#pain is like fire that way. you can burn yourself and others with it. or you can tame it and keep it in a jar and use it as a guiding light

[dearwalker]

Get a Johnny!

Pairing: Johnny Storm x reader Word count: 3.9k

Description: Bad cramps don’t let you sleep. You hesitate to call Johnny because you think you’re not there with him yet, but after nothing helps, you give in. Turns out having a boyfriend with fire hot powers comes very in handy.

Tags/warnings: no spoilers, fresh relationship, hurt/comfort, johnny is full of himself and surprises, putting his powers to good use, flame on, banter, he sucks at making breakfast, fluffy and domestic johnny <3

Note: I literally can’t stop kicking my feet when writing this man, please enjoy another self indulgent sweet and funny piece 🫶🏼

archive | masterlist

You curl tighter on your couch under a weighted blanket, shifting again and again, as if the next position will finally trick your body into forgetting the ache burning low in your stomach. It doesn't. 

The cramps continue, a deep pressure that makes it impossible to find comfort. You've been like this all evening, a pad you heated way too long ago now laying useless on your lower belly, a half empty mug of tea forgotten on your coffee table, and the soft glow of the moon coming through the glass doors illuminating your tired face. It's well past midnight now, and you feel frustrated with your own body for not being able to get up to your bed, or at least just fall asleep right where you are. 

You think of Johnny. 

How easy it would be to press the little button on the watch he gave you, send him a quick message, and have him there. But your stomach knots for a different reason at the thought. He doesn't need to see you like this, cranky, bundled in mismatched pjs, curled up like some wounded thing. At least your ex boyfriend never wanted to deal with... this. The unglamorous parts.

Surely, in the short period of time you've been dating Johnny, he has proved a million times he's better than any other excuse of a guy. Every single one. Which is probably why you feel the need to keep things romanticized in some way. 

You've spent nights with him before, heavenly late hours tangled in his sheets, or sleepovers at your place that stretched into lazy mornings. But those nights had always been planned to some degree. Wearing cute little shorts, soft perfume, or maybe nothing at all if things got heated, which was pretty often to be fair. But always with a little polish, a little effort, like you were still trying to show the best version of you. 

Cramp. 

You roll over, again, and tug your blanket higher. Try to gaslight yourself into believing you're fine. But the wave of pain twists through you, sharp enough that you press your face into the cushion to muffle a groan. Your chest tightens and you suddenly feel small. 

Alone.

Your arm comes out of the blanket and your fingers drift to the watch on your wrist before you can stop yourself. You trace the smooth edge of the screen, remembering how proud Johnny was when he put it on you the first time, like he'd just given you the most thoughtful thing in the world. And he did, he meant it to make you feel safe, connected, never too far away from him.

Johnny it is, then. 

That’s what you needed. Just him, next to you, being warm, and solid and distracting enough to pull you out of the spiral of despair. Your finger hovers over the screen for a few seconds and finally, after another wave of pain, you give in. One press and a ping gets sent to Johnny, all the way to the Baxter Building. 

It's quite comical when you think about it. Johnny likes to call it a superhero signal, in case you ever need him. Just like right now. 

Wait– but what if he's already asleep? What if he just reads it in the morning and–

The screen lights up almost immediately. A ping vibrates softly on your wrist with his reply. 

"On my way."

It's interesting how just a few words from him, on a screen even, already give you some relief. You lay tucked in, eyes on the ceiling as you wait for his arrival. And before you know it, you hear those familiar soft footsteps on your balcony, followed by the hiss of the glass door sliding open. 

You glance up eagerly, and there he is, Johnny Storm in all his sleeping clothing glory. 

A soft white shirt with some blue striped pants, blonde hair sticking up in every possible direction from where he must've rolled out of bed, and that signature, charming smile on his face when he caught you bundled up on the couch. 

He doesn't even wait for you to speak before stepping inside and crouching in front of you, one knee pressing into the carpet, his hand going up to gently brush some stray strands of hair off your forehead. The teasing smile softens as soon as he sees your face.

"I was starting to think you forgot about me," he jokes about not seeing you all day, still trying to make it light, but his eyes give him away. 

They're worried. Worried that you've been feeling sick all day and didn't tell him, worried that you're curled up like this without him knowing. 

"Why didn't you call me sooner?" he tilts his head, as his hand continues to stroke your hair. 

You open your mouth, but your throat closes around the answer. You don't know how to explain the mix of embarrassment and stubborn independence. So instead, you shrug weakly.

"I guess ... I didn't want to bother you. It's just.... it hurts and I can't sleep, and–"

"Hey," he cuts in gently, thumb brushing over your temple. "C'mere," he leans forward in his crouched position, pulling your upper body straight into his chest. He's so warm it feels unfair, his arms wrapping around you like all day you should've been there. "You could never ever bother me, you need me and I'm here, end of the story."  

You bite your lip, the edges of your embarrassment softening under the warmth of his voice. He pulls away just enough to look at you, trying to coax a smile out of you.

"Besides, if I knew you'd be curled up like a burrito in this blanket, I would've been here hours ago. You're basically begging me to make fun of you," he teases, earning a snort from you. 

You try to tug the blanket higher over your face, but he only laughs and tugs it back down, playful, his fingers brushing your cheek. "There she is," he says softly, eyes searching yours. "My girl."

You smile, about to say something but another cramp tenses your body, and Johnny immediately pulls you to him again, your cheek over his heartbeat. He doesn't let go right away, you stay pressed against his chest until you stop clutching his shirt. Only when your breathing steadies, Johnny pulls back to study your face, his eyes narrowing in that way that makes you feel completely seen.

"Alright, sweetheart" he whispers, cupping your face. "Tell me how bad it hurts."

You gesture vaguely at your stomach, cheeks heating. "It's just... cramps. Really bad. I just wanted you here ...you don't have to–"

"Stop," he kisses your forehead before you can finish. "I do have to. It’s literally my only purpose as your hot, lucky boyfriend."

That earns a soft laugh from you, probably the first in hours, and he smiles satisfied.

"I'm gonna need you to wait here for me," he backs slightly to stand up, but you grab his hand. 

"Wait, Johnny don't leave–"

"It's only a few minutes, alright?" he reassures, and only stands up when you nod hesitantly and drop his wrist. "Don't miss me too much, I know you like to see my face and all that–”

"Johnny, just go..." you chuckle, and he grins wider, saluting his way out the balcony. 

The room feels colder as soon as he's gone, and you realize how his absence feels like missing sunlight. Like all day you've been lying under a cloud of rain. But sure enough, the cold doesn't last longer than five minutes, when he's landing back again with a triumph smile on his face as he makes his way to your kitchen. 

You stare curiously from the couch at Johnny moving swiftly through it, with a raised hand in flames to illuminate the countertop. You hear cupboards opening, the soft clink of a mug being set down, and being filled with water. He rips open with his teeth a paper package he pulls from his pocket, placing the tea bag in the water. He makes his way back to you carrying the mug in one hand, as the other lowered his fire to just one flame under the mug to instantly heat it up. You sit down just in time as he arrives, a steaming cup of tea now in his hands, the scent instantly soothing.

"Careful, sugar" he smiles, handing the hot mug to you, "and ... take these," he reaches the pocket of his striped pants, pulling out a small plastic pill bottle.

"Painkillers haven't been helping much," you shake your head, sipping from your tea. He just kneels in front of you again, so he can be on eye level.

"These are special ones Reed made specifically for my sister, since she deals with pretty bad cramps too," he explains, opening the bottle and pouring two baby blue pills on his hand before handing them to you. "The tea is also his mixture, Sue says it helps a lot."

You stare at him in silence, melting in awe. You can't believe you had convinced yourself all day Johnny wouldn't want to deal with this. He does have a sister after all. And he's been raised right, partly by her. So you nod, taking the pills with a sip of tea, and set the mug on your coffee table before wrapping your arms around his neck. Your lips meet his, and it feels like you've been stupidly depriving yourself of your oxygen. He's soft with it, slowly savoring it like he's been missing you all day too, smiling against your tea flavored lips when he pulls apart for air.

The movement made the blanket around you fall open, revealing the heating pad lying crooked on your low belly. Johnny doesn’t even doubt.

"Trade me, babe" he says, taking the cold pad away before slipping his hot hand against your lower belly. The relief on your face is instant, like it was the last missing piece. "Let's keep that there, and drink this before I have to spoon feed you, because I will." he mocks seriousness, picking the mug from the table, guiding it to your lips. 

You happily take a sip, smiling against the mug. "Since when are you so bossy?"

"Since you forget to take care of yourself," his tone is teasing, but his eyes are soft, lingering until you take another sip, so you do. 

"Better?" he asks, half smug half relieved. 

"Better," you nod, not even able to control your smile anymore. "You are ... simply the best, Johnny Storm," you praise wholeheartedly, starting to forget about the pain.

"I know, I know," he rolls his eyes playfully, lifting up from his crouching position without taking away his hand, before gesturing to your side. "Now, your portable heating pad's knees hurt, scoot." 

You move over amused, and he sits next to you, his free arm instantly curling around your shoulders. His body always radiates heat, steady and overwhelming in the best way. You can't help but relax, your head finding its way to his chest as you sip the last of the tea. 

"So much for a superhero," you tease now, making him gasp in feigned offense. 

"This is after hours, babe," he defends, "besides, I've proven myself to be very useful," to make his point stronger, he takes the empty mug from your hand and places it away. 

"Oh you have, fire boy," you nod, playfully placing a kiss on his chest as a thank you. 

"See? You could've had this hours ago if you'd just called me," his hand rubs soothing circles along your arm. "And I mean it ... I wanna be here for you. All of it. Even this. Especially this."

"I know," you whisper, hugging him tighter, the ghost of a smile on your face. "I know, Johnny." 

You cuddle in silence for a while, the pain quickly drifting away from the medicine and Johnny's unbelievable heat. Your hand slipped under his shirt a while ago, tracing patterns on his toned skin.

"You know what..." he breaks the silence, and you recognize the spark in his voice. "Forget space travel. I could make commercials about this. 'Tired of cramps? Get a Johnny!’”

"Yeah? I'm sure Ben would love to see that," you shake your head laughing, patting his chest but he catches your hand, lacing your fingers with his. "Lucky for me, I have my Johnny already," you lift your chin up to look at him. 

"Yes, but yours comes with extra features," he wiggles his eyebrows, while his mouth keeps running just to coax more giggles out of you. "I'm just saying... heating mode, snuggle mode, horny sex god mode–"

"You're so full of yourself, Johnny." 

"Why thank you," he kisses your temple, obnoxiously sweet. "Full of snacks, too. I also brought gummy bears," he says, and you tilt your head to find his smirk.

"You did not." 

"Check my pocket," he nods excitedly, and you reach over his pants, accidentally grazing his crotch. "Wow–wow, not that pocket!"

You can't help but snort, reaching the right pocket this time. Sure enough, there's a little crinkled bag tucked inside. Your chest warms almost as much as your belly does under his palm. Johnny looks far too pleased with himself. 

"See? I even brought candy to your midnight pity party" he says, already reaching the bag to grab two gummies. He pops one in your mouth before eating one himself. 

"My pity party? I hate you," your offended voice comes out muffled from chewing the gummy. 

"Except you love me," he shrugs smugly, reaching for more gummies to do the same again. One for you, one for him. 

And damn this idiot, you do. Especially when he tilts his head to peck your lips, lingering with the candy's leftover sweet taste. You eat a few more in silence, only giggling when he attempts to throw one and catch it in the air and fails miserably, only for you to get it at the first try. 

"Alright, alright ... that's enough," he crinkles the bag and puts it next to your empty mugs on the coffee table. "Sue would kill me if she sees me eating candy right now."

"You're just saying that cause you lost–"you attempt to tease, but a yawn takes over your voice, your eyes inevitably narrowing. 

"I'm saying that because you need to rest," he corrects, already getting up. "C'mon, sweetheart, we're doing this right" he slides one arm under your knees and another around your back. "This couch isn't good enough for you."

The blanket stays wrapped around you, tucked close to your chest, while his warmth radiates through your whole body as he walks to your bedroom. He nudges the door open with his foot, and in a couple of strides reaches the bed. He lays you down softly, and places a kiss your forehead that makes you smile. For a second, he just looks at you, messy hair, tired eyes, and you swear he couldn't look more in love.

Then, without warning, he starts tugging the blanket away.

"Hey!" you protest, clutching it tighter around you. "Johnny, I need that," you complain, but he just smirks, leaning over you. 

"Wrong! You got me now. I'm waaay better than some blanket."

"You gave me this blanket." 

"Yeah, well, now I'm taking it away," he shrugs, smiling condescendingly. 

You groan, half laughing, trying to wrestle the blanket back, but he wins easily, tossing it onto the floor with a winning grin. 

"There. Much better," he says, and before you can complain about him washing it, he slides in beside you, embracing your body with his. 

The heat of him hits immediately, wrapping you far warmer and softer than the blanket ever was. His arm goes around your waist, palm flattening over your stomach again, radiating that gentle, steady warmth. The way you relax into his body makes him smile. 

"See?" he mumbles against your hair. "Told you, babe, way better," he tugs you closer to his chest, pulling the covers of your bed over you. 

One hand stays over your stomach, spreading heat exactly where you need it, while the other strokes slow, soothing patterns down your back. You listen to his heartbeat for a while, the rhythm grounding you more than anything else has all day.

This isn't another night where you prepped yourself the whole day to smell like literal heaven when he tasted your skin. Tonight is different. You're in mismatched faded pjs, hair undone, tired face. And he doesn't look at you like you're any less. If anything, his eyes are softer, more focused, like this is the you he'd been waiting to see.

"You know," he says after a long silence, voice getting lower with sleep, "this is my favorite look on you."

"I look awful," you groan, burying your face in his chest.

"Yeah, awful ... totally hideous. Which is why I'm keeping you forever," he chuckles, like it's a joke, but his words always hold more meaning to them. 

You lift your head just enough to meet his blue eyes. The way he’s looking at you makes you realize this might be the most intimate night you’ve ever shared. And you’re happy. 

Johnny can feel it. The way your body melts against his, the way your breathing evens out. And then suddenly your eyes are fluttering shut, lips parted slightly. 

“Sleep babe, I got you,” he whispers, pressing a feather light kiss to your forehead.

And with his body pressed against yours, his heartbeat steady under your ear, you finally drift off. Safe, held, and cared for in every way that matters.

The first thing you notice when your eyes blink open is warmth. Not just the weight of his arm still around your waist, or the way his chest rises steady beneath your cheek, but the faint heat radiating from his palm, still exactly where it had been all night, like he never once let go. You shift, slow and careful, and he feels it. 

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Johnny mumbles, in his deeper morning voice. You tilt your head just enough to see him, his blonde hair even messier than last night, eyes heavy lidded and a lazy smile. “How you feeling?” 

“Mmm, it doesn’t hurt,” you hum, snuggling into his chest. 

“Told you, babe. Human torch heating pad, runs all night and never shuts off,” he drawls, joking even when he’s still half asleep. 

You chuckle, and try shifting out of his arms, just enough to stretch, enough to maybe get up and get cleaned up. But the second you move, Johnny makes a low groan in his throat, instantly clinging tighter.

“Nope,” he mumbles. “I’m still in service. You can’t get up yet.”

You laugh softly against his chest. “Johnny, I need to–“

“Shhh,” his nose nuzzles into your hair, lips brushing the your head. “Don’t argue with Johnny.”

There it is, the third person his family always mocked him about. It should be ridiculous, really, but it’s also so him that your heart squeezes. He’s lying there with messy hair and the bedsheets wrinkles imprinted on his cheeks, clinging to you like it’s the best place he could be in, and somehow you love him more for it.

So you don’t argue, you don’t tease. You just let yourself sink back into him, curling closer, your hand finding its way under his shirt to rest against his warm skin. His grip softens a little at that, enough to let you breathe, but he doesn’t let go.

“That’s better,” he beams, satisfied. “Knew you’d see reason.”

Your laugh bubbles out before you can stop it, and you happily melt into his arms. Eventually, after a while of drifting between sleep and squinting at the soft sunlight coming through your windows, your stomach betrays you. It growls loud enough that Johnny finally cracks one eye open and smirks.

“Hungry?” he teases.

“Starving. I only had those gummy bears last night,” you shift against him, trying to sit up.

“Nope,” he says, gently holding you back down. “You stay. I’ll bring you something,” he orders, already rolling out of bed like he wasn’t in deep sleep just a few minutes ago. 

“Johnny, angel, I love you but … you’re a literal fire hazard in any kitchen,” you look at him apologetically as you sit up. 

“Excuse you, haven’t I proved by this point you’re in good hands?” He presses a dramatic hand to his chest, pretending to be wounded. You just raise your eyebrows at him, so he leans forward to press a kiss right between your frown. “I love you too, by the way.” 

You bite back a smile, shaking your head. He makes his way to the door now, hair sticking up, crinkled shirt, striped pajama pants hanging low on his hips. He stops to point at you before walking out. “Don’t move, breakfast in bed.”

You smile with tight lips, pretending to be excited until he turns around and you can flop back in bed, knowing this is going to be a disaster. Because as ironic as it sounded, he’d been close to burning down your kitchen before. You guess he’s just not used to the fact that only the Baxter Building was fireproof from head to toe. 

As expected, when your stomach wins out and you walk into the kitchen moments later, the first thing you see is Johnny leaning over the stove, hand glowing as he absorbs fire out of the frying pan. Smoke curls toward the ceiling, and the smell of something close to charred fills the air.

“What are you doing?” you lean in the doorway, arms crossed as you bite back a smile.

Johnny straightens instantly, tucking the pan behind him and airing out the smoke with his hand like that’ll somehow help. Unfortunately for him, when he moved the pan behind his back, a fried egg, or what used to be one, flops onto the floor. Suspiciously black, yet his grin is far too casual as he steps in front of it to hide it. “What? Nothing to see here. Everything’s under control. Breakfast is almost ready.”

