#but he is not and has proved that time and time again

[to-the-stars8]

What Would You Like for Breakfast?

Jason Todd x Reader Ao3 NSFW 18+ Summary: You're shocked when the six-foot, scarred, hulking man you brought home from the bar tells you he's a virgin, but you'd be damned if you weren't going to make it good for him.

This is lowkey a sequal to this work, but this also works as a stand-alone!

Your kisses were hot and wet on Jason’s skin, marking a trail from his jaw, over his Adam's apple to his collarbone. As you worked to make him as pathetic as possible, his hands slowly, hesitantly, worked on your dress. 

He started with the straps, hands slowly pushing each one off your shoulder before fumbling with the zipper at the back. While his hands were slightly shaking, yours worked with more confidence—Pulling his shirt over his head with such speed it was like you were afraid it would stick to him if you waited any longer. The belt on his jeans was unfastened before he could register it. 

Jason was left a little breathless when he realized. 

“The zipper,” he gasped against your lips. He gave the zipper a good, solid tug to prove that it wasn’t going anywhere. Its stubbornness made the nerves in his stomach churn.

You breathed a laugh against his mouth as you pushed away from him a little bit. Reaching behind you, you fiddled with the zipper in calculated, meticulous ways, like it was a puzzle. 

“Damn thing,” You said with a giggle. After one more good tug, the sound of a ‘zip’ echoed in the mostly quiet room. As you shimmied out of your dress, holding onto Jason for support, you mumbled, “If I didn’t look so good in this thing, I would have thrown it out ages ago.”

Jason tried to laugh with you, but his mind was too distracted by your breasts. You must have noticed, because you took one of his hands and pressed it to your chest. He felt his cock harden as his thumb circled your nipple. You sighed and leaned up to press another hot kiss to his jaw, hands wandering his body. 

“Let’s move to the bedroom, hm? I think this hallway has seen enough action,” You whispered against his ear before taking his hand. Jason followed you like a dog on a leash. “I promise my bed’s comfy.”

When Jason entered your room, he thought it was pretty. Fairy lights around the bed frame, fake plants in corners, books scattered here and there. It felt like a place he could relax. You turned around, hands flat against his chest as you backed toward the bed.

"I...I need to tell you something," Jason said suddenly. It had been eating at him since you left the bar.

You paused, your expression shifting. "What is it, baby?"

Jason swallowed and pushed the words out of his mouth as fast as he could. “I’ve never done this before.” 

He was embarrassed and ashamed to be a virgin, more so since he was nearing twenty-three. But, he’d been working since he came back from the dead which left little time or desire to fuck anyone. Not that he was totally comfortable being touched by strangers when he first came back from the dead. It was your kindness, beauty, the comfort you made him feel, and cheesy jokes that got him where he was now. 

That, and Roy had encouraged him to go home with you. 

“Oh,” you said, sitting on the edge of the bed. Jason fiddled with his hands nervously, not sure what to say. When you patted the spot next to you, he did as you quietly commanded. There was a momentary stretch of silence before you finally spoke again. “Are you sure you want to do this with me?”

Jason finally felt himself take a breath. “Yes. If—if you want to, that is. I just…this isn’t just because you’re the first girl that—No, that came out wrong. I like you, and I’m attracted to you.”

You giggled, running your sweaty palms down your thighs before looking up at him. “You’re sure-sure about this?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

You nodded and rose to your feet. Jason started to follow, but you gently pressed a hand to his shoulder, guiding him back down. Stepping in close, you slipped between his knees, your forehead resting lightly against his.

As your nails scratched lightly through his hair, you mumbled against his mouth, “You mind taking these off for me?” You gestured down to his jeans. “Boxers, too.”

Jason, eager to please you, worked on getting himself free. Since his belt was already unfastened, all he had to do was work his jeans down his legs, his boxers going with them. You watched him closely, eyes drifting from his throat to his stomach, then lower. Kicking his jeans away, he sat before you, naked.

Your silence made Jason nervous. He glanced at your face, wondering if you were put off by his scars or something else.

When your gaze landed on his half-hard cock, your lips parted and your nails dug slightly into his shoulders. His hand reached up to lightly touch you, tracing a line from the curve of your hip up to under your breasts, making you look up to meet his gaze. A small smile tugged at your lips.

“You okay?” You asked. 

“Yeah,” He breathed. 

You ran your fingers through his hair again. “Good, baby. That’s good.” 

Before Jason could muster any words, you slowly dropped to your knees, hands dragging down his front as you did. You kissed the side of his knees, lips moving closer and closer until he could feel your breath against the head of his cock. 

“Is this okay, too?” You whispered, eyes flickering down to the leaking tip. Jason nodded, but you tutted and stood again. Your palms were flat against his knees as you leaned forward to get closer to his face. “I asked if it was okay if I sucked your dick? I didn’t hear a proper answer.”

Jason let out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh as he leaned in, capturing your mouth with his. There was always something desperate in the way he kissed you, like each touch calmed the nerves. When he finally pulled back, his breath hitched, and his nose lingered against yours.

“Yes,” he murmured, voice rough. “It’s okay.”

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you dragged your mouth along his jaw, then latched onto his neck, sucking hard enough to bruise. He twitched beneath you. You smiled against his skin before sinking to your knees again.

Your fingers curled around the base of his cock which was hot, heavy, and already slick. Jason gasped, head tipping back, fists twisting the sheets in white-knuckled fists. The sound made your stomach tighten with heat.

“Jason,” you whispered, letting his tip rest against your lips, teasing. A bead of pre-cum touched your mouth, and you licked it slowly, savoring the taste. “You’re so fucking pretty like this.”

He didn’t get the chance to answer.

You took him into your mouth and hummed low in your throat as he hit the back of it. What your mouth couldn’t reach, you stroked with your free hand. The other was shoved into your underwear, rubbing circles around your already swollen clit. You moaned when you felt him twitch in your mouth, your fingers moving to your core and pressing in. 

“Oh, fuck,” he choked out, voice wrecked. Jason didn’t know what to do. He wanted to chase the high that was approaching, to fuck your mouth, but didn’t want to hurt you. Instead, he held back, watching as your head moved.

“Shit,” he seethed when you pulled off his cock with a ‘pop’.  You didn’t want him to cum just yet, even though you were sure you would have loved the taste on your tongue.

You sat back on your heels, your fingers going back to working your clit for a second before you forced yourself to stop. When you looked back up, Jason was staring at you with half-lidded eyes as his cock bobbed up and down. 

Taking your hand out of your underwear, you spread your fingers to show off the wetness trailing between them. Jason’s cheeks flushed as he stared down at you, mouth open in awe. You looked like heaven kneeling before him with your lips plump from kissing too much, smeared in pre-cum and spit, as you played with your clit over the fabric of cotton underwear. 

“Did you like that?” You asked with a smile. Jason caught you as you wobbled a bit, knees a little sore from kneeling for so long, and you leaned into him. 

“Yeah, that was—Fuck,” Jason breathed, his back hitting the bed. You were straddling him now, soft thighs caging his hips under you. 

You giggled, leaning forward to kiss him. Your tongue slipped into his mouth, letting Jason taste himself. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer so that your breasts pressed against his chest. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” Jason whispered. You moaned lightly against his lips, grinding down against his cock. He could feel your wetness through your underwear, sparking electricity through his whole body. “Fuck, you’re—you’re wet.”

“I am,” You said with a breathy laugh. “Wanna feel?”

You rolled to lie beside him, propping yourself up on your elbow and guiding his hand into your underwear. The soft squelch as his fingers met your folds made his breath catch. Your hand stayed over his, showing him how to touch you.

"Like that?" he asked.

You nodded, eyes fluttering. "Just like that. Oh—fuck, Jason, you’re doing so good, baby."

Lifting your leg, you guided his fingers to prod at your core. Jason seemed awestruck by how plush you felt when he pushed a finger into you, and how your body reacted. Your pussy fluttered around his thick finger as your hips began to grind down onto his hand. When he made a ‘come-hither’ motion, just like you had shown him, you cried out his name. 

Pride bloomed in his chest, and he added a second finger. You gasped, hand gripping his bicep. His fingers stretched you, just a little, and filled you in a way you hadn’t expected. 

“I,” You paused, gasping when he began moving his hand. “I don’t wanna cum, yet. You’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that.”

Jason leaned toward you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Why not?”

You whined, reaching down to grab his wrist to make him stop. He did, waiting for your next command. “Just…not yet.”

You pulled yourself off his hand, clenching around nothing once you were empty, before moving further up the bed. He followed, but you stopped with a hand on his chest.

“Condom?”

“Oh!” He hurried off the bed to where his jeans lay on the floor. 

You watched Jason with a smile, pushing your thighs together and holding your hands close to your chest as the excitement rose. His big hands checked every pocket, turning them inside out, before checking his wallet. When that proved empty, he looked at you, embarrassed.

“I thought I had one, but I think I left it.” He dropped his jeans, standing at the end of your bed with his arms folded, like he was trying to shrink in on himself. 

You smiled and reached over to your nightstand. You felt around for a second before pulling out a condom. “Best advice I ever received was always to keep one of these bad boys in your drawer.”

You urged Jason to crawl back onto the bed by reaching for his hand. He took it, and you positioned him between your thighs, each leg resting over his hips. Tearing open the wrapper, you held the condom up. 

“You wanna put it on, or would you like me to do it?” 

Jason laughed a little. “I think I’d like you to do it.”

“I was hoping you would say that,” You said with a coy smile. 

His cock twitched when you touched it, and before you slid the condom on, you admired him. He was long and thick, flushed with precum beading on the tip again. No doubt he would give you a stretch—more of a stretching than that big hand gave you—but you craved it. 

Once the condom was on, you lay back against the pillows, reaching down to guide him to your entrance. He poked at you slowly, bracing himself with a hand on either side of your head before easing in.

Your mouth fell open with a long, loud moan as his dick split you open. Jason groaned, leaning closer as he pressed deeper, bottoming out. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, catching your breath. Jason was broad—his body caging yours in a way that made you shiver. That alone was a pleasure you savored.

“How do you feel, baby?” you asked breathlessly.

Jason whimpered, pressing a kiss to your neck.

“I need to hear your words.”

“Good! Your pussy’s so good,” he whispered into your ear. “So tight.”

You moaned, nails digging into his sides as you mumbled back, “Then fuck it.”

His hips moved awkwardly at first, trying to find a rhythm. You helped him, guiding him to go slow and deep. Eventually, after shifting until you were nearly folded in half, he found it.

Every thrust hit your sweet spot, sending your eyes rolling back. His dick worked your pussy until you were seeing stars. For someone who didn’t know what the fuck he was doing, Jason was shockingly good at improvising.

“Kiss me,” Jason mumbled, turning his head. 

You gave him a lazy kiss, too caught up in how your pussy fluttered around his cock. One hand threaded through his hair, pulling him in harder like you couldn’t stand to let go. But when he started thrusting faster, you broke the kiss with a loud cry.

“Jason,” you moaned, slipping a hand between your bodies to rub your clit.

“No,” Jason breathed. “Let me do it. Please, let me—I wanna—oh fuck—I wanna make you cum.”

That alone nearly sent you over the edge.

You moved your hand to his arm, clinging to him as your orgasm built. His fingers worked you just like you’d shown him—in slow circles that sent goosebumps across your skin. His hips snapped harder into yours, like this was the last fuck he’d ever get.

“Fuck,” Jason whispered. “I’m gonna cum.”

You pulled him into a wet kiss, whispering against his lips, “Shit, me too. Don’t stop—oh my God, don’t—”

You cried out into his neck, arms pulling him tight against you as your orgasm hit. Jason grunted, hips stuttering as he came, pressing deep like there wasn’t a barrier between you. A moment later, he collapsed on top of you, breathless.

You whispered sweet praise into his ear, fingers stroking through his hair.

When the room finally felt too hot, Jason pulled out slowly. Both of you let out soft moans at the separation. He rolled onto his back, catching his breath, while you draped your arm over your face, still floating in the afterglow. 

After a few minutes, you felt the bed shift and saw Jason go towards your adjoining bathroom. When he was gone, a bit of anxiety filled your chest, wondering why he hadn’t said anything. Had you gone too far? Was this just a fuck and run? The sink was on, and a second later, the toilet flushed. Sitting up, you were about to call Jason’s name when he emerged from the bathroom.

“Where are your washcloths?” He asked. 

“Under the sink,” You managed out. 

Jason disappeared into the bathroom again. The faucet turned on before he re-emerged from the bathroom with a washcloth in hand. He knelt onto the bed, hesitating as he held the rag toward you. 

“Can I wipe you down?” When you took too long to answer, he went on, “I mean, this is something people do, right? I know we’re both sweaty and…”

“Please,” You said quickly. “I’d like that.”

Jason nodded, running the rag over your skin, and you sighed. That encouraged him, and he moved to wiping your arms, around your breasts, and around your neck. There was a smile on his face, like he was enjoying the simple act of cleaning you up. 

You stopped him after another few minutes, scooting closer to him as you asked, “Did you like it?”

Jason laughed a little before admitting, “I think I could get addicted to you.”

There was a moment of silence before you whispered, “I think I could get addicted to you, too.”

“Good, good,” He said, holding back his excitement.

Placing a hand on his, you asked, “I know I asked you at the bar, but what was it that you wanted for breakfast tomorrow?”

When the two of you looked at each other, there was something there. Something deeper than sex or any kind of physical contact. It felt new, electric, and rare. Yeah, this was the kind of thing that only existed in novels or movies—or so you thought. It wasn’t love yet, but it was the bud of it.

[seresinhangmanjake]

His Choice

Remmick x reader

Summary: You never wanted to be what Remmick is, and you made him promise not to change you under any circumstances, but when death comes for you, he makes his own selfish decision.

Notes/Warnings: Lots of blood talk. 

Words: 2500

Sinners Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

He’s always known you didn’t want it. You told him so the very first time you heard the offer leave his mouth. 

“I’d make it quick, darlin’,” he said, an uncharacteristic dash of hope in his blue eyes. You bit your bottom lip, pretending to consider the possibility of agreeing because you didn’t want to hurt him with your pre-primed rejection. He smiled as he waited for your response. Your heart plummeted into your stomach, knowing you were about to wipe that smile from his face. 

You were anticipating it, had been for a while—it was only a matter of time before he’d ask—but in all your preparation, you never once mulled over what your answer would be. It was a firm ‘no’. You loved him, you’d always love him, but “I am not meant to be what you are” is what you told him. 

Despite his poorly hidden disappointment, he nodded, and it was never brought up again. It didn’t need to be. He accepted your decision on the matter, and ever since, you've believed with your whole heart that regardless of what may come your way, he would never betray your wishes. 

—

He proves you wrong when you are struck by a stray bullet from a duo dueling over a petty theft in town one night. The metal pellet sinks into your abdomen before you even have a chance to see it ricocheting off the steel rim of a nearby vehicle's tire. 

You look down. Your shaky palm pulls back red. You stumble, and as your body gives out, you fall into Remmick’s arms. 

A wave of blood is coating, drenching, staining you. It pours and pools under your clothes, not ceasing even when the fabric of your dress can soak up no more. Townsfolk are too preoccupied with the two-man battle to bother noticing. Only Remmick is by your side, the both of you trapped in your own little world of horror.  

His arms sneak under your knees and behind your back, and he lifts you against his chest. You whine in protest. It’s too much, like he’s digging into your skin and plucking your sensitive nerves the way he would the strings of his banjo. 

When you cry out again, he softly shushes you. “I know, darlin’, I know,” he coos as he carries you behind a building and sets you down onto the dusty ground out of others’ sight. 

You’re fading fast, blackness edging into the corners of your vision, breaths becoming shallower by the second, skin clammier. You can feel your life draining as your blood rapidly evacuates. Remmick brushes your hair out of your face.

“Darlin’, look at me,” he says. There’s a shakiness to his voice that you don’t recognize. “Look at me.” You try, but you can’t turn your head. His hands on your cheeks force you to meet his eyes. “On me.” Then he says, “It’s gonna hurt.”

Your brow pinches. “W-What’s gon–”

“I’m so sorry.” He leans down and presses a kiss to your lips and repeats, “I’m so sorry, darlin’,” before he gently eases your head to the side and buries his fangs into your neck.

He was right. It hurts like hellfire. Like the repercussion of sin. Like the world is opening up so the devil can swallow you whole. Whatever life you have left in you does not slip away naturally as God intended, but is instead yanked from your body in one swift motion. Stolen. And only darkness remains.

When you awaken, you are you, but you are not you. You see the world and her scenery in vivid colors that should not exist. You trace the scents and sounds of creatures too far away to be hunted with honor. You crave flesh and iron and thick liquid to fill your mouth until it’s spilling down your chin. 

In your mind, you see what he has seen. There are flashes of your face, memories of your features molded in ecstasy as he moves in and out of you. Then those memories shift, and you are suddenly flooded with the image of your eyes and brows and mouth twisting unflatteringly from the pain of moments before. 

You feel what he has felt—lust, desire, love…then fear. The kind of fear that the victim has no control over. The kind that slips like sand through your fingers before you have a chance to take hold of it and cast it aside. You feel the panic. He was about to lose you. Surely you weren’t expecting him to let that happen.

He did what he had to do. So, just before the last golden grain of that fear tumbled off of Remmick’s palm, just before your lungs released their last exhale, just before the last red droplet expelled from your body, he acted in his own self-interest. And now your life is irreparably changed.

