#without a rush or a shout in sight!

[napstabl00k]

How would Lanolin react to Rush/Shout?

mostly she thinks that it’s good that they’re doing that over there and she’s over here, not dealing with it

[chuluoyi]

𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

- sylus x reader

you and your lover are hailed and feared, but who would have guessed that behind closed doors, both of you are just that — lovers?

genre/warnings: very suggestive, making out, fluff, comfort, period cramps, assassin!reader (not l&ds mc), loosely based on sylus' secret times: midnight warmth & exclusive care!

note: very self-indulgent bye pls don't look at me :') this fic is a companion to assassin!reader series (strictly (un)professional and jealousy incarnate)

“Who’s ther— lord! Missus! What happened to you!?”

On a rainy night, you staggered into the base, drenched and covered with dirt. Your steps were unsteady as you made your way through the front door, and the first person to see you, Luke, was so shocked by the sight that he rushed to your side.

“Kieran! Call Boss!” he shouted to his twin, who immediately sprinted off to find him, steadying you. “Are you injured?”

“No,” you hissed, wincing as you clutched your abdomen. “Let go, I’m fine—” But before you could finish, you missed a step and—

—fell into Luke's arms.

In that very instant, Luke genuinely feared for his life. He squeaked and stammered, incoherent sounds escaping him, because oh lord— if Boss sees me ever touching his woman—

“What are you doing?”

And there came his nightmare. Sylus’ deep voice cut through like a blade, marking the arrival of doomsday itself.

“B-Boss! It isn’t what it looks like!” Luke quivered, desperately trying to explain himself.

However, Sylus paid him no mind and exhaled sharply, immediately moving over to pull you out of Luke’s grasp. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine!” you insisted, pulling away from him while staggering. “I’m not wounded or anything. Just... I just need a bath, please.”

Sylus eyed you from top to bottom. You had just been out for a reconnaissance, and yet you looked as though you had been through a tornado and back. Disheveled, your dress was smeared with mud and dirt, and even grime clung to your hair.

“Did you fall into a sewer or something?” he questioned, and he knew he had hit a nerve when you shot him a glare.

But you spared him no answer, walking away with labored breaths and a hand pressed against your lower belly. It was clear you were in pain, and the sight tugged at him as he followed you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his concern growing. “What hurts?”

“You don’t have to fuss over me—” your breath hitched, feeling exhausted, and ashamed all at once. “Just my period, nothing much,” you murmured in a quieter voice so the twins wouldn’t hear.

As you reached the stairs to the second floor, you felt like collapsing. Did you really have to climb these stairs, too?

As if reading your mind, Sylus let out a sigh, but you nearly squealed when he lifted you into his arms.

“You’ll get dirty!” you rebuked, even as he took large strides up the stairs. “Sylus!”

“Just hold onto me.” He shot you a pointed look. “You can’t even walk without gasping for air, and you still want to climb the stairs? You’ll end up rolling and breaking your back.”

Despite your protests, your lover immediately brought you to his bathroom and sat you down on the sink. He turned the hot water on and then faced you.

“So? What did you get yourself into?” he asked, his red eyes narrowing in dissatisfaction. “You were fine, and you didn’t face anyone.”

You pressed your eyes shut, leaning against the wall, resigned to explain. “Fell into mud. Totally idiotic, I know, but my cramps started right before, so…”

“I don’t recall you experiencing this before. What brought this on?”

You met his gaze indignantly, retorting, “Well, a certain someone banged me so hard last night, and I got my period right after.”

It was quite unexpected, but still answered his concern. So, to that, Sylus snorted and tousled your hair, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “Ah, sorry, I guess?”

You pursed your lips, aware of how unapologetic he was. He smirked and added, “Now that I’m dirty too... I suppose we’ll have to take a bath together.”

“Are you mad? Do you want to get covered in my blood?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Why not—”

“No,” you retorted firmly, clearly irked. “You take the bath after me, and that’s final.”

. . .

“Put your arm around my neck,” Sylus commanded when you both emerged from the bath and already dressed in silk bathrobes. You complied, and he swiftly lifted you into a princess carry, bringing you to the bed.

Despite yourself, your heart fluttered at his action. He set you down gently, and the moment your back met the soft surface, you relished it and let out an involuntary moan. “Ahh...”

Your voice was soft and sultry, though tinged with a hint of pain. Sylus placed his hand gently on your face. “Your cheeks are warm,” he noted. “And you still look pale.”

"Mmm," you mumbled, suddenly the total fatigue catching up to you as you leaned into his touch. Seeing you so pliant like this seemed to flip a switch inside him, and he immediately settled next to you and placed his huge hand on your lower belly, pressing down on it.

“What are you doing?” you frowned.

“I’m giving you a massage,” he replied. “Stop squirming. I’m trying to pamper you here.”

“You don’t have to…”

“My woman is in enough pain that she doesn’t talk back to me. It’s feels off.”

“...actually, you suck. You’re too rough.”

Taking your whine into account, he adjusted his touch, softening his pressure. "How is it? Better?"

You didn’t immediately reply, indulging in the warm sensation, letting out a sigh as you squeezed your eyes shut. “Mm... Yeah, it feels good now. Don’t stop…”

There was something quietly erotic about watching you, usually so defiant, surrender to his touch like this. Sylus felt a deep, protective satisfaction as he continued his gentle ministrations—

But after a while...

Before he could stop himself, he leaned in, pulling you closer as he buried his face in your shoulder, inhaling deeply, savoring the scent of the bath foam you had just shared. “Mmm…”

You were caught off-guard and shivered at his breath tickling your skin, eyes fluttering open. “Sylus…” you murmured, a mix of protest and surprise in your voice.

But he didn’t pull away, his lips lingering against your skin, his gaze fixed on your bare neck, whispering, “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

Then, when he suddenly nibbled on your neck, you jolted awake. The gentle bite on your sensitive skin sent another shiver down your spine, stirring a mix of warmth that made your pulse race.

But he didn't stop there, as Sylus trailed your neck with a series of kisses and wet sucks, his breath hot against your skin. Soon, the only sounds filling the room were his quiet sighs and the soft noises of his lips as he continued to bite and pepper kisses on your skin, over and over.

“Ngh…” Each touch left you almost breathless, and the heat between you growing with every passing moment, making your toes curl and you moan softly by his ear.

“Hold me,” he gruffly whispered, and as if bewitched, you clung to his shoulders. He let out a husky chuckle. “Not too hard, or you won't be able to sleep later.”

“And whose fault would that be?” you quipped, entangling your legs with his, savoring the warmth of his body against yours.

“I’ve spoiled you rotten, haven’t I... sweetie?” he murmured amidst kisses, his tone laced with intrigue and his burgundy eyes flashing with a glint. “Just let me have my fill for a while.”

If you had a mirror, you’d see the hickeys forming on your neck, but instead of fighting him, you pulled him closer, letting out breathy moans freely and massaging his scalp as if urging him to go further.

“Naughty vixen—you are,” Sylus rasped deliciously in your ear, thick with desire and restraint as his grip on you tightened. “Tempting me, knowing full well I can’t do anything to you…”

A low giggle slipped from your lips. “Unfortunately… I learn from the best.”

Hard to get, snarky, taunting... You were the bane of his existence, and yet Sylus wouldn't have it another way. Your defiance and teasing only deepened his affection, making every challenge you presented feel like an irresistible part of what drew him to you.

He knew when his patience was on the verge of snapping, so to end it, he sucked hard on your shoulder one last time, making sure to leave another mark there. The squelching sound reverberated through both of you, before he pulled away and planted a firm kiss on your forehead, a gesture of both dominance and fondness for you.

“Now sleep,” he grounded out. “Your body has been through enough.”

“Mngh...” you whined, curling into him in contentment, your head nestled against his toned chest where you could feel his strong, steady heartbeat. “Really unfair...”

“You're going to feel better soon...” he sighed, one hand soothing your back and the other resting on your waist. “And as soon as you do...”

A wicked grin curved his lips.

“I'll pick up where I left off.”

[monstersholygrail]

Yandere!Grim Reaper

Male Yandere x Bimbo Fem!Reader || possible light dub/noncon, jerking off, fingering, sex toys, stalking, voyeurism.

A Grim Reaper has been following you around since childhood, bringing you back to life every time you die. But one foolish mistake has him finally revealing himself to you

Yandere!Grim Reaper first met you when the two of you were young. He was only a fledgling Reaper and you were actually his first job. He had been watching you all day, watching you float through life so utterly clueless about everything around you. It was cute… and it would be your demise.

While playing out in the yard you accidentally throw your ball too hard and it rolls onto the road. Like a brainless little pup you go prancing right off the sidewalk, completely unaware of the car zooming down the street.

Seeing you so sweet and happy one minute and now seeing your soul slowly float out of your body causes something to churn in his stomach, his frown deepening. This wasn’t right, you were only his age. There was so much life to live.

So before your soul can completely detach from your form he rushes over and just kinda… pushes it back in. His head jerking from side-to-side as if someone was around to catch him.

Of course, the minute you pop back up, completely ignoring the frantic shouts of the driver, you get up and grab your ball like nothing even happened. Assuring the driver and heading back into the yard to play. He stares after you with his mouth agape.

What was he going to do now? He had broken the rules for you. Did the unthinkable. Now he had other jobs to do, but you were kinda… dumb. He couldn’t just leave you, you’d surely stumble onto another accident soon with how you were going about. No, he had to stay with you. Watch over you and keep you safe. That was his new job.

It had nothing to do with the fact that he may have felt physically unable to leave your side. The thought of not seeing you so joyful and full of life every day creating an unbearable ache in his chest. He needed you as much as you needed him.

And it’s a good thing he stayed too, his previous statement coming true as over the years, now well into your college career, you stumble upon accident after accident. Where he’d have to come over and slam your soul back into your body before you went on without a care. That’s how he liked you after all.

He’d lost track of how many times you’ve technically died. You were a regular at your closest hospital, friends with all the staff. A medical marvel they called you. None of them knowing it was because of him— because of how much he loved you even from the very first day you met. But you have seemed to take the nickname seriously, somehow growing more reckless with your life.

You thought yourself invincible. And perhaps in someway you were. He would not allow you to die and in fact, he may never.

But even he has a limit.

He stands in the corner of your bathroom, his arms crossed over his chest. Watching you intently as he always does while you prepare yourself for a nice soothing bath. He had to watch you. Danger could be lurking behind every corner, especially when it came to you.

So he didn’t exactly have a choice but to watch you in your dorm every day. It not being his fault his cock gets so hard every time, never able to resist fucking himself to the sight of you changing. Or keeping watch of you overnight as you sink your toys deep into your dripping cunt and he finds himself rutting against your bed in time with your thrusts, hovering over you. So close yet so far.

And even something like this now, watching you take a hot bath, was not uncommon for him. Hey, if he could slip in to take a shower with you every morning then watching you bathe was nothin’. It didn’t matter if you never have a clue he’s there, he’s just doing it to protect you after all. A silent observer.

You walk back into the bathroom and he perks up, spine straightening against the wall as you’re already shucking off your clothes. Throwing them carelessly across the tiled floor. Saliva pools in his mouth as you reveal your soft curvy body to him, yes, to him, with a painful slowness. Almost like you’re trying to tease him, torture him with what he desires most.

He pushes off the wall, hovering close to you as you throw your shirt off and reveal your drool-worthy breasts to him. And he has drooled. He’ll probably do it again. Maybe right now. Fuck, he wants to suck on your tits so bad. He shifts uncomfortably, his cock straining against its confines even in his loose-fitting robes.

It’s so easy to get lost in you and that sexy ass body, but when a smile that promises trouble lights up your face, it quickly snaps him out of his trance. He knows that look. He’s seen it every time just before you do something stupid and he has to bring you back to life.

You spin around and rush back into your room. He groans at the way your ass jiggles as you run, a shiver rolling through his body and making his cock twitch. Though he swears it instantly begins to deflate as you come waltzing back in with your electronic vibrator wand and its charger.

You’re not serious, are you? You not actually going to do this.

Though you quickly prove him wrong as you take a step into the tub, an excited giggle leaving you that nearly distracts him. Shaking his head to refocus, his brows furrow and his hands clench at their sides. This may just be a new low, even for you. No, he can’t let this happen, this is where he draws the line.