“Uh huh,” you arch a brow, trying not to laugh.

He sighs defeated, placing the pan back on the counter and leaning to pick up the burnt ‘breakfast in bed’ from the floor. He mutters a curse as he throws it away, only to turn to you right after like nothing happened. 

He lifts his hands up smiling, holding his index fingers up as if to say ‘wait up’. He goes through your cabinets, letting out a small cheer when he finds what he was looking for. 

“Lucky for you, sweetheart… you got your very own Johnny Storm cereal,” he pulls out the box, holding it with one hand and pointing his face on the cover with the other. “Only the finest, of course. Your favorite.”

“That’s your favorite,” you argue, narrowing your eyes. 

You think he’s about to protest but he’s too busy shoving his hand inside the box, eyes opening wide in excitement as he reaches what he was looking for. The mini human torch that came in the cereal. 

‘Flame on!’ ‘Flame on!’ ‘Flame on!’

“Got another one for your collection, babe!” he beams, already walking over to the shelf display on your living room. 

He finds the other identical plastic toys lining up there, and adds a third to your surprisingly growing collection. You shake your head as he strolls toward you all happy.

“Now you have three Johnny’s,” he cheers, his hands instinctively going to your waist when he reaches you.

“I have four,” you correct, draping your arms on his shoulders to bring in him close enough to almost kiss. “You’re my favorite one, though.” 

Lovely divider by @enchanthings

Thank you so much for reading! feedback is always appreciated 🫶🏼

[scottishtea]

epilogue, all of me // clark kent x reader

Inspired by superman 2025

I You and Clark Kent work for the Daily Planet and are, at most, cordial with each other. What happens when the both of you become more interested in each other and explore something more? |

DISCLAIMER: PART 5 / 5

✰ warnings and comments: intense kissing, suggestive language, some fluff, continued-series, coworkers to lovers, mutual pining, clark is sometimes gloomy, it-tech!reader, slow-burn office romance, lots of feelings and introspection, miscommunication, both of them are very awkward at times.

✰ WC: 2.1k

✰ a/n: hey there! sorry for the late update, but thanks again for all the love on my previous posts. i am truly blown away by how much of you love this! this is the fifth and final part in my clark kent x reader slow burn office romance series. hope you enjoy!

feel free to leave criticism or comments! comment to make taglist!

DO NOT COPY, REPRODUCE, USE, OR CLAIM MY WORK AS YOURS ON ANY PLATFORM, SUCH AS BUT NOT LIMITED TO, ANY AI GENERATOR, TUMBLR, AO3, WATTPAD ETC.

The bruises were fading, though your body still ached when you stretched too quickly or when you suddenly stood up too fast. It wasn’t awful, more of a dull throb than pain, but Clark noticed every tiny flinch like it was a flare in the sky.

If you rubbed at your shoulder, he was there in a second with a heating pad. If you shifted your weight too much, he was offering to fetch extra pillows. He’d already adjusted the couch cushions twice that morning, muttering about lumbar support, and you were pretty sure he was staring down the throw blanket like it might be plotting against you.

“Clark,” you said from where you lounged, cocooned in that same blanket. “If you hover any closer, you’re going to fuse yourself to me.”

That made him pause, standing in the middle of the room with a pillow clutched in his huge hands. He blinked at you, caught somewhere between shame and amusement, before his mouth tugged into a half-smile.

“I just don’t want you hurting more than you already are.”

You patted the empty cushion beside you. “Then sit. Please. Before you wear a hole in the carpet with that pacing.”

He obeyed, reluctantly, and sank down beside you, though the way he hovered his arm near your shoulders instead of settling it around you screamed restraint. You nudged him until it finally landed where it belonged. He exhaled, as if he’d been holding his breath all day.

The truth was, you didn’t mind the soreness. If anything, it was a reminder of what had happened between you two. Of the walls that had fallen, the fire that had followed. But Clark, sweet, guilty Clark, was still wound tight. He looked at you like he’d broken something sacred.

“I hurt you,” he murmured again, quiet and raw.

“You loved me,” you corrected, same as you had every day since. Then, because silence stretched too long, you added, “And you know, for an alien god who can bend steel or whatever, you’re surprisingly gentle—most of the time.”

His heated eyes snagged yours, and momentarily you were reminded of the amount of erotic heat swimming in those depths a day ago. The way he tried and failed to keep his hands off of you. The many hours of him over and under your body—insatiable, your name like a sacred mantra, as he put you through the mattress, and shower wall…

And bathroom sink…

And vanity?

You’d lost count.

All you knew was that he’d have a bunch of furniture to replace this upcoming week, and some wall renovations.

“You’re not playing fair…” you heard him grumble, adjusting his pants as he moved closer.

“Huh?” You were so lost in your thoughts. “What do you mean?”

“How can I not want you when you look at me like that?” He breathed, almost sounding strangled.

“Who’s stopping you?” You all but moaned, and he huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head.

“I’ve done enough.” He sighed. “You should have never let me go that long. Gentle doesn’t come easy to me. Not when I’m always worried about… how fragile things are compared to me, and not when I’m all riled up like that.”

You tilted your head. “Fragile? Excuse me, I’m tougher than I look. You’re just—” You gestured vaguely at his whole body. “—a walking granite statue with puppy eyes.”

He laughed a breathy chuckle. “The point is, it's dangerous for me to get like that. You can’t let me—“

You closed the gap for a quick peck on his lips, before the tip of his nose, utterly enamoured. “CK?”

“Yeah?” He shuddered.

“I’d let you put me through this floor if you weren’t so insufferably noble.” You spoke into the small space between you.

His breath hitched, his eyes latching onto yours. Passion and heat passing between you too, thick and electric.

“You’re crazy,” he chuckled incredulously, yet it was warm.

For a moment, you just existed in the easy air that settled between you too. Not in a rush to do anything. Until Clark’s soft laugh shook the silence.

Your head tilted in curiosity.

“Granite statue, huh?”

You snorted a laugh. “With puppy eyes,” you repeated firmly. “Don’t forget the important part.”

The grin he gave you then could’ve powered the city.

———————————

Over the next few days, Clark’s guilt transformed into fussing. He carried groceries, cooked every meal, insisted on handling laundry, and even tried to stop you from lifting the kettle. He tucked blankets around you as if you might vanish without them.

“Clark,” you groaned one evening as he set down a bowl of soup in front of you. “I’m sore, not bedridden.”

“Humor me,” he said.

So you did. You let him hover, let him fuss, let him brush your hair back when he thought you were dozing. Because the truth was, as much as you teased him, there was something quietly fulfilling about being cared for like this. About him pouring himself into you for once, instead of everyone else.

It was in those moments that the stories started spilling out. Whether it was while he refilled your tea or tucked another blanket around your shoulders. Little things at first: how his mother used to be tickled about him and Mixie, how the Kansas air smelled before thunderstorms, how he was always terrified his strength would crush something he held too tightly.

Then bigger things: the first time he ever flew, how it felt like freedom and terror all tangled together. The impossible choice of becoming Superman. The nights he came home after saving hundreds but still carried the weight of the one he couldn’t.

And every time his voice cracked, you reached for his hand. Every time he looked away, afraid of disgust, you smiled instead.

“You’re not supposed to love me for this,” he whispered one night, eyes shadowed with memory.

“Too late,” you said simply, resting your head on his shoulder.

He didn’t answer, but the way his arm tightened around you spoke louder than words.

———————————

By the fourth day, Clark was restless.

He dropped things, spoons mostly, which was almost funny. He paced. He checked the time too often, though you were pretty sure time meant little to someone who could race the horizon.

Finally, he blurted, “I want to take you somewhere tonight.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Somewhere, or somewhere?”

His lips twitched. “Somewhere. No cape. Just us.”

That was how you ended up blindfolded in a cab, his warm hand wrapped around yours as he gave the driver quiet directions. You tried to complain, but he only grinned every time you threatened to peek.

When he helped you out and guided you up a final set of steps, you nearly tripped, and he caught you effortlessly, of course. “Trust me,” he murmured.

“You know I don’t like surprises,” you teased, though your pulse was racing.

Finally, he slipped the blindfold off.

You gasped.

You were standing on a rooftop, the city sprawled out around you like a sea of stars. But it wasn’t just the view — it was the thousand candles flickering in a wide circle around a table set for two. White linen, gleaming glasses, the faint scent of roses on the air.

“CK,” you whispered, hand flying to your mouth. “This is…”

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “I wasn’t sure if it was too much.”

“Too much?” you laughed, spinning slowly to take it in. “Clark, this is… perfect. You’re setting the bar very high for yourself, you know.”

He smiled, nerves still tugging at the corners.

He pulled out your chair, poured the wine, tried hard to act like this was just dinner, but his hands trembled every time he reached for something.

Halfway through the meal, you leaned forward, chin in hand. “You’ve been fidgeting since the cab ride. Spill it.”

Clark froze, fork halfway to his mouth. “I—uh—”

You smirked. “Oh no. Is the great Clark Kent nervous? Should I be worried?”

Suddenly, he set his fork down. His movements reverent. When he gasped and looked up to the sky, your gaze followed, looking for what startled him.

It was only when you felt a quick breeze next to you that you turned to look down at him.

Look down.

Holy shit.

Clark Kent. Superman—your Clark, down on one knee, holding a velvet box like it was the most fragile thing he’d ever touched. Gazing up at you with those larger-than-life ocean eyes, nervous but certain.

Your breath caught.

The world tilted.

“I’ve spent so much of my life hiding,” he said, voice low, almost shaking. “Hiding from the world. From the truth. From myself. And then you came along, and you saw me. Really saw me. Not the cape. Not the disguise. Just… me.”

Your eyes stung, tears threatening.

“I don’t want to hide anymore. I want every part of my life to be with you. The good, the terrifying, the impossible. I want forever.” He opened the box. The whimsical ring inside glittered in the candlelight, but your eyes never left his. “Marry me, p-please.”

For a long moment, you couldn’t speak. You could only laugh through the tears, hand pressed to your mouth.

Finally, you choked out, “God, CK. Yes. Of course yes.”

The relief that swept over him was breathtaking. He slid the ring onto your finger with shaking hands, then pulled you into his arms, lifting you clean off the ground, twirling your bodied in the air, as you laughed into his shoulder.

“I love you,” he whispered fiercely, like a vow.

You leaned back just enough to grin at him, eyes still wet. “I love you too, granite statue.”

His laugh rumbled against your chest, and then he kissed you, slow and soft, the city lights burning all around.

And for once, Superman didn’t feel like he was carrying the world. He felt like the world was carrying him — right here, in your arms.

[rhaeheartzsquirrelz]

Sweet

Sevika x Female Reader

Soft, emotional sex with Sevikidiki where you end up sobbing ‘cause she’s too sweet.

Cw: Sex: fingering, strap on, praise. Soft dom Sevika. Sub Reader.

MEN DO NOT INTERACT!!!!!!!

Proofread || Note: It was so fun writing this, I hope you enjoy :) Also, please ignore any spelling/grammar mistakes, i tried my hardest to keep them out!

Her flesh arm wrapped around your waist and you found yourself pinned against her chest. Her lips latched onto hers as she kissed you with an abundance of care and love. Never was there a moment of roughness, of the slightest bit of pain; being a grip or a pull.

Sevika’s hand slithered down to your shorts, entering from your front and pressing against your clit. She slowly moved, causing your breath to heavy and your heart to spike.

Your bedroom was prepared for a movie night, a night where you and your girlfriend could just cuddle. But, things seemed to escalate. There was a change of plans.

The warm light from your lamp illuminated the room, and your freshly lit candles now made the situation much more romantic. The room smelled heavenly, and so did Sevika’s kissing. She was gentle with how much pressure she applied, not wanting to get too intense. You didn’t mind her softness, matter of fact you actually wanted more of it. She’d taken off her prosthetic in order to cuddle with you better. In order to keep away any sharp metals from you. That was the kind of woman she was; only with you, however.

Her middle teased your entrance, finertip going in before slipping right now. She was testing the waters, seeing if you she’d need lube or not— she didn’t. Tongue slipping out of your mouth, lips unattaching, Sevika pulled back with a heavy breath, her eyes opening and she met yours.

“Can I?” Her voice quieter, slightly shaky. “Yeah, I want you to.” And with your approval, she let her finger, carefully, move in. “Y’want me to add another? You don’t have to.” Her grey eyes watching as your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. “Uh-huh, go ahead.” You, barely able to hold yourself together, nodded. A hand on her cheek with the other on the side of her neck, you hold back a whimper as she added another. It didn’t hurt, no, but it definitely took you a few seconds to get used to. Considering Sevika’s fingers were quite large. “Does it hurt? Tell me to stop if y’need me to, alright?” Her dark lips pressing a kiss on your forehead, letting you know you could say no whenever you wanted to.

She slowly picked up her pace, from slow curls to harder ones, the tips of her fingers found her target and she hit it. You clung to her as she did so, moaning into her shoulder all the while having her kiss your neck. “Is this good, baby?” Her low voice vibrating through you. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s.. good.” Awsome was what you wanted to say. It felt awsome.

Her warm breath brushed against your heated skin, causing you to feel hot. Burning hot. The fast beating of your heart and the heavy breaths you were taking only added to the fire; your body was sweating. And the thought of Seika being in you had your mind giddy, had it working extra hard to make you feel good. And you did. Even in the process of making you cum you felt a sort of high you’d only experience with your girlfriend.

“God, you’re so beautiful like this,” she’d whisper with a suck at your neck, leaving a trail of hickeys. “Don’t stop.. Sev.. that’s so.. fucking good— don’t stop, please!” You’d ramble on, jaw dropping at the familiar pooling in your core. “Y’think I would? I’m offended, love.” Her lips hidden and curled into a smile, she was proud of herself.

Your walls squished against her middle and ring, responding to the experienced curling she was doing inside of you. Your girlfriend even commented; “Feeling good? You’re all tight.” And, yes, it made your face feel hot. How could it not? Her smugness added to the sensation she was, lovingly, providing. It was the way she acknowledged how you reacted that made you whine, made you embarrassed. It even made you further more attracted to her.

“My pretty girl’s so close, I can feel it.” Smothering your neck with hickeys and kisses; only so you’d have a constant reminder of her. “Mm-hm, I am.” Your breathless words causing your woman to fasten her pace. “I can’t.. please! god it’s so good..”

Your hands clenched onto her shoulders as you, yourself, clung onto her. A cry of pleasure escaped your lips and your hips slightly shuddered against her as she helped you ride out your orgasm. Sevika even pulled back to see your face, watch as you came all over her fingers, it was a sight she never truly got used to. It was addictive being able to make her girl so happy.

“Perfect. You were perfect.” Slipping out of you and pulling you close with her wrists; her hand avoiding any contact. “How’d that feel, pretty thing?” Lips pecking yours before she gave you a chance to talk. “Like you said, it was perfect.”

A low humm of acknowledgment came from your girlfriend and she nuzzled into you, forehead resting against your shoulder. “It’s only ten. Can I get the strap?” Know this stuff knocks you out in a few.” She was reffering to the fact that she, herself, could have you asleep faster than any melatonin could. “Sure, but only one round.” You were already exhausted from a little fingering, you doubted you could get through Sevika’s pounding.

At your approval, she quickly grabbed, and slid on, the strap. Clicking the belt in place before plopping down next to you. “What position, ma���am?” Tone all teasing as she had a hand on your arm. “Mm.. I dunno? From the front? That’s the easiest?” She nodded in agreement. “You don’t mind if I have on my mech, do ya?” “Nope.”

From the front was what you got.

Ankles on her shoulders, arms overhead, and your body ready, your girlfriend pressed the tip of her strap to your entrance. Her mech and flesh holding onto your thighs as she slowly, and oh so carefully, pushed inside. Sevika’s strap was thick and long, easily larger than her two fingers— and it took you a while to get used to. “Deep breaths, babe.” Flesh hand pressing down on your lower abdomen, it was her way of making you feel more.

“Trying.” Was your breathless response, head tilted to the side to see the bulge in your skin. Sevika only smiled down at the sight, soaking in the way her strap looked with you wrapped around it. “Convinced every inch of you is beautiful.” The woman leaned forward, holding onto your ankles and slowly beginning to thrust. Your body, as usual, recoiled, and your hands clenched onto the the pillow beneath your clouded head.

Your eyes rolled back as Sevika’s hips rolled deep into you, hitting her target all the while rubbing against your tight walls. She could feel the pressure, the repeated squishing everytime she entered, even the way she had to push hard into you. You were wet, soaked, and it made the job easier. Louder, too. The quiet yet noticeable squelching noises from you filled the room, thanks to your girlfriend.

Not even a few minutes in and you were feeling your stomach pool again. The same heat that would make you feel good formed and you found yourself utterly taken away by the sensation jolting throughout your body. Every part of you enjoyed it.

“Close already?” The woman grunted, wrapping your legs around her hips and deciding to pull you against her chest. “I can’t..” you managed to say, barely able to keep yourself composed. “Sev, I.. fuck— it’s too much,” “need me to stop?” She knew you’d say no, she’d never heard the word leave your mouth. “Don’t.. please, I’m close.”

And she didn’t. Sevika never slowed her pace. Her only goal, at the moment, was to make you cum, all the while feeling loved. She showed so by peppering your forehead with kisses, intertwining her fingers with yours, holding your hands above your head, and whispering soft words in your ear. “You’re doing great, love,” she’d say as she pressed a kiss on the shell of your ear. “Gonna cum for me, hm? Go ahead, baby.” All the while pounding into you. “My girl sounds so pretty, don’t you?” As she lets you burry your face into her shoulder and whimper, moan, as much as you wanted to.