—

You refused the doe, you refused the fox, you refused the hare, the squirrel, and now, as Remmick sits in front of you, you refuse the mouse. 

“Darlin’,” he sighs for the hundredth time in two weeks. Leaning forward in his chair, his elbows brace on his knees as his head falls between his shoulders. “I know, alright? I know you’re strugglin’, but you gotta eat somethin’.” One hand runs down his face before sifting through his toffee-tinted locks. “Please. I need you to–”

His words die on his lips when he glances up at you. You know you’re a sight; one you’re sure no one could get used to, no matter how many times they’ve already looked at you. Sunken eyes, cracked lips, ashy skin. Remmick struggles to contain his wince at the reminder of what he did to you. He manages, but just barely. Then his eyes soften, the same as they’ve always done, with the same love, the same adoration. 

He sets the mouse aside. His hand settles on your cheek, thumb stroking along your cheekbone. You try not to lean into his touch. 

“Just have a little,” he whispers.

Your eyes flick back and forth between his. When you don’t respond, he reaches for the mouse again, bites into its stomach, and holds it out to you. Rivers bleed through his fingers, beads of crimson splashing onto the wooden floor of the shack you’ve been living in. 

The smell is unbelievable. So intoxicating it almost has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. You’re desperate to take the innocent creature from him, slide your fangs into the punctures he already made and drain the tiny body dry, but you can’t bring yourself to do it.

Turning your head away, you swat the mouse out of his hand. It lands on the floor with a light thump, and Remmick’s chair pushes back as he stands and goes to pick it up. He wipes the dirt from the body but gives up when he realizes it has infiltrated the holes his teeth inflicted. 

Moving to the window, he tosses the mouse into the night. Then he twists around, crosses his arms, and leans against the wall. You still won’t look at him. You don’t want to see the anguish on his face.

“Darlin’, I know you hate me,” he continues. Your lungs seize in your chest at the broken, melancholy tone. “But you can’t do this to me.”

A frown lowers the corners of your lips. Your eyes whip to his. “To you?” you snap—the first you’ve spoken in days. Fueled by anger, you muster the energy to rise unsteadily from your seat. “I’m doing something to you? You’re the one who ruined me.”

Remmick’s features rapidly mutate into the epitome of fury. Irises darken, the low candlelight in the room pulling forth a ruby glint from the pit of blackness. 

“I didn’t ruin you,” he grits out between clenched fangs.

“You killed me.”

“They killed you!” He points his finger in the direction of the town that sits about a mile away. “They did! I saved you!”

“For yourself!” you bite back. 

Remmick lets out a deep groan, a crease forming at the center of his brows as his palms press against his closed eyelids. You’ve been through this before, the first run-through of the very same conversation ending in the last time you would speak to him for close to four days. 

“You were selfish!” 

His hands drop from his face. His eyes are wild when he shouts, “Because I love you!”

“If you loved me you would’ve respected my wants, my choices!” you tell him. 

In the dead air that lingers, you take a breath, inhaling deeply through your nose, exhaling out your mouth. 

“But you couldn’t do that, could you?” you continue. “It was only a matter of time anyway, wasn’t it?”

Remmick huffs. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

Shaking your head, you say, “You were never going to let me go. You weren’t going to let me grow old without you. Die without you. Being shot gave you an excuse, not a reason.”

As your words settle over him, the tension in Remmick’s shoulders releases. He stares at you, unblinking, like he’s been caught red-handed and is now lost for a reply. 

Perhaps he assumed you weren’t smart enough, that you would never figure out how he thinks, or recall the mischievous glint in his irises that screamed he would agree to your wishes in the meantime, but in the end, he would take what he wanted—something you foolishly ignored. Perhaps he’s spent the last two weeks believing that concealing from you the piece of his mind where his true intentions reside would keep you in the dark. But you don’t need to see into his head to know the truth.

However, doling out the truth has its consequences in more ways than one, and you have to take responsibility for your part in this, perhaps a part larger than his. You must accept that this is a disaster of your own making. Remmick is not a mystery. You know him inside and out, that he takes more than he gives, and yet, from your own selfishness, your own need for him, you stayed. The anger, for as much as it festers for him, burns for you. 

“Love means saving. It means sheltering. It means protecting. And that’s what I did,” he says. “I ain’t losin’ you. Ever. Not for anythin’.”

When you swallow the dryness on your tongue, it strains your throat. Your eyes fall to your feet. 

“You’re lyin’ to yourself if you’re thinkin’ you wouldn’t’a done the same,” he says. The floorboards creak from the weight of his steps. With a knuckle crooked under your chin, he tilts your head back up. “‘Cause you love me, too.”

Your jaw ticks. More of the truth. A fair punch to the gut. You hate that, how you still love him despite the broken trust. But you can’t help yourself. Something inside you shuns so much as the simple proposal of continuing life—or whatever your existence is now—without him.  

Remmick’s thumb rubs over the split in your parched bottom lip. He tsks. “And this is gettin’ real stupid.”

Before you can question him, he puts his wrist up to his mouth, stabs fangs into his flesh, and sucks the nectar of his own body. Blood dribbles over his chin to his neck to the collar of his shirt. The same hand then fists into your hair to hold you in place as the fingers gripping your chin pull down, opening your mouth. 

He kisses you. The first kiss since he turned you. 

You push against his chest, but the fight dies once the thick liquid begins to flow across your taste buds. It’s surprisingly sweet and hearty. And yet, at the same time, there’s a distinct essence of earthiness to it. You expected sour and death and rotten insides, but instead, he tastes as if he were assembled and born from nature, from dirt, from roots, from trees. He tastes as if he is not some abomination, a mistake in God’s formation of man, but rather an intentional creation that’s a little more connected to the soil than humans ever could be. You don’t understand it. Maybe it’s because his kind—your kind—spend so long traversing this planet’s terrain that it starts to seep into their bodies. Whatever the reason, it brings you a twinge of comfort, however minuscule, to think you might taste the same.

Tongue exploring his, you search to claim every bit of that sweet earthiness. The blood races down your throat into your stomach, where it spreads, warming and reawakening each shriveled organ one at a time. The rough patches of your skin start to soften. Suppleness returns to your lips. Your muscles shed some of the weakness that accompanies starvation. 

Remmick’s hands slide around to cup your cheeks. Now that he knows you aren’t going to pull away in disgust or rebellion or both, his touch is gentle. He kisses you how he wants to, with tenderness instead of force.

When he breaks the kiss, he nudges his nose against yours. “Look at you,” he says with a grin full of red teeth. “Gettin’ all healthy again.”

It’s impossible to deny that you feel significantly better. Even at half-strength, you can already tell you’re stronger than the average human. You sense what you’re capable of, and what you could be capable of if you drank more. You understand for yourself the power that comes with vitality and the night, and yet find strangeness in knowing that in a few hours, that power will cower and hide within the shadows in the face of the sun. 

“You’re so beautiful like this, darlin’,” Remmick says, interrupting your thoughts. 

“I wasn’t beautiful before?”

“Of course, you were.”

His words, which have a history of melting you, don’t mean much at the moment. With a sigh, you back out of his reach and wrap your arms around your middle.

Remmick’s eyes narrow. “What’re you doin’?”

“I’m still mad,” you mutter. 

Recollection dawns over Remmick’s face, his mouth parting as if to say, ‘Ah, right, that.” An insignificant detail he’s already forgotten about. 

“I can outlast your stubbornness, darlin’,” he replies. 

A smirk curls his lips. Walking forward, he backs you up until your bottom hits the edge of the table in the center of the room. His hands plant on the surface on either side of your hips, and he leans down, bringing you face to face, eyes to eyes.

“Be mad,” he says. “Be as mad as you want, for as long as you want. But be alive.” He catches your lips in a kiss that comes and goes so quickly, you don’t have time to reject it. Not that you would have. “You ready for more?”

You gulp. That smirk of his returns as you glance lower at his already-healed wound. Reaching down, you grab his wrist and run your thumb over the slightly shimmery skin of the scars, the only indication that the punctures ever existed. 

Remmick stands upright as you bring his wrist to your mouth. His eyes are locked onto you, patiently awaiting your next move. Inhaling his scent, your brain swirls with pleasant dizziness. Your canines elongate. Your tongue flicks in anticipation. You part your lips, and then you break through the thin barrier of skin.

---

A/N: thanks for reading <3. If you liked it, let me know. It always makes my day :)

Taglist: @blobbytheblobblob @daisydark

[hoonieyun]

he(e) would ₊˚⊹♡

pairing: lee heeseung x reader genre: established relationship, boyfriend!heeseung, romance, fluff, loverboy!heeseung, downbad!heeseung, downbad!reader, lovergirl!reader, heeseung and yn are MADLY in love warnings: not much tbh, kissing, 18+

synopsis: a collection of instances where heeseung continues to raise the bar when it comes to love and romance. now, remember ladies! "if he wanted to, he(e) would!"

wc: 1458

you’ve had your fair share of boyfriends and situationships, much of which were with guys who definitely didn’t meet your standards and where you probably stayed longer than you should have. your luck in relationships was almost non-existent, some would last a few months before you’d realize he wasn’t the one or sometimes– most of the time, honestly– you’d realize it wasn’t a match before the first date was even over. 

enter: heeseung. 

heeseung, your now boyfriend of 2 years who has not only set the bar for your standards of what your partner should be like but continues to raise the bar over and over again. 

whenever you’d fly back home to him from being out of town whether it be visiting your family or a work trip, heeseung would always pick you up from the airport no matter the time with fresh flowers in hand and a sign for you that would range from phrases like: 

“welcome home, my love.”

“looking for the love of my life.”

“future mrs. lee heeseung” 

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡ 

you were typically the one to always cook for the two of you, mostly because you were a much better cook than heeseung, but heeseung would constantly prove to you that he’s getting better at cooking. heeseung would convince you to let him take care of dinner for the night and that he’s been practicing a recipe for you being your favorite meal. 

however, it doesn’t turn out the way he wants, resulting in you having to jump in and help. 

but, heeseung would show you how greatly he appreciates you and your superb cooking abilities. telling you that he’s sorry over and over again for ruining dinner and fighting you to do the dishes because he feels so guilty for burning the food. 

“i promise, honey. next time! for sure! i will get the recipe right and you’ll be sooo impressed.” 

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡ 

typically, you’re always on top of things. you breathed and lived your planner, it kept your days in tact and you on track but having dated heeseung for so long, he’s noticed that for someone who is as organized as you, he’s realized that you often forget things even if it's on your planner. 

you’d realize that you forgot something at home right as you’re in the middle of a 10 hour roadtrip, your home several miles away. 

fidgeting in your seat, chewing on your lip as you get too afraid to tell heeseung that you had forgotten something very important at home. but heeseung would notice that right away and knowing you, you were probably too anxious to tell him about something. 

“what’s wrong, babe?” heeseung asks and you slowly turn towards him, blinking your eyes several times as you muster up the courage to tell him you left something behind back at your home that was now 6 hours away. 

but heeseung would already know what’s on your mind. 

“let me guess, you forgot something at home?” 

“don’t worry, i already packed that because i knew you’d forget it.” 

“you don’t have to be scared to tell me, ok? i know we’re far from home now but i’d turn back around in a heartbeat if you needed something.” 

“thank god i grabbed it though, right?” 

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡ 

you had quite the habit of picking up a new hyperfixation every week. 

a few weeks ago it was the creepy yet cute looking plushies called “labubu”.

last week it was an earl grey latte from a local cafe that you visited every day. 

this week it’s a song that you just can’t seem to get out of your head. you’d hum the song or mutter the lyrics to yourself while doing random chores around the house. thankfully the song itself wasn’t annoying so you didn’t find yourself cringing whenever you’d sing it. 

but heeseung would hear you sing the song as you walked around your home. humming the song while your laundry basket hangs off your hip, belting the chorus as you’re in the shower, and whispering the lyrics as you focus on cutting up vegetables for dinner. 

heeseung would watch and try his best to figure out the song and once he’s identified it, heeseung would learn the song in full, even going as far as learning the song on the guitar and playing it for you one night when you least expect it. 

“you really learned that song?? for me???” 

“of course, babe. you’ve been singing it all week, it’s practically stuck in my head now.” 

“well now it’s going to be stuck in our heads even longer because you sounded like an angel singing it!’ 

“i’ll sing any song for you, whatever song you want, my love.” 

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡ 

house chores never end especially when you and heeseung are such busy people. there’s always a large pile of laundry ready to be washed, dishes piling up all the way from breakfast, and your unmade bed that is probably going to remain undone because what was the point of fixing your bed when it was just going to get ruined again when you and heeseung go to sleep.

but heeseung would notice the way you’d sigh every time you’d enter a room and there’d be another chore yet to be done. 

the two of you have split your home responsibilities as fair as you could but heeseung couldn’t bear seeing how tired you were and still push yourself to make sure your home is clean. heeseung also has his fair share of work and even if he’s tired, he’d rather be tired himself instead of you. 

heeseung would try to complete as many chores as he could before you got home from work. the laundry neatly folded and put away, dishes are now squeaky clean and in their rightful spots, and your shared bed tidied up like it was from an ikea showroom. 

“hee? did you clean up all of this?” 

heeseung would nod proudly before patting the spot next to him on your bed. 

“you’re always doing so much around the house so i thought i’d clean up so you could just rest when you get home.” 

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡ 

a common date between you and heeseung is watching a new movie at the theaters. 

you’ve been wanting to see this certain movie for a while now but with the showtimes and your work schedules, it never matched up– but heeseung would do everything he could to make sure you got to see this movie because he knows how much you’ve been wanting to watch it since the first trailer had come out. 

“babe, get ready; we’re going out.” 

you’d look at him weirdly because you don’t remember making any plans with him. you thought that the both of you had agreed to just take it easy for the night since you both had a long day at work but heeseung would explain that he got two tickets to that movie you’ve been wanting to see. 

your eyes would light up as he encourages you to get ready while he stuffs snacks from home into your purse. 

but knowing him, heeseung would still end up buying you a large popcorn and large drink if you asked for it. 

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡ 

heeseung would watch you as you get ready at your vanity that he had built for you. 

you turn towards him after applying the last coat of your lipstick, “hee? does this color look good on me?” 

heeseung would already be watching so he was already thinking about how good the color looked on you, how it complimented your skin tone and how it accentuated the shape of your lips. 

heeseung would nod immediately, like an eager puppy being asked “who’s a good boy?”

you’d walk over to him, sitting in his lap before pressing a kiss on his cheek.

and then another on the other side. and also on his chin, forehead, and nose, before pressing a longer kiss on his lips. 

heeseung’s face was now covered in kiss marks, causing you to giggle at how cute he looked. 

“sorry, you have lipstick all over your face now.” you’d say with a pout. 

but heeseung would just let out a breathy laugh because he couldn’t care less. 

“think this color might look better on me to be honest.” heeseung would say before pulling you in for another kiss. 

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡ 

whenever you think about your past relationships and how they constantly let you down, usually you’d frown and roll your eyes– but now? all you could say is that those guys didn’t do it for you in the past and probably wouldn’t for you now. 

but he(e) would. 

ᡣ•.•𐭩♡ @pagemiah @jiiyen @jnysaln @xh01bri @rairaiblog @laurradoesloveu @manaah02 @zorange13 @firstclassjaylee @kristynaaah @17ericas @heeseung64 @leipforggy @s1rawb3rry @ddeonuswife @orxngebloods

copyright 2025 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned. if you enjoyed reading this please consider reblogging and following <3

[unluckilyimnot]

Question – sae x reader

Note: ok I had that in my draft for a while so here it is, small small os

m.list | rules

Sae was really talkative for once, not that he rarely talks around you – you literally live together – but it was still something that doesn't happen as often as you rather say. He just got on some new exercises and he felt the need to talk about it to his partner. Sweet.

Little did he know, you were focusing on something else at the moment, which happened to be another thing he doesn't do much : cooking without a shirt on. Like, you get that it's the middle of the summer, that it's really hot in Japan during this period and that cooking makes you even hotter. On another day, you could easily pass through it and listen to him mindlessly. Today wasn't one of them.

You were a little too busy scanning the way his muscles tense at each move, noticing new ones every once in a while and you kinda were fascinated by it. His waist was absent, lost –deserved a wanted poster – and it was such a shame, but you'd rather die than complain about your boyfriend's looks and body. He looked like he was carved in marble like the Greek did, like the lines of his face were drawn by some European painter. Your eyes lingered longer and longer, focusing either on his back muscles, the small details on the side of his face – the line his eyes followed rather than answering back. Your eyes got back to his back, noticing the small white mark on his lower back. You've never noticed that before.

He's not an idiot. Well, he kinda is, but not when you're the subject. If there is one thing he's as confident as in football, it's you – he knows you by heart can answer in a heartbeat to any of your needs. He knows you're the talkative one, so once he noticed your lack of answer he stole a glance behind him, finding you mesmerized by his back.

"Are you even listening to me ?" he asked unimpressed, not even turning around.

"I am." Your voice is low, dreamy, which is enough to prove that you weren't really listening.

"Quote me what I just said ?" Turning around with an eyebrow lift, he leaned his hands on the counter.

You don't look up immediately to answer, your eyes lingered on his forearm for a second.

"More importantly, did you always have that scar on your lower back ? I've never seen it before..." You finally looked him in the eyes, yours shining with curiosity.

You catch his piercing blue eyes staring at you the same way you just did, staring like he's about to eat you alive and he's still deciding where to start. His arms crossed over his chest, and your eyes followed the movement closely. He narrowed his eyes slightly, before cutting through your thoughts before they could have a form.