An idea so wicked forms in his head he almost banishes it. A smirk spreads across his lips and he knows it’s not going away. It’s time, he deserves this. And it’s the best way to protect you, he’s sure of it. This way he can keep you even more closely by his side. You won’t be able to get away from him for a minute. That thought is all the motivation he needs.

So as you bend over, oh so erotically, to plug in your vibrator wand, his hand snaps out to catch your wrist in his grip. Touching you, really touching you, for the first time. His cold dead heart flutters. You try and jerk back on instinct, a gasp pulling from deep within your chest. Your wide eyes snap up to meet his as he finally reveals himself to you. His smirk only widens at your reaction as if so utterly pleased with himself.

“Why don’t you let me take care of ya this time ‘round, yeah, little pup?”

[prosypepper]

this is love ft. kento nanami

a/n: a few sappy slices of life with my main man :3 enjoy as i dig up motivation to finish kinktober. 18+ mdni!

"honey?" kento's voice is muffled through the door as he calls out to you, "everything okay?" the door rattles as he tries to open it, knob jingling.

"uhm, yeah! everything's fine!" you nervously shout, much too loud, and rush to unplug the iron that had melted your husband's favorite shirt. you panic and yelp when the hot iron scorches the side on your hand, throwing the stupid device to the ground in a clatter.

"why is the door locked—are you okay?" he asks, voice becoming more concerned as he hears the movement inside.

"i'm—i'm fine! promise! just give me a minute!" you're rushing into your shared master bathroom to run cold water over your hand, and kento’s using a screwdriver pulled from thin air to break into your bedroom. tears well in your eyes when you catch the sight of kento seeing his favorite shirt burnt and melted to his own ironing board. "i’m so sorry…"

in reality, he doesn’t care about the shirt—he’s already at your side to inspect your burnt hand. after a few seconds, he speaks.

"did you try to iron my shirt for me?" nanami asks, a small smile on his face, "you didn’t have to do that." he turns off the faucet and takes a small towel to dry your hand off.

"i tried to, i’m sorry—i didn’t know it would do that." you apologize, looking down at the cold tile flooring in defeat.

"oh, honey." he coos, "it’s only a shirt."

"have you seen your father?" you ask your son, yū, who’s sat at the dining table, eating breakfast. he shakes his head no, and when you look at your daughter, mayu, she does the same.

"jeez," you grumble to yourself, bedroom slippers pattering down the hallway as you go to search for your husband. saturday mornings were his time to sleep in, but realistically, he never slept past 9am. and currently, it was nearing 10am.

you check everywhere. he isn’t found in the bedroom, living room, his office, the garage, the patio or in the little garden he kept. upstairs, downstairs, everywhere, he isn’t there. and when you check in your bedroom for the last time, you hear a soft buzzing coming from the bathroom. upon entering, you see your husband bent over the counter, leaning close in the mirror as he shaves his stubble with an electric razor.

"there you are—when did you get that?"

kento had always been a clean shaven kind of man, going to a barber shop once every two weeks for his straight razor shave. it hadn’t even crossed your mind he didn’t go after work yesterday.

but when he looks at you—you burst out laughing. he’d shaven most of his beard off, but a few fuzzy patches remained on his cheeks, along with a mustache grazing his upper lip. peach fuzz and a few knicks litter his chin. this was the first time you’d seen him unable to do anything perfectly. and he looks ridiculous.

"is it really that bad?" he groans, pouting when you wrap your arms around yourself in a giggling fit. you shake your head, although your unforgiving laughs are a testament to the opposite.

"no—no, let me help," you say after calming down.

after gathering a new razor and some shaving cream, you sit atop the counter and your husband stands between your legs. kento is surprised how flawlessly you shave his face, without creating any more marks or cuts. you giggle and kiss him, getting some shaving cream on your face.

"ken?" you shout from the kitchen, where you’re sat, working on your dissertation. it’s been a long road of blood, sweat, and many, many tears; but you’re finally getting towards the end. about to earn a doctorate.

"yes, darling?" kento replies, walking into the kitchen on queue, his timing impeccable.

"can you read over this paragraph, please?" you kindly ask of him, pointing to your most recent written paragraph. he leans over you, planting one firm palm on the table, the other on your back; his eyes read along the sentences and his fingers tap along your spine.

"ah," his finger becomes more focused on a certain word, "wrong 'there', honey."

"no it's not..." you instantly retort, squinting your tired eyes to read over your writing. and you're right, it was the correct one the first time. this was his version of teasing you. but kento couldn't keep up the face much longer before he's giving in with a shit-eating grin you didn't see that often. "you're funny." you groan as kento stands back up.

after reading over the paragraph for about the nineteenth time, you notice kento silently slipping you some tea before turning back around to keep himself busy with cleaning. you absentmindedly take a few sips, then some more...and you find yourself becoming more and more sleepy...

and you're out like a light, forehead pressed directly against the table as a puddle of drool forms on the papers below. kento already has a warm blanket straight from the dryer to drape over you, and you stir just enough to get comfy on your arms.

kento knows that his back will hurt in the morning, but he sits around the corner of the table next to you, settling his head into his arms to drift off to sleep alongside you.

music of your taste plays rather quietly in the kitchen. you stir the pot of soup and inhale the flavorful aroma that wafts through the air.

kento sets two bowls next to the stove, then rummages through your silverware drawer to find two spoons. the kids are at their grandparents for the weekend, it's only you and your husband, converted into the duo you were long ago.

you step away from the stove to go fill up two glasses of wine, the brand kento had as his favorite had slowly turned into your favorite over time, too.

kento fills up the two bowls to the brim of the delicious food, grinning on the inside at the simplicity of it all. just you and him. he lids the pot with the matching glass top and makes his way over to the table.

you set out place mats for the both of you, then place the wine glasses in their prospective areas. kento places the bowls on top of the mats as you grab the spoons from the counter.

in the kitchen, your bodies subconsciously dance around each other. carefully, in perfect tune and pace. delicate steps of a routine formed over so much time together.

in the universe, your souls are tied, striding alongside one another in each lifetime repeated.

and this, is love.

[rin-may-1103]

The Eyes of Death. Pt 2

Prev. | Master post | Next

"Robin!" Orcale cried through the coms, startling Damian as he ducked beneath a punch thrown his way. Growling, Damian Sparta kicked the goon before him, spun around, and throat-punched the last one standing.

"What?" he huffed, glancing around his area to see if he had missed something; Father was facing off against Penguin, Tim was taunting Mr. Freeze, and Jason was plowing his way through the rest of the goons down on the ground floor.

Gunshots flashed by and up toward the roof, drawing his attention.

Turning around, Damian watched as Dick jumped from the rafters and dropped two other goons with brutal precision, their guns clattering to the ground. That's four. He could still hear Steph and Cass fighting in the other room over the comms, which makes it six. (Seven if he counted Duke, who was at home resting after a long patrol) They were still up and fighting, which meant nothing was out of place.

"Your boyfriend wouldn't happen to be named Daniel Fenton, right?" Barbara's voice was strained. She practically begged him to correct her and prove she was mistaken.

Damian tensed up but rushed over to help down the goons surrounding Dick, his heart thundering away in his chest. "What happened?" he growled, drawing his katana when a goon quickly pulled a knife. The sound of metal against metal almost blocked her voice, but Damian could still make out what she said.

"He's been taken by some cultists, they're broadcasting everything. They're setting up the ritual right now; they cut his arm and are using his blood mixed with black paint to mark the ground. I'm pretty sure he's in shock, he barely reacted to the cut."

"Oh, shit!" Steph cursed, "not the boyfriend!"

"Where?" he grunted, parrying the knife away and kicking the guy over the railing. The man's scream cut out as his body hit the floor. "Robin!" Father hissed in anger, quickly tying up Penguin.

"He'll live!" Damian shouted back as he marched toward the door and reached for his grapple gun, "Oracle! Where is he?"

The others could finish up here without him, they had already dealt with what the two rouges had been planning. All that was left was to gather up the goons and hand everyone over to the GCPD. His boyfriend, who hadn't texted him to tell him he had gotten home safe because apparently he'd been kidnapped by cultists, was more important than beating the crap out of some lowly goons.

"The Financial District, warehouse seven on 4th street." she huffed, the sound of keys clicking as she sent him the live footage. Clicking the side of his mask, he was met with the sight of his boyfriend bound to a chair and glaring up at the camera. His blue eyes were filled with more annoyance than fear, but that didn't reassure Damian at all when the camera backed up and revealed Danny's heavily bleeding arm.

They must have cut an artery with how deep the wound looked. The only reason he wasn't already dead from blood loss was because of how tight the ropes were, it seemed.

"Shit," Damian hissed as he shot his grapple up at the building across the street, "make sure an ambulance is en route, Danny's going to need it. They must have cut through his radial artery if not both."

He could hear Dick hold back a gasp at his words but ignored it, as he flew toward the roof and started running. A loud thud landed behind him, followed by footsteps as Father's gruff voice echoed into his ear as they ran. "Jets on its way, it'll be faster than the car." Damian silently changed direction, continuing to jump roofs.

"I'm coming with," Dick demanded, landing a couple buildings behind them. Damian grunted in acknowledgment, not caring what they did. He needed to be there, he needed to be there thirty minutes ago; when he should have been walking Danny home like he asked him too.

"GOTHAM!" the person holding the camera shouted with a slip of paper in their other hand, allowing the camera a glimpse of the words. Danny's eyes narrowed even more, something like disbelief filling his eyes as the man continued talking, "Tonight, you shall join us as we summon the most powerful being in the world!"

"Danny looks so disappointed," Dick snorted, pulling out his own grapple at the sound of the jet approaching. Of course, Danny was disappointed, it was a waste of paper just to remember so little. Damian agreed but couldn't do anything other than huff at his brother's comment, most of his focus on watching the video.

Dick wrapped an arm around him, firing at the jet just as it rocketed overhead. They were launched into the air and dragged over buildings as the jet flew toward their destination. Father dangled across from them for a second before the three of them latched onto the rail under the jet designed for quick departure. They sat in silence as all three of them focused back on the video feed.

"Now," the leader shouted, coming into view as the cameraman backed up. Danny and the freshly painted circle were in full view, but so was the group of people off to the side. Damian recognized two of the people on the ground. Nancy and Wyatt, Danny's forcibly appointed college guides or "parents".

Damian remembers the day Danny had been introduced to them, spouting vitriol in anger about them being acephobic and how the college wouldn't allow him to switch guides. Nancy was crying, her mascara running down her face. Wyatt was deathly pale, all the blood bleeding away from his face as he watched the cultists in what looked like horrified guilt.

"Let us begin," the leader cheered, grabbing Danny's shoulders from behind him. Danny glanced worriedly at the group and then at the camera like he couldn't decide what he should focus on, subconsciously cringing away from the man behind him.

"Join me as we summon our lord and savior!" Danny narrowed his eyes in anticipation, "The great tyrant of the dead!" he now looked confused, "The embodiment of war and bloodshed!" back to worried, "The one named PARIAH DARK!" amused, because of course, his boyfriend would find the name amusing, "THE HORRIFIC GHOST KING!!!" now he was back to confused and worried.

The leader turned and walked back over to one of his followers, snatching an old book and opening it. Without any fanfare, the man began chanting, guiding his followers like he was the director of a twisted play.

"ten minutes," Father grunted, "Oracle, get everything you can on the ghost king. We need to know what we're about to run into. Call someone from Dark, we'll probably need their guide on how to deal with this."

Dick readjusted his grip, tightening his arm in reassurance as Danny's eyes glanced up and toward the rafters like he was looking for one of them. No, not like. He was looking for them; because Damian had promised him in the past that if he was ever in trouble, the bats would save him. And if not them then he would. Danny had rolled his eyes at the time, sarcastically calling him his hero. But he believed him because Damian had promised.

Damian growled as one of the cultists smashed a bowl on the ground, splattering Danny in what he had to assume was the blood and paint mixture Barbera had told him about earlier.

Damian watched as Danny glared at the black stains all over his front with disdain, trying to mutter something through the gag in his mouth the camera couldn't catch. "Is he seriously worried about his shirt?" Tim huffed over comms, the sound of police sirens growing louder.

"I would too if that's the only nice shirt I had," Steph grumbled before shouting something at someone.

"My boyfriend owns more than one shirt, Spoiler." Damian hissed.

"No offense, Damian," Steph laughed, "but your boyfriend looks like he crawled out of a dumpster after losing a fight against one of your raccoons."

