#dark spaces: wildfire | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jade-zzz · 1 month ago

Text

INTERMEZZO

( platonic batfam x neglected reader)

SUMMARY : The family reels under a rising tide of public backlash. As headlines vilify their pursuit against crime, an unexpected solution is offered: reaching out to Bruce's estranged firstborn, a figure trusted by the people, ultimately forcing the family to confront their past. TRIGGER WARNINGS ! Child Neglect. No other warnings at this moment.

a/n : this is just me spitting out an old idea i had, most likely wont become a series or a p2. but a lot of neglected reader stories start off with them young and uninvolved with the vigilante scene and i was like 'oh yeah, let me make reader a badass crime fighter so they have a chance against these crazies. if this was longer it would eventually continue into batfam becoming yandere but theres none of that here dw Interactions and Reblogs encouraged!

The Batcave was bathed in the cold, sterile glow of the Batcomputer’s multiple monitors. A sickly blue light flickered over the dark, cavernous space, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch in every direction. The screens were awash in a flood of headlines, each one a blade dipped in poison. Bruce sat motionless before them, his jaw clenched, lips pressed into a thin, hard line, as if the words themselves had weight enough to crush him. The same phrases repeated over and over, like the beat of a relentless drum:

“Vigilante Justice: A Dying Breed?”

“Do vigilantes cause escalation in criminal activity?”

“Batman’s War Against Crime: Our Cost”

Each headline felt like a knife twisting deeper, the rot of public opinion spreading faster than a wildfire. The truth, it seemed, no longer mattered—only the perception.

Jason’s figure loomed above them, leaning casually against the railing of the upper level. His arms were folded tightly, muscles tensed in a way that seemed natural to him. The flickering glow of the monitors cast eerie highlights across his face as he surveyed the headlines with squinted eyes. “I gotta admit,” he muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing. “This one... actually makes a few decent points.”

“Don’t start,” Dick shot back, his voice sharp but tired. He was sitting on the stone steps, his hand running through his hair in a frustrated motion.

Tim, seated at the foot of the steps with his legs folded cross-legged and a tablet in hand, was already knee-deep in data, scanning through analytics with practiced ease. Empty energy drink cans—some familiar, some strange—littered the ground around him, a quiet testament to his dedication to stay awake for this situation. "They’re using our own cases against us," Tim said, his voice low and serious, his gaze never leaving the screen. "Even if we are the good guys, that only goes so far. Gotham knows we’re willing to work outside the law.”

The sharp clicking of keys echoed in the cave as Barbara’s fingers flew across the Batcomputer’s keyboard. Every keystroke seemed like a futile attempt to dam the rising tide of bad press. But for every article she deleted, two more appeared. "I won’t be able to keep this under wraps for much longer," she said, her voice tight with frustration. “Gotham Gazette ran the story last night, but now it’s on CNN, Forbes, The Times. The commentators are tearing it apart.”

Barbara paused, scanning an article that flickered on her screen. “It’s all cherry-picked data,” she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. “They’re drawing correlations without even attempting to prove causation. It’s all smoke and mirrors. But people are desperate for a reason to turn against us.” She looked up, her eyes meeting Bruce’s. “And that’s what they want. Someone to blame.”

From the dark corner near the Batmobile, Damian’s voice cut through the tension like a dagger. He had been silent until now, observing from the shadows, his figure barely visible in the dim light. “They don’t want truth,” he said, his tone cold and detached, almost predatory. “They want a scapegoat. And Father”—his eyes flicked to Bruce, his expression unreadable—“is the easiest target.”

No one dared to disagree.

The Batcave settled into a thick, suffocating silence. The low hum of the machines filled the space, a soft, mechanical murmur that only seemed to highlight the oppressive quiet. From the cavernous walls, water dripped steadily, each drop a tiny echo in the vast emptiness. Above them, the city pulsed with life—its towering lights burning bright against the ink-black sky. Below, however, the family who had sworn to protect it sat, bound together by blood, sweat, and the weight of their shared past, in a silence heavier than lead, an unspoken acknowledgment of something that had shifted irrevocably.

Bruce stepped away from the console, his movements slow and deliberate. He stood for a moment, staring at the glowing screens before him, his face drawn, his expression unreadable. “We’ve survived worse.” His voice, when it came, was low—raspy, like it had been dragged through the years with him. Yet there was something different now. This wasn’t just another crisis. It wasn’t just the press or another criminal on the streets. This hit too close to home. This was a reminder of his very beginning, of the fragile thread that connected him to the man he had once been.

‘Armed robbery, double homicide, has a taste for the theatrical, like you.’ The words Jim Gordon had spoken to him long ago echoed in his mind, the memory of that first case—a playing card left behind, like a message that would haunt him forever.

Barbara’s voice broke through his thoughts, soft but firm. “But we haven’t mended worse,” she said, her gaze not leaving the screen in front of her. “This one’s different. People used to think of us as the lesser evil. Now, they’re starting to wonder if we’re just another form of crime.” The words struck Bruce harder than he cared to admit. She wasn’t wrong. In their attempt to be Gotham’s saviors, they had come to embody something far darker in the eyes of the public. They had always lived in the shadows, but now those shadows were threatening to swallow them whole.

Alfred, standing near the table with a tray of untouched tea—its warm fragrance drifting through the room—cleared his throat, cutting through the tension. "Perhaps what’s needed," he said carefully, his voice measured, "is not another war fought in the shadows, but a reminder that others still stand with you."

Bruce’s eyes flicked toward him, his gaze narrowing, as if weighing the butler’s words. The others followed suit, their expressions unreadable, waiting for Alfred to elaborate.

“What are you suggesting, Alfred?” Bruce’s voice was edged with uncertainty, something he rarely allowed to show.

The butler gave a small, measured nod, his hands setting the tray down with the practiced grace of someone who had spent decades in the service of this family. "I believe, Master Wayne, that what the people need is reassurance. A bridge. Someone they trust. A voice they still believe in."

Jason raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "There’s not exactly a waiting list of pro-vigilante influencers out there, Alf."

“On the contrary,” Alfred said, a quiet confidence in his tone. "There is one. Someone still admired by the people. A symbol of protection, not fear. They’ve worked openly with first responders, collaborated with officials, stayed in the public’s good graces and operated within the law..."

Tim blinked, his mind struggling to process the thought. “In Gotham?”

Dick’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. “Wait… you’re talking about—?”

Bruce’s expression darkened, a flicker of something unreadable flashing in his eyes. But the question hung in the air, unspoken, like an invisible thread tugging at the edges of his resolve.

Alfred’s lips curled into a faint, wistful smile, his voice gentle as he spoke again, almost as if recalling a cherished memory. “Yes. I am referring to your firstborn child, Master Wayne.”

The silence that followed was absolute, a sudden detonation of shock and disbelief that rocked the room. Damian froze mid-step. Tim and Jason exchanged a glance, eyes wide with uncertainty. Barbara shifted in her chair, almost as if waiting for someone to confirm that she hadn’t misheard. Dick’s throat tightened, a knot of guilt coiling in his chest. The past was a fragile thing, fragile enough that sometimes it felt better to pretend it didn’t exist. But in moments like this, the weight of regret bore down on him like an anchor, pulling him deeper into a well of emotion he had long since tried to forget.

Bruce remained still, frozen, his gaze distant. "They haven't been involved in family matters like this for years..." His voice trailed off, thick with the unspoken history between them. The bitterness in his words wasn’t lost on anyone in the room.

“And yet,” Alfred countered, his voice soft but unyielding, “they have remained exactly what this city needed from us.”

A long, heavy pause lingered in the room. The truth was that Bruce had not heard from them in years—not since they had left everything behind at eighteen, vanishing from the world they had known. Alfred had maintained a fragile connection, sending occasional messages through a burner phone, reminding Bruce of their existence whenever he saw their exploits on the news, despite his stubbornness to avoid all topics linked to them. But how long had it been since any of the family had tried to reach out? How long since anyone had even bothered to speak to them, beyond the occasional fleeting word, a distant acknowledgment of someone they once knew?

“People trust them,” Alfred continued, his voice softer now, almost tender. “They believe in their methods. Their clarity. Their distance from... all of this.” He gestured around the cave, to the monitors, to the chaos, to the shadows. “If there’s anyone who could speak to your cause and be heard, it would be them.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened. “They wouldn’t want to be dragged back into this.”

“No,” Alfred agreed, his voice calm, “but perhaps they deserve the choice. After all, they didn’t walk away without cause.”

Another silence fell, heavy with the weight of years and regrets left unspoken. Bruce’s mind churned, searching for answers in the fragmented memories of a younger version of himself. He tried to picture their face, but the years had stolen the details—just a pair of small eyes peering up at him from behind Alfred’s legs when they had first arrived at Wayne Manor.

“It might be nice,” Alfred added softly, almost as an afterthought, “to have them on your side again.”

A/N: feeling devious hinting towards something happening in the past but not mentioning it,, meanwhile reader is sitting on their sofa, watching the news as their prayers for their families downfall worked

1K notes · View notes

hearts4hughes · 3 months ago

Text

HE’S NOT ME | ANAKIN SKYWALKER X READER

note: first writing for anakin! my obsession for him is reawakening, and yk my fav trope is bsf x bsf!reader 🤗

you’re sparring again.

fourth time this week. sixth time if you count the ones that end with him lying flat on his back, laughing, arm flung over his face like he’s hiding something (he is.)

the training room is warm. dusk curls at the windows. your saber slices through the air in a clean arc, but he parries it fast, almost cocky.

“you’re slow today,” he smirks, gaze falling to the way your fingers grip your saber. he shakes his head, trying to free himself from his thoughts.

you glare. “you’re annoying every day.” you lunge at him, your braid whipping through the air with the movement. he simply side-steps you, like he’s calculated your every move.

“true,” he says, and winks.

it should be harmless. you’ve known him since you were both initiates. slept in the same bunks, snuck into the same mess halls after curfew. sparred until your arms shook, until your breathing fell into the same rhythm.

but lately… something’s off.

his touches linger. his jokes cut deeper. and his stare? his stare burns.

“where were you earlier?” he asks, not even trying to sound casual.

“with quinlan,” you mutter, distracted by the way he circles you now. he’s measured, sharp, a little too tight.

he freezes. “quinlan vos?”

“yeah?” you raise a brow. “he asked me to train. we ran drills.”

anakin’s grip on his saber tightens. knuckles pale beneath the glove.

“he’s not your partner.” his voice is lower now. something deeper, darker sparkles in his eyes. “he’s not me.”

you blink. “are you seriously jealous?”

he doesn’t answer. instead, he lunges. his saber collides with yours so hard it makes your arms tremble.“you think he can protect you?” he grits out, eyes locked on yours. “he flirts. he doesn’t care. not like I—”

he stops. chest heaving.

not like what, skywalker?

“what’s your problem?” you snap, breathless. you throw your saber on the ground, and turn away from him. your arm cover your chest as you stare at the ground.

he drops his saber and steps into your space.

“you don’t get it,” he says, eyes dark and storming. “i see the way they look at you. vos, kenobi, every soldier in the hangar bay. they think they can.”

