirt again.

“Since you wanna be such a fucking distraction,” she muttered, dragging your top up past your ribs, “guess I should remind you what happens when you act out of order.’’

You gasped as the rough pad of her hand cupped your chest, fingers spreading wide, greedy. , She didn’t warm you up, didn’t tease or coo or ease you into it. Sevika grabbed your breast like she owned it, fingers squeezing until your back arched up into her grip with a helpless sound.

“There she is,” she growled, lips curling as she pressed her chest against your back, hand tugging your shirt up fully to bunch at your shoulders. “Knew you’d melt the second I got my hands on you.”

Your breath hitched as she pinched your nipple tight, deliberate, twisting just enough to make you squirm with a half-whimper that cracked into a moan.

“You like that?” she rasped.

You nodded fast, cheek pressed to the cool table, fingers curling over the edge. “Yes—fuck, yes—”

Another twist, sharper this time. She tugged and rolled the sensitive bud between her fingers, pulling your body back into hers until your ass was flush against her hips.

“Then take it.”

Her voice was hoarse, raw. She palmed your other breast now, groping both like she couldn’t decide which one deserved her attention more. Each squeeze pulled a new whine out of your throat, every twist of your nipples sending heat crashing through you like wildfire. There was nothing slow about it, no gentle rhythm, just Sevika’s calloused fingers using you like she’d been holding back all day and finally let go.

Your thighs trembled. Your breath stuttered.

“Fuck, Sev—please—”

“Please what?” she purred against your ear, leaning over you fully now, hips grinding slow between your legs, dragging friction right over where you needed her most. “You wanted my attention so bad. All those little games. All that mouth. And now you’re whining like you don’t know what to do with it.”

“I—I need you—”

Her hand left your chest so suddenly it made you cry out. She grabbed your hips again, yanked you back an inch, and you heard the click of her zipper like a death knell.

“Good,” she muttered.

“Because I’ve got a lot of steam to blow off.”

You barely had time to breathe before Sevika spun you around again, her hands rough under your thighs as she hauled you up onto the worktable properly this time. Tools clattered to the floor. Something rolled off and hit the tile with a metallic clang. Neither of you gave a shit.

Your legs spread open instinctively, inviting, desperate and Sevika stepped in with a dangerous glint in her eye.

“Fucking brat,” she growled, yanking your shirt over your head and tossing it aside like it offended her. Her palms were back on your chest immediately, gripping, squeezing, pinching like she couldn’t decide whether to punish you or ruin you. “You don’t know when to quit, do you?”

You whined, hips lifting shamelessly toward her. “You’re the one who hasn’t touched me all day,” you gasped out. “Not my fault you’re all backed up and cranky.”

Her nostrils flared. Her hand cracked across your tit in a rough slap that made you yelp, then moan, your head falling back.

“You think I won’t shut that mouth for good?”

You bit your lip to keep from grinning, breath still ragged. “Bet you’re too worked up to last that long.”

That did it.

Sevika growled, low and animal, and stripped both you and her. Then let her thigh slot between yours. Then she grabbed you by the hips, dug her fingers in and dragged you down to the edge of the bench. You barely got a word out before she threw one leg up onto the table beside you, straddling your thigh, hips tilted and already slick.

And then she started grinding.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was fucking feral.

The second your soaked cunt made contact with hers, Sevika let out a sharp, guttural moan and her hands locked around your thighs, shoving them open wider, locking your legs around her waist. She fucked her hips forward without rhythm or mercy, dragging wet, messy friction between your folds, clit grinding against clit like she was trying to mark you with the heat of her body.

You cried out, legs spasming from the sudden intensity. “S-Sevika—fuck—”

“Shut up,” she hissed through her teeth, breathless and furious. “You wanted my attention? You’ve got it. Take it.”

Your back arched. The workbench creaked under you. She was relentless, every grind deep and punishing, her wet folds slapping hot and fast against yours, your slicks mixing into something obscene. Her muscles flexed with every thrust, arm braced next to your head, chest heaving as she watched you fall apart beneath her.

But you didn’t stop teasing, not even when your voice cracked.

“Y-you’re… fuck, you’re grinding like a bitch in heat—”

Sevika slammed her hips forward hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs.

“Oh, I’m the bitch?” she spat, eyes wild. “Look at you. Legs wide open, begging for it. Whining like a little toy and still running that mouth.”

You whimpered, gasping, fingers clawing at her back for purchase. “Y-you like it—fuck, your cunt’s dripping for me—”

“Because I earned it,” she growled. “All you did was piss me off all goddamn day and now you’re getting what you deserve.”

Your moan cracked on the last note as she ground down again, catching your clit just right. Your whole body jerked beneath her, overwhelmed and overstimulated, as she doubled down, thighs flexed, hips rolling tighter, harder, chasing both your peaks like she didn’t give a fuck whether you were ready or not.

“I’m gonna ride you,” Sevika panted, dragging her wet cunt harder against yours, “until that bratty little smirk’s fucked off your face.”

You were already close. Could feel it coiling in your gut like fire ready to snap and still, through your moans, you managed a breathless giggle.

“D-do your worst.”

Sevika snarled.

Then— fuck— her mouth dropped to your chest.

Without warning, her lips wrapped around your nipple, hot and wet, and she sucked. Hard.

Your back arched off the table like it was on fire.

“F-fuck, fuck, fuck—” you gasped, fingers flying to her hair, dragging her in, keeping her there as her tongue swirled rough circles over your nipple, then her teeth bit down, and your cry nearly echoed out into the street.

Sevika moaned right against your skin, deep and raw, grinding down even harder now, panting into your chest like a woman possessed.

“You feel that?” she growled, dragging her mouth to your other breast. “You fucking feel me dripping on you? This wet little cunt you made such a mess of—”

“Y-yeah—fuck—I c-can’t—!”

Your thighs started shaking, clenching tight around her waist, and you knew you were right there hanging off the edge, completely undone.

Then Sevika bit your nipple again, sucked it deep, and her hips rutted in one perfect grind.

Your orgasm slammed into you like a goddamn train.

You screamed her name ,choking on it, back arched, thighs locked, hands clawing at the bench and her shoulders and anything you could grab as pleasure exploded through your core

It gushed between your legs with no warning, wet and hot and everywhere, soaking the inside of Sevika’s thigh and the bench beneath you, a mess you couldn’t even be embarrassed about because your mind had gone completely blank.

Sevika felt it, and the snarl she let out was feral.

“Oh fuck— you dirty little thing—”

She ground her hips through it, her own body shuddering, and then she came. Her breath punching out of her, hips jerking wildly, clit grinding hard against yours as she collapsed forward into you with a guttural, unrestrained moan. Her body trembled against yours as she rode out every last pulse, forcing your still-clenching cunt to grind against hers through the aftershocks, drawing out another slick gush from between your thighs.

By the time her motions finally slowed, you were both drenched in sweat, slick, and something that definitely wasn’t sweat puddling under your ass on the bench.

She stayed on top of you for a minute, catching her breath, her mouth still lazily mouthing at your tits, softer now, messier. Not sucking, just… staying there. Maybe pretending this whole place wasn’t covered in your combined filth.

Your fingers were still tangled in her hair.

“…So,” you managed weakly, blinking up at the ceiling. “Still mad?”

Sevika exhaled a long, low breath against your chest.

Then she licked your nipple again slow and mean.

“Ask me again after you mop the fucking floor.”

plagarism not authorized

#arcane #velvetsserenity #sevika arcane #sevika x y/n #arcane sevika #sevika x reader #sevika #sevika x you #sevika smut #arcane smut #arcane season 2 #arcane season 1 #lesbian

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cherbii · 3 days ago

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Uncle!RyomenSukuna never thought he’d be jealous over a four-year-old.

Yet here he was, arms crossed like a scorned villain, leaning against the kitchen counter while you and Yuji were giggling over animal-shaped pancake molds.

You’d been up since 7 AM and so had Yuji, bouncing through your apartment like a sugar-fueled hurricane, even though he hadn’t had a single grain of sugar. He was just built like that, chaos and sunshine in a very small hoodie.

“You’re not even flipping them right,” Sukuna muttered under his breath, watching you burn the edge of what was supposed to be a giraffe.

You laughed, nudging Yuji with your elbow. “He’s grumpy because we’re having more fun without him.”

Yuji giggled. “He’s a grumpasaurus!”

Sukuna narrowed his eyes. “I can hear you.”

“You were supposed to hear,” you said sweetly, leaning down to kiss Yuji’s forehead, brushing his spiky tufts of pink hair back gently.

That did it.

Not the pancake flipping. Not the dumb nickname. That.

It was the forehead kiss. His forehead kiss. The one he liked to pretend he didn’t like, but always tilted his head slightly to the left so you’d get the spot between his eyebrows just right.

Now it was going to a four-year-old who drooled in his sleep and couldn’t tie his shoes.

You’d only agreed to babysit Yuji for the weekend while Sukuna’s brother, Jin and his wife were out of town. It was supposed to be simple. Two days of snacks, cartoons, and playground trips.

It was not simple. Yuji had declared you his “new mommy” within three hours of arriving. By hour six, he had wedged himself between you and Sukuna on the couch, declaring that you “smelled like home and cookies.”

Sukuna had not responded well.

“He’s four. He doesn’t understand boundaries,” you whispered the first night, as you pried Yuji’s vice grip off your leg so you could go brush your teeth.

“He’s a tiny brat,” Sukuna replied darkly. “A womb goblin.”

You raised a brow. “He’s your nephew.”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t family. I just said he’s cursed.”

On day two, Yuji insisted on dressing Sukuna up.

“I wanna make you look like a cool pirate!” he announced, wrapping a scarf around Sukuna’s forehead.

“I already am a cool pirate,” Sukuna grumbled, but he sat there, arms folded, letting Yuji stick random stickers on his shirt.

You caught the sight from the hallway. Sukuna, gritting his teeth with a glitter unicorn on his chest, while Yuji carefully applied a temporary tattoo to his cheek.

Sukuna looked up at you and deadpanned, “Blink twice if you want me to banish him to the shadow realm.”

You doubled over laughing.

Later that evening, the three of you sat on the couch. Yuji wedged under your arm, already nodding off, thumb half in his mouth.

Sukuna, on your other side, kept side-eyeing the child like he was an unwanted houseplant.

“Do you want me to move him?” you whispered.

Sukuna stared at the small, snoring form pressed against your ribs. “…He’s warm,” he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“I said fine, leave him.”

You tried not to smile.

Then Yuji stirred, turned his head, and mumbled in his sleep “Uncle ’Kuna feels like safety…”

Sukuna blinked.

You turned to him slowly.

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “You’re soft.”

“I will kill everyone in this building,” Sukuna said instantly.

When you finally carried Yuji to the guest room and tucked him in, you returned to find Sukuna standing in the kitchen, arms crossed again.

You walked over, looped your arms around his waist. “You’re handling this surprisingly well.”

“I’m being replaced.”

“You’re not being replaced.”

“I am. He called me ‘cooler than Spider-Man’ and then hugged you for five solid minutes. That’s my move.”

You laughed against his chest. “You’re jealous of a four-year-old.”

“I shouldn’t be, but here we are.”

You tiptoed to kiss that spot between his eyebrows. “You’re still my favorite dramatic monster.”

He grunted but kissed you back anyway.

And the next morning, you found him snuggled on the couch with Yuji, watching cartoons, both asleep, both drooling, matching frowns on their faces.

You took a photo.

For leverage.

#biggest Unckuna lover #ᶻz 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐈 #jjk #anime #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x reader #jjk sukuna #unckuna

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la-patrona-magdalena · 2 days ago

Text

Synopsis:

You always wanted your family to look at you, even just once. At least with a bit of the affection they gave to the portraits of your mother. Too bad that when they finally did, you were looking at the pages of a comic that showed the cruel future.

Inspired by the manhwa: no place for the Fake Princess

Warnings: English is not my first language, so I used a translator. Yandere content, neglect, abandonment, angst (?), allusions to death, original character (not the reader), allusions to torture. I try to keep the gender neutral,but in part there are mostly feminine pronouns. I think this would also count as slow burn. If any warnings are missing here, please let me know.

Disclaimer: This fanfic is for personal reading only. The use of this text for AI model training, data mining, commercial purposes, or any automated reproduction is strictly prohibited without the explicit consent of the author. Translation or reposting to other platforms is also strictly prohibited without the author's permission

Unlike the other chapters, this one has not been reviewed or edited (neither in Spanish nor in its English version), although it probably does not have spelling errors, it may have errors in the narration or structure. It is also possible that in the next few weeks I will edit it, not to change facts but to change some of the way in which some things are written.

Thank you.

You can read the fanfic in its original language (Spanish) on my AO3

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Masterlist

Chapter Five - Reflected Gaze

Could it be said that Tim’s apartment was less luxurious? Yes, it was smaller than the manor, but apart from the cartoons you sometimes watched, you didn’t know what a home looked like outside Wayne Manor.

Tim gave you a brief tour of the apartment to show you around, explaining which door led to the bathroom, his room and Bernard’s, the study, and your room.

He told you it was the guest room—again, it was the first time you’d been anywhere other than the manor, so you had no frame of reference for whether a guest room should look like someone had always lived there.

He placed your few suitcases in the room and helped you arrange everything on the shelves and in the closet. Except for the wool bag hiding the comics, you’d told him it contained your underwear and you were embarrassed, which wasn’t a lie; not all your underwear was in there, but enough to make the story believable.

Not much time had passed, only half a week since you left. Tim said he’d tutor you and ensure your health improved. You’d suggested your teachers come to his apartment so he wouldn’t have to go out of his way… and you could keep the distance you needed… But he refused, and even seemed… offended.

Truth be told, after all the chaos of last week, you found these days almost boring. You hadn’t done much with the comics while you adjusted to the new surroundings; you repaired the plush toy you’d shredded with your nails last time, watched a few cartoons, and read the occasional book with Tim glancing at you furtively… Was it a bother? Yes. But after the suffocating week before, you wouldn’t complain again. Handling one vigilante is easier than three.

You were in the bathroom, following your usual bedtime routine: styling your hair, brushing your teeth, grabbing the pill bottle, and tossing one down the toilet to make it look like you were still taking them...the usual

You watched the pill sink slowly in the water, remembering how, before Alfred left, after leaving them both in the apartment he’d warned you not to forget to take one of those before bed, like always.

Never mind, you’ve already lost three days, you need to get back to your plan of gathering information from the comics, preferably by taking notes again in your wool notebook…

Finding a way to do it wasn’t easy. If you did it out in the open, Tim would discover you; if you stayed too long in the bathroom he’d worry. The only time he left was at night to do his vigilante work. You still didn’t know if he’d told the rest of the family that you knew about him; you also didn’t know if he’d deduced that you knew about the others. You didn’t know, and you didn’t care.

You could stay awake until he left for work, if it weren't for the fact that he wouldn't leave until you actually fell asleep, really fell asleep. He knew when you were pretending. It was useless trying to fool him.

Over these days you thought a lot about what you could do, so you concluded that the best approach would be to read a few pages in the bathroom and jot down notes in stages. The time it takes to read a handful of pages is relatively short; you’d be out before Tim realized. And today you’d put that plan into action.

Starting with the first of the three comics—where Serelith made her first appearance.

You pulled out the wool-class notebook you’d hidden under your pajama top, and began writing on its back in sequence, timing how long it had been since you’d started your nighttime routine.

First, you and Serelith were born in Gotham, but neither of your maternal families is from here. She was found in England on a trip by Batman and Nightwing. And apparently your real father was from there, too.

Dick noticed the obvious resemblance between her and Avery, and had her take DNA tests, uncovering the truth… Later they put you both through other examinations…

You had the initial key events down—very good—too bad in your condition you couldn’t go to England soon to bring Serelith back and end this.

It was easy to extract the early turning points. Maybe you’d keep at it for a while, recapping important moments… after that… what would you do?

Sure, you said you wanted a scholarship and to change your last name, but you had no idea how to go about any of that. Your life boiled down to studying, asking for material favors but never emotional ones, watching a movie when they let you, and you don’t recall ever having any class about what the future holds.

Well… maybe you could leverage your stay at Tim’s apartment? He said he could tutor you, so it wouldn’t hurt to ask discreetly.

Also, by spending time with him, could you perhaps learn something about investigation? It would be very useful to get the most out of the comics.

Even if you want to distance yourself from everyone to stop taking someone else’s place, for now it’s best to make use of your options.

You hid the comics again under your underwear inside the wool bag, placing them back in their spot. Once more you tucked your wool-class notebook under your pajama top and stepped out of the bathroom, hugging yourself. Tim was probably starting to change into his suit in his room, so you dashed to your bedroom, crawled into bed, and only after you’d ensured the blanket covered your entire body did you pull out your notebook and slip it under your pillow as discreetly as you could, hoping the sheet wouldn’t reveal your hand.

You wouldn’t go to such lengths to hide it if, on the very day you arrived, you hadn’t had a nightmare that sent you tumbling out of bed.

It wasn’t a hard fall—it only left a bruise on your arm—but somehow, Tim found out what happened. You don’t know how—you never told him, and every night he goes out on patrol—so how did he learn?

That’s precisely why you now have to be so careful with the comics and your notebook. Better safe than sorry.

It would be stressful, of course, but nothing would compare to what you went through with the others.

You waited, lying down, now with everything secured, for Tim to walk through the door as he had started doing since you moved in recently

As expected, he didn’t take long to open your bedroom door, wearing his Red Robin suit without the mask… It was strange how this pre‑sleep routine mirrored the night everything changed.

As on the previous nights, he left a glass of water and a communicator device on your bedside table, straightened your sheet for you, and finally looked at you for a few seconds before sitting down beside you, giving you space.

— I’m heading out. You know the drill: if anything happens—even a nightmare—don’t hesitate to use the communicator.

You listened attentively, even if it was the same thing since you arrived here, you nodded, even if you clearly refused to call him, it's not your right to call him... And, as always, he hesitated, wondering if he should stay a bit longer, say something more.

But this time, unlike the other nights, you spoke first.

— Tim, could you start giving me lessons tomorrow? At least a few… — You watched him, fatigue settling in.

Even if you didn’t notice, Tim was excited on the inside—you talked to him, said his name, asked him to teach you. Not one of your teachers, two of which (in his opinion) weren’t great options anyway. You asked him.

— Of course. Yeah, your condition’s a bit better, we can start tomorrow, at whatever time you want, with whatever subject you prefer, okay? — obviously he’d say yes. He’d spent the whole week thinking about different study plans for you. You’d do way better with him than with any teacher.

— Yes, that’s fine. — One less worry. If you could choose, you’d start with something useful for the future. Maybe you’d ask about scholarships or something.

Tim wanted to say more—he had to seize the moment—but he couldn’t. The communicator on his suit buzzed first, and reluctantly he rose from the bed.

— I’m off, sleep well. — He said goodbye, leaving the room, though you knew better than anyone that he wouldn’t go until you were asleep. And that’s exactly what you did.

Dick remembers clearly the day you were born—how could he not? It was the same week he was on a mission in Tamaran, the very week after Jason’s death. And the exact day Avery died.

Of course, he didn’t learn any of this until days later, he wasn’t there for anyone.

The revelation hit him like a bucket of cold water: his younger brother, whose Robin suit he’d given and spent nights training, and the woman who had supported him most when he distanced himself from Bruce—the woman who, since arriving in their lives, had given her all even though there was a wall between her and them.

He sat on the rooftop, gazing out over Gotham’s night skyline. In a few days he’d return to his own city. Shame he wouldn’t be here for you again—because by his own words, you didn’t want him around.

Even from a distance, he could sense Red Robin touching down on the same rooftop; he turned to look, smiling, despite the envy burning within him because the newcomer had been there with you, despite never having held you as a baby like he had, and despite having spent less time in the family—these past weeks Tim had felt more like family to you than him for you.

Tim settled beside him, as if nothing had happened—as if he didn’t have the privilege of being chosen by you.

— It’s alright, her mental health is improving. — Tim spoke before Dick could ask; he already knew what was coming, since the same question came up every night. He understood that someone in Dick’s position would worry about everyone, but hearing the same thing each evening was growing tiresome—it spoiled the comforting feeling of tucking her in. — If you still have doubts, go see her before you head out.

— Does she even want to see me? — Was it worth asking? He already knew the answer. The only person you said you wanted to call was Alfred—maybe a halfhearted greeting to Damian, but him? Nothing.

Tim didn’t answer; he only looked at Dick, unwilling to lie about what Dick truly wanted to hear.

He remembers hearing your laughter...laughing innocently when he finally held you in his arms, so small, so weak. You were born at the worst possible time, not only because of your mother, but also because of the pain Jason left behind.

It hurt even more when Bruce confirmed his worst fear. The words printed on those pages only worsened the tension.

— I honestly thought it was something else… her fainting— he murmured, looking down, his voice tired and defeated.

—And if that were the case? What would you have done? Were you thinking of blaming me? — Since these nightly meetings began, he himself had noticed how Dick sometimes seemed annoyed with him. It wasn't constant, just enough to be noticed, and they were overshadowed by the feeling of guilt.

— I didn’t mean to… you don’t know why—

— Exactly, I don’t know. But it seems every time someone tries to give affection to a the kid, someone steps in.

— It’s for her own good, Tim— Dick’s frustration rose as he looked up at the younger man. — It’s out of our hands.

— If it’s for her good, why don’t you tell me what’s going on? — Tim tried to calm himself; he didn’t want to fight with the one person in the family he seemed to have a stable relationship with—aside from Cass.