"Oh, give him a break! The poor boy's just been kidnapped, of course, he looks bad." Barbera chided.

Damian went to respond but stopped to watch as another cultist stepped forward and tossed salt at Danny. Danny shook his head and glared at the cultist, only to be slapped in the face with another handful of salt for his efforts.

"That's one way to rub salt in the wound," Jason huffed, "make sure you kick that one in the dick for me."

"With pleasure," Damian grumbled, leaning back to try and see the warehouse they were heading toward. "Seven minutes," Father added, noticing how impatient Damian was starting to get.

they silently watched as the cultists continued chanting, Barbera occasionally telling them things she'd found. (She was having difficulty connecting with The Dark members, something about an unexpected mission off-world.)

Danny was starting to look tired, his face paler than usual (A hard feat, considering his boyfriend looked like a fresh corpse on a good day. If he didn't know any better, he would think his boyfriend had never spent a second in the sun his entire life.)

Suddenly, Danny started to cough, shaking his head, clenching his eyes closed in pain for a second before focusing back on the leader. "The blood loss is starting to catch up to him," Tim commented as Danny glanced up at the rafters again, "let the hospital know to have extra blood ready."

"Got it," Barbera agreed, still typing away. "No one's answering, I'm going to try Constantine, now."

"Two minutes," Father warned, getting ready to jump. Damian steadied himself, leaning forward to time his jump correctly. "Shit," Jason cursed, drawing Damian's attention back to the video in time to watch as a cultist raised a bloody blade into the air and slammed it into Danny's chest. "You need to get there, now!"

The cultist yanked out the knife and handed it to the leader, who was now standing in front of Danny. Danny's chest quickly stained red, his eyes wide in shock and horror.

"Take this lowly sacrifice as a sign of our eternal loyalty, and grace us with your presence! Your humble servants plead that your godly ears hear our prayers! Join us in this mortal realm and bequeath us your power and name to rectify the sins of our brethren!" the leader's voice echoed in the silent warehouse like a gunshot. but Damian couldn't hear a single word the man spoke as he watched Danny lean forward in pain, trying to grab at his chest.

His restrained hands pulled against the rope, causing more blood to leak from his wound, his eyes clenching shut as his left hand started glowing green. He suddenly started screaming, his voice strained like it was being ripped out of his throat, barely muffled by the gag.

A bright light flashed, spreading from where he'd been stabbed and crawling over his body. His skin turned gray, almost blue, like a body found out in a snowstorm. His hair started floating in an absent current like he was underwater. and his eyes started glowing a bright blue, growing brighter and brighter.

"NOW!" Father shouted, launching off the railing and gliding through the air. Damian didn't hesitate to follow, all his training allowing him to go on autopilot as he used his cape to guide his fall.

Danny slumped forward, his head hanging limp as the warehouse went deathly silent.

Twisting in the air, Damian aimed his grapple hook and fired. It latched onto the warehouse and tugged him forward, his fall turning into a swing as he rocketed toward the glass window. "Your Highness?" someone asked, their voices glitching in and out with the video feed.

Damian watched as the Danny in the video slowly lifted his head in time with the Danny he could see through the quickly approaching glass. Damian only had a split second to register that his boyfriend's eyes were no longer blue, but bright green before his feet smashed through the window and he was landing in a roll on the ground.

Immediately, the camera feed disappeared from his view, allowing him to focus on what was around him. Father crashed through the skylight, showering the cultists in glass as he landed on the other side of the room. Dick landed next to him, fluidly popping up from his roll.

"Shit!" someone shouted, "it's the bats!"

"run!" someone else yelled.

Damian lunged forward, burying his fist into the first cultist's face with a satisfying crunch. The warehouse flooded with loud screams and rapid movement.

"Dammit!" the leader cursed, dragging Damian's attention over to him. He had left the circle at some point, crazily looking around to try and find a quick exit.

Abandoning the cultists he was fighting, Damian quickly sprinted at the man. Unsheathing his katana, Damian attacked. The leader used the bloody knife to parry, scrambling back to get away. Damian growled, about to follow when his eyes landed on Danny's black and blood-stained face right behind the man.

Bright Lazarus green eyes stared back.

~

Danny's vision tilted, or was that just his head? It felt like he was in one of those twisty things NASA shoves their astronauts in under the claim of training for departure and reentry into Earth's atmosphere. or maybe it felt like a hundred pounds of soaked cotton balls shoved behind his eyes and lit on fire?

he couldn't tell, at this point, his head could be detached for all he knew. Wait, no. He's done that before, this feels nothing like that. So, he still had his head... but does his head still have a body???

He would glance down, but he's afraid he won't be able to lift his head again... Had he lifted his head? or had the world moved around him like it does in the realms? Where was he?

Danny's core pulsed in confusion as someone stepped over the circle, quickly followed by someone else. No one was supposed to enter unless a deal was about to be made. Had he made a deal?

Blinking, he focused his blurry vision as much as he could on the figure slowly approaching him. Had he already been looking at them? His vision tilted again, making his gut roll in nausea. A voice slowly broke through the static ringing in his ears, and his shirt suddenly pulled in frightened hands.

"Your Highness! these are the sinners I told you about!" the voice screeched, a pitch so out of the norm that Danny could only assume the voice belonged to a small fly-turned-eldritch little girl.

Wait a moment, that was his title? Your Highness? seriously? Was everyone going to be calling him that? He was the king; wasn't it supposed to be majesty??? He'll ask Dora later; now wasn't the time.

"Oh great ghost king!" the high-pitched voice cracked and lowered back to one he was starting to get familiar with, "Pariah Dark, lend me your power so I might defeat him!"

Did he seriously just call Danny, Pariah??? The man, the leader of the cult, Mr. totally-read-one-fake-ritual-book-when-he-was-a-teen-and-now-has-to-make-it-everyone's-problem, kneeled in front of Danny, his hands twisted into Danny's ruined shirt. The blurry figure froze, not moving now that Danny had broken eye contact to look down at the horrible man.

Danny might be completely out of it and have no idea what's going on anymore, (he was in so much pain, why was there so much pain? he wanted it to go away, why wasn't it going away?) but he's been trained for moments like this. He can't let anyone see him as weak, not when he has to protect the realms as is his kingly duty.

Clockwork thought it would be a good idea to drop him in the middle of a meeting with some demons right after Danny had pulled an all-nighter and fought three of his rouges. let's just say, Danny was not pleased with the old goat after that. On the other hand, every time he meets a new demon, they seem to respect him much more than before. (he's still not sure what he did to earn that, but whatever)

So, acting like nothing was wrong would be easy peasy.

Sitting up straight, like Dora taught, Danny gazed down at the man who had demanded his attention. He turned his jaw intangible, dropping the gag and allowing him to speak freely again, "why should I?" His voice was echoey, cold, and devoid of the usual emotion.

It was completely different than what it usually was. Like he was a completely different person. (He sounded like Dan) which caught Danny off guard, but he had to ignore it for now. Clockwork had said that Danny Phantom was different from King Phantom, maybe this is what he meant. (hopefully not, he hated sounding like Dan. Was this permanent? was he always going to sound like this???)

"Why?" the leader stumbled, letting go of Danny's shirt in surprise, "because I summoned you! I control you!"

He looked outraged like it was Danny's fault he was in this mess.

Snorting, Danny smirked at the man. "Why should I lend you my power when you haven't even gotten my name correct?" That was like common summoning courtesy 101, right? Frostbite said something like that... or was it Pandora? Wait... wasn't that the demon etiquette? What was the ghost-summoning etiquette then? Also, could he even lend his power to someone else??? like, demons could, but could Danny???

"Who cares!" the man snapped, picking up the knife he had dropped next to him and slashing it at Danny. He didn't even have to think as he instinctively turned his right arm intangible and snatched the man's wrist, clenching it tightly to make him drop it. He was not going to let the man stab him again, thank you very much.

his core grumbled in annoyance, scattering his thoughts for a moment. What was he doing? his arm burned like it had been shot with an ecto blast, but that wasn't right, it was cut by-

Oh, right. cultists. Gotta deal with that.

Fazing the ropes off, Danny carefully stood up. An almost silent whine drew his attention up; it was the fuzzy figure, or now that Danny could actually see a little easier, Robin. Huh, looks like the bats actually made it after all. A little late to the party, but oh well.

Wait...

Shit, he didn't need the Bats up in all of his business. Especially since everything the ritual did to him was recorded, the ghostly stuff included. (Was Damian watching? Did he think Danny was dead now? a normal person would have died right?) He'd have to clear up any misinterpretations later, right now he has to focus on gaslighting the Fuck out of Batman and his partners.

Maybe he won't even have to deal with the Justice League if he pulls this off.

ok, what do they think the situation is? A Cult recording themselves sacrificing some random dude, the dude gets stabbed in the chest (probably assumed dead, he'll have to fix that...), then some ghostly shit happens, and the dude has glowing eyes... which basically lines up with the socially accepted symptoms of possession.

Cool, cool, cool. Danny'll just act like he's possessing himself then. No need to make it weird. Or reveal that he's a halfa.

...

How the fuck was a ghost king, who for all intents and purposes, knows nothing about mortal life, supposed to act when possessing a random body????? does he call it his body?? vessel? homing beacon?

"-leas me this intance! I summoned you, you listen to me! ME! I summoned you. Therefore, you have to do as I say!" the leader's voice broke through Danny's thoughts, bringing him back to the present. Again. Man, he seriously needs to get his shit together. Maybe it was the blood loss, they had cut him pretty badly earlier...

Sighing, which hurt a lot actually... he should probably fix that. Mentally shrugging, Danny allowed his ectoplasm to heal his wounds, which in turn settled his core a lot more than he expected. Maybe he shouldn't suppress it so much in the future... OR he should, and just not allow himself to be used in other rituals. Yeah, that's probably it. Man, he's going to have to talk with Frostbite after this is all over.

"You know nothing of which you speak, mortal," Danny grumbled, turning slowly to examine the warehouse. The bats had been fast, or Danny was just really out of it, because not only were all the cultists knocked out but the other hostages were gone.

"I know enough!" the man screeched, hitting his free fist against Danny's arm in an attempt to get Danny to release him. The only thing that was going to do was leave a bruise. Robin growled almost silently in response, which was weird. Why would Robin be upset about this man hitting Danny? or was he more upset along the lines of believing the random "hostage" Danny is "possessing" being hurt?

Yeah, that was probably it. All right, time to act all Ghost Kingly or whatever. If he was about to do something stupid then Clockwork would intervene. Since he hasn't so far, Danny was taking this as the old man giving his permission to proceed.

"Stop bruising my new favorite vessel, or I'll show you why it's a bad idea to mess with the dead." Danny hissed, pulling the man up so they were eye to eye. (it wasn't that hard, considering Danny was short as fuck. Who knew dying would stunt your growth?)

The man leaned back, his eyes wide in fear. His face turned green, or was that just the light from Danny's eyes? how bright were they glowing???

Oh, right, old ghost king, you need to focus here Danny.

Rolling his eyes, Danny harshly (not as hard as he could have though, even if he wanted to punt the man into the sun) tossed the man out of the circle and toward Robin. Nightwing, who Danny had just noticed was also there, quickly rushed over and wrangled the man over to the pile of cultists and tied him up.

"Your vessel," Batman grunted, stepping up to stand next to Robin. (Danny wasn't sure when, but Robin had left the circle. Which meant they probably had someone with magic experience telling them what to do now.)

"Yes, mine," Danny huffed, slowly turning to study the broken windows. his head was killing him, like four migraines stuffed into one killing him...

Do they not know how to use a door? Like, how often do they break through windows? Like, sure, it probably saves them a few extra seconds during a fight, but seriously? Do they at least pay the owners back for the property damage?

"He's not yours," Robin hissed, unsheathing his katana. Batman rested his hand on his shoulder, likely to warn Robin from doing something stupid.

Lifting his brow, Danny glanced down at his body. Did Robin know him? Or was he really just that protective of the people in his city? Even though Danny wasn't technically a Gothamite? He remembered Damian telling him at one point that if he was ever in trouble, the bats would save him. Hmm, yeah, probably just very protective of the people in their city then.

Danny was the same way when he was Phantom; those tourists might not be native Amity Parkers, but they were his tourists. So back off, ghost number 700 of the week. Or something along those lines.

Yeah, that's probably it.