Even though your girlfriend was thrusting hard, she wasn’t being rough. She knew how you needed it, how much you could handle. She’d never push your limits, if that had even crossed her mind. “Vika,” your voice shaky as you sniffle against her skin. Her warmth mixing into yours, her grunts sending a light shiver through you, and her breath tickling your neck. “Is something wrong?” Her pace slowing as she wiped at your wet cheek. “No, don’t stop.. please.” Heart racing in your chest as you said those words. You’d repeated them a thousand times; but they really were true.

“Baby, I’m not.” Sevika, though worried, fastened her pace again and leaned on her arms to get a better look at you. Brows furrowed, eyes lidded and wet, lips parted, with your face heated. As cute as you looked, she had to ask the question. “What’s wrong?” Grey eyes staring deeply into yours. “Later.. I’ll tell.. you later.”

There was nothing wrong, just the fact that you were overwhelmed with the amount of care and love she put in every thrust, every touch. It was adorable and just so sweet that it had you sobbing.

Your orgasm was just as good as the last and, afterwards, Sevika slipped off her strap and decided to cuddle you. “Too much?” She asked, voice quiet and soft, “No, I never said that.” Your face showing your embarrassment. “Then, what? Did I hurt you?” your girlfriend had her prosthetic off again, so her flesh hand did most of the touching. “No, you’re just really nice. That’s all.”

“Nice? I’m really nice?” She repeated, “what does that mean?”

“It means I love you.”

“Oh? That’s.. new.” Her brows raised in surprise. “I love you, too. Even though you cry over stupid things.”

“Those were happy tears—“ “Yeah, alright. You had me worried about happy tears.”

[pineconepie]

CHARACTERS: Lux, you/reader

WARNINGS/TAGS: Cults, plane crash, vague religious themes (not to any religion in particular), parental yandere, isolation, false idols, death, blood, gender neutral reader, infantilization, developing stockholm syndrome, manipulation

WORD COUNT: 4.5k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This one was a popular request! While not one of my favorite yandads, I really did enjoy writing a scenario like this, probably one of my more unique ones so far! Let me know if I forgot any warnings or if you'd like one to be added! I'm pretty sure its obvious I hardly proofread this past a brief look-over ^^;

It all happened so very quickly; one moment, you're just scrolling through your phone with your headphones in and listening to music, occasionally glancing outside of the plane's window to admire the view of the forestry below you.

The next thing you know, there's an explosion coming from the airplane engine. Everything starts shaking rapidly, people screaming as they quickly put on their seatbelts and look for oxygen masks—yourself included.

However, it is no use. The airplane makes a loud nose-dive towards the ground, and before you could even process what was happening, everything goes black.

...

You feel like death warmed over.

When you awake, there is an immediate burning sensation that fills your entire body, particularly your left arm. It feels broken. In fact, all of you feels broken. You feel as if your body has been run over by several trucks. Your face is throbbing.

What the hell happened?

You manage to lift your head. There's blood and bodies everywhere, some of the blood is definitely your own. No one else seems awake, or even alive.

There are small fires surrounding you that provide light in the dark forest. One wing of the plane was blown completely off, but it looks like you're still close to where most of the plane is gathered.

Even if it hurts like hell, you manage to somehow get up on your own two feet.

With the little amount of strength you have, you stumble out of the plane and collapse on the dirt floor outside of the area.

You are panting heavily, looking around at your surroundings. Your entire body screams with agony, every time you breathe, you're inhaling ash.

Despite having just woken up, you already feel yourself about to pass out again from the pain. You stumble as far away as you can from the plane, looking for any other survivors. Surely it can't just be you, right?

Wrong.

No matter how much you look, you don't see anyone even close to being conscious. Not one.

That's when it hits you like a bus—you're going to die.

You fall to your knees, clutching your chest in terror. All that you were able to process before the crash happened was the explosion. Now, all you know is that you're stranded, possibly hundreds of miles away from any sort of civilization.

What makes it worse is the fact that your arm is probably broken, meaning that there is no way for you to defend yourself from anything that lurks in this godforsaken place.

But knowing how doomed you are, is there really any use in that, anyway?

No... The best option would just be to curl into a ball and give up on life right here, right now. You lay on the grass, clutching one of your many wounds, shutting your eyes.

The sound of footsteps and horses galloping makes them snap back open.

Your head immediately whips to where the source of the sound is coming from. Your first thought is other survivors of the crash who woke up the same way you did.

That idea is crushed, however, when you look closer only to find that these people are clothed weirdly—in odd dark green robes with some kind of golden symbol engraved on it.

It doesn't take a genius to realize that these people aren't survivors like yourself.

These people must've been waiting for someone in this forest.

And even if their faces are hidden beneath the cloak, you know their eyes are all glued to you.

Your blood turns ice cold. You try to stand back up, but the searing pain prevents you from doing so, which only results in you falling down to the grass again.

Now, you regret not giving up on life earlier.

These people are getting closer, making a circle around your bloody state.

"Look, Father!" One of them speaks. Their voice is muffled behind the hood over his mouth. "I told you! We heard an explosion nearby!"

Father?

All of a sudden, a taller figure emerges from the group. His attire is slightly different than the rest—the robe appears lighter colored with more intricate designs on it.

He lifts his hood off of his head, revealing a man in his mid to late-forties staring down at you with a grin on his face. He has long blond hair tied in a low ponytail and green eyes that glow in the light of the flames from the crashed plane.

The man's expression turns from neutral to glee. "My dream was correct!" he cheers, causing everyone else surrounding him to do the same. "The Gods have blessed me with a child!"

A what now? You try crawling backwards away from them, shaking your head frantically. You attempt to open your mouth to say something, anything, but your vocal cords don't seem to be working after screaming bloody murder during the crash. Instead, your thoughts come out as coughs from smoke inhalation.

"Oh, my baby," he croons, kneeling beside your injured body. "Don't be afraid, little one. Papa's here now."

"They're injured, Father Lux," one of them states the obvious.

Despite that being obvious from one glance, it seems this man, Lux, was too happy to even realize until it was pointed out. His expression turns concerned, looking over your tattered self.

You try backing up from him again, but a few cultists gather around behind you so that you have nowhere to escape to.

"Poor thing, you must've been so scared." He tuts, grabbing you by your intact arm gently, examining all of your wounds. "Those burns are going to need treatment. And..." His hand hovers over your broken limb. "This will certainly need medical attention as well."

"Should we carry them back?" another follower asks.

He thinks about it. "I'll bring them on my horse back to camp. Opal, you follow, just in case." She nods. "The rest of you salvage the airplane for any useful parts."

"And if there's other survivors?" one of them asks.

Lux smiles eerily, shooting a glare in the direction of the plane.

"There are none," he tells them firmly. "But if there are, put them out of their misery quickly. They were not in the prophecy." His eyes turn to you, softening immensely. "Let us get you somewhere safe and sound, shall we?" He kisses your bloody forehead. "Welcome home, little one."

Without another word, he scoops you into his arms and carries you bridal-style towards his tan horse. The entire time, he coos at you sweetly.

It's a miracle you've even stayed conscious for so long. Finally, you black out with Lux stroking your face with his fingers as your head rests against his chest.

...

You wake up yet again feeling like death itself.

Although this time, instead of the sounds of screams filling the air, it's replaced by silence accompanied by chirping birds and crickets outside. The burning hot sensation still remains on your skin, but it has decreased significantly from earlier. Your body is covered in bandages all over, and your arm is now in a secure cast.

Even better, you're no longer laying down on grass or dirt, but rather on a comfortable mattress. As your vision becomes less fuzzy, you can see that the room around you isn't familiar either—it's furnished with various paintings and candles.

It's very clean.

You also find that your outfit has changed—you're no longer wearing your bloodied clothes, but rather an oversized cloak similar to the one Lux was wearing.

At this realization, memories of last night's events flood into your mind.

Oh, no. The airplane, the crash, the green robed-cult people—

You notice that your throat is dry. There's a glass of water placed nearby. Despite how painful it is to lift your arm, you muster enough strength to sip the glass and hydrate yourself.

As soon as you place the cup down, however, a new figure enters the room through the door. One you recognize.

"There you are, my baby." The tall man from before approaches you. He's not wearing his cloak this time, but what resembles more of a surcoat. "How was your nap?"

You swallow your own spit in attempt to soothe your dry throat. "What is going on?" is all you can rasp.

"Aww," he coos, walking closer and sitting at your bedside. He strokes your cheek with the tip of his index finger. "Don't you remember, little one? Your airplane crashed last night, and you were nearly torn to shreds."

Torn to shreds is quite the exaggeration, but okay.

"Okay, but," you practically cough out, "who are you? Where am I?"

Lux chuckles. "Everyone here calls me Father Lux, as I am the founder and prophet of this society." His smile grows wider. "As for who I am to you, that would be 'Papa.'"

"I... I have no idea what you mean," you state honestly.

He keeps that smile that you could only describe as eerie. "Despite my followers calling me 'Father', I never viewed them as my actual children. I always longed for a child of my own. Every night, I prayed to the Gods for one. So imagine my surprise when they informed me in a dream of your arrival. When you would come falling from the skies!" He places a kiss on your head. "Oh, I am so very grateful. Even if it weren't in the prophecy, I would have adopted you on the spot regardless, sweetheart. But alas, destiny spoke and gave you to me." He holds both of your hands in his with a loving stare.

You pull away from him immediately, hissing from the pain of your burns and broken bones as a result. "I'm not your child!" you cry out.

Lux's cheerful expression suddenly morphs into a firm scowl. "That wasn't very nice," he says sternly.

"You don't understand," you croak. "I need to get home. Please."

"Honey..." he places a hand on your cheek. "Home is where I am."

Your heart sinks. This guy is insane, you conclude.

And unfortunately for you, insane people aren't exactly reasonable.

Still, you try. "I'm not even a child! Look at me, I'm an adult!"

He just coos at you. "The outside world really corrupted you, didn't it? They fail to acknowledge not all adults are fully developed mentally. And when it is acknowledged, its only to bring shame." Lux shakes his head disapprovingly. "Little ones should not be ostracized in society. Everyone develops at their own pace. Some will mature slower than others. There's no harm in embracing being younger than you are."

You shake your head back and forth. "This is absurd," you tell him desperately.

"Even if I were to let you go, where would you go to?" he asks.

A lump forms in your throat. That's a good question, actually. You have absolutely no idea where you're currently located or how to get anywhere from here.

"Let me tell you something," Lux continues. "We're in dense mountains, deep within forests and surrounded by animals who won't hesitate to devour you alive in an instant. Not to mention, the nearest civilization from here is miles away. I know, because that's the exact reason I chose this place." He strokes your cheek, looking at you with faux concern. "So why don't you take a second to rethink your options here?"

There's a tight knot forming in your chest.

He's right. You literally have no other choice but to stay here.

"What does this cult even believe in?" you challenge, but there's no more anger to your tone. Primarily defeat.

"Cult?" Lux tilts his head to the side. "Oh, silly, this is not a 'cult.' A cult implies we are some sort of strange, extremist religion."

You furrow your eyebrows.

"This," he motions his hands in the air, "is simply a sanctuary. A community." Lux pauses to look down at you. "As for our beliefs, well, everyone is free to believe their own thing, because everyone has a different interpretation of the Gods."

"Then what's your point in being here?" you ask, exasperated.

"Well, there's something we do all collectively believe in. Peace, love, acceptance." He brushes a strand of your hair behind your ear. "Something that you, little one, are very unfamiliar with. I'm here to help everyone else—including you—to escape from all that chaos and destruction."

"From the sounds of it, you're just making yourself out to be a god, talking about dreams and prophecies," you retort. "It seems all these people believe you."

Lux nods. "I suppose that's another thing all my followers can agree on; I'm simply a messenger, someone chosen to lead them in the right direction. But I am no God, sweetheart." He kisses your forehead once more. "Just a vessel of sorts."

You want to tell him he's insane. That this entire place is a complete madhouse.

However, that doesn't seem like the greatest idea at this point. For all you know, this man may be capable of things far worse than death.

Not that you'd have much of an option, anyway. All you can do is sit in this bed as your wounds heal painfully slowly.

"Listen, sweetheart," he whispers. "I promise, you're going to love it here. There are many others your age for you to play with. Here, you don't have to worry about a single thing in life aside from living, breathing, and being loved every moment."

You gulp at that.

"But you don't even know me," you whisper back shakily. "None of you know me."

"On the contrary," he argues. "While you rested, I asked some of my followers to gather identification documents of other victims to bury along with their bodies." Lux pulls out a piece of paper that turns out to be your ID card. "(Y/n) (L/n)," he reads, grinning. "Though, now I suppose that'd be (Y/n) Sampson. My surname, if you weren't aware. It's your surname now as well."

All of a sudden, tears begin pricking your eyes. You can't even wipe them with your injured arm.

Lux quickly uses his own thumbs to brush them away from your cheeks.

"It'll be okay," he coos, pulling your fragile self into an embrace. "You're going to thrive here. I'll make sure of it."

If anything is true, it's that you definitely won't be thriving. Or keeping your sanity, for that matter.

...

For the first few weeks, you remain bedridden, with only minimal ability to walk around due to your injuries.

The house you both reside in is bigger than all the other's houses, you assume. It's a cabin-style cottage made of logs. It appears to have several bedrooms and other amenities such as running water.

Yet no phones, televisions, radios—basically anything related to communicating with the outside world. No form of entertainment.

Well, there's Lux, but you'd hardly call him entertaining.

On the plus side, the area surrounding this small commune is incredibly gorgeous.

There's an endless array of forestry, hills, mountains, and wildlife. There are even certain areas where wildflowers grow. And that isn't to mention the incredible views of sunrises and sunsets every day, even if only outside of your window.

Sure, most of the time, the scenery is blocked by high trees. But it's better than nothing.

Occasionally, Lux will allow you to step outside the house with him and accompany him in strolls around the perimeter.

Today is one of those days.

"This is the best part of living out here, if you ask me," he tells you as the two of you stroll through the gardens. "Look around, angel. Beautiful flowers bloom everywhere, every single day. Gods truly are magnificent beings. You can see their artistry shining through everything." His hand finds yours, locking together.

The only thing that prevents you from recoiling from the touch is the fact that you know it's a losing battle.

Since that fateful night, you've learned quite a lot about this place.

Firstly, you have a bedtime that cannot be broken for any reason whatsoever.

Secondly, Lux does indeed consider himself your father, but gets upset if you do call him "Father". That's something only for his followers, as he genuinely believes you are more than that—his actual kid. Or "baby" as he prefers to refer to you as sometimes.

Lastly, there is absolutely no way of escaping. You're hundreds of miles away from anything remotely close to civilization, and even then, Lux has eyes practically everywhere, making sneaking off impossible. Especially when everyone in the entire village is in constant awe and praise towards you.

There's no doubt in your mind that anyone would snitch on you immediately should they spot you trying to make a run for it.

So in short, you're stuck here until your untimely demise.

"Why are you so quiet, sunshine?" Lux suddenly asks.

His voice snaps you from your thoughts. You blink a few times.

"I'm thinking," you shrug.

"Mhm." Lux hums disbelievingly. "About what?"

"About my family and friends who must be worried about me." It's the only thing you have been thinking about lately. "They probably think I'm dead." Just like everyone else.

Lux drags out a long sigh. "Good. Let them think that."

Ouch.

"Do you not understand?" He stops in place. "You and I were destined to meet. It was fate that brought you into my arms that night. All of it happened for a reason." He cups your face in his large palms, tilting your head up to look into his green eyes. "Do you really think its a coincidence that not only did you survive a plane crash where most died, but that it had to crash in these mountains? In this location of all places?" He clicks his tongue. "Nothing happens unintentionally."

You narrow your eyes at him, ready to give him a snarky remark in response, but think about his words. "'Most'? So you're saying some did?"

"Hm?"

"You said most died."

He stiffens momentarily, almost as if debating on telling you the truth. "Some did live after the fall," he admits eventually. "Not everyone, of course. Only a few. But they were in pain. Too much pain that could be helped. The medic only has so many supplies, all that should be used on you."

You freeze, giving him a wide-eyed gaze.

"Lux," you barely choke out the name, "are you saying that you killed them? When they were still alive?"

"'Papa'," he corrects. "And it was mercy kills. It was better this way, honey. Imagine having survived an airplane crash, but in agony with limited medical care."

"So if I weren't in your stupid prophecy, you would've killed me too?"

"No." Lux says it with absolute certainty. "Whether you were or weren't, you would be right here, with me." He presses a kiss to your temple. "Even when they are dead, the outside world still wishes to tear our bond... now no more talk of that dreadful place and situation. We're supposed to be enjoying this beautiful evening together."

...

More days pass, though you aren't sure how many. It feels like its been forever, but its likely only been three weeks at most.

Either way, you miss the outside world. A lot. Never did you think you'd be saying that.

You miss your family. Your friends. Technology. Entertainment.

But alas, none of that can happen out here, in this stupid mountain cult society with their insane leader.

Their insane leader that wants to adopt you as his own child, apparently.

You're allowed to go outside more often now, but he always appoints someone to watch over you and supervise every move you make. After all, you're supposedly the equivalent of a toddler, so you need constant supervision. Like toddlers often do.

The people your age or older get to choose if they still wish to be treated as children or like adults. You don't mind that, but you wish you got the same option of choice they did. You're often forced to play with them outside.

From the looks of it, it'll be hard to escape. Not only are you doomed from a geographical standpoint, but there are always guards, even at nighttime.

Yet perhaps luck will be on your side. Maybe if you get out of here, you can find the crash site. All planes have some kind of way to track them, right? Maybe they are looking for you. You know they'll likely assume you're dead if they don't find you at the wreckage.

Even then, its not like you're on an island. Maybe you'll find hikers, or someone who isn't insane who lives here.

You decide its worth trying only after you're more physically healed.

"Stargazing?" Lux asks you suddenly.

He's standing nearby on the porch of your shared cottage home, sipping some hot beverage. Probably tea. Its chilly, and there's a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

You nod wordlessly. You have to admit that its probably prettier than the view back where you live. Less smog and air pollution blocking everything.