"I do. I got it from a fight with Rin. Another question ? Or can you answer mine ?"

You're left speechless, your mouth hanging open. His voice so smooth, matching his unbothered yet frustrated face and his eyes. Oh his eyes. You wish you could drown in it. Sometimes you forget how handsome he is, but you're always reminded real fast – he just has to look your way for your heart to skip a beat. Not even that, honestly, being in the same room as him is enough for you to fall in love all over again.

By the time you took to answer, he shook his head. He can't be mad at you when you stare at him with so much love and adoration, can he ? Taking a few steps to meet you, both his hands laid on the counter you were sitting on.

"Next time, ask your question then listen to me. Alright ?" His tone is commanding yet soft, and you couldn't help but get turned on.

You could feel a hot feeling on your cheeks but you couldn't tear your eyes away from his, or even mutter a proper sentence at the moment. Turning your face away to compose yourself, you nodded, sure he would brush it away and you'll get away with it. Yet, you felt slander fingers grabbing your chin gently right away and turning your face right to face him again. His eyes stared deep into your soul, enough to make it shake and your spine shiver.

"Understand ?" He asked once again, gentle this time, the grip on your cheeks loosening slightly.

"Yes," you whispered, not talking louder, in fear he'll go away like a scared cat.

"Good," he answered before pecking your lips.

He moved back to his cooking, his talk long forgotten, while you were still processing the feather like kiss ghosting on your lips.

Let me know if you liked it !!

[heartyluv]

Note: Please —Click Here— to read part one if you’d like! I’m finally getting around to giving them a second part, omg. I hope I did it justice. Enjoy, my beautiful baes!

Warning: A woman picks a fight with you over Caleb (she’s not a real threat, dw), you get really possessive over him, car sex, use of ‘angel’ for a nickname

Word Count: 4K

Summary: A night out quickly takes a different turn.

Cowboy!Caleb/PossessiveReader

“C’mon, angel. You got it. Push your thighs in tighter,” Caleb instructs you. “Harder. Good, like that, like I taught you.”

You bite your lip, uncertainty coiling through you as you feel the back and forth motion in your hips. You’ve been at this for what is definitely far too long, but with Caleb, you didn’t mind the time it took. Choosing not to be patient wouldn’t get you anywhere, not when you wanted to succeed so badly.

“I—I’m gonna fall again!” you squeak, your nerves calming just barely when he holds you by your hip, silently reassuring you as Applebottom begins to strut along the even terrain of the rich green grass.

“She can sense your nervousness. That’s why she’s so ready to throw you off,” he chuckles, remaining beside you before patting on the large horse’s side with three quick loving taps. “Confidence is key, alright? Show her who’s the boss.”

“You’re her boss!” you yelp right before she trots in place, her hooves pounding into the ground unforgivingly with whine-like neighing to follow. The typically sweet animal did this every time she wanted to set her boundaries and make it known that she did not want whoever was on her back.

It was understandable. You’d only wanted Caleb on top of you, too.

It’s been a few days since you’ve been staying with him on his parents’ ranch, simply because you wanted to, you could, and he offered—no, he begged you to come over. With your dad being able to take on farm work again without needing help, you told lied to him about how you’d be staying over at a friend’s house for a much deserved break.

He still doesn’t know that the man he strictly told you to keep out, was in your room the morning they returned. You had to explain to Caleb later why you frantically pulled him from your bed and threw his sweatpants at him like you were a teenager sneaking a boy out.

You were able to get away with it because not only is the guest room thankfully on the second floor, but momma called your phone and said they needed you both to come down and help haul their stuff and the hand-me-down farm clothes Grams surprisingly let them take, upstairs.

That was about a month ago and a complete win in your book, despite the near heart attack at first. And now, after the time it took for you to have this privacy, you’ve been delightfully basking in the presence of your beloved cowboy.

Since Caleb’s workaholic mother and father tended to be so busy with other business ventures, they were often out of town a lot and this week was one of those instances you both were more than willing to take advantage of.

It was safe to say that you two have been going at it like you were making up for lost time. From sex in his room, to the shower, and even with you bent over the kitchen counter that you ended up scrubbing with bleach because you felt awful about it post orgasm, Caleb has had you folded up in too many ways to count.

He even asked you to be his girlfriend, to which you declined.

Yes, he had your heart, he’s had and will continue to have your body, but you needed to make sure this wasn’t some glorified honeymoon phase. Everything was and felt perfect right now because of how excited you two were to have each other entirely without fear, limitations, and uncertainty—well, nearly.

Your dad will come around when you tell him, you’re almost positive.

But, waiting a bit would prove to you if this feeling was something that would stick without the memories and nostalgia you share being the anchor to it all.

Besides, you two still have a lot to learn about one another all over again before you outwardly labeled this beauty of a man as your boyfriend. You weren’t lying when you said you loved him, but love didn’t mean you had to rush. It meant that you had all the time in the world together to figure it out.

Right?

He understood your concerns, even if he wished you would’ve told him yes and let him fuck you in celebration. Granted, he still did, but it was with determination—to show you that there was no such thing as a fluke when it came to how he felt about you.

Besides all the mushy feelings though, it’s been immensely freeing with him. Like he promised the morning after he made love to you for the first time, in the early evenings during your stay, he’s been helping you try to learn how to ride a horse before he took you out to buy you one of your own.

No matter how much you failed, it was the reality that Caleb was your helping hand to make your heart dance in your chest.

You whole heartedly blamed your pops for your inability, but it partially on you, too. He tried to teach you when you were younger, but gave up once he realized how scared you’d always be no matter what horse he put you on or in front of you. Despite how badly he wanted you to conquer, he refused to traumatize his little girl further after all the falls and near accidents.

And Caleb was far too young and inexperienced himself at the time to try, so you simply never got the hang of it. Not even when he took you a few times to ride on Applebottom before you left for college.

You were honestly too embarrassed to try asking for any assistance the older you became and add you leaving on top of that, horse riding just became a skill you accepted that you’d never acquire.

Caleb soothed the beautiful steed, rubbing down her nose and scratched below her chin to ease her defiance.

“You wanna call it a day?” he grinned up at you, the warm setting sun making his dewy skin glow.

“Please.”

“No worries, angel. Scoot back.”

You maneuver yourself on the leather saddle to make room for the burly man, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting against him once he sat and grabbed hold of the reigns before making sure you were ready to go. After your confirmation, with a click of his tongue and a soft “go ‘head girl”, you were riding towards his large home with the slightly humid wind wiping across your dampened skin.

“I’m taking you out tonight,” he said the closer you got.

“For what?”

“Because I want us to have some fun.”

“I think we have a lot of that here, don’t you think?”

He laughs, the sound warming you on the inside. “You’re not lyin’, but I wanna take you dancing. Remember the last time we went?”

You flip through your memories like they’re pages on a book, not having any recollection.

“Exactly,” he fills in your silence. “We weren’t even ten years old and couldn’t catch a beat for shit.”

“Caleb, that does not count!” Now you’re the one laughing, hard enough to make you snort a little bit.

“It definitely does!” Slowing Applebottom down until she completely stops beside the wrap around porch, he jumps down first to then help you. When you’re standing in front of him, he cups your face in his hands and kisses your lips tenderly.

“I’m gonna set her up for the night, we’ll head in, get cleaned up, and I want to be back down in my pickup in an hour. You got that, angel?”

“Yes, sir,” you tease, making him smirk.

“Go on.” He plucks his cowboy hat off his head and hits you playfully on the ass with it on your way up the steps. “Get the shower going for us.”

You and Caleb have been on the dance floor for nearly an hour straight, and you couldn’t get enough. With every twirl and the feeling of his body pressed against you alongside all the other patrons having their own fun, you wished this night could go on forever.

In your floral pink knee length summer dress, his strong hands were on your waist as he moved you side to side to the thumping beat that vibrated the walls and floors of the classical country dance bar that’s been around long before the both of you.

Your sexy cowboy was a sight to drool over in his sage green long sleeve shirt that he had pulled up on his strong forearms to display his tattoos and dark blue jeans that showed off some of his impressive physique.

You were wearing his black Cattleman that he slyly placed atop your head in the middle of you swaying to the music. You helplessly giggled when he kissed down your neck and took you by the hand to spin you around to face him.

His skin was slightly flushed and his soft hair a small whirlwind of a mess, but if you asked Caleb what he was feeling—complete and alive were the only adjectives that could come to mind.

Your arms went around his neck with a bright smile to accompany your eagerness as you sang along to the lyrics of a song your momma still loves to blast on her cleaning days. Caleb flashed you that boyish grin that made you swoon when you grew dramatic in your efforts to match the passion of the talented singer’s voice blasting through the speakers.

Then he started to sing with you and for a moment, there was no care in the world about how crazy you both sounded. This was where you had fun and you wouldn’t let anything prevent you from enjoying it to its fullest potential.

That was your intention until a woman walked up to you both as the upbeat song ended and transitioned to something slower. You couldn’t even get close to him again before an airy voice said behind you, “You finished with her yet, C?”

C? Who the hell is she calling C?

You craned your neck to figure out who was emitting the strong aroma of too-much perfume. A pretty and short, long haired brunette looking up at Caleb with very clear fuck-me eyes, proved to be the answer to the mystery.

Her complete disregard for your presence wasn’t missed, either.

“I know your mother raised you to have some respect, Maycee,” Caleb replied sharply, not bothering to look at her.

“What? I waited ‘til the song was over,” she shrugs, moving closer to him and making this weird primal behavior surge within you when her perfectly manicured fingers tried to rest on his shoulder before he shucked her off.

“That was respectful enough, was it not? I just want to talk with you.” Her judgmental eyes look into yours that’s slowly losing the light it had second ago. “Alone.”

“We’ve got nothin’ to talk about. Coming up to me when I’m with my girl is out of line.”

“Nothing to talk about? Your girl?” she spits out in disbelief. “Seems like you’ve made the wrong choice.”

“Am I invisible?” you interrupt swiftly, the irritation coursing through your body making it impossible to keep your mouth shut any longer. The looks were hard to ignore, but the nosiness of others did nothing to put out the flame stoking in your chest.

You face her head on, ready to defend yourself with zero intimidation at her attempt to size you up.

“This has nothing to do with you.”

“The moment you spoke to him made it have every fucking thing to do with me.”

“Aww, let me guess: you think you’re special?” she scoffs with a mocking grin. “Tell her about our time together Caleb, since it’s so necessary that she stays clued in.”

Your body tenses as your jaw ticks. The noticeable reaction makes her smile as if she’s triumphant.

“I’d really rather not embarrass you or ourselves more than you’ve already done yourself, Maycee,” Caleb says through gritted teeth. “That’s not what I want or what I do, but you have a tendency of pushing your fucking luck. You’ve done enough. I suggest you know when to walk away.”

You were hard to rile up—very hard. But Caleb was one of the few people who knew how you could get if that’s where you were brought. It’s one of the reasons he’s trying to deescalate the situation as quickly as possible.

“You’re such an asshole. Her over me—seriously?” She sucks her teeth. “Call me when you come back to your senses. My mouth really misses you.”

Your eyes narrow and you check her before Caleb can try. Your tone drops to make sure that even with the quietness that’s suffocating the already stuffy space, only she can hear you clearly.

“Know that my name was tattooed on his chest while his dick was in your mouth.” You get in her face now, feeling a strong hand on your arm to hold you back.

“I want you to make sure you sit with the fact that every time he got hard, it’s because he thought of me. Even when he was inside of you.”

Maycee’s chest rises and falls, the clear shock and disbelief swirling in her irises.

“Baby, let’s just go,” Caleb calls to you, his grip pressing a little harder to make sure you’re aware that he’s trying to keep you calm.

It’s ridiculous how easily your night has been ruined, and now all the fun is washed out your veins.

Not another word is spoken when you take off his hat and press it roughly to his chest, not caring if he doesn’t catch it. You snatch yourself away from him before you storm out the bar and into the now cool night.

Your anger is misplaced, you know that. But it’s feels impossible to correct with the way it was encompassing your entire being.

Caleb doesn’t waste a moment following you, quickly unlocking his vehicle and opening the door to let you climb inside. Once behind the wheel, he maneuvers the tires over the gravel parking lot before rolling onto the smooth roads, and god is the drive uncomfortable.

“You wanna talk now?” he voices ten minutes in, sighing at your refusal to answer—again.

You told yourself you weren’t jealous of his past, that you didn’t care. And truly, you didn’t.

But the mere thought of Maycee with Caleb in any way, made your blood boil. The way she walked up to him like she was so familiar fueled you with violence.

He was yours, he belongs to you.

“Pull over,” you mumble, making his eyebrow furrow.

“I’m not letting you walk if that’s what you think you’re about to do. I don’t care—”

“Pull. Over,” you repeat slowly.

He does. What other choice does he have when the woman he loves looks ready to set fire to anything in her path that dared to give her a reason?

There’s nothing but long empty rode in front and behind you in the dark night of chirping crickets and twinkling fireflies as he puts the car in park to the side. Caleb looks over at you, the moonlight and rows of illuminated warm street lamps pouring through the windshield giving him the privilege to set eyes on his lady.

“Angel, you know she doesn’t mean anythin’ to me. I know you know.”

“I do.” You turn your body to face him.

“We only hooked up twice, pretty. I don’t want you being upset with me. Tell me what you need me—” Your hand reaching over the center console and the tug on his belt makes his words slow.

“I want you,” you breathe out, your voice shaky and the need to have him overriding anything sensible. “I want you to fuck me, Caleb. I want to erase her from you—erase all of them.”

Pretty,” he coos apologetically. “You’ve already done that. But anything you want. Just let me take us home.”

“No,” you shake your head stubbornly. “Now. I want it now.”

“Fuck…” His cock comes to life at your possessiveness.

He leans in to kiss you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours as he swallows your whimpers and identifies your cravings without more needing to be said. You stay like that for a moment, letting him savor your taste.

When he releases you, he gets out the truck so that he can slide into the black leather seat in the back. The moment he shuts the door and sits, waiting with his legs spread wide, you’re kicking off your shoes and climbing toward him like he’s your reclamation.

The lack of sufficient space isn’t enough to stop you from sitting in his lap and pulling on his hair, grinding your panty clad pussy against the rough material of his jeans. He sucks on your neck, the sweet and tangy taste on your skin only making his balls tighten with need.

You have to see your name that marks him, that gives you ownership of him. Impatiently, you pull the hem of his shirt up and over his head, tossing it to the side and tracing your fingertips along the mesmerizing ink.

“I’m yours, angel,” he whispers, his hands gripping your hips hungrily.

“Show me,” you beg. You feel down his pecs and toned abs before quickly beginning to undo his belt. The clinks echo in the enclosed space at the same time that he bunches your dress above your waist.

Wrapping your hand around his thickness and pulling him out of his confines, you pump him agonizingly slow in your palm.

“You told me this was my cock,” you say against lips, your heart hammering so fast that you’re not too sure how coherent you sound. “You said both of you were devoted to me.”

Your mouths graze, but never meet. “Give me what’s mine…”

Caleb curses under his breath when you swipe a thumb along his slit and smear his precum around, his hips bucking up with eagerness. “I’ll listen to your every w—word. Sit up on your knees, baby…Let me make it better.”

Bracing one hand on him, you follow his instruction and push out a desperate huff when he roughly tugs your panties to the side after you lift yourself.

You didn’t want a condom. In fact, you’d lose your shit if he even offered one. That’s all you’ve been using since your first time together and right now, you just wanted to feel him without any barriers.

When his bare tip slides into your leaking hole, you press your lips together with a pleased hum.

“They can never have you again,” you cry as he helps lower you down to take every pulsating veiny inch. “Hngh—Yes…I miss you like this…”

“N—Never,” he solidifies through a raspy groan, his dick twitching inside your hot and slick walls when you squeeze him.

“You hear how we sound together?” You get closer as you make your hips rise and steadily fall, the squelching of your connection filling your ears. “Only we could make music so powerful.”

The truck begins to shake the harder you go, your palms pressing against the cushioning behind him so your nails had something to scratch when he fucks into you, knocking the breath out of your pliable body.

His fingers dig in your flesh through your dress, surely bruising you, but you need him to. You need that tinge of pain as a reminder that neither of you are never going anywhere because you’ve already made your mark.

“You—hah—you feel so fucking good, Caleb…” The effortless gliding in your pussy makes white dots spot in your vision and your nipples ache beneath the meddlesome fabric.

“We’ve always been in tune.” He shakily reaches over and grabs his Cattleman, placing it on your disarrayed strands and running his thumb across your lip before his large hand caresses down your neck before grasping one of your breasts over your dress. Your lack of a bra lets him flick a nipple, making a strained whimper fall from your puffy lips.

“Don’t ever take it off again. I’m your cowboy, pretty. Own that.” He loses his train of thought for a moment, being buried so snuggly in your heat.

“Ah, fuck…fuck…M—Make me feel it…”

You nod, leaning further back against the console so the outside streetlights could shine upon where you’re connected. Your lover looks down to watch your cunt greedily spread the sticky fluids up and down his cock with unabashed desire.

“Y—you’re not C…” you mewl tiredly, rotating your hips to grind against him. “You’re my Caleb…Just mine…”

The new motion sends shivers down his spine. “You’re right…That’ll never change. It never has…”

The interior grows foggy and humid, sweat beading down your back and his temples the faster your orgasm approaches. You use your muscles to tighten your cunt around his throbbing length, and each contraction makes him feel more precum spurt out in preparation to claim you from the inside.