“can what?” your voice falters. curiosity lingers in your gaze as his muscles stiffen.

then, he leans in. heat rolls off him like wildfire. “touch you. take you. love you.”

you stifle our a dry laugh, absent of any humor. “and you think you’re any different?”

his eyes flash.

“no,” he says, voice breaking open. “i know i’m not. i’m worse,” his voice falters. “but at least i don’t pretend.”

then his hands are on your face, pulling you in like the force itself is dragging you together. and when he kisses you, it’s not soft. it’s not sweet. it’s desperate. possessive. like he’s been starving and you’re the only thing that could ever feed him.

you gasp against his mouth, fingers curling in his hair.

his hand slides down your spine, anchoring you to him, like you might vanish if he lets go.

“you’re mine,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. “not theirs.”

you don’t say anything.

you don’t have to.

your mouth just finds his again.

and for the first time, he stops pretending to be your friend.

#nora’s writings 💐#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker imagine #star wars anakin #anakin x reader #anakin smut

1K notes · View notes

rafegetinmybed · 10 days ago

Text

rafe fucks you while you’re high

The world felt like it was humming, a low-frequency buzz in your ears from the coke and weed. Barry’s trailer, usually just a stale metal box, felt like a velvet cave, thick with the smell of cheap weed and something acrid from all the drug deals. You were sprawled across the worn-out couch seat, Rafe’s head heavy in your lap, his eyes a little too wide, pupils blown out.

“Be right back, gotta grab more wraps,” Barry grunted, his voice muffled by the thick air, and then the door creaked open and shut, leaving you two alone in the humid silence.

Rafe's head lifted, his gaze locking onto yours, a slow, predatory grin stretching across his face. “Finally,” he purred, his voice rough. His hand reached up, his fingers brushing your inner thigh, making your skin prickle. "You feel that, huh?"

You just hummed, the coke making your nerves sing, a wildfire already licking at your insides. His fingers moved higher, delving under your shorts, finding the damp heat there. You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips.

"That's it," he whispered, his eyes dark with hunger. He stood, pulling you up roughly, your bodies slamming together. His mouth was on yours, hot and demanding, his tongue tasting like cheap beer and something else feral. He tore at your clothes, not bothering with buttons or zippers, and you did the same, urgent and clumsy in the small space.

“You’re so fucking wet for me, aren’t you?” he breathed against your neck, his hips grinding against yours. “Already begging.”

He pushed you back against the grimy wall of the trailer, legs parting with a soft slide of friction. His hand gripped your hip, pulling you close, and then he was there, hot and hard, pushing inside you with a groan that vibrated through your bones. You cried out, a sharp, choked sound, as he filled you completely.

He started to move, slowly at first, then faster, a relentless rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your heart. The trailer swayed around you, bumping and rattling with every thrust. You wrapped your legs around his waist, digging your nails into his shoulders, riding him hard, the drugs making every sensation explode.

“Yeah, just like that,” he grunted, his breath hot on your ear. “Fucking perfect. You feel good, baby? So good.”

You couldn't form words, just whimpers and moans, your head thrown back against the wall, the world narrowing to the insistent press of his body, the wet slap of skin, the dizzying rush of pure, unadulterated pleasure. You bucked against him, desperate for more, pushing yourself closer to the edge, Rafe holding you tight, a grunting, primal sound in his throat.

“Shit,” he groaned, grabbing a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back, his eyes locked on yours. “Fucking mine.”

He slammed into you one last time, a guttural roar tearing from his throat as he emptied himself deep inside you, hot and thick and overwhelming. You arched your back, a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain rippling through your core. He collapsed on you, breathless, his chest heaving.

You were still tangled together, gasping and sweaty, when the trailer door creaked open.

“What the fuck man?!" Barry’s voice, laced with pure annoyance, sliced through the drug-hazed afterglow.

#۶ৎ rafe cameron #rafe obx #outerbanks rafe #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe outer banks #obx smut #rafe cameron smut #obx fic #rafe smut #rafe x reader smut #rafe x you #rafe fic #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe imagine

733 notes · View notes

nkogneatho · 23 days ago

Text

𝐃𝐀𝐃'𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

part one masterlist

—a/n: i came. i creamed my panties. ok bye. thanks for the patience.

—c/w: daddy kink, creampie, older satoru, reader is in her 20s, dirty talking, reader calls gojo sir.

you barely made it to your room. head spinning, heart pounding so loud it felt like it was gonna burst right out of your chest. the click of the lock? it hit different—like thunder breaking the silence all around the house. you leaned back against the door, trying to catch your breath, trying to make sense of what the hell just happened. but the fire burning low in your stomach? yeah, that wasn’t going anywhere.

satoru gojo. your dad’s best friend. his name echoed in your head, tangled up with that dark look in his eyes and the low growl of his voice. you hated that you wanted him. hated that he somehow knew exactly how to unravel you without even touching you. but you couldn’t stop replaying the moment his knuckles grazed your skin, sending shivers that crawled all the way down your spine.

you paced, bare feet sinking into the soft carpet like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. every step was a fight with your own thoughts. why’d he tell you to lock the door? a warning? a challenge? or something else? you didn’t know. but just thinking about opening it sent this crazy thrill buzzing through your veins you couldn’t shake.

minutes passed, maybe hours? hard to tell. the house was quiet except for a faint murmur of voices downstairs. you tried to distract yourself, scrolling on your phone, flipping through an old book but nothing worked. your mind kept drifting back to him.

then, a knock. soft. almost shy. your breath hitched and you froze, eyes locked on the doorknob. you didn’t move. and before you could, the door creaked open, slow and long, like it was teasing you, without even needing to be unlocked.

there he was. silver hair catching the hallway light, eyes dark and intense. no words at first, just that look that made your knees weak. then the smirk. slow, dangerous, curling on his lips, heat rushing through you like wildfire.

“i told you to lock it,” he said, stepping inside like he owned the space. you stepped back, but he followed, shutting the door quietly behind him.

“you’re not supposed to be here,” you whispered, voice shaky but loud enough to betray every fear and thrill.

“then you would’ve locked the door,” he said smooth as silk, gaze never leaving yours. he moved closer, presence swallowing you whole, until there was almost no space left.

your heart slammed as his fingers brushed your wrist—soft but certain. “tell me to leave,” he said low and dangerous. “tell me to walk away. right now.”

you opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. you stood there, caught in the storm of his eyes, pulled in too deep to fight it.

then his lips found yours, dark, hungry, everything you didn’t know you needed. you stumbled back, his hands gripping your waist, strong and sure. the quiet power in his hold made your breath catch, and god, you hated how easy it was to melt into him.

“do you know what you’re doing?” you whispered between kisses, voice shaky, unsure.

his lips curled into that maddening smirk against your skin. “maybe the better question is… do you?”

his fingers traced your jaw, tilting your head up. his eyes locked on yours, sharp as knives, like he was reading every secret you tried to hide.

you wanted to push him away, tell him it was wrong. but instead, your hands clutched his shirt, trying to ground yourself in the chaos he brought. “this is insane,” you breathed, more a confession than a protest.

“maybe,” he said, lips brushing your ear, voice low and promising. “but it doesn’t feel like you want me to stop.”

your silence said all he needed. his mouth was back on yours—rougher, deeper, more demanding—pulling you apart piece by piece until all that was left was need. the air thickened, every touch, every whispered word dragging you closer to the edge.

“sir…” the word slipped out before you could stop it, raw and breathless.

he looked at you then, all dangerous and wild, and your knees went weak. your heart raced like crazy.

“you love playing with fire, don't you?” he said, voice low and amused.

you didn’t answer. how could you? the truth was in your body, in the way you leaned into him, in every hitch of your breath when his hands explored places only meant for him.

“on the bed. legs spread wide. now”

you did what he ordered. you climbed on the bed, your ass wiggling on the way. the moment you turned around to face him, he yanked you to the edge, making you yelp. his hands traveled up you thighs and stopped once they reached to your core.

“no panties, huh?” you shied away. you knew. you knew what he was implying. that you knew he was going to come in. and that you wanted him to take you. which was true by the way.

he ran his long, slender fingers up and down your slick, the wet voice of your weeping pussy filling up the silence in your room.

“all this for me? shit, sweetheart. i am so hard. i wanna fuck this pussy till you're crying.”

“then do it.” you didn't know if you were being bold or stupid, but you couldn't—wouldn't wait anymore.

that's all he needed to hear before he literally smashed his lips against your pussy, slurping like a hungry dog. it wasn't your first time getting your pussy eaten but it sure as hell was the first time you felt so good, like you were losing your damn mind.

you clung to his hair like it was the last thread keeping you from falling apart, and then his mouth moved with a ruthless hunger that made your whole body shake. “fuck, you taste so good,” he groaned, voice thick and ragged against your skin.

when you finally mustered up enough sanity to peek, you saw one of his hands stroking his hard cock. the angle made it difficult to see what his dick looked like but a man like him wouldn't act so superior for nothing. gojo satoru, as your father suggested, was never the one to say or do something he didn't have confident in. and the worst part? he had confident in everything he did. thinking about all of it almost made you forget that you're about to cum. you instinctively fisted his gray locks, tightened your thighs and prepared yourself for your orgasm.

your back arched, hips jerking instinctively as the wave hit you, hot and fierce and everything you didn’t know you needed. your breath hitched into shaky gasps, “sir—” oh that did it.

he didn’t stop. if anything, he only got more savage, fingers digging into your hips to keep you right where he wanted. his cock throbbed in his hand, slick and hard, teasing at the edge like it was aching to bury itself deep inside you. “calling me sir all the damn time like it never made your panties wet.”

“i—” you opened your quivering lips to speak but he shushed you. he got off his knees, blessing your eyes with the hottest view, a pink veiny cock, gray hairs decorating his pelvic region, and precum that looked like pearls under your lamplight. you gulped hard.

“what? scared?” you nodded, hesitantly. “want to stop?” when you didn't respond for a few seconds, he really thought he'd get the same answer—that he'd get blue-balled and this night will end in him relieving himself in the shower but, to his surprise, you nudged your heels against his ass, pulling him closer, making him lose his balance a little and almost falling against you.

“need...you.” you spoke softly. he laughs.

“let me wear a condom at least, sweet girl.” you shook your head.

“need it now, sir” holy fucking god what are you actually doing to him? something dark flickered in his eyes. you saw it. the crystal blue ocean was now imitating a sea of lava, cerulean blue gone bloody red. and before you could make out more of that expression, a sharp pain pulled you out. shit. he really is fucking big.

it was one thing about girth and being stretched out for him, because it was something possible. pushing his long cock in till it hits your cervix was another. you now lied under him, his cock perfectly engulfed in the warmth of your walls as tears stung your eyes. he could only lick them and assure you “just for a while. i promise i'll make it feel better, baby.”

baby

it was spoken in the heat of lust but why did it sound like a call of love?

and just like that, he started thrusting. slow, dragging his cock out but intense as he shoved it in.

your hands clawed at his shoulders, nails digging in as waves of pleasure and pain twisted through you. every thrust hit a nerve, every touch setting fire to the cracks in your skin.