Lux smiles, putting his cup down to join you. He wraps one arm around you to keep you close.

"These mountains provide us with such peace," he states. "Away from cities and towns full of chaos, where we can bask in nature without the stresses of society plaguing us. I think you're already healing because of it."

"Healing," you echo bitterly.

"Indeed." He tilts his head upwards towards the starry sky. "Isn't this so much better than looking at your phone? Than hearing traffic noises at ungodly hours of the night? No stressful paperwork, no worries about working nine to five just to have a roof over your head or decent living conditions?"

You want to disagree, but you can't. Because technically, he isn't wrong. It is nice. Even if you'd prefer your other life to this.

But maybe you can change the topic to something useful.

"Do hikers come by a lot? Or outsiders, in general?" you ask.

He shakes his head. "I know what you're thinking. And no, sorry to disappoint you. The last outsider we had was about two or so years ago."

You grimace, looking down at the dirt.

"Your home is here," Lux continues, kissing your temple. "You have no responsibilities here. You can play all the games you want, make all the friends you desire, enjoy the beauty of the outdoors every morning until nightfall. And most importantly, you're safe, cherished, and adored. How could you ever wish for anything else? Do you think you have a family out there that loves you more than I do?"

"You don't love me. Besides knowing my name, you don't know anything about me," you mutter.

Lux gives a light smile. "I've been urging you to tell me more about myself, it isn't my fault you little ones are so stubborn; but I don't need to know everything about you to know that this is what you need. Here, you have a warm bed to sleep on every night. Plenty of food to eat. Fresh, clean air, a caring father, and lots of friends."

"I don't even know them," you reply curtly.

"You will in due time." Lux runs his hand up and down your back comfortingly. "You shouldn't think so much. Leave those matters to me, all right?"

...

Its been about a month and a half when you're feeling much better physically.

Mentally, well... you'd rather not think about that.

Every few days, the cult has some kind of celebration. Everyone is singing, dancing, eating, laughing. There are bonfires, flower arrangements, all of it.

You never participate, despite all the coaxing. But given you plan to escape tonight, you might as well. Maybe you can give Lux the false notion that you're beginning to enjoy it here.

Then, when everyone is having a good time, you can just slip away and pray the guards are too distracted to notice you.

As soon as Lux sees you shuffle outside to the event, he lights up.

"(Y/n)!" he exclaims happily. He's wearing a much more bright robe, as the rest of the people are, as well as a flower crown out of sunflowers resting upon his head. He takes a glass of grape juice and offers it to you, which you accept.

"How lovely it is to see you joining us!" he continues.

"Just felt like being social today," you lie with a shrug.

He claps his hands together giddily. "Oh! I knew you would adjust!" Lux brings you into an unexpected embrace that crushes your bones.

You force yourself not to wince or recoil, and instead lightly hug back.

Lux proudly shows you off to everyone. They all greet you excitedly. You respond, though with far less enthusiasm. The entire time, your eyes scan every inch of the area, trying to find out the best route to run away through, and where all the guards are located.

At some point, you don't even feel as if you're faking your enjoyment.

Everyone is so eager to hear what you have to say, and the food is delicious. You even end up wearing one of the flower crowns one of the other little ones (as they are referred to by Lux), put on your head.

Unfortunately, before you can even slip away from everyone, you end up exhausted, plopping yourself onto Lux's lap while he eats by one of the bonfires.

He seems shocked at this, and you are as well by your own actions, but he wraps his strong arms around you and pulls you closer to his chest.

"Oh, look how tired my sweet baby is," he coos. "Looks like it's past your bedtime."

Despite everything, you sigh contentedly and lean against him.

Maybe just this once is fine. After all, you haven't done this since you were actually a child. Plus, you're exhausted.

Tomorrow is another day, and this definitely isn't the last celebration they'll be having.

"It was so wonderful to see you smiling and laughing tonight," he tells you, brushing the hair out of your face. "And the other little ones were so happy to see you. I think you have the entire community wrapped around your finger." He boops your nose. "Including myself, of course."

"Is (Y/n) tired? I was gonna show them the kites we were making earlier today!" one of the littles exclaims to Lux.

He smiles. "Sorry, little one, it appears so. I think it's not far off from your bedtimes too." He helps you up, keeping a firm hand around you to support you and your sleepy state.

Once you get home, he tucks you in your bed, gently removing the flower crown to place on your nightstand.

"Sweet dreams, sunshine. Thank you for spending the day with us, it meant the world to everyone. Especially Papa." He leans down to kiss the top of your head. "I love you so, so very much."

With that, he blows out the candles and closes the door behind him.

You'll escape, you're still sure of it. Just... not tonight.

[beloveds-embrace]

Hello! Thank you for feeding us the angstier timeline of the dukedom au!! I live for angst

You don’t have to entertain this thought ofc, the angst and how good you write for my brain worms worming. I just can’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if König wasn’t there and instead the duchess had to suffer all on her own

(Or better yet, if he was there but ended up also leaving the duchess for someone else or was killed protecting the duchess)

Reader having to endure everything on her own which eventually leads her to falling terribly ill and in the olden times we all know how a simple cold could turn into more and yield deadly results

The stress combined with the overall lack of appetite (and the food not cooked well at times to add to that… more angst (: ) as well as other factors rendered the reader terribly ill

Maybe she fell into a body of water and had to save herself, or maybe she was caught up in a rainy storm on a walk with no one offering her warm clothing or a cover up until she eventually managed to get back that leads to pneumonia

Maybe she gets injured but hides it until the blood loss gets to her and infection sets in

Just so many options and flavours of angst

Anyway, thank you for sharing your writing with us! Agin, you don’t have to engage with this, so please don’t feel pressured!! I’m just having many thoughts and am currently going feral /pos

WAITTT WAIT I LOVE THIS

Because imagine clinging to König, to your one singular source of comfort in a manor that has no room for you, and in the end, he leaves as well.

You had been telling yourself that you had been simply more imaginative lately; König was simply busy, he wasn’t growing more and more distant! The way he looks at you now compard to before hasn’t changed. At all. His responses were in hums and nods, noncommittal but that’s okay, sometimes you did not feel like speaking- like existing- either.

Until he stands in your office, the light from the windows reflecting off his armour. You had been happy to see him, a smile on your lips to be in the company of the only one who didn’t seem to despise you.

When he tells you that he will not be doing this anymore, it feels, for a very split second, like your heart shatters into a thousand tiny pieces. You can feel the shattering of each, single piece.

Better place. He says, pity in his eyes but no regret. He pauses for a second. I wish… the best for you.

König leaves you like that; staring after his back in abject horror. Every step he takes echoes in your ears, until you are left alone in your office, hands trembling, and your ears ringing.

After that day, everything practically crumbled. You crumbled.

Without him, the weight of your isolation became unbearable. The disdain of the household grew sharper once it became known your only solace was no longer there, the whispers more cutting. Meals came cold, uneaten. Sleep eluded you, and the constant stress gnawed away at your strength.

One fateful day, you went outside in a desperate bid to escape the suffocation. The air was crisp, the sky gray with the promise of rain, and yet you still did not turn back. You wandered farther than you intended, your steps aimless even as the first drops began to fall.

The storm came quickly afterwards, drenching you to the bone. Your thin cloak offered little protection, and the chill seeped deep into your skin. By the time you returned, trembling and soaked, no one was waiting to help you. No fire had been lit in your chambers; no warm blanket was offered, and no company was given.

The fever began that very night, burning through you with a strength that left you bedridden. Days passed in a haze of pain and delirium. The wound you had hidden- an injury from your fall in the storm- festered, the infection spreading rapidly through your weakened body. You hadn’t the strength to call for help, nor the faith that anyone would come even if you did hoarse out your voice in your attempts.

Only when your condition worsened and you really, truly disappeared out of view, the household finally took notice. Whispers swirled, faint echoes beyond the fog of your fading consciousness, and everyone became alert of your absence, meals returned untouched and maids reporting it’s weeks since they’d helped you with anything.

John sat in his study, nursing a glass of whiskey as the fire crackled in the hearth. He told himself your absence didn’t matter- that you were retreating because you’d finally realized the truth. But when he closed his eyes, he saw your face as it had been on your wedding day- hopeful, trusting, and unaware of the coldness that would greet you.

Simon found himself pacing the halls around your room more often than usual. He would glance toward your chambers but never step inside, convincing himself it wasn’t his concern. And yet, something about the silence unsettled him.

Johnny had begun to notice the meals sent to your chambers were left untouched, the plates returned barely touched or sometimes not taken at all. He hadn’t cared at first, dismissing it as you sulking because no one was giving you attention. But now the thought lingered- had you even been eating at all?

Even Kyle, with his sharp tongue and sharper gaze, felt the unease creeping in. He found himself hesitating when passing your door, his usual indifference cracking as guilt gnawed at him.

In the end, it’s Kyle who couldn’t stand the silence anymore. He stepped into your room, telling himself it was simply to prove to himself that you were fine and just- sulking.

The sight stopped him cold.

The room was dim, the curtains drawn, and the air heavy with the faint, sour scent of illness. You lay motionless on the bed, your body shockingly frail, your skin damp with fever. Your hair clung to your forehead, and your breathing was shallow, each breath rattling in your chest.

You didn’t even notice him. Not even when he turned around and barked sharply for John, for a doctor now. You didn’t notice him at all. Not him, not John or Simon or Johnny when they appear while the maids run to get the doctor.

(Kyle will never tell anyone how utterly sick he felt upon seeing the dried tear-tracks on your face. The unfinished, rotten meals near the bed. The tear spots on your pillows. He will never, ever forget today. He doubts any of the others will be able to do so, either.)

[webism]

Choso Kamo is desperate enough as it is, always eager to be touched by you, to taste you on his lips—it's hard to handle. Add a (rather expensive) block of aphrodisiac chocolate to the mix and you think you've made a mistake.

You told him to take only one, and to wait for you to get home to do so. You wanted to take them together and see if what the packaging promised was any true — that you’d be ‘sweating for sex’ in fifteen minutes flat. 

But he didn’t listen, or didn’t care to listen, because you’re still out for lunch with your friends when your phone rings and Chosos contact lights up your homescreen. You have to excuse yourself to take the call and answer with a sweet, unsuspecting ’hey, baby,’ that makes Choso nearly orgasm on the spot. 

“You have to come home.”

“What?” You think maybe you’ve misheard him over the chatter of the sweet little cafe you’re stood in. 

“Please, baby, please come home. I need you so bad it hurts, I’ve cum twice thinking about you because I didn’t want to bother you but it’s not enough and I’m hot everywhere and my stomach hurts because I need you so bad and—”

He never listens. You grumble the entire way home, your annoyance sparking flames over the burning heat in your core at the thought of your pretty boyfriend at home quite literally sweating for sex. You have to remind yourself to be upset at him for not listening because otherwise the thought of him, hot skin stuck to your bedsheets as he fucks into his fist wishing it was you, floods your mind instead. You wonder if he fucks different like this, if his typical gentle touch will be replaced with something needier—you’re of half a mind to deny him his pleasures, but that would be a disservice to yourself as well. 

When you step through your front door, you’re hit with the heavy scent of sex that usually permeates the room after you and Cho have been particularly energetic in between the sheets. It’s confusing, because how can one man fuck himself enough to change the temperature of the house? But it also goes straight to your cunt, a desperate sort of need blooming in your stomach that mirrors your boyfriends. 

The house is quiet, though, despite the fact you half expect Choso to be crying with need. Maybe he finally got it out of his system, called you home for nothing and is probably too spent to fuck the new need out of you. 

But as soon as you step into the bedroom, you’re met with the sight of your beautiful other half laid out on the bed as he fucks his fist so desperately in one hand you’re surprised his speed isn’t painful. His other hand is lifted to his mouth and caught between his teeth in a pathetic attempt to stifle his moans—the walls of your apartment are thin, at least he’s of sound enough mind to consider your neighbours. 

When his eyes lay sight on you, though, his crazed strokes still and he’s climbing off the bed in barely a second to bee-line straight to you. 

“Take a breath,” you manage as he grasp your hips and starts manhandling you to the bed.

“Can’t,” his voice is heavy.

“Cho—“ you’re pushed down onto the bed, your lover following to climb on top of you and attach his lips to the column of your neck. 

“I need you.”

And need he does, you can feel it in the way he slips your clothes from your body with such intent you barely notice it happen. You can feel it in the way his kisses light fire against your skin as he works down your chest, ribs, stomach, hips and finally reaching your aching cunt. 

A swipe of two fingers through your folds is enough to tell Choso you’re as needy as he is… almost. You aren’t quite soaked in sweat and nearly teary-eyed with want. But you’re fucking soaked. 

“Did you eat them too?” He asks, voice laced with want—he’s desperate for a taste of you, and allows himself a moment to swirl his tongue around your clit as your eyes widen in response. 

“No… I just—fuck, Choso, right there.”

You could kill him for pulling away from you, your wetness glistening on his pretty lips as he pouts at you. “Need you. I’ll make you feel so good, I promise, and I’ll eat you after I just…”

“Fuck me, Cho,” you allow him, partially because you don’t think you could go much longer without his length completing you. 

“I love you,” he whines as he rights himself and slaps his cock against your pretty pussy a few times before pushing into you with a gasped “I love you I love you I love you.”

And it might be the raw intimacy speaking on your behalf but you swear you can feel his love through the way he fills you with his cock. You’re two halves of a whole and finally conjoined through overwhelming pleasure… the stretch is uncomfortable, sure, Choso has a length he doesn’t know how to handle, but you don’t care when the way he practically drools once he bottoms out is so desperate. 

And god does it feel good when he starts to move. He’s so eager and desperate that rather than the gentle thrusts he usually makes to test the waters of your comfort, he’s straight into rutting against you like he’s in heat—which, in a way, you guess he is. 

Choso pulls your thighs up between the two of you and works himself into a mean mating press that has him reaching depths inside of you he’s never kissed with the tip of his cock. He can hardly see straight, pussy drunk already and babbling away about how good you feel wrapped around him, how he’s yours, all yours and always yours. 

“All for you,” tears prick at his eyes the closer he comes to his fourth or fifth climax of the day—the sun hasn’t even begun its descent. “My cock is for you, my cum, my heart—I’m all yours I belong to you, please take me, god you take me so good.”

He’s crying. Desperation stains his cheeks as he distracts himself from the hot tears by kissing you with trembling lips as he tries to push impossibly deeper into you. Your legs ache, you’ve never been split open so deep and you’re not sure you’ll ever stop grieving the loss when Choso finally pulls out of you. 

You don’t think you’ve ever cum this fast either, but the moment Choso starts holding his breath and knitting his eyebrows together as he does when he’s about to finish, you feel that wave of dizzying euphoria wash right through you—from head to toe you’re hit with pleasure like waves crashing on the shorelines, and you shake underneath your lust-drunken lover. 

“Oh baby,” he fucks you through it, chases his orgasm so strong it hurts, tightens his balls and makes him wonder how he’s not cumming dry yet. “Feel so good, I’m sorry I know it’s a lot I’m sorry, I love you I love you.”

It’s a blur, but you feel full with his cum and never do you want him to pull out. You think you’re still shaking, but Choso has you fucked so deeply into the mattress that you wouldn’t be able to tell even if you had the energy to care. He’s still twitching inside of you, each minor movement sends static up your spine. You might’ve just seen heaven, you think. 

And with a shaky breath, and pupils so dilated with need he looks high, Choso presses a wet kiss to your lips, pulls back and in as sorry of a tone he can muster:

“Im sorry, baby, I need more.”

kinktober tags: @medusamara5 @echodead @curiositykilledthecatx3 @hirainne

@plinkuro @sooouth @megumiiiswife @nyxiswrites1200 @yveiscringe

@sharks31 @lenahathunger @aydene @dreamyokai @n0tviv

@chiiinglebells @timetoletmyimaginationfly @nayely45 @waffless-simp-blog

@zoozvie @gothicchildofthenight @repnights @flwerie @soundofraindropss

@ushijimas1simp @aliidarling @aeswin @peachygelic @silvermet

@rinadisapproves @theshxaverse @cipher00 @milkkteary @snackeyalleyjuice

@cvipped @toadtoru @keiette @satosugu4-ever

@sugurubabe @wickedpoison6 @simp-plague @tojis-ball-sack @ventila98

@xxbookdrunkdemigodxx @oikawasthirdleg @yogichi @theycallmesia

@kdrama-anna @vurelliex @anonnieghost @tadabzzzbee

@luvofbows @crywolfix @hhonaoin @gigiiiiislife @aviesnapkindoodles

@ninikrumbs @bijuu-naginata @baekhyunsbestie @grimmshold @dalnimmie

@domainexpansionmypants @5tarx @1depressedsimp @beachaddict48 @jadeis0nline

@sukunasbbygrl @luna-v-roiya @sukunaspillow @starsval @vamqyx

@laaalaaaloooppppsiiieeeee @mermaid-jewels @sugusmonkeyy @sammywo @noyaskneepad

@astrideverstar @lordchula-thagrandrula @chuuminn @angel1of-death @flooftoof

@rumi-rants @dysphoricsanity @coolcephalopod @satoruslxt @xoxo1mira

@whosmarjj @kikosaidbye @iceddragonfruit @amisuh

@veraiku @niinistudies @jexx233 @logoleptic-since-06 @kirishimasboobs

@samaraxmorgan @sweetsformysoul @uranosbaaee @angeleen777

@xixflower @alifromtheotherworld

[syncaleb]

-> daddy caleb taking care of his exhausted baby

You didn’t hear him come in.

You were curled up on the couch, knees drawn to your chest, wrapped in a blanket that didn’t quite reach the ache beneath your skin. Your head was pounding, body trembling from exhaustion that sleep never seemed to fix. You felt frayed—like threads pulled too tight, about to snap.