“That’sss right…oh, baby, keep going… just like that…W—Wanna fill you up so badly…” He pulls your panties over more to gain complete access, his thumb lazily circling your taunt bundle of nerves and sending shockwaves through you.

“Make you so fuckin’ full of me, pretty—I know you want it.”

He sucks air in through his teeth when your peak hits you so hard and unexpectedly that it has you trying to crawl away from him at the simultaneous moment that his cum rushes inside your shuddering walls.

Your moans are on the precipice of pornographic, but for him, it’s the embodiment of sublimity.

You serenade him with your gentle sounds and wavering tone, letting yourself succumb to the deliriousness like you’ve done many times now. Caleb holds you down to make sure you’re filled to the brim, rubbing along your trembling inner thighs. He keeps you spread open so he can watch how the copious amount of cum has no choice but to spill out of your hole and down cock before reaching his balls and staining his clothes.

“‘M so sorry for what happened,” he speaks softly after giving you the space to catch your breath.

“It’s not your fault,” you mumble, holding his hat so that it’ll stay on your head as you sit up before taking it off. Fear consumes him for a brief moment when you place it on his.

“Remember when I told you no?” Your head tilts, taking his hand and placing it on your cheek to nestle into. “About being your girlfriend?”

“I do.”

“Tonight has shown me that…I think I’m in wayyy too deep to be trying to play it safe.”

He smiles. “A mutual sentiment.”

“Will you do me the honor,” you flash a genuine one as well, adjusting the crooked hat and brushing his hair away from his eyebrows. “and let me be your one and only cowgirl?”

“You never even have to ask, angel. C’mere.”

After you share yet another kiss, he presses a sweeter one to the tip your nose.

“Your dad is going to whoop my ass.”

You laugh, the vibrations making you remember that Caleb is still inside of you.

“He’ll be okay. Momma will hold him back.”

“Thanks, baby,” he rolls his eyes with playful sarcasm. “That means a lot.”

“Whatever he does, I’ll be there to kiss it better.”

“Yeah?” he smirks.

“Mhmmm.”

You don’t know what you were even going to try and say or do next because any and all calmness and sentimentally is gone when you see red and blue light flash along with two curt blares of a police siren.

“Shit!” you panic, flicking Caleb’s forehead when he starts to muffle his laugh.

“Ow!” he whisper shouts.

“Move your ass!”

“I can’t until you do!”

Then a knock at the driver’s window sounds. You would forever be in debt to tinted windows now.

“Play dead,” you suggest lowly.

“You’re a terrible problem solver.”

“Well, I’m not seeing you come up with any bright ideas!”

When what you know is the final polite knock sounds with four hits instead of the initial two, Caleb closes his eyes and lays his head back, the hat falling over his eyes and forehead.

“You’re right,” he says, his words muffled. “Play dead.”

“You’re all worried about my dad when me and this police officer is getting ready to kick your ass.”

“Can’t. I’m already dead.”

“Caleb!”

“Mr. Xia?” calls a male voice.

“Who the hell..?”

“Oh,” he huffs in relief. “It’s just Xavier.”

“From high school!?” you ask, completely stunned.

He nods. “He moved back a year after you left. Nothing to worry about. We’re cool.”

“You’re shirtless and still in me!”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t be embarrassed.”

You pluck his forehead once more. “I can’t stand you!”

He rubs his forehead, then pulls you into him. “I’m in love with you too, angel. But flick me again and I’ll fuck you again with him right outside.”

“Just do something!” you pout, your face getting heated at the thought.

Glad to have made you flustered, he smiles. “Anything for you.”

A/N: I felt like creating a scenario like this felt kinda realistic for them because I definitely believe people would fight over a man like Caleb—especially if he sexes you as good as he looks LOLLLL!!!! I didn’t think it would’ve just been sunshine and rainbows initially in a small town where Caleb has been around the block…I could’ve just done a big time skip to their happily ever after, but where’s the fun in that?!?! But I think I’ve unintentionally started another series, DAMNIT! JAYLA, PLS PUT THE PHONE DOWN!!!!

🍎 Tags: @sucre-princesse @brailsthesmolgurl @klossnite @grlyeetswrld @beesin03 @dramaticalsachan @moonchildjae00 @caien @stargirlygirl @multisstuff @littledarlingsthings @purpleamethyst25 @lazygelpen @meadowinthesky @nod4mnm3rcyy @loveinorion @ur-l0cal-crypt1d @inutrasha94 @cowaungabungabby @gravity-pilot @nyanahogini @rosiesluv @goochfiddler99 @torturedbabyapple @kiyadeleine @carcelswaifu @blushofeve @whattnanii @ashirelle @sylvieisoffline @saturnquartz @dewmarionette @horanghaeegr @iconoclastoc

♾️ Tags: @starryeyed-apple @asiatic-apple @sensual-study @sweetcalebb @asiaticapple @raemanova @awquaz @callads7 @floatinginaer @crimsonsylus @aquarianbeat

Creds to @/saradika, @/saradika-graphics, and @/bbyg4rlhelps for the dividers!

[sucker4vy]

BUSY WOMAN, UNLESS YOU CALL TONIGHT .ᐟ

PAIRING: pedro pascal x actress!reader

SYNOPSIS: Pedro and the reader have been caught together multiple times, and now, all eyes are on them more than ever after she’s spotted leaving his apartment. Though she hasn’t said or made the relationship official, she finally breaks her silence at the Gladiator II premiere when an interviewer asks about the recent sighting.

WARNINGS: fem!reader, age gap (reader is in her mid-late twenties), confusing!pedro, situationship, not technically a smau but does include comments and a few posts, the media is obsessed with reader and pedro, eventual smut, no use of yn (except for posts)

WC: 3.2k

A/N: not me taking a whole other day to finish it 😶 honestly this could’ve been so much longer than it was but next time just watch i’ll make it longer

series masterlist | next chapter

Pedro rests his hand on the small of your back as he guides you to the door. He twists the lock and swings it open for you like the gentleman he always is.

As you’re about to step outside, you feel his hand slowly slip away, but it pauses when you do. Turning back to him, you ask, “I’ll see you at the premiere?” Accompanied by an awkward smile.

It’s a question you probably shouldn’t have asked, and judging by his expression, it’s one he’s caught off guard by. “You’re going?” He asks.

“I have nothing else to do that day.” You shy away from him. It was a lie but it’s one that would convince him the most.

Yet for some reason, it still didn't seem to work because disbelief flashed across, quickly replaced by skepticism. “You? Not busy?” You nod curiously at his reaction. “I don’t believe it.”

“Well, believe it,” You laugh softly to yourself and you see his lips twitch, but he’s back to his serious—no, trying to be serious self.

But he can’t help it when the room is filled with silence for another second and then he cracks. He bursts into a hearty laughter and his hand glides up to your nape, guiding your head toward his for a quick peck on the lips.

“Now, I do.” His gaze lingers on your lips, debating whether or not he should steal another kiss—just one last one. You push away before he can lean in again.

Before you turn around he catches a glimpse of a little cheesy grin on your face. “Goodnight, Pedro.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he replies. You look back at him once more as you walk away ever so slowly and you catch him eyeing your body. He notices your figure shift and is quick to look around, suddenly fascinated by his apartment complex. A hand over his mouth and body leaning against the door frame, caught in the act.

You can’t help but giggle at his little sneaky act and you’re pretty sure it’s just as funny to him too because you hear a muffled laugh from behind you. You’ll definitely tease him later about checking you out.

When you step out of the building, you feel the cool air kiss your skin, and you can’t help but wish you had covered up a little more. A skirt was not the best choice for tonight, something you realized a little too late.

In the corner of your eye, you see a white flash. Your eyes widen in surprise as you turn to confront the source, only to find yourself staring directly at a phone.

You move to push the phone out of your face so that you're able to get a look at the actual source, but before you can fully get a good look at their appearance, they're unning for dear life.

In the moment, it’s funny and you scoff at their idiocy, and in that same moment, it hits you. It his you like a ton of bricks.

It feels like everything has slowed down as your mind movesq quick, a thousand thoughts per second, a million of all the possible outcomes run through your head.

Where you are, where you’re standing outside of more specifically Pedro Pascal’s apartment. That photo incriminates you and it’ll prove something that you’ve been trying to keep hidden from the media and yourself.

Behind you, you hear doors open and close, heavy footsteps on pavement, and then a hand on your shoulder. Your head spins around so fast you felt as though you were going to get whiplash.

“Woah, did I scare you?” There’s a teasting lilt in his voice but when he sees your expression, his smile dims. “Is something wrong?”

You exhale deeply to calm your nerves. “I think we’ve been caught.”

—

Different brushes glide over your face, blenders dabbing under your eye, and fingertips gliding over your nose to blend in the highlighter as much as it needed to look perfect.

Your makeup artist, Estelle, who had been all cheery and so talkative seconds ago, is now quiet, focused on her canvas, ensuring everything is flawless. She only speaks when she needs you to tilt your chin up a little or to look that way or this way.

When she’s finished she spins your chair around so that you face her, grabbing you chin gently for you to look at her. Her hand lifts from your chin and ghosts over your nose, drawing back with an unsureness, eyes squinting.

Her face quickly brightens with a loving smile. “You’re all finished!” She spins my chair back around, now facing the vanity. I meet my reflection and I admire Estelle’s work, which she killed like always. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she asks, “You like?”

“I love.” You look up at her with a smile, one that’s genuine but fragile as well.

“You know, this whole time I’ve been doing your glam you’ve been kind of tense, what’s up?” She smirks as if she knows something you don't. “It’s Pedro, huh?”

“No, no, no,” you’re quick to deny. “It’s not Pedro.” Estelle gives you a ‘are you kidding me’ kind of look because the both you know damn well that Pedro Pascal is the reason.

Estelle sighs, walking over to where your dress is hanging. “I know about that whole ordeal, honey. You can’t fool me.” She ushers you to stand up with hand gestures and pushes the dress into your hands. You don’t move from where you stand, only staring down at your dress.

It’s beautiful, bold. Designer? Alexander McQueen. It’s silk and corseted. Though it doesn't really go with the theme of the movie, it’s still a fantastic choice.

It commands attention without screaming for it. It’ll make her stand out on her own terms and possibly, hopefully, draw away attention from all the rumors going around. Maybe everyone will be too focused on her dress and forget about all the times the paparazzi have caught you with Pedro.

But let’s be realistic, you’ll be at the Gladiator II premiere, Pedro’s movie. They’ll be focused less on your dress and more on your appearance, but lucky for you, you have an excuse for that. You’ll say you’re there to meet with the director, that you’re thinking about working with him. You just hope they’ll believe it.

Walking out of the bathroom, you’re met face to face with your assistant, Daphne, whom you call Daph for short. She gives you a once-over and nods her head, looking around and saying, “I don’t know if Pedro’s going to be able to resist you this time around.”

You roll your eyes and mutter a small, “Thanks.” She gives you a thumbs-up and a coy smile.

“Shoes on?” She asks. You nod. “Hair?” Your hairstylist rushes over to you to fix a single strand, tucks it behind your ear, and then steps away. “Alrighty, I think we’re good to go.”

You turn to your glam team, thanking them for all their hard work and then you’re off to the premiere, but not before Estelle shouts, “Say hello to Pedro for me,” which gives everyone in the room a laugh.

You let out a giggle. “Bye, everyone.” And they all give a bye in return, some shouting, “Have fun!”

—

In the car, Daphne is helping you prepare for interviews. You’re sitting one seat over from her, not really paying attention since she has probably been over this a million times within two days.

When she first found out you were going to attend the premiere, she was baffled. “After all the rumors going around? Are you kidding me?” She had said.

You had told her it would be good for you, that you had come up with a reason that makes you look like you are strictly there for business and definitely not because you want to be one of the first ones to see Pedro Pascal in a gladiator costume, possibly all sweaty, and looking criminalally good. You could not pass up this opportunity.

It’s also a chance to clear up any rumors, or at least try to. You’re just really just trying to help your publicist who’s already way too stressed, but you just keep making things worse.

Sunday morning, you had woken up to a phone being pushed into your face, an article with the headline in big bold letters that read “FAMOUS ACTRESS SPOTTED OUTSIDE PEDRO PASCAL'S HOME.”

And it wasn’t your publicist behind that phone, it had been your assistant who had been told by your publicist.

Oh, was Daphne angry? No. She was fuming. “Call him. Now,” she said with a stern tone. And you were going to dial the number to talk things out with Pedro but you really just needed time to let everything sink in, you had just woken up for crying out loud.

You had told Daphne you’d call him later—later meaning that you’d wait for him to call you. He probably hadn’t even seen it yet, or so you told yourself.

So you waited.

And you waited

And, to your disappointment, you waited.

You would check your phone constantly. Every time you found your self drifting off during your meeting you shook yourself awake and checked your phone. Whenever Daphne mentioned something about the rumors you were quick to check your phone.

It got to a point where she literally had to rip your phone away from you just so you can get through a line from a script you were supposed to be rehearsing.

Then, just as you’re pushing your dinner around the plate, you phone buzzes. One buzz. Then another. You freeze

Please don't be a stupid notification. Please—Pedro’s name lights up your screen and you don’t even hesitate to press accept, taking a shaky breath, and brace yourself for what he’s about to tell you.

In the car, Daphne is helping you prepare for interviews. You’re sitting one seat over from her, not really paying attention since she has probably been over this a million times within two days.

She goes through a list of every possible question in every possible form, and you know she's stressed out by the way she just keeps going.

When she first found out you were going to attend the premiere, she was baffled. “After all the rumors going around? Are you kidding me?” She had said.

You had told her it would be good for you, that you had come up with a reason that makes you look like you are strictly there for business and definitely not because you want to be one of the first ones to see Pedro Pascal in a gladiator costume, possibly all sweaty, and looking criminalally good. You could not pass up this opportunity.

It’s also a chance to clear up any rumors, or at least try to. You’re just really just trying to help your publicist who’s already way too stressed, but you just keep making things worse.

You should’ve listened to Daphne when she told you not to go to Pedro’s, that you may get caught and it’ll be a big problem if you did. You wished you hadn’t ignored her warnings and simply just brushed her off saying that it would be fine because look at how wrong you were.

Now, all you can do is hope that an interviewer won’t ask about what’s going on between you and Pedro.

At least Pedro is worry-free, he just thinks that you were kidding about attending the premiere but little does he know you’re about to draw lots of attention right now.

—

Your heel hits the red carpet. No one seems to notice you quite yet, which makes you even more anxious for when they do.

Flashes go off a few yards down the carpet where one of the cast members is posing, not Pedro nor Joseph—but Paul. For now all eyes are on him and for you, there’s a fleeting moment of quiet, not literal silence, but the kind of breathless stillness that lives before impact.

You take a careful step forward and as you grow into the view of one of the photographers. He looks almost unsure at first, and he mumbles, “Is that who I think it is?” It’s loud enough for the person next to him to hear and repeat the same name, her head following his. Then one by one all their eyes fly to you as travel along the carpet.

You straighten up once flashes hit your face, smiling nice and big for the camera. You lift your chin up a little more, your arms are at your sides, one resting at you hip.

You move more down along the carpet, and now you’re standing just a few feet away from Paul. In the corner of your eye, you see that Paul notices you, and he shuffles closer over to you.

You look at him and he’s already smiling. “Picture?” He offers.

“Of course.” You lean more into him, wrapping your arm around him and he follows your movement, his hand placed in the middle of your back.

They shout for you to get a little closer together so you do. You lean your head towards his just a tad for one last photo and then he pats your back. “Thanks.” You give him a nod and follow him off the carpet.

Anyone you saw with a microphone you tried to dodge and stay out of their sight. Weaving your way through the crowds, but you couldn’t ignore everyone.

Some of the cast members came up to you and said hi. One of them was Fred, whom you worked with once. You were surprised that he even remembered, considering it had been a while since you had seen each other. Connie had also come to you to say hello, this was actually your first time meeting her. You’ve only heard of her, never have actually seen her in person before, she said the same thing about you.

Connie was so sweet and you guys chatted for a while, but the conversation was cut short when an interviewer snuck up on you. You felt a tap on your shoulder and Connie excused herself so you could be interviewed without interruption, part of you wanted to beg her not to leave you, but you couldn’t.

Where Connie was standing is where the interviewer was standing now. She introduced herself as Steph from Entertainment Tonight, and you're all rainbows and sunshine on the outside, but on the inside you're about to freak out because you know that they’re about to go in deep with these questions.

She looked into the camera, and so did you. “You, my dear, look breathtaking tonight. I have to say this dress is a moment.”

“Thank you, Steph, it means a lot. I really needed something that was bold, especially for tonight, you know?” She agrees, and then her face shifts into one of curiosity.

“We didn’t know we’d be seeing you here tonight, and we were wondering what brought you out?” She holds up the microphone to your lips.

“I have so much respect for everyone on the team and I wanted to see all the hard work they put into this movie come to life.” You continue, “The story scale, the artistry, the history. It all reminds you why you love what you do and it really inspires you.”

“Of course, of course! All of the cast members are so talented and it's such a big night for them. I love how supportive you are!” Her eyes turned away from your for a split second to give the camera a slick grin, then they’re back on you. Her voice dips, now ever so gentle, “A lot of people think your presence tonight has something to do with Pedro Pascal. You were just seen leaving his place late Saturday night. Is you being here simply a coincidence?”