—…If I don't tell you, you'll try to find out on your own, won't you? — Dick held back a laugh, pushing down his frustration. He knew that telling the truth was the right thing to do—so many misunderstandings would be cleared up—but it hurt so much to talk about this.

— “Try” is an understatement; I’m going to find out. — Tim replied firmly, crossing his arms. — Your choice how I learn.

Dick just sighed, even though it hurt, telling the truth was the best option.

— Alright. Listen.

Surprisingly, this morning, Tim didn’t pull your hair while brushing it, that’s an improvement.

He hadn't told you anything yesterday about going out for a walk early in the morning—he just brought it up while you were having breakfast. You didn’t really mind going out. Even if the only few times you gone out before were exclusively for shopping. If you ever wanted some fresh air, you'd go to the mansion's garden—sometimes you'd end up at the farm with Damian’s pets. Getting some fresh air away from the new apartment would be nice.

So there you were, walking toward a small children’s park near the apartment. You didn’t feel the same anxiety you did when you left the mansion, but it was still unfamiliar. You’d have to get used to it if you wanted to go out on your own in a few years.

When you arrived, you looked curiously at the different playground equipment you’d only ever seen on TV. You had never seen children who weren’t Damian. You wanted to get closer, but… what would you even do? Your experience with socializing is terribly limited.

— Come on — Tim guided you toward the swings, showing you how to sit. You held tightly to the chains hanging from it. He was about to push you, but stopped, staring at your wrists. — What’s that?

You followed his gaze, realizing what he meant.

— Ah, that was a gift from Damian. — You clarified without much enthusiasm. When you opened the box and saw a bracelet, you hadn’t wanted to wear it. But after one of the calls with Alfred, where he explained to you that the boy with green eyeshad made the bracelet by hand, with some kind of decorative mix between Arabic and Chinese styles, you decided to wear it.

You might not consider Damian a brother, but you knew weaving wasn’t an easy task — even less for someone just learning, and especially when it had custom decorative motifs. So you ended up wearing the bracelet mostly out of respect.

You could tell Tim looked irritated — the same annoyed face he made when you mentioned wanting to have classes with your regular teachers instead of him. But just as he was about to say something, his phone rang. Tim sighed, now even more frustrated by the interruption.

— Stay here, I’ll be right back.

You stayed put, obediently, swinging your feet in the air. You weren’t planning to move — your fear of inexperience was bigger than your curiosity to keep exploring. Still, you turned your eyes toward the other kids running around...

Some of them were with their parents. You thought you heard a few calling out to their siblings.

Will you ever have something like that?

— Ouch! — your knees hit the ground of the park, scraping a little. You looked back to see who had pushed you off the swing, finding two kids.

— Move! If you’re not gonna use the swings, then leave. — the smaller one yelled at you, annoyed. You got up from the ground calmly — at least this kid was yelling at you over the swings and not because of Avery’s death.

— You could’ve just told me, there was no need to push me — you said to them, looking at both with a bit of determination. You didn’t know how to socialize with other kids, but you did know how to deal with people who bothered you.

— No! This is more fun — one of the boys went around the swing and came closer to you, clearly not with good intentions. You were ready to defend yourself, just like Damian had once taught you. But the boy stopped, staring past you, terrified.

You turned to look, and found a blonde woman with a serious gaze, aimed straight at the boy. It gave you chills...

— …Leave — it was a dry, direct word, but intimidating enough that both boys ran off. Even the other kids still on the swings, who had nothing to do with it, also left. You were the only one who stayed, frozen, unsure of what to do. Until you gathered the courage and looked up.

— Thank you very much… miss… — you might not be a Wayne by blood, but being polite was already something ingrained in you.

— Maria — she finished the sentence, her tone softening a little for you. She looked around, noticing there was no one else. — Are you alone?

— No, ma’am — polite, yes, but you weren’t stupid either. You weren’t going to tell her you were alone. You looked back and saw Tim still on that call, but his eyes were fixed on the two of you. He looked away now and then, clearly still upset. — I came with… him.

— Is he your brother? — Maria asked. You fell silent. Saying yes would be safer, but ever since, thanks to Bruce, you finally got used to not calling them family, the words got stuck in your throat.

She noticed your silence, but didn’t say anything else — she just crouched down to your level, pulled a handkerchief from her pants pocket, and cleaned your scraped knees. You watched the fabric get stained a little with your blood...

Blood...

Your chest tightened — the image from the comic came back to your mind.

— Miss Maria… — you stammered, feeling the air slowly leaving you. She looked at you, noticing your frightened state. — Do you have something I can squeeze?

She looked at you, confused. She noticed how you seemed on the verge of a panic attack. She wasn’t an expert, but she had seen them a few times before. She did as you asked and tried to find something while the dirty cloth slipped from her hands. She tried to think of anything, but she didn’t have much on her.

— Umm… I don’t have anything… — she looked around, searching for something. Your breathing sped up more and more. You tried to calm it down — inhale, exhale, repeat. You looked at Maria — you wanted her to calm you down before Tim noticed.

You also tried to look for something. You watched Maria’s hands move, and on reflex, you grabbed them and squeezed.

Maria was surprised. She looked down at how your small hands were holding hers, gripping tightly while you practiced a breathing exercise she didn’t recognize. Slowly, her eyes moved up to yours.

Oh, your eyes…

You calmed down — you managed to calm down. The bloody cloth was out of your line of sight, and now that you were fully back in your senses, you felt embarrassed. You were holding the hands of a complete stranger.

— I’m really sorry. — You let go of her hands as quickly as you could, apologizing, flustered. Maria, however, was still looking into your eyes. — Yeah, of course… I…

— What's going on? — Tim suddenly appeared at her side, his phone still on call, ringing only

— Ah, Tim, this is Maria, she was helping me with– You tried to explain quickly. You didn’t want more trouble, but she stood up, picking up the dirty cloth from the ground before you could say more.

—Take care, kid — she said goodbye, without looking at Tim, leaving the two of you alone.

You went back to the swing. Tim didn’t even say goodbye to whoever he’d been on the phone with — he just hung up and came over to you, crouching to your level and checking if you were okay.

Was it just your imagination, or did Maria put the cloth into her pants pocket?

I almost didn't make it to upload this, folks, but surprisingly — for being the chapter I wrote in the biggest rush (to the point it’s not even well edited in its original language) — it’s the one I’m most satisfied with so far. Since chapter one, no other chapter had felt this satisfying to me.

For those who didn’t see the post: I had to delay this chapter’s release to today because the past few weeks have been rough. I'm praying the next ones will be easier. The idea of going on hiatus is still on my mind, but I feel like some things are clearer now, and that’s making me question whether I should go through with it.

I don’t know if it was noticeable, but from now on, the chapters will be a bit longer. Normally, my writing limit was five pages to keep the pacing between chapters steady, but starting from the last one, the rhythm has shifted to seven or eight pages — and it’ll probably stay that way.

Anyway, as always, your comments and hearts are truly appreciated! :D

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maskedbyghost · 3 days ago

Text

In Sickness, In Health, In Surveillance (11)

Synopsis: To spy on a dangerous neighbor, you and Simon have to pretend you’re married, even though you’re constantly at each other’s throats. The longer you fake it, the harder it gets to keep your distance.

Tags/CW: slow burn, fake marriage, undercover mission, forced proximity, invasion of privacy, mild violence, explicit sexual content

Masterlist

Simon had been through enough shit in his life that most things didn’t shake him anymore. He’d seen bodies torn apart, teammates blown to pieces, friends bleed out in his arms while he just sat there pressing his hands down harder and harder, like pressure alone could fix a gut wound.

He’d walked into buildings full of smoke and screams and blood and came out with his pulse steady, his eyes dry, and his mind already moving to the next objective. Fear had stopped being something he acknowledged a long time ago. Maybe somewhere between the fifth or sixth time death brushed shoulders with him and didn’t bother looking back.

But this…This was different.

Because no amount of blood in the field, no amount of bodies, no mission gone sideways or ambush or bullet tearing through skin had ever prepared him for the way his own fucking chest caved in at the sight of you on the floor, bleeding out faster than he could process what the hell had just happened.

And it was stupid because he knew what a gunshot looked like. He knew what it meant. He knew how much time you had. But for a few seconds, he forgot every protocol, forgot every training, forgot everything he ever learned about trauma response, and just… stared.

Because the second you hit the ground, it stopped being a mission. It stopped being war. It stopped being survival.

It became personal.

And it wasn’t even the pain in his shoulder that registered; he’d been shot, sure, blood still soaking into the side of his shirt, and yet it was like none of it mattered, none of it even touched him. It was the sound of your body collapsing. The way your eyes fluttered and couldn’t focus. The way your mouth opened, but no sound came out at first, and then it did, a choked inhale, a twitch of your fingers, and he felt it, that pain. But not in the wound, nor in the bone or the muscle or the nerve.

In his chest. Right there in his fucking chest.

Because your eyes, the ones he avoided looking at for so long, the ones that burned every time you challenged him, the ones that didn’t flinch when he barked at you during training, didn’t blink when he insulted you, didn’t soften even when he tried to make you walk away. Your eyes were fading now.

And for the first time in years, he was scared.

Not of dying, not of pain, but of losing you.

He’d always told himself it was easier to hate you. That keeping his distance was the only option. You were reckless and too loud. Too stubborn, intense, and too good. He told himself that, let himself believe it.

Every time you laughed with the others, every time you made a joke that got under his skin, every time you did something risky on the field and didn’t even look back to see if he was watching, even though he always was, he reminded himself why he needed to keep the wall up.

Because he felt things he wasn’t supposed to feel. Things that scared the shit out of him.

You weren’t just some new recruit. You weren’t just another soldier. You weren’t just some rookie tagging along. You had this fire in you, something that refused to dim even when the world around you both tried so hard to snuff it out, and somehow, that fire kept him going. Every time he thought about walking away. Every time he thought maybe this was the mission that would kill him. Every time he questioned if there was anything left in the world worth protecting. You showed up. Lit up every dark corner of his life without even realizing it.

And he hated you for it. At least, that’s what he told himself.

But now, as your blood seeped into the floor and your eyes fluttered shut and that fire dimmed right there in front of him, the truth slammed into him with more force than any bullet ever could.

He didn’t hate you. He loved you. And he might’ve just lost you.

Help came fast.

Not fast enough, though, but like angels sent from heaven or whatever poetic thing people said when they were desperate for a miracle, Price and the others stormed in just minutes later. Simon barely heard the gunfire, barely registered the movement, the voices, the sounds of boots on the floor, the way someone shouted “clear” down the hallway. His whole world had narrowed to you.

Price was yelling something, Soap too, and Gaz was already crossing the room.

But Simon couldn’t answer, couldn’t even move.

He was still kneeling on the floor, blood soaking into his trousers, hands shaking as they hovered uselessly over your chest, not sure where to press, not sure if he should move you or stay still. His shoulder burned, his arms felt weak, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the way your lips were parted like you were struggling for air, the way your lashes barely fluttered, the way the blood wouldn’t fucking stop.

Gaz was the one who finally knelt beside him, didn’t say anything, just looked at Simon and then looked at you, and something in his face changed. He went still for a second, and then he moved, lifting your body as if you were made of glass and whispering something under his breath that Simon didn’t catch.

And Simon followed. He didn’t even think about it.

Didn’t speak, didn’t ask where they were taking you. He just got up, his legs unsteady, hands coated in red, eyes locked on your face as if he were to look away, even for a second, you’d disappear.

Soap grabbed his arm to steady him at one point, but he shook him off. Price said his name, but he didn’t answer.

He followed Gaz like a shadow, one hand still pressed over the makeshift bandage clutched to your side, too afraid to let go. Every time your head lolled or your lips parted or your hand twitched, his heart seized in his chest again.

The hallways blurred. The walls meant nothing. Everything outside the shell of your body and the blood didn’t exist.

He didn’t remember getting into the car, but the next thing he knew, he was sitting inside, and you were in his lap. Someone had wrapped a towel around your torso, someone else shoved med packs into his hands and barked at him to press down hard and keep pressure, Ghost, keep fucking pressure, but none of that registered.

All he could see was your face.

Your eyelids were heavy, skin pale. You weren’t talking, you weren’t even blinking. And Simon... he couldn’t handle it.

Couldn’t breathe properly. Couldn’t feel his own wound, even as his shirt stuck wet and warm to his skin. He was soaked through with pain and panic and it still didn’t even touch what he felt seeing you like that.

He pressed down harder on your side, whispering things he wasn’t even sure you could hear.

“Stay with me.” “Just hang on.” “Don’t you fucking dare.”

He didn’t beg, but everything in him was screaming, broken screams that never made it past his throat. He just kept pressing down, kept his eyes on your mouth, your lashes, the twitch of your fingers when the car hit a bump.

And then someone else opened the door.

Voices. Shouts. Medical terms. Orders. And Price again.

And then hands reached for you, but Simon didn’t let go. Even as they tried to lift you from his lap, he kept holding on.

“Ghost,” someone said. “You need to let go now.”

He didn’t move. Just stared down at your face like he could memorize it in case—

No. Not in case. You were going to make it.

You had to.

But he still couldn’t let go. Not until someone reached in gently, one hand on his back, the other under your legs, and finally pulled you from his grip. He didn’t fight it. He just sat there with empty hands and blood everywhere, eyes stuck on the way your head lolled against the medic’s chest.

They ran with you. He didn’t move.

Didn’t even feel the pain in his leg or the heat in his shoulder or the wetness of his palms. All he could feel was the sudden loss of you. Like a fucking limb had been torn from his body, like something vital had been pulled from his chest.

And for the first time in a long, long time…

Simon Riley didn’t feel like a soldier. He felt like a man. A man who might’ve just lost the only thing that ever made him feel alive again...

Someone finally dragged him away.

He didn’t remember who. Maybe it was one of the medics who looked at him with wide eyes and blood-stained hands and urgency he didn’t think he deserved. But they took him down some corridor that smelled like bleach, into a small room with too-bright lights.

He sat there on the edge of the table while someone peeled his shirt away from the bullet wound on his shoulder. They asked him questions, tried to get him to speak, tried to get him to lie back and breathe and flinch when they poured antiseptic into the hole. He barely noticed any of it. He let them work and didn’t say a word.

It was just something he had to get through. A checkpoint before he could return to the only thing that mattered.

He didn’t even wait for them to finish everything. He stood up before they were done wrapping the bandage, grabbed a shirt someone brought him, and walked out without looking back. He could still feel his pulse thudding down into his fingertips, could still smell the blood on his hands even though they’d been scrubbed clean. But the pain was still on the other side of the compound, behind a set of doors, beyond the medical wing, where they were trying to keep you alive.

He didn’t care if they told him to rest. Didn’t care if his shoulder split back open.

He made it back to the hallway, to the room where they’d taken you, and sat down just to the right of the door, near enough that if anyone came out and said something, he’d hear it.

And he waited.

Minutes passed, and he didn’t move. He just sat there with blood under his fingernails and every muscle in his body clenched like he could keep you alive through sheer force of will.

That’s when he heard boots.

Price stopped in front of him, his arms crossed, looking down at Simon like he was weighing what to say.

“He’s still alive,” Price said finally, voice low. “They’ve got him. Took him to one of the secure rooms.”

Simon’s eyes didn’t move. His jaw twitched once. “Mark.”

Price nodded. “Yeah.”

“Take me to him.”

“Simon—”

“Take me. Now.”

Price exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “You’re shot.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

Simon stood. His legs ached, his shoulder burned, and his whole body screamed to collapse, but none of that touched his voice.

“I’ll rest,” he said flatly, “when I kill him.”

And Price saw it. He saw the fury in his eyes, and didn’t argue after that.

He just turned and started walking, and Simon followed.

Simon pushed open the door without hesitation and stepped inside. Mark was sitting there, tied to the chair, his face bruised but his eyes sharp enough to make Simon’s blood boil. There was no fear in Mark’s gaze, only cold, like he knew exactly how much trouble he was in and didn’t care.

Simon’s jaw clenched. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, watching him, trying to hold back the anger that was coiling tighter with every second.

Finally, Mark broke the silence with a smirk on his face. “You think I’m gonna tell you anything? Not a single damn thing is coming out of me.” His voice was harsh. “You killed my wife. That’s one thing you’ll pay for. And trust me, yours is next.”

Simon stepped closer, eyes locked on him. His voice dropped, low and sharp. “Don’t mention my wife ever again.”

That was the last thread snapping. Simon didn’t hesitate. His fist shot forward, connecting hard with Mark’s jaw. The sound was sickening, a mix of bone and flesh that echoed off the walls. Mark barely flinched, just chuckled through the pain like it was some kind of game.

Simon hit him again, each punch fueled by every secret and every lie, every brutal moment he and you had endured. Mark laughed again, a low, bitter sound, not even trying to defend himself.

Then the door opened, and Soap came in, his voice cutting through the tension. “Simon, the doctors just called.”

Simon’s fist hung mid-air for a moment. His breath caught, muscles tightening and loosening all at once. Mark’s laughter faded as Simon turned toward the doorway, the fight draining out of him, replaced by worry or fear. Whatever it was, it crushed everything else.

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sharkbitten-sailor · 3 days ago

Note

PLS may i ask of sunrise is late au 😓 if ur busy ignore this oke

WRONG PLACE TO FALL, HERO.

sunrise is late!au - forsaken [killers edition] x player!reader general headcanons ; how they react to this new survivor’s arrival. tw: swearing, ooc,,, that’s all i think

a/n; welcome back haxor!! i’m really glad you enjoyed my work <3 as you requested, here’s some more for you :]

slasher

- barely notices your existence. at least, not until his mother points you out. - nod nod,, yeah, that’s it. - what? just another random survivor got tossed in here. - ... except you’re not. - fym you can use “healing items” from god knows where?? wait, are those the actual sfoth swords??? aren’t those shedletsky’s?? and are you seriously throwing around those damn cards again?!? - he’s confused. and annoyed. a lot of both. doesn’t like being caught off guard. - sure, his mother warned him to stay alert,, but this,,,, this is unexpected. unpredictable. even his mother herself didn’t see this coming. - he now considers you the most annoying survivor he’s ever faced. yes, even more irritating than shedletsky and two time. - will either hunt you down first or purposely leave you for last. no in-between. - grudgingly admits your tricks are impressive and wild. venomshank one day, then some item that,, like,.. - ... an egg that brings dead survivors back to life. questionable. deeply. - you’re freaking impossible to counter. he’ll probably need five timelines to predict even one move. - you might catch him pausing just for a beat, watching you pull out some new nonsense,.. - he’ll recover. maybe. eventually. - well at the very least, it’s something different, in a place where everything’s an endless loop of screams, blood, and recycled terror. lowk refreshing👍 - overall: he’s chillin. (+ mildly irritated) your methods are unpredictable, and way too effective for his comfort.

c00lkidd

- oooohhh!! new friend to play tag withh!! - he locks onto you the moment he sees you. not out of malice; just pure, restless curiosity. he just wants to see if you can keep up!! - WOAH! stamina like that?? now that’s exciting!! a friend that actually doesn’t get tired so quickly!! - he likes you already. like, a lot. - which means,,, yes, you’re his favorite target now. - and as for your tricks,,, he’s mesmerized. like shiny magic to him. sometimes he just stops mid run, wide eyed, tail twitching, completely enthralled. - that said, he’s not a fan of everything. like that little ticking clock thing,, it scrambles his head and makes everything feel spinny and awful. or the magnifying glass that shrinks him down to a bug (he likes being smol,,, but now he can’t catch anyone!! no fair!!) - use an item and kaboom, he’s suddenly beside you, bouncing up and down. “i wanna try!! c’monnn lemme try next!! i’ll be soooo gentle!!” - most of your items are tasty, some even end up on his favourite list. you can literally just give them to him, and he’ll be stunned. passively. for a few seconds. still effective, heh? - “HEY!! twins!! you got a firebrand too! that’s so awesome!!” his whole face lights up. he’s vibrating with joy- - right up until you hit him with it. - he stares. blinks. then lets out a little giggle. “it’s okay!! i mess up like that too!!” he’s not upset. not really. - maybe you could stun him like the others do,,. but it always leaves a bad taste. he’s still just a kid, after all. - in a different world, he’d be that kid glued to your side. asking a million questions a minute, showing you every rock he picks up, trying to hold your hand. - but not here. not in this universe. still, it’s a beautiful thing to imagine. - he thinks your call cards are your squad, your besties. he waves at them, makes up nicknames, tries to get them to like him. - they don’t. not really. not as much as you do. *coughs griefer coughs* - yet you’re patient and kind. you get him. he’s still little, still learning, still unsteady in a world that turned too sharp too fast. - and maybe when they look at him, they see a killer. - but you, you still see the kid. that alone is enough. - personally, he likes the red one best. “red noob,” you called him? yea that one’s his favorite. the blue one though? nope. reminds him way too much of bluududd... so hard pass. - still, he insists he’s cooler than both. mostly because- well, he’s taller, obviously!!