“shit, you’re so tight,” he groaned, hips stuttering against yours. “sweet pussy's driving me insane.”

you were so busy getting your brains fucked out, you forgot this is your father's best friend, a man old enough to also be your father. moreover, the fact that you were fucking him in your bedroom while your parents were asleep downstairs? girl, what the fuck?

“you have no idea how long i've wanted to wreck ughh this pussy.” that made your pussy throb. “saw you on tinder god! made me jerk off to your pictures like a horny fucking teenager.” he was pounding into you, ruthlessly, like he was drowning and you were his only anchor. “i'll ruin this fucking pussy tonight.” he groaned, deep and guttural, and snapped his hips harder, rougher now, fucking the sanity out of you one thrust at a time. “call me sir like a good girl. cum on my cock sweetheart.' but you did something even more insane.

“ngh, daddy!”

he stilled. and in that moment, you thought you'd summoned a beast with flame in his eyes and an intention to do nothing but wreck you and you weren't completely opposed to the idea. a chuckle arose in his throat, not the sweet kind, but the mocking one.

“daddy, huh? calling me fucking daddy? who taught you to—ughh use such dirty language? if i knew you were like this, mhm would've surely—ngh fucked you earlier”

“pleasepleaseplease” you weren't even sure what were you begging for but, it was definitely not for him to stop.

“heh! look at'cha, baby. you wanna cum? yeah? wanna cream on daddy's cock like a good girl? hah. go ahead.” he mocked. the words that were embarrassing enough to make tears well up in your eyes, in turn made your pussy clench. and then it hit you. the high you were chasing for. begging for, earlier. you held onto him like your world was escalating and he was your only anchor. your pussy throbbing around him, yet the man refused to slow down. he wasn't sure he could hold back anymore. he wanted to pull out and make a mess on your stomach but seems like your fresh out of the orgasm self was deliriously tightening you legs around his hips. fuck. he can't pull out.

he doesn't want to.

“fuck. fuck, baby, fuck.”

and just like that, satoru let out a deep growl, his movements sloppier but hard as he painted your walls in his warm cum. unfortunately, your mind was to hazy to pick up the fact that you need to clean up. all you craved at this moment was his warmth. and he was right there. on top of you, chest collapsing against yours.

“you did so good for me.” the praise made your cheeks warmer than they were before. “uhm...i should leave before your parents find out sweetheart.”

“can't you stay for...a bit more?” gosh how can he say no to those words spoken with those pretty pouty lips of yours. he is not completely in his right mind either but he knows the consequences of his actions. he crossed a line. well fuck he fucking cart-wheeled his way out of the line. there's no going back so he might as well enjoy this moment with you. you were leaving back for your final year of college anyways. it's not like you'll ever let him cross this line again.

yeah...about that. oh how naive he was for a man at his age.

because now here you were in his room, holding a pregnancy test.

“i'm pregnant.”

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #gojo satoru x female reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru smut

540 notes · View notes

comicsiswild · 3 months ago

Text

Dark Spaces: Wildfire (2022) #5

#dark spaces: wildfire #dark spaces #idw #idw comics

11 notes · View notes

thatdisasterauthor · 5 months ago

Text

New disaster education graphic! Had to split it in half so tumblr wouldn't TOTALLY eat the quality. I'm going to put the full, unsplit version beneath a cut so if you want to share this graphic you can grab the whole one or the two halves, whichever works for you. As always, my disaster graphics can be shared anywhere on the internet that isn't making a profit, as long as my credit remains intact at the bottom! If you would like to license a physical or paid use of them, reach out to me on my website.

I've seen a lot of graphics about defensible space over the years, but I've never really seen one that does a good job of also explaining WHY the recommendations are what they are, so I've been wanting to make a graphic that dug into the why.

Alt text is also below the cut!

Alt text: Two halves of a single infographic. The background is dark gray. The top text reads "Why Does Defensible Space Matter?" in large yellow text. Below that is the text "When it comes to protecting your home from a wildfire, having defensible space around your home is one of the best things you can do. But why?" in black. Below that is the text "Wildfires move in three main ways:" in white.

Next there are three rectangles in a lighter gray, stacked one on top of the other. Each has a diagram of a small house on the edge of a forest. There are decorations on the porch, firewood on the porch, leaf litter on the roof, overgrown grass, trees growing right up next to the house, bushes, and the forest is crowded and overgrown.

In the top box, there is a fire moving along the ground, and the box is labeled as "Along the ground." In the second box the fire is moving through the tops of the trees, and the box is labeled, "through the crowns of trees." The third box shows a distance fire with lots of little embers being blown through the air, labeled as "Through the air via embers."

After that is the text, "The goal of defensible space is to make changes that impede each of these types of movement" in white.

Below that are the same three boxes as above, but each one shows changes you can make to impede one of these types of movement. The changes are listed under the box in a numbered list, with the numbers also in the diagram where those changes are reflected in the art.

The first box is labeled as "Impede ground movement" and has the following items listed:

Create a five foot zone around your home with no burnables using gravel, pavers, or other hardscaping.

Keep grass trimmed and well maintained in a thirty foot radius around your home.

Keep ground plants other than grass to a minimum and well spaced out.

Trim low hanging branches to prevent a ground fire from accessing higher portions of the tree.

The second box is labeled as "Impede Crown Movement" and has the following items listed:

Remove trees hanging over the roof and close to the home.

Thin trees within One-Hundred Feet of the home to reduce movement of flames between them.

The third box is labeled as "Remove Anything that can trap embers" and has the following items listed:

Clean debris such as leaves from off the roof of and around your home.

Do not store firewood or lumber near your home.

Keep combustible decorations That can trap embers close to your home to a minimum.

After that is a larger version of the house, but redecorated in a more fire safe manner. The door has been painted purple, there are plants visible inside through the window, and the outdoor decorations are made of non-combustible materials. After the house is the text "There are still plenty of ways to make your home your own while being fire safe!" in white.

Below that in a rectangle is the text "For more information on defensible space and how to create it around your home, visit: https://www.fire.ca.gov/dspace for a more in depth breakdown of how to protect each zone around your home."

The last text on the poster reads "If you are in the U.S.A. and experiencing disaster related anxiety, call the Disaster Distress Hotline at 1-800-985-5990 for support and resources. Poster created by Katy L. Wood ● www.Katy-L-Wood.com"

#Wildfire #Disaster Education #Defensible Space #Natural Disaster #Infographic #My Art #Emergency Management

764 notes · View notes

heesvnqie · 1 month ago

Text

Forbidden Fever- Lee Heeseung

pairing: lee heeseung x f!reader genre: smut, angst, romance, best friend’s cousin au warnings: explicit content, nsfw, forbidden romance, strong language, eventual unprotected sex (wrap it up irl!), slight exhibitionism, slow-burn tension, reader is bold af word count: 8.5k a/n: y’all, this one’s for the heeseung stans like me who live for the tension, the yearning, and the absolute wreckage of a forbidden crush. I poured my soul into this, so pls enjoy with me in the reblogs if u feel it.

You’ve always been the quiet one, the girl who fades into the background with a shy smile and a nervous laugh. It’s not that you don’t want to shine—you just never know how to make yourself loud, how to claim space the way others do so effortlessly.

But when it comes to Lee Heeseung, Lia’s older cousin and the boy who’s been stealing your breath for four summers now, you’re anything but subtle in your heart. Your crush on him is a wildfire, burning quiet but fierce, and no matter how hard you try to hide it, it’s like he can feel the heat every time you’re in the same room.

It all started when you were eighteen, dragged by Lia to her family’s annual summer bash at their stupidly gorgeous beachside mansion. Think white walls, glass doors opening to ocean views, the kind of place that smells like sea salt and expensive perfume.

You were out of place, clutching a soda can like a lifeline, your sundress feeling too frilly, too you in a crowd of Lia’s loud, confident relatives.

Lia—your best friend since you were six, trading Pokémon cards and secrets under blankets—was your saving grace, all wild curls and brighter-than-the-sun energy. She thrived in chaos, weaving through the party like she owned it, while you trailed behind, heart pounding every time someone new said hi.

Then you saw him. Heeseung. He was leaning against a deck railing, a glass of lemonade in hand, looking like he’d stepped out of a dream you didn’t know you were having. His dark hair caught the sunset’s glow, falling in soft waves over his forehead, and his eyes—deep, hazel, and impossibly warm—held a spark that made your chest ache. His jawline was sharp enough to cut through your thoughts, his lips always on the edge of a smile, like he knew something you didn’t. He was twenty-one, a music trainee with a voice that could break hearts, and he carried himself with this easy, untouchable charm that made you feel small and huge all at once.

Lia, sharp as ever, caught you staring. “Oh no, Y/N,” she whispered, grabbing your elbow with a grin. “Not Heeseung. My cousin? You’re doomed.”

You flushed, ducking your head, but you couldn’t stop looking. When she introduced you, your voice came out barely above a whisper. “Hi, I’m Y/N,” you managed, eyes fixed on the wooden deck because meeting his gaze felt like staring into the sun.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, his voice low and smooth, like a song you’d replay on loop. “Lia’s told me about you. You’re the one who keeps her out of trouble, right?”

You laughed, nervous and too loud, and Lia snorted, rolling her eyes. “More like she’s the one who needs saving,” she teased, nudging you. Heeseung’s smile widened, and you felt it—like a hook in your chest, tugging you toward him. That was it. One look, one sentence, and you were gone.

From then on, Heeseung was your secret obsession. Every summer, every holiday dinner, every time Lia dragged you to her family’s events, you went, knowing he’d be there.

You weren’t bold, not like Lia, who could charm a room with a laugh. You were the girl who lingered in corners, who blushed when eyes met hers, who overthought every word before it left her lips.

But with Heeseung, you felt everything louder—every glance, every accidental brush of his hand, every time his laugh filled the room. You’d catch yourself staring at his hands as he played the grandpiano in the mansion, or at the way his shoulders moved when he tossed a volleyball on the beach.

And Lia? She saw it all.

“You’re so whipped,” she’d say, sprawled on your dorm bed after a long day, tossing a pillow at you. “Heeseung’s got you wrapped around his finger, and he doesn’t even know it.”

“Shut up,” you’d mumble, burying your face in your hands, but you couldn’t deny it. You were whipped. You’d spend hours replaying the smallest moments—how he’d held the door for you at a family barbecue, his fingers grazing your back for a split second; how he’d asked you what book you were reading, his head tilted like he actually cared.

You’d lie awake at night, imagining what it’d be like his. His girlfriend. How it would feel to kiss him, to feel his voice vibrate against your skin, to know him the way you wanted to.

The summer you were nineteen, Lia’s family rented a cabin in the mountains, and you got a front-row seat to your own personal torment. Heeseung was everywhere—laughing with his cousins, helping with dishes in the kitchen, his voice echoing through the wooden halls as he sang to himself.

You tried to play it cool, but your shyness betrayed you. You’d fumble your words when he talked to you, your cheeks burning when he sat too close during movie nights, his knee brushing yours on the couch.