You blink, smile faltering for just a second before you regather yourself. There’s a pause, then a sigh, and you know your silence speaks louder than what you’re about to say right now. “I didn’t come tonight to answer rumors. But I know that if I’m quiet it just makes the noise louder.”

Hesitating and taking a breath, you continue, “I knew that being here tonight would raise some eyebrows, especially after Saturday. I think it’s just reading a little too much into things. Pedro is someone I care about, yes, but…” You glance off to the side, searching for the safest answer. “But caring about someone doesn't mean there’s always a headline in it.”

Steph is silent for a split second, taking the microphone away from you once she realizes you’re not going to continue. “So, you’re just friends?”

Your eyes flicker toward the camera before returning to Steph, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yes,” is your answer, but your body language says otherwise when you play with the ring around your finger.

“Well, you heard it here first, people. Just friends.” She nods in assurance. “Thank you.”

You’re thankful it’s over, but you can already feel the internet writing headlines. The nerves really got to you during that interview, and you’re sure no one believes that you and Pedro are just friends after you left his house so late at night.

Daphne won’t be too happy either with your answers. You really should’ve gone with what she told you to say in case of this, instead you kind of just freestyled it.

You notice everyone beginning to head to the theatre, so you follow the crowd inside. Before the movie starts, they give a speech to the audience that celebrates everyone behind the making of the film.

One by one all the actors come up and are congratulated, given praise for their work. The whole time you only focus on one of those actors, whose eyes are searching through the audience for one person in particular. You.

He can’t seem to find you in the sea of people, and it’s too late to continue searching because he already needs to take a seat.

So, the movie plays. You sit in the dark, laughing when you’re supposed to, clapping when it’s over, and the credits roll.

To the naked eye, you’re acting normal, but inside you’re unraveling. The entire movie played on one screen, and the interview was on repeat in the other—in your mind.

What if you hadn’t swallowed the part about being more than friends? What if you had told them it was so much more than that?

Frankly, you’re tired of hiding something that has been going on for months. You’re tired of Pedro denying that there’s nothing really going on between you, or at least, you’re tired of him pretending like there’s nothing going on because there is. There’s so much more than what he denies himself.

You quite literally canceled multiple meetings for an upcoming audition on Sunday just so you could squeeze in a fitting for the dress you wore. Replacing a meeting about character backstory for one about about heel height and fabric swatches.

The script you were reading last night? That was for the same audition, now pushed to Wednesday. The meetings for that same audition you had pushed to tomorrow.

And there was a few more things replaced, delayed, or rescheduled just so you could be here tonight. Just so you could support Pedro.

He didn’t ask you to and still, you showed up.

You’re booked and busy. You have a whole career to chase. You have people to call back, scenes to prep, and so much more.

But if he called tonight?

You’d answer.

taglist: @not-the-teen-witch @namelesslosers @oystercat

[zorilleerrant]

Okay so the thing is, I think Shawn and Gus are kidnap bait. So I do think that the Doctor would just pile them in the TARDIS and disappear. However, they can't do anything the normal way, so I don't think they'd manage to get kidnapped directly by the Doctor - no, they have to make a mystery of it.

If we structure this like an episode, then we'd start with Shawn and Gus almost but never quite crossing paths with the Doctor and Belinda several times as both investigate the same mystery. Now, no one else knows about all the alien stuff, so every time that Shawn says something about aliens or Gus tries to show everyone what he found online, people dismiss it, leaving them no choice but to venture off on their own. They have to prove that aliens are definitely showing up and definitely up to something.

The real bulk of the story starts a little bit later: Psych has managed to infiltrate an alien spacecraft, or possibly they were apprehended and thrown in the brig. Shawn is telling it a different way than Gus, and if you asked the aliens they'd say it yet a third way. But they've managed to sneak their way out with a pair of swiss army knives, investigated around the ship, and actually fully solved the mystery they started out with. They nab some evidence and hide, ready to run the second the ship touches down.

Which they do. The problem is that they're stuck on some random ass planet now, trying to fit in with the locals, which goes about as well as you expect. They've managed to cobble some outfits together (they look insane to all the aliens, but our intrepid heroes don't know that). Now, of course, the Doctor is on the trail of either the same mystery or a deeply intertwined one, so knows exactly which planet to go to, and Belinda insists that it's something to do with why they can't get to the future, so suggests they investigate more thoroughly. Unfortunately, they've arrived just at a time of particular political upheaval, so the Doctor suggests a light touch.

Cue strange aliens showing up, and Belinda being immediately suspicious of "Shawn and Beezlebop" from "Neptune, probably". Especially when she asks if they mean her Neptune, and Gus immediately answers, "no, a different one, definitely." He also clarifies that Shawn is short for Shawntiskalisk, which is definitely a regular Neptunian name from Different Neptune. Shawn has already entered the TARDIS and is squirreling away the evidence, anticipating they may have to shelter here while the riots are going on. Gus is greeting the Doctor with a Traditional Different Neptunian Dance in order to distract him, while the Doctor tries desperately to remember whether he's ever met this species before, since he probably should have. And maybe it's hidden somewhere in his amnesia.

The Doctor does, of course, offer to let them stay a few days, if they don't have anywhere else to go, since there's weather about to happen anyway - the weather is significant artistically and he's excited to capture it as long as they have to wait to solve their mystery anyway - and Shawn makes a show of not having already stepped into the TARDIS. "Love what you've done with the place," he says, making up names for gears and widgets.

This allows Gus to do some exploring, which he'd rather. You see, Belinda is still suspicious that these aliens aren't quite what they seem, and might be related to the mystery at hand. Certainly they seem a little too interested in the Doctor. (Little does she know that's just because they love this spaceship! Who made it this kitschy? It's great!) So she might slightly be interrogating him, while the Doctor is trying to be extra polite, in case this is one of those time anomalies in which he's accidentally disappeared an entire planet again. He's basically forgotten about the mystery.

Gus finds the kitchen. Probably he shouldn't be able to, having only just arrived and not being a proper Companion yet, but he's very polite and asks the TARDIS genially for directions. He's seen science fiction before. He knows how to be polite to computers. (He'll probably find out later she's not a computer.) But he's so polite that the TARDIS ends up showing him all of the time dials in the kitchen, which means he can bake an entire cake practically instantly. The Doctor was trying to keep it a little quiet that this was a time machine, in case anything went wrong. Belinda was trying to keep it quiet because she thinks they might have been the aliens who were on Earth causing a mystery in the first place.

Shawn has just accidentally revealed that they solved that whole mystery already when Gus returns with a full meal, saving the day. "Seven courses, Gus, really?" "I was hungry!" he replies, but a meal was just what everyone needed. To, you know, distract them. The Doctor, who loves seeing what other people do with food, trusts the judgement of the TARDIS, and relaxes a little. Belinda, who was just hungry, tucks in. She only notices a little bit later that all of this is food she's maybe not entirely familiar with, but doesn't find strange at all - and starts steering the conversation to pop culture.

"Ha! You'd only know about that podcast if you were stationed on Earth for ages!" she says, when she catches them out, to which Shawn replies, "stationed? We live there!"

"We live on Neptune," Gus corrects, waggling his eyebrows meaningfully, while trying to hide behind a slice of cake. A mango and peach flavored cake. He was feeling experimental.

"Yes," Shawn agrees immediately, "Beelzebub is right," to which Gus has to correct, "that's not what you named me." They both swear, and then each hold up a hand to ask for a time out from the others to get their stories straight. Gus offers a fruit compote to occupy them for the few minutes it will take.

"They're definitely from Earth," says the Doctor, in enormous relief, while Belinda reminds him, "see? They must have something to do with it," and won't let them off the hook that easily.

Even though Gus offers them homemade ribbon candy, which did not turn out the right shape at all - Shawn offers to fix that, since he's finally figured out the trick to it - they refuse to be dissuaded. Eventually, with many asides and confusing explanations, our detectives manage to explain everything but how they ended up on an alien planet. They might dig themselves a little deeper after the Doctor mentions that he's also psychic, but that's a problem for Later Psych! Which they do ask about.

Belinda, as it turns out, is very talented at being vague about the future while technically not lying. It's not that she couldn't lie about it, it's just that she feels a little bad about it when they're not asking anything she wouldn't wonder about. And at least she's definitely never heard of them, so she doesn't have to lie about that. But she does share a few glances with the Doctor, having suddenly realized why he does his mysterious pronouncements like that.

Anyway, the convoluted reveal has allowed the Doctor and Belinda to start putting together the pieces of a larger conspiracy, one hiding behind a time of change on a distant planet, so their nudges at the timeline are harder to see until later on. That's also why they were going through Earth's history, hiding objects during various political and social events. Woodstock among them, probably. The ripples in the culture cover alien interference!

And that's how Shawn and Gus manage to get themselves instituted as the Doctor's companions. Shawn calls Plucky Ingenue, and Gus calls Classy Older Gentlemen, and when Belinda asks if they were supposed to be picking roles the Doctor assures her that they weren't, but what harm could it do, and so she picks out something in holographic silver and finds a raygun looking thing while Shawn and Gus are raiding the closet. Just in case it helps to have a Scifi Action Hero. Then they investigate the conspiracy.

What if I started just putting the psych characters in random places like I used to do with Star Trek…

Fuck it actually switcheroo

They got separated…

[nostarfights]

If I Ever Were To Lose You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X fem!supersoldier!Reader

Summary: Seeing you get injured during a mission helps Bucky come to terms with his feelings for you.

Warnings: Mentions of violence, reader getting injured, blood, a concussion, stitches, a coma, guns, crying, kissing, friends to lovers trope, takes place during tfatws and a few uses of y/n.

Word Count: 2.4K

a/n: ngl this is a little cringe but i hope y’all like it anyway lol

the photo below does not belong to me

Your breathing was quick but quiet as you and Bucky entered the warehouse Redwing had spotted Walker hiding in just a few hours ago, your hand placed on the gun holster on your hip, ready to grab your gun the second you needed it.

But even with Bucky there by your side and Sam waiting nearby just in case, you still had a bad feeling about this mission. Like something was going to go wrong, especially now that Walker was stronger due to the serum.

Your heart pounded more and more the closer you got to where Walker had been spotted hiding behind a pillar within the building. “Walker, we know you’re here. Just come with us and no one has to get hurt.” Bucky called out as you slowly withdrew your gun from its holster.

You’d given Walker enough chances to surrender, there was no point in trying to negotiate with him anymore. But Walker wasn’t in the mood for surrendering and he sure as hell wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

Not feeling the need to reply to Bucky, Walker left his hiding spot and headed right for Bucky. He then barreled into him with enough force to cause him to stumble back a few feet, using that chance to send punch after punch into Bucky’s face while he tried to regain his footing. It was shocking to you in this moment to see just how strong Walker had become, you’d never seen any enemy catch Bucky off guard like this for as long as you’d known him. 

But you weren’t going to just stand by and watch. So you quickly slid your gun back into its holster and ran over to where the two of them were fighting, immediately pulling Walker off of Bucky. “Give up, Walker. It’s over.” you sternly said through clenched teeth while you shoved him to the ground then cuffed his hands together.

And as you stood up and walked over to Bucky to make sure he was okay, you thought that you’d been right. That this long fight with Walker was over and you could finally put him away, but he soon proved you wrong. 

“You okay?” you’d started to say to Bucky as the sound of the cuffs breaking apart rang out, cutting you off as you both whipped your heads in Walker’s direction. He’d broken out of the cuffs and was now back on his feet, ready to fight again. But before he could get the chance to swing, you were on him again, sending punch after punch of your own into his face and body, knocking him back onto the ground. He stayed there for a minute, giving himself the chance to recover once more and in a blink of an eye he was back on his feet yet again. 

To see how much stronger he was currently compared to you and Bucky terrified you, would this fight ever end? “(y/n), watch out!” Bucky warned as Walker barreled towards you this time. He’d tried to stop Walker but it was too late and when his fist made contact with your chest, your body went flying for a few seconds before you hit the ground, your head roughly smacking against the concrete floor below you once you landed. 

And before you could even get the chance to get back up, Walker had pinned you to the ground by your shoulders and slid the knife he’d been hiding in his boot into your right side, causing you to scream out in pain. It’d be a lot easier for him to get away again if Bucky was distracted by your injuries.

In this moment, you couldn’t move even as Walker eased up on his grip on you, you were paralyzed with fear and pain and Bucky just watched, like a deer frozen in headlights. He’d never frozen up like this ever before and that scared him.

But before another thought could pop into his head, Bucky got a good look at you and began to feel as if he was seeing red. He was done going easy on Walker, he needed to pay for what he’d done. Bucky then placed his hands on Walker’s shoulders and ripped him off of you, giving him one final punch to the face that finally knocked him out, letting his now unconscious body fall to the floor below.

Bucky then rushed to your side right away and started to hold you in his bruised arms. You began to grow heavy as you laid there in Bucky’s arms, the handkerchief he’d retrieved from his pocket moments ago barely doing anything to stop or at least slow down your bleeding. It was no use.

“Stay with me, baby. Keep your eyes open for me please.” he begged as his voice broke, tears streaming down his face. “Bucky?” you weakly said as your eyes fluttered closed for the last time today and your blood began to stain the concrete. 

“No!” he screamed, his voice bouncing off of the walls of the nearly empty warehouse. Bucky quickly checked your heartbeat in the midst of his crying as he’d started to talk to Sam through the comms, it was shallow but still there. “Sam, we need help. (y/n)’s been stabbed, it’s not looking too good.” he quickly said, trying to hide the fact that he was crying. 

Upon his quick arrival just a few minutes later, Bucky gently scooped your limp body off of the ground and handed you over to Sam. “What the hell happened?” Sam muttered whilst a shock look took over his face and he took you from Bucky.

“I’ll tell you another time, just please, get her to the hospital. Promise me that you’ll keep her safe.” Bucky begged as Sam’s wings began to extend, his eyes bright red and his face covered in tears. “You have my word.” Sam said before he started to fly away, going as fast as his wings could possibly go before it was too late. 

Bucky wanted more than anything else in the world to go with you and Sam but he knew that it’d be for the best to have Sam take you to the hospital, even if it broke his heart to let you go while he went back to the tower alone, still sobbing. 

—-------------------------------------------

As soon as he made it back to the tower, Bucky felt himself sprinting to the part of the building that Tony had turned into a hospital years ago as if his body was on autopilot. All that mattered to him in this moment was making sure that you were okay. He’d become so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn’t even realized that he’d made it to the hospital and almost ran into a sad looking Sam who had just finished speaking with your doctor. 

“Bucky.” Sam softly said, immediately catching his attention as Sam placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from going any further. Bucky’s eyes teared up once more as he looked at his friend, “She’s going to be okay,” Sam started, pausing for a moment as he took a breath then began to deliver the bad news to Bucky, who currently felt like he could finally breathe again since you passed out, “But because of how hard her head hit the ground, the concussion she got caused her to fall into a coma. The doctor doesn’t know when she’ll wake up, it could be days or weeks.” Sam explained, trying his best to be strong for you and Bucky. 

Bucky’s heart dropped and even though he knew you were going to be okay, he was still riddled with fear and worry. He felt like he’d gotten the wind knocked out of him. He’d come so close to losing you and the fact that you were in a coma broke his heart.

As he continued to process everything he’d just been told, a wave of sadness hit him and Bucky collapsed into Sam’s arms while sobs violently shook his body. He wished he could’ve been better at protecting you. He could’ve prevented this but instead he froze up and let it happen, like an idiot. 

Sam helped Bucky back onto his feet, supporting him while he walked him to your room, tears pouring down his own face. It’d been years since he had seen Bucky this broken and he desperately hoped, for Bucky’s sake, that you’d pull through.

Once they made it into your room, Bucky could barely stand the second his eyes landed on your sleeping form, your skin was paler and there were bruises scattered across your arms and face, breaking Bucky’s heart even more. The emotional pain he was feeling as a result of today’s events had become too much. But before he could collapse again, Sam quickly pulled up a chair to your bedside and helped Bucky sit down. 

“I’m here for you if you need anything, Buck. Stay as long as you need.” Sam told Bucky as he stood next to him and Bucky quickly became a shell of a man the longer he stared at you. “Thanks.” Bucky quietly said through his tears and Sam started to leave the room, closing the door behind him to give the two of you some privacy. 

Bucky was silent as he began to hold your hand in both of his and pressed his forehead to it as he closed his eyes. He felt so guilty, he had always vowed to himself to protect you and he failed, he hoped you'd forgive him once you woke up.

And as he sat there with you, seeing you almost die finally made him see that he was in love with you and that was okay. He promised himself that he wouldn’t bury his feelings for you ever again. Life was too short for him to continue hiding the fact that he loved you more than anyone else. 

“Come back to me, baby. I love you.” he muttered against your skin. 

—-------------------------------------------

One Week Later

As you woke up, you began to feel confused and disoriented while you opened your eyes for the first time in seven days and the bright light above you in your hospital room caused your head to start to hurt.

“Where am I? Why does my hand feel so heavy?” you thought as you slowly looked around the room and you began to squint your eyes. A soft smile appeared on your face as you looked to your left and saw Bucky sitting next to your bed, his head resting on your joined hands while he slept. 

“Bucky?” you quietly said, still squinting due to the light. He looked tired, pale and there were bags under his eyes. You wondered how long he’d been there. He awoke abruptly, the sound of your voice calming him. You were okay, you’d come back to him. He could finally breathe again. “(y/n)!” he exclaimed as he began to gently hug you and tears welled up in his eyes.