1x1x1x1

- ah, the embodiment of hatred themself. - same boat as slasher, barely a glance your way. or maybe he does notice, but only with that “ah, fresh meat” kind of look. - the plan is always the same: 1. test the target, 2. find a way counter, 3. eliminate. - ...so why the hell is he still stuck on step 1...? it’s been a whole week since your first run-in. - blame your annoyingly effective bag of tricks. dozens of stupidly useful gadgets, each one more infuriating than the last. - yes, she now regrets underestimating you, assuming you were simple. - unlike c00lkidd or slasher, 1x doesn’t waste time watching from afar. he charges straight in to slash your gear out of your hands before you even activate it. - sometimes it works. most times, ehhh it doesn’t. - once, your gadget set him on damn fire. another time, he collapsed mid chase, unconscious. thanks to whatever luck-based system you’re tapped into. - he (barely) learns. starts tracking your items and how to counter them. now you either have to keep switching them up or actually think a little before using them. - he’s so pissed off to the point the whole matches go by with him deadly focused on you and only you. other survivors are nothing but background noise. unless they’re dumb enough to jump in and save you. - logic? gacha based trust. like your swords and those cursed cards weren’t already breaking half the world’s physics. - they’re still reeling from the realization you have half of the sfoth swords. wonders if that chicken handed them over like some absolute fool. - eventually figured out. yes, you even have the venomshank, the sword with no available copies itself. - at some point, he held off, waiting for you to finally draw it. just pull it out already damn it. STOP USING THE FIREBRAND. they’re NOT flammable. - you thought he was like griefer,,, distant relatives perchance?? - when you did finally switch, he sparred with you. you, venomshank. them, daemonshanks. - lowk impressed by your reflexes, your item synergy, and that annoying little smirk when you land a hit and know it. look how proud you are. pathetic. - maybe you’re not as foolish as she first thought. - if you’re wondering why hatred isn’t mentioned here, well, it’ll be in another post. 1x part is already long enough :] - and those call cards? she wants to burn every last one. yesterday it was some edgy plant punk. today, a royal icicle man. - actually you summon griefer most often, probably because you think they’d get along. green glowsticks and all yk,, - spoiler: they don’t💔 - meanwhile you’re just standing there watching them claw at each other like two stray alley cats fighting over a bread crisp. - overall: one-sided rivalry. she looks at you like an annoying pest you are. - meanwhile, you’re just vibing. barely thinking, except for the part where he seems to hate you more than anyone else. did you do something bad to him... ? - so naturally, you offered her a lime macaron as a peace treaty. - he said nothing. just stared at you with that look. like he’s calculating the exact velocity required to throw you into the sun.

john doe

- this guy. heavy ooc warning💔💔 - ik he will forget you eventually but let me cook chat (you can image as this au hc that john has more braincells </3) - he genuinely can’t tell if you just got here or if you’ve always been here. time folds in on itself when the corruption claws at your brain. - but nuisance? that, he does recognize. your presence is too persistent to be forgotten, no matter how fogged his mind gets. - he couldn’t outline your face if he tried. but your movements; imprinted. - nuisance is too small a word. he doesn’t understand what you are. only that you keep coming back to mess things up in the way that... defy logic. - and so, he have decided you’re a puzzle. one he needs to solve. - he noticed how nothing about you is typical. your loadouts are random. your energy is chaotic. every encounter leaves him more confused, curious even. - there was a rare time you were the last one standing. low hp. no stamina. no time left to pull anything from your inventory. - he had you cornered. nowhere to run. no escape hatch, no miracle waiting. so you did the only thing your fading instinct offered: you raised your bloodied and trembling arm to shield your head. eyes shut tight. bracing. - but nothing came...? - instead, he just loomed. motionless. eyes locked, like he was dissecting you with every glance. curious. calculating. just studying and trying to make sense of the anomaly in front of him. - and of course, being the strange little wildcard you are, you dug into your bag and pulled out the ice storm. - activated. - and then came yet another surprise: not only did it deal no damage, he even seemed a little... soothed by it? did that count as a success...? - then you figured out: the corruption doesn’t just cloud him, it burns him. a constant internal heat, gnawing and wild. - so of course cold would calm it. your ice storm didn’t harm him, it grounded him. cooled the fever that never fades. - based on that: don’t ever try using the firebrand, or get ready to be targeted for a full 10 ahh rounds. maybe less if you try to make up for it. - some rounds after, he clings to you during lms. not to hunt, just to stay close. that flicker of cold you bring is the only thing that quiets the burning inside. - unless it decides it wants you dead, and twists john’s corruption even deeper. - at least some parts of him don’t want you dead. he only finishes you off under its influence. - he actually likes to rest the corrupted parts of himself, like his arms beside you, drawn to your natural cold. (/projecting) - sometimes, when you least expect it, he’ll grab you by your coat collar and lift you like an unruly kitten. blame your naturally cold aura again i guess. - poor coat though. always ends up paying the price. - although he seems easy to trick, it wants to mess with you, so either 1) your items vanish into thin air, or 2) bad luck claws into you like a leech. - add here for shit and giggles: john and cruel king would be friends.

azure

- 1x already warned the other killers, and azure actually took note. - the moment they spot your glowing firebrand from afar, it hits them. it’s you. the pest who’s somehow gotten under the skin of hatred incarnate more times than they can count. - he’s instantly on edge. not panicked, just honed in. hyper-aware. that rare kind of alert that says: “me need plan. now.” - every move you make gets dissected. every item you use is studied, counter-strategized, logged. - ... logged into their notebook of course... because, let’s be real, no one’s brain can keep up with your nonsense. - he’s trying to find patterns. common threads in your chaos. buuut it’s like trying to fold smoke </3 - because you’re not just another wildcard. you’re the wildcard. and he’s not letting himself be caught off-guard again. - it mostly works. mostly yea. but when it doesn’t, a dozen surprises explode in his face/neg - last time,,, a whole pile of sand. thrown. directly. into his face. WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU EVEN GET THAT FROM this round? a freaking live bat. alive and flapping. barely did any damage, sure. but somehow you got healed afterward?? did the bat bring you his blood or something??? - he’s confused, pissed, curious... all at once. - they don’t hate you quite like 1x does. it’s more like you’re an unrelenting itch they can’t quite reach. - but when you help that thing (aka 2time)? oh, they get tense. twitchy. the usual hiss, the usual tentacle flick. - then again, he does that to everyone who plays the protector. so maybe it’s not just about you. maybe. - still, you’ve clearly mastered emotional whiplash. one round, you’re shielding them like some overqualified guard dog (because duh it’s just you and them left). next round, you hit them with a side-eye, yet no heal in sight. (they’ve got their second life ready and you even dropped some defense-up items to lessen the weakness effect,,) bold. very bold. - to say, in your view, he’s clearly the smartest killer. always countering your moves, predicting your tricks. but you? you learn too. like the little mischief goblin you are. - you wield the firebrand the most, because of course you do *flowers = plant. plant < fire !11!!1* - and it... works??? wow!! thanks to pokemon then, it taught you this🫶 - in return, he dislikes you even more now. maybe it’s the searing pain of being burned alive. maybe it’s because you keep turning his flowers to ashes. maybe both. who knows. - perhaps,,, if you told them you were also really into plants and flowers kinda stuff, you two could, like,,, bond? you haven’t tried that yet, though. it’s just a fun thing to image. - if there’s anything he does like about you, which, he would never admit out loud, it’s: - watching you reset yourself. it’s entertaining. like watching chance’s gun explode for no reason. especially that time you tried the forbidden drink when hp is low - and your flexibility. they want to hate this part. it’s infuriating, really. you shouldn’t be able to dodge their tentacles like that. - when you dodge his attacks, it almost looks like you’re dancing with him. there’s a flicker of delight in your movements, and yes he notices. - your touch is cold, always. but if you asked him again... whether he’d accept it, let you linger,, then he’d nod. wordlessly,.. - one time he had you, absolutely had you, tentacles drawn, poised for a direct hit. and you just. slid away. like water. or regret. somehow. - he’s intrigued by your call cards. they remind him of... something. from before. not that it matters anymore. - griefer draws his attention the most. of course it’s him,,, again.,, - they like all of his plant-themed stuff, though it reminds him of 1x’s transparent torso. still, they’re not fond of his attitude. - they actually prefer cruel king’s. it suits their way of speaking better. cuz he has manners.

noli

- ok - after 1x threw hate speech your way, this guy stopped caring altogether. - he just tossed memes at 1x, laughed it off, and paid zero attention to their words. - you better regret this ena genderbend. you better do. - once he spots you in the match, he leaves you for lms on purpose. - and, he’ll admit it: it’s hard as hell. - you just won’t stop pulling those stupid items to buff your team and heal yourself. - it’s so annoying that he’s this close to rage quitting. - so he focuses. all eyes on you now. time to get rid of the nuisance. - but even after neutralizing your gear (somehow), he still can’t take you down. why? - because you dodge like a glitch in gravity. bouncing on your shoes like you’re moonwalking through space. - every razor-thin corner? yea now your personal looping paradise. he ends up dragged like a leashless dog every time. - his best ability, hallucination,,, well, totally useless against you. - you’ll eat a snack and deck him the next second, or it just doesn’t trigger. at all. - but when you slip up, and he finally takes you down? - oh he mocks. with memes, of course... relentless ones. they sting more than you’d like to admit. - he loves it... way too much, way more than he thought he would. - at this point, eliminating other survivors (except his old bestie) doesn’t hit like it used to. - just don’t bore him too quickly. eh no worries,,, your skills are more than enough. - you’re the show now. the finale. - like slasher, either he kills you first to speedrun the rest or saves you for lms. - absolute cinema trust. - over time, you and noli kind of drift into that weird “frenemies” zone. not quite enemies, not quite allies. something between it, i guess. - maybe it’s the way you never really feared him. tossing back his dumb memes no one else gets, joking around as if you’re not on the opposite team. - sometimes you two end up chatting during matches just for shits and giggles. surprisingly fun, he admits. - lowkey- like, super lowkey, you remind him of the good times he had with 7n7. if only you were on the killer side,, sighs. - to make up for getting absolutely wrecked by a certain killer (cough cough 1x), noli only talks to you during lms. i hc that you can’t hear each other while spectating, so it’s the perfect cover. everyone just assumes he’s taunting. - but the way he laughs during those moments? way too carefree to be anything serious. - or sadist. who knows. - he’s also way too entertained watching you flame azure and 1x. loves the drama, just don’t expect him to act like them. nah, he’s not about that life. - your swords? he’s interested, but only after you’ve ranted about them. (with braincells bc can’t exactly hand a killer your weakness, right?) - the ice dagger’s his least hated. somehow, it makes him feel less rotten. like it freezes up the decay just enough to be bearable. - unlike john, it actually freezes him too, so he’d rather not deal with it again. skip, thanks. - regarding your movesets, he finds them intriguing. unlike others who rely on actual abilities, you seem to use cards instead. - sometimes he catches himself wondering if you’re into playing cards,,,,

doombringer

- he’s always locked in on his own objectives, too focused to spare you a glance. - still, he catches whispers of the others calling you ‘‘a pain in the ass’’ doesn’t react. yet... - stay out of his way, don’t exploit, don’t obstruct; simple rules, really. keep it clean and you’ll be fine. - no bj time to be an entire circus💔 - you want to be the big ahh obstacle in his path so bad, don’t you? - the look he gave you,,, it screams that he’d ban you on sight if he could. - too bad he can’t. what a pity. - but he can still slam a hammer straight to your head. - that’s why your items sometimes get crushed before they even bloom to full use. - he sees you like he sees exploiters and hackers, just way more annoying. and disruptive. - but once he saw you wielding those freaking linked swords themselves? congrats, he started paying a lot more attention. in a bad way. - not only do you exploit and block his way, now you’re out here snatching roblox items too?? - if his top priority is ‘rewriting justice’, the second is finding a way to shut you down. at any cost. - analyzes you constantly, almost like how azure does. but he insists he can memorize everything himself. - for some reason, you avoid using items in front of him. which leaves you with two choices: 1) use from a safe distance and 2) activate while he’s focused elsewhere or busy with his abilities. - yet that “focused on someone else” doesn’t really apply. because that someone is always you. - some of your gear runs on roblox logic, so it makes a breeze for him to counter. former admin privileges, remember? - your bunch of weird.. “friends” aren’t a real concern. at least that’s what he tells himself. - he sees them as just more teamers. same as those roblox hackers groups y’know? - says he doesn’t care,,, yet he still tries to eliminate them whenever possible. they’re obstacles and threats to his plans. - especially since they blindly defend you like your life’s worth more than their own. - after dozens of summon encounters, he learned two things: 1) you call your friends to sock him in the face and negate his passive, or 2) you’re out of options. - between the two, it’s almost always 1. - his passive used to worry survivors. now it’s,, just,, weaker. diluted. thanks to you. - he’ll 100% target you every time. and if he’s not? he’s probably out there clearing the others to buy time. - but you’re not letting that happen. ever.

guest 666

- she knows. just doesn’t care. not that she can though. - she’s not human anymore. she’s a wild animal at this point. - you do feel bad for her. but survival’s still survival. and she’s still a killer. - you stay gentle anyway. something tells you that she’s suffering under its influence too. just like john. - except there’s nothing much around to soothe her. your swords and items only rile her up. - still, credit where it’s due, you’re stubborn enough to keep trying. - the other survivors strongly disagreed with your plan. too risky and low chances of success. you did it anyway... sighs. - your idea is to use dusekkar’s protection and try to calm her down. bold, reckless and stupid even, you know. but hey, not a failure if it works. - and against all odds, it does. - she had you completely pinned, no way to escape; and yet you managed to reach out and,,, pat her head?.. - (dusekkar’s having the worst heart attack of his life and the others are mentally combusting in real time. griefer’s just standing there, promising to kick your ass the second this is over.) - surprise trails surprise, she leans into your touch. like it matters more than she thought it would. - for the first time ever, her eyes aren’t as manic and bloodthirsty. just,, oddly calm. - she’s so relaxed to the point you didn’t even notice that dusekkar’s protection wore off ages ago. - it proves one thing: she could’ve crushed your skull and ended you in half a second. but she didn’t. instead, she simply laid down, pressed herself against your small frame like a giant weighted blanket. - her neck fluff looks dangerous, like it could bite you back. but under your fingers, it melts into velvet. - you can tell she’s enjoying it by the low and soft hum. they call it a purr, don’t they? - ... and just like that, a giant ahh cat follows you through rounds. if only it feels like it, that is. otherwise, well,,, headless corpse. - don’t like her company? use your cards. she might sulk, but that’s all. - (she dislikes griefer. as for that royal man,,, he treats you kindly, so she tolerates him.) - i wouldn’t say g666 is harmless since those claws sting like fire. but hey she’ll apologize after. - she’s curious about your food-items. not because she can taste it fully, but because it quiets the hunger, even just a little. - you notice she’s drawn to red things. so, trying to be thoughtful, you offer her a cherry. or at least you were supposed to. - instead, you hand her a FCKING cherry bomb. - it goes about as well as you’d expect. she locks onto you for 6 rounds. you have to spend every one groveling to earn back her favor. - when she’s bored, she’ll trail her tail through the dirt and sketch out the word “sixer.” maybe that’s her name. maybe it’s the one she wants you to use. - do not draw your swords on her. it’s not brave. it’s just stupid. - and of course, none of this plays out unless the spectre gives the go-ahead. if she’s ordered to end you, it’ll be fast. the pain? that, a mystery. - maybe, if it keeps going like this... you’re going to be the sting that pulls them back together. the ache they all remember. - painful, sure. but necessary.

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suzieloveships · 3 days ago

Text

This perfectly lines up with something I realise yesterday. That people love to use the exuse "there is no represantation" when in reality they just don't engage and connect with art that have one.

Let me use Marvel as an example

B*shlova, which is a ship between Kate Bishop and Yelena Belova has over 3000 fics on ao3

Kate and Yelana share maybe 10 minute of screentime together, 4 of those are them punching each other in the face, canonically their relationship parallels Natasha and Clint relationship, who were platonic soulmates, both actresses compared their relationship to sisters relationship and Yelana is impliad to be on an aroace spec in comics. AND YET I seen people saying that they still ship them because of the lack of lesbian rep in Marvel. Both of them were call lesbians by the fans despite that again Yelena is on an aroace spec and Kate is implied to be bi

Meanwhile, Yukio and Negasonic, canon lesbian couple? Not even 200 fics and most of them are actually M/M fics that use them as a background couple

And you can't use the small screentime excuse bc Kate and Yelena also have a very small screentime together

Also Karolina and Nico, another canon sapphic Marvel ship, not even 1000, and this two are main ship of the their show

So yah, a crack ship between an aroace girl and a bi girl that a fandom repacked as a lesbian/lesbian ship has more fics than a canon lesbian/lesbian ship and a canon lesbian/bi ship. Also both of those ship are visiblely interracial btw, totally not related to this converation

So yah, even when people claim they engage with not m/m content, they actually mean main stream stuff, things right next to main stream don't exist to them

for $1 name your favourite fictional lesbian. and no "straight female character popularly fanonized as a lesbian" or "this male character is a lesbian to me" allowed

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theprettywriter · 3 days ago

Text

Love me Noona:JJK

Synposis: he is a strange man. You've thought this since the day you met him. See, there are countless of pretty fresher girls in your college. Some of them so pretty that it made you wonder if he's blind or something. Because despite so many beautiful girls of his age dying to be with him, he wasn't even glancing at them. Why? Because he, Jeon jungkook, the most popular freshman in your college, was interested in you, a boring senior who'd rather die than attend a damn party. So even though he was a strange man, hearing him say "good morning Noona!" became a part of your morning routine.

Genre: Noona romance, smut, fluff, pairing fresh man koo with senior mc,college au

Warnings: smut, older reader, bold koo, tattooed koo, flirty koo, mentions of fight, koo punching someone, raw sex, a little cum play, grinding, yandere koo, a little angst, getting into fight, mentions of blood. Also this is unedited .

A/n: HELLO HELLO LATTE IS HERE MY PEOPLE

Lollll hey thereeee not sure if you remember me or love me noona but here it is, finally completed. I can't log in to my old account anymore because after I changed my phone I forgot to pass that data into my new phone. So I had to copy paste the whole teaser into this account and then write the remaining story 🥲🥲 anywaysss I hope you guys enjoy it and I know it was a longgggg wait and I wonder if you guys even remember it lol but even if you don't I hope you still enjoy it lovies.

And I'll tag the people who wanted to be tagged in this fic! I'm sorry if I can't tag everyone because there were sooo many of you and I'll try to tag as many as I can!! Love you!!

Author's pov

"I can't believe we're getting so many assignments even with the exams coming" yoona grumbled as she angrily typed in her laptop. At this rate the poor laptop will start crying too. Sighing tiredly you made a noise of agreement while rubbing your forehead because of the forming headache. "Mr Kim is cruel" you mumbled taking another sip of your iced coffee as another whine left yoona's lips.

A frown made its way to your face as you realised that you drank the whole cup as the only liquid coming through the straw was a few drops of water of the melting ice. Standing up with another sigh you looked at your equally tired best friend "you want anything? I'm going to the cafe"She immediately nodded and smiled gratefully as she took out her wallet "one hot coffee please. My treat" you hummed with delight, taking her card "thank you" blowing her a kiss you let out a small giggle as she blew one back and turned around. While walking towards the gate of your college,you heard some commotion and looked towards the noise for a second to see people forming a crowd around someone.

Thankfully the line wasn't too long so you were able to come back quickly. Perhaps you were too quick to get back to your seat and finish the damn assignment because one second you could see yoona waving at you and the other second all you could see was greyness and- "oh my-!" you gasped sharply as you collided in a firm chest causing you to stumble back as both the drinks spilled from your hands. Your eyes were clenched shut as you waited for your body to fall on the hard ground but instead you felt muscular arms wrapping around your waist and your hands flew to grip whatever they could.

As you came back in your senses, the first thing you heard was a heart beat, and the next thing you heard was a low chuckle "you okay there?" and the last thing you heard was a raspy voice which sent chills down your spin. Your eyes widened as you hastily stepped back, now noticing that you were in the arms of an unfamiliar man. Feeling a rush of embarrassment you bowed your head "i-im very sorry-" as you looked up, your breath got caught for the second time as your eyes took him in. When you felt his muscular body against yours, you were sure that his face would be on the rougher side. So you were very surprised when you found yourself staring at a pair of big doe eyes and a small bunny smile.

"it's okay. It was my fault too" he raised his eyebrows and for a second you thought you were looking at a small kid. But then you also realised that you had to crane your neck upwards to look at his face properly. Even in his grey t shirt you could see the outlines of his muscles. The way his arms flexed as he raised his hand towards you "jungkook. Jeon jungkook "

You quickly looked away because you're sure he caught you checking him out since there was a small smirk hanging on his lips "y/n. L/n y/n" smiling softly you took his hand, staring at how his hand fully engulfed yours. For a second he didn't leave your hand and kept looking at you but when you cleared your throat, he smiled, his hand leaving yours.

"y/n l/n 3rd year" you looked at him questioningly as he mumbled to himself but then noticed that he was looking at the Id card hanging on your neck "so you're a senior " he mumbled yet again and you wondered if he was talking to himself or you. You were confused when he looked at you with another smirk. The soft doe eyed face completely disappeared and instead you saw mischief in his eyes which seemed to sharpen with his smirk "then...." you hummed smiling at him as you saw a few people looking at you both out of the corner of your eye.

"Good morning Noona. I look forward to getting to know you"

For some reason you wondered if the tilt in his voice was your imagination or not. Because right now he was looking at you with eyes so intense that you felt your heart starting to pound. Fast.