One evening, you were reading on the porch, curled up with a blanket, when he sat beside you, holding a mug of hot chocolate.

“Quiet out here,” he said, his voice soft, like he didn’t want to break the spell of the night. “You always hide away like this?”

“I’m not hiding,” you said, too quickly, your heart racing. “Just… like the quiet.”

He smiled, slow and warm, and you felt it in your bones. “You’re cute when you’re nervous,” he said, and you wanted to sink through the floor. Instead, you ducked your head, muttering something about the book in your lap, and he let it go, but not before his eyes lingered, like he was trying to figure you out.

Lia was relentless after that. “He so knows you’re into him,” she said, painting her nails while you died inside. “He’s teasing you, Y/N. It’s, like, his favorite hobby now.”

“He’s not,” you protested, but you weren’t so sure. Heeseung had this way of looking at you—intense, almost deliberate—that made you wonder if he could see the chaos in your head.

But you were too shy to act on it, too afraid of what might happen if you crossed that line with Lia’s cousin. So you kept it locked away, letting it burn you up from the inside.

By twenty, the tension was a living thing. Lia’s family planned another beach house trip, and you went, your heart a tangled mess of hope and fear. You weren’t the bold type, but you weren’t invisible either—you’d wear your favorite sundresses, let your hair fall loose, laugh a little louder when you knew he was watching.

Heeseung noticed. You’d catch him staring across the pool, his eyes dark and unreadable, or he’d find excuses to talk to you, asking about your classes, your music taste, your life. Every conversation felt like a tightrope, your shyness warring with the part of you that wanted to lean into him, to close the distance.

One night, you were on the beach, the party raging behind you, the air cool against your skin. You’d slipped away to breathe, the waves crashing softly at your feet. Heeseung followed, his presence like a shadow you couldn’t shake. He stood beside you, hands in his pockets, staring out at the ocean.

“You’re always running off,” he said, his voice low, almost swallowed by the waves. “What’s got you so spooked?”

You hugged your arms, avoiding his eyes. “I’m not spooked,” you said, but your voice shook, betraying you. “Just… needed air.”

He turned, his gaze heavy on you. “You sure it’s not me?” he asked, half-teasing, half-something else. “You get all quiet when I’m around.”

Your face burned, and you wanted to disappear, but you forced yourself to look at him. “Maybe you’re just… intimidating,” you said, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

He laughed, soft and warm, stepping closer. “Me? Intimidating? Nah, Y/N. You’re the one who’s hard to read.” His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought he might say something more, might bridge the gap you were both dancing around.

But he just smiled, stepping back, leaving you with a racing heart and a thousand unsaid words.

Lia was waiting when you got back to the house, her smirk sharp enough to cut. “You’re blushing,” she said, poking your cheek. “What did Heeseung do now?”

“Nothing,” you muttered, swatting her hand away, but she just laughed, flopping onto the couch.

“You’re hopeless,” she said, but there was affection in her voice. “He’s my cousin, Y/N, but I’m not blind. He looks at you like… I don’t even know. Like you’re a puzzle he wants to solve.”

“Stop,” you said, hiding your face, but her words stuck with you, feeding the fire that wouldn’t let you go.

Now, at twenty-one, you’re back at the beach house for another summer, and you’re done hiding. You’re still shy, still prone to blushing under his gaze, but you’re tired of letting fear hold you back. Lia’s been teasing you all week, dropping hints to Heeseung when she thinks you’re not listening, and you’ve caught him watching you more than ever—his eyes lingering on your lips, your bare shoulders, the way you move when you think no one’s looking.

Tonight, with the house buzzing with friends, music, and the humid pulse of summer, you’re ready to let the tension snap. You’re not bold, not really, but you’re ready to be brave, to let Heeseung see the girl who’s been burning for him all these years.

The beach house is alive tonight, a pulsing heartbeat of music, laughter, and the clink of soju bottles on the glass coffee table. The air is heavy with the scent of salt from the open windows and the faint tang of alcohol, the kind of summer night that feels like it could swallow you whole. You’re sprawled on the couch, your bare legs tucked under you, a red solo cup cradled in your hands.

The room is crowded—Lia’s friends, some of her cousins, a few randoms who tagged along for the vibe—all sprawled across the living room, the floor littered with empty bottles and snack wrappers. The energy is chaotic, electric, and you’re trying to keep up, but your heart’s been a mess since you locked eyes with Heeseung an hour ago.

He’s across the room now, leaning against the wall, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he laughs at something one of his cousins says.

He’s wearing a black tank top that shows off his lean arms, the kind of casual that shouldn’t look that good but does, like he’s mocking the universe for making him so untouchable.

His eyes flicker to you every now and then, quick but deliberate, and each time, your stomach flips like you’re eighteen again, crushing on a boy you can’t have.

Lia’s beside you, her curls bouncing as she leans forward, her grin sharp and dangerous. She’s been watching you watch him all night, and you know she’s about to make your life hell.

“Truth or dare, Y/N?” Lia asks, her voice loud enough to cut through the chatter. The room quiets, heads turning, and you feel the weight of everyone’s attention like a spotlight.

Your cheeks heat up, and you curse yourself for being so easy to read. Lia’s got that glint in her eye, the one that says she’s about to push you right into the deep end.

You swallow, trying to play it cool despite the nervous flutter in your chest. “Dare,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. You’re shy, always have been, but you’re not about to let Lia make you squirm in front of him. Not tonight. You’ve spent years pining, years letting Heeseung’s presence turn you into a blushing, stuttering mess. Tonight, you’re done hiding.

Lia’s grin widens, and you can practically see the gears turning in her head. “Oh, you’re bold tonight, huh?” she teases, tapping her chin like she’s plotting world domination.

The others hoot and laugh, egging her on. Heeseung’s watching now, his head tilted, his lips twitching like he’s trying not to smile.

“Alright, Y/N,” Lia says, leaning closer, her voice dripping with mischief. “I dare you to… spend fifteen minutes alone with Heeseung in the upstairs guest room.”

The room erupts—whistles, gasps, a few “oh shits” from Lia’s rowdier friends. Your heart stops, then kicks into overdrive, pounding so hard you’re sure everyone can hear it.

You glance at Heeseung, and he’s still leaning against the wall, but his posture’s shifted, his eyes locked on you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. He raises an eyebrow, a silent question: You in?

“Y/N’s gonna combust,” one of Lia’s cousins calls out, and everyone laughs, but you barely hear them.

Your face is burning, but you force a smile, trying to channel some of the confidence you wish you had.

“Fine,” you say, standing up, brushing imaginary lint off your shorts. “Let’s go, Heeseung.”

The room loses it, whooping and cheering like you’ve just agreed to fight a dragon.

Lia’s practically cackling, her eyes glinting with victory. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” she yells as Heeseung pushes off the wall, his stride easy but purposeful as he heads toward the stairs.

You follow, your heart in your throat, the weight of everyone’s eyes on your back. You’re shy, yeah, but you’re not backing down. Not when Heeseung’s looking at you like that, like he’s been waiting for this moment as long as you have.

The stairs creak under your feet, the noise of the party fading as you climb higher. The hallway is dim, lit only by a single wall sconce, and the air feels cooler, quieter, like you’re stepping into a different world.

Heeseung leads the way, pushing open the door to the guest room with a casual flick of his wrist. You step inside, and he closes the door behind you, the soft click echoing like a gunshot in the silence.

The room is small, intimate, with moonlight streaming through the balcony doors, casting silver patterns on the hardwood floor.

The bed is unmade, sheets rumpled, and there’s a faint scent of lavender from an air freshener somewhere. You stand there, arms crossed, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is, how alone you are. Your shyness creeps in, making your throat tight, but you swallow it down, meeting his gaze.

“So,” Heeseung says, his voice low, teasing, like he’s savoring every second of this. He steps closer, and you have to tilt your head back to look at him, his height making you feel small in a way that’s both thrilling and terrifying. “Lia’s having fun with this, huh?”

You laugh, but it’s nervous, breathy. “She’s evil,” you say, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, your fingers trembling slightly. “She knows… you know. About me.” You wince as soon as the words slip out, wishing you could take them back. Too much, too soon.

Heeseung’s eyebrow quirks, but his smile is soft, not mocking. “Oh, I know,” he says, and your stomach drops. “She’s been dropping hints for years, Y/N. Not exactly subtle.” He takes another step, close enough now that you can smell his perfume—something warm and spicy that makes your head spin. “But you’re not subtle either. The way you look at me? It’s hard to miss.”

Your face burns, and you look away, your shyness winning for a moment. “I’m not—I mean, I don’t mean to—” you stammer, but he cuts you off with a soft chuckle, stepping even closer until there’s barely a foot between you.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice dropping lower, softer, like a secret. “Don’t apologize. I like it.” His eyes are on you, intense, searching, and you feel like you’re unraveling under them. “You’ve been driving me crazy for years, you know that? Every summer, every damn time you show up in those little dresses, laughing with Lia, looking at me like you’re scared but you want me anyway.”

Your breath catches, and you stare at him, wide-eyed, your heart pounding so loud you’re sure he can hear it. “You… noticed?” you manage, your voice small, like you’re afraid the words will break the spell.

He laughs, a low, rumbling sound that sends shivers down your spine. “Noticed? Y/N, you’re all I see.” He reaches out, his fingers brushing your arm, light but electric, and you feel it everywhere—your skin, your bones, your racing pulse. “You think I don’t catch you staring? The way you blush when I get too close? It’s fucking adorable.”

You’re dying, you’re sure of it, your heart about to give out under the weight of his words. You’ve spent years hiding, thinking you were invisible, but he’s been watching you just as closely, and the realization makes you dizzy. “I didn’t think you… I mean, you’re you,” you say, stumbling over the words. “You’re Lia’s cousin, and you’re… you know, Heeseung. I didn’t think you’d care.”

His hand pauses on your arm, his fingers curling slightly, warm against your skin. “I care,” he says, and there’s no teasing now, just raw honesty that makes your chest ache. “I’ve cared for a while. But you’re Lia’s best friend, and I didn’t want to make things messy. Didn’t want to cross that line.” He pauses, his eyes searching yours. “But we’re here now, aren’t we?”

You nod, your throat too tight to speak. The air between you is thick, heavy with everything you’ve both left unsaid for years. You’re still shy, still trembling under his gaze, but there’s a spark in you now, a tiny flame of courage that’s been building since that first summer. You take a shaky breath, stepping closer, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, the pull of him like gravity.

“What are we doing, Heeseung?” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but he hears it, his eyes darkening.

“Whatever you want,” he says, his voice rough, like he’s holding back. “You tell me, Y/N. You’re the one who’s been running from this.”

You swallow, your heart racing, your hands itching to touch him, to close the distance you’ve been dancing around for years. “I’m not running now,” you say, and it’s the bravest thing you’ve ever done, standing there, offering yourself up to the one person who could break you.

Heeseung’s breath hitches, and then he’s moving, closing the gap in one swift motion. His lips crash into yours, and it’s like the world stops—everything stops, the party, the noise, the fear. It’s just him, his mouth hot and hungry, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you against him. You gasp into the kiss, your shyness melting under the heat of it, your hands finding his hair, tugging him closer. He groans, low and deep, and the sound sends a jolt through you, pooling low in your stomach.