"He," oh wow, speaking about himself was so weird, "was used as a sacrifice to summon me, which makes him mine." Ignoring the fact that his body belonged to him beforehand because, again, this is his body, but you know, can't tell them that. Also, even if this was someone else's body, it'd technically be Danny's. Look, being the ghost king meant Danny owned a lot of weird things, one of those being literally anyone's dead body. (He refused to think about the fact that Pariah had technically owned his body.)

Glancing up, Danny watched as Batman tightened his grip on Robin's shoulder. "Release his body at once, you lowly demonic pit waste! His body-"

"OK!" Nightwing cut in, clapping his hands. "How about this," he glanced at Robin and then back at Danny, clearly nervous about Robin's outburst. Also, what the hell was pit waste? Like, obviously Robin was insulting him, but he could have at least used an insult Danny would understand.

Also, why was Robin insulting a supposedly all-powerful king of the dead? Wasn't he supposed to be one of the more rational vigilantes? Maybe he just got emotional when he thought he failed to protect someone? Which is completely understandable, Danny did not react well when he failed to keep someone safe.

"We apologize for any wrongdoing Robin's words have caused. You willingly go back to your realm, leave your vessel's body behind, and we" he gestured at himself and the other two, "don't get other magic users involved? how does that sound?"

"Is that a threat?" because seriously, that sounded exactly like a threat. Did they seriously not know how to talk to other dimensional beings? Shouldn't they, as Justice League members, know how to diplomatically converse with others? Especially ones that could kill them with a glance? (like, Danny obviously wouldn't do that, but come on!)

His core stuttered again, drawing his attention to the fact that Danny was running out of power to keep up whatever transformation he'd taken on. Which was weird because he's obviously not in his ghost form, so why was it so draining??? And there's plenty of ectoplasm in the air, so, like, this was just ridiculous.

"Whatever," Danny huffed, looking down to study the circle as Nightwing started waving his hands in denial. "I already healed the vessel, he'll technically live." He could feel the pull it had on his core, which meant he had no idea what would happen once it was broken. Would he feel the same things he felt earlier? or would it just be like letting go of someone's hand?

Man, he was too tired for this crap. He wanted to go home and sleep. maybe steel his boyfriend's hoodie and cuddle with Cujo.

You know what? Danny didn't care, he should just break the circle and act like nothing happened. Yep, that's the plan. Still, he should probably prepare for if something goes wrong, you know, like passing out.

Carefully, both because the world was still kind of spinning around him, and to keep the bats from reacting badly, Danny made his way to stand in front of the Vigilantes. They should have quick reflexes; if he passes out, they should be able to catch him, right?

Without warning, Danny dragged his shoe over the line and broke the circle. Immediately his core hissed and all of his energy disappeared. Crumpling forward, Danny barely processed the sight of Robin's panicked lunge to catch him before everything turned dark and his body felt on fire.

Next

[shmpxx]

CURSED SPIRIT — y.o

⛤ curse! yuuta okkotsu x fem! reader

yuuta okkotsu being your one and only curse.

cw. smut. unprotected sex. creampies. multiple orgasms. groping. dry humping. public sex-ish. fingering. slight oral (f. receiving). overstimulation. thigh fucking. somnophilia. possessiveness. yandere tendencies. mentions of violence. +18!

wc: 1.2k

a/n: inspired by @deviants-forest work! etc. (go check it out) also happy kinktober! :)

Curse!yuuta who creeps up your back, his hands finding your waist and his lips tickle your ear as he’s whispering how much he needs you on a subway train to home. “Not now…” you whisper over your shoulder to him trying not to be noticeable by others who crowded you and payed no mind, too busy on their phones. You bit your bottom lip when he presses himself against your ass in one movement already having your blood rush like crazy. You try to keep your composure like nothings bothering you but yuuta’s hard on humping into you desperately, whining in your ear and his cold hands reaching under your shirt to grope your boob. “need you ‘s bad” he was always touchy, could never keep his hands off you.

Curse!yuuta who doesn’t mind your sorcerer friends as long as they don’t get too close. Your friends can sense the heavy weight of cursed energy from you, even if they got close it was too much to bare sense yuuta was around, the air would fill thick and negative. You could barely go out with them to eat without his fingers buried in your cunt and playing your clit. They would ask you if you were okay when your head is down on the table but you just excuse it as you were not feeling well for a second but yuuta is grinning ear to ear, amused how your well your taking his slender fingers, curling them inside and you can’t help but squirm in your seat acting like your stomach is just hurting though you were about to orgasm. “Please yuuta..” you whisper to him “Come on you can cum on my fingers..” his raspy tone sending you shivers down your back.

Curse!yuuta who watches an “old friend” hug you, his hands in places that shouldn’t be. After you would praise yuuta for staying calm but yuuta would give shake his head only because you would be upset if he did anything and simply gave you a warning “Next time I’ll break his arm” “You can’t be serious” you sigh, you always knew he was.

Curse!yuuta who clenches his fist watching some prick try to flirt with you in front of him knowing he can’t be seen. Even the second time you reject him you can feel yuuta’s anger grow by the second that in any moment he would take action. “I-i have a boyfriend-“ praying yuuta doesn’t get violent “I don’t see him?” His hand coming up to touch your shoulder now he’s on the floor shouting in pain, blood from his broken nose all over his hands, shaken up that he didn’t see anyone hit him? Was he going crazy? “Pathetic” Yuuta mutters luckily he held back a lot, he could do so much worse and this wasn’t the first time.

Curse!yuuta who gets anxious that you might hate him when you get into arguments. He feels like he can’t exist without you, he’s nothing without you and the thought of you hating him makes his heart sink and scared that he’ll be all alone. He didn’t care about anyone else he just needed you. The amount of times you got tired of telling him not to hurt people and you could handle the situation yourself. He’ll plead you not to hate him and apologized excessively. “We can talk about this tomorrow” his stomach sinking by the tone of your voice that it will all end up to you hating him. He couldn’t stand the feeling.

Curse!yuuta who wants to let you know how much he loves you and how much he needs you, praying you don’t leave him or hate him. He glares at you in your sleeping state though he can’t wait til tomorrow he needed you to know now. “Please don’t hate me” “i love you so much” as he’s softly kissing your neck on each side, peeling your panties off. The cold air makes your cunt clench at his sight. He’s kissing the inner of your thighs sweetly and his lips makes contact with your pussy and a small whimper emits from your mouth. “Yuuta” you utter half sleep thinking it was only a sex dream, you were a heavy sleeper at that. he’s burying his lips between your folds trying to get more like he was so starved. If he can just make you feel good you won’t be mad at him and you can forgive him.

Curse!yuuta who can’t wait any longer, his dick pulsating through his pants even how much he gets drunk off your pussy, he loves the taste of it every time but he’s rutting against the mattress. Brings your thighs together to slip his cock between, throwing his head back letting out quiet moans as his cock is rubbing against your clit between your thighs. Your eyelids almost twitching open. He spreads your legs apart and sinks his dick into you watching your pretty lashes flutter at the sudden pleasure of you being spread apart. “Yu..?” You begin to stir awake, he kisses your lips before you start to fully take consciousness. “I don’t want you to hate me” “forgive me please” as he’s thrusting harsh inside you and swallowing your lips. By the time your walls were the shape of him every time he used you so it was easy for him to slide right in, you were made for him and he was made for you was the thought that brought him comfort. His fingers entwines with yours, his cock continuously rubbing hard in your insides. “Yuuta!” You moaned beautifully in his ear, your hand clawing at his back, yuuta loved it, it didn’t hurt him because you could never hurt him he didn’t mind it.

Curse!yuuta not wanting to stop, he’ll never get tired of cumming and filling up your pussy. You’ll be overstimulated begging him to stop it was awfully much to handle, you couldn’t cum anymore but you did as he’s plunging his cock in your abused cunt. The choke sobs and sounds of squelching filled the room “Need you-need you tell me you love me…please f-forgive me..ah!” Rubbing your clit increasing more nerves. “I-i love you yuuta! Ah-I really do! I could never be mad at you” Your words lifting weight off his chest still pounding into you. Holding you in a warm embrace to finish inside you. When he did filling up your womb one last time with his string of cum, your nails dig into his back letting your last orgasms crash into you. You let out a cry into his shoulder, your body trembles.

Curse!yuuta who needs constant reassurance you’ll never leave him, placing gentle kisses on each part of his face. Even though he’s nothing but a curse to you, being invisible to the outside world, Has a hard time showing remorse it’s just what he does to protect you, he somewhat doesn’t know that but knows he can be a bit possessive he just can’t help the urges of anyone getting close to you or worse even laying a finger.

Curse!yuuta bending you over the counter in the morning as you were trying to make yourself breakfast, last night was rough you were a bit sore but yuuta still misses your pussy. “Just a quick one I promise! I miss you so much! I’m just displaying my love for you—“ he pushes himself inside your worn out cunt from last night once again, you whimper at the feeling each time he rolls his hips when his balls slap against you. His hands reaching to your tit, massaging it in his palms. You don’t think you could ever break the curse from yuuta okkotsu.

[streamsofmoon]

18+ | afab!reader | vi x reader ft caitlyn

cw: voyeurism

caitlyn knows she should look away and is highly aware of how wrong this is. of what she's doing.

but to look away is so hard.

because currently, vi's got you pressed up against the wall behind the bar. she's knelt between your thighs with them over her shoulders, and she's drawing the most beautiful noises out of you.

you're delirious with pleasure, eyes closed tightly as your back forms a rigid arch. the curve of your body pushes your hips further into vi's mouth, and she whimpers needily as her fingers create dimples in the plush of your thighs. she's grabbing onto you like you'd ever think of running, like she's scared you'd leave her without the sweet taste of you.

caitlyn hazily wonders if this what loves looks like; something so reverent that it makes you want to kneel. something so earthshattering that she thinks she'd never recover from baring witness to it.

she thinks, thighs clenched together as she throbs with arousal, as she watches you shake with a weak shout. watches as you start to convulse with the end in sight. vi's head moves eagerly under your skirt, debauchery hidden from view but making it so much more indecent. because caitlyn has to use her imagination, has to envision that vi looks like with her mouth full and wet of sweet cunt.

"vi," you whine, high, as you dig your nails into her shoulder. "vi, i'm gonna—"

one of vi's hands slips under your skirt, and your eyes roll back as your mouth falls open. vi hums softly, caitlyn seeing her shoulder shift with the movement of her hand and—

"fuck," caitlyn near whimpers, thighs squeezed together so tightly it's painful. she sees you lose it, hears you make a mess as what vi doesn't catch splatters on the floor. "fuck, fuck."

caitlyn rushes out of there before she's noticed, heading straight to the bar's bathroom.

when she comes out, satiated and embarrassed, you and vi are already seated back at the table with your friends. you're both smiling, a little ruffled, and caitlyn tries not to remember why.

"you good, caitlyn?" you ask innocently, smiling softening as you look at her. caitlyn struggles to meet your eyes, willing her cheeks not to turn pink.

it may give her away.

"i'm okay," she says, her smile strained. "just...got a little hot."

[millers-girl]

a little sliver

a Dr. Jack Abbot one-shot (The Pitt)

pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader

summary: the fear of being diagnosed with the very disease that took your mother's life keeps you away from the hospital – until a cut on your hand brings you in, and a certain ER doctor keeps you coming back.

warnings/tags: slow burn, hurt/comfort, age gap, serious health condition, medical anxiety

word count: 4.9k

a/n: in my angsty era, blame my hormones

You hadn’t looked up once from your shaking hands, not since you’d sat down. The fluorescent lights above made your skin look worse – washed out, tinged with a sickly pale hue. But it was the tremor your eyes were fixed on – slight, controlled, like your body was already beginning to whisper the secret and would soon shout it from the rooftops.

You barely even glanced at the doctor who escorted you back through the ED. Didn’t glance at the exam room door, didn’t care what the table looked like before perching yourself on the edge. 

Dr. Shen was kind. Gentle voice, competent hands. He didn’t comment on the tremor, not right away. Just asked you the procedural questions. 

“What brings you in today?” You dropped a glass and cut your hand rushing to pick up the pieces.

“Why did you wait so long to come in?” You thought you’d picked all the glass out. It didn’t hurt much.

“Have you noticed any muscle-twitching or stiffness? Not from the cut.

Now that response caught his attention.

Your voice held that flatness people only got when the weight was bone-deep, nearly crushing them.