Then… warmth. A hand on your ankle. Gentle pressure.

“There you are Pips,” Caleb murmurs, voice low and soothing like distant thunder on a rainy night. “Didn’t I tell you to call me when you feel like this?”

You open your mouth, but no words come. Just a little shake of your head. You don’t want to cry. You’re too tired to even cry.

He sighs, not annoyed—concerned. He kneels beside you and cups your face in one big hand, brushing his thumb across your cheek like you’re made of glass.

“You’re running yourself into the ground again, Angel. Always trying to be so strong.” You can’t help it. A little sob slips out—and he melts. Not into panic, not into pity—into purpose. In one swift motion, you’re in his arms. Picked up, held tight, carried like you weigh nothing but everything.

He sits down with you in his lap, blanket and all, wrapping you in his warmth. His chest is solid beneath your cheek. His heartbeat is steady, grounding. His hands roam—slow, reassuring, firm. One at your back, the other behind your head.

“You don’t have to hold it together with me,” he says quietly, breath brushing your temple. “You can fall apart, and I’ll still be right here. I’ll always be right here.”

You cling to him, and he lets you. Holds you tighter. Presses kisses to your hair, your forehead, your jaw. Soft, possessive, like he’s reminding you: you’re mine. You’re safe.

And then his voice—gravelly and low, close to your ear.

“Next time, you call me. You understand? I don’t care what time it is or what I’m doing—if my girl’s hurting, I drop everything. Because you come first. Always.”You nod, tears finally falling. Not out of pain—but relief.

Because with Caleb… you’re not alone.

You’re loved.

And most of all, you’re held.

He feels it—the way your body starts to soften, breath slowing against his chest. That quiet surrender. That precious unraveling. And he waits. Holds you steady in it.

“There she is,” he murmurs, voice lower now, darker. “My girl, finally letting go.”

You shiver—not from the cold this time, but from him. The way he speaks it like a promise and a claim all at once.

His hand slides up your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip. “You give and give until you break, don’t you?” He tilts your face to meet his gaze—those eyes like storm clouds right before the downpour. “But that stops here.”

He leans in close. “You’re mine. And I don’t let what’s mine burn out.”

You try to speak, but he hushes you with a kiss—just at the corner of your lips. Not quite giving it all yet. Teasing. Controlling. Patient. “No more running on empty, Princess. No more pushing past your limits while pretending you’re fine.”

His hand moves again, sliding under the blanket, splaying against your bare waist. “Next time, I feel you slipping, I won’t wait for permission. I’ll take you. I’ll pull you into my lap, pin you down if I have to, and remind you whose you are.”

Your breath catches.

And he smiles. That knowing, wicked little tilt of his lips that says: You’re mine to ruin gently. And I will. But then he kisses your forehead again, so soft it nearly breaks you.

“Not tonight, though.” His voice gentles again. “Tonight, I hold you until you fall asleep. But you remember this feeling—because tomorrow, when you’re stronger, I’m going to make sure you never forget who keeps you safe.”

And just like that, you’re wrapped in both fire and shelter.

His arms, his voice, his claim on you—

Home.

He feels the shift in you—the way your heartbeat begins to slow against his chest, your fingers loosening where they were curled into his shirt. Your body still pressed close, but no longer trembling. Just melting.

Caleb exhales softly, his breath brushing along your temple like a sigh of pride. His voice rumbles against your skin, low and tender. “That’s it. Just like that, baby. Let me take it from here.”

You hum something—a faint little sound, barely audible. Maybe a thank you. Maybe his name. You don’t even know anymore. You’re floating now, somewhere between sleep and him, the two starting to feel like the same thing.

He adjusts you in his lap just enough so he can lean back against the couch, one arm cradling your head, the other wrapped tight around your waist. And then his fingers start tracing soft patterns over your skin—up and down your spine, over your arm, along your side. Mindless, loving touches. The kind that say, “You don’t have to do anything. Just be.”

“I wish you could see yourself right now,” he whispers into your hair. “This soft. This calm. You were made to be held like this.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. One last bit of tension leaving your chest. His warmth, his voice, the strength of his arms—it’s everything you didn’t know you needed until now. And then, the final tether snaps. Sleep begins to pull you under—but this time, it’s not from exhaustion or desperation.

It’s safe. It’s soft. It’s him.

You shift once more, cheek nuzzling into the base of his throat, breath evening out. He feels it. Smiles to himself. “There she goes,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over your forehead. “My good girl. Finally resting.”

He stays there, holding you long after your breathing settles. Still tracing those same slow circles. Still whispering, even though you’ve already drifted far away. “You sleep now, Princess. And when you wake… I’ll still be here.”

[escapisms-posts]

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ 𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒍 𝑫𝒊𝒙𝒐𝒏 𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Daryl won’t ever make the first move. He wouldn’t risk making you feel uncomfortable or putting you in that type of situation. He knows that with the apocalypse, you have to deal with all different kinds of men and wants you to know he isn’t one of them.

When you make it clear that it's what you want, he’ll do whatever you tell him to. He wants you to feel good, he derives pleasure from seeing how you react to his touch. The way your temperature rises when his hands explore your curves. Or how your eyes flutter when he’s climbing between your legs. The soft moans that escape your mouth when he hits the right spot. How your hands dig into his flesh, all of it gives him the motivation to keep going.

As much as Daryl loves leaving you nice and full, on occasion he will paint your face, stomach, and right on top of your pussy. He attains a certain gratification from watching you pick it up and lick it off your finger. 

Daryl loves the way you taste. He loves burying his face between your plush lips. Soaking up all the juices you release for him. The way your hands run down to his hair. He keeps your thighs to bed as you arch your back, mind desperately trying to run from his tongue. However, the way your body reacts every time he’s near, it’s clear how badly you're infatuated with him. 

He loves leaving kisses all over your body when he’s inside you. He can feel your extra heartbeat around him, a feeling of pure ache and pain. When you're under him, unable to form complete sentences. He’ll grab the back of your hand and leave kisses all over it.

He describes making love to you like having ice-cold water on a hot day. Relief washes over his entire body. Feeling the liquid crawl through every inch of his body. The way you envelop him sets his body on fire. A flame that could burn forever. 

The contrast between his hardness and your spongy softness is a sensation that can only be described as connection. Feeling his cock hit that spot right before your cervix does nothing but send a wave of pleasure throughout your entire body. 

You love watching yourself expand to house his entire length. Spellbound to see his cock disappear inside you. The initial rush of his first movements gets your blood rushing and pulse rising. Your body naturally welcomes him in, like you were made for this.

Once Daryl is close, his pace begins to get messy, slamming into with all the strength in his body. All he feels is your warm, moist, and slimy guts that make his muscles weak. All he can do is give into you. 

That spot that sits on the far back side of the cervix. Pass your G-spot. When he hammers into you, it creates a lot more lubrication, only furthering his actions. 

Daryl loves cumming in your mouth. There's no better sight than seeing tears swell up in your eyes, drool oozing from the sides of your mouth. Seeing how hard you're trying to please him. 

Even though he’s strong enough to manhandle you and throw you around, he doesn’t. He loves being gentle with you, slow and sleeping morning sex with you before he goes on about his day. Making each other feel good early in the morning, showing how much his body needs you. 

Spooning in bed together is often a nice way to unwind after a long day. Though some nights his hand will crawl through the blankets to reach your pussy, slowly massaging your clit. Making you squirm under him, trying to pretend you're sleeping. It’s pointless because you’ll always release a plea for him to go faster. 

Daryl would love fucking you outdoors. Pounding you into a tree, while the others are busy taking care of work. He’d grip your breasts to protect them from the rough bark. Letting a mixture of your juice fall down your legs. With your panties around your ankles.

Words of affirmation!1!! This man will constantly remind you how good you feel around him, how toasty you make him feel. Sometimes he’ll talk to your pussy saying things like “Does my pretty pussy wanna go again?”

When you ride him, Daryl would lock his arms around you. You’d stop riding him when he says so. And when he gets you in this position, there's no getting out, you’re practically a living fleshlight for him.

Daryl wants to fill your pretty pussy to brim and then clean it up with his tongue.

[writeriguess]

Can you write me a MHA fic where reader and Katsuki have been crushing on each other for ages but both are denying it and Katsuki is really mean to her, and reader is really mean to Katsuki. One day, Katsuki's friends trick them and get them to go on a blind date, they have a huge fight but end up making out.

Like Hell I’d Fall for You

"God, he’s insufferable."

You slam your locker shut with a little more force than necessary, scowling like the world personally offended you. Which, to be fair, it kind of did. Or more specifically, he did.

"Bakugou Katsuki is the human embodiment of a stubbed toe," you mutter under your breath.

"Funny," says Mina from behind you, “because I just heard him say you were the reason birth control was invented.”

You whip around. “He said what?”

She raises her hands innocently. “Hey, I’m just the messenger. Though, to be fair, didn’t you call him a sentient Red Bull can last week?”

“That's generous,” you scoff. “Red Bull gives people wings. Bakugou gives people migraines.”

Meanwhile, in the opposite hallway…

"She’s fucking unbearable," Bakugou growls, kicking his locker shut hard enough to dent it.

“She’s literally the only person who can keep up with your bullshit, man,” Kirishima replies, biting into an apple like this is just another episode of their weekly soap opera. “That kind of energy? It’s flirting.”

Bakugou’s eye twitches. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying. She calls you a dumpster fire with legs, but she also stares at you for ten minutes during training.”

Bakugou turns his glare on him. “If I stared at a fire for ten minutes, it’d be because I wanted to burn it out.”

Kirishima just smiles knowingly. “Right.”

This, of course, has been going on for months. The entire class is in on it. The professors? Probably too. It’s hard to miss the sheer voltage of tension between you and Bakugou.

You mock him, he scowls at you. He mocks you, you threaten to shove his gauntlet up his ass. Everyone pretends not to notice that neither of you ever backs down. It’s exhausting. And weirdly entertaining.

Which is why Mina, Kirishima, and Kaminari decide to intervene.

By lying to you.

Friday, 6:30 PM – Somewhere in a trendy Tokyo café

You’re dressed like a liar. Because you were told this was a casual coffee meetup with Mina and Momo. So you showed up in a cute dress, makeup on, hair nice.

Which is exactly why, when you see Bakugou at the other end of the café looking just as confused and wearing a crisp black button-up (that you refuse to admit fits him way too well), your stomach drops.

“Oh hell no.”

He spots you. His face does a weird thing. You think it might be pain. Or fury. Or indigestion.

You both start walking toward each other like you’re about to duel at high noon.

“What the hell is this?” you hiss.

“I was told this was a Kirishima thing,” he growls.

“Well, Mina’s dead to me now.”

He crosses his arms. “Like I’d go on a date with you.”

“Oh please. Like I’d want to.”

And yet, neither of you leave.

You’re both seated. Begrudgingly. In utter silence. Until the barista drops off two drinks Mina apparently pre-ordered under the names “Queen of Spite” and “Lord Explosion Murder.”

Your cup has a little heart on it. His has a middle finger doodled on the side.

You blink. Then laugh. “Okay, that’s actually kind of funny.”

He snorts. “Idiots.”

Silence again. Then:

“You look good,” he mutters.

You glance up, startled.

He immediately scowls. “I mean, like. For you. Not—whatever. Fuck.”

You smirk. “Wow. That almost sounded like a compliment. Who are you and what have you done with the snarling porcupine I know?”

He glares. “You look like you’re going to a damn gala.”

“Oh, so now it’s too much?”

“You’re fishing.”

“I don’t need to fish for compliments from you, Katsuki.”

“You just did!”

“Oh my god, do you even hear yourself?!”

You’re both standing now. Not yelling, but close.

“You think I wanna be here?” he bites out.

“I know you don’t. You’d rather die than admit you like me.”

He goes still.

Shit.

Shitshitshit.

You freeze too. A beat of silence. Then:

“I—what?” you stammer.

His mouth works like he wants to say something, but can’t.

Then he does.

“Of course I fucking like you.”

Your heart slams into your ribs.

“I’ve liked you since second year,” he mutters, not meeting your eyes. “When you beat the shit outta that third year who said my quirk was all boom, no bite. You called him a discount sparklers pack.”

Your jaw drops.

“I've tried everything to stop. You drive me insane. You talk back, you’re loud, you fight dirty—”

“So do you!” you shout.

“Exactly!” he snaps. “You’re like... I don’t know! A natural disaster. A pretty one. With teeth.”

You blink.

“Oh my god.”

And then—

You launch across the table.

He catches you halfway.

Mouths crash. Teeth knock. Someone knocks over a latte. It’s chaos. It’s electric. It’s inevitable.

Your hands are in his hair. His hands are on your waist. Your body feels like it’s on fire and your heart is trying to punch out of your chest. It's a fucking moment.

Somewhere behind the counter, a barista stops mid-pour.

“Holy shit,” says the newer one. “Should we... call security?”

The older barista just watches calmly, chewing gum. “Nah. This is like a nature documentary.”

The new guy blinks. “What?”

She jerks her thumb toward you and Bakugou, still aggressively making out.

“Predators. They fight, then they mate. Give it a minute.”

You and Bakugou eventually stumble out of the café, breathless and flushed, hand-in-hand like you didn’t spend the last year trading death threats.

“So,” you say, looking up at him. “Was that the worst date you’ve ever been on?”

He grins, wide and wolfish. “Nah.”

“I mean, you did spill my latte.”

“You tackled me.”

You smirk. “So we’re even?”

“Not even close,” he growls, pulling you in again. “I’m gonna spend the rest of the damn week making up for lost time.”

And he does.

Much to the horror (and secret delight) of everyone at U.A.

[yanderenightmare]

Ryomen Sukuna

♡ TW: orphan!reader, fire, Sukuna in general, kidnapping, implied abuse

♡ GN reader

The temple’s on fire.

Tall crackling flames lick the black sky. You stand and watch wide-eyed as it smokes out every star.

Barefoot, you grip the ground with your toes to steady yourself. You’ve never owned shoes. Never needed to, you’ve never been outside, and now all you’ve ever known is burning to the ground before you. 

The scent of burning wood is joined by blood, rusty and bitter and biting, and even though your nose is stuffed full, you can’t seem to get enough of it.

Taking a big breath you really can’t afford, you cough while smiling from ear to ear.

There’s screaming, but you’re used to the sound. Or no, this is a little different. You’re used to ripping your own throat out, but it’s not you this time. It’s everyone else: the monks, the nuns, the others. They’re all melting—melting away into nothing. Some might say it’s for their sins, but you know better than to believe in divine intervention.

No, this all happened on a whim.

And you'll be sure to thank whoever's whim it is, you think as you watch the temple collapse in on itself with a big crash, ashes to ashes. And with the red reflecting in your eyes, you let out a sound you’ve never made before. A loud, boisterous sound—not far off from a scream, but so very different all at the same time.

Sukuna stops his rampage at the noise. Skin sizzling with sweat that doesn’t roll, but steams and disappears. Swimming in the carnage with blood up to his elbows—he’d been having a fun time. He’s always loved making graveyards out of sanctuaries. But the laughter that cuts through the air over the cries of pain and despair is all so misplaced that he has to drop what he’s doing and go find it.

And what he finds is you. Dainty little malnourished thing. If he couldn't tell already, the tattered rags you wear make it more than obvious what you are. Orphan. And the bruises lining your joints tell him all about what they used you for. 

Some holy place this was, he sneers.

Very soon, your laughter grows ecstatic, and you start jumping in place, as high up as you can reach, barefoot on the heated gravel.

You must be in shock. He’s surprised you’re even able to stand, much less be whooping and hollering with all these hellflames surrounding you, not to mention his presence, which should be enough to force anyone to their knees. 

One might mistake you for a demon if you're not careful.

“Oi, brat,” he announces.

Still, you don’t stop your celebration—you take your time before you sigh with a deep exhale, looking up at the sky where the embers snuff against the black backdrop.

You don’t even acknowledge him as you speak. “You have my gratitude… Never in my life did I even dream of seeing anything so beautiful...”

He has to snort. It's been a while since anyone has thanked him for anything. Actually, coming to think of it... he doesn't think he's ever been thanked before whatsoever.

You keep looking up for another moment. There’s this air of peacefulness around you despite the surrounding fiery chaos. 

And then, just as calmly, you finally turn around to face him.

“I can die happy now.”

Eyes closed, and arms spread out to your side, you lift your chin and show him your neck. And with a contented smile spread on your lips, you say, “You have my blessing to kill me.”

And oh, how it makes his eye twitch. His smile, as well—or no, it’s not a smile, it’s more of an affronted grimace. 

Giving him thanks is one thing, but blessing? To kill? 

Now that’s definitely a first…

“Hey!” you squeal as the bloody demon picks you up off your scorched feet and throws you over his back instead of dealing you the final blow. “What are you doing? Put me down!”

His face remains jaded even through your screaming, only arching a brow when scoffing. “Tch—pint-sized brats should know better than to give orders.”

The way you pound his back with balled fists feels like nothing short of rain-patter. Not even enough to be called a message, much less a beating—or whatever it is you're hoping to achieve, whilst roaring, “I gave you my blessing!”

He nearly gags at the word. “I don’t take lives in turn for dumb things such as blessings.”

“Then you don’t have it!” you snip. “I’ll curse you instead!”

“Hah!” That’s more like it—he laughs, needing to throw his head back, “I’ve been bored lately. You’re funny for a runt, so I think I’ll keep you around for a while,” he wonders out loud for you to hear, continuing to carry you away from the wreckage.

“I’ve heard pets help pass the time.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[fyodior]

IM NOT ONE OF THOSE CRAZY GIRLS.

pairing: chuuya x afab reader (no gendered terms used)

cw: sex pollen trope :3 horny nonsense, F and M masturbation, riding, creampie, pm!reader. MINORS DNI

wc: 1.9k

It had been a mission just like any other mission - some, now formerly, Port Mafia-associated grunts had been dealing arms behind their backs, and you and Chuuya had been sent to swiftly and quietly take care of them. It’s what the two of you did best - swift, quick, quiet. Silence those who need to be silenced, force confessions out of those who need to talk. The two of you were the most highly coveted and revered duo in the PM for your abilities, supernatural and otherwise. 