The kiss is messy, desperate, years of want poured into every slide of his lips, every flick of his tongue. You’re pressed against him, his body hard and warm, and you can feel the way he’s trembling, like he’s been holding back as long as you have. His hands roam, sliding up your sides, under your shirt, his fingers grazing the bare skin of your waist, and you shiver, pressing closer, wanting more, needing everything.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he murmurs against your mouth, his voice rough, wrecked. “You have no idea what you do to me.” His hands slide higher, teasing the edge of your bra, and you whimper, a sound you didn’t know you could make, your body acting on instinct, not thought.

“Heeseung,” you whisper, and it’s a plea, a prayer, everything you’ve ever wanted wrapped in his name. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and heavy with want, his lips swollen from the kiss. He’s beautiful, devastating, and you’re so far gone you don’t know how you’ll ever come back from this.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he says, his mouth trailing to your jaw, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses that make your head spin. “Every summer, I saw you and thought, God, she’s it. Every damn time.” His voice is low, raw, and you’re certain you can feel it in your soul, wrapping around you like a melody.

His hands move higher, one slipping under your shirt, his palm warm against your stomach, and you arch into him, your body moving before your mind can catch up, wanting him closer, deeper, more.

You’re dizzy, lost in him, your shyness a faint echo that only makes this moment sharper, more real. You tug at his tank top, your fingers clumsy but desperate, and he leans back, his eyes dark and heavy as he watches you. “You sure?” he asks, his voice low, almost a growl, and you nod, your breath shaky but unwavering.

“Never been surer,” you say, and it’s the truth, spilling out like it’s been waiting years to be heard. You reach for him again, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the way his muscles tense under your touch, and he groans, low and needy, capturing your lips in another kiss that’s deeper, hungrier, like he’s trying to pour every unspoken word into you.

His hands are bolder now, one cupping your face, the other roaming your back, fingers tracing the curve of your spine, teasing the edge of your bra. You’re trembling, overwhelmed but not hesitant, not with him. You want this, want him, want to finally let go of the distance you’ve been keeping for years.

You pull him closer, your lips parting for him, and he takes it, his tongue sliding against yours, slow and deliberate, making you melt into him.

The bed is behind you, the sheets rumpled and inviting, and you’re so close to falling into it, to letting this moment swallow you whole. His body presses against yours, and you can feel his want, the evidence in the way he holds you, the way his breath catches when you shift against him.

Your hands slide down his shoulders, your nails grazing his skin, and he shudders, his lips breaking from yours to trail down your neck, hot and urgent, leaving sparks in their wake.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice muffled, rough with need. “No idea how long I’ve wanted you like this.” His hands are everywhere, one sliding up your thigh, the other still under your shirt, teasing higher, and you whimper, a sound you didn’t know you could make, your body acting on instinct, craving him.

You’re ready to give in, to let him take you wherever this leads, your shyness no match for the fire he’s lit inside you. You tug at his hair, pulling him back to your lips, and he groans, the kiss messier now, more desperate, like you’re both running out of time. Your heart is pounding, your skin burning under his touch, and you’re so close to saying yes, to letting go of everything that’s held you back—

Knock, knock, knock.

The sound is a gunshot, sharp and jarring, cutting through the haze of want. You freeze, your heart lurching, and Heeseung pulls back, his lips still hovering over yours, his breath ragged. “

Fuck,” he whispers, his voice strained, his eyes wide with the same shock you feel.

“Y/N! Heeseung!” Lia’s voice rings through the door, loud and teasing, dripping with amusement. “Fifteen minutes is up, you lovebirds! Get your asses back down here!”

The party’s noise creeps back in, muffled but undeniable, and the spell shatters. You’re both breathing hard, your hands still tangled in his hair, his still on your waist, but the moment’s gone, stolen by Lia’s relentless grin and the creak of the floorboards outside. You pull away, your face burning, your shyness rushing back but not enough to regret what just happened. You fumble for your shirt, smoothing it down, your hands trembling as you try to catch your breath.

Heeseung runs a hand through his hair, his jaw tight, his eyes locked on you like he’s not ready to let this go. “Y/N,” he starts, his voice soft but urgent, and you meet his gaze, your heart still racing.

There’s no fear in you now, no worry about what this could mean for you and Lia, for your friendship, for everything. You just want him, and you’re tired of pretending you don’t.

“We should go,” you say, your voice quiet but steady, and it’s not because you want to stop, but because you know Lia’s not going anywhere until you open that door. You’re still shy, still prone to blushing under his gaze, but there’s a new certainty in you, a spark that wasn’t there before.

Heeseung nods, slow and reluctant, his eyes never leaving yours. “This isn’t over,” he says, his voice low, a promise that makes your stomach flip. “You know that, right?”

You nod, because you do know. You’ve known it since that first summer, since the first time his voice made your heart skip. You open the door, slipping out, and Heeseung follows, his presence a warm shadow at your back.

Downstairs, the party’s still alive, music pulsing, laughter spilling over like the soju on the table.

Lia’s waiting at the bottom of the stairs, her arms crossed, her smirk so sharp it could slice through the tension between you and Heeseung. “Well, damn,” she says, her eyes flicking between your flushed cheeks and Heeseung’s messy hair. “That was a long fifteen minutes. Have fun?”

You want to melt into the floor, your shyness making you shrink under her gaze, but you force a smile, muttering, “Shut up, Lia.” Your voice is too high, too shaky, and she cackles, loud and delighted, like she’s just won the lottery.

Heeseung’s cooler, leaning against the banister with a shrug. “Just talking,” he says, his voice smooth, but there’s a glint in his eyes that dares her to push. Lia raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, and you know she’s going to grill you later, but for now, she just laughs, shaking her head.

The game moves on, someone else taking the hot seat, but you’re barely present, your mind still upstairs, replaying the feel of Heeseung’s lips, the way his hands burned against your skin.

You sit back on the couch, your cup forgotten in your hands, stealing glances at him across the room. He’s back against the wall, laughing with his cousins, but his eyes find yours every few minutes, quick and knowing, like a secret you’re both guarding.

The night drags on, the party growing louder, drunker, but you’re sober now, the buzz of alcohol replaced by the buzz of him. Lia’s watching you like a hawk, her teasing playful but relentless. “You’re so red,” she whispers, poking your cheek, and you swat her hand away, muttering something about the heat, but she’s not fooled. “You and Heeseung, huh? I knew it. I fucking knew it.”

“Stop,” you hiss, but you’re smiling, because you’re not afraid anymore.

You want this, want him, and Lia’s teasing feels like permission, like she’s cheering you on even if she won’t say it outright. She leans back, sipping her drink, her eyes glinting with mischief, and you know she’s not done meddling.

Hours later, the party starts to wind down, people stumbling home or crashing on couches. You’re exhausted, your shyness making the chaos draining, but you don’t want to leave, not when Heeseung’s still here, his presence pulling you like gravity.

You’re helping Lia clean up, tossing empty cups into a trash bag, when Heeseung finds you in the kitchen, the house quieter now, the air softer.

“Hey,” he says, leaning against the counter, his voice low, just for you. “You okay?”

You nod, your heart racing again, your shyness flaring under his gaze but not enough to stop you. “Yeah,” you say, focusing on the cups in your hands to steady yourself. “Just… a lot, you know?”

He steps closer, and you feel it—the heat of him, the pull that’s been there since that first summer. “About upstairs,” he starts, and your breath catches, because you’re ready to hear it, ready to dive back into that moment. “I meant what I said, Y/N. This isn’t just tonight for me.”

Your hands tremble, and you set the cups down, finally meeting his gaze. His eyes are serious, no trace of the teasing boy from earlier, just raw, unguarded want.

“Heeseung,” you say, your voice shaky but full of longing, “I want this too. I’ve wanted it for so long.”

His breath hitches, and he steps closer, his hand reaching for yours, his fingers brushing yours, warm and sure. “Then let’s do this,” he says, his voice soft but steady. “No hiding, no running. Just… us.”

You nod, your throat tight, because it’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of, and for once, you’re not afraid of what it means.

You’re ready, shy but certain, ready to let Heeseung be more than a crush, more than a secret. He squeezes your hand, just for a second, then lets go, his smile soft and promising.

Lia finds you a minute later, her eyes narrowed but playful. “You two are so obvious,” she says, tossing a sponge at you.

"Go sleep, Lia." Heeseung says as shej shrugs.

“Just makeout already.” She laughs, shaking her head, and heads upstairs, her voice trailing behind her like a blessing.

Lia’s voice—“Just makeout already”—lingers like a melody, a spark tossed into the dry kindling of your heart. She’s gone now, her footsteps fading up the stairs, her laughter a soft echo in the beach house’s quiet corridors.

The kitchen is still, save for the hum of the fridge and the distant pulse of the party winding down in the living room. You’re standing there, trash bag forgotten, your skin tingling with the memory of Heeseung’s kiss, your heart a quiet storm of longing and courage.

Heeseung’s watching you from across the counter, his eyes a warm, molten hazel that seem to hold the night itself. His black tank top hugs his frame, his hair a soft mess, and there’s a gentleness in his gaze that makes your shyness feel like a strength, not a cage.

He’s not just Lia’s cousin, not just the boy who’s haunted your dreams for four summers. He’s the one who sees you, who’s always seen you, and tonight, you’re done letting that slip through your fingers.

“You’re blushing,” he says, his voice soft, a thread of amusement woven through it. He steps closer, the space between you shrinking, and it’s like the air shifts, charged with something new—not the frantic heat from upstairs, but something deeper, like a promise waiting to be spoken.

You laugh, a shy, breathy sound, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Can you blame me?” you say, your voice quieter than you mean, but it’s steady, anchored by the truth you’ve carried for years. “You’re standing there looking like… like you.”

Heeseung’s smile is slow, a crescent moon breaking through clouds. “Like me?” he teases, but there’s no edge to it, just a warmth that makes your chest ache. He’s closer now, close enough that you can smell his perfume again.“You’re gonna have to explain that one, Y/N.”

You bite your lip, your shyness bubbling up, but you push through it, meeting his gaze. “Like you’re everything I’ve been thinking about since I was eighteen,” you say, and it’s not a grand declaration, but it’s yours, raw and honest, laid bare in the dim light of the kitchen.

His breath catches, and for a moment, he’s still, his eyes searching yours like he’s memorizing this moment, this you.

“You have no idea,” he says, his voice low, almost a whisper, “how many nights I’ve thought about you. How many times I saw you laughing with Lia, or reading on the porch, and wanted to tell you how much you got under my skin.”

Your heart stumbles, full and heavy, because it’s not just words—it’s the truth you’ve felt in every glance, every brush of his hand, every summer you spent pretending you didn’t love him. “Then tell me now,” you say, your voice trembling but sure, your shyness a soft edge to your bravery. “Show me.”

He doesn’t hesitate. Heeseung closes the distance, his hands finding your face, cupping your cheeks like you’re something precious, something holy. His lips meet yours, and it’s not the desperate crash from upstairs—it’s slow, deliberate, a vow pressed into every gentle movement.