He thought he caught the tremor when he began examining your hand but it was so slight, barely there, that he figured it might’ve just been a nervous tick.

But it wasn’t. 

You couldn’t control it. Your muscles twitched. Your grip had weakened, just the slightest. These subtle changes, in turn, caused a spike in irritability, aimed at whoever was in your line of sight. 

All in the last three days.

Independently, none of these symptoms were too worrying. But combined, it made him wary.

He ran through the possibilities.

A stress-related tremor – though you hadn’t been burnout or fatigued lately.

Caffeine overuse – you were a tea drinker. 

Multiple sclerosis – you didn’t have any vision changes or numbness. 

Hyperthyroidism – he sent your bloodwork to the lab to check your TSH levels, but it was unlikely as you weren’t presenting other symptoms.

“I don’t think it’s neurological but I’d like to bring in one of our senior attendings to take a look. Dr. Abbot’s got an eye for that kind of thing.” 

You nodded faintly, in the way people do when the words go in one ear and out the other.

Shen left for a moment, and you dropped your head to stare at your hand.

Your fingers wouldn't stop. The motion was subtle but consistent. It frustrated you to no end, especially at how familiar it all looked. How similar.

You pressed your thumb into your palm, hard enough to leave a crescent-shaped dent in your skin.

Another minute passed. Then, the door opened. You didn’t look up right away, just registered Dr. Shen’s rushed footsteps, followed by the sound of steady, deliberate ones.

Dr. Abbot introduced himself in a clipped voice, his tone lower and controlled. He sounded older, wasted no time – took one look at you and already knew it was more than just a hand injury. 

When you looked up at him, you saw that he was tall and broad-shouldered. Black scrubs, with a long sleeve rolled up underneath. Close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. 

Expression completely unreadable. 

He listened to you as you told him about your injury and symptoms. Didn’t interrupt, just watched you with unnerving precision. You knew he already suspected it was more than it seemed.

“Can I see?” he finally asked. 

You held out your hand and he took it without hesitation, fingers cool and sure. His touch was light but efficient. He palpated gently along the edge of your wrist, then traced the line of the cut. 

His eyes flicked back to your face. He noticed the fingernails you’d bitten, the raw skin at your cuticles. Your deepset, weary eyes, indicating sleeplessness.

He looked longer than he needed to, never saying anything, but you felt the weight of his gaze.

Dr. Shen, standing off to the side now, began listing what he’d already ruled out and what he wanted to test for. 

Dr. Abbot added, “Could be Parkinson’s, FNS, SCA, maybe Wilson’s – ” He paused, glancing over at you before doing a double-take, specifically at the bruise on your upper arm. “How’d you get that?” 

You shrugged, glancing at the bruise. “It’s dumb,” you muttered.

“How?” 

“I lost my balance and stumbled into my bookshelf the other day.” 

The way you said it was quiet, reserved. 

It made Abbot pause. His expression didn’t shift, but you saw something tighten in his posture. His voice changed – got flatter.

“Shen, let’s add a full neuro workup. MRI, metabolic panel. And order genetic testing.” 

You knew what he was circling even before he said it.

Shen, confused, asked, “For—?”

He looked at you again, and you answered for him, voice thin. “Huntington’s.”

Abbot’s eyes met yours, brows quirking slightly. He nodded once. No clipboard in hand, no tablet, but you could tell he was already categorizing, recalling data, mapping outcomes. Like you’d done for the past ten years.

You had this faraway look in your eyes, like you were already accepting your fate to be a brutal one. Like you already had it and now it was just a waiting game. Like you were already so used to bad news. Silently, he frowned to himself. You were so young; you shouldn’t have to be.

“Which parent?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

“Mom.” 

“How old was she when she was diagnosed?” 

“Forty-five.” 

There was a long pause before his next question. “Have you ever been tested?” 

You shook your head. The tremor felt worse when you did.

“Why not?” His voice wasn’t judgmental, but it wasn’t soft either. 

You looked away, shrugging. “I’m here now. Test me.”

The silence that followed was thick. You didn’t fill it. Neither did he.

Your words landed heavier than you meant. You weren’t trying to shock him by acting so blasé. You were just… tired. And, now, the idea of waiting for your body to betray you felt worse than knowing for sure. You were so far gone already – you didn’t have much fight left.

Abbot studied you, like he was trying to match what you’d said with the weight you carried. Something about the way you sat, arms folded protectively, eyes staring into the distance, gave him pause.

Eventually, he turned to Shen and gave him a short nod.

“We’ll order the bloodwork and genetic panel,” Shen said gently, almost apologetically, before exiting the exam room.

Abbot lingered for just a second longer than he needed to. Then he left, footsteps even and measured, like everything about him.

You didn’t watch him go. Just looked down at your hand again.

Still shaking.

Between that first visit and the time it would take for the genetic testing results to come back, you had plenty more reasons to return to the ED. 

And Dr. Jack Abbot was there every time. 

He always pretended it was a coincidence – half-shrugged when the residents teased him, brushed it off when Jess, the night charge nurse, smirked and said, “Your girl’s back.” It didn’t make Jack smile. But he never bothered correcting her either.

One of those days was more memorable than the others – the lab required a further test to conclude with certainty whether you had the mutation for Huntington’s. That test was a lumbar puncture, invasive and high-stakes. 

“I don’t want to do it,” you decided, voice flat, looking between Jack and the neurologist, Dr. Mehta. “I mean, there’s other ways to get what you need, right?”

Dr. Mehta glanced at Jack. He didn’t say a word, just stood with his hands in his pockets, eyes on you, waiting. 

“You don’t have to do it,” Jack said eventually. “But if you do… the results will have a higher accuracy.” He saw you squirm in your seat, and added, “I’ll stay.” 

You looked at him then. He wasn’t trying to talk you down, wasn’t trying to fix it. He was just there.

Quiet. Immovable. Present.

When the needle pressed into your spine, you didn’t flinch. Not really. But your fingers curled into the sheets, searching for something to anchor to. And then – his hand slipped between you and the sheet. Warm, calloused. Grounding.

When the worst of it was over and your body stopped shaking, you met Jack’s eyes and whispered, “Thanks.”

He didn’t answer. Just gave your fingers the barest squeeze.

Your other ED visits, though never fun, were never as bad as the lumbar.

Once, you showed up with a sprained ankle from a minor fall coming down the stairs. You told Jack you were just distracted, looking at your phone, but he noticed how you kept your weight off your left leg, almost as if your balance still wasn’t right. 

You were quieter that night, avoiding his eyes. He didn’t ask. Just brought you a snack from the vending machine to make you feel better, the same one he’d seen tucked in your bag that first night you met.

Another time, you cut yourself shaving. It was high up on your thigh, an unusual spot and uncommon angle. Again, you shrugged it off, but Jack didn’t buy it. He cleaned the wound, stitched you up, and in return, you learned his coffee order and bought him a cup as a thank you.

The third time, it was worse. You’d passed out in a coffee shop after not sleeping for three days. When paramedics brought you in, humiliated and defensive, Jack didn’t have to ask why – he could see the abstract formulae sketched on the edge of a crumpled napkin in your pocket, ink bleeding from sweat.

He tried to get the story out of you, but you clammed up. So he let it go. Put you on IV antihistamines, ordered fluids, made sure the light over your bed was dimmed. Hours later, as he passed by in the middle of his shift, he noticed you’d fallen asleep in the hospital bed, limbs awkwardly curled, blanket half-off. 

He adjusted it, pulling it up over your shoulders, careful not to wake you. 

In the morning, he was surprised to find you on the roof, in his spot, where he sometimes went to clear his head.

You sat on the ledge, a hoodie he’d lent you pulled tight around your shoulders, cup of tea in hand, half-empty. 

You startled when he walked out, shoulders visibly relaxing when you saw his familiar figure.

He sat beside you, thighs nearly touching, and you two just talked for a while. Not about the big metaphorical storm cloud clearly floating over you, but about things that could distract you: memories of your mom, stories he had from when he served in the military, a patient he couldn’t save last night – guilt he didn’t tell anyone else. 

He didn’t cry, didn’t even look at you. Just spoke until the words ran out.

And you listened. Leaned your head on his shoulder, offered him what was left of your tea. 

Neither of you spoke for a while after that, just silently watching the sunrise.

After that last visit, something shifted. Jack started checking the patient board at the beginning of every shift. Not consciously, not at first – but there was a moment each time, just a flicker of anticipation. More often than not, your name was up there. 

While attending to whatever injury you had that day, you two made small talk over bad coffee and overpriced vending machine snacks. It was awkward and brief, until it wasn’t. Until you started to become obsessed with your symptoms, always having the same grim theory about what was causing them.

“It’s getting worse,” you revealed after the fifth visit, finally having the courage to say it aloud. “I mean, it’s only been a few weeks. How could it be getting worse?” 

Jack’s gaze dropped to your chart, even though he’d already memorized it by this point. “It’s likely psychosomatic,” he said calmly. “You’re probably just stressed about the results. That can trigger tremors. Or – depressive episodes… I mean – have you been feeling hopeless? Uninterested in things you used to care about?” 

You blinked up at him like he’d grown an extra head. 

“Let me think,” you said, sarcasm thick in your throat. “I’m waiting on test results that could very well tell me I’m dying a quick death. Oh, but not before I lose my memory, motor function, and will to live. So yeah, Jack, I’d say I’m a little uninterested in anything else at the moment.”

That was new, too. You’d started calling him by his first name. It began as a joke, when you overheard Shen do it once, then it just stuck. 

And Jack never corrected you either. Besides, he’d seen the worst parts of you – this wasn’t just a brief professional encounter anymore.

Now, he watched you huff, crossing your arms over your chest – angry in that heartbreaking way he’d come to know so well.

In your chart, he quietly marked down an increase in mood lability. “Well, aren’t you just a ball of joy today,” he murmured, trying to crack the tension.

You instead transformed it into anxious energy. “The other day, I came across this 2017 paper – the Neuron study out of UCSD, where they tracked prodromal HD markers before symptom onset. And they found cognitive changes—subtle, but measurable—years before motor symptoms even started…” 

You swallowed hard, looking anywhere but at him.

“I mean, what if – what if that’s happening to me? What if I’m already on that path and I don’t even know it? What if I’ve already gone too far to come back?” 

The room went silent.

Jack looked up from your chart, and something in his expression changed. His posture froze, brows faintly lifting.

“You read that paper?” he asked softly. You shrugged, but the motion was stiff. “That paper changed how I evaluate prodromal cases. It’s dense. Most people never get past the abstract. But you… read it. Understood it.” 

The air between you suddenly thickened with everything that wasn’t being said.

He didn’t press, but you explained anyway. Maybe because the look he gave you wasn’t pity, like anyone else would’ve. Wasn’t sympathy. It was parity.

“I was at MIT when my mom got diagnosed,” you revealed.

Jack’s brows furrowed. “MIT?”

“It’s a school,” you shrugged. “In Boston.” 

He tilted his head. “I know what MIT is, kid.” You didn’t smile at that, nor meet his eyes. He waited, then asked, “What happened?” 

“I was studying bioengineering.” Your voice cracked, and you let out a dry laugh. “The universe has a funny sense of humor… Anyway, when she got sick, I started reading everything. Every case report, every preclinical trial. I used all my resources and funding and time and energy just to try and understand, conduct my own research… try to find a cure.” 

You drew a shaky breath. 

“I became obsessed with it. It was all I did, all I could think about, for seven years… and she died anyway.” Your eyes glistened, but nothing fell, not yet.

“And – and I’m not sick yet. Right? But the waiting is almost worse than a confirmed diagnosis. Like, there’s this little sliver of hope that maybe I don’t have it. And thinking about that sliver makes me sick. Because the odds aren’t in my favor. I probably do have it, and it’s gonna eat me like it ate her. And I won’t be able to stop it… again.”

With that, you left the exam room in a fog, before he could even blink. Didn’t wait for him to call you back – just walked, blindly. Found yourself in an empty stairwell on the abandoned sixth floor, slumping down in the corner, hands in your hair, breath shallow. Shaking. Finally sobbing.

Meanwhile, Jack was staring at the spot you’d just occupied on the exam table. He shut his eyes for a moment, sighed, and when he opened them again, he went looking for you with a heavy heart.

He found you in record time, after Shen told him he’d seen you heading towards the staircase. 