Something… odd had happened during this one, though. One of them had an ability of some sort, of which he had been trying to activate when Chuuya promptly eliminated him. You had noticed something shimmering in the air around him, but you truly didn’t think twice about it, considering the commotion had kicked up a lot of dust in the old warehouse. But now, sitting in the back of the car next to Chuuya on the way back to headquarters, you’re starting to wonder if his ability had been activated by the time Chuuya had killed him. Because this very odd feeling in your body is surely not normal.

Beads of sweat gather on your upper lip and forehead as your breath quickens, and you can feel your face burning. A sour, swirling feeling in your gut is making you feel sick, and every square inch of your skin feels like it’s on fire, making your vision blur. And worse? You’re so fucking horny you can barely see straight, the throbbing in your pussy barely quelled by squeezing your thighs together. 

“Chuu, I’m not, uh,” you gulp, struggling to get the words out. “I’m not feeling great.” 

When he doesn’t respond, you look over to find him in worse shape than you. His normally pale cheeks are cherry red, sweat dripping down his forehead and matting his ginger hair to the sides of his face. Chest heaving, it seems like he’s gasping for air, and, wait - is he whimpering? When your eyes trail down his slim body, you spot the final confirmation needed to know that he’s in the same boat you are - he’s rock fucking hard, a clear outline of his dick painfully obvious in his slacks. 

“ ‘m not feelin’ great either,” he grunts, words shaky. He tries to cross his legs but yelps, even the slight amount of friction clearly too overwhelming. 

Never in your life have you felt this aggressively aroused, to the point where it’s damn near painful. At this point, all you can think about is touching yourself, and getting something inside you. 

“How much longer ‘til we’re back to headquarters?” your words are stunted, dripping with desperation. 

Chuuya checks his phone, hand shaking. “Thirty minutes.” 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you whine, burying your face in your hands. 

It’s clear that both of you are feeling it, but neither of you are able to admit it. Not until Chuuya finally breaks. 

“I- fuck- I gotta come so bad before I fucking pass out,” he grunts.

Your eyes go wide at the statement - Chuuya was usually such a composed, disciplined man, that seeing him in such a frazzled, desperate state is shocking, and a testament to the potency of… whatever this is. But honestly, you can’t blame him. Instead, your mouth waters as he fumbles with his leather belt, unzipping his slacks and pulling out his thick cock. 

A hearty groan tumbles past his lips as he wraps a hand around his throbbing cock, pre already leaking out of the angry red tip. His left hand digs into the leather of the seat while he pumps his fist up and down his length, angling his body away from you as a last ditch effort to preserve his dignity, but it’s no use. 

“Fuck- sorry, sorry,” are the only words he can get out, jerking himself off faster and faster.

You hadn’t realized you had been holding your breath this whole time until your body finally forces you to release it. Chuuya and you had never been anywhere near an item, had never shared anything more but alcohol induced lustful eye contact during work events, but it would be a bold-faced lie to say you had never thought of him like that. But how could anyone blame you? It’s Chuuya. So the fact that the man is jerking off mere inches from you is… overwhelming to say the least. And is only worsening the ache between your own thighs. 

In a haze, you undo your own pants before shoving a hand inside, even the feather light pressure against your clit making you yelp. But, fuck, even the half-second of stimulation had your hips bucking, begging for more. With no other choice, you give in to your altered self’s demands, massaging your clit frantically and haphazardly. The groans and moans you let out are completely involuntary - you feel completely detached from who you are, what you are. The only thing you can think of at this point is how desperately you need to come. 

The problem is… it’s not happening. No matter how fast you massage circles around your throbbing clit, no matter how many fingers you shove inside your sopping cunt, it’s not enough. You’re getting close, close, close, right on the edge of reaching the release you so badly need, to be broken free from this obvious curse that’s been bestowed on the both of you, but it just won’t happen. And, looking at the man next to you, it’s clear he’s not faring any better. 

Chuuya’s all but given up, hands laying limp at his sides and head fallen back against the headrest as he pants, his still hard cock twitching in his lap. Your eyes flit between his face and his cock.

“Is it…”

“It’s not fucking working,” he grits, teeth clenched and eyebrows knitted together. The man is miserable. 

But maybe… Maybe the answer is each other? Maybe to break this curse, to undo this ability, you have to fuck someone else? It’d be a shit ability if you could just take care of it yourself… But proposing that to Chuuya? To the man you respect and revere so highly, a top executive at the Port Mafia, the man who could ruin your life and career in a second if you chose to jeopardize it like this… Fuck it.

“Maybe I could hel-”

“Please do,” he interrupts, pulling you in roughly and mashing your lips together. It’s all teeth and tongue and spit but all either of you can think about is how badly you need each other, how badly you need to be connected and to fucking come. Even through the haze of your curse, you still feel it. How Chuuya is doing the most to keep himself in check, doing his best to not crush you with his inhuman abilities, in the midst of a drunk-like state. Even at his worst, Chuuya is the most respectable man you know. 

A hand comes to wrap around his cock, but he stops you, gripping your wrist.

“Get on top,” he growls lowly, and you don’t need to be told twice. 

Shedding your pants in a frenzy, your heart races and your breath is ragged as you clamber onto his lap, wasting not even a second before you sink down onto his cock. Gravity does the work of fitting all of him inside you, and both of you let out broken, strangled grunts and moans of not only pleasure but relief. For the first time, it actually feels like a step has been taken towards relief. The answer had been there the whole time - each other.

The space is cramped in the backseat of this SUV, but neither of you could care less. Wrapping your hands around his neck, you use every ounce of strength you have in your thighs to bounce on his lap in time with his upward thrusts. It’s messy, haphazard, and both of you are just barely keeping it together.

Swift, quick, quiet has turned into sloppy, wet, horny. 

But god does it feel heavenly. It’s not just the curse that’s making this feel so damn good, Chuuya clearly knows what he’s doing - even if his game might be a little off currently. His thick cock is stretching your slick pussy deliciously, rubbing against each and every one of your sweet spots with every thrust. What he lacks in length he makes up for in motion, bucking his hips up into you at just the right angle to have you babbling a mixture of curse words and his name over and over. 

One of his hands snakes down between you, finding your clit and pressing against it - the sudden pressure makes you cry out, throwing your head back and clenching tight around his length, making the man hiss. 

“Feel good, yeah?” he smirks, rubbing small but quick circles around your neglected clit. 

“More,” is all you can manage, gripping his shoulders for better leverage as you ride him faster, desperate for the friction. The combination of his cock inside you and fingers massaging your clit finally has you reaching the climax you’ve been frantically chasing.

“C’mon, sweetheart, come for me,” Chuuya whispers against the shell of your ear as he fingers work rapidly against your sweetest spot. His words are suave and yet his voice still quivers, evidence of the fact that he’s still just as under the spell as you are.

“Y-you come too,” you stutter. “Us- both.” 

The broken sentence is barely out of your drooling mouth before your orgasm hits you like a fucking truck, and you cry out as it washes over you, feeling like electricity running through each and every one of your nerves. It’s a high you’ve never felt before, an ecstasy like no other.

The way you clenched and rut against him as you came has Chuuya following you not long after, spitting hot, thick ropes of come inside your pulsing cunt, but neither of you could care less. That’s a problem for a later date. Right now, both of you are just trying to come down from… whatever the hell that was.

Foreheads pressed together, both of you try hard to catch your breath, panting dramatically. A sharp hiss escapes your lips as you climb off his lap, his softening cock slipping out with a string of cum connecting the two of you. Things are slightly awkward as you do your best to shuffle back into your pants in the backseat of the car, and Chuuya makes sure to direct his gaze out the window, as if he wasn’t just balls deep in your pussy. 

It’s a given that neither of you can speak about it. It happened, it’s done, it’s over, you’ll return to being platonic work partners and pretend that this never, ever happened. And you’re fine with that, you really are. Until…

The tingling feeling is back. You’re getting hot all over, and your breath is quickening. And of course, the aching between your thighs. Looking over, and sure enough, Chuuya is already half-hard again. Fuck. The two of you make knowing eye contact. There’s only one direction this can go. Looking out the window, you’re minutes away from HQ.

“Your place or mine?”

[unholyhelbig]

i beg of you to write more mary x f reader I BEEEGGGGGGGGGGG

Title: Who You Belong To [18+]

Ship: Female!Reader x Mary (Sinners 2025)

Read Part One Here | Main Masterlist

Summary: After Mary turns you, the two of you work on your dynamics as she ushers you through your new life without the sun, and with some odd cravings that bring out Mary's darker side.

Warnings: Blood, biting, cannon-typical violence, pet names (Darling, sweet girl, all the fun southern dialects), fingering (R receiving), oral (R receiving), dom/sub tones, use of good girl, blood drinking, implied death, fire, reader is with a man BREIFLY, jealousy, and horrible grammar I don't proofread!

[A/n: Thank you all so, so, so much for the positive response to the first part. Seriously, I've been in a writing slump for awhile, and Sinners has changed that, let me tell you. Let me know if you want to see more!]

The deadbolt on the front door had been flipped with finality. It’s inner-workings clicking and settling into place was what ended up stirring you. The open sign settling against the front pane of glass as it was turned around stole the last promise of sleep away. Normal, simple actions that should have been nothing more than quiet day-to-day actions were grating. Annoying. Deafening.

The first inhale after death is painful. That’s what they don’t tell you. After decades of your lungs wetly manipulating air automatically, once it’s given a brief reprise, they don’t’ want to cooperate. Not gracefully, at least. The cough that tore through you was dizzying. The way you shot up, unsticking yourself from the green felt on the pool table was painful.

When your fingers first found the wound on your neck, two hollow puncture marks caked over with bullet-sized scars, firm and crusted over from time, you thought it was her hand. Mary’s. It was an instance of memory, a word that your brain supplied. Your fingers were too cold. Too dead to be yours. After all, you had only known warmth from yourself.

She turned from her place at the window, curiously lifting a brow at you trying to collect yourself teetering on the edge of the pool table. Your chest heaved and your eyes were feral. Darker than they had been before she’d ripped into you.

The strawberry pulp of your blood had dried against the curve of her chin, the perfect jut of her collar bone where you’d unbuttoned her shirt. The silk was ruined. Soaked through with you. None of that seemed to bother her. When she walked closer to you, she did so with the confidence of approaching a trained dog.

Her presence, you realized, was needed. Calmed you. Eased the tension in your shoulders and slowed your breathing if just by a second. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I just let a beautiful woman rip out my jugular for a quick fuck.”

“There ain’t nothing quick about forever,” Mary purred. The words felt genuine as they slipped past her lips, smooth like velvet. She looked and acted like a predator, but was soft around the edges.

She reached out a hand, and when you took it, you were met with a warm familiarity. Not more electric coolness. You tightened your fingers around her own in an instinct of learned yearning for closeness. For comfort after a traumatic event. Mary helped you steadily off the pool table on unsteady legs, her other hand planted on your hip.

“Got anywhere to wash up in this place, darlin? A change of clothes?” she nudged your nose with her own, trying to draw your focus gently from the conflicting warning signs in your body. “You’re a vision covered in blood. It’s not comfortable though, is it?”

You breathed out, shook your head tentatively. Your neck was stiff and jaw was aching. There was a subtle burn at the back of your throat that reminded you much of longing. A longing so deep and primal that you were sure nothing would ever settle it.

Wordlessly you walked towards the door that rested just beyond the bar. Past a dingy plastic sink and cans of food that were unopened, dishes that needed to be done, was a stairwell up to your apartment.

It wasn’t anything special; a dingy room with a recliner in the corner, crowded yet cozy. Warm with the confines of the only place you’d lived in the past year. There was a bathroom and a dresser that held the few changes of clothes you owned.

You went through the motions as if you were cleaning yourself of silt that lined the swampy earth you’d played in as child. The blood would wash away much easier. You were fortunate enough to have heated water for the bar downstairs, the luxury extending to the tub.

While the steaming water filled the air with a rusted smell, and the floral soap tickled at your nose, you struggled to work at the button on your pants with clumsy fingers. Mary had been lingering in the doorway, but she stepped into your space then, moved your hands away and took over.

“I can feel how quickly your thoughts are moving.”

“Is that part of this? Being in my head.”

“No, no. Not all the time. But they’re loud right now. Hard to block out. You can ask me questions, babydoll. I know you’ve got em’. No reason to hold your tongue.”

A hum dislodged itself from your throat. She’d pulled your pants down and you used her shoulders to steady yourself as you stepped out of them. Mary’s eyes flashed with an admirative hunger at the sight of you. The full sight of you.

You couldn’t help the arousal that shot through you: Mary on her knees, ill-lit eyes peering up at you as if you were the only thing in the world. Her devotion was confusing, all-encapsulating. She was a terrifying enigma who had taken your life and given you a new, strange one, all in one breath.

She stood, dragging her nails up your sides and dipping her chin to maintain eye-contact. Mary peeled her own shirt off, letting the pile into the corner next to yours, much duller than the pop of color that she provided.

It didn’t startle, nor shock you, when she slid into the tub behind you. It wasn’t a big tub, arms wrapped around you and breasts right up against your back. You sighed into her, were oddly comforted by the way this near stranger scrubbed the blood from the slope of your neck.

“Why me?” You rasped.

Mary was silent for a moment. A long moment that was filled by the shift of the water and the way she dragged the pads of her fingers over your knuckles to move the red pigment away. The lavender that swirled around the both of you was nothing but soothing.

“You seemed lost.” She answered, dragging her hands over your arms to curve the cold. “Not in the way of wanderin’ but in the way of not knowing how to start. And I’ve been there. Trapped within the purgatory of wishing there was something more.”

You shifted, turned ever so slightly and looked at her, the tenderness in her eyes. “What changed?”

“A night in a juke joint in the Mississippi Delta, that’s what changed.” She chuckled dryly, as if it was an inside joke. “Things are put into perspective real quick. You learn that all the big things that seem big sometimes aren’t. Sometimes the small things are what counts. And sometimes… it’s okay to be selfish.”

“Selfish, huh?”

“Well, you’re bewitching and I’m weak.” Mary chuckled. You could feel the movement rush through her. “So, what if I’m selfish. I’ll never see the sun again, I’ll take the closest thing that I can get.” Her head dropped to your shoulder, almost out of guilt. “No family. No one to come looking for you.”

“Mm, fuck. I should have trusted Albuquerque.”

“Babygirl, no one should trust Albuquerque. The city or the person.”

You snorted at that, shaking your head. She’d shifted so her chin was resting in the small of your shoulder, tantalizingly close to where she’d bitten you hours before. “Mm, you just wanted a pet.”

“And what’s so wrong with that?” Mary nipped lightly at your shoulder, soothed it quickly with her tongue. “I take good care of my things, darlin”

It had become apparent over the following year that you’d spent with Mary, that she did take very good care of her things. Though, she was possessive of them. Keeping a firm hand against the small of your back at all times. An arm around your shoulders or your midsection to keep you in her lap.

“Oh, now, come on” Stack led the angry red end of the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply. “I think that’s just criminal. Damn fuckin’ criminal. They should have you locked up.”

You snorted, digging into your pocket for your own rolled cigarette. Stack matched your move pound for pound, watching as you closed the end of your teeth around the tip. He leaned close to you, enveloping you in the scent of clove and the deep spice of his cologne. He used the lit edge to ignite your own cigarette.

“Stack, you best back away from my girl if you want to keep all ten of your fingers.”

“Come on now, Mary!” He shot back with a strike of quickness and a roll of his eyes regardless. “I didn’t mean a thing by it. You better school her about her taste in music, I’ll tell you that much. Your girl or not, she needs helpin’ along in the blues department.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but didn’t make good on her threat. She handed off a bottle of liquor to Stack before depositing another paper-wrapped one into your hands. The three of you occupied a picnic table under a streetlamp, far away enough from the public to stay conspicuous.

“You do have horrible taste in music, baby.”

“That’s what I’m saying.” Stack defended.

“Yeah, well. Didn’t have to say it so close to her face, did you?”

Stack growled at her. Nothing threatening or primal, something you’d learned was easy to do if you put enough air behind it. You were used to them bickering like this. Like siblings. Like people who loved one another deeply at one point, and had realized that it wasn’t love necessarily like that. Like beings who owed it to one another to try, and had valiantly.

Right now, you were her passion project and you’d accept her attention for as long as she’d give it. Be it days, weeks, or years. It was diligent, and it filled you with the kind of warmth you were missing your entire life.

You hadn’t truly lived until you died, and Mary was guiding you.

“I knew you were jealous when you took a train from Chicago to chew me out on a platform.”

“Wasn’t jealous then,” Mary snapped back, slipping her hand around your waist. “You fucked me halfway to Tuesday and left by the next. That’s called anger, Stack.”

“Same thing.” He shrugged, waved her off as if you hadn’t heard them have this same argument ten times over.

The spiced tobacco curled around your lungs with a warmth similar to the kind that Mary sparked against your skin. She dragged her nose across your cheek, breathing in, watching you devilishly as you flicked the white ash from the end before closing your lips back around the cigarette. You knew damn well what you were doing, watching her swallow the excess saliva in her mouth.

The smash of hard-rimmed glass drew your attention to the bar that quite resembled the one you’d burnt down months before. It tugged at a dull ache in your chest and culminated behind your jaw, much like the first time you’d dug your teeth into something truly alive, with a pulse. The first time you’d felt that zeal drain away at your volition.

A liquor store with a welcome sign at it’s edge was attached to the actual establishment. Hence why you camped out here. Alcohol still went down smoothly and with a softness unrivaled, but there was always easy prey here. Those who got too inebriated, putty in your hands.