You sigh into him, your hands sliding to his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin, the steady beat of his heart under your touch. The kiss deepens, his tongue brushing yours, and it’s like a song you’ve always known but never dared to sing.

He pulls back, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips. “I love you, Y/N,” he says, and it’s not a confession thrown into the heat of the moment—it’s a truth he’s carried as long as you have, laid bare in the quiet of the night. “I’ve loved you every summer, every moment you were here, every moment you weren’t.”

Your eyes sting, not from sadness but from the weight of it, the beauty of finally hearing what you’ve dreamed of. “I love you too,” you whisper, and it’s like letting go of a breath you’ve held for years. “I’ve loved you since that first day, when you smiled at me and I forgot how to breathe.”

He laughs, soft and bright, and it’s the sound of everything falling into place. “Then we’ve been idiots, haven’t we?” he says, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you closer. “Wasting all this time.”

“No more wasting,” you say, your shyness fading under the certainty of this moment, this love. You kiss him again, bolder now, your hands tangling in his hair, tugging him closer. He groans, a low, needy sound that sends a shiver through you, and you press yourself against him, feeling the hard lines of his body, the warmth that’s all him.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with want, and you nod, your heart racing but not with fear—only anticipation, only him. You take his hand, leading him through the quiet house, the party a distant hum, the world narrowing to just you two.

The stairs creak under your feet, the hallway dim and intimate, and you push open the guest room door, the moonlight spilling across the bed like an invitation.

Inside, Heeseung’s hands are on you again, but it’s different now—less frantic, more reverent, like he’s worshiping every inch of you. He kisses you slow, deep, his tongue teasing yours until you’re dizzy, your hands clutching his shoulders for balance.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, his voice soft, his lips brushing your cheek, your jaw, the sensitive spot below your ear. “Always have been.”

You blush, your shyness peeking through, but you don’t pull away. “You too,” you say, your hands sliding down his chest, tugging at his tank top.

He lifts his arms, letting you pull it off, and you pause, taking in the sight of him—his skin golden in the moonlight, his muscles lean and defined, his eyes dark with love and want. You touch him, your fingers tracing the lines of his collarbone, his ribs, and he shudders, like your touch is a flame against his skin.

He reaches for your shirt, his eyes asking permission, and you nod, lifting your arms. He pulls it off, slow and careful, his gaze drinking you in—the lacy bra you wore tonight, the soft curve of your waist. “God,” he breathes, his hands hovering, like he’s afraid to touch something so perfect. “You’re unreal.”

You laugh, shy but warm, and pull him closer, kissing him to silence his awe. His hands find your skin, warm and sure, sliding up your back, unhooking your bra with a gentleness that makes your heart ache.

You let it fall, and his eyes darken, his breath hitching as he takes you in. He kisses you again, his hands cupping your breasts, his thumbs brushing your nipples, and you gasp, the sensation sharp and electric, pooling low in your stomach.

Heeseung’s lips trail down, following the path of his hands, kissing your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breast. He takes a nipple into his lips, soft at first, then a teasing bite that makes you moan, your fingers tightening in his hair.

“Heeseung,” you whisper, his name a plea, and he hums against your skin, the vibration sending sparks through you.

“Love hearing you say my name like that he murmurs, his voice low, as he moves to your other breast, giving it the same care, the same devotion. You’re trembling now, your shyness a soft edge to the overwhelming want, and he notices, pulling back to meet your eyes. “You okay?” he asks, his hands still on your hips, grounding you.

“More than okay,” you say, your voice is quiet but sure, and you tug him back, kissing him hard, letting him know you’re not stopping, not now, not ever.

Your hands find his shorts, fumbling with the button, and he helps you, sliding them off, leaving him in just his boxers. You can feel him, hard and wanting, and it makes you blush, but you don’t shy away—you want this, want him, and you’re ready to take it.

Heeseung’s hands slide to your shorts, his fingers brushing the waistband, and he looks at you, his eyes asking, always asking. “Yes,” you whisper, and he undoes them, slow and careful, sliding them down your legs.

You step out, left in your panties, and he groans, low and soft, his hands gripping your hips like he’s anchoring himself.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he says, his voice rough, but there’s love in it, a tenderness that makes your heart swell. He kisses you again, guiding you backward until your legs hit the bed, and you sit, then lie back, pulling him with you. He hovers over you, his weight a comforting press, his eyes searching yours.

“I love you,” he says again, like he needs you to know, and you nod, your hands cupping his face, your thumbs brushing his cheeks.

“I love you too,” you say, and it’s a vow, a truth that’s been yours forever. You kiss him, soft and deep, and he shifts, his hands sliding to your panties, tugging gently.

You lift your hips, letting him pull them off, and then you’re bare, vulnerable but not afraid, not with him.

Heeseung’s eyes rake over you, reverent, like you’re a work of art he’s afraid to touch. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he says, and you blush, your shyness peeking through, but you reach for him, pulling him down, needing his skin against yours.

He kisses you, his hands roaming, one sliding between your thighs, finding you wet and wanting. You gasp, your hips bucking into his touch, and he groans, his fingers teasing, slow and deliberate.

“So good for me,” he murmurs, his lips on your neck, his fingers circling, and you’re trembling, your shyness melting under the heat of his touch.

He slides a finger inside your cunt, then another, and you moan, your hands clutching his shoulders, your body arching into him. He moves slow, learning you, watching your face, and you feel seen, cherished, loved.

“Heeseung, please,” you whisper, your voice shaky with need, and he kisses you, soft and deep, before pulling back, his eyes dark with want.

“Want to taste you,” he says, his voice rough, and your breath catches, your shyness flaring but not enough to stop you. You nod, and he moves lower, his lips trailing down your stomach, your hips, until he’s between your thighs, his breath warm against you.

He kisses your inner thigh, soft and teasing, and then his mouth is on you, and you’re gone, your hands fisting the sheets, your moans soft and desperate.

He’s slow, deliberate, his tongue teasing, tasting, and you’re trembling, your shyness forgotten as you lose yourself in him. “Fuck, Heeseung,” you gasp, and he groans, the vibration sending you higher, closer to the edge.

He doesn’t stop, his hands gripping your hips, holding you in place as you fall apart, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave, leaving you breathless, shaking.

He kisses his way back up, his lips soft against your skin, until he’s hovering over you again, his eyes searching yours. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, and you blush, your shyness returning, but you pull him down, kissing him, tasting yourself on his lips.

“I want you,” you whisper, your voice quiet but sure, and he nods, his hands sliding to his boxers, pushing them off. You glance down, blushing at the sight of him, hard and ready, and he chuckles, soft and warm, kissing your cheek.

“We’ll go slow,” he says, his voice gentle, and you nod, trusting him, loving him,“You sure?” he asks, one last time, and you nod, pulling him closer.

“I’m sure,” you say, and he kisses you, deep and slow, as his cock teases your entrance before he presses into you, inch by inch, filling you. You gasp, your hands clutching his shoulders, the stretch intense but perfect, and he pauses, letting you adjust, his lips on your forehead, your cheek, your lips.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice tight, like he’s holding himself back, and you nod, your hands sliding to his back, pulling him closer.

Heeseung’s lips are still on yours, his breath a ragged hymn against your skin as he presses himself deeper, filling you with a slow, deliberate stretch that makes your toes curl. You gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders, the intensity of him—hot, hard, and wholly yours—sending sparks through every nerve. He pauses, his forehead pressed to yours, his eyes half-lidded with restraint and reverence. “You okay?” he murmurs, voice tight, like he’s leashing a storm for your sake.

“More than okay,” you whisper, your shyness a faint tremor beneath the molten want in your voice. You pull him closer, your legs wrapping around his hips, urging him deeper, and he groans, low and guttural, the sound igniting something primal in you. Your hands slide down his back, nails grazing his skin, and he shudders, his control fraying as you give yourself to him, no more walls, no more fear.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he rasps, his lips trailing to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, a claim that makes you moan, soft and needy. “You feel so fucking good. So tight, so perfect.” His hips move, slow at first, a deep, grinding rhythm that has you arching into him, your breath hitching with every thrust. Your shyness lingers in the way you bite your lip, but it’s no match for the fire he’s stoking, the way he’s unraveling you with every touch, every word.

“Harder,” you breathe, surprising yourself, your voice a plea wrapped in courage. You’ve never been bold, never been loud, but with Heeseung, you want to shatter every quiet corner of yourself. His eyes snap to yours, dark and hungry, a flicker of surprise giving way to a smirk that’s pure sin.

“Harder?” he echoes, voice low, teasing, like he’s daring you to mean it. You nod, your cheeks burning, and he grips your hips tighter, fingers bruising in the best way. “You sure, baby? ‘Cause once I start, I’m not holding back.” The pet name drips from his lips like honey, and you clench around him, a whimper escaping before you can stop it.

“Please,” you beg, your hands clutching his shoulders, your body trembling with need. “I want you, Heeseung. All of you.”

That’s all it takes. His restraint snaps, and he thrusts deeper, harder, the bed creaking under the force of him. You moan, loud and unrestrained, your head tipping back into the pillow as he fucks you with a rhythm that’s relentless, possessive, like he’s claiming every inch of you. “That’s it,” he growls, his voice rough, his lips brushing your ear. “Let me hear you, Y/N. Let me know how good I make you feel.”

You’re lost in him, your shyness drowned by the pleasure, your body moving with his, meeting every thrust, chasing the high that’s building, burning. His cock hits a spot inside you that makes you see stars, and you cry out, your nails raking down his back, leaving marks he’ll feel tomorrow. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans, his hand sliding between you, fingers finding your clit, circling with a precision that has you trembling, so close to the edge you can taste it.

“Cum for me, baby,” he murmurs, his lips on your neck, his fingers relentless, and you’re gone, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave, pulling you under. You clench around him, moaning his name, your body shaking as he fucks you through it, his thrusts slowing but never stopping, drawing out every last shudder.

He’s still hard, still moving, and you’re panting, oversensitive but wanting more, wanting him to feel what you’re feeling. You push at his chest, your shyness peeking through but not stopping you, and he pulls back, eyes questioning. “My turn,” you whisper, voice shaky but sure, and his breath hitches, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Fuck, yes,” he says, rolling onto his back, pulling you with him until you’re straddling his hips, his cock slick and hard beneath you. You blush, your hands trembling as you brace them on his chest, but his gaze is steady, encouraging, like he’s handing you the reins. “Ride me, Y/N. Show me how you want it.”

You’ve never done this, never been on top, and your shyness makes you hesitate, but Heeseung’s hands are on your hips, guiding you, his voice a low rumble. “You got this,” he says, and you believe him, lifting yourself, positioning him at your entrance, and sinking down, inch by inch, until he’s buried deep. You both groan, the angle intense, and you pause, adjusting, your breath ragged.

“God, you look so fucking good like this,” he says, his hands roaming your thighs, your waist, his eyes dark with want. “Move, baby. Take what you need.”