Still, you smiled yet again as you nodded "likewise, jungkook"

~~~

"what the fuck was that" yoona looked at you with wide eyes the moment you sat down. And despite having an idea of what she was talking about, you still looked down at your laptop and said "what was what" yoona leaned back in her seat and smirked "oh don't you play dumb Jasmine. You know full well what I'm talking about. I mean I know you've been single long enough but seriously? Falling into the arms of a stranger is a bit too much-" "shut up" she raised her hands in surrender as you glared at her "it was just an accident. And don't start making up stories in your head. I probably won't even see him again" you mumbled as you resumed typing in your laptop.

Yoona hummed but she wasn't looking at you. She was looking behind you at something. Someone to be specific. "I wouldn't be too sure" she mumbled with a small smile as you looked at her confused "what was that?" "Nothing jas. Finish up I have a class soon" she patted your head as she stood up and collected her things while you nodded and waved her bye. She pinched your cheek before waking past you, leaving you completely oblivious to the popular freshman staring you from his table, completely ignoring the guys talking around him.

You certainly left an impression. And it was kind of hard to not think about you when he smelt like Jasmine the whole day.

~~~

It had been a few days since you saw the bunny teeth guy. While he was certainly very charming, he slipped away from your mind because you were fully bombarded with tests and assignments. So when you suddenly saw him after walking out of your class, you were surprised to say the least. After all you weren't supposed to see him again. There were hundreds of students in this university so the chances of bumping into him again were low.

"Good morning Noona" Jungkook tilted his face with a smile and for a moment you were lost in that cute bunny smile. And then you realised you were staring, again. Yup you are definitely too tired. Giving your head a small shake you smiled up at him "good morning Jungkook. Are you taking this class too?" Now it was Jungkook's turn to stare at you and suddenly you felt a little self conscious. You didn't really look the prettiest this morning. In your haste this morning you just threw on a simple t shirt, a cardigan to protect yourself from the beginning of the chill, and a cotton skirt which came above your ankles. And your hair was in a loose braid. So having a guy this good looking stare at you definitely gave you all the reasons to be self conscious.

But then he suddenly murmured "you remember" you blinked, a little confused as you adjusted your bag over your shoulder. Tote bags are cute but they're also one step away from breaking your shoulder. Jungkook must have noticed the subtle movement because he suddenly pulled your bag from your arm and flung it over his shoulder. Your eyes widened as you tried to take it back "y-you don't have to do that Jungkook, it's fine" for some reason he looked a little too happy. What reason did he have to be all smiley at 9.30 in the morning?

"I owe you a coffee" Jungkook said suddenly as he started walking ahead "huh?" You said dumbly as you followed after him through the busy hallway full of sleep deprived people. "Coffee" he said, looking at you from over his shoulder "you spilled it because of me remember?" Ah yes. That fateful encounter when you first met him by spilling coffee over him. You felt a wave of embarrassment as you walked behind him "I'm so sorry I can pay you for dry cleaning or maybe just give me the jacket if you haven't washed it yet" "of course I washed it Noona" he grinned "it's been a week" now you felt embarrassed for a whole different reason. Of course he must have washed it, he's not a gross person who doesn't wash their clothes for days. This is only your second meeting with him but you feel so embarrassed you'd rather hope that there's no third meeting.

You were a little out of breath as you struggled to catch up with him, his long legs easily eating up a long distance while you were almost jogging to walk beside him. It seemed like he noticed your struggle, because suddenly he was walking a lot slower and it was now easy to walk beside him. You wondered if he slowed his pace so you could walk with him. But maybe you were thinking too much. You tend to do that.

~~~

"Jungkook you don't have to do that" you said for the nth time as you both stood in the line at your favourite coffee shop. "Say your order" he said as you both reached the front, completely ignoring your words while reaching for his wallet. This guy does that a lot. You didn't notice you were pouting as you told the lady on the counter your order and he smirked a little as he handed her his card "Noona" he called you as you both waited for the coffee and you looked up at him, still a little pouty "what" you grumbled but he didn't say anything. He just smiled as he stared at you for a moment and you forgot that he was still holding your bag like it's a priced possession. You were about to ask why he randomly starts staring at you when your name was called "coffee for y/n!" "Coming!" You said as you rushed to the counter and took your coffee before walking back to him.

"were you about to say something?" You asked him as he opened the door for you and shook his head "nothing" you hummed, a little confused but grateful for the coffee. The warm coffee helped soothe your throat which was starting to feel a little sore. "Thanks for the coffee" you said before taking a small sip. "No problem" he smiled down at you as you both walked on the sidewalk when you suddenly realised something "Jungkook" he hummed softly "yes noona?" "What time is it?" He checked the time on his watch and said "it's almost 10:20. why?" Your eyes widened and you snatched your bag from him "I am so late! Thanks for the coffee kook I'll see you later!"

Jungkook was left dumbfounded as he stared at your small form running away and disappearing in the crowd. But a small smile slowly made its way to his lips as he looked up at the clear sky, a sigh leaving his lips as he ran his hand over his face and mumbled "kook....fuck noona"

You left but the scent of Jasmine lingered around him long enough.

~~~

You stood by the door of your class with your arms crossed over your chest, looking up at the boy who is slowly starting to become all too familiar. "What are you doing here?" You squinted your eyes at him while Jungkook simply gave you that cute grin as he handed you a cup of warm coffee and took your bag without any word "good morning Noona" his nose scrunched as he smiled down at you and you melted, again.

Sighing softly, a soft but reluctant smile pulled on your lips as you both started walking to your next class "good morning Jungkook. What are you doing here?" You asked again and for a moment you thought he almost looked... disappointed?

But before you could question it he shrugged and said "you dropped two coffees because of me. So I'm here to give you the second one" you couldn't help the amused smile pulling on your lips. Because yoona was the one who paid for those coffees after all. "Actually it was my friend who-" your words got cut off and you gasped sharply as someone bumped into you, causing the cup in your hand to slip and the warm liquid fell on the floor, some of it falling on your hand too.

You immediately clutched your hand to your chest, your eyes clenching shut for a moment as you felt the burn while Jungkook's eyes widened and because your eyes were closed, you didn't notice the coldness settling in his eyes as he stared at the person who bumped into you "watch where you're fucking going"

Hearing the tilt in his voice, you opened your eyes to see everyone staring at the three of you before your attention was diverted when you saw who had bumped into you. Sehun. He is a third year student as well. Known for being a huge dick.

Sehun's jaw clenched as he stared at Jungkook, both of them the same height "or what kid?" He scoffed and Jungkook's jaw clenched as he stepped towards sehun but before the situation could escalate, you quickly gripped his arm "Jungkook" you whispered, tugging at his arm "stop. It's fine so stop. Everyone is staring" Jungkook stared at the guy for a moment longer, his jaw still set before he looked away, taking your uninjured hand and walking out of the forming crowd with ease, his tall frame easily making way for you while you were left staring at his back as he pulled you out "did I scare you?" He asked, not looking at you and you shook your head "I just don't like it. Fighting and arguing" his response was just a silent nod.

~~~

"it's not that serious" you said again as he kept your burnt hand under the water "shut up Noona" you pouted as his tone changed, signalling he was starting to get irritated "did you just get irritated with me?" Jungkook sighed, looking down at you with soft eyes and you felt yourself getting lost in them again. How could you not when he looked at you like that? Those were the same eyes which were looking at sehun so coldly. He almost looked...scary.

You didn't notice when he wrapped his handkerchief around your hand, didn't notice how he gently rubbed your hand and only heard the soft mummer "you gotta be more careful Noona" you nodded, a bit dazed "okay" you said softly. You couldn't argue with him when he was looking at you with those soft eyes and talking with you in an even softer tone.

And then, his gaze flickered down to your lips which caused you to unconsciously bite your lower lip. His jaw tightened and he looked away, letting go of your hand "let's go. Or we'll both be late for our class" you could only nod dazily as you followed after him, this time not complaining about him taking your bag again.

~~~

In a blink of an eye, almost a whole month passes by like this. Him bringing you coffee before your second class every morning, then taking your bag and walking you to your next class. You often asked him why he did this. And every time he smiled that boyish smile and said "because I like your attention" and every time you would reply "I'm sure you get attention from almost every girl in this university " but he would just reply "but they aren't you"

You wonder what that moment meant. The one which happened almost a month ago. Was that just your imagination? The way his gaze darkened, his jaw clenched. Did you imagine it all? Because after that nothing like that happened again. Every day was the same. Coffee, a little walk, hoping to see him again in the day. Since when did you start hoping to see him?

You wondered why he liked being around you so much. After all you are not that interesting. There are plenty of girls who have a personality which naturally attracts people. You're not one of them. You're just a boring senior who just wants to get this degree and get the hell out of here. You don't go to parties, don't have many friends, there's nothing interesting about you. Heck the only friend you have from your first year here is yoona and for some reason she's decided she doesn't wanna intrude your little walking ritual with this guy who's becoming increasingly popular day by day.

"I'm older than you" you randomly said one day as you sat on his bike, sipping on the coffee he bought you. Your legs swung back and forth as he stared down at you, his own cup in his hand as he said "I know" you tilted your face, watching him curiously "there are girls your age who are probably in love with you" he just shrugged in response "I know" you let out a sigh and shook your head "you're impossible" you mumbled as you sipped your coffee, oblivious to the smirk on his lips. You didn't realise that day that you were the first girl who has ever sat on his bike.

Everyday was the same except today, something was different. Your lips parted as you looked up at him standing there with that same smile and that same coffee order . Except this time, there was a bruise besides his lips, a small cut and a forming red bruise. "What happened?" You asked worriedly, reaching up and grazing the cut with a gentle hand "I got punched" he shrugged and your eyes widened "what?!" Jungkook blinked at your outburst "Noona everyone is staring" you huffed as you grabbed his hand and pulled him away, taking him to an empty classroom.

~~~

"who punched you?" You asked as you gently cleaned the cuts and bruise, your brows furrowed in concentration. He was sitting on a desk while you were standing in between his spread legs and you were acutely aware of his muscular thighs touching yours while his tattooed arms rested on his side, his eyes looking up at you which seemed a little sharper than usual.

"sehun" he mumbled and you gasped "what? Why?" You asked sharply, accidentally applying too much pressure on his wound and he winced a little "ouch noona" you immediately gentled your touch, apologising softly "I'm sorry does it hurt too much?" He nodded but it was a lie. Honestly all it did was sting a little. He's been hit worse. Sehun is fucking weak. But he didn't mind hiding the truth because of the way you were fussing over him. Atleast he managed to get your concern.

"why did he hit you kook?" Ah...there it was again. He tried to hold back a smile as he mumbled "cause I got in his way" you took a deep breath, wanting to go and punch that asshole right at this moment "please tell me you punched him back harder" you grumbled as you finished cleaning the wound while Jungkook simply shook his head "I didn't"

You blinked, very confused and a little irritated too as you looked at him "why? You should have! He deserves it" you scoff as you applied ointment on the cut under his lips "cause you said you don't like fights" your hand froze and your gaze slowly met his as you whispered "what?" Jungkook's hand gently wrapped around your wrist, giving it a soft squeeze before his thumb rubbed on your pulse point "you said you don't like fights." He mumbled "so I couldn't punch him back"

For some reason your heart clenched as you stared in his eyes which seemed to look at you like you were the most important thing in his world. And it scared you. You don't know why but it made you feel anxious.

"you could heal me" he murmured, his free hand coming up and gently pushing your hair back from your shoulder as you whispered "how?" He stared at you silently for what felt like hours, his gaze hard and intense. And then the last thing he said before crushing his lips on you was "by loving me"

Jungkook kissed you like he was a starved man. He kissed you until you were out of breath. He kissed you until your knees buckled and you had to hold onto him so you wouldn't fall. He kissed you until you felt like you were melting in his arms. It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was rough and fast and hard and it left your lips red and bruised. When he finally pulled back, you found yourself pinned on the desk where he was sitting a few moments ago. You have no idea how you found yourself in this position. But here you were, lying on the desk with him on top of you.

"love me Noona" he mumbled, kissing your forehead, then your nose, then your jaw, until his kisses lowered down to your neck and you couldn't stop the soft moans leaving your lips as his lips sucked a particular area on your neck "Jungkook" you whimpered softly, your fingers tangling in his hair as his teeth grazed over the mark he left on you and his left hand squeezed your thigh gently as he came back up to your lips "love me Noona" he repeated, his forehead leaning against yours as you both breathed heavily "only on one condition" you whispered and he smiled that bunny smile which you've been falling for since the day he showed up in front of your class. "Anything" he said, nuzzling his nose in the column of your neck and you cupped his face to make him look at you "you will punch sehun twice as hard when you see him again" you said, your fingers gently grazing his jaw and a cocky smirk hung on his lips which made your already pounding heart pound even faster "as you wish" a rough chuckle left his lips before he kissed you again.

~~~

It was all in a frenzy. When he pulled you out of the classroom with his marks all over your neck, when he took your bag from you as always, when he gently set his helmet over your head and closed it securely, when he hopped on his bike and held your hand to help you get on the back, and when he sped out of the university.

You held onto him tightly, your face pressed on his back and your hands stayed wrapped around his torso. And whenever he felt your grip loosening, his squeezed your hands with one his hand, silently telling you not to let go. And you won't.

When you reached his apartment building and got off the bike, he removed the helmet from your head and the way he stared at you, those usually doe eyes now darkened with lust, you couldn't stop the whimper escaping your lips. And the moment you entered his house, your back hit the door as he kissed you again, his tall frame towering over your shorter one as your arms wrapped around his neck and his tongue met yours.

A shaky gasp left your lips as he gripped one of your legs and hiked it up, a breathy moan leaving your lips as you felt his hardness pressing straight over your clothed pussy. Low groans left his lips as his hips rocked against yours and it felt too good. God it felt so good that you weren't even embarrassed of the sounds you were making. You never imagined that such sounds will leave your lips but here you were. "Jungkook" you whimpered, your head falling against the door and exposing your neck to his hungry lips as he continued grinding against you "fuck y/n" he growled, sucking and biting all over your delicate skin and you felt your heart skip a beat. This was the first time he called you by your name.

~~~

Jungkook felt like his head was spinning. His senses were surrounded by the scent of Jasmine. Wherever he touched you, wherever he bit you, all he could smell was Jasmine. Now he understood why your friend called you that. And it suited you, it really did. You were really like Jasmine. Soft, pure, untouched. He wanted to get lost into you. He wanted to drown into you and never rise again even if it meant it was his last day in this fucked up world.

He didn't realise when it started. At first it was just simple curiosity. He was merely curious since you never reached out to him after the day you first met. He knows that if it was anyone else, they would have just found an excuse to see him every other day. But he was convinced that you had forgotten about him already. So to just satisfy his curiosity, he decided to meet you and fucking hell all it did was make him even more curious.

He started to like being around you. You were so sweet and soft and gentle. All he knows is that he suddenly started to want more of you. Was he in love with you? No atleast not at that time. But it was something much darker than just a crush. No, it was the need to see you everyday but also the need to stay away just so he wouldn't scare you away. It was the need to nuzzle his face in your neck just so he could smell more of that sweet scent which always seemed to surround you. It was that need to gauge out the eyes of any guy who looked at you the wrong way. And it was kind of hard to control himself when there were many of them. It was the need to bury his fingers in your long locks and pull your head back until you were crying out in pain and pleasure. It was the need to remove those glasses which hid your big eyes. It was that need to touch your body which seemed to be made for him. Yes your body was made to be worshipped.

He realised that now as he undressed you as gently as he could, laid you on his bed as gently as he could. He wasn't a gentle man but as you looked up at him with those soft, trusting eyes, he didn't want to be anything but gentle. Your body was a temple. And only he could worship it. He realised that as his hands roamed over your softness. Over every dip and curve.

It was that need to hear you cry out in pleasure. It was that need to fill you up until you were left sated and satisfied. He would do anything for you. He realised that as he buried his face in between your soft thighs. Fuck those thighs. so soft and supple like they were made to be grabbed by him. And oh those sounds that left your lips, he could come undone just by your voice. He ate you out as if you were his last meal. A sound of approval leaving his lips as you threw your legs over his shoulders and your thighs locked his head in between them.

"Jungkook!" Your cry was muffled as you buried your face in the pillow which smelled like him, your fingers tugged his hair and your free hand gripped the sheets so tight that your knuckles were turning white. His mouth didn't stop it's ministrations as he gently took your hand which gripped the sheets and held it in his hand, letting you squeeze as hard as you wanted to.

"I got you sweetheart" he murmured as he pushed his tongue inside your pussy, groaning at the sweet taste and the groans sent vibrations straight to your clit causing your mouth to hang open as your thighs clenched around him "that's it Noona" he gently bit your clit before sucking it hard "cum for me" and that you did. You came so hard it felt like you blacked out a bit. Your legs shook violently as he lapped at everything you gave him until you were left withering and shaking.

Oh how did he manage to get so lucky? He would never know. He didn't think he deserved you. You were far too good for him, far too sweet, far too pure. And all he wanted to do was ruin you. He wanted to ruin you and he wanted to save you. He wanted to take you to the heights of pleasure where the only name you remembered was his. He wanted to be the one who catches you whenever you fall. He wanted to ruin every life which would threaten yours. Fucking hell he was obsessed.

He realised that as he pushed his throbbing cock inside of your warm pussy. All he could hear was your sweet voice moaning his name as he fucked you with slow and deep thrusts, until he couldn't take it anymore. A deep groan left his lips as he pushed your legs up to your chest and pounded inside you hard. His one hand slipped in between your bodies and rubbed your clit as he fucked you deep and hard.

He fucked you until silent tears of pleasure were leaving your eyes. He fucked you until your mouth hung open and a string of saliva dripped into his pillow as your back arched and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Then without a warning, you came again.And he followed soon after, pulling out just as his cock shot ropes and ropes of hot cum all over your stomach, a long and low moan leaving his lips as his balls emptied before he fell on top of you. You gladly accepted the weight, feelings warm and safe and protected.

And the only thing you heard before passing out was a soft whisper "love me Noona"

~~~

You smiled at something yoona said as you both swayed to the music while Jungkook watched you from the bar. His eyes filled with a fondness which he was getting used to. You looked so beautiful. You were wearing a sleeveless black dress which was all shimmery and it hugged your curves in all the right places. It only came to mid thighs, highlighting your perfect legs as you danced with your best friend and your hair seemed to sway with the music as well. Fuck you are so perfect.

Suddenly you said something to yoona as you handed her your drink and yoona nodded, blowing you a kiss. Your eyes met his and you smiled at him from the distance as you mouthed "washroom" he nodded and winked at you, causing you to blush and yoona to giggle as you stepped out of the dance floor.

He sighed, smiling to himself as he took another sip of his beer. "You know this is the first party she came to" yoona told him as she came to the bar for some water "that so?" Jungkook mumbled as he looked in the direction of the washroom. You were taking too long. "Yupp" yoona said and giggled as her date for the night kisses her neck "tell jas that I went home first please" she yelled over the music before she was swept away. Jungkook nodded before he walked towards the washroom to check up on you.

And then he heard your voice "let go of me!" His heart clenched with fear when he heard that and he slammed open the door of the washroom, his gaze darkening with a cold fury as he saw the scene in front of him. Sehun. Of course it's that bastard. He was holding your arm tight enough to leave a bruise and his jaw clenched when your eyes met. A low growl left his lips when he saw the tears in your eyes as you saw him and he walked towards you in two strides. By the second stride, his hand was gripping the back of sehun's shirt and pulling him away from you roughly.

Sehun had no time to react before Jungkook punched him straight in his nose and you whimpered, your eyes clenching shut as you heard the sickening crack of a bone breaking.

"got permission this time, shithead" Jungkook snarled as he got on top of sehun and kept punching him until he was left unconscious and you had to hold his arm and pull him back as much as you could "Jungkook stop!" You yelled "enough!" Jungkook was breathing heavily as he allowed you to pull him back. You hugged his arm so he wouldn't start beating him up again. You were surprised,to say the least. You never expected him to act like this. The sweet and flirty Jungkook that you had gotten so used to? He was nowhere to be found as you saw him beating sehun up.

Jungkook let out a harsh breath as he turned to you and cupped your face, gently wiping your tears as you looked up at him with your bottom lip trembling. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" He asked roughly and you shook your head, burying your face in his chest "I'm fine can we please go home?" Your voice came out small and shaky and he forced himself to calm down and nodded "of course" he mumbled, kissing the top of your head.

You watched him as he washed his hands, washing away the blood on his knuckles while Sehun's friends took him away as quickly as they could. No one wanted to deal with Jungkook right now. They were all older than him but he looked like he could kill someone right now.