“It’s going to feel strange for a bit, Babygirl.”

 Mary had told you as the two of you sat in the dull darkness of an apartment she commandeered from a foreclosure. It was above a bookstore, one that buzzed pleasantly during the day and cushioned out the rest of the world along with the layers of newspaper and cardboard she’d plastered the windows with to keep sun out.  

Her head was in your lap, body sprawled over the cotton sheets of the bed. Your body ached with a familiar niceness, fingers carding through Mary’s hair, occasionally tracing over her features. So delicate and breath-taking.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t done as she instructed. She didn’t’ need to guide you much, Mary essentially ripped the seal on the person she’d cornered and then the sharp, tantalizing scent of blood made the vicious burn in your throat worsen until you were latched onto whatever skin was exposed to you.

“Do you have a… preference?”

She chuckled and it was warm, peering up at you with eyes that were more blue than black. “No such thing. You’ll find that some circumstances work better than others. When people are alone. When they’re angry. Reckless.”

“Vulnerable.”

“It does make it easier, yes.” She resituated herself until she was sitting across from you, your knees touching and her hair falling elegantly over her shoulders. You almost whined at the loss of contact, but swallowed it down when she grasped your hands in her own. “Killing is not something I enjoy, but it’s necessary.”

“You’re going to make me do it on my own, aren’t you?” You scoffed dejectedly.

“Mm, there’s a learning curve.”

Mary could see the worry behind your eyes. Silenced it by leaning forward and pushing her lips against your own in the most delicate version of a kiss she had to offer. It sent chills down your spine, electrifying your skin where it met her own.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way,” She growled so deeply you could feel it in your own chest as it pressed against yours. “Just let your instincts take over, angel. They’ll do the rest.”

They did so diligently now. You didn’t think twice before digging the pointed edges of your teeth into whatever salted skin you could bring yourself close to. When the hunger burned, it burned deeper than anything you’d ever felt before. Something Mary promised would wear off eventually, and she hadn’t steered you wrong yet.

Often times, your mind would zero in on people like they were playthings first and humans second. The man who had thrown his bottle into the nearest wall and bellowed out drunkenly was an easy catch. Though he was twice your size by the looks of it. Mary gave your arm a squeeze, drawing your attention back to herself and Stack.

“Don’t think that’s your speed yet, darlin”

“Oh, come on, Mary!” Stack took a long pull of his drink, holding the bottle by the neck and letting the foam froth down his bearded chin. “Don’t coddle her. Y/n has been in a fair share of bar fights and that’s before you ripped her throat out on a pool table, which I’m devastated you torched by the way. She can handle herself. Can’t ya?”

“Sure can.”

Stack laughed with his belly and clapped a hand on your shoulder giving you a playful nudge. You couldn’t help but laugh with him, something that had a nervous edge to it, even as you glanced back at the man who was swaying on his feet and grasping at another amber bottle of beer himself. He talked louder than the rest, crueler about his women.

“Oh, I believe you sweetie, I do.” Mary’s accent came out thicker when she in fact, didn’t believe you, and was getting anxious about the turn of events. “Just, with men like that…”

“With men like that, the trick is to flirt.”

Stack wiggled his eyebrows and earned a hearty hit to the shoulder, nearly destabilizing him on the edge of the picnic table. Mary’s fingers had moved from your arm to trail against the base of your spine. The darkness of the night shielding you from thinly veiled judgement.

With a rumbled snarl, her lips pressed against your temple, she conceded. “Fine, fine. Take your shot.”

“Don’t think I can do it?”

Mary clenched and unclenched her jaw, plucking the cigarette from your lips and placing it between her own. The glowing end buzzing angrily in an orange sunset of color. There was a glossy look to her eyes that was unreadable, but she settled herself onto the tabletop next to Stack, gesturing vaguely.

That sparked something determined in your chest as you shoved your own drink into her hands and straightened out your clothes. Mary’s clothes, really. You had packed what you wanted into a burlap duffel bag before tossing the match into the heart of your families bar. You wore duller colors, items that weren’t made of silk but cotton. Things that were worn in well.

They interchanged with Mary’s now. Most of your wardrobe was a rotating door, much too soiled with your hasty meals. You were glad that you chose today to wear one of her finger pieces. A black silk blouse that cut low and exposed skin to your advantage in the southern heat.

You pushed your chest out purposely, watched Mary’s eyes narrow and darken to the point of primal hunger. You turned on your heel and walked towards the group of men that were roughhousing in front of the bar.

Their conversations and bubbling laughter started to drain away as you stalked closer with a confidence unmatched. The largest man, one who looked more attractive up close, with a chiseled jaw and an easy smile on his face, let out a low whistle.

“Hi pretty lady, you alone out here?”

The boys around him hooped and hollered, sizing you up like you were a prize. You’d seen men like this. Known men like this. Even before Mary had sunk her teeth into your throat, you held a certain level of anger towards their indifference as they occupied spots at your bar.

You gave him your sweetest smile “I was just traveling and gosh, the heat in these parts. I thought it cooled off once the sun went down.”

“A northern little thing, aren’t you?” He put his foot up on the seat of the picnic table, leaning forward. “I could offer you a drink, but it won’t do much. There’s a swimming hole right round’ back. Some privacy. That’ll cool you off real quick.”

“Why not both?”

“Woo!” a skinny man with slicked back black hair clapped his calloused hands “I like this woman, Tommy.”

He did too. You could see it in his eyes. You lifted your brow at him in question, an invitation, really. And he fell right into it when he handed you his newly opened beer. It was cold, which was nice as you wrapped your lips around the lip and took deliberately slow swallows.

You let out a slow, tantalizing sigh, leaning over the picnic table that separated you and Tommy. He smelled sickeningly like sweat and cinnamon candy. “That hit the spot.” You lowered your voice to a simmering growl. “Why don’t we go to that lake so you can find mine?”

It was filthy enough to render him speechless, so when you offered your hand, he took it without hesitance. It was damp in your own, almost slimy. But You could hear the way that his heartrate picked up to a deafening pace.

You could feel the hunger building deep within your stomach. That horrid, wanting, primal need that drove you to do exactly what you were doing now. The triumphant and lude murmurs from Tommy’s friends were nothing short of deplorable but they were soon swallowed by the cacophony of sound the forest around you created.

There was a dirt trail that led from the bar to the water. Tommy had pulled you to the edge of the water, snagging you by the waist after he’d peeled his shirt away and tossed it at the base of a tree. His chest was slick with sweat, your hand splaying against the brawn of it.

“I thought we were going to cool off.” You purred.

“Right after things heat up a little.”

Tommy pressed his lips to yours, and you kissed back, tasting the alcohol and the smoke on his breath. He squeezed your hip and tried to drag you closer to him. He was sloppy and unkempt and not nearly as gentle with his movements as Mary. The stubble on his face scratched at your skin, but none of that seemed to matter because soon the only thing you could hear was the rapid beating of his heart. All the blood that pulsed through his body.

Your hand moved to the belt of his pants, fooling with the belt slowly, but not making any real effort to undo it. Instead, your lips found his throat. You nipped at it softly, breaking skin and drawing a hiss from him.

“Ha, you’re a little feisty thing aren’t you.”

You hummed in response, dragging your tongue over the pinprick of blood that started to weep from the small wounds.

“What if you put that mouth to better use?”

Alright. That was quite enough. He was getting too cocky, and while the fun of the chase was half the battle, you could feel the saliva fill your mouth like hot honey. There was a hot pressure in your chest and throat and behind your eyes, surely a milky black by now.

So, you bit down. His grunt was garbled within a second, the tinny, polished taste coating your tongue. You gulped down the heat that filled your mouth, hearing the choked gasps coming from Tommy did nothing to deter you. He started to claw at your back. Opening and closing his mouth with wet noises.

Blood dripped down your chin, slicked across your chest and dampened your fingers as you wretched his chin further to the side to give you better access to your meal. You figured you’d never been this starved before, and never would be again until your next encounter.

Tommy went limp against you, his breath shallow and then nothing. A delicate arm was wrapped around your waist, pulling you from your haze. Forcing you to unlatch your teeth from sticky tendons and salted skin.

“I think you’ve proven your point.” Mary looked down with unfathomable disgust at the dead man.

You pressed your spine against the opposite tree, dragging your arm across your face to smear away some of the pulpy blood before it dried in the nighttime breeze. One of Mary’s sculpted brows lifted as she crossed her arms over her chest, darting her calculated stare between you and what was left of Tommy.

At this point, it was easy to tell when Mary was displeased. She got a crinkle between her brows and a downturn to her lip. And boy was she pissed at you right now. She took a step closer to you, glowered down with darkened eyes illuminated by the moon.

“I don’t like the way he touched you.”

“I was touching him.”

“I don’t like that either.”

Mary clenched her jaw and snarled deep in her throat, bringing her lips so close to yours that you could feel the warmth of her breath but wouldn’t dare surge forward to connect them. Not with the envy pulsing through her like a heartbeat.

“I wish you weren’t so stubborn.” Mary placed her knee between both of yours, ground it into your center until you were to swallow a moan.

You frowned in confusion, tried to lean forward and connect your lips but she moved back, just out of reach.

“I’m not stubborn.”

“Darlin’ you are. You are, and you know how I know that? Because anyone else would have been on their knees begging for my forgiveness, devouring me until the sun rose and threatened to destroy us both. But instead, you’re struggling with the buckle of another mans belt.”

You lilted your head to the side, watched her carefully. She’d guided you through meals before, and it had never been like this. This was the first time you’d exercised your ability to seduce in order to get what you wanted, and it was getting under her skin. It gave you an unexpected thrill. One that pulsed straight to your core.

Her voice was a velvet whisper. “I need you to know who you belong to.”

Oh, you knew. It was hard to deny when she was trailing her hot mouth along your jaw and then your throat. Her teeth sharp, biting and hot as she soothed it with her tongue moments later. You clawed at Mary’s shoulders, trying to pull her closer.

“I know,” You whined out, sounding much too desperate “I know, Mary, promise.”

“I’m not convinced, you were all over him. Your tongue was practically down his throat.”

She was licking away at the blood you had spilled, ripping at the fabric of her own shirt before focusing on the drips that had sloped down your breasts. A gasp escaped you, head thrown back against the tree.

You whimpered, hands coming up to her hair “I was just doing what you taught me.”

“So needy,” She tuts, “I just don’t know if you deserve my mouth when all you seem to do is run yours against a mans.”

Mary’s fingers move past your waistband and dip into you. “A little jealousy and you’re already this soaked for me?”

She pulls away and earns another noise from the back of your throat before presenting her fingers. They’re wet with your arousal and you’re suddenly flushed with embarrassment. Both of her eyebrows lifted and you knew exactly what she wanted.

“I know how loud you like to get. Suck.”

Without a second thought, you opened your mouth and did as you were told, humming around her. You could taste your own slick, the salt on her skin. She relished in the way you gagged when she pushed deeper into your mouth, an attractive glint in her eyes. “That’s a good girl. So obedient. So you can follow social cues?”

Soon she pulled her hand away, dragging it down her front as she dropped to her knees and dragged your pants down to your ankles. You dutifully stepped out of them when she tapped your ankle, knowing the drill.

Mary lifted one of your legs over her shoulder. Her breath was hot against your thigh, so close to where you needed her most but not quite touching. She bit and nipped at the soft skin there sending shivers down your spine.

“Mm, he’d never get to touch you here.” She breathed against you “no one but me ever will.”

“No, no one but you.”

“So fucking pretty like this. At my mercy.” Mary licked a stripe across your pussy, earning a guttural moan from you that moved through the simplicity of the forest. Again, her tongue dipped in and you found purchase and balance by resting your hands on her shoulders, panting hard, growling harder. “All mine.”

She shifted her attention to your clit, sucking it the way she would enjoy a meal, much gentler than you, with more practice. “M-Mary, please. Fuck. Please.”

“What was that, angel? Couldn’t hear you over all that desperate whining.”

At this, you whined harder, hoping it would appeal to her softer side. “Please, Mar, I need to come.”

She hummed against you and the vibration of the noise only brought you closer to the edge. But then she showed mercy on you and slipped the fingers you’d had in your mouth into you. The gasp that you would have produced got lodged in your throat.

“Good God, Darlin, you are close.” She started to pump into you, returning her ministrations to your bud. “Go ahead, come on my fingers.”

You let out a breath of relief in between the small whimpers she was pulling from you. But her movements stopped as quickly as they started, dark rimmed eyes peering up at you. “Ah-ah only if you know exactly who owns this pussy.”

She felt you tighten around her fingers, sneered at the feeling of ecstasy that shot to her own core. It made her throat dry. Seeing you come undone under herself like this. She didn’t know how much longer she could edge you like this without coming apart herself.

“You do,” You moaned “you, you, you. Only you, Mary. Please.”

“Well, when you put it like that.”

She returned to her ministrations and it didn’t take much to send you over the edge entirely. You felt yourself tense around Mary, breath panting and sweat coating your skin. Bliss exploded through you, fingers digging into her shoulders. You ground your teeth together to keep your noises of pleasure at bay, legs shaking, Mary coached you through your orgasm.

The woman that she was, pulled your pants back up and buttoned the fabric easily. She kissed your mouth, panting herself. “I might have a little problem with jealousy.”

“Little?”

“Medium sized.” She steadied you once more “You okay, angel?”

“Never better. You’re sexy when you’re pissed.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t make a habit of bringing it out in me.”

Mary smiled something shy then, reaching and plucking a leaf from your hair before flicking it to the side. Her breath was warm as it mingled with your own. Her scent clean and crisp despite the energy the both of you had just exerted under the pale moon.

You frowned, “You haven’t eaten tonight. Are you hungry?”

“I’ve eaten, Babygirl, don’t you worry.” She giggled, infectious. Beautiful and captivating.

The sun was due to come up in an hour, and Stack had wandered in search of his own meal. You were sticky with blood and the taste of yourself. Mary had a softer smile than before, one of admiration and affection. She took a small step back and held her hand out to you, a delicate gesture.

“Lets get you cleaned up. You’re a mess.”

“That’s not my fault.” You laughed, voice husky.

“Stubborn. Nothing but stubborn. You’re lucky you’re beautiful.”

[lovelybucky1]

frank had a hard night. he’s beaten, bloody, and sore. the guys he was tearing through the city to find slipped through his fingers. to make matters worse, fucking daredevil decided to jump in and get in his way.

frank is pissed, and it’s evident by the way he bangs through the front door and starts to stop and slam his guns down. you know he’s pissed, but that doesn’t change your sour mood. he said he would be home hours ago, promised he’d spend some time with you. frank makes a lot of promises.

you don’t want to be petty, but it’s hard when frank constantly lets you down and expects to be forgiven like it’s nothing. you don’t come out of the bedroom to greet him, which you know he likes.

eventually he comes into the bedroom, jaw tight and face colored with blooming purple bruises. he finds you laying on the bed, in nothing but one of his old t-shirts. you know he likes to see you like that and it would’ve been a nice surprise if he came home three hours ago. you don’t say anything when you see him, which clearly bothers him.

“hello to you too, doll,” he says gruffly. “clean me up?”

you raise your eyebrows and look at him. you weren’t going to instigate, you really weren’t. but sometimes frank is so fucking difficult you want to scream.

“clean you up? i’ve been waiting for you for hours and you walk in here, no apology, expecting me to get all bloody?”

the look on his face says so it’s gonna be like that?

frank walks over to you, slowly like he’s stalking his prey. his boots are heavy on the floor but he’s no longer stomping. you know this is the calm before the storm, but right now, you don’t have it in you to care.

when he reaches your side of the bed, he grabs your jaw and forces you to look up at him. his hands are dirty and stink of gunpowder and metal. in the back of your mind, you know you’ll have to wash your face and re-do your skincare after this.

“you want an apology, huh? i’m sorry you were waitin’ for me in your nice cushy bed, watchin’ your show and eatin’ ice cream while i was tearing through half the scumbags in this goddamn city to keep you safe,” he says.

he’s not angry with you, he’s never angry with you. frustrated, sure, but anger is reserved for bad people who hurt others. at the most, you’re just a pain in his ass.

“you could’ve called,” you say defiantly. part of the reason frank loves you so much is because you don’t back down. you’re as stubborn as he is, and there’s a fire that burns hot inside you. he loves it, he does, but being on the other side of it makes him wonder if he is this difficult too.

“called you, sure. yeah and while i was at it, i could’ve shouted from the rooftops and jumped around. sometimes i swear there’s nothin’ in that head of yours.”

you narrow your eyes at him. if his grip wasn’t so tight, you might be able to open your mouth wide enough to bite his hand. you doubt that would end well for you, but you don’t have much physical power over frank.

“i’m sore, i’m tired, and all i wanted was to come home, get cleaned up, and spend some time with my girl. but you had to go and be all pissy. you could’ve gotten what you wanted, but you’d rather be stubborn than give me a break.”

“i give you a break all the goddamn time, frank. have you ever been on time to one of our dates? have you ever come home not bloody?”

frank’s hold on your face doesn’t waiver, but you can see the guilt on his. he knows he disappoints you and you know he feels bad about it. maybe it’s a low blow to play that card.

“this is my life, sweetheart. you knew that. you knew that i wouldn’t stop all this, not until every one of those assholes are in the ground.”

you sigh. he’s right, you did know what you were getting yourself into. that doesn’t mean your feelings aren’t valid. when you met frank, you couldn’t fathom why he was single. the deeper you get in with him, you understand it more and more. it’s hard to be with someone who you know will never put you first.

“i’m not cleaning you up,” you say. the anger is gone from your tone, but you’re not letting him off scot free.

“then i’ll get into bed just like this,” he responds. it’s as much of a joke as he could muster in this situation.

he lets go of your face and starts to undress, starting with his shirt, then his boots and pants. as he exposed more skin, you can see the map of the injuries he’s sustained tonight. once down to his black boxer-briefs, he moves to get into bed but you stop him.