You start slow, rocking your hips, finding a rhythm that makes your toes curl, his cock hitting deep, perfect. His hands grip your hips, not controlling, just grounding, and you move faster, bolder, the pleasure building again, hotter, sharper. “That’s it,” he groans, his head tipping back, his throat a taut line you want to kiss, to bite. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me, Y/N.”

You lean forward, your hands on his chest, your lips finding his in a messy, desperate kiss, all teeth and tongue as you ride him harder, chasing your high, chasing his. His hands slide to your ass, squeezing, guiding you faster, and he groans, low and broken, his control slipping. “Fuck, I’m close,” he rasps, his hips bucking up to meet you, driving deeper, and you moan, your own climax building, so close you can feel it in your bones.

“Cum inside me,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can think, your shyness buried under the raw need to feel him, all of him. His eyes widen, a flicker of hesitation, but you shake your head, kissing him hard.

He groans, a sound that’s almost pained, and thrusts up harder, his hands bruising your hips as he chases his release. “You sure?” he gasps, voice tight, and you nod, desperate, your lips on his jaw, his neck, begging without words. He thrusts once, twice, and then he’s gone, spilling inside you with a groan that shakes you, his body trembling beneath you. The feel of him, hot and deep, pushes you over the edge again, and you cum with him, clenching tight, moaning into his mouth as you ride out the waves together.

You collapse against him, your breath ragged, your heart pounding against his, and he wraps his arms around you, holding you close, his lips soft against your forehead. “Fuck, Y/N,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, laced with awe. “You’re everything.”

You blush, your shyness creeping back, but you smile, nuzzling into his chest, his heartbeat a steady anchor. “You too,” you whisper, and it’s quiet, but it’s enough, a vow in the moonlight.

He shifts, pulling out gently, and you whimper at the loss, but he’s quick to grab a tissue from the nightstand, cleaning you both with a care that makes your heart ache. He pulls you back into his arms, the bed creaking under you, the moonlight painting your skin in silver. “We’re doing this,” he says, voice firm, a promise against your hair. “You and me. No more games.”

You nod, your cheek against his chest, his warmth seeping into you. “No more games,” you echo, and it’s a truth you’ve carried for years, finally free.

The next morning, the beach house is a ghost of last night’s chaos, sunlight streaming through the windows, the air smelling of coffee and salt. You’re in the kitchen, pouring a mug, your hair a mess, Heeseung’s shirt dwarfing your frame. Your shyness is back, a soft flush on your cheeks as you catch your reflection, but there’s a glow in your eyes, a secret you’re carrying from the night before.

Lia stumbles in, her curls wild, her grin sharper than the sunlight. “Well, well,” she says, leaning against the counter, her eyes flicking from your shirt to your face. “Look who’s wearing Heeseung’s clothes. You two finally stop dancing around each other?”

You choke on your coffee, your face burning, but you laugh, shy but warm. “Shut up, Lia,” you mumble, but there’s no heat in it, just love. She cackles, throwing an arm around you, hugging you tight.

“Fucking finally,” she says, her voice softer now, sincere. “You’re good for him, Y/N. And he’s crazy about you. I’m happy.”

“Thanks,” you whisper, your throat tight, because her words mean everything. She pulls back, grabbing her own mug, still smirking, and you know she’ll tease you forever, but it’s hers, it’s family.

Heeseung appears a moment later, hair damp from a shower, his smile soft and private as he sees you in his shirt. “Morning,” he says, voice low, and he leans down, kissing your temple like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Lia gags dramatically, but she’s grinning, already pulling out her phone, probably to text her cousins the gossip.

“Get a room,” she says, but she’s laughing, heading out to the porch, leaving you and Heeseung in the quiet kitchen. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you against him, and you lean into him, your shyness a soft glow, your love a steady flame.

“Told you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. “This isn’t going to make everything we have over.”

You smile, turning to kiss him, slow and sweet, the taste of coffee and him mingling on your tongue. “Good,” you whisper, and it’s a promise, a truth, a love that’s finally yours.

@heesvnqie | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

TAGLIST:-

@slutofpsh

@laurenalpha123

@dreamiestay

@amortenha

@peonywon

@mitmit01

@heeevangelizesme

@gvni-eve

@yourmomni

@leov3rse

@punchbug9-blog

563 notes · View notes

raurquiz · 2 years ago

Text

#happybirthday @nanavisitor #nanavisitor #actress #kiranerys #startrek #deepspacenine #lowerdecks #macgyver #darkangel #fallout #friday13th #ted2 #torchowood #dynasty #battlestargalactica #theouterlimits #Wildfire #ABreadFactory #KillerinLaw #Unbelievable #SixFeetApart #ds930 #startrek56

52 notes · View notes

em1i2a3 · 2 months ago

Note

Would you ever consider a scenario where Bob has a nightmare about losing reader? Perhaps due to the Void overpowering her, in the dream it gets to be too much for her, etc?

Big Shot

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: Bob has been having nightmares about losing you to The Void.

Warnings: Horror Imagery, Nightmares involving The Void (nuff said I think…), Hurt/Comfort, Reader has been injured before by The Void (it is referenced, they have a scar on their arm.), Angst

Author’s Note: I love nightmare sequences so much, and I enjoy writing them for The Void especially…Look at the dude he’s a little mean boi lol. Anyways! Hope you enjoy <3, thank you for the request Anon! I hope it meets the request,

Word Count: 3,801

Bob knew it was a dream, but that never mattered to him, because all of it felt too real to him.

The air was thick and wet–soaked in static, the kind that you feel tingling in your bones before a thunderstorm, or before lightning strikes. Like ozone laced with rot. It filled Bob’s lungs with something sharp and metallic–like he was inhaling old blood.

The sky was wrong–a vast dome of colorless space that pressed down into the environment around him, there was no horizon, no sun, and no stars, it was nothingness. The world around him looked like something built from the bones of his worst memories–deformed and stitched together into something cruel. His childhood home with broken dishes scattered across the floor and old food that had long since dried into the wooden panels of the walls. The lab that he had woken up in, the thing that created who he was today. The car crash that turned him into an addict…It made him ill.

And in the center of it all…Was you. Barefoot, standing amid the rubble of his worst memories and shameful past. You were breathing heavily, shoulder rising and falling in sharp panicked jerks, like you were in pain, or something was trying to crawl out of you.

“Bob,” Your voice was paper-thin, raw, and barely audible , “I-I don’t feel right.” Your hands trembled at your sides, and your knees threatened to buckle. And all Bob could do was run towards you.

But the ground betrayed him. It pulsed–as if it was alive beneath his feet–then liquified into sludge. His feet sank, and he was dragged down by a type of force he couldn’t see. It was like moving through molasses laced with broken glass. He growled and pushed harder, even through the pain that began to erupt through his legs.

You reached out, your hands shaking.

And then it began…

It started with one drop from your nose, thick and impossibly black. It wasn’t blood, it wasn’t even close to anything that he had seen before. It hit the fractured concrete beneath your feet and hissed, releasing a wisp of smoke that curled around you. The second drop came from your tear ducts, slipping down your cheeks and painting your skin, before dripping from the corners of your mouth.

Then your spine arched, and you let out a sharp, choking sound–like you had swallowed something wrong and couldn’t breathe through it. And suddenly, the blackness was everywhere. It poured from your nose, your mouth, your eyes. Your skin began to slowly split in hairline fractures and those too wept the all too familiar vantablack that The Void wore like a suit. It bubbled beneath your flesh like it had roots.

And all Bob could do was scream your name.

You dropped to your knees, hands bracing against the ruined ground, grunting as if you were trying to fight it. But the darkness kept coming, like possession.

You opened your mouth to cry out again, but your voice had been hollowed, and what came out was not you.

”Help me–“ It wasn’t your voice…It was his. It was The Void.

The sound had twisted as it left your throat–like it passed through sheet metal, then bone, then something inhuman, extraterrestrial. Bob’s stomach lurched as your skin went glossy, black veins racing up your arms like wildfire. The ink spread across your body like paint being poured over a monument. The whites of your eyes turned black–your pupils being eaten away by a light, and the colour of your lips leached away. The shape of your face–the one that he had kissed countless times–became distorted, all of your features ceasing to exist

You weren’t just fading away in front of him. You were being rewritten. He saw the darkness crawl over your shoulder, watching it curl like smoke around your bicep.

Right over the jagged scars that looked like chemical burns if you glanced at it, but when you looked closer, they resembled claw marks…It was the one The Void had left behind.

He’d hurt you before–by not being fast enough, by not being strong enough to protect you from the horrors that lived inside him. Even with the serum that ran through his bloodstream–the one that gave him the mantle of being the world's saviour–he couldn’t even protect the one thing that mattered to him.

The blackness wrapped itself around that mark like a crown, displaying it like an award.

”STOP!” Bob shouted, voice breaking as he lunged toward you–arms outstretched, his hands inches from yours, he could’ve sworn he touched the tips of your fingers.

Then…Something took you.

A force slammed into your chest, and you were ripped backwards through the air, your body snapped with the velocity, limbs flailing, as a strangled noise escaped your throat before you were swallowed by the darkness of the horizon.

“N-NO. NO, PLEASE–BRING H-HER BACK!” Bob begged, his hands clawing at the ground beneath him, palms stained with blood, eyes wide and frantic and wet.

“You think…You can protect her from me?” The voice slithered in from every direction, burrowing into his brain like a parasite. Bob could feel his throat closing at the sinister undertone, the way The Void crept up and invaded all his senses.

“You think nine months of good behaviour makes you human? That you get to play house with Y/N, and sit beside her like you’re not a ticking time bomb.” The ground around him began to peel open like flesh, as it began to pulse beneath his palms.

”You think keeping your hands to yourself is enough to keep me caged?” Black tendrils coiled through the cracks in the cement like smoke made solid, brushing up Bob’s arms, and wrapping around his wrists like rope.

”I scrape the walls of your skull, Bob. I breathe through your lungs when you sleep. I taste the scent of her hair when she kisses your cheek…You’re a fucking vessel. A small, puny little host, with whom I despise.” Bob pulled against the restraints, but the tendrils only tightened, and squeezed until he lost all feeling in his hands.

“One day, I’ll crack you open like a fucking shell, and I’ll take her again–properly this time. I’ll wear her…And I’ll show her what you really are.” Then your scream surrounded him from every angle in his brain, and the world exploded into total darkness.

——————

Bob woke like he had been hurled from a skyscraper. His body snapped upward with the force of it, a ragged breath tearing through his lungs and escaping his throat, like he hit the ground and shattered on impact. His heart was thundering against his ribcage–wild, and sickeningly fast, like it wasn’t beating but vibrating instead–it was as if it was trying to bust out of his body. Every inch of his skin was soaked with sweat, clinging to the warm sheets like it was gluing him to the fabric. He tried to take in a deep breath, but it only sounded like a choked gasp.

He closed his eyes tightly, clenching his jaw, attempting to reorient himself to the space around him. The room was still, but it felt far away and distant. The echo of your scream vibrated through his body like an aftershock that crawled up his spine, and gripped the base of his skull with invisible fingers. The dream was clinging to him–the shadows, the heat, the visceral image of you being swallowed whole by the darkness…By his darkness.