He didn’t touch you – just sat beside you, quiet, knees pulled up. 

He didn’t speak for a long while.

He watched the waterline of your eyes, how the tears couldn’t stop falling. How quiet you stayed, even as your hand began to tremble again.

His hand finally reached out, thumb brushing away the tears, even as new ones quickly replaced them. He offered a tissue.

“You’re right about the cognitive markers in the Neuron study,” he eventually said gently, “But that cohort had a very specific, very rare mutation profile. One that you’ve shown no indication in sharing.” 

You looked up sharply. He held your gaze. “The odds are in your favor. The Neuron study is just one. There are hundreds more that show how a positive mindset changes physiology. Having that little sliver of hope, it’s enough to change your brain chemistry. Enough to weigh the scales in your favor, diagnosis or not.”

Your hand twitched again.

He steadied it with his own. 

In that touch—warm and comforting palm over yours—he realized that the pair of you were two sides of the same coin. Both wired for control, science, self-sacrifice. 

He looked at you—really looked—and something in his chest shifted. Whatever this was, it wasn’t born from pity or obligation, but understanding. Matching scars.

You let out a shaky laugh, brushing the tear off your cheek with your free hand. “Is your bedside manner always this… emotionally fulfilling?” 

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, shaking his head. 

With the ends of your lips tugged upwards ever so slightly, you replied. “No, just a ball of joy.” 

Then, something you couldn’t have ever predicted happened – he laughed.

Not a huff or a grunt, like you usually got. An actual, honest-to-god laugh. The sound caught you completely off guard. It was warm, low, a little raspy. Like he didn’t do it much.

He looked different like that. Younger, less haunted. Like the weight he always carried slipped for a second.

And then it hit you – hard, sudden, uninvited. You wanted to see it again. Wanted to make him laugh like that again.

The thought lodged itself somewhere between your ribs and never left. 

And the sound of his laugh – it made that little sliver in your heart widen just the slightest. 

Jack felt that tiny warmth flicker inside him, too – but it brought something darker with it. Fear: that caring too much meant opening a door he maybe wasn't ready to walk through.

Beneath that warmth was the weight of your secret – the truth he’d just discovered, the one you hadn’t shared in a week.

And it terrified him.

So, the next time you saw him, he buried that laughter, that hope, deep under the surface.

You could immediately tell something was off.

You didn’t know what exactly – it wasn’t obvious. He still said hello when he entered the room, still glanced at your chart, still examined your reflexes.

But something was off. 

He didn’t meet your eyes for more than a few seconds at a time. Didn’t linger like he used to. Didn’t ask how you were sleeping or if you’d eaten today. Didn’t crack a dry, witty joke when you made some half-hearted comment. 

Just gave you the clinical version of himself – the stripped-down, by-the-book version that everyone else got.

You told yourself that you were imagining it. That it had been a long week, and you were sleep-deprived and anxious and inventing things that weren’t there. 

But even Jess noticed.

“Did you guys fight or something?” she whispered while re-taping your IV. “He’s been weird all day.” 

You shook your head, confused. “No, I mean – we barely talked.” 

What you didn’t know was that Jack had figured it out.

He knew.

Of course he did.

You’d gotten the envelope a week ago. The results – a definitive answer to the question that had threatened to split you down the middle since the moment you first walked through the ED doors. 

And you never told him.

Never brought it up.

No, you came in for something else entirely – what was it, dehydration? Maybe just another phantom symptom you were too scared to ignore. And he scanned your name on the board and felt… different. Like the space between him and your name on the board had increased.

And suddenly, he couldn’t stop thinking about the envelope. 

You kept it tucked away in your bag, the edges worn and creased from being handled but never opened. Sometimes, when you sat down, you could almost feel it burning through the leather of your purse – a silent promise of everything you weren’t ready to face yet.

And Jack knew it had come. There was a date, a system, a rhythm to those tests – hell, he’d even tracked yours down. It was delivered a week ago. And you hadn’t said a word.

And that did something to him. 

Frustrated him. Scared him. Hurt him in a way he didn’t have the right to be hurt. 

You were practically his patient. He wasn’t entitled to anything. 

But the truth settled under his skin like a splinter he couldn’t dig out: he wanted to know. Not because of your file, or because of pure professional concern. 

But because he cared.

More than he probably should, if he was being honest with himself.

And caring that much was dangerous. Unprofessional. Messy.

He realized it as he stood near the nurse’s station, after he’d just lost another patient. And it widened the hole in his heart.

“You alright?” Jess asked quietly, glancing up from her computer.

He hesitated, then shook his head slightly. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this… being this involved.” 

She gave him a small, knowing nod. “Sometimes, you have to protect yourself. It’s not giving up – it’s just keeping balance.”

He let out a slow breath, the decision settling like a weight he couldn’t shake. Maybe pulling back was the only way he wouldn’t break.

So he made a conscious decision to take a step back. 

Small things first – a little less eye contact, fewer jokes. Keeping his hands busy so they wouldn’t drift to yours. No more check-in texts. No more vending machine snacks.

And you felt it, clear as day.

You didn’t understand it, but the difference was like walking into a house you’d lived in for years and suddenly finding the furniture rearranged. Same walls, same door. But nothing was where it was supposed to be.

You immediately wondered if it was you – if you’d crossed that blurry line between you two. Wondered if your hand had stayed in his too long. If you sat a little too close one time. If you said something that made him realize he didn’t want this anymore.

You even considered bringing up the envelope, but something stopped you – fear, maybe. Or that strange, tight feeling that if you said it aloud—if you broke the silence—you wouldn’t be able to handle his reaction.

At this point in your relationship, he felt like an anchor. And you couldn’t handle watching him drift.

But you couldn’t do anything about it either, especially if he didn’t want to talk.

So, instead, you let the space grow.

And that was something Jack wasn’t expecting. But to prove to himself that he was fine with it—that he wasn’t that deep—he said yes to a date with one of the visiting surgeons at PTMC.

Someone age appropriate. Polished. Settled.

They got dinner at some nice place in Regent Square, somewhere one of the hospital admins had recommended. She ordered the house salad, said all the right things, smiled at all the right moments. 

But the whole time, he kept staring at her martini glass and thinking about how you would’ve ordered a fruity mocktail instead. He stared at her hand, steadily reaching for the glass, and thought about how yours shook when you were scared but pretending to be fine. He heard her speak and thought about how your voice caught when you talked about your mom. 

And he knew, in the pit of his stomach, that he could sit at a thousand nice restaurants with a thousand nice women and none of them would ever be you. 

As his date talked about some surgery or another she’d done today, his eyes drifted around the restaurant. 

He saw you instantly, as if his gaze was magnetically pulled to you. 

You’d chosen the restaurant because its bar was quiet, familiar. Dim and lowkey, the kind of place where you could drink in peace, alone and lost in your thoughts.

You sat at the end of the bar, fingers curled around a hot pink straw, stuck inside a fruity, orange mocktail. You hadn’t drank more than a few sips. Your mind was elsewhere. You were just tired.

Bone-deep, soul-wrecked tired. 

Hair in a messy bun, dark circles under your eyes.

Jack’s hand twitched around the whiskey glass he suddenly didn’t want. His date was speaking, but he didn’t hear it. Didn’t hear any of it.

Because you were across the room, and you looked like hell, and all he wanted to do was walk over and pull you back from the emotional spiral you were in.

The woman across from him tilted her head. “Jack, are you with me?” 

He hummed, forcing his eyes to tear from your figure and meet his date’s once more. “What? Yeah, I – ”

The woman knowingly shook her head, softly saying, “No, you’re not.” 

He blinked. Looked at her, guilty. “No,” he said, honest. “I’m sorry. I’m not.” 

She looked over her shoulder, finding the object of his gaze. 

“She’s why you’re not here?” 

He didn’t lie. “Yeah.” 

She nodded, kind. “Then go.”

He didn’t offer an apology. Just set his glass down, muttered something half-hearted about promising to pay, and left the table.

Crossed the room like it was both the easiest and hardest thing for him to do.

You didn’t turn when he sat down beside you at the otherwise empty bar.

Didn’t greet him.

Didn’t pretend.

Just took another mindless sip of your mocktail and said, flat, “You should go back to her.” 

Jack exhaled. “She doesn’t matter.” 

You paused, the quiet swallowing the space between you.

“She looked nice,” you said slowly, voice low. “Like the kind of person you could have a future with. A good, long life. She doesn’t shake when she drinks… she won’t forget your name in ten years.” 

That stopped him cold. The weight of your words pressed down on him. He swallowed hard, jaw clenched, but said nothing at first.

The silence stretched, thick and fragile, before he finally broke it.

“I don’t want her.”

Your laughter was bitter, sharp. “You don’t want me either.”

That hit him harder than he expected. His jaw flexed like he wanted to deny it immediately, but his hesitation said everything. 

He looked down at your hands, then back up, voice tight.

“That’s not true. I just – I pulled back because I knew… I knew you got the results. And you didn’t tell me, and I didn’t know how to ask. I didn’t want to be the person who needed to know something you could barely bring yourself to even do the testing for.” 

You stared at your drink, silence folding over you like a shroud.

“And I thought maybe,” he added, quieter now, “if I put some space between us, it’d be easier. For you. For me. Like if I pretended I didn’t care as much as I do, maybe I’d stop.”

You looked up, eyes glossy, rimmed with red. “Did it work?” 

He shook his head slowly. “No… it made everything worse.” 

You turned fully toward him, vulnerability softening your features. “So what now?” 

Jack leaned in, hand finding yours as the overhead light caught the streaks of grey in his hair. He was closer now, speaking low, like the words were meant only for you.

Because they were.

“Now I stop pretending. I’m here for you. I see you. And I’m not going anywhere.” 

You didn’t blink. “What if the results are positive for the mutation? What if I have it?” 

His eyes didn’t waver. 

“What if I stop remembering you?” your voice cracked. “What if I stop remembering me?” 

Jack didn’t hesitate. 

“Then I’ll remind you.”

Your chest caved in at the words. You shook your head, blinking fast, mouth pressed tight. A single breath quivered out of you. 

Slowly, almost numbly, you reached into your purse, fingers trembling as they pulled out the wrinkled envelope. It looked so small now. Just paper and glue and ink.

But in your hands, it felt impossibly heavy.

You held it between you, hands shaking harder now with all the unspoken fears and hopes.

“Will you…” you whispered, words catching before you could finish the sentence. 

But Jack understood.

His eyes softened as he reached out, hand closing gently over yours, steadying it. The reassurance in his touch grounded you, made you believe wholeheartedly in his promise of sharing the burden and providing unyielding support. 

He lifted the envelope carefully, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. The world around you faded away, leaving only this quiet, fragile moment between the two of you.

Then, with deliberate care, Jack took a deep breath and broke the seal.

[aleese1111]

hii!! i love the way you write the whc boys so much. can you do something with the eunjang quartet x fem!reader but in a platonic way. like she is there to patch them up and treat them to some food or something after every fight (especially after the last one they had with the union - which she was understandably worried about)

after the storm | eunjang!quartet x fem!reader

summary: after the brutal fight against the union, they show up at her family’s restaurant—bloodied but alive. she worries, she scolds, she patches, she feeds. in between, there's banter, comfort, and something quiet and tender that lingers in the silences.

warnings: [platonic?] canon-typical violence aftermath, light blood/injury description, hurt/comfort .

author's note: this is so wholesome :(( . requests ,,

the familiar scent of frying oil and garlic wafted through the air as she wiped down a table by the window, cloth in one hand, mind far from the rhythms of the restaurant. the neon sign of her family’s fried chicken place buzzed softly behind her, but the usual comfort it brought her felt distant today. she hadn't been able to stop thinking about it—the fight. the one she wasn't supposed to know about, but of course she did. she always did when it came to them.

her hand slowed over the tabletop, worry nesting in her chest. the late afternoon sun spilled golden light through the glass, casting long shadows and warming the wooden floors, but it did little to settle the twist in her stomach. she had checked her phone twice in the last hour, hoping for a message, even just an emoji. nothing.

just as she turned to the next table, she caught a glimpse of movement outside. her breath caught.

the four of them.

yeon sieun, stoic as ever; baku, somehow still smiling even with dried blood on his brow; jung tae, bruised but beaming; and go hyuntak, his arm slung carelessly over sieun’s shoulder, eyes bright with the adrenaline of victory.

she dropped the rag.