After he dried off his hands, he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and guided you out of the washroom and through the crowded bar. Due to the loud music no one had noticed the fight.

~~~

Once you both reached his flat, you cleaned his bruised knuckles and covered them with bandages, avoiding his eyes but he made you look at him "Noona" he mumbled, cupping your face, desperate to look in your eyes "are you scared of me? Please don't be scared of me-" "I'm not" you said softly as he leaned his forehead against yours "I'm not scared of you koo" he let out a shaky breath "I'm sorry I just couldn't control myself when I saw what he was about to do" his jaw clenched as he wrapped his arms around your waist and held you close to him. "I won't let anyone hurt you y/n" you knew that.

But you don't know why you got chills every time he called you by your name. Maybe it was because of how rarely he used your name, only calling you by nicknames or Noona. Maybe because of the way he said it. Like a dark promise, like it was the only name which mattered to him, like he would do anything for this name.

But when he told you that he would do anything for you, you believed him. You know that he will do anything for you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anything.

After all, all he wanted from you was your love. Everything else? He'll take care of it. All you have to do is love him.

Love me Noona taglist:

@rosquilleta @papijiminfeed @xunca @bxcndd @cellemin @oopscoop @an-ever-angry-bi @jinseartharmysmoon @jjkrinvgs @cynicalbitch666 @bxcndd @saintsugar @fandems @m4gg13-g @bri-mal @take-u-2-an0ther-w0rld

@xjiminsthighsx @cloudyko0kie @kookiesnpie @francenemolove @joonsblossom @doseiiii @atherosworld @ashslytheringoddess

@ericawantstoescape @jlee97 @jaiuneamesolitaiire @avadakadabra93 @lostin7 @lalunaesbella @inyourdreamzen @thisartemisnevermisses @kookies-n-spice @chimmisbae @lalita-7 @darkuni63 @neonnhoney @bearr02 @loveliesmoon @yoongiwantsme

@belikejk @ze-yan @soso-minnie @btspurplesky @beckeey @svnbangtansworld @icantpickabiasugh @kiribirien @tab3s @lyssa-otaku @littlegirlmin @suebs19 @tastykookoonut @pointofviewyugyeom @heyputa @jungkookie94 @filetminhyuk @v-taeunofficial @shaybtsforever @musicismyoxygen @writingwithmai @kittycat1dsn @seltansworls @hemmofluke @caelums-world @iamhereforbts @someshinesomedont @akookieforyoutoo @kimvante2013

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musicalnobody · 1 day ago

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simon who picked a bird who has an equal amount of childhood trauma as he does. he didn't mean to, but when you stumbled into him on the street and instantly began crying, he would be lying if he said he wasn't immediately intrigued. you're apologizing profusely when he grabs your chin, quieting your pleas of forgiveness with a simple "It's okay angel, you didn't do anything wrong. Was me not payin' attention."

reader who likes the way simon made them feel with just that one interaction so they shyly asks for simon's number. simon can tell you haven't done this very much by the way your hand trembles when you go to give him your phone to type in his contact. he already adds a little heart next to your name.

simon who didn't realize it at first, just thought you were a little more jumpy than other people. but during your first date you're hiding your tears after hearing a plate break in a busy restaurant. apologizing for ruining his night, you try and get up to leave when simon pulls you back, nothing but care and concern in his eyes when he realizes you're on the verge of a panic attack.

reader who flees to simon's flat after a family meeting left you bruised both physically and emotionally. crying about how they had tried telling their family about simon when their family started asking how someone could love somebody like you. how you had tried to stand up for yourself only to get in a physical altercation with your father after he had called you a whore. simon reassuring them that they're none of those things, trying to restrain himself from tracking down your father and showing him exactly where laying hands on you will land him.

simon who runs a bit late when picking you up one day just to find you curled up on your bed sobbing. you tell him through hiccups that you thought he had forgotten about you just like your parents used to forget to pick you up from events or school. simon scoops you up and covers your face in kisses as he promises to you that he would never forget about you, he was just running late because he was picking up flowers!

reader who doesn't tell simon when food is running low in the house because their mom used to restrict their food intake. worried that simon will be upset at you for eating his food, you start portioning your meals so that simon gets more. and he notices. bringing it up at dinner one day, you quickly brush it off, chalking it up to your appetite being weird, but simon sees right through it.

it's not until you're sitting in his lap, hands rubbing at your eyes as fat tears roll down your face that you finally tell him how your mom would take away food as a punishment. how you would have to beg for food at lunch because your parents didn't have enough money for school meals. simon rubbing your back as he reassures you that he'll go to the grocery store tomorrow.

simon who thought he was seeing improvement but everything falls apart during your first argument. you shut down. it's a small fight, trying to clarify exactly what you two were, after all, you had taken to staying at his place for about half of the week. but what simon didn't know was the absolutely hellish day you had at work. so when you drop your arms and go silent, simon panics, raising his voice when calling your name and walking towards you when your voice cuts through.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, please don't hurt me!" you scream, raising your arms to protect your face. simon's heart breaks. softly cooing at you that everything with be okay, you break into sobs as you recount how your father would raise his voice before raising a hand to you. he wraps you in a blanket and pulls you close that night.

A/N: made it gender neutral so that EVERYONE has to feel the angst :P i'm sorry guys, i just needed to get this out of my brain. i was feeling sad so i just projected all my feelings onto a fictional character LMAO comments + reblogs are much appreciated!! <3

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authorhjk1 · 3 days ago

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Crimson

(Lee Nagyung X Male Reader) Wordcount: 982 words

"I'm not doing this!"

"You're disgusting!"

"I'm leaving!"

That's what Nagyung threw in your face just 5 minutes ago. Before that, she called her company, the bank she's at and her manager and who knows who. But for some unexplainable reason Nagyung's bank account has been frozen.

You're not normally someone who does stuff like that. But Nagyung is already late on her rent by almost two months. And when you saw her get out of the car in that gorgeous, sexy dress, you couldn't help yourself.

"A different kind of payment."

That's what you suggested when she explained the situation with her bank. Nagyung immediately got the hint, hence her reaction. But after her initial anger has calmed, she seemed to consider your proposal. And that's what's going on now.

You actually only had a blowjob in mind. Even a handjob from this gorgeous woman would've satisfied you to the fullest. But Nagyung really seemed to get into it once she started.

Her mouth and that cute little tongue of hers made your head spin. You were standing right in the middle of her living room, receiving head.

Well, you still are. By now Nagyung has pulled down the top of her dress to reveal her small perky breasts. Her stiff nipples seem to taunt you as they're just out of reach. Both of her hands are holding the base of your cock while she tries to fit as much as possible into her mouth. The fact that she is struggling with your size only turns you on more.

"Fuck, that feels good."

You groan as you rest your hand at the back of her head.

Nagyung doesn't answer. Only an agreeing hum leaves her mouth and travels through your body. The sounds of her mouth slurping up your cock are the only ones in her apartment. They seem to echo in the room, but that might just be your imagination. Nagyung's steady pace is getting you closer and closer as you feel better and better.

Then, Nagyung pulls back. Her lips glide along the length of your shaft and then your cock leaves her mouth. She continues to stroke it with two hands while looking up at you.

"Do you want more? Will my pussy cover my rent until I can pay with money again?"

Her words give you goosebumps. Just the thought of her pussy makes you bite your lip.

"Yeah."

Your voice comes out dry. You want to tell her that it's too much. That she doesn't have to go that far. But you can't. Not when Nagyung kneels in front of you, both her hands stroking your wet cock, her mouth only an inch away from your tip, her tits exposed.

"Come on then."

She gives you a smile before getting on her feet. She takes your hand and you follow her into her bedroom.

"How do you want me?"

You're surprised by her growing excitement when Nagyung turns around after you closed the door.

"Well, I..."

You begin to stutter, not sure what to say. You've always dreamed about this moment when you realized that Lee Nagyung, a member of Fromis_9, is moving into the apartment you own. You imagined her in all kinds of positions. But it's hard to pick now. Especially when she reaches out and wraps one of her delicate hands around your cock again. She looks down at it, bites her lip and then looks up at you again.

"Can't decide?"

Her chuckle makes you crack a smile.

"Yeah."

Naturally, Nagyung makes the decision for you. You watch her strip, her dress hits the floor. You take in her naked form. So much more beautiful than you imagined. Next, she gets onto her bed and lies on her back.

"Come here."

She gives you a teasing smile and you get onto the bed as well. Soon after you align your tip with Nagyung's pussy. You look down at her for conformation. After a quick nod from her, you slowly push inside. A sharp gasp escapes her mouth as your tip parts her walls. As you start to thrust into her, the two of you look into each other's eyes. You only push halfway inside, before you back out again. It seems like that's the perfect amount of your cock Nagyung can handle. Whenever you push a little deeper, her breath is cut short and her eyes grow wide. She's having trouble taking so much of you and you make sure not to hurt her.

As you pick up your pace within her comfort zone, your hands naturally find themselves on her thighs. You've admired them before through dance performances and fan cams and sometimes even in passing in the hallway. But you never got to touch them until now. Soft, but toned.

"God, you're big."

Her gasp makes you focus back on your cock inside of her. Nagyung is now watching every single one of your thrusts. Your tip and half of your length disappears inside her tight snatch, before it reappears again, all wet and slick. Her lips are slightly parted at the sight of her pussy being stretched out like that. You can't help but wonder if this is her first time with the size of a cock like yours.

It certainly seems like it. Nagyung can't tear her eyes away anymore as she bites her own lip. Moan after moan escapes her mouth nonetheless.

"Please go faster now."

Her words aren't much more than a shaky whisper, but you comply. It's hard for you to hold back and have her dictate the pace. Nagyung feels so tight and wet around you. You wish you could just start to pound her into the mattress.

But by the way her face twitches in pleasure with every stroke of your cock, it seems like she'll be asking for exactly that very soon.

--------------------

Hi everyone! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Unfortunately the original request got lost in my inbox so I'm posting it like this.

#ask #anon #kpop #kpop smut #kpop girls #kpop gg #male reader #fromis 9 nagyung #fromis 9 smut #fromis 9 #nagyung smut #lee nagyung #nagyung

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lqveharrington · 2 days ago

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Immortally Yours

1: The Original (series masterlist)

summary: As an immortal demon hunter posing as a K-pop idol, you lead Huntr/x to secretly fight demons and protect the Honmoon seal. But when a demon boy band led by Jinu—someone you thought was gone from your life forever—threatens everything, you're forced to face both a looming battle and a painful past that could change the fate of the world.

pairing: jinu x immortal!hunter!reader

includes: romanized korean, origin lore, fans being mean, celine not being a good guardian to rumi, cursing, fighting w/demons, zoey being the best “little sister” ever, idol awards take place a lot later than the movie, other than that everything else stays the same except for the romance plot (lmk if i missed anything!)

word count: 3.8k

a/n: this was supposed to be one fic, but it somehow snowballed into a series. oops! hopefully you all enjoy this as much as i did writing it :)

You weren't entirely sure why or how you had become immortal. All you knew was that it worked in your favor because you were a hunter. And not just any hunter—a hunter of demons.

You were a part of the first generation of hunters, the time when Gwi-Ma first began to take souls and capture humans, turning them into demons to do his bidding. The same time, he was lulled into the temptation of clothing and food.

The first time you remember saving someone was your… friend’s mom and his little sister. Their terrified faces were all it took for you and your girls to help defend them and the village, creating the first ever—and to your knowledge, only—Honmoon.

With every new generation, you would guide and train new hunters the best you could from the years of experience you had fighting the demons Gwi-Ma would send to Earth. You would fight alongside them, teaching them the skills necessary to refine their technique.

But as time passed, more and more people recognized your folktales and bedtime stories, causing you to pull back and manage the girls instead of fighting with them.

Over the years you spent training, managing, and fighting with new generations of hunters, you found yourself constantly looking for a solution to save souls that had already been taken. And maybe you could find a solution to still save him.

But the last time you were able to manage a generation of hunters was the Sunlight Sisters. You already trained Rumi since her mother was already a hunter, but you were still missing three more singers and hunters. And when you began to scout for the following generation, Celine—the lead singer and hunter of the Sunlight Sisters—specifically asked you to be a part of the latest group Huntr/x because she was afraid Rumi wouldn't be enough to lead the group on her own due to the demon qualities she gained from her father.

You wanted to argue that Rumi was perfectly capable of leading the new generation of hunters—especially since she trained harder than any other hunter you've recruited—but Celine wasn't willing to listen. It was either you became a part of Hunt/x or Rumi wasn’t going to be a hunter at all.

So you became the leader of this new generation of hutners alongside Rumi.

The leader of hunters for the first time in 400 years.

Throughout finding and selecting two more hunters—which led you to Mira and Zoey, who picked up the training much faster than anticipated—Celine announced to the world the newest group she helped curate with you—well, your fake name you chose as the Sunlight Sisters’ manager. For the next generation, you chose the name you were born with all those centuries ago.

Unfortunately, now that you were a different person, Celine had to inform the press and media that you were the daughter of Sunlight Sisters’ manager, protecting who and what you truly were from the world. But that's when the rumors and whispers began to spread.

Many fans already thought it was unfair for you to be a part of a group because your “mother” was simply a manager of one of the biggest groups in the world. They said it was unfair to the rest of the unknown talent around the world who couldn’t have a chance in the music industry because you were a nepo baby. They hadn’t even heard you sing, and they already had their opinions set on you.

And it apparently made sense that Rumi was a part of Huntr/x because her mother passed away so early in her career.

Luckily for you, the girls—Rumi, Zoey, and Mira—instantly came to your defense during interviews and press conferences when those questions came up, saying you weren't the nepo baby every claimed you were and that you were probably better than the three of them combined.

Although that seemed to calm down most of the fans, Celine made sure that there were lawyers on standby just in case something terrible happened.

And when Huntr/x made their official debut, you had everyone’s mouth drop wide open at how well you performed. The three girls weren’t lying when they said you were better—you truly were a secret meant to be told to the world. By the end of the performance, you had several people defending you on every social media platform, while others still found you unworthy of being on stage.

Thankfully, the backlash wasn’t enough to prevent Huntr/x’s success in the music industry. Meaning you were officially back as a singer—or an idol, as they called it now.

You often found yourself missing all the behind-the-scenes work and getting silent praise from the fans—and the privacy that came along with it—but singing for the public and knowing you were helping all these people without them truly knowing felt amazing. The thrill of singing for fans who want to listen to your songs had your heart beating in excitement—it made you feel young.

It was new to you—fighting onstage while singing for the audience in sold-out stadiums. While you fought demons while singing before, you had never done so in front of thousands of people who paid to watch Huntr/x sing their hearts out. It was funny seeing all the fans think that the demons were all just part of special effects.

Technology now was truly amazing.

And while every concert created a bond between Huntr/x and their fans, the bond between you and the three girls grew better every day. You had told Mira and Zoey about your immortalization long before you debuted, but that didn’t bother them one bit. They seemed to tease you for being so old and constantly fascinated by the latest technology.

Rumi, on the other hand, refused to tell the girls about her patterns until the Honmoon was completely sealed, simply because Celine told her not to tell anyone. Your heart ached for the poor girl, but she seemed to trust her judgment more than yours.

Nevertheless, you and the girls bonded and found a dysfunctional harmony that you could rely on every day.

Three years later, you still felt the same thrill and excitement as Huntr/x finished their world tour. Over the last three years, the Honmoon grew stronger than ever and was nearly at its full potential—the seal was teased with gold with every concert you put on.

It was then that you and Rumi knew it was time to seal Gwi-Ma and his demons away for good.

The two of you released Golden to the public that very same night.

Promotion started right away, and the song instantly went viral—Or as Bobby put it, the song was on fire. Golden was the true story of Huntr/x—about who you all were and where the four of you were going next. It would begin a new chapter for the whole world.

Everyone seemed to listen to it daily because they loved it, and the song instantly skyrocketed to #1 in nearly every chart imaginable.

Unfortunately, as you and the girls rehearsed for your first live performance of Golden, Rumi’s voice began to crumble. She ran out ten minutes before the performance, which led to the performance not happening at all. When Rumi came back, she found solace in your waiting arms, Zoey and Mira looking at her with sadness.

The entire way back to the tower, Rumi hadn’t said anything. Not until you were all halfway through dinner. She apologized about the show, and the three of you instantly brushed it off, not blaming her at all when she explained that her voice was in trouble.

But with the Idol awards coming up in two months—and special events appearing every other day—Rumi needed her voice fixed as soon as possible.

Almost immediately, Zoey claimed to have a totally legit idea, suggesting that this doctor had a special tonic that could heal sore throats and relationships.

The second she said special tonic, you were already expecting a scam. And when the four of you entered Doctor Han’s office the next day, you knew you were absolutely right about the scam.

The photos he had plastered on his wall were stickers of himself with celebrities he had probably never met. Hell, Huntr/x was on his wall, and you had never met this doctor in your entire 400 years of living. You glanced at Mira with a grimace on your face as Rumi tried to lift Zoey’s spirits by claiming the place was totally legit.

Mira shrugged and peeled open one of the magazines on the side table, raising her brows at the latest news in the K-pop industry.

You leaned your head on Zoey’s shoulder as the Doctor walked inside the office, urging Rumi to sit upon the examination table. He went on and on about how one needed to understand the whole before healing—it sounded like a bunch of crap until he began listing things off that Rumi definitely did.

“He is kinda good,” Mira muttered when he said Rumi had lots of walls up.

Unbeknownst to everyone, he also began to list things off he saw from you, Mira, and Zoey as well. For some reason, he decided that the appointment included the entire group, not just Rumi.

“Hm… I see…” He looked at you with wide eyes that stared straight into your soul before backing up and adjusting his glasses. “Longing. You’ve lived a long life and yet…”

You narrow your eyes at his unfinished thought, voice sharp yet careful. “And yet what?”

“You seek love. It’ll be here a lot sooner than you think.” He nodded to himself and patted your hand before turning to Mira, flinching in fear from the pink-haired girl.

Your face contorted into pure confusion while Mira asked—no, demanded—for the special tonics that you all came here for. You quietly got up from your seat and entered the waiting room of his office, staring blankly at the wall that was decorated with fake pictures.

The Doctor wasn’t wrong about your long life, but seeking love? Love was the last thing on your mind.

You sighed and scrubbed your face in frustration, your frown deepening when you saw one of the stickers fall off the framed photo. Pursing your lips, you turned your attention toward the window, hoping to clear your mind, when your eyes caught something.

A bird that looked too familiar stood on one of the poles in front of the office, staring at you like it had something personal it wanted to say. You tilt your head at the unusual sight and exit the building, following the magpie as it flies into the town square, where several people are forming a crowd.

There were more people than usual in town, which made you wonder if someone leaked where the Huntr/x girls were. For safety, you pulled your sunglasses back over your eyes and tugged your jacket higher. Looking around, it seemed as if no one had noticed you or the fact that the other three Huntr/x girls were missing.

You were about to ask a couple of girls by your side about what was happening when someone tugged at your arm. You glanced over your shoulder and saw Zoey with a small scowl on her face.

“What’s wrong?” You looked over her to make sure she wasn’t hurt before doing the same to the other two girls, face falling ever so slightly when you realized you had lost sight of the bird you came out here for.

“We ran into these jerks who—” She started to complain before interrupting herself and pointing at a pink and purple puff of smoke ahead as music began to fill the square.

You mentally groaned as you recognized the haze of pink and purple. It was the smoke that appeared whenever demons would teleport from place to place, meaning that the boys singing and dancing for the crowd of people were demons.

The last thing you would have expected all day was for Gwi-Ma to send a demon boy band to take the fans to destroy the Honmoon. The very Honmoon you helped create four centuries ago—the one you swore to protect forever.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You rub your forehead in exasperation while the boy demons sang a song called Soda Pop, their outfits bright and colorful compared to what you’ve seen them wear several times before. “This is Gwi-Ma’s plan?”

Mira chuckled at you before holding Zoey’s shoulders down, her own shoulders moving along to the catchy beat of the stupid song. Rumi narrowed her eyes at the five boys, her hands clenching by her side. The Honmoon was nearly sealed, and she wasn’t going to let a silly demon boy band ruin her chances of finally being free from the patterns that had kept her trapped her whole life.

“We gotta stop this now.” Rumi grabbed you by the arm and pushed through the growing crowd, her glare trained on the demons who seemed to win over everyone’s heart.

As you got close to the demons, you focused on each of their face, wondering if you could recognize any of them from the past. However, it seemed nearly impossible to tell if you knew them since their hair was dyed unnaturally. Then your eyes landed on—what you were guessing was—their leader.

Unfortunately, you could recognize that voice, that hair, those eyes, anywhere you went.

"Jinu?" You ask under your breath as he dances on the raised platform, following his every movement.

His own eyes sorted through the crowd until they landed on you, his practiced and prideful smile faltering for a brief second before finishing the song and posing with his group.