Bob tried to breathe, pulling air through his nose, slow and shallow, before forcing it out through trembling lips, you had taught him how to breathe through the burning in his chest, he remembered your hands on his cheeks, easing him and whispering he was going to be okay, how you told him to breathe. It took a few ragged inhales to really get things under control. But once he did, he finally pried his eyes open.

The moonlight bled gently through the sheer white curtains, soft and silvery, casting faint striations of light across the oak floor and the edge of the bed frame. It shifted slightly with the movement of the fabric–swaying like water, refracted in the breeze that floated in through the cracked window. It crested over the bare skin of his chest, cooling the heat that bloomed beneath it.

Bob took a deep breath and let it fill his lungs slowly, as if the act alone might stitch the torn edges of his nerves back together. The cool air slid down his throat like smoke, thin and quiet, and he swallowed thickly as he finally leaned forward to sit upright against the headboard. The movement made his spine crack, subtle and sharp, and the room shifted faintly around him, like it too was trying to settle back into place after the dream tore through it. The wood was cool against his back, but it gave him a bit of a jolt of reality, tethering him to the waking world.

He dragged both palms down his face. They were damp with sweat, slick with the remnants of adrenaline, and they left a faint sheen across the bridge of his nose and the curve of his jaw. His fingers pressed hard against his cheekbones, as if he could scrub away the weight of what he had seen in the dream–and everything he had felt.

Only once he settled himself, and the throbbing in his throat dulled to something less intrusive, did he finally turn his head.

You were there, right where he left you, right where he had kissed you goodnight before turning over for the evening. You were curled on your side, facing him like you always did.

Even when he fell asleep with his back to you–when the weight of the day was too much–he’d always wake to find you like this, turned toward him. Sometimes you’d rest a hand on his shoulder, sometimes your forehead would just barely touch his spine. Even in the narrowest of safehouse cots or the wide expanse of his or your bed, you always had a tendency to find your way to face him. Because your body refused to rest unless it could keep him in sight.

Tonight was no different. One of your hands was tucked beneath the pillow, the other was loosely fanned across the mattress between you. You looked relaxed–your brows were unfurrowed, your lips were slightly parted, and your breaths were slow and steady like waves hitting shore. Even in sleep, you were holding him in place, like your presence was an anvil tied to reality, keeping him exactly where he needed to be.

Bob’s gaze drifted down your arm, to the scar on your bicep. The light from the moon made it glint faintly–almost like glass catching a glimmer of sun before it dulled again. In the dark it looked soft, barely there, but he knew better. He knew what it was, and he knew what it represented.The skin along your bicep was uneven, and jagged, reflecting a shape of something that didn’t belong in this world. It wasn’t from a knife or shrapnel, not chemical burns or fire. The edges curved and twisted unnaturally, like the aftermath of being touched by something sentient and cruel–like a signature carved by a god-shaped wound who should’ve bared no name. Up close, the lines were too precise to be accidental, and too deep to be merciful–like something had reached into you and pulled out what it could before leaving its mark behind.

You had told him what happened that day–but only after he asked, again and again, his voice quiet, almost ashamed, like he was afraid of what the answer might be. Even then, you never shared the worst of it. You spared him the details, which in turn spared yourself in reliving what happened, you only ever said “He hurt me. I was stupid to go to Sentry when they ran. But I couldn’t leave you.”

Still, Bob had pieced the rest together. In the quiet hours. In the long stretches of isolation where his own thoughts were louder than any team comms. The memory of that moment was a blur in his mind, but some things stuck: the discussion Sentry had with Val, the way he got in her face and held her neck, and the red that invaded his vision suddenly when he was about to snap.

You hadn’t left. You’d been in the Watch Tower when Val issued the kill switch. You had somehow slipped through the cracks and stayed behind as the rest of the team hauled themselves off and made their escape. He didn’t remember seeing you crawl to him afterward. Didn’t remember the way you dropped to your knees, still bleeding, hands shaking as you pulled his lifeless body onto your lap. Didn’t know that you’d been crying, or that you’d run your hand through his hair and whispered his name over and over like it could bring him back. But you told him later, in pieces. In echoes. Always downplayed. Always with a sad little smile, like it was just something you had to live with.

Because it was still Bob. Regardless of everything he had done to you and the team. Regardless of the serum, or the suit, or the shimmering gold that lit his body like a flare before everything spiraled into ruin. You’d seen him in there. And that was what brought you to him, even when you should have run.

But the real horror hadn’t started until after Val was gone. When you were holding him–your hand on his cheek, your voice tight with panic, begging him to wake up–that’s when it happened. That’s when the darkness crept in from every direction. When the air collapsed inward and The Void came for you.

He still felt sick about it, and he still had nights like this, where his throat was raw and his heart thundered with the weight of guilt he couldn’t carry. Because even though you forgave him–even though you loved him now, and had told him so in your own careful, honest way–he couldn’t forget. Couldn’t unsee that scar. Couldn’t pretend it wasn’t a brand. A warning carved into your skin because of him.

His hand trembled slightly as he reached out.

He didn’t think. He didn’t even breathe. Just let his fingers hover above your bicep, then slowly trace the edge of the scars. He didn’t put enough pressure to wake you–but it was just enough to feel it. It was warm, the skin soft, raised faintly beneath his touch. The lines still felt unnatural beneath his fingertips, like a language written in agony.

He traced one of the curves near the top, his brow knitting so tightly it made his forehead ache. He hadn’t even realized how furrowed his expression had become–how tightly his jaw had locked in place–until your eyes fluttered open.

You slowly blinked in the dark, letting your eyes adjust to the moonlit room, as your gaze settled on him immediately.

“Bob?” Your voice was laced with tiredness. He pulled his hand back like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t, curling it against his chest. But not fast enough. You saw it–the guilt in his eyes, the way his lips were slightly parted, how his chest barely moved with each breath. You saw how his brows were drawn together like he was in pain. His face was still flushed, his cheeks damp from sweat, and his expression had the soft, trembling look of someone who had just woken from the edge of hell. “You okay?”

You shifted slowly, the sheets rustling in the quiet as you sat up beside him. The blanket slipped slightly before you gathered it against your chest, holding it loosely across your bare torso. The moonlight skimmed the slope of your shoulder, kissed the high points of your collarbone, painted you in soft, silvery light–like something divine beside him, real in a way his nightmares never were.

Your eyes never left his face.

“Bob?” You asked again, a little clearer now, your voice rough from sleep but laced with concern. He couldn’t look at you, he averted his gaze, glancing off to the side of the room.

“I-I had another nightmare,” He finally admitted, his voice quiet and flat. Almost lifeless. “It was…B-Bad.” You didn’t ask him to explain. You didn’t need to. Instead, you reached for him–your hand immediately finding the tense muscles between his shoulder blades. You began to rub in slow, gentle circles. Soothing him the only way you knew how. Your thumb pressed in just enough to ease the tightness from his posture, watching as he took a slow deep breath in. Then you leaned toward him, brushing a soft kiss to the curve of his shoulder, just beneath the faint shimmer of sweat that still clung to his skin.

“It was just a dream, Bob,” You whispered against him, your breath hot and sticky “It’s over.” He shook his head, his whole body shuddering with the effort of it.

”…I always think I-I’m going to hurt you again.” His voice cracked, shaking with the admission. For a moment you just looked at him–at the man you loved, coming apart in the dark, sitting rigid in your shared bed like he didn’t believe he should be in it. His shoulders were hunched, like he was trying to fold in on himself, to disappear. His hands trembled where they sat in his lap. His jaw twitched as he fought the tears welling in his eyes. You sighed softly, not from frustration–but from something heavy and aching, like your own chest couldn’t hold the grief that had just spilled out of him.

”Bob…” You breathed, reaching out towards him slowly. Your fingers curled along his jaw, as you turned his head, slowly, until he met your gaze. His eyes were glassy. Haunted.

And you didn’t miss a beat.

”I know he would never do that again,” You said quietly. “No matter what he says in your dreams, it’s just an empty threat. That’s all it’s ever been.” Bob’s eyes flickered, and a tear slipped down one cheek before he could stop it.

“I haven’t seen him since that day,” You continued, voice steady. “Not once. Not even a flicker. He hasn’t come close. Do you know what that tells me?” He sniffled, watching you lean closer to him.

“That tells me you keep him away. Every hour. Every day. And every night you hold me and fall asleep beside me and keep him buried…You’ve done all of that for me…You. Not anyone else.” Bob’s bottom lip trembled slightly. His throat worked around a soundless sob. You pressed your forehead against his, breathing him in, “I’m not afraid of him, Bob…And You shouldn’t be either.” He closed his eyes at that–tight, like it hurt to hear–and another tear tracked slowly down his face. He turned into your hand, seeking it like a lifeline, and you held him there, thumb sweeping gently across his cheek, catching the tears before they could fall any farther.

“I-I love you Y/N…” He stuttered out, and your eyes softened even further. You leaned in and kissed him. Softly. Slowly. Like sealing a promise with your mouth. Your hand never left his face as your lips met his, warm and trembling and laced with emotion. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t meant to fix anything. It was just meant to be–to exist in the aftermath of the storm still shaking through his bones. When you pulled back, your thumb brushed under his eye again, wiping the fresh tear away. Your voice was soft, tender, full of the kind of warmth that made Bob’s ribs ache.

“I love you too,” You whispered. “So so much.” You added, pushing his mane of light brown hair off his sweaty forehead. His eyes fluttered shut, like he was trying to absorb it. Like if he could just hold that moment inside him long enough, it might quiet the thunder in his chest.

You kissed his temple next, a featherlight press of your lips against damp skin. “Now lay down with me,” You murmured, gently coaxing him as you slid your hand from his cheek to his shoulder. “And let me hold you till you fall asleep again.” Bob hesitated only for a breath, then nodded, slow and silent.

He shifted down with you, easing into the mattress like he didn’t trust it to hold him–but you held him first. You let him come to you, his long arms sliding around your waist, wrapping you up as though you were the only thing in the world that could ground him. He curled into your side, burying his face gently against your chest, nose brushing just below your collarbone. You tugged the blanket back over both of you, tucking it up around his back, and he melted there like a man completely unmade.

His breath hitched once against your skin. Then again.

And you felt it–warm, quiet tears, soaking slowly into your skin as he clung to you like your body was the only safe place left in the world.

Your fingers found their rhythm against his back. Slow, comforting strokes. You traced shapes between the dips of his shoulder blades, circles and stars and invisible words he didn’t need to hear out loud to understand. Every time his breath trembled, you smoothed your hand lower, across the curve of his spine, whispering nothing, only silence and safety.

He didn’t speak again, he didn’t need to.

He just held on tighter.

And eventually, his breathing slowed and his body softened against yours. The tension in his muscles ebbed out inch by inch as sleep crept up behind his grief and cradled him the way you did–with patience, with forgiveness, and with a love that refused to be shaken by shadows.

You kept tracing lines against his back long after his tears stopped.

And even longer after his breathing evened out.

Because you knew–this was how you kept The Void at bay.

Not with strength.

But with love.

528 notes · View notes