"are you serious?!" she half-shouted, half-squeaked, rushing to the front entrance, throwing open the door so fast the bell above it clanged in protest. she stormed outside, arms flying in disbelief.

"what the hell happened to you guys?! look at your faces! jung tae, are you even walking properly?! baku, your lip—! gotak! you're bleeding through your shirt! and sieun—" she stopped at him, heart clenching at the sight of crimson staining his temple. "you too?"

they all looked at her like she was a sight from a better world. baku chuckled, reaching forward to ruffle her hair with a bloodied hand. "missed you too."

she slapped his hand away with a huff, eyes wide with exasperation but soft with relief. "you're all idiots. absolute, complete idiots. come inside before you all faint on the street."

they followed without protest, brushing past the bell once more as she ushered them to the back of the restaurant where it was quieter. her parents peeked in from the kitchen, and she waved quickly. "can you make extra portions? they need food. a lot of it."

"rough day again?" her father asked, already pulling out the pans.

"something like that," she muttered.

she dragged out the first aid kit and moved toward the table where the boys sat—some slouched, some upright, all bruised. gotak was the first she started with, dabbing a cloth gently over his cheek.

"you didn’t even try to block, did you?"

he grinned, his hand naturally resting on her thigh like it always did, no thought to the gesture, and she didn’t mind. "didn’t need to. we won."

"that’s not the point," she said, flicking his forehead.

"ow," he chuckled, his eyes catching hers for just a second longer than usual. her hand lingered a beat longer too, thumb brushing just under his jaw. he didn’t flinch.

she cleared her throat and moved to sieun next. he sat perfectly still, letting her tend to him like he always did. their eyes met—no words exchanged—but he gave the smallest nod. she returned it with a faint smile. he never needed to speak much. he always understood. but something in the way his gaze lingered today made her chest tighten. like he was reading more than he let on.

jung tae winced as she pressed antiseptic onto a scrape on his neck.

"don’t be a baby."

"you’re treating me like one."

"because you are one," she said, patting his cheek. "you’re lucky i don’t swaddle you in bubble wrap."

he flushed, muttering something about being strong as she moved on to baku, who held out his arm with a dramatic sigh.

"you should open a clinic," he teased. "but only for good-looking guys."

she smirked. "so i guess i’ll be closing after today, then."

"ouch. that’s cold."

they bantered easily as she wrapped gauze around his forearm. it was always like this with baku—like talking to a much older friend who still knew how to laugh like a kid. he leaned a bit closer as she tied the final knot in the bandage.

"you’re really good at this, you know?" he said more seriously, his voice low. "you keep everyone stitched up, not just with tape and gauze."

she blinked, taken aback by the sincerity. "you’re just saying that because i’m your free nurse."

"nah. saying it ‘cause it’s true."

food arrived not long after, filling the air with sizzling spices and warmth. plates clinked. drinks poured. for a moment, the chaos of the outside world paused.

gotak’s hand stayed on her thigh as he ate, casual and unthinking, but every so often his pinky tapped against her knee like he wasn’t quite as unaffected as he looked. she leaned slightly into him without thinking. it was just how they were—but tonight, the warmth of him beside her seemed to sink deeper into her skin.

sieun sat across from her, meeting her gaze occasionally with the tiniest of smiles. that was enough. except this time, he didn’t look away as quickly. his eyes lingered. she looked down at her plate, suddenly aware of how warm her ears felt.

jung tae animatedly talked about how he “almost” knocked a guy’s tooth out, while she poked fun at his exaggerated expressions.

"you should’ve seen me! the guy was huge. i mean, hulk huge."

"and you? what, ant-man?" she laughed, nudging his side.

"i’m tall!" he protested.

"you’re adorable."

he groaned, dropping his chopsticks in defeat. "why does everyone call me that?"

"because it’s true," gotak chimed in with a grin, ruffling jung tae’s already messy hair.

and baku, between mouthfuls, reached over to ruffle her hair again.

"you’re good at worrying," he said.

she rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips. "and you’re good at making me do it."

as the night wore on and the plates grew emptier, the energy shifted into something slower, softer. gotak leaned back, his shoulder brushing hers, and she didn’t move away. when she yawned, he tilted his head toward her.

"tired?"

"a little. long day."

"want me to carry you upstairs?" he teased.

she rolled her eyes but laughed. "you’d trip over the first step."

"still worth the offer."

across the table, sieun watched quietly, fingers tapping against his drink. their eyes met again, and for a heartbeat, everything felt still.

it was nothing. probably nothing.

but maybe it wasn’t.

the table bubbled with quiet laughter again. they were beaten, bruised, borderline limping—but they were together.

and that made everything feel okay again.

[holyblonded]

rattled | stargirl

pairings: alexia putellas x teen reader, barcelona femeni x teen!reader

summary: your mouth gets you into serious trouble

warnings: head injuries, implications of blood

notes: i don’t enjoy the way i wrote this or ended it that why it hadn’t been posted but y’all really wanted this one. the chances of this getting rewritten is extremely high 😭

There’s something about game days that gives you a rush like nothing else. Maybe it was your love for the game, the pure, unfiltered joy of stepping onto the pitch and knowing you were exactly where you belonged. Or maybe, just maybe, it was your love for talking shit.

As much as it might sound horrible, you couldn’t help it, there was something deeply satisfying about getting under an opponent’s skin. You loved watching the way their faces scrunched up in frustration, the way their movements got just a little more reckless, a little less focused. You didn’t always say much in your opinion, just enough. Just a glance, a smirk, a well-timed comment whispered under your breath as you walked past. You didn’t need to scream to make someone unravel. You just needed to smile at the right moment.

By the time you were in the locker room, boots laced, hair slicked back, headphones blasting, you were practically vibrating with energy. The speaker in the corner of the room was booming with Sexyy Red, the bass making the walls hum as you danced around in your compression shorts and undershirt, hyping up everyone in sight.

“Let’s gooooo!” you shouted, clapping your hands as you bounced from one side of the locker room to the other, pulling teammates into your orbit whether they liked it or not. “They don’t know what’s about to hit them today, I’m telling you right now!”

Jana was laughing, boots half-on, as you danced behind her and smacked her shoulder pads like drums. Mapi whistled at you as you slid on your socks and started freestyling some chaotic chant that made absolutely no sense but got everyone screaming anyway. The vibe was electric, loud, unhinged, exactly how you liked it.

You stood on the bench, arms wide, head thrown back as you yelled, “They gonna have to call the fire department after this game ‘cause I’m about to set this whole pitch on fire!”

The locker room exploded in laughter and cheers except for Ona, who was leaning against her cubby, arms crossed, trying not to smile.

“Your mouth is going to get you in trouble,” she said, shaking her head at you.

You jumped down and stuck your tongue out at her. “They gotta catch me first.”

Then you turned right back around, shouting over the music, “This is our house! Let’s make them regret ever showing up today!”

The nerves melted off you completely. You were in your element. You were ready to go to war. And win or lose, you were going to make damn sure they remembered your name.

The air was tense at Camp Nou, thick with anticipation even though the scoreboard read 5–1. You had two goals already— one in the first half, one just ten minutes into the second, but you were hunting for blood. The crowd buzzed with every touch you took, the energy crackling like static. Wolfsburg was playing dirty, and you were playing right into it.

They had two defenders on you now, crowding your space every time you got near the box. You were talking mad shit, your voice cutting through the drizzle and noise, lips curling into a smug grin. And not just in Spanish or English, you’d spent the last few weeks learning German just so you could spit it back at them on the pitch.

“Du bist zu langsam, komm schon!” You shouted as you flicked the ball through their legs. (You're too slow, come on)

You could feel how pissed they were getting, and it only fueled you more.

Across the pitch, Alexia cupped her hands around her mouth. “Estrella! Cool it!”

You waved her off without turning around. “I got this, mami!”

The whistle blew. Play resumed. You took the ball at midfield and spun out of a tackle like you were made of wind and fire. The defenders tried to hold you back, but you slipped through the cracks like you were born there. You could feel her chasing, nipping at your heels, but you kicked into another gear, outrunning her like she was standing still. One touch. Another. Back of the net. Hat-trick.

You slipped as you turned to celebrate, the wet grass catching you off-balance, sending you to the ground. You laughed to yourself, raising an arm as if to say did you see that?!—but before you could even move—

Crack. A blinding pain split your skull, and your vision went white. You didn’t even hear the roar of the crowd; everything was static. Everything stopped. The stadium went dead silent. You didn’t move.

Ona was the first to react— she sprinted to you, panic all over her face, with Jana right behind her. Patri and Lucy had already turned toward the Wolfsburg defender, fury etched across their faces. The ref stormed in, pulled a red card from her pocket like it burned her hand, and shoved it in the air.

Alexia stood frozen. Eyes wide. Mouth open.

Ingrid touched her shoulder. “Ale.”

Alexia blinked, stumbled forward, then sprinted.

She dropped to her knees beside you, her hands shaking. “Estrella, Estrella—” Her voice cracked.

You didn’t move. On the bench, the girls were already crying. Vicky’s hands were clasped over her mouth, tears streaking down her cheeks. Sydney was crying too, hugging her tight.

The medics arrived fast, sprinting across the pitch with the stretcher, but time had warped— every second felt too long. Ona and Jana were ushered away, both of them breaking down as they backed off, whispering to each other between choked sobs.

Up in the family box, Eli had her eyes squeezed shut like she was praying. Her lips moved, no sound escaping. Alba’s hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold her phone. “She’s okay. She’s strong. She’s okay,” she repeated over and over, as if saying it would make it true.

Olga sat stiffly, holding Eli’s hand in both of hers, her eyes closed, jaw clenched. She couldn’t look. She couldn’t breathe.

Soleil stood a few rows down in the stands, surrounded by friends who were trying to soothe her, but she couldn’t hear them. Her eyes were locked on you. Her chest felt like it was caving in. You never looked like that. You were always fire, always motion, always larger than life. And now, you were still. Too still.

The medics huddled. Pere ran down from the technical area. One of the medics shook their head. Silent tears ran down Vicky’s cheeks. Sydney covered her face.

Finally, slowly, you stirred. Your hand twitched. Your lips moved. Alexia exhaled like it hurt. She stayed beside you as they loaded you onto the stretcher, brushing the damp hair from your face. You didn’t open your eyes all the way, but you reached for her hand— and she held on like she’d never let go.

The crowd clapped. Loud. Raw. Hopeful. As they carried you off the pitch, Alexia walked beside the stretcher, hand in yours. Silent, but present. Your team watched. The world watched as you were, for once in your life, silent.

[malefantcsy]

stalker! chris leaving behind another gift n innocent! readers panties...

chris didn't even have to look, he already knew exactly which pair of panties you were wearing. his dark eyes had caught the tiniest glimpse of them under your panties with the way your back arched as you tried to take back the pink mechanical pencil that had been snatched as a form of teasing.

you sat a few desks in front of him, but it was close enough to smell the perfume you drench yourself in every morning—and see the smallest patch of wetness on the cotton as you stood and tossed your backpack over your shoulder.

you had gym class next—chris was able to hack into your school email just to find out your schedule. it would've been considered pathetic that he'd have to go to such lengths, but he excused himself with the thought that he just wanted to be informed in-case a future emergency.

one of the pros of going to a private school besides the small portion of kids was there were private showers.

the water that rushed from the shower nozzle slipped off your body and onto the tile floor, masking the sound of chris sneaking into the small area to rummage through the uniform you left on the counter.

he rather quickly found the dirty pair of peach colored panties—the ones he had left for you to find in your underwear drawer. you wore his gift without hesitation, as if he already had claim on you.. his cock almost instantly grew hard at the thought. his hands shook as he lifted the cotton to his face, burying his nose in the panty to get a whiff of your addicting smell.

his right arm dropped, eagerly unbuckling his pants belt and pushing the jean materiel down mid-thigh. he spat in his free hand, using it as a makeshift lube as he skillfully stroked his reddened cock.

his hand squeezed around the tip, teasing himself as he continued to inhale the fading smell of your nectar. he was close to the edge—of both cumming and getting caught—repeating small whispers telling himself to hurry up, mixing with the sighs of your name.

he brought the panties to his cock, his pre-cum leaving a dark patch on the material as he fucked through them. his head tipped back, mouth opening as he let out a quiet shout, feeling the knot in his stomach beginning to snap.

his tip rubbed harshly against the crotch of your panties, his cum shooting out in ropes when he finished. he slowly pulled his cock off the ruined underwear, a small sticky string of cum connecting him to the cotton.

he could feel himself slowly hardening once more at the sight, but knew he had to leave before he pushed it too far and got himself in trouble.

he tucked himself inside his boxers, fixing his uniforms appearance before tucking the ruined panties inside the pile of your matching shirt and skirt.

chris gave a long stare to the closed shower—you were so close. if he really wanted to he could have you right now, but no... it wasn't time for that if he wanted to keep you.

you let out a sigh as you shut off the water, wrapping the white fluffy towel against your body before stepping out, just as the door to the private shower-room hurriedly closed. your eyebrows furrowed. "hello..?"