“That’s it for now. See you tonight on everyone’s favorite variety show.” Jinu gestured to the billboard behind him while he kept his eyes trained on you, daring you to come find him. “Saja boys love you!”

And just like they appeared, they disappeared with a trace of pink and purple smoke.

“To be fair, that’s also something a magician would do.” Zoey tilted her head as the crowds gushed over the Saja Boys.

“Oh, those are demons. And we’re gonna kill them.” Rumi narrowed her eyes, determination set with pure annoyance and hatred. “Let’s get battle-ready.”

The four of you instantly made it back to the tower and prepared yourself for the fight, adorning yourselves in black leather suits, colored accessories, and black nail polish. While the girls ate their pregame meal, you conjured your gakgung from the Honmoon and stared at it, fingers digging into the carved details and reading them like it was a secret only you knew.

Unknowingly, Zoey caught your blank stare and appeared by your side, offering you ramen with your face on it. “You okay?”

You blinked and nodded, taking the ramen cup from her. “Yeah, just… Confused.”

“Don’t worry, we all are.” She nudged you with her elbow. “Besides, the second we get these demons, the Honmoon you helped create will finally be sealed! Isn’t that crazy?”

You smile at her, “Actually… Yeah, it kinda is.”

“That’s the spirit! Kaja kaja kaja, I want to kill them as soon as possible!” She shook your arm before returning to the two girls and grabbing fistfuls of shrimp crackers.

You shook your head in amusement, taking small bites from your ramen. If anything, you wanted to kill these demons as much as she did, but there was a small feeling in the back of your head telling you there was one thing you had to do before sealing the Honmoon.

When the four of you made it backstage to the variety show, your weapons were already in hand as you climbed to the top of the set. Unfortunately, the Saja Boys spotted the sea of leather above them.

So much for a great hiding spot.

As the fans went crazy over the fact that both Huntr/x and the Saja Boys were on stage at the same time, you redirected your gaze from the Saja Boys to the crowd and waved awkwardly.

“We just wanted to stop by and congratulate our hoobaes on their debut and—”

“And of course, Play Games With Us!” Jinu spoke into the microphone with enthusiasm, earning louder cheers from the audience. “Bring out the slides!”

The four of you looked at each other, and slowly, you all made it down the colorful slides, the leather scraping against the plastic with a horrid noise. You winced as you scooted down the slide, huffing when you landed in equally hard plastic balls.

You stood up quickly and helped Rumi out of the ball pit as Mira took Zoey’s hand, the four of you switching your grimaces out for smiles.

“It was truly an honor to share the stage with you,” Jinu said kindly and bowed in respect, followed by the remaining Saja Boys.

Rumi blinked furiously at the sight and bowed in return, “Oh, no. The honor is ours.”

And—to no one’s surprise—the leather betrayed the four of you, and the boys were able to bow much lower than you could. The curtains shut the nine of you away from the crowd as the variety show ended, Huntr/x still trapped in a bowed position as the Saja Boys ran out of the building faster than you could whip your weapons out.

Bursting out of the building, you caught sight of the pink clothes the boys wore on the variety show, entering a bathhouse. Zoey gasped when she realized you all would finally go to the bathhouse with Rumi, shaking her shoulders in excitement as you entered the building.

“Men’s?” Mira groaned when she caught sight of several old men in hot baths.

You shushed the three girls when they began to complain, ushering them into a separate room where the five demons were standing a little too proudly for your liking. Instantly, you all raised your weapons at them, zero mercy in your faces and stances.

“Wow, did you really follow us in here?” Jinu tilted his head at the four of you, his dark eyes finding yours on instinct.

Your tongue poked the inside of your cheek as Rumi, Zoey, and Mira argued with the demon named Abby. Not only were you furious at Gwi-Ma for trying to destroy the Honmoon when you were so close to sealing it for good, but you were furious over the fact that Jinu stood in front of you like he didn’t leave you on your own all those years ago. His gaze softened ever so slightly when he saw your eyes flicker with something familiar before you held your gakgung higher, pyeonjeon between your fingers.

Before either of you knew it, water demons were sent after Huntr/x with the promise of all the souls in the bathhouse. While the three girls fought the water demons away, your mind swayed with decisions before you chased after the only demon who didn’t deserve your immediate attention.

You caught up to Jinu and pushed him into a steam room, glaring at him with so much hatred he swore he would be able to feel it from the demon realm. You sparred with him for another second before you pinned him down with your legs, summoning your gakgung once more and pulling the string back.

“What the hell, Jinu!” You shouted at him with anger and disbelief.

He grunted when you straddled him against the stone, “Can you wait for just a second—”

“Shut up.” You seethed and blinked away your tears of frustration, not caring if the girls ran into the room at any given time. “I haven't heard from you in—oh, I don't know—two hundred fucking years, and this is how I see you again? On a mission to destroy the Honmoon?”

The glow of your pyeonjeon highlighted the expression on both your faces—your face covered with so much anguish that it physically hurt Jinu to even stare at you, and his face was covered with regret and grief that you weren’t sure if you could ever really hate him.

“I mean, age doesn't show— Ow!” Jinu tried to lighten the mood, only earning a jab to the side from your elbow. His eyes darted to the rising steam, frowning when he realized you were in a full leather suit. You must’ve been dying from how hot it was getting.

He tried to sit up but failed, questioning you from the floor instead. “What do you want from me?”

“An explanation!” You shout, causing Jinu to flinch. You breathed for a second, letting your chest rise and fall to calm yourself down before you saw the silver ring that adorned his finger, your expression faltering. That couldn’t be the same ring…

You sucked in a breath, meeting his eyes once more. “An explanation, Jinu. I’ve been—”

The sound of old men’s voices interrupted your tangent, your eyes never wavering from Jinu’s as frantic footsteps zoomed past the steam room you both were in. He raised his brows at you, surprised that you didn’t get up at the distraught voices and movements before he saw your silver ring.

It wasn’t adorned on your finger like his was—Instead, your ring was on a necklace that you wore, glinting from the glow of your weapons. Jinu stared at the ring much longer than anticipated because you noticed, causing you to tuck away the necklace under your leather suit, where it was hidden originally.

You opened your mouth to say something else when one of your girls called for you, your mind instantly switching to one of concern.

“Unnie! Where are you?” You heard Rumi's voice echo through the bathhouse, the splashing of boots following every other second. “We need to get out! The—”

“The old men are kicking us out!” Zoey yelled in disgust.

You huffed and glared at Jinu one last time. If you couldn't get an explanation, the least you could do was try to stop him from destroying the very thing you protected. “Stop coming after our Honmoon, Jinu. We’re so close to sealing it.”

“You know I can't, jagiya,” Jinu spoke softly—the nickname coming out naturally, that you didn’t even realize he said it. “He's—”

“Unnie!” You heard Mira shout this time, making you huff at how poorly everything was timed today.

“Coming!” You yell back and push off Jinu, pointing the arrowhead of your glowing pyeonjeon at him. “You did this to us, you fix it.”

You left the steam room with a huff, your weapons vanishing back into the Honmoon. Jinu stood up from the hot floor and watched as the glowing Honmoon around him flashed a dark pink, meaning a weak spot was created.

Scrubbing his face in frustration, Jinu didn’t know if you meant fix the weakening Honmoon or fix the relationship that was holding on by a singular thread.

taglist (bold print = won’t let me tag): @wen-oo @pandora-journey @nugget197 @diejager @growinupcreepie @introvertreader20 @moonjellyfishie (comment to be added!)

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ddejavvu · 2 days ago

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pairing: azriel x reader

summary: azriel's shadows like startling you.

w/c: 2.2k / navigation / inbox / summer of series

a/n: record breaking 3 days after reading acomaf i was plagued with visions and binge-wrote this. more is on the way.

To anyone outside the city of Velaris, being a servant to the High Lord of the Court of Nightmares would be seen as a fate worse than death. To wait on him hand and foot, to see those violet eyes narrow lethally towards you at the slightest misstep- or worse, for them to not ever meet your figure; to be ignored, overlooked, treated as lower than low... most would choose to end their lives before stepping through the city gates. But of course, that's because no one outside of the city of Velaris knows it exists. In reality, staffing the House of Wind is much more pleasant than most would believe- Rhysand has people closer to him than you, of course, but you're not sneered at. He's kind to you; cordial, not overly friendly, but any dishes he dirties are handed your way with a 'thank you', and his Inner Circle are no different. Well- Amren doesn't thank you, because she doesn't dirty dishes. But she doesn't hurt you either, and considering her reputation, that's meant to mean she likes you well enough.

Tonight's dishes are caked in a thick crust of red sauce that tries with all of its might to stain the pristine dining ware. But this isn't your first time washing dishes; you'll get the stains off if you have to scrub for hours.

An icy twinge brushes against your leg, a muscle twitching and tricking your senses or the tickle of some imagined feather at your ankle. You ignore it, pumping more soap onto your sponge and attacking once more at the stubbornly-stained dishes.

The chill reappears, and you barely suppress the urge to reach your opposite foot up to scratch at its itch. Once it starts trailing up your leg, however, ghastly and mobile, you startle, nearly shattering the plate in your hands when you drop it into the sink. You frantically search your leg, finding nothing there though the echo of that touch remains. You feel it next against your back, but before you can make a fool of yourself, twirling this way and that trying to see it, it pops onto your shoulder- a shadow.

It's strange- it's something you can see, but it's something you can see through. It's swirling, black, formless and lighter in some places than in others. It almost whispers, but now that you've seen it it's the least of your concerns- there can be no wayward shadows without a shadowsinger to command them.

Azriel stands in the doorway, almost completely ensconced in shadows himself. He can stuff them away god knows where sometimes, but now they're billowing relentlessly around him, a cloak, a tapestry, a shroud.

He sinks into them so often that sometimes you forget he's not one of the staff. But no- with his relentlessly toned muscles and those Illyrian good looks, there's no mistaking him in the light.

He steps into it now, the barest of smiles gracing his face as one of his shadows continues to dance across your shoulders. When it brushes your ears they lose function, and sound pulses on and off until he calls the shadow back with a casual flick of his scarred finger.

"Rhysand wants to know if you're doing laundry tonight."

His voice is low and quiet to boot, meaning you scramble to shut the water off before it drowns him out completely. You dry your sopping hands on the towel draped over the counter, feeling meek in his presence. He's not aggressive, he's not loud- he's not Cassian. But he's terrifyingly quiet. He's the kind of quiet that makes you search desperately for something to say, even if silence is best.

"I'll do the laundry whenever he needs it done." You hum, your own voice meekly the same volume as his. You wonder why you're both nearly whispering, but you can't imagine speaking louder than him and shattering the atmosphere, "That's what I'm here for. What does he need done?"

"Sheets." He murmurs, "He wants to replace the sheets."

Rhysand cycles the linens when his Inner Circle stay the night. There are stretches where they stay every night for months, and times where they spend two nights a week. This week is one of the latter: they're all busy, and you haven't kept up with their laundry. Despite the sheets barely having been slept in since your last wash, you ignore the waste of detergent and add a resetting of the beds to your nightly to-do list.

"I'll have them fresh within the hour." You promise, "Is everyone staying?"

"I'm not." Azriel shakes his head almost imperceptibly, "Everyone else is."

You allow yourself a rather unprofessional thought: you wish you knew what was keeping Azriel occupied. He's the court's spymaster, so you doubt even the other members of the Inner Circle know what he's doing until they need to. Azriel doesn't often have personal business to attend to- any outings are for the Court, and it piques your interest every time. But it's not your business to wonder; you nod and promise it'll be done.

"Thank you." He disappears from the doorway, the clicking of his shoes against the floor the only evidence he hadn't sunk directly into the shadows trailing him.

You finish off the dishes with a lot of elbow grease and several conspiratorial glances towards the doorway, on the lookout for any other meddling shadows. But none appear, and the dishes all remain intact as you dry and replace them in their cabinets.

Stripping the beds down is the easy part- what gets difficult is remaking them. Stretching a fitted sheet across any bed is difficult, but a bed that's sized to accommodate large, leathery wings is no joke. You dread wrestling three sheets later, then decide that it's about time to wash Rhysand's linens as well, and begrudgingly add another to your list. The room that Azriel claims can be ignored, but-

There's something about walking away from the barely-cracked doorway that you can't do. It feels wrong, and you cringe as you envision Rhysand popping into the room one day and realizing you've been too lazy to touch it.

The bed is gathering dust. Perhaps you're not the greatest servant- a better one might have come in here every now and again to banish the stuff off of the surfaces. You decide you'd deserve to be fired if you ignored it, and bundle up his bedding as well. Tonight, you'll suffer five times over.

The washing cycles aren't long, nowhere near long enough to outlast Rhysand's Inner Circle and their drinking habits. You hear rowdiness from time to time but you mostly work in silence, swearing beneath your breath each time a corner of the fitted sheets snaps off of its place.

You feel like you're chasing it around Rhysand's mattress. You've done the guests' beds first, out of courtesy, and Rhysand's is the biggest due to his status. If you'd thought the others were tedious... you wish you had your own wings to pin each side in place.

Finally you manage to secure it, though you're worried it might give way and cocoon the High Lord the second he puts any weight on it. You cover it with sheets and a duvet, praying you won't be hearing a commotion from his chambers later.

The only sheets left in your basket are Azriel's, because even though he's a guest, he's one you don't have to worry about inconveniencing. You hadn't wanted to interrupt Mor or Cassian when they finally decide to retire for the night, but you're not worried for a second about Azriel coming in while you're bent halfway over the bed, butt in the air and rage in your blood.

Perhaps you should have been, though, because just after you muffle a scream into the sheets you feel something cold lick up the back of your calf.

Your next shout isn't muffled at all. It actually echoes around the cavernous chamber, but it doesn't startle the man in the doorway. He's got to stop doing that, letting the shadows envelop him from behind and make it seem like the room has no escape. The one that had been phasing into your leg skitters back towards him, gracefully quick and smooth.

"I told you I wasn't staying." Azriel reminds you, "You didn't need to do my sheets."

"They were dirty," You perform a sort of half-bow towards him, trying to puzzle out whether you're more embarrassed he'd seen your lower half on display, or heard what you'd shouted into his fitted sheet. If he won't mention either, you'll pretend it didn't happen. "I wanted to refresh them anyways." You consider his place, deep in the winding halls of the house, far from the communal space he'd been lounging in before, "Did you- want to stay?"

"I wasn't planning on it." He shakes his head again, the barest of movements, "I was just dumping Cassian in his bed- he found himself incapable of walking straight."

Azriel doesn't grin, but he flashes his teeth in an amused way before his face falls neutral again, "But you've gone through the trouble of washing my sheets, and you're clearly losing against them. May I help you?"

It's a strange question to answer. Practically, no. Because you work for Rhysand as part of his staff, and the guests of his court shouldn't be made to pitch in. They live lives of luxury, of status, and they're not meant to wrestle fitted sheets. But Rhysand has never been too stuck-up about pitching in. You'd found him waxing the floor once, in the dead of night, and it had nearly tipped you over in shock. You think he gets bored, but you won't tell anyone that. Let them think he's living the most enthralling life possible, if they want. Or that he's a creature of nightmares, made of the stuff that makes grown men cower in fear. Both are wrong; he's a midnight floor-waxer.

"You don't have to," You decide on, speaking carefully, "I'm just having a bit of trouble with the sheet."

"I heard what you called it." Azriel advances, and you fight the urge to skitter out of his way as he beelines for the opposite corner of the bed, "That's the kind of thing you say to someone in a bar when you want to start a fight."

"I heard it from Rhysand," You quip without thinking, and your cheeks blaze with embarrassment when he laughs. It's deep but not booming, something private and pitched low for only your ears to pick up. A hidden frequency, something you share with him in the shadows.

They slide across the sheets as his scarred hands grasp one end and pull it towards the corner of the mattress.

"He's foul-mouthed and foul-minded." Azriel remarks, "Get that corner."

You tuck your bit of the sheet beneath the mattress and move to the left as Azriel does the same.

"There," He hums when it's finished, "Can I help you with the rest?"

You work on edge while he helps you. He's kind, you've known that for a long time, but it feels distinctly wrong to help him fluff out his own bedsheets. When the bed is done you turn to gather your basket and flee, but there's a pair of shoes in the doorway that, for once, aren't shrouded in shadows.

What they're attached to is worse, perhaps, than a shadowsinger, because it's your boss.

Rhysand's mouth quirks into a smirk as one of his brows raises, but he keeps his badgering directed over your shoulder.

"Az, I take it you are staying the night?"

"I will." Azriel agrees, nodding once, "I don't want to waste Y/N's hard work."

"Nothing like a little company to tempt a night in," Rhysand winks at you, such a crass gesture that you audibly inhale, nearly choking on your own breath.

"Foul-mouthed and foul-minded." Azriel reminds you, his hand landing softly on your shoulder as shadows creep down your spine the way they line his, "Whatever he's paying you, it should be more. Thank you," He tugs against your shoulder briefly, turning you to face him though you dodge his eyes on instinct. When you gather the courage they're staring straight into yours, deep and alight with sincerity, "I appreciate your work. Enjoy your night."

He lets your shoulder go with nothing but a lingering squeeze, but he may as well have pushed you out for the way you hurtle towards the door. Rhysand is kind enough to let you slip away without further comments, but you can't escape the fallout as you rush down the hall and catch the tail end of the echo of his deep voice.

"-maid, hm?"

You stop short, clutching your basket to your chest and praying you won't be dismissed right then and there. But perhaps this is torture, perhaps this is the Court of Nightmares. Rhysand continues, his voice gleeful and catty, "Wouldn't have taken you for a dog like that, Az. What, was she stuck in the dryer?"

"You're crass." Azriel's response is calm, level, and low, but it only makes you flush harder, "Bent over the bed, actually. But you're crass. I helped her with the sheets, nothing more."

"You're supposed to mess up a bed with a woman," Rhysand presses, relentless as you decide running is your best option, and your feet pound against the stone as you flee for sanctuary, "Hurry, send your little shadows to fetch her back so you can ruin the sheets she just washed!"

#azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel imagine #azriel oneshot #azriel fluff

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hugheswho · 1 day ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/hugheswho/790258708151205888/dont-wanna-say-goodnight

yoooooo part 2 blurb??? it’s really frickin cute!!

I’m glad you liked it! Thank you :)) This is longer than I thought but here you go! again vague mentions of vomit but nothing detailed

Part 2 to this!

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Luke got sick twice during the night, both times you ran after him into the bathroom to rub his back and cool his sweaty face with a damp towel. No words fell between you beyond the quiet praises from your lips to calm him down. Helping him back into bed after each episode, you could feel Luke tossing and turning all night. Your own anxiety about your boyfriend’s health kept you from getting a full night's rest, and at 5AM your body decided you were done sleeping.

You spent the next few hours in limbo. Switching from closing your eyes to try to fall back asleep, to scrolling your phone, and even watching Luke’s bare chest rise and fall as he slept, you finally elect to get up for the day. Tiptoeing to the bathroom, you shower and change as quietly as you can to not wake the sleeping bear only a few feet away from you. Your hair brush is somewhere in the deep depths of your bag, neither your eyes nor your hand find it in the dark room thanks to Luke’s blackout curtains. Sighing, you reach for the curtain to draw it just barely open.

“If you open that I’ll actually break up with you,” Luke’s gravely voice breaks the silence and makes you jump. Your hand flies to your heart and you catch your breath as you turn to look at the man, still lounging in bed with his eyes closed. If he hadn’t just jumpscared the hell out of you, you would’ve thought he was still sleeping.

“Good morning to you too, little yellow bird,” you coo while slightly opening the curtain, immediately being met with Luke’s groan when he can see the light behind his closed lids.

“Just a little bit, it’s good for you. Plus then I can see your pretty little hungover face,” you sit next to him and he throws his arm over his eyes to hide, yet he still absentmindedly leans in closer to you.

“C’mon don’t you know what I’ve been through??”

“Oh trust me I know. Did it taste as good coming up as it did going down?” poking his belly, you can’t help but tease him after the hell he put the whole house through last night.

His arm that was covering his eyes comes up near your face and dances around, landing on your cheek, eye, forehead, like a baby discovering their limbs for the first time.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for the off button,” Luke grumbles.

“You must still be drunk to be saying silly things like that.”

Luke pulls the blanket up further to rest just under his chin, “You’re mean.”

“I’m not mean, you just had fourteen drinks last night,” you run your fingers through his curls to bring him back down to Earth.

“That wasn’t me.”

Biting your lip to stifle your giggle, you raise your brows, “Oh it wasn’t?”

“Something possessed me,” Luke says dead serious, opening his eyes for the first time all morning.

This time you can’t stop the laugh that leaves you, “Don’t you hate when the consequences of your actions sneak up on you like that?”

He once again emits a very Luke-esque grumble that no other mammal could ever recreate and flops over to his belly, “Just let me die here.”

“Oh no, I can't afford a funeral right now.”

Luke goes quiet and you start to rub his back up and down, hand falling in and out of every dimple, muscle, and shoulder blade. You study him for a few moments in silence, taking in how his nose clogs and makes his breathing heavy the way it always does when he’s hungover, the way he digs his own hand into his hair for something to hold onto, the barely-there frown on his plump lips. You shimmy from your position to lay on your side facing him. He avoids looking at you until you whisper his name, then his glossy eyes meet yours. You know he hates feeling this way and it breaks your heart to see him in discomfort.

“What do you need?” you ask softly.

“You,” he whispers back, voice vulnerable.

The two of you smile softly at each other. You guide his head to rest on your chest, leaning down to kiss the top of it. His grip on your waist is unforgiving, like your touch is the only thing that can cure him and if he loosens it, you’ll slip away forever. Yet, he knows, you’re never letting go.