“How long was I out for?” you quietly asked him as you looked into his tired eyes, the sight of this making you frown. “A week,” he told you, pausing before he spoke up again a moment later, “I missed you so much. I’ve been so worried but I’m glad you’re okay,” he continued before silence soon took over the room, “I’m so sorry this happened and that I wasn’t able to stop Walker.” he confessed as a few tears fell down his face, showing you just how guilty he’d been feeling for the past week.

Your frown became deeper as you reached up and wiped Bucky’s tears away, “Bucky, you have nothing to apologize for. I can handle myself.” you told him as he placed his hand over yours. Bucky let out a deep breath as he opened his mouth to speak, “I know,” he began as he nodded his head, “I’m just always terrified that I’m going to lose you every time we go on a mission. And even though I knew you were okay, seeing you like this broke my heart. I haven’t been able to leave your side this entire time.” he explained, prompting you to hold his hand and stroke the back of it with your thumb. “I’m okay, stop worrying.” you quietly said, making Bucky smile a little.  

Silence took over the room for the second time that day as both of your minds began to run rampant and you processed everything that had been said as well as the things Bucky had wanted to say. “I’m in love with you, sweetheart. I just wish I could've had the confidence to tell you before all of this happened.” Bucky simply said as he looked over into your eyes, his heart on his sleeve.

Hearing him say this caused your face to break out into a smile, you’d been waiting for what like forever to hear these words leave his mouth. “I love you too, James, I always have. I’ve just been waiting for you to tell me that you felt the same,” you said, the sound of your confession and his name falling from your lips causing his heart to warm, “But maybe now that I’m awake we can make up for lost time?” you suggested to him with a wink.

And in an instant, Bucky started to softly kiss you while he held your face in his large hands once more. “I love you so much, baby.” he muttered against your lips in between kisses, causing butterflies to appear in your stomach. 

“Bucky? Could you turn the lights off please? I have a headache.” you softly asked him once his lips pulled away from yours again a few seconds later. “Of course.” he answered with a soft smile as he stood up from his chair and crossed the room to turn the lights off. 

Upon returning to your bedside, he gently scooped you up and moved you over a little so that he could lay down with you. You then slowly rotated so that you were facing him on your non-injured side and snuggled into him, resting your head on his chest.

And although you had just woken up, being in a coma had caused you to feel exhausted and you soon started to get sleepy. “Rest, sweetheart.” Bucky murmured against your hair as he wrapped his arm around you. He’d ask you to be his another time, for now he’d just let you sleep.

NAVIGATION

send me a request!

[cheriecoke]

˚₊‧꒰ა WAKE UP CALL ! — bucky barnes

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎. following a spontaneous lead from valentina's assisstant, bucky calls you to let you know he’s driven halfway across the country and picked up a few strays.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈. written as f!reader in mind but can be gn!, phone call, thunderbolts era, established relationship, takes place right before the scene in the gas station, pet names, veryyy light angst, steve mentioned — 1.4k words

𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒. this is just a little practice fic i wrote post-thunderbolts! it's based loosely on my oc, who was in the og avengers, so there are references to that and her fighting/having powers. but feel free to imagine it however you want <3 can be read in the same timeline as this fic, but it's not necessary to read.

The phone rings once, twice, then a third time, before Bucky’s apologetic, softened voice runs down the line.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he starts off gentle, before his words are coming out in one barely coherent string, like he can’t get them out fast enough. “First of all, I’m sorry. I should’ve — I should’ve told you I was leaving. It wasn’t — Well, I was gonna stay out of it, but the whole thing with Valentina…” Bucky trails off. His voice grows quieter, like there's someone else in the room with him, before he picks back up again.

For a few seconds more, he babbles, almost like he’s afraid to let you speak. He sounds slightly flustered, and more than exhausted — but that’s evident only to you, who has known him so well, for so long. 

Then, he concludes his little speech, less than eloquently. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I should’ve called earlier. I’m sorry.” 

You pause, letting your spoon rest against the side of your coffee mug, trying to make sense of all the words he's just said. The coffee swirls inside the cup, shading a lighter color of brown, before it settles, stilling completely.

Outside, the sun is already beginning to beat hot on the concrete, though it’s not even noon. Which tells you that sometime between the gala last night and the crack of dawn, Bucky had already gotten himself into some sort of trouble. 

“It’s nine, Bucky,” you say, taking a long sip of your coffee. You’d only just brewed it, but you’d used enough creamer to cool it to a drinkable temperature. “I wouldn’t have answered had you called any earlier.” 

He exhales on the end of the line, and says nothing. You can’t tell if he’s relieved or not. 

“When's the last time you slept?” 

“Doesn't matter. I'm fine," Bucky says. You can hear him shifting, his jacket rustling as he brushes up against something. He changes the subject quickly, going back to the matter of calling, which is more than enough to have you worrying. “Listen, I meant to call last night when I got back, but they gave me all these packets to read and—”

“Bucky,” you cut him off, before he can launch into another disgruntled tirade about all the paperwork he hates reading. “What’s going on?” 

This time, the pause on the other line lasts a few moments longer. 

While Bucky never lies to you about anything, he struggles, sometimes, when it comes to communicating. Occasionally, he omits the truth, or says nothing at all, because he wants to keep you safe, and he knows you’ll drag yourself into the danger with him. 

Despite all the years you've been together, Bucky still can't quite fathom that someone would put themselves in the crossfire because of him. He always accused Steve of having something to prove, and he thinks the same of you, when the truth is, you both just love—loved—him enough to put your lives on the line. 

Bucky hesitates on the other end before answering, his voice hushed, growing quieter again. “I don’t know everything, yet.”

You close your eyes, lean your head against the wall. For all the shit he gave Steve for jumping head-first into things, Bucky’s never been much better, in your opinion. “Bucky—”

He doesn’t let you interject, insistent on regurgitating all his words before you can chew him out. “Remember Valentina’s assistant I was telling you about?”

You wrinkle your eyebrows together. “Yeah. Did she actually give you something?”

Bucky exhales as you take a seat on the couch, curling your legs up into your chest. It’s been over a week since he’s been back home, and you miss him already, even if you’re used to being apart. 

He explains, briefly, about the people involved in Valentina’s dirty work, ones he can use in the trial against her. You’ve heard of them all, infamous in your line of work, including John Walker, who you’ve had the displeasure of meeting before. 

Bucky’s story is finished up quickly, a messy wrapping, tied up in nothing more than a knot. You can’t tell if he’s leaving out details, or if he really just doesn’t know them all. 

You purse your lips, pulling at a loose thread in your sweater. “You should’ve taken me with you,” you say, before falling back into the couch, your eyes glued to a spot on the ceiling, where the paint looks off. The longer you gaze at it, the more it starts to look like a discoloration, one you’re not certain is real. Maybe your imagination is just desperate for something to fixate on. “I could’ve helped.” 

Bucky’s smooth, silky tone soothes the aches in your heart and mind. “It was nothing.” He sounds louder, then, as if his mouth is leaning closer to the microphone. “Besides, you told me you wanted to stay out of all this.”

A frown takes over your features. You had said that; it was the entire reason you hadn’t moved to D.C. along with him, and sometimes, you wonder if he thinks you hate him for working in Congress. “It’s still your career. I don’t want to be completely uninvolved.”

“I know."

You’re grateful for the sincerity in his voice. You’re not a fan of most politicians, but you hope he knows that you'll support him, love him, no matter what.

“If I really needed your help, I would’ve called.” He laughs, then, a small sound. “I just didn’t. This time.”

You can picture his small smile on the other end, can envision the lines forming tighter around his eyes. In the near decade since he’s regained his memories, he’s only aged a couple years. Oftentimes, you wonder if you’ll ever catch up to him, if one day, you’ll look older than the man who has lived through more than a century. 

It’s a strange thing to think about. 

“Will you be home soon?” you ask, softly, surprised by how vulnerable your voice sounds. 

The house feels colder without him there, empty. It had been your choice to stay in New York, but sometimes, you wish you would’ve just moved with him.

There is evidence of your life all around — books you love, pictures of friends you still have, and those that are gone. Your favorite restaurants are still just a walk away, memories of your existence on every avenue. 

It’s home — it just feels less like one without Bucky Barnes in it. 

“I’m not sure. Maybe sooner than expected. I don’t think they’ll want to keep me in Congress for much longer, now.” Bucky goes for humor, but you don’t laugh, and neither does he. “Are you okay?”

Things haven’t been bad, lately, but you’re tired. It’s been one thing after another after another, after another, for years. 

The world just won’t let either of you rest.

“I just miss you.” Too much emotion seeps into your voice, and there’s a cloud settling over your heart that makes you want to cry into the phone.

You don’t, though. It would just make him feel bad, and make you feel worse, and you’re more than old enough to handle being alone for another week, even if you don’t want to.  

Still, he sounds even more apologetic on the other end. “I miss you too. So much.” There’s a sound behind him — it’s faint, but it sounds like a groan. One of the hostages is waking up, it seems. “I have to go, sweetheart — I’m sorry.” 

He’ll never stop apologizing, even if these things are out of his control. Sometimes, you feel selfish for wanting so much of his time when he has the heart and the strength to save the world. 

“It’s okay,” you say, even if the words sound a little dull to your ears. “Promise me you’ll call when you get the chance?” 

“I promise. I love you.” 

The words make you smile. It is, perhaps, the first genuine one you’ve had since he answered the phone. You lean your head back in the cushion, settling into it, before repeating the words back to him. 

The line goes dead. 

thank you so much for reading! please consider leaving a or reblog if you enjoyed ❤︎ black divider by k1ssyoursister

[soangelbaby]

🔪 introducing …

˗ˏˋ BURGLAR!RAFE ˎˊ˗

tw / cw : stalking, home invasion, predator-prey dynamics, psychological manipulation, violence, dubcon & noncon, obsessive behavior, emotional, mental and physical abuse, voyeurism, trauma, fear kink, etc.. please read at your own risk!!!

burglar!rafe who… watches people like tv shows. he’s addicted to watching girls in public, always off to the side, out of their view.. in cafés, libraries, even grocery stores. sometimes he even makes up fake backgrounds for them, gives them a name (if he doesn’t already know it), little stories about their lives, what they probably like or do in their free time. some of them he follows for blocks, just to see if they’re as perfect as he pictured. he doesn’t touch —yet, but he’s always imagining.

burglar!rafe who… has tried to date, but it never works out. he can mimic interest, say all the right things, smiles just enough, pay for dinner, but the second a girl gets too close — too affectionate, he ghosts her because he wasn’t made for gentle, wasn’t made for giving and he couldn’t understand why girls didn’t want someone who’d bleed for them, kill for them, stalk them just to prove his devotion.

burglar!rafe who… hurt a girl for the first time. bad, years ago when he first started lashing out on others. not by accident, he knew what he was doing and he didn’t stop. he didn’t even have a plan, he just wanted her scared, wanted to see the real her, beneath the attitude, the social media, the flirty smiles. he wanted to reduce her to pure fear. he ran before she could scream, before the cops could come. but that night changed him, and not because he felt guilty — but because he felt powerful.

burglar!rafe who… gets off to isolation. the idea that nobody knows what he’s doing, that he’s rotting, unhinged, stroking his cock in the shadows while he watches someone else be loved. he doesn’t even need porn, he just needs imagination ; sometimes he jerks off while watching strangers through security feeds, and he finishes fast, silently, angrily — biting down on his own hand so he doesn’t moan too loud in case someone hears. he cums thinking about possession, not pleasure.

burglar!rafe who… keeps a box of items hidden under his bed. things he stole while stalking, like hair-ties girls would leave behind, bracelets, socks, even panties, all kept in ziploc baggies, labels by date and nickname if it feels special enough.. in there he also has a stock of polaroids, some random images, some more intimate.. like bruises or scars he’s left on his victim’s skin, he doesn’t take photos to admire beauty, just to remember what he did when he needs to feel real and in control again.

burglar!rafe who… loves the color black. not just because it hides blood, or because it doesn’t stain or because it helps him blend into the dark when he’s lurking outside a girl’s apartment at 2:34 a.m, watching her silhouette move behind sheer curtains. no, itself deeper than that, to him it’s silence, absence, a statement. a uniform for someone who doesn’t want to exist unless he’s taking, invading, haunting.

☠︎ works coming soon … feel free to send prompts or requests!! im very excited for this one :))

[ibrithir-was-here]

Once there was a fantastic concept, to bring together multiple works of Victorian literature into an epic crossover adventure, and it completely fumbled the ball in terms of characterization or really paying any attention to the source material.

And that happened twice.

Once with "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" and again with a trilogy of YA books called "The Extraordinary Adventures of the Athena Club"

One first has already been corrected above and beyond by the excellent @lxgentlefolkcomic

The second, well I got three other comics I need to finish plus a book to write, but here is my humble offering of a springboard. A concept bible if you will

The year is 1892. Noted doctor Robert Matheson has suddenly died, and a young woman training to become the rare Victorian female doctor is given the chance to take up one of his more peculiar cases...

Emlyn Sherringford Verner, training to become a doctor at the London School of Medicine for Women, breadwinner for herself and her sister-in-law Clara Verner ever since the death of her husband Fredrick last year, and yes, cousin of Sherlock Holmes.

Not that the relationship helps her much now, as he fell off a waterfall in Switzerland last year.

Last year was a very bad one for Emlyn Verner.

But now she has a chance to prove herself. One of Dr. Matheson's erstwhile patients is a young girl plauged by odd fits of mania, and Emlyn is determined to do what she can to help the child.

That she finds herself having to protect young Lyssa from mysterious kidnappers who may be part of a ancient cult is just an addendum.

I changed her up from having any personal connection to Dr Jekyll like her Athena counterpart did, as having her be Jekyll's daughter 1. Is completely against his character, and 2. Really brought nothing to the story. And by gum if her greater connection is to Holmes its gonna be familial and not at all romantic :p And since Holmes canonically has a relative named Verner who buys out Dr Watson's practice with Holmes's help, that fit perfectly. And yeah I gave her a unique E name to play into the amusing coincidence of the two best known female relatives given to Holmes having unique E names (Enola and Eurus)

The last year has been equally hard on young Clara Verner. Already an orphan, when her beloved brother died she was forced to leave school and move to England with her new sister-in-law.

Still in mourning and struggling to find her place, Clara takes solace in studying what she can about the mechanical advancements being made in this modern age.

A past time that leads her into making a like-minded friend, a Fraulein Coppel, who has also just moved to England from the German Empire.

A new friendship may be just what she needs to distract her from her grief--and the odd looming presence she keeps feeling is watching her from the shadows.

Surely all the bad luck that has plauged her line back to the Frankenstein family must run out at some point...

So, for a while, I thought I would actually keep the" Justine reanimated as the Bride, but she survives" concept from The Athena Club. But the more I thought about it, the more I felt just kinda icky about it. Like, the poor woman has been through enough due to Victor, and she gets to be left in peace. And since Ernest was left alive, it's totally plausible he'd have descendedants who could become rolled up into the family's dark past later on down the line. If I do keep the Creature alive in this he's also not going to he obsessed with making her his Bride, like in the Athena books. He'had 100+ years to feel remorse/ get some growth. So if anything he'll actually be trying to protect the last of the Frankensteins from the true threats out there.

Lyssa is for the most part like any eight and a half year old girl. She likes to read and roughhouse and sometimes play with dolls and sometimes climb trees.

And yes she may be an orphan but she's at least been lucky enough to end up in a kind orphange. Things would be fine overall--if it weren't for her fits, where she feels like something Bigger and Older then she is keeps trying to break out of her.

And if it weren't for the strange, Wrong feeling people who keep trying to take Lyssa with them. She's managed to avoid being adopted by them so far, but now they seemed determined to take her by any means necessary.

Lyssa thinks they might have done something bad to Dr. Matheson, and she hopes that Dr. Verner won't meet the same fate trying to help her...

It makes sense that Hyde could possibly produce an illegitimate daughter, but I didn't like that the Athena counterpart was like, 100% sassy rude gremlin child all the time, and that's what made her Hyde's kid? Like, that's not really how the potion works? So my thought here with Lyssa is that, yeah she's kinda sassy but that just because of her, and she can also be sweet and kind and rude and selfish just like all little kids are. But, whatever Jekyll did to make that potion, how it affects his offspring is that every once and a while she has these intense, literally Manic fits, where its almost a cthonic Pythoness experience, and she's Seeing into something vaster. Really bring some Alchemy themes into Jekyll's Alchemical like work. He ripped himself apart, and its rippling down into trying to make his daughter a Doorway. Also, at the end of this all I want her to get taken in by Utterson as his god-daughter/ward)

Olimpia Coppel has an old soul. And she isn't meant to have one at all.

About 100 years ago, her Papa Spalanzani made her out of gears and wires and Other Things, with the help of the occult doctor Coppelius--who then soon after kidnapped her.

Of course, Olimpia wasn't much more then a doll then, barely able to speak and only able to move as her clockwork directed. But Coppelius worked on her over the years, until she could move and speak as well as any flesh and blood person--and she could think and feel as well.

But she doesn't let Coppelius and his associates know that. She doesn't know what he'd do to her if he ever found out.

So she plays the parts The Society of the Seekers of Enlightenment asks her to, biding her time, looking for a chance to break free. Her current assignment is to act as Handler-er, Companion, to the Society's newest asset.

But surely there can be some moments spared for a new friend, the first she's ever had...