“got a problem?” he asks, a slight smirk on his lips.

“you’re not getting in this bed like that.”

frank huffs a laugh. he loves when you get bossy like this. “yeah? or what? you gonna stop me?”

“yes i am,” you say, crossing your arms. “you’re filthy and i washed the sheets today. you can come to bed after you shower.”

“really layin’ down the law, ‘round here, huh? givin’ me shit for coming home past curfew, not lettin’ me in my own bed. you must really be upset with me.”

his teasing tone should annoy you. he’s making fun of you, trying to downplay a serious problem. you want to stay mad, but all of this boils down to how much you miss him when he’s gone.

“you’re really not gonna let me in bed?” you shake your head. “after the day i’ve had? all i want is to be with my girl.”

you don’t need to ask what kind of be with he means. you want it too, it’s been on your mind since he walked through the door.

“you’re ridiculous,” you huff. you’re not really mad at him anymore, but you’re playing it up a bit.

“if you won’t let me in bed,” he starts as he pulls back the comforter and exposes your bare legs. “i’ll make you come to me.”

he grabs your ankle and pulls you down the mattress, making you yelp. you know frank is strong, but it always catches you off guard when he uses that strength on you.

you’re on your back at the edge of the bed, your legs spread so he can stand between them. the pull made your shirt ride up, which exposed the panties you have on.

“these are cute,” he says, finger toying with the elastic of your underwear. light pink cotton, patterned with daisies. not your sexiest pair, but they’re comfortable and breathable, perfect for sleeping. frank doesn’t mind, though. he’s always preferred the cute, innocent look to the playboy bombshell.

“you’re crazy if you think i’m gonna let you fuck me,” you say. he knows you’re bluffing, but he plays along.

“what’s it gonna take, baby? new shoes, a fancy dinner?”

you roll your eyes. “i want you to apologize.”

“i apologized before, honey.”

“that was not an apology.”

frank sighs. “i’m sorry, baby. i’m sorry i was late, i’m sorry i didn’t call.” his hands trail over your legs, fingers tips skimming your skin and groping at the meat of your thighs. “i’m sorry you were waitin’ here all night for me. i should know better than to keep a beautiful thing like you hanging.”

you close your eyes and hum, enjoying the feeling of his hands on you. “mm, yeah you should. you know i have a type, and there’s lots of vigilantes in this city.”

his fingers dig into your hips, threatening to bruise. “watch it.”

you crack open an eye to see the furrow in his brow. “don’t be jealous, frank. i’ve put up with your shit for too long to leave you now.”

you put up with so much of frank’s shit, but to be fair, he puts up with all of yours too.

[hana-no-seiiki]

Hay sorry to bother you but could you please do another Gotham batfam and villains with a very powerful magical girl reader that is also shy and meek with OP power please

MOON PRISM POWER!

(romantic) yandere batfam x magical girl! reader

You never wanted this power. Nor the responsibility. Nor the the fame that came with

Unfortunately for you, the universe could be cruel at times.

It chose you—not out of kindness or fairness, but necessity. You were the only one who could bear the weight of its hopes and fears, the only one with a soul strong enough to wield such immense, unforgiving strength.

And now, as the stars burn brighter than ever before, as the shadows loom larger and darker, the choice has already been made.

You can run from it. Deny it. Curse the heavens for their indifference. But the power will remain, waiting for you to decide.

All it took was one night for the weight of it all to show

All it took was one night for the weight of it all to show. The burden you had ignored, the cracks you’d tried so desperately to hide—it all came crashing down like a tide you couldn’t hold back.

The first sign was the silence. Not the comforting kind, but a suffocating quiet that pressed against your chest, heavy and unrelenting. Then came the visions: fractured moments of a future you couldn’t understand but were certain you were meant to prevent.

And finally, the pain. Not physical, but deeper—an ache in your very soul, as if the universe itself was forcing you to feel its despair.

You tried to hold it together. Tried to tell yourself that it wasn’t your fight, that someone else—anyone else—could do it. But the truth is, no one else can.

The stars are watching. The shadows are stirring. And you… you’re caught in the center, whether you’re ready or not.

In any case! To the headcannons!

As a native Gothamite, you hated the fact that you got these flashy powers that stuck out like the sorest of thumbs amongst the dark knights and decrepit villains.

You’ve always wanted to blend in with your folks. To be a drop in the ocean. You were satisfied with that life but the ocean had other plans. It dragged you to its depths, revealing secrets you never asked for, truths you weren’t ready to face. You weren’t just a drop—you were the storm waiting to rise, the current that could change everything.

You fought against it, clinging to the life you knew. The quiet mornings. The laughter of your neighbors. The simple, mundane moments that once felt like all you’d ever need. But something inside you stirred, restless and relentless.

It whispered in your mind when you tried to sleep, tugged at your heart when you tried to forget. A pull toward something greater. Something terrifying.

You could pretend all you wanted, but deep down, you knew the truth: the life you wanted was already gone. And the one ahead? It was bigger, darker, and far more dangerous than you could ever imagine.

Damian Wayne, blood son and so called demonspawn, your opposite in all senses of the term was the first to fall into the depths of infatuation.

It wasn’t immediate, nor was it graceful. For someone raised in the shadow of assassins and forged in the fires of discipline, emotions like these were alien, unwelcome intrusions on a meticulously crafted persona. But you? You were chaos to his control, warmth to his cold calculation, and it unnerved him in ways even the deadliest adversaries couldn’t.

He hated it at first—the way his thoughts lingered on you, the way his pulse quickened when you spoke. He told himself it was a weakness, one he would crush the moment it surfaced. But no matter how hard he tried, the feelings only grew, taking root in the cracks of his ironclad walls.

Damian was no stranger to obsession, but this was different. You weren’t a target to conquer or a problem to solve. You were… light. Maddening, blinding, and completely beyond his control.

And for the first time in his life, he let himself fall. Not gracefully, not without resistance, but with the same intensity he brought to everything else—because Damian Wayne doesn’t do anything halfway.

Dick Grayson and Timothy Drake were next, both eager to find out the truth behind your identity and even more to be at your side. To bask in the light of your suffering so that they may ease their own.

For Dick, it was instinctual. He had always been drawn to broken things—not to fix them, but to share in their weight. Your quiet resilience, the way you carried your burdens without complaint (maybe because you were to meek, too weak willed to share in your thoughts and troubles), reminded him of himself in ways that frightened and intrigued him. To him, you were a mirror and a mystery, someone who made him feel seen even when you refused to be.

Tim, on the other hand, approached you like a puzzle, a thousand jagged pieces he couldn’t help but try to assemble. It wasn’t just curiosity—it was necessity. You challenged him in ways no one else did, unraveling the tightly coiled threads of his mind. He thought understanding you might help him understand himself, but somewhere along the way, it became something more. He admired the strength you tried to hide, and in his own quiet way, he wanted to protect it.

For both of them, you were a beacon—not of hope, but of something raw and unyielding, something they couldn’t turn away from. They didn’t know how to explain it, nor did they want to. All they knew was that being near you, even in your pain, made the world feel a little less cold.

Jason Todd and Bruce Wayne were the last, but certainly not the least in terms of infatuation.

For Jason, it was a storm. Fierce, chaotic, and impossible to ignore. He wasn’t one for subtleties, and his emotions had always been larger than life—rage, grief, guilt, and now this. He didn’t fall quietly; he crashed into you like a tidal wave, drawn to the fire in your eyes and the defiance in your every move. You reminded him of who he used to be, of the parts of himself he thought he’d lost in the Lazarus Pit.

But it wasn’t just admiration or connection—it was envy, too. He envied your ability to endure, to keep standing despite everything you carried. And somewhere in that envy was something tender, something he tried to deny but couldn’t help but nurture. Jason never did know how to love softly, and with you, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Bruce, however, was a different story. For him, it was quiet. Subdued. A steady ache that he refused to acknowledge, even as it consumed him. You weren’t just another person in his orbit—you were a paradox, someone who challenged his worldview while also fitting seamlessly into it. You had your own darkness, your own scars, but instead of drowning in them, you wore them like armor. Girly, sparkly and bright.

You were proof that there was strength in vulnerability, and that terrified him. Bruce Wayne, the man who had built an empire on emotional walls and calculated distance, found himself drawn to the way you refused to let the world break you. He saw in you what he always wanted to believe about himself—that the past doesn’t have to define the future.

But Bruce, as always, kept his distance. He thought it was better that way, safer for both of you. What he didn’t realize was that the more he pulled away, the more you slipped into the cracks of his carefully constructed life.

Jason was the storm. Bruce was the quiet. And you? You were the bridge between them all, the thread that tied their disparate worlds together.

Eventually these men will band together to tie you down. Keep that light of yours in a gilded cage, only for them to gaze at and maybe share with the world if they so willed.

But for now you have your freedom

cling to it.

For it will be like the life you had before,

a fleeting, fragile thing, slipping through your fingers before you even realize it’s gone.

tldr: yeah you’re f u c k e d

[beloveds-embrace]

what if duchess!reader is kidnapped... just thinking..

I love your thinking 👁️👁️ fyi writing heavy action is not my thing at all as I’ve found out while writing this 💀 CW: sexual assault (not rape)

Dukedom au masterlist

The day had started like any other. You’d awoken to the soft, warm light filtering through the curtains, greeted by the warmth of your bed and the quiet hum of the household waking up around you. You were the only one still in bed; Johnny and Simon wake up the earliest every day, then Kyle, then John, and you deduce that you must’ve not had much to do on your agenda if they had let you sleep in.

Your heart sighed, happy. They cared for you so much, you adored them.

Everything was normal from then on. You showered and dressed, had breakfast with Johnny and Kyle, got stolen kisses from Simon and John.

Everything was normal.

Safe.

Until it wasn’t.

The memory of how it all happened is fragmented- too fast, too sudden. You’d gone to the gardens for a stroll, accompanied by one maid and a single guard, a routine walk to clear your mind, get some fresh air in such nice weather. But the ambush was swift. Shadows that hadn’t been there before moved, voices hissed sharp commands, and then- pain. A sharp, stinging pain at the back of your head before everything went dark.

When you awoke, you were bound. Cold stone walls and floors surrounded you, damp and suffocating, the air stale with the scent of decay. The faint flicker of candlelight illuminated the room, but no one was there at first. You couldn’t even tell how long you had been out. Fear threatened to choke you, but you forced yourself to breathe. To think.

John, Simon, Kyle, Johnny- they’ll save you. They will. That thought kept you from truly panicking, even if your heart thundered against your chest and your body trembled, tears in the corners of your eyes.

The news hit John like a thunderclap. His ears rang, and he almost didn’t believe the words at first.

“She’s gone,” Kyle reported, his usually calm demeanor shattered. His fists were clenched, slammed on John’s desk, and his voice shook despite his best efforts to remain steady. “The guards- dead. The maid survived, but barely. It was an ambush. Everyone is tightening up the security right now, but- they’ve taken her.”

John didn’t stop to ask questions. Orders were barked, search parties sent out, guards work at hard. Simon was already armored and saddling his horse before John had even finished speaking. Johnny abandoned his kitchen entirely, storming out with sleeves rolled up, his eyes sharp and lethal in a way no one had ever seen before. And Kyle was barely holding himself together in his anger, but there was a fire burning behind his eyes that promised hell for whoever dared lay a hand on you.

None of them stopped to think. None of them cared about anything other than getting you back.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been there, cold and the ropes digging into your skin painfully when the door creaked open.

The man who entered reeked of sweat and desperation, and his grin made your stomach churn. It took strength not to gag as he neared you, grimy fingers grabbing your chin roughly. “The Duke will pay handsomely for you,” he sneered. “And if he doesn’t… well, I’m sure we can find other uses for you.”

The smirk that (dis)graced his face then alarmed you, even more so when he reached to rip off the fabric of your dress, around your collar.

You flinchd, terror clawing at your throat. The tears rolled down your cheeks then, and yet he only laughed, his rancid breath wafting over your face.

“Wonder how much he’ll pay for you, eh?” He mused. “Pretty face and probably a pretty cunt too, don’t think the Duke will let ya go that easily.”

You forced yourself to speak calmly, even if your voice trembled. Shame clawed at you, at his words and the way he talked about you. “You won’t get a single coin from him,” you said, steadier than you felt. “He’s a man who doesn’t bargain with scum.”

The chair you’d been tied to groaned as you threw your weight sideways suddenly, toppling it over and surprising him just long enough for you to maybe- just- knock him out, something to get his hands off you-

But you didn’t have to.

Because then, there was shouting. The door burst open, and the first thing you saw was Simon’s familiar, towering frame filling the entrance. Blood smeared his armor, and his eyes through his mask- normally sharp and calculating- were wild with rage.

“Don’t you fucking touch her.”

The sounds of swords clanging rang out from outside, and your captor crumpled to the ground before he could even react and you were so glad it was too dark for you to see his blood coating Simon’s sword; the smell alone had you gagging. Though it was forgotten as Simon rushed to cradle you.

Then they were there- all of them. John’s hands shook with rage as he knelt beside you, pulling at your bindings with urgency. Kyle hovered just behind him, dagger stained, and Johnny was at your other side, pressing his hands to your face, whispering reassurances even as his voice wavered.

“You’re safe, love. We’ve got you. We’ve got you.”

The ride back home was quiet, save for your stressed weeping. They didn’t ask questions- not yet. Instead, they focused on keeping you warm, wrapped in John’s coat as Kyle’s arms held you steady in the carriage. Johnny never stopped touching you, even if it was just to brush his fingers against your hand.

They did not stop your tears; they let you sob it all out, as much as possible. The fear, the panic, everything, and you simply clung to them.

It was only once you were home, surrounded by the familiarity of your rooms and you were calmer, that the questions came.

“Are you hurt, my love?” John asked first, his voice gentle but commanding. “Did they…” He couldn’t even finish the question, his throat tightening.

“No,” you said quickly, voice hoarse, reaching for his hand. “They didn’t. I swear it.”

Relief flooded his face, but it was fleeting. Kyle had already left to prepare a bath, and Simon stood by the door like a sentry. Johnny sat at your feet, eyes locked on yours.

“Ye need to eat,” he suddenly said, as if being reminded. His face softened when he caught the way your lips twisted. “I ken ye probably have no appetite, but ye gotta hold something down, lass.”

They didn’t leave you alone that night. Not even for a moment, and they were the ones to help you shower and dress. They held you close, touches gentle, soothing. Simon’s dogs were there, as well, napping by the fireplace.

And when you woke up in the middle of the night, trembling from the remnants of fear, it was Simon’s voice that soothed you.

“You’re safe, darling,” he whispered against your hair, arms wound around you like a cocoon of safety and security. “No one will ever touch you again.”

You believed him. You did. And yet- you still clung to him, to all of them, desperate for any touch that would remind you where you are.

And they were all too willing to soothe your fears (they needed it as much as you did, anyways).

[mysticalcrowntyrant]

Yandere Gang Member x Reader

You never meant to get involved.

Not with him.

Not with them.

But the first time you saw him, leaning against a rust-bitten Chevy under the jaundiced glow of a streetlamp, everything in your world paused. His eyes—dark, sharp, hungry—clipped the air like a switchblade. You should have kept walking. You should’ve ignored the way his lip curled when he smirked, like he already owned your story before you'd written a single word of it.

But you didn’t.

You stopped.

You smiled.

And that was the beginning of the end.

He called himself Angel, which was either a joke or a prophecy. The ink on his neck said Loyalty or Death, and when he said he liked you, it sounded like a threat. The kind that came with consequences and crimson promises. You told yourself you could handle him. You weren’t like the others—starstruck by danger, blinded by that buzz of adrenaline. You were different.

That was your first lie.

He started calling you baby like it meant ownership. Like your name was some forgotten relic that no longer mattered. He walked you home the first night, even though you never told him your address. The next day, he already knew what coffee you liked. By the end of the week, he was outside your job, watching from across the street, a cigarette balanced between his fingers like it was your heart he was burning.

And somehow... you liked it.

You liked being seen. Being chosen.

He never said "I love you." Not with words.

He said it in the way he knocked out a guy who brushed too close to you at a bar. In the way he made you wear his jacket like it was a uniform. In the way he carved your initials into his skin, just below the cross on his ribcage. You screamed when you saw it. He laughed like pain was devotion, like blood was just another way to say forever.

You didn't leave.

You tried. Once.

Packed a bag while he was out on a run, hands trembling as you zipped it closed. But he was already in the doorway when you turned. Shirtless. Bruised. His knuckles raw.

"Where you goin', baby?"

His voice was low, slow, and you knew better than to answer wrong. Still, you tried to lie. Said you needed air. Said it was too much. Said you were scared.

And then he did the most terrifying thing of all.

He cried.

Just one tear. It slid down his cheek, disappeared into the stubble on his jaw. And he begged—not with desperation, but with need. Told you you were the only good thing in his world. Told you if you left, he'd burn everything. You. Him. The whole city.

So you unpacked.

Now, you're not sure who you are anymore.

You move like you’re on a leash—one made of leather and fire, with his name stitched into every fiber. He watches you sleep. Checks your phone. Sits outside the bathroom door when you shower. But when he touches you, it's like the world softens. His hands can be violent, yes—but they know how to hold, how to cradle, how to worship.

He talks about the future. About houses in the hills and cars that hum like lullabies. And sometimes, you let yourself believe it. You curl into his side while his gun rests on the nightstand, and for a moment, you think maybe love can be this brutal.

Maybe it has to be.

And even now, as you sit in his lap while his crew argues over turf wars and betrayals, he strokes your hair.

And you wonder if love is supposed to feel like a cage wrapped in velvet. If it’s supposed to taste like gasoline kisses and gunmetal lullabies. If it’s supposed to hurt.

But you don’t ask.

Because the truth is—

You’d rather drown in him

than breathe without him.

Masterlist