#luke hughes #luke hughes fanfic #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x you #bells writes sometimes

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eldritch-sanctum · 3 days ago

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*deep breath*

I just want to say that, it’s beautiful that even old technology is celebrated, that the ingenuity of our ancestors is given credit. The bits of old technology emerge first and give rise to the next and still remain relevant. Like Senku using a spear thrower to launch a flash bomb; spear throwers were invented in prehistory and were a breakthrough in hunting. In this part, they talk about the sunstone, which is heavy theorized to be Iceland spar, a type of calcite. I am a documentary junkie and saw a documentary on this.

Also that part where someone (I think it was Ukyo?) looked at a giant pantograph and was just casually like “I wonder if that is how the Nazca lines were made” I just—my jaw dropped. It is an interesting idea but I don’t think it could ever be proven. However I like that it acknowledges that people long ago could just be as brilliant as today with what they have.

*even deeper breath*

This show touches on several of my special interests….

Among them “primitive” technology and the anthropology and archeology of building and architecture. I also like maker culture which is about the democratization of technology and science. For Senku, science is to be shared and taught to everyone, rather than locked up in institutions. It is to be accessed and used even by people like Chrome and Suika who can’t read and in a world where Ph.Ds aren’t relevant yet. The amateur is celebrated and appreciated, something that is looked down upon now because of institutionalization. In all fairness I can understand why because now we live in a world where we have to sift through propaganda and pseudoscience and so many people getting things wrong. Yet we can’t forget that even Charles Darwin was an “amateur” and science and technology have existed long before science journals and college degrees existed.

Maker/hacker culture seeks to make technology less of a mysterious black box. And maybe that is a crucial thing to foster science literacy.

Another interest of mine is also off-grid living. And I admit that I am kind of an anprim, because ironically there is scientific evidence that agriculture and industrialization made human lives worse. Yet we couldn’t have done the research to prove it. And we have a much better understanding of the universe now; I highly doubt humanity could ever go to space or the bottom f the ocean or discover the color of dinosaurs or communicate across vast distances instantly without modern industrialization; and it does make me feel torn. Some things have improved like infant mortality rates and protection from fatal illnesses like rabies and tetanus. Now we have the perspective to see what works and what isn’t working. What is clear is that capitalism and industrialized society have lent to modern society being hostile to human wellness, but a better world is still possible after that.

Sorry, went on a tangent there.

But yes, off-grid, post-industrial living off the land is one of my life goals for a very long time and I have even researched and drawn up designs about it.

And then there is Gen.

I studied psychology in college. Unless you want to be a psychiatrist or therapist, studying psychology as a serious science is…well you have to get used to not being respected well. Psychology exists in a tenuous middle-ground between hard sciences and other studies like sociology and anthropology. Both sides love to egg on psychology, and I even was bullied on a Discord server by a so-called anthropologist (he only took a few classes and claims to be an anthropologist) who took whatever chance he got to call every time I brought up psychology studies as garbage.

And even in college I talked to a sociology professor who criticized psychology as a “not a science” (which is very pot and kettle) right in front of my face when I told him I majored in psychology.

I once spoke to a psychologist who was part of an NGO group for humanitarian research stuff. She said the “hard scientists” ignored her often.

Every time I bring up that I majored in psychology, people always assume I want to be a therapist, or worse—that I am part of a system that oppresses people harmed by clinical psychology. I am often reluctant to admit what I studied because of fear that someone would get angry at me and call me someone who wants to lock up all autistic people in mental hospitals and blames depression soley on a chemical imbalance rather than external pressures.

So Gen, despite an amateur, uses psychology in his profession and despite his books being pop psychology, he shows that psychology that isn’t clinical psychology is something real and useful. He mentions things like Dunbar’s Number which does have serious scientific backing, but the number is ranged from 60-200 depending on the study and method. Also I did learn about magic tricks in one of my psychology classes because it was on the psychology of perception, which is very much what magic tricks operate on. Mentalism is a form of applied psychology for exploitative or entertainment reasons, but knowing it is also the best defense against it.

Yet Gen reminds me that knowing about the science of behavior can make one see their entire behavior and presentation become…a curated performance. The behavior of others becomes another force of nature to be examined and studied. If you aren’t careful you dehumanize yourself and others, you feel like an arrogant alien being surrounded by subjects. Genuineness stops being relevant, all faces are masks, free will is an illusion, we are all just animals.

And yet it brings a great amount of understanding of others apart from judgement. It is the great enlightenment of psychology that I really do cherish a lot, because it is so rare in Western society and the lack of it is a massive force of oppression in its own right.

Anyway, I am getting sided-tracked here.

It’s hard to tell whether Gen’s behavior is an act or not, my interpretation is that he isn’t sure either. He has goals and has to use strategies to influence others. Nonetheless they are important and without Gen, the Kingdom of Science would have been dead early on or resort to bloodshed.

Gen also displays a lot of understanding of others, which also helps him interpret intentions, messages, even understanding others who are difficult to understand…like Senku.

So I just really like this form of psychology representation here, among science where it belongs. Even if it’s in the context of performance real psychology principles and strategies are used. They don’t always work of course.

And Gen isn’t an evil mastermind about it. He’s a trickster who uses his talents for good. Gen works in human conflict where brute force isn’t suitable. To sabotage, trick, borrow time, and negotiate. Classic trickster behavior. And then there are his tricks against Ryusui like making him buy a card to the hot air balloon voyage.

So yeah that was a lot…

It isn’t just Senku, it’s the combined work and skills of everyone with him. He values them, like Taiju’s strength, Yuzuriya’s crafting, Ryusui’s instinct and experience, Gen’s insight and psychology, Luna’s medical experience and knowledge, Suika’s curiosity and observational talent, Kohaku’s strength, Soyuz’s memory, etc etc. Everyone has something to contribute.

Man, i love Dr. Stone and how it shows so much love for curiosity and the passing of knowledge. I love seeing Senku so happy watching Chrome find the answers with the knowledge he is acquiring.

I love how thinking about the stories of the past Suika gives a guide to building a new way to problem solving, which is not really new! but knowledge is cyclical and Chrome's wit rediscovers it AAAAAAH,

I love how ancient knowledge of the Vikings that Ryusui remembered is now just as useful and once again drives humanity to find its way at sea!

I love how creativity is so loved, how every skill is appreciated and valued as a fundamental piece to rebuilding the world. I always say this, but this series really feels like a love letter to humanity's perseverance, curiosity and will!!

I just loved this story so much 💚

#dr. stone #dr. stone analysis #yes we are going there #really long ass post #you have been warned

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elliesfreckle · 2 days ago

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seam

⚢ synopsis : you’re new to the salt-lake city’s st. mary hospital. ellie’s not. you were trained to make the stitches perfect. ellie was trained to save people—not to be saved. now you’re the one holding the needle.

⚢ paramedic!ellie × female!doctor!reader

⚢ content warning : mdni. hospital au. mild angst. mentions of violence and blood and injuries. medical procedures. hurt/comfort. reader comforts ellie.

⚢ word count : 7.3k

2 in 3 survey respondents (67%) reported having been physically assaulted while practicing EMS.

Nearly all (91%) respondents reported having been verbally assaulted while practicing EMS.

Studies indicate that approximately 10–15% of EMS personnel exhibit symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), significantly higher than the general population.

Verbal attacks, including graphic threats, racial slurs, and other language aimed to frighten or offend, are a regular occurrence in the field for EMS workers

‘show me where it hurts the most so i know where to love you the softest’

You watched her more times than you ever let yourself admit.

Different days blurred into each other—morning, night, pre-dawn greys—and still there she was; tens of patients slipped through her hands like fleeting shadows. Unless her fingers were curled around a half-crushed cigarette or a bitter hospital coffee cup stained the colour of dried blood. Sometimes both. Always both.

She left you standing there in the dim blue, the smell of wet asphalt curling around your ankles, wondering how many wounds those hands had closed—and how many remained open inside her own chest—as she disappeared into the siren-lit dark on her next call.

Your gaze lingered on her longer than it should.

The same ambulance every time, that battered box of rushing lights; the same crew—their driver’s laughter ricocheting off emergency bay walls loud enough to drown out her voice. And her—with that auburn hair twisted into a hasty half-bun, stray strands escaping from under her bandana. Some days it was navy blue, other days black with scattered stars. But you loved it most when she wore the graphite-grey one with small white moths drifting across the fabric like quiet thoughts she’d never say out loud.

Her uniform almost always blended into the dawn—that deep paramedic blue merging with the roads and gloom, leaving only the thin silver stripes of her reflective bands to catch your gaze as she moved. Sometimes, when calls ran late into the warm breath of morning, she’d shed the heavy jumpsuit and stand there in just a dark t-shirt, unfazed by the cold. That’s when you’d catch a glimpse of the ink coiling around her forearm, dark against pale skin—but never close enough to see what it was. Just another part of her you were never meant to read.

Her face at the end of a shift carved your chest open: something about the way she looked smoking alone in the shadowed break zone, eyes somewhere far beyond the fading streetlights, her shoulders lowered; something about her made the cigarette between your own fingers burn down to a silent column of ash, untouched.

It made you want to step closer. To inhale her exhaled smoke like oxygen. To taste the bitter brand of her cigarettes on your tongue. To rest your palm on the fragile cage of her ribs and count her pulse—measure her existence in quiet systoles and diastoles, one by one. To know, for a moment, that she was still there—when she looked like she wasn’t at all.

There was never enough time to say anything real. When you stepped outside for a quick respite between patients, she was already gone—flashlights fading into the damp dark. Circles of red, white, and blue. Blood, your med gown, and her uniform. Or she’d arrive just as you exhaled that last breath of smoke, pushing through the ambulance bay doors with someone clinging to life under her hands.

Your shifts never lined up the way you wished they would. Different clocks. Different doors. The most you could do was catch her shape in passing: the chestnut shade over the blue, elusive figure, the hasty gait of someone used to counting seconds of delay slipping into your memory like an impulse you couldn’t let go of. You didn’t know her, not really. But your eyes kept finding her all the same—like they owed her that small, quiet insistence of being seen.

She moved through your world like a passing siren—urgent, loud in her silence, and gone before you could even think of something to say. There was never space for words. Not when she was carrying someone’s life. Not when your pager screamed in your pocket, dragging you back to your own drowning patient.

That’s the thing about working in emergency. You’re always tending to the dying or running from them. There’s no pause for introductions. No quiet corners for first names or favourite songs. Just a glimpse of her, sleeves rolled up past her elbows, gloves pulled tight over long fingers, jaw set with that fierce, fragile concentration—and then she’s gone, swallowed by the next call, the next street, the next heartbeat that needed hers more than you did.

Habits, once carved deep into your bones by duty and routine, rarely changed. They hadn't changed. But sometimes, by some mercy of rosters and schedules, the world—St. Mary’s endless glass and steel corridors—gives you five minutes. Not a golden hour. Just a sliver of time sharp enough to split your morning in half.

It doesn’t even feel real. It feels like a cliché—the tired kind they romanticize in Grey’s Anatomy. You’ve never actually watched it, but somehow still hate it. You’re standing here now, leaning back against a concrete column outside the emergency bay, thumb bruising the empty plastic of a disposable lighter, flicking again and again with no spark. The filter of the cigarette clenched between your lips, the taste of stale paper and nicotine ghosting your tongue.

Then there is a spark.

“Hey, doc. Need some fire?”

Her voice comes from your left. She’s stepped up beside you, leaning with one shoulder against the wall like it’s the easiest thing, lazy and loose. From a distance, anyone would think she looks relaxed, almost careless—but now you’re close enough to see the grey shadow of exhaustion hollowed beneath her eyes, etched deep into the soft skin there, like bruises that no amount of sleep could heal.

It comes hoarse from the cold or the last call she took—you can’t tell. She holds out a lighter—metal, heavy, engraved with something you can’t read. For a second the world narrows to nothing but the flick of her thumb and the quiet hiss of flame.

You read her name stitched above her chest pocket—just ‘Ellie’. No surname. No hint at anything more. It tastes bittersweet, fitting her perfectly.

Her fingers smell of mint antiseptic, yours of lemon foam soap. You hate lemon. But you think you could get used to mint.

You cup your hands around hers to shield the flame from the restless wind, bending forward until the warmth of the fire kisses your cigarette. Ellie’s hands are coarse from gloves and cold air, fingertips split with small healing cracks. You know yours feel the same—dry, raw, the skin punished by constant scrubbing. The price of lives saved. The small one at this point, right?

“Thanks,” you murmur, exhaling smoke between words.

She flips the lighter closed with a soft metallic click. “No problem.”

Ellie shifts her weight against the column and adds, almost like an afterthought, her eyes still on the empty parking lot—yours on her.

“Tough night?”

You huff a quiet laugh, smoke curling past your lips. “Aren’t they all?”

She gives a small shrug, eyes flicking to yours briefly before returning to the street. Then she offers you a tiny smile in the corner of her mouth, the one that makes something in your chest ache.

“Damn, you’re right.”

One of her boots taps lightly against the concrete, a restless rhythm you can almost hear, or maybe it’s the subtle drumming of her fingers against the side of her thigh, marking out a beat only she knows.

You steal a glance at Ellie—a real glance, now that she’s close enough for the thin light to slip across her features. Freckles. Dozens of them, scattered rust-brown over pale skin like copper splinters against snow. It’s too cold for freckles to exist, with too little sun for them to burn so bright, but there they are—stubborn, vivid, almost defiant.

She’s shorter than you thought. Somehow, in your mind, she’d always loomed taller—maybe it was the way she carried herself, heavy with silent purpose. Her voice surprises you too. Softer than you imagined. Not rough or low or cutting like her jawline might suggest. Almost gentle. Almost boyish.

It’s hard to tell the color of her eyes. They’re narrowed against the dim dawn light, lashes casting shadows that break her gaze into fragments. Brown, maybe. Green. Hazel. You can’t tell, and somehow that feels right—like even her eyes refuse to give everything away.

Today she’s wearing a new bandana. Red—but not the red of ambulance lights or fresh arterial blood. It’s warmer and softer, like a cowboy’s neckerchief in an old western film, muted and worn by years of sun and grit. You know you’ll think of that red next time you peel off blood-soaked gloves in trauma bay three.

There’s a small silver stud piercing her brow, nestled into an old scar that cuts through it at an angle. Another mark of what she’s survived. Her forearm is inked with dark leaves and wings—you see it now, as clear as you see your own palms—curling over the ridge of another healed scar, half-hidden by her rolled-up uniform sleeve. She’s draped in fabric, metal, ink, and old wounds—all those layers wrapped tight around whatever truth lives underneath.

For the briefest, most fragile moment, you want to be someone allowed to touch what’s beneath all that steel.

Ellie moves beside you, pulling her lighter back into her pocket, and tugs at the thin wire disappearing under red fabric. You realize she’s wearing cheap wired earbuds, the kind you can buy for five bucks at a gas station, one dangling loose against her chest.

“Hey,” she says. “Want an ear?”

You blink at her. “What?”

She pulls out the free bud and offers it to you between calloused fingers. Up close, you hear the faint bleed of music from the bud—soft guitar and a woman’s voice, low and smoky, carrying something tired and tender in every note. It feels… intimate. Unexpectedly so. It’s like Ellie’s offering you a pulse from her own chest.

“You don’t have to,” she shrugs, almost embarrassed now. “Just… figured you might wanna hear something that isn’t alarms or screaming for a sec.”

You hesitate only for one blink before you take the earbud from her hand. Your fingers brush, bare skin against bare skin, and you move in closer to place it into your ear. Closer than you meant to. Closer than you’ve ever been. You can’t tell if it’s her quiet breath ghosting over the hollow of your throat or just the breeze slipping beneath the V-neck of your scrub top.

The music spills into you instantly—quiet guitar, a woman’s voice soft and hushed, singing words that make your chest tighten until it’s hard to breathe. Like she’s singing straight into your bones, to all the silent parts of you that never learned how to speak.

You’re staring at the ground, at the faded bloodstains on your clogs, at the faint reflection of ambulance lights in the rain-slick concrete. You don’t see that Ellie’s not looking at the parking lot anymore. She’s looking at you.

One of your eyes is always half-shut

Somethin' happened when you were a kid

I didn't know you then and I'll never understand

Why it feels like I did

You swallow around the sudden ache in your throat, pulse fluttering against the collar of your scrubs. The song feels too raw, too knowing. Like it’s been waiting there all along for this moment, for you to hear it beside her, breathing in the same bitter air.

You

You must've been lookin' for me

Sendin' smoke signals

Your eyes go wide. The smoke catches in your throat, sudden and thick, and you almost cough on it. It makes you wonder if Ellie hears it the same way. Wonder if that’s why she offered the earbud in the first place.

Her eyes catch yours—sharp, a little sly beneath those fiery lashes that flicker like embers. She hears it the same—it’s clear. Her thumb skims the edge of the lighter in her pocket, metal on metal. The frayed dirty-white wire between you isn’t the red string, of course. It’s more practical—more real. Like surgical suture, thin and strong enough to hold flesh together.

It hasn’t stitched you to her yet. But it’s tangled you both in the same knot, with the song that’s meant for this exact moment, for this exact pair of strangers.

Ellie’s lips curve into a small, knowing smile.

“Smoke signals, huh?” she says under her breath, almost teasing. “Fitting.”

Her gaze holds yours for a heartbeat longer—unspoken, but charged—before she finally looks away, leaving the space humming with what’s left unsaid. No explanation. No follow-up. Just a word left hanging between you.

It almost feels like there’s a world beyond the bay doors—a world where people touch each other softly, where music plays for no reason other than it existing, where your lungs don’t taste like smoke and antiseptic and grief.

But then the real doors hiss open again, snapping the illusion in two like a sterile package.

The pause, the one stretched thin between smoke and melody, burns down to the filter. The shared wire goes slack.

Somewhere behind Ellie, someone whistles—a sharp sound that slices through the air. You follow her gaze. There’s a woman with amazing hair and a man whose voice carries even across the parking lot. They’re waving. At her, of course. But maybe… at you too.

You raise a lazy salute back. Smile, almost despite yourself.

She doesn’t say goodbye. Neither do you. But something about the way she steps back, facing you the whole time—a little slower than necessary, the way her eyes stay locked on yours—makes it feel like a promise anyway. There’s a glint in her brow, a little silver catching the light, just like her smile does.

“You’re good company,” Ellie says, almost offhand, and you know you’ll hold onto it longer than you mean to.

Then she turns, and the two of them catch up to her. One throws an arm around her shoulder, says something with a grin. Ellie laughs. Bats him off. Teases back.

She doesn’t look back. But you’re certain—she knows you’re still watching.

Her eyes are green, you realize it now.

The day moves slowly.

Your shift unfolds in muted tones: a kitchen burn, a twisted ankle, a boy with a Lego up his nose who leaves beaming, popsicle in hand. It’s the kind of rhythm you almost wish for—not quiet, but manageable. Nothing unfixable. You move like clockwork through the familiar steps, write notes, change gloves, smile where it’s needed. Your feet ache, but your brain hums in a low, steady gear.

But then—like a power line vibrating, the air begins to buzz.

The stillness isn’t still anymore. It’s waiting.

You feel it in the way the nurses fall quieter, how the charge tech stays half-turned toward the radio. You feel it in your pulse, syncing to something unspoken. Like the hospital has shrunk—no more cafeteria chatter, no distant footsteps down sterile hallways. Just this room and the voice.

“Fourteen-year-old female, restrained passenger, T-bone collision, high impact. Stable airway. BP ninety over sixty. GCS fourteen. Tachycardic, signs of internal bleeding. ETA three minutes.”

The pre-arrival report hits hard.

Fourteen.

You flex your fingers, once, twice—the motion is meant to loosen the stiffness, but it doesn’t do much. Your gloves are still on the tray. You reach for them without thinking. Somewhere in the distance, monitors chirp their sterile rhythm. Closer, someone mutters a code to the charge nurse. You stand by the trauma bay doors, waiting. It’s not your first call, not your first child. But it hits every time like the first one.

“Page surgery. Tell them we’ve got a possible internal bleed with unstable vitals. I want that OR hot and ready by the time she rolls in.”

You give the order to the guy by the phone—he dials the number and relays the message to the OR, as if handing over the key to a life saved.

The voice is Ellie’s, you notice belatedly, like a side thought. Her low, focused register. The clarity behind every syllable. She’s already in the thick of it. And as you pull on your gloves, count your breaths, you brace to meet her there.

You don’t need the rest of the dispatch to know what’s arriving. Something heavy. Something that drips dread from the soles of its boots. There’s a patient in that rig whose life is unspooling thread by thread—and Ellie is threading the needle, racing to hold it together.

The hospital bends in unknowable ways.

Corridors twist like veins—some clogged, some bleeding, some lit in soft gold like redemption. You’ve walked them long enough to know: the cycle loops here. Life and death curl through the same doors, ride the same stretchers, sometimes held in the same hands.

Within this endless turning, your path and Ellie’s are destined to cross at moments that matter most.

After the chaos, after the desperate fight for breath and heartbeats, you picture a quiet moment shared between you: two silhouettes leaning against the cold counter, the tension melting away in a lull carried by another song you’d offer. You would ask her when she gets her day off, and she would shrug with that indifferent charm, like time is a stranger you both barely recognize. Maybe she’d smile, just a little, and stay a moment longer in the calm before the storm.

But both of you walked away from peace a long time ago—willingly. The double doors crash open like the inhale before panic, and the world narrows to red.