So in the Athena books, Olimpia'a counterpart was Beatrice Rappaccini from "Rappacinni's Daughter"-- a work that takes place two centuries before Frankenstein does. And the mad science done on her doesn't make her immortal (as evidenced by her dying in the story), just immune to posions/poisonous to the touch. All I could think of the whole time reading her parts was "How are you here??" But you know who could last a hundred years and is also a girl linked to a very likely immortal mad scientist? Our oft forgotten and misnamed robot girl Olimpia, that's who. So that's why I replaced her xD

Three years ago, before she knew what years were, she was captured and taken to the Place of Pain. She was cut and broken and had Things done to her head, things the Cruel Man said that he had done no other Being before her.

The Things Done to her Head helped her to escape, and she killed the Cruel Man. She almost died as well. The Beings around her thought she had. But the Things Done to her Head helped her fool them.

She lived far away from the other Beings and the Other Man on the Island. She watched as the Beings returned to what they were Before. She watched as the Other Man left the Island.

She stayed. And the Things Done to her Head did not go away, but continued to Grow.

One year ago, The New Man came to the Island, looking to Hunt the beasts the Other Man had spoken of. He found her instead. He brought her back to the New Island with him, and the Woman with the Soft Hands changed her shape once more. Not back to what it had been, but she soothed the Pain, and she taught her how to form the Things Done to her Head into Speaking, and the Wearing of Clothes and Wigs.

The Woman with Soft Hands gave her a name "Blanche. Like the little cat in the fairytale that became a princess."

She is not sure what they want of her. She is Hunting for them, she knows that. There is no Whip here. No Room of Pain. But still, the more the Things Done to her Head grow, the more she isn't sure that she hasn't traded one Island cage for another...

So, in the Athena books, Blanche's counterpart is a black panther, which is not what a puma is. Also she is POC coded in the Athena books which I get is to try and get more then just white girls and that's good, but I felt weird having the one POC coded character in the story also be an animal? So I just reverted to what color a shaved puma would be. This led to a very 😳😬😳 moment when, having got nothing but the shoes using "Puma," I attempted to Google "shaved cougar"...do not do that. Anyway, I will attempt to get more diversity in here in any further updates. But yeah Madame Sara is a more obscure character who also appeared in The Strand Magazine. She is a "professional beautifier" who may or may not be using arcane arts and is definitely probably poisoning people.

[biiskirraaa]

Hate to love you

nikix!f!reader, enemies (ish) to lovers

Prologue: You’ve despised Niki for your entire life. Why? Because he’s a player, obviously. But will your underlying feelings be the demise of your avoidant behavior?

word count: 4.1k

warnings: angst, lots of arguing, eventual fluff, !fuckboy! niki, cursing, tension that could cut, reader is lowkey a b word at first

——————————————————————

You hated Nishimura Riki. How could you not?

Not in the casual, “he’s annoying” way, you genuinely could not stand the guy. He was the walking definition of a fuckboy; girls practically hanging off his arm, smirking like he owned the world, and worst of all…he knew you hated him, and loved it. You’ve known him for just about your entire life and not a single thing about him has changed. There were so many times where he voluntarily, unknowingly proves what type of guy he is. A player. A stereotypical teenage boy. A teenage boy that you’ve desperately grown feelings for, but are too lovesick to admit.

One specific week of school was your “Nishimura Riki Hell week” as you titled it. On Tuesday, you were minding your own business picking up your history book for your difficult upcoming class at your locker. Then you hear the annoyingly deep and attractive voice coming from the one and only.

“Aw, come on, y/n,” he said teasingly from behind you in the hallway, extremely close to your ear. Too close. His voice low enough that it sent goosebumps down your neck and through your spine.

“You keep looking at me like that, people might just think you’re in love with me.”

You didn’t even turn around. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing” he said with that smirk. The one you could stare at for hours and still despise with your whole heart. The same one you’ve known for your whole life. The one you grew up with. Because thats who he was. Despicable, but daringly attractive.

You whipped your head around this time, looking at his chest before you lifted your head to look him dead in the eyes, glaring up at him.

“Do you ever stop fucking talking?” And god, was it attractive how tall he was. It was like he was a living breathing tree trunk.

Niki leaned down, hand braced on your hip, head ducking beside your head, obnoxiously close to your neck as he murmured so only you could hear him. “Do you ever stop pretending you’re not into me?”

You pushed his shoulder, flustered and embarrassingly red. “Touch me again and I’ll break your hand.”

But he just winked, backing off slowly into the long, empty hallway. “Kinky. Let me know when you wanna use it in bed.”

You’ve never wanted to punch a tree so bad in your entire life.

——————————————————————

The next day, Wednesday, after school had dismissed, the both of you were currently waiting for the public bus to get home. And of course, It was raining. The two of you were stuck waiting under the train station’s overhang, your umbrella having disappeared, stolen probably, and Niki’s already in use. He glanced down at you.

“Walk with me.”

“No.”

“You’re going to get soaked.”

“Cool. I’d rather get soaked than look like one of your toys.”

He sighed, dramatically, like you were the unreasonable one, and stepped forward, lifting his umbrella over both of you. Your shoulders barely fit under it, and your arms brushed as you walked. To avoid this, he lifted his left arm and hung it around your shoulders, now squishing the two of you even closer under the umbrella while holding it with his right hand.

“Do you do this just for your own entertainment?” You asked him bitterly, looking up at him. He returns your gaze, his head tilting in confusion waiting for you to continue. “Flirting with every girl you meet, like they’re just some game to you?” You admit, you were being rude, but you always had been. You just had to keep up your reputation now.

His jaw tensed, for once not teasing as he moved his head to look straight ahead, still feeling your gaze on him. His arm became more loose around your shoulders, like it was almost about to fall off.

“You think you know me.”

“I know your type.”

“No, y/n,” he said, voice quieter, closer. “You think I’m your type. That’s the real problem, isn’t it?” He says as he looks back at you, staring dead into your eyes. You hold his gaze for a moment, then avoiding his, you flush and crane your neck back to the front.

You scoffed, heart skipping five million beats. “You wish.” You say as your cheeks begin to heat up.

He didn’t reply. But the look he gave you, the one that lingered on your lips as you glanced back at his face said it all. His eyes then drifted back to your eyes as he removed his arm from you and released you to walk to your front door. You could feel his gaze linger on you until you closed the door. He wanted to make sure you got in safe. That was the truth. But you refused to believe it. You refused to believe that he was anything else but a fuckboy. His gaze felt way too close to a challenge.

———————————————————————————————————————————

The worst part of the week? On Thursday, you found out from some rumors that Ni-ki had apparently started dating someone. You shouldn’t care. You really, really shouldn’t. You’ve tried countless of times to convince yourself of that fact. But when you passed him by his locker to get to your first class and he had his arm around her, laughing like it didn’t even matter that you were there, your stomach twisted. Almost like it hurt you. Not physically, but it hurt you emotionally. It hurt your heart.

In the midst of it all, he caught your glance, lingering too long in your thoughts. Of course he did, and he tilted his head, looking in your eyes. “Jealous, angel?”

You rolled your eyes. Shook it off. Because you had to. “Of what?” You said blankly. “Your shitty taste in walking red flags?” Your snide remark seemed to bother his said girlfriend, she stood beside Niki, shooting you a glare. He seemed to become bothered. His jaw tightened extremely quickly. That shut him up. He let go of the girl, walked right up to you, already walking away to your class, and cornered you between the lockers.

“She doesn’t matter,” he said. His tone had changed. Slower. Sharper. More possessive. “None of them do. I’m just passing time.”

You swallowed hard. “Passing time?” You scoffed. “Real classy Niki. Passing time until what? Hm?” You said looking up into his eyes innocently once again, with a certain stinging in your eyes, you were on the verge of tears.

He stared at you like he’d said too much. Like he regretted even talking to you. “Forget it.” He said, walking back to his girlfriend, her seemingly lecturing him for whatever he did.

But you didn’t regret it. Not one bit. This just showed you one more side of Niki you didn’t think was there. He had no regard for you. The umbrella? Just a stunt to “pass time”. Staying until you got home safe? He was probably just trying to pass even more time until he had a girl come over. You were done.

——————————————————————

You thought you were almost done with your week, so you could go home and sulk into your pillow in secret and nobody would ever know. But on Friday, A group project was assigned. And of course, the teacher assigned you and Niki as partners. Kill me. You thought. The teacher must’ve been a sadist.

After school, he had decided that you should go to his house and work on the project. You wanted to be anywhere but here. You decided you’d talk about the project and only the project. Nothing else. So you sat in his room at his desk with him beside you. Books scattered, pretending not to notice the way he kept watching you and your movements instead of the page.

“Focus,” you muttered. You didn’t want to talk to him, really. His words from the other day still played in your head.

“I am. On you.” He said with that snarky little smirk you’ve memorized by now. The one you want to wipe right off of his face.

“Niki—” you say as he abruptly cuts you off as he reached out suddenly, fingers brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered. Soft. Dangerous. Your breath caught.

“Why do you act like you hate me,” he whispered, “when I know your heart races every time I’m this close?”

Your eyes widen, heartbeat speeding up rapidly. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. He leaned in. Eyes fluttering from your eyes to your lips. Lips almost touching. The touch of his hands lingering on your jaw, almost holding you in place.

Then the door creaked open.

“y/n?” It was his mom. “You still here?”

You shot up from the position you were in and sat back in your chair.

“Yes Mrs. Nishimura! I was actually just leaving” you rambled nervously as you stood up and started packing all of your books and papers into your school bag as fast as you could.

“Okay sweetie, you should really stay for dinner! We’re having Sukiyaki, Riki said it was one of your favorites” She said sweetly. You looked back at Nikis. His expression never faltered.

What the fuck? You thought to yourself. Does he talk about me? But you quickly snapped yourself out of it.

“Thank you very much, but I do have to be home soon. It does smell amazing! I’ll come back soon and i will stay.” You say with a bright smile on your face. You knew it was a lie. You wanted to get the hell out of there and never look back.

“Okay honey, get home safely okay?” She said as she walked away from Niki’s room, as you look over at Niki himself, he didn’t move. Not an inch. Like he’s been caught in the act numerous times and had zero shame. His mom didn’t seem to react either. This must’ve been normal for them. Like he always talks about the all the girls he brings over’s favorites.

“Saved by the bell, huh” he muttered under his breath, almost a chuckle. But he looked irritated. You almost foolishly fell into his trap. And he’s upset he didn’t get his way.

You were still shaking. Then you sunk deep into your thoughts as you stood in front of him, bag in hand. You’d finally made the right decision; You needed to stop longing after him. He wasn’t good for you. Not because he wasn’t attractive, that would’ve been a laughable lie. Not because he wasn’t smart or charming, because unfortunately, the annoying brat was both. No. You didn’t want him because you were convinced he wanted everyone else. That’s what playboys did, right? They flirt. They tease. They move on. And Ni-ki was the king of it. The girls in your class? Obsessed with him. The underclassmen? Had group chats dedicated to his Instagram. Even the teacher’s aide blushed when he winked at her. You refuse to be another girl on the list.

Which is why when you walked past Niki to get your last textbook, you took one final look straight into his eyes and didn’t even flinch. Or…at least you thought you didn’t. You pushed past him, but he stood up and tried to follow you to the other side of his bed.

“y/n, wait—” Niki said as you cut him off.

“No.” You said throwing your bag down on his bed and standing there, across from him, only his bed separating the two of you.

You didn’t look at him. You looked everywhere but him. You were pretending the tight feeling in your chest you were feeling was just annoyance, not anything deeper.

He came around to you. Grabbed your wrist as you tried to pull away and walk out. You hated how warm his hand felt.

“Can you just stop?” he said. “Let me talk.” His voice seemed deeper. More meaningful.

“Why?” you snapped, yanking away. “So you can lie to me like you lie to them? All the girls you bring in here and let your mom walk in on?” You say, accusing him of what you thought was right.

That stunned him. “Lie? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you said sarcastically. “Maybe the fact that every other day you’ve got some girl clinging to your arm, and then you turn around and act like I’m fucking special? Like you don’t have a girl in your bed every other day that your poor sweet mom has to walk in to after she gets home from work? Just give it up, Niki! Im done! Im not dealing with your shit anymore!” You shout, sure that his mom heard, but you didn’t care.

He blinked. Once. Twice. Then his voice dropped.

“I don’t want them. I’ve never once brought any girl into my room. You’re the only one that’s been in here.” He said. His voice was raw, like there was nothing hidden in his words, just true feelings. And for once, he sounded as if he was being sincere.

You laughed, bitterly. “Yeah, okay.” As you rolled your eyes.

“I’m serious.” He says, grabbing your hand again and holding you there. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to.

You finally looked up.

And he wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t teasing. He looked like he was trying to hold something back, like you’d just insulted him. Which you kind of did, but that’s not the point.

“I don’t even like when they touch me,” he said. “I let them because it’s easier than rejecting every single one. But I’ve never wanted any of them. Not the way I want you.”

Silence. Your heart did a full somersault. But the walls around you stayed up.

“Then why do you always flirt with them?” you whispered, too scared to say anything else

“I don’t flirt,” he said. “I tease. It’s what I do. But when it comes to you, y/n… its all i can do. You make me nervous. No girl has ever made me feel like this and I panic. I dont know what to do whenever im around you and i just cant figure it out.” He says, opening his heart and letting it all spill out at once. He stepped closer. You could feel his breath now, feel the tension humming in the air between you, hands still connected.

“You’re the only one who talks back to me. Who doesn’t fall for my act. You’re the only one I actually think about when I go home. When I talk to my mom about you because I know every thing about you from how long we’ve known each other. You’re the only girl I’ve ever even mentioned to my mom. Thats why she tries to get you to stay longer. She thinks I’m lonely.” He says the last part with a chuckle, his eyes softening even more than they already were.

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “Then why make me feel like just another girl?”

He reached up gently, brushing your cheek, like you were something delicate. Because to him, you were. It’s like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“Because you scare me,” he said. “And because when I’m near you, I forget how to be cool. I drop my nonchalant act.” He chuckles.

“I still don’t trust you,” you said quietly. “Not completely.”

“I’ll earn it. I promise. I’m not going anywhere.” He swears.

His other hand slid down, fingers lacing with your other hand slowly, waiting for you to pull away. You didn’t. And this time, this time, when he leaned in, your noses brushed. Your lips almost touched.

He didn’t smile this time. He just stared at you with a kind of desperate patience.

“I’ll wait. Until you’re ready. Im not doing anything you aren’t comfortable with.” he murmured, brushing past you as he released both of your hands and he started to walk away to his door to let you out.

“Niki-“ you said, just as he was about to open the door. He turned around with sadness and slight confusion in his eyes.

“You don’t get to act like you care about me in private and then make me look stupid in public.” You said, your voice shakey. A spark ignited in his eyes.

“Then I’ll care too much. I’ll care until you tell me to stop. And even then, nothing will change. I’ve loved you for years, y/n and i cant do it any longer. I want you to be mine all the time. Public, private, everywhere.” He rambles on and on. He stepped forward. You stepped back with a small smirk on your face.

“You said you wanted me to trust you,” you said jabbing your pointer finger into his chest, slowly backing him up. “Then earn it, Niki. I’ll give you a chance, but that doesn’t mean I trust you yet. I need to know that you fucking with me. That you really mean it.” You say, giving him an ordeal.

“I do mean it.” Then you heard a sharp inhale as his back finally hit a wall.

“When I’m around you, I lose control.” He says as he looks down into your eyes, like he just confessed all of his sins to you. Your hand relaxes, lying flat on his chest.

Silence. You stared at him. Breathing hard. You felt his chest rise and fall like he’d just confessed something terrifying. His hands curled into fists.

“I’ve never felt like this with anyone,” he said, voice raw. “You piss me off. You make me jealous. You make me want to change and ruin you all at the same time and I can’t shut it off.”

Your heart rate continues to rise, blush flowing into your cheeks.

“I hate you sometimes,” you whispered. Looking down at your hand and back up to his face. But as you looked up to his face,He moved. He moved fast.

His hands grabbed your waist, rough and breathless, and he flipped you around so that you were the one pinned against the wall.

“So then…” He whispered onto your lips.

“Is this okay?” He asked, gentle but firm as he looked straight down into your eyes.

You didn’t say anything as you brought both of your hands up to his face, pressing your lips onto his. Your hands roamed from his cheeks to his jawline, to the back of his neck, through his blonde locks, and finally resting on his shoulders, hugging him as the kiss deepened. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was wild, like years of tension finally split open and poured out through his lips.

Your hands moved back to his hair, savoring the feeling of his blonde hair. It was secretly your favorite color of his. As the kiss continued, it made your legs weak and your brain empty. He didn’t stop until you gasped into it, losing breath. Then he pulled back, just an inch, forehead pressed to yours, hands exploring from your waist onto your back and stomach.

“God… just shut up and let me want you.” He said with a huge smile forming on his lips. Your fingers moved to grip the front of his hoodie. And this time, he kissed you first. Fiercely. Like you’d waited too long the first time. Like you hated him for waiting this long. Like you had to make up for all the years you have missed.

——————————————————————

Later, your stomach was plenty full of Sukiyaki from your delicious dinner. You had also called your mom to ensure she was fine with staying, even allowing yours and Niki’s mom talk for a bit. And by a bit, you mean they were still talking on the phone about you two as you waited on Niki’s bed for him to get out of the shower.