They wheel her in fast. Everything spins fast now on your fingertips, holds its breath, counts seconds. Face as pale as printer paper, streaked with dried blood. A cervical collar holds her neck in place, chest rising unevenly beneath a too-large hoodie. She’s small—smaller than you imagined when Ellie called her ‘passenger.’

There’s a vivid slash of red bisecting her cheek where the glass bit. A faint, blooming bruise crawls up from beneath the collarbone, the unmistakable signature of a seatbelt. Life-saving. Life-threatening.

You glimpse the numbers on the monitor: HR one-forty. She’s shocked. Breathing fast. Still conscious. Still here.

And holding the stretcher at her side, pressing one steady hand to a blood-soaked bandage over the girl’s abdomen, is Ellie. She comes in like a stormlight.

She doesn’t look up right away—too focused. A second medic holds the opposite rail. You catch the glint of golden hoops under her curls. Dina. Ellie’s glove squeaks as she adjusts pressure, her mouth a tight line.

“She was belted,” Dina reports, clenching the rails. “Passenger side. Car ran a red and hit them at sixty. She was awake on scene. Responsive. We’ve got suspected pelvic fracture, open radius on the right. GCS fourteen when we loaded, twelve now.”

“Two lines in, oxygen running, BP still dropping,” Ellie adds quickly.

The voice now has a face again. Eyes sharp, barely blinking under the harsh lights.

You nod once, already checking the monitor. “Let’s cross-match. I want type O standing by.”

The girl shifts and whimpers.

“Hurts.”

“I know, kiddo,” Ellie murmurs, barely above a breath. “You’re doing good. Almost there.”

Her voice trembles just a little at the edges. You see it in her eyes when she looks down at the girl: a kind of fierce, quiet urgency, as if this child’s breath is tethered to something inside her too.

Like she needs this girl to make it just to keep something intact within herself. There’s no hesitation in her, only that steadfast will you’ve seen before in people who’ve already lost too much. She holds on like she’s holding herself together.

You move in with your team. The tempo accelerates—vitals shouted, IVs opened, blood drawn. Ellie doesn’t leave; another pair of knowing hands never hurts.

The girl’s eyes flutter open again. She stares at Ellie.

“I like your bandana,” she whispers. Graphit grey. Moths.

Ellie huffs something like a laugh, but it’s hollow.

“I’ll get you one.”

You feel it—the whole room balancing on the edge of something fragile. As if one wrong word could tip it all. You’re already moving.

There’s a rhythm to this place when it matters most. The space itself understands what’s required. No one raises their voice. There’s only movement, deliberate and fast, as though all of you share one breath, one pulse. An invisible thread connects hands to tools, eyes to monitors, minds to the patient on the stretcher.

Her pupils react, but sluggishly. Eyes close one more time. Her pulse weakens by the second. Her skin is too pale now. The monitor flattens and then kicks back up again—a warning. You feel Ellie hovering close. But she doesn’t interfere. She knows and seems like she trusts.

“BP’s dropping—seventy over forty.”

Someone to your right is already hooking her to the monitor.

“Pulse thready. 140 and climbing.”

“She’s guarding. Belly’s rigid,” you say. “Intra-abdominal bleed.”

You don’t need a scan to know it. Her body is telling you everything.

You gesture sharply toward the nurse nearest you.

“Two large-bore IVs. Wide open. Start crystalloids.”

Then to respiratory:

“Bag her. Get me a 7.0 tube and a blade.”

There’s a murmur behind you: “Portable ultrasound’s on its way—”

“No time,” you cut in. “Tell them to hold the OR—we’re not making it unless she stabilizes.”

You slide closer, fingers pressing gently, assessing. Skin cold. Cap refill delayed.

“She’s decompensating,” someone mutters. You already know.

“Epi. 1 milligram. IV push.”

You slip into that practiced mode—not detachment, no, never that, but something honed and trained. Gloved hands apply pressure; direct orders flow from your lips. The team responds like muscle memory. Tubes in, fluids running. Your own heartbeat becomes background noise.

The monitor begins to slow. Then the line goes flat. It screams what her body no longer can.

“Starting compressions,” you say, already leaning in.

You move with certainty, the weight of every training session, every case before this one, packed into motion. One-two-three-four. You count out loud.

Your palms press down rhythmically, precisely—the heel of each hand digging into the girl’s narrow chest, the fragile rise of ribs beneath the skin yielding just slightly, like the surface of something meant to break. You can feel the sternum shift under pressure, then not.

“Bag every thirty. Let’s go.”

You switch. Resume compressions. Another round. Another minute. No response.

The girl’s lips part, but no life comes through. For one impossible second, it feels like something flickers under your fingers—not a pulse, not quite, but the echo of one. As if life were a string just barely within reach, and all you have to do is grab it, hold tight. You keep pressing. Keep reaching. The ribcage creaks. There’s blood at the IV site now, a smear blooming against pale skin, and time is spilling just as fast.

You pause, glancing at the screen.

“Give another epi. Start a second line. Keep fluids running.”

Ellie hasn’t moved. She’s behind the chaos, but her presence feels close, like something gravitational. Her eyes are locked on the girl, and something in them sharpens, hardens—the kind of need that demands the world to listen.

You try again. Another rhythm of compressions. This time slower. Focused. Your voice starts to falter in your own head, but you keep going until the monitor answers you with silence. Not even a flicker.

You straighten slowly. Gloves hang heavy from your fingers, like they belong to someone else.

“Time of death…” someone says.

The words float past you.

A nurse moves behind you, pulling the curtain half-shut, maybe as a kindness. The room drains around you like the sea pulling back after impact; a wave receding, leaving wreckage in its wake. Footsteps scatter. Clipboards reappear, charts begin to fill. Death, it turns out, demands a surprising amount of paperwork.

You hear the soft rustle first. A shift of weight. Ellie is lowering herself to the floor, her back hitting the wall like she can’t stand upright another second. She’s collapsing more than sitting, legs stretched out, head tipped back. One hand limp at her side, the other curled slightly like it’s still pressing into a wound that’s no longer bleeding.

You follow and sit beside her in silence, your back hits the cold tile. Your breath is still coming short, hands aching from the compressions. They tremble against your thighs, and you clench them, useless. Something inside you scrapes raw.

The curtain ripples faintly behind you. Voices fade. For now, it’s just the two of you in the aftermath.

Ellie doesn’t speak. There’s no expression on her face, no face at all, only void. Not the absence of feeling, but the presence of something worse. She isn’t a person in that moment—she’s grief, made flesh.

A hollow shaped like a human. A silence you could fall into and never find the bottom.

Slowly, she pulls the bandana from her head. It’s damp with sweat. She wipes her face with it, slow, methodical—eyes still unfocused. Then stares at the cloth in her hands, like she doesn’t recognize it.

And then it hits her, you can see it. In that look is everything unspoken: failure. Fury. Regret that doesn’t know where to land.

Ellie finally pulls her gloves off, slowly, like it hurts to let go.

“I hate when they’re that small,” she mutters, not looking at you.

You say nothing. There’s nothing to say.

She draws her knees up, elbows balanced loosely on them. The crease between her brows is permanent. The burden on her shoulders too.

“Her dad died on impact,” she says after a beat.

You look at her. She doesn’t meet your eyes, maybe she can’t. Her voice doesn’t shake. If anything, it’s too even.

“She kept asking. I didn’t know what to say.”

You nod slowly, and there’s a flicker of something sharp under your ribs.

“She never knew.”

“Maybe that’s mercy,” you suggest.

“Maybe,” she agrees without believing.

You reach into your pocket, thumb brushing the edge of a crumpled pack of cigarettes. You don’t light one. Just hold it, pressing the soft cardboard flat, like you could crush the craving.

“Other driver?”

Ellie twists the fabric tighter. You hear the cotton strain.

“Broken clavicle. Couple ribs. Walked away.”

You blink and shake your head. Of course he did.

“They died,” you murmur, “and he’ll get a sling and a scar.”

Ellie exhales a sound that isn’t quite a laugh.

“The universe flips a coin,” she says. “And it lands wrong side up. Every time.”

You exhale, shaky, staring at the empty space in front of you for a moment. Your clogs are dirty.

"Is that mercy too?" you ask, not quite sure who you’re asking—the world, her, yourself.

"If that’s mercy, then I don’t want it."

The apple slices are cold.

You packed them from home that morning—sealed in a zippered pouch, soft with cinnamon, too dry to be fresh but familiar enough to finish.

The sweetness lingers as you chew, slow, distracted, seated on the edge of a vinyl couch in the staff lounge, shoes unlaced. The lights overhead buzz faintly, the kind of fluorescent hum you stop noticing after your second month in the ER.

The clock ticks toward midnight, the quiet is generous. A rare lull between traumas.

Ellie had been here not an hour ago.

She leaned against the wall like she owned the gravity in the room, one boot crossed over the other, arms folded, the navy of her uniform dusted with road salt and coffee stains and the tiredness that doesn’t wash off.

Her sleeves were shoved up to the elbows, exposing the scar on her right forearm—a thin, pale crescent that caught the light every time she moved. The wings covering it froze too. She didn’t sit. She never did when she didn’t have to. Said her legs didn’t know how to rest.

You were still chewing your first slice when she reached over and stole one from the pack, not breaking eye contact. She bit into it with all the entitlement of someone who’s done this a hundred times before—and knew she’d get away with it a hundred more.

“Was that the last cinnamon one?”

You asked, more out of routine than protest.

She just smirked, that half-lidded look that made her eyes shine darker.

“Didn’t check,” she said with her mouth full.

Then rolled her eyes when you stared her down, like the crime was yours for expecting decency.

The radio crackled before you could answer: a sharp, sputtering burst that sliced the air in two. Ellie froze mid-bite. Not startled, just… listening. Her head tilted slightly, like a wolf catching something just beyond the tree line.

“Unit Three, call in. Code response, address incoming.”

She chewed the rest in silence, tossing the stem of the apple slice back into the bag with a soft flack.

“Better be quick,” she muttered, grabbing her jacket off the back of the chair.

“You owe me coffee,” you said, without looking up.

“Save me the bottom of the thermos,” she called back, halfway through the door.

“You always say that.”

“And you never do.”

And then she was gone. Boots squeaking faintly down the corridor, the door swinging closed behind her like the last breath of a promise. Her absence didn’t feel like silence—it felt like pressure in your chest.

You don’t track hours anymore. Time passes in the number of patients patched, bled, sutured. It’s not Wednesday or Thursday. It’s two overdoses and a seizure, three stitches, and a stillbirth. It’s the count of how many made it through your hands without slipping.

You’re peeling the last slice of apple from its waxy bag when the radio speaks again.

“Female, late twenties, stab wound to the upper arm. Medic down. ETA four minutes.”

You freeze.

Not because it’s unusual—you’ve seen worse. But because you know who was on shift in Unit Three tonight.

The apple falls from your hand.

There are people who should never end up behind your trauma bay doors. Ellie became one of them so fast. But now they’re bringing her in. Nothing about the night feels still anymore.

You rush into the trauma intake area, your steps quick and measured.

The door creaks open. She’s there.

For a moment, you’re not sure what exactly you’re seeing—mostly blood. A torn sleeve. Her left hand clenched into a fist.

“I’m fine,” she says, before you even ask.

She’s not.

Ellie doesn’t wait for a stretcher. She walks in on her own, rigid and persistent. You see the disdain flicker across her face as she sidesteps the gurneys that she has carted through too many nights, too many battles. Dina walks beside her, silent and steady. She doesn’t reach out, because Ellie would reject that touch, that sign of vulnerability. She’s the one who always holds firm, who lets anyone lean on her, but not vice versa.

Ellie hates this wound, the blood smeared on her torn jacket, the way this night shreds the illusion of control she so fiercely clings to. She’s not herself—or rather, she’s not who she pretends to be.

Your gaze flickers past them to the figure trailing behind—Jesse. You’ve never seen him in the hospital before. He’s taut, wary. Just like Dina, just like Ellie. They’ve seen too much. They’ve been through hell, and still, they’re just people.

Around you, nurses shout back and forth: talk of police arriving, locked wards for patients under supervision. You catch the strained urgency in their voices, the fragile order trying to hold in place as chaos swirls outside.

You’re supposed to calm them down. This is what attending physicians do. But when it comes to Ellie, you realize you’re just human too. You’re gripping the edge of the counter, knuckles pale.

You’d seen Ellie hurt before—scraped and bruised. She always laughed it off. Always moved like she had somewhere else to be. But this is different. The way she holds her arm close to her side. The set of her jaw.

It takes a second longer than it should, but then it clicks back into place.

Not calm—never that. But function.

You lift your head.

“Someone get a trauma bay ready,” you call out, voice sharp, too clear. “Page Ortho for standby. And I want imaging ready for secondary survey. Just in case.”

Almost makes you believe you’re not falling apart inside. Then Ellie speaks.

“I’m not staying,” Ellie grits out. “It’s a fucking scratch.”

There’s blood staining the gauze like rust. She’s favoring her arm, barely disguising the tension in her shoulders. Her whole body’s coiled like she’s waiting to bolt.

“I can walk this off. Just clean it up and I’ll go.”

Your mouth opens—to do what, you’re not sure. Argue? Beg? But Dina cuts in without ceremony.

“Ellie. Shut the fuck up.”

Her voice is flat. Not cruel, but tired in a way that says we’ve already done this. She stands at Ellie’s side like a wall—shoulders squared, eyes unreadable.

“You’re not walking anywhere,” Dina continues. “You’re getting stitched. Properly. By someone who actually knows what they’re doing. So sit the hell down and let her help you.”

She points at you, and you feel…blessed? Ellie doesn’t look at you. She looks at the floor, then at the blood on her hands. Her jaw works silently for a beat. But she doesn’t argue again.

Jesse approaches, pale and silent, eyes flicking from you to Ellie and back. You catch the tremor in his hands before he shoves them into his jacket pockets.

“Call came in as a seizure in a parking garage. Seemed routine, but Ellie—she clocked something was off. The guy wasn’t postictal, just… too calm.”

Dina swallows hard, arms still crossed tight. “Before I could even get the bag open, he pulled a knife. Grabbed me—wanted the narcs. Morphine, fentanyl, whatever we had stocked.”

“She didn’t even blink,” Jesse adds, eyes flicking to Ellie again. “Stood between him and the kit. Told him to go ahead and try.”

You click your tongue, glancing at her for a second.

Dina exhales shakily, somewhere between pride and fear. “He slashed her. She still wouldn’t let him near the meds.”

“Can we not do the memorial service while I’m still bleeding?” she mutters. “I’m literally right here. And not dead.”

Her tone is dry, biting—but thinly veils the exhaustion underneath. Ellie may be all cracked edges right now, but she’s still the one dragging the spotlight off herself, even when the floor’s slick with her blood. Dina snorts quietly but doesn’t argue. Neither do you.

You scan the floor—too many eyes, too much noise. The nurses are doing what they always do: triaging, organizing, controlling the chaos. But Ellie doesn’t need chaos.

She needs space.

“I’ll take her,” you say, more to the room than to anyone in particular. “Treatment Four. Alone.”

You meet Ellie’s eyes for the first time since she walked in. She doesn’t protest. You move out of the brightness, down the corridor where the fluorescent hum is softer, the doors closed, the world waiting just beyond.

Stepping into the treatment room, you switch on the surgical lamp and let the harsh overheads stay off. Let the night be gentle, if nowhere else, then here. It smells like absence—of anything human.

Ellie follows later, her boots dragging just slightly—a sound she wouldn’t let slip on any other night. You point to the exam table without a word, and she climbs onto it like she’s done a hundred times before—with patients. Not like this. Never like this.

The stainless tray is already waiting—cold, clean, clinical. Syringe. Gauze. Forceps. Suture. A language of silence and habit. No poetry here, just function.

You press the pump beside the sink. Lemon-scented soap spills into your palm. The same one you always hated. But tonight, you don’t mind. You scrub fast, focused, as if time were something that could slip through your fingers. Ellie’s blood already has.

You snap on gloves. Tear the paper pouch of suture material open—with your teeth. It's rushed, clumsy, but it works. You’re past elegance now.

You ease the jacket off her shoulders, careful not to brush the wound. She’s silent, watching you with something unreadable, while you peel the sleeve back to reveal the wound: a deep, angry gash along her upper arm, just shy of needing surgical closure. It’s clean enough. Contained. But she’ll scar. You wonder if she’ll mind.

“I’ll numb it,” you say quietly, already drawing up lidocaine into the syringe. The metal tray clinks softly as you set it down beside.

Ellie scoffs under her breath. “Why bother?”

You pause for a moment. “Stop asking stupid questions.”

“Okay, doc.” she grins crookedly.

You inject the anesthetic slowly, watching her jaw clench, but she doesn’t flinch. She never flinches.

The exam table groans as Ellie shifts, bracing her uninjured hand against the edge of the table.

“He wanted the box. Got pissed when we didn’t hand it over.”

She says it like it's nothing. Like she's describing the weather.

Your heart skips; no, folds. A sharp, invisible inward motion, like the body trying to shield something soft. You imagine it: Ellie between the seats, between decision and reaction. Dina too close to the blade. Jessie slamming into reverse. The box—the one they guard like a life raft. Painkillers, sedatives, vials sealed in glass. Ellie wouldn’t give it up. Of course she wouldn’t.

There’s a type of ruin no one sees. The kind that doesn’t show up on x-rays or ultrasound. And it’s not her arm, or the torn fabric, or the way she won’t meet your eyes now. It’s the fracture underneath.

She’s so quietly wrecked that something in you breaks with her. No noise, no drama. Just a thread snapping, pulled too tight. Your fingers tremble once before you hide it. You reach for the next tool with precision that feels like a lie.

“He knew we were coming.”

Her fingers curl around the edge of the table.

“Didn’t hesitate. Like it was the plan all along.”

Each thing she says is like a fresh cut. Words are shrapnel. You pick up the needle, it’s curved. A sliver of cold steel glinting under the sterile light. Her next words hit you worse than a gunshot.

“He said hospitals are for the rich. Said the rest get the knife.”

She finally looks at you. And you wish she hadn’t.

Her lips parted. There is war in her eyes, which are rimmed with dark circles, and her freckles are faded and pale under the harsh hospital lighting. She’s drained from blood loss and sleepless nights. You can see it all—beneath the defiance, past the smirk she’s too tired to wear. The fear. The shame. The bitterness of being saved when she’s spent her life doing the saving.

“Hospitals are for the ones who need help. For broken. Wounded. Lost.”

Ellie’s voice is quieter and smaller. She doesn’t look away.

“Then maybe I’m in the right place. For once.”

Instead, she leans in—barely, but enough. Her shadow stretches closer to yours. The thin streaks of dust smudged across her cheekbones, caught in the dried sheen of sweat. A faint trace of dirt under her jaw. Proof she went down. That she hit the ground hard and didn’t care enough to wipe it away.

Something aches in you.

You want to reach out. Thumb the dust from her face, let your palm cradle the weight of her jaw. Let her rest her temple against your shoulder, even just for a minute. Just until the air in her lungs stops shaking. But your hands are full.

With gloved fingers, you lift the black nylon suture. It’s damp with antiseptic. You’ve done this before. Muscle memory guides your hands. But your heart doesn’t follow.

You lean closer, bringing the needle to her skin—and freeze.

Ellie doesn’t smell like metal. Not like hospitals. Not even like smoke anymore. She smells like cinnamon. Like apples warmed by breath. And something darker, bitter, grounding—coffee, maybe.

You hate how steady your hands need to be. You hate that they almost aren't. You inhale and pierce. The point slips beneath the surface, you watch it travel through, curve up on the other side, and catch it. The first knot is done. As if it could hold more than just torn flesh. As if it could hold her.

You’ve always been good at this. Your instructors used to call your sutures textbook-perfect—you never thought much of it. Only now, with Ellie do you realize what it means to offer your hands in the shape of care.

You wish you could touch her slumped shoulders with bare hands. Wish you could smooth every bruise the world left on her. But all you do is pierce her skin again. Add another mark to the map she never asked for. All you leave is another scar.

“Why do you do it?”

You try to make it sound casual, to fill the silence.

Ellie’s breath hitches—barely—but you hear it. The echo of it travels through the room, mixing with the low hum of ventilation.

“Do what? The job?”

“The ambulance.”

“Stop asking stupid questions,” she hits back without a blink. You pull the stitch through, shifting on your chair, and continue your reasoning unbothered.

“First aid’s everything. Surgeries, diagnoses—all that’s important. But the first five or ten minutes? They decide everything. Whether someone makes it to the OR… or doesn’t.” you pause to hold the nylon in your fingers in a different way. Then you go on.

“Most people don’t stick with it. It’s dirty. Dangerous. People die in your hands, in your arms. Then you do it again the next day.”

You look at her in an endless try to understand.

“So why did you stay?” your whisper caresses across her cheek.

“I don’t have some grand story for you.” her response curls around your lips.

You reach for the metal tray, taking a fresh gauze pad. Your eyes linger on her skin for a moment—torn, red, angry. The suture is almost finished.

“Everyone’s got one. Oncologists lose someone. Surgeons want to fix what couldn’t be fixed before. There’s always a story.”

“What’s yours?” Ellie raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t change the subject.” you smile, but it’s faint. She doesn't.

The needle breaks the quiet. She watches your hands, not your face. Ellie sighs sharply, runs her palm over her face.

“I lived. Others didn’t,” she says at last. There’s something hollow in the way the words come out. Like it’s been rehearsed, over and over in her head, but never out loud. “You said—five-ten minutes decide everything. Well, they decided.”

You crashed ninety-nine times before. She’s your hundred. She says it like dying is just one of the possible outcomes of being alive. Like she's already built a home inside that guilt and calls it survival.

You pause to tie another knot.

You want to say something like: You don’t owe the world your suffering. Or: You were just a kid. Or even: You made it out. I’m glad you did. But none of it feels right. None of it feels enough.

So you lean in just slightly, close enough for her to feel it even if you never touch her. And your voice is a whisper that brushes her shoulder, that doesn't try to fix her. Would it heal her if you’d kiss the freckle on her shoulder?

“They decided wrong.”

Your final stitch is tight and clean. Unshakable. It won’t make the scar disappear, but it will smooth it, maybe. Neat. Almost invisible in the right light.

For one heartbeat, you’re not a doctor.

You’re just someone sewing the person they love back into herself. One thread at a time.

⚢ an : okay it feels so weird. but believe it or not, this was originally supposed to be a 1.5k short story. well… anyway :)) i don’t have a med phd, i’m just a girl who loves to write fanfiction. don’t take it too seriously — some technical details might be incorrect. over and out is not dead, trust!! this idea just wouldn’t let me live in peace, it was haunting me — and i hope there was a greater purpose to that. also, i had so much fun writing this. i love short stories (7k words? yeah. short). sorry for any mistakes! it would be super nice of you to leave a comment, reblog, inbox, or just anything to let me know how you liked it!! mwah mwah thank you for reading <3

#ellie fanfic #ellie williams #fanfic #ellie tlou 2 #ellie x fem reader #the last of us #lesbian #ellie williams x reader #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader

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