You hear soft footsteps padding toward the door, and after 15 minutes of sitting on your phone, youre excited to see your boyfriend. Wow that sounds weird. Boyfriend. You think to yourself.

You’re eventually pulled out of your thoughts by Niki walking through the door and standing in front of you, pushing the inside of your knee out so your whole body turns from laying on the bed to sitting on the edge. And as you look up from your phone, you’re met with a shirtless Niki, wearing black sweatpants that hung dangerously low against his hips.

“Holy shit-“ you blurt out as you take in the sight in front of you. You instinctively put your hand up to block your view of his abs.

“What? Like what you see?” He says with that same smirk youve always tried to ignore as he moves your hand with a chuckle. His hair’s still wet, and he has a small towel hung around his neck, draping down his shoulders.

Then, he turns around and starts to walk toward his closet.

“Sorry, just forgot to bring a shirt in with me” he admits from his closet, searching for said shirt to wear.

As Niki’s in his closet, you leave the spot you’re currently sitting in and saunter over to him, standing at the entrance of his closet, meeting him in the doorway. He has both of his arms through the shirt, about to put it on.

“Wait” you say as you shyly bring your hands up to the shirt and lower it, clearly indicating that you dont want it on.

“ Oh? So you do like the view.” Niki chuckles as he takes the shirt from his hands.

“No, don’t put it away.” You say as he was about to fold it and put it back.

“Then where am i supposed to put it, huh pretty girl? You wanna wear it?” He suggests, you couldn’t tell if he was being serious or joking.

As if he could read your mind, he set the shirt down on a shelf and slowly snaked his arms to your stomach, slowly lifting the hoodie that you were wearing currently.

“Niki!? What-“ you say as you were cut off by Niki putting your arms off and pulling the sweatshirt off the rest of the way. You were left in your bra and your shorts that also hung low on your hips.

“There.” He says as he eyes you up and down smiling like a kid in a candy store. He picks up the shirt and throws it at your face before kissing your forehead lightly and brushing past you to walk out of his closet and flop onto his bed.

You’re left stunned as you’re trying to process what just happened when you hear Niki say

“Are you gonna come cuddle me or what???” In an annoying, whiny voice that he assumed you couldn’t bear.

So you threw the oversized t-shirt over your head, relishing in how big it was and how you practically drowned in it. You loved it, it smelled like him. Home. You walked out of his closet, turning the light off and shutting the door, and finally jumping onto his bed to join him. Now he was the one enjoying the view. He was already lying with his head up by the pillows, on his back, arms spread wide, inviting you to lay on him. And of course, you took that chance. You flopped down beside him, pressed against his side with your head lying on his bare chest, arm spread across his torso. Niki seemed dissatisfied with the position, so he took matters into his own hands.

He trailed his hands back down to your waist and moved you so you were directly on top of him, your bodies outlining each others perfectly. Well, almost perfectly, besides the fact that your head only reached his chest. But that was right where you wanted to be. You let out a shriek as he suddenly moved you, initially feeling uncomfortable with your weight on him.

“Niki… are you sure I’m not crushing you??” You say nervously.

He gives you the most disgusted look you’ve probably ever seen and says “Does it look like im struggling to breathe? No. Just the way i like it. Mine.” He says as he buries his nose i to the top of your head, smelling your shampoo that has him in shambles. His hands lie on your hips, forearms crossing on your lower back, resting comfortably. Your head lies on his left pec, hearing his heartbeat beat loud.

“You’re still annoying,” you mumbled against his warm skin.

He smirked. “Good. You’re stuck with me now.”

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Fin.

[rivereverie]

There's something really sweet about the fact that, in act 1, there are so many opportunities to get Wyll's approval from just... asking him about him. Showing you have an interest in getting to know him. Listening to his story. I think that being understood and seen is very important to Wyll. After being given his devilish form, he is very clearly dismayed by the idea of the people of the Coast not seeing him for the hero he is, but rather as just a devil. His image is very important to him, (that's why Mizora transformed him as a punishment to begin with: because it would cut so deep) but not in a superficial way. He just genuinely wants to be a symbol of good in the world, and to protect those who cannot protect themselves.

So when you don't react negatively to his new appearance, saying you just see the Blade of Frontiers, nothing more, he approves. The Blade is a mask he clings to because he needs something to get him through the torment of Mizora, and the grief of being cast from his home. It feels good when people see him the way he wants to be seen, when they want to hear tales of his grand exploits, and admire his courage and strength.

But I think that a part of the reason he likes it when you ask about him and his life is because he wants to be seen on an even deeper level. I think a part of him just wants to be appreciated as Wyll. Not Duke Ravengard's son, not the Blade of Fronteirs... just Wyll.

"Just Wyll" isn't someone he gets to be very often, though. Most of the time he's putting on a brave face, neatly tucking away his own feelings for the sake of others. Being the strong, kind, reliable, steadfast one. That's who he feels he has to be.

Given all this, his desire to be heard isn't surprising at all. When his father banished him from his home, Wyll couldn't explain to him what actually happened. His voice was taken from him. Later, after rescuing his father, Wyll wasn't listened to again by Ulder, and had to use the tadpole connection to "prove" he was telling the truth.

Of course it means a lot to Wyll that you listen to him, and that you care to ask in the first place.

[berrystainedsue]

28th june fic rec!

happy glastonlarry to all who celebrate

funeral of broken hearts (42K) by tommolinson | @alwayssharry

“The record,” he slurs a little, and he knows, somewhere deep deep down where he still feels rational, that he shouldn’t be asking it, “is it about me?” Harry huffs a dry laugh, then takes a long sip of tequila, only wincing a little bit when the liquid hits the back of his throat, probably. “What’s not about you?” He shakes his head, then adds, quietly, “anything I do is for, because, or about you, Louis.”

or, the one where Louis breaks Harry's heart, Harry breaks the Internet and together, they learn what it means to trust again

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Dull Light, Sharp Edges. (54K) by finelinefeelings

Harry’s a lonely photographer in Leeds—known to everyone, but truly known by no one. That is, until he notices Louis, a homeless man living under a bridge. Harry calls him “Bridgeboy” until one day, he decides to bring him coffee.

This small gesture sparks a routine—breakfast together, walks, and quiet moments that slowly build an unspoken friendship. But Louis is guarded, untrusting, and determined to do things on his own. Harry only wants to help, but deeper down, he just wants to be loved.

OR harrys never been lonelier and thats when he meets bridgeboy, a homeless louis who can avoid questions like no other. naturally he brings him home.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

the shape we take (8K) by boyfriendstages

“And tonight,” Harry goes on, lips curling, “since we’re in Paris—she did the Eiffel Tower.”

A beat.

Then Louis says, “No wonder you like her music so much.”

Harry full on cackles into the pillow, his voice breathy and sweet. “….I want to try it.”

There’s a pause, longer this time.

“You want to be Eiffel Towered?”

one shot. it starts with a sabrina carpenter show in paris. it ends with three of them tangled up in something they’ve only done a few times before—want, memory, and a body held in the middle.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

and they were roommates (9K) by Anonymous

The one where Omega Harry pretends to be an alpha because university housing sucks. There is only one problem, really, in his stupid, reckless plan: his roommate Louis is the best smelling alpha he has ever encountered.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Make Me Into Something Sweet (12K) by lousdelicatepointofview (starryhaze) | @starryhaze28

“Oh, I hate this. Lou’s gonna kill me,” Oli mutters, but he doesn’t pull away. He knows better.

Harry tilts his head back, eyes glinting with mischief as his nails trace down the front of Oli’s vest, slow and teasing. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” he purrs. “He’s not going to kill you.”

Oli arches a brow. “No?”

Harry leans in just close enough to brush his lips against Oli’s ear. “No,” he whispers, grinning wickedly. “He’s going to fuck me senseless.”

or the one where Harry uses Oli to make Louis jealous and in return, gets fucked senseless.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Wasn't Expecting That (103K) by yourpricelessadvice | @yourpricelessadvice

Since moving out of his mum's house with his baby daughter, it's always been just Harry and his little Luna Flower; dad and daughter against the world. Things are just fine and Harry doesn't think he needs anyone -- and that could have had to do with the fact that he doesn't think there's anyone out there good enough. But, with a leap of faith and some unexpected twists and turns, maybe he might just prove himself wrong. 

Or, the one where Harry is a single dad and gets more than he bargained for after a one night stand of sorts.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

it's warm in antarctica (26K) by HoldingOnToChaos | @holdingontochaos

After having his heart accidentally broken by Harry, Louis is offered a job opportunity in Australia. With nothing keeping him tied to England and a desperate desire to not watch the man he loves love someone else, he takes it.

When he eventually returns home to England, he’s so sure that his feelings are gone. So. Sure. Right?

-- Or Louis runs away to Australia but can’t escape his feelings

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

you taught me how to love (i taught you how to stop) (50K) bydevilinmybrain (venomedveins) | @thedevilinmybrain

"I was always better at hand to hand than you," Harry growls, even as he leans his weight into the blade. It's small, sharp, has a handle of gold roses.

"I don't know about that." Louis moves his arm forward, makes the presence of the barrel of the gun fit snugly to Harry's hip. "I think we just play differently."

"You going to shoot me?" Harry asks, those wild eyes tracking over Louis' face. "Do it."

"I think I've put enough scars on you," Louis answers, means it about the stretch marks still lining the sides of Harry's stomach, but it lands a little too raw. There are other scars on Harry's body that Louis blames himself for, scars inside too.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Outwit, Outplay, Outlast (60K) by dancesongsoul, lookatyourchoices | @lookatyourchoices

“Tommo and Harry are gonna do it. I don’t know when, but they’re gonna do it. They’ve got the mattress, the pillows, everything’s in place, and they’re gonna do it. I really wish those two the best of luck.” –Taylor Swift, "Chapera"

Or a Survivor All-Stars AU in which Harry and Louis are just in this game to win the million dollars, but they end up with something better.

Featuring Harry's yellow swim shorts, Louis in snapbacks, and OT5 shenanigans.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

You Keep His Shirt, He Keeps His Word (5K) by starryhaze | @starryhaze28

Harry turns his face to the side, not quite looking at him. His cheeks are flushed, curls sticking to his forehead, and his breathing heavy. “You’re…” He swallows. “You’re still sweaty.”

Louis chuckles, fingers pausing at the nape of Harry’s neck. “That a problem or a preference?”

Harry groans and buries his face again, like that’ll hide how hot his skin is going. “Preference,” he mumbles.

There’s a pause where Louis stills and then Harry hears the telltale smirk in his voice. “Oh? Is that why you’ve been hiding your face like a little brat? You wanna smell me, baby?”

or the armpit kink socceraid fic

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Two, He's Kissing On You (10K) by louislittletomlintum | @louislittletomlintum

“There’s no way you’re this professional,” Louis accused quietly, adjusting his grip on his cock that felt like it was throbbing now from not getting the friction it wanted.

“I’m not,” Zayn shrugged and mumbled back, still snapping away. He almost sounded bored but his words betrayed him. “Your partner is literally right there though,”

Louis instantly grinned at that, because if that was the only issue, it could be easily resolved.

“He likes to watch. Don’t you Haz?”

or the one where louis' a life model, zayn is a photographer, and harry is also there

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

fluent in your silences (14K) by boyfriendstages

5 times Harry inspires Written All Over Your Face and the one time Louis does something about it.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

🎫 - heres your ticket to glastonbury if you made it this far

631,682 words read (-54% less than last month)

27 fics read (107% more than last month)

24 authors (84% more than last month)

[forthebrokenheartedthings]

Five Bucks and Fries

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: When you’re flattened by a migraine, Bucky comes home from a mission and proves you’re never a bother. He shuts out the light, orders your favorite migraine food—grumbling about smartphones all the while—and holds you close until the pain eases.

AN: Here’s me writing on my phone again. Ignore the mistakes please! This one is for all of my ✨migraine girlies✨. May you find your Bucky to take care of you. ❤️

You don’t hear the door open. You barely register the quiet creak of boots across the floor. The pain is too loud—pulsing behind your eyes like a cruel heartbeat.

“Sweetheart?” His voice is careful, but there’s that edge of worry he never bothers to hide. “Baby, where are you?”

You manage to lift a hand from under the blanket. That’s all you can do.

Bucky crosses the room in two strides and drops to one knee by the couch. His hair is damp with rain, eyes searching your face like he expects something worse.

“Hey.” His thumb brushes your cheek. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Migraine,” you whisper. “Didn’t…want to bother you.”

He lets out a soft, incredulous huff that isn’t quite a laugh.

“You didn’t want to bother me,” he repeats, voice low and rough. “Baby, you take care of me every time mine knock me flat. You think I wouldn’t do the same for you?”

You open your mouth to apologize, but he leans down and kisses your hair before you can say a word.

“Shh,” he murmurs, softer again. “I’m here now.”

He moves around the living room, pulling every curtain closed and flicking off the hallway light. When he comes back, he eases an ice pack against your forehead. You sigh in relief as the cold seeps through.

“That’s better,” he says gently. His fingers comb through your hair. “Better?”

“A little.”

“Good.” He glances around and spots your phone. “You need something in your stomach.”

“I’m fine—”

“You’re not,” he says, already picking it up.

He unlocks the screen, squinting down like it’s something dangerous.

“DoorDash,” you mumble without opening your eyes. “Red app.”

“Yeah, I know,” he mutters, stabbing the icon with his thumb. “I just don’t get why everything’s gotta be so damn complicated. Used to be you’d walk into a place, hand ‘em a five, and leave with fries. Now you gotta make a password, confirm your email, let some robot track how many times you think about a cheeseburger.”

Even through the pain, your mouth twitches. Not a laugh—just the tiniest, tired smile.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, glancing down at you with mock outrage. “Is this funny to you?”

You crack one eye open. “A little,” you whisper.

His face softens all at once. He leans down, kissing you slow and careful, like he has all the time in the world.

“Yeah,” he murmurs when he pulls back, thumb brushing your cheek. “Laugh it up, sweetheart. Just wait ‘til you see me try to tip the driver.”

He sets your phone aside, then slips an arm under your shoulders.

“C’mon,” he says gently, lifting you just enough to slide onto the couch behind you. He settles you carefully against his chest, your cheek over his heartbeat, and drapes the blanket back around your shoulders.

His hand comes up to cradle your head, thumb stroking slow, steady circles at your temple.

“There,” he says softly. “That’s better.”

And he stays like that, holding you close, while your breathing starts to even out against his shirt.

[skhv67]

amber waves

cw: break up, angst, hurt/no comfort, substance abuse, namgyu is on hard drugs on this one and having an episode, reader finds him while he's consuming, mean talk, not proofread

inspired by amber waves by ethel cain

"You meant nothing to me"

The blood running through your veins felt cold, an uncomfortable tingle spreading through your already trembling hands. His words reverberated through your mind time and time again, interrupting any attempt of building a sentence or being the voice of reason of the situation.

The man before your tired eyes was but a caricature of what your mind made him up to be. He looked at you like a rabid dog, and the injury in his forearm was sickly visible to your avoidant gaze. The face you caressed so tenderly yesterday was glistening with sweat, and you couldn't find him in his own eyes.

If only he was sober enough to see the surrendering look in your eyes, he'd probably be trying to save the situation, but it wasn't one of those days. It wasn't like him to get depressed while consuming.

The inert devil laying in his hands stared back at you tauntingly, a feeling of loss captivating your body and sinking it into the ground. His words drilled into your head at an agonizing pace, as if resisting being processed.

"So I'll leave," you muttered with resignation, still hoping he'd come down from his high miraculously to ask you to stay. Pushing your voice out of your lips proved to be a bigger challenge than you'd expected. Every sound reverberating painfully against your throat and leaving a sour taste in your mouth.

"I'll be alright"

His words came out so easily from his mouth with an amount of venom you thought could've taken out a whole elephant. Your heart wouldn't hurt as much if you didn't notice he was being truthful. It was painful knowing he was lying to himself with such confidence and conviction that he geniunely believed he made the right decision.

Your throat constricted around the words that attempted to leave your mouth. The fog in your brain wouldn't let you articulate your feelings properly anyway, and you didn't have it in you to respond to his bitter words acting on the anger suffocating your heart right now. Giving in and accepting your loss, you leave him how you found him.

The high didn't take much longer than ten minutes to drop him down, this time with more force than usual.

Vivid recent memories plagued his brain. An unrecognizable version of himself telling his best friend, the only person he has ever loved and cared for in his entire life, the one that had stayed through everything - telling you, all those bold faced lies with full conviction.

Panicked hands reached for his phone, desperately looking for your number, but he didn't get a response. Not the first time, nor the twelfth, nor the thirtieth.

The next victim was your chat, which soon was flooded with incoherent apologies and heart-wrenching pleads.

"I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it. Come on"

A bitter feeling sat uncomfortably in the heart ramming wildly against his ribcage. Anger taking over his pain in an awful attempt to cope with the situation. You're supposed to know, you're the only one who understands. He always thought you knew him better than he did, that you'd see right though him even at his worst, but what hurt him the most was knowing that he couldn't even blame you for leaving, and that he'd have to sit in pain with the consequences of his actions. The distorted feeling of betrayal wasn't coherent enough for him to believe, even now, that you left for anything other than being hurt at his words.

The back and forth between his consciousness and his pain-infused anger, aggravated by the toxic substance running through his body, tired his body out. He laid his shaky body on the floor next to the phone he'd hope to see light up, sweaty palms pulling his hair out of his tear stained cheeks as he let himself go for the night.