𝟧𝟧𝟦 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 ．© 𝗆𝖺𝗅𝖾𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖼𝗌𝗒

[a99jazzybean]

Critical Fail at Flirting, Success at Getting Laid

synop: You've returned home after you latest semester at college and are meeting up with your childhood best friend, Chance. The two of you tiptoe around your feelings for each other, afraid of ruining your friendship. You learn some surprising information, but have to discuss it after your G&G session. Will-they-or-won't-they confess and fuck?

words: 6.7K

includes: chancexfem!reader, childhood friends to lovers, tickling, loss of virginity, oral, ttrgp gaming, fluff and smut

a/n: The Date Everything hyperfixation has begun. If you want more stories you can request them! This has smut! No minors!

“Honey I’m home!” You shouted as you entered your best friend’s home.

After over a decade of friendship, you were practically part of Chance’s family, thus you were able to go to and from his home whenever you pleased. 

Receiving no response, you walked into the house. Slipping your shoes off before padding into the kitchen that wafted the heavenly smell of freshly baked cookies. Said items were on a platter right on the island. Right as you snatched one, it was snatched out of your hand. Whipping around stood your bespeckled bestie with a smug smirk on his face.

“Chance!” You reached for the cookie, as he lifted it way above his head.

“Nuh uh! These are for game night.” 

You struggled to reach up, the cookie just out of your grasp. Plopping back onto your heels you stuck your tongue out at the man in front of you.

“Since when did you get so tall?”

“Since I had a growth spurt four years ago?” He huffed, then took a bite out of the cookie with a grin.

“Hey!”

“Since when did not seeing me for six months make you forget what I looked like?” He teased. 

“Oh, I could never forget a face like yours.” You pinched and wiggled his cheek like a fawning grandma.

“Glad to see you two are still the same.” A voice from behind you caught your attention. 

Chance’s mom shook her head with an amused smile then opened her arms as an invitation. Taking the opportunity you rushed into an embrace, appreciating the homely warmth the woman brought to you.

“Linda! Oh how I missed you!” You gave her a big squeeze. “You were really the person I came to see, I couldn’t go another day without your famous cookies.”

She gave an airy laugh at your dramatic antics.

“As much as I appreciate your fondness for my recipe, you’ll have to thank Chance today. He’s the one that baked him for you and your friends’ reunion.” 

Turning back to Chance, you gave him a sickly sweet smile.

“Oh so you made these delicious smelling goodies.” Quickly you snatched another cookie from the plate. “Then you shouldn’t mind if I check them for poison.” 

Chance gave you an incredulous look as you took a big chomp out of the treat. You gave a hum of approval then skipped away, waving to his mom.

“I’ll be upstairs. It’s so great to be back!”

Leaving Chance and his mom alone in the kitchen. The two of them shaking their heads with smiles. 

“I bet you’re happy she’s back.” His mom said knowingly. 

He gave her a look of warning.

“What? She’s your best friend. That’s all…” She gave him a wink, to which he rolled his eyes. 

Chance made his way upstairs to his room. Inside he found you getting comfortable, chilling on his bed. Belly down, with one of his comic books in hand. The sight made his heart swell, bringing back the memories of all of the good times you have had in the room. 

Looking over your shoulder you gave him a bright smile and patted the spot next to you. Joining you, he flopped onto his stomach pressed up against your side. Sighing, you leaned your head on his shoulder. Attention no longer on the comic in your hands. 

Turning to look at him, you felt your heart jolt. While you were always so used to being near him, it seemed that distance truly makes the heart grow fonder. Your affections for the man had been around for a long while, but you had managed to keep them under wraps to protect your friendship. Having been away for so long made you long for him. Both missing having your best friend close by and the person you had been yearning for. 

If you weren’t so stuck in your own head, you might have noticed Chance’s response to your close proximity. Heart racing and cheeks growing red. You weren’t the only one that believed you had an unrequited crush. While you both went away to different schools, he missed you desperately. Every chance he could, he took the opportunity to call you to chat into the late hours. Oftentimes finding you falling asleep on the other end, only making him wish he could be there beside you. But he couldn’t, lest your friendship be completely destroyed. So he did what he could to drown out the feelings. Only allowing himself to enjoy being your best friend and pushing away any thoughts of a budding romantic relationship out of his mind. 

“You doin’ alright?” Chance asked, worry furrowing his brow.

“Uh yeah.” You waved him off, hoping that the heat in your cheeks wasn’t developing into a blush. “Just surprised to see your ugly maw so close to me is all.” You teased. 

Immediately, you regretted the comment. Chance’s eyes grew dark and calculated, a mischievous smirk on his face. Looking down, you spotted his hands slowly creeping up toward you. Leaping up, you held up your arms in defense. 

“I-I mean, your beautiful, lovely maw. How I adore it so… pleasedonttickleme.” 

“It’s too late for pleas, my dear.” 

Yelping, you tried to hop out of the bed, but it was too late. The man had you pinned against the wall with no escape. Warm hands reached for your hips, tickling at your sides making you cackle out unwanted laughs. 

“Chance!” You screeched out, trying to push him away. “Uncle! Uncle!”

“Nuh uh! You’re not getting out of this that easily.” He managed to grab both of your hands, pinning you down onto the bed. The man straddled you, using his free hand to still tickle at your sides. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as involuntary laughs spilled out of you.

“Apologize.”

“I’m sorry!” You cried out, trying to squirm out of his grasp. “You’re not ugly,” you gasped out more giggles, “No, you’re so handsome!”

“Ha, that’s better, continue, worm.” He paused tickling you, chuckling when you gave him a glare.

“Let me go!” You tried pulling your arms from his grip. He pressed harder against your wrists, pinning you down further.

“Keep apologizing, what else do you got?”

“You’re insufferable.” You spat.

Your eyes widened as his hand returned to your waist. Fingers not tickling you yet, but the threat was still there. Above you, Chance looked at you expectantly with a cocky smirk on his face. It had your face growing hot, realizing the compromising position you were in. Turning your face away, you willed your blush to subside. 

“Insufferably, attractive. Aphrodite herself blessed you with good looks.” You gave him a pleading smile. 

“I suppose that will suffice.” He released his grip and slid off of you. “Looks blessed from a god huh?” He cupped his chin with his hand giving you a dazzling smile. 

“I only said that to get you off of me.” You said, rubbing your wrists.

“Is that so?” He raised a brow at you.

“I-I mean, everything I said was honest and not because I didn’t want you to keep tickling me.” You gave him a sweet smile, batting your lashes at him. 

“That’s what I thought.”

It was cruel, Chance knowing your one weakness. Discovered when you were six years old after he poked you in the side, leaving you in a fit of giggles. The man used it to his advantage, getting you to cave to his whims. Though all in a friendly nature. He never actually used it to hurt you, which was appreciated.

“You’re so lucky you don’t get ticklish.” You groaned.

“Guess I’m just built different.” 

“Uhuh, sure…” You rolled your eyes jokingly. 

Standing from the bed, you stretched your arms up with a groan. Arching your back as you stretched out any kinks. The action allowing Chance’s eyes to trail over your body without you noticing. His gaze landed on the lovely globe of your ass. A secret guilty pleasure of his when you had started… developing. 

In high school you became quite the looker, and still maintained that now. Chance did his best to be polite, but he was just a man after all. A man whose best friend just so happened to be the hottest person alive, to him at least. 

Looking over your shoulder, you just barely missed him checking you out. A light blush dusting his cheeks as he felt you caught him. Giving him a confused look, you continued your conversation. 

“Speaking of being built different. When did you get so strong?” You couldn’t help feeling a bit hot and bothered at the strong hold he had you in earlier. 

“Oh, guess you noticed. I started lifting this year.” He flexed an arm. “It’s really helped me, mentally at least. Bonus is I’ve gotten in much better shape.” 

“Nice, cool, cool.” Your face was growing red again. 

Now that he had shared that information, you realized that his build was slightly different than you remembered. While he was still quite stout, you could tell his form was tighter. Bigger biceps stretching out the sleeves of his t-shirt and a strong chest peeking through the fabric. 

“Yeah, you, uh, look really good.” Snapping your mouth shut, you blushed furiously. You didn’t know why you said that. 

A blush bloomed on Chance’s face at your words. Rubbing his neck he chuckled awkwardly, unable to look at you.

“Thanks, you look good too?” He did not know how to do this.

“Anyways…” You decided to move this conversation elsewhere. “How was your last semester?”

Feeling a weight off his shoulders, Chance let out a sigh. 

“It was alright. Nothing crazy.”

“That’s all?”

“What do you mean?” He gave you a confused look.

“Just ‘nothing crazy’? What else? Make any new friends, enemies, lovers?” You waggled your brows at him.

“Haha. No lovers. No enemies either. I do have a group of folks that I played G&G with. They’re pretty cool.”

Draping an arm over your head you gasped dramatically.

“Folks that play G&G? Are you cheating on us?” You giggled, referring to your group of friends. 

Chance chuckled at your display, standing up and walking towards you. Grabbing your hands, he brought them to his chest. 

“Oh they mean nothing to me.” 

“So a side chick G&G campaign?” You giggled.

“If that’s what you want to call it, sure. Besides, I’m not even the GM. No one else hears my stories but you guys.”

“How charming.” You pulled your arms back, not noticing the flash of disappointment on Chance’s face. 

“What about you? Any friends, enemies, or lovers?” He almost didn’t want to know.

“I’ve got a fun group of friends. We hung out most weekends. I think they want to plan a summer meetup. I think you’d like them.” 

“I’m sure if you’re friends with them, I’d like them.” 

“And no real lovers.” 

“Real lovers?” He questioned.

“Yeah, a couple of flings. None of them good, if I’m being honest.” You scrunched your face at the thought of the piss-poor hookups you had during your last semester. 

The words slightly pierced Chance’s heart, but he didn’t let it get to him. By this point he was used to it. Hearing of your lackluster love life and your hopes to have something better. Doing his best not to come off as a “nice guy”, he avoided telling you how much better he could be. However, both of you knew that Chance would be better. It was just you did not want to ruin anything with him. At this point, Chance was so deeply intertwined with your life. Losing him was unimaginable. 

Trying to avoid talking about your love life, you examined the man’s room. Almost nothing had changed, until something new caught your eye. New books on his bookshelf. The man had impeccable taste in fiction, and you gladly borrowed from his ever-growing library. Trailing your fingers over the spines on the shelf, Chance had a sudden realization hit him. However, it was too late when you plucked one of the shiny new books from the shelf. You spotted some sticky pads sticking out of the side, then you read the cover.

“Wait not that…” 

Red bloomed on your face as you looked at the title. She’s the Man: Focus on Feminine Pleasure Before Men. 

Shaking off your brief embarrassment, you turned to Chance with a cheeky smile. His face was bright red, adorable. Waving the book teasingly you began to press.

“Didn’t take you to be one for non-fiction, Chance.”

He came up to you, plucking the book out of your hand. Sighing when he looked at the cover then back at you. Cheeky grin still plastered on your face. 

“It’s just…” He sighed, not knowing how to continue.

“Some light reading?” You plucked the book back from him. Flitting through the pages till you landed on a random bookmarked page. 

“The measure of a man is not that of his length or girth, but that of his willingness to please his partner. Whether it is through clitoral stimulation or penetration, how much work you are willing to do is what truly matters.” You grinned as you read it out loud, looking back up at Chance. His face appearing to be ten shades darker now. “That’s a sweet sentiment. Were you able to put it into practice?”

Again, he snatched the book back from you with a huff. 

“No, I haven’t.” He said quietly.

Now your interest was piqued.

“Is there someone you have in mind when you picked up this book?”

“Maybe.” 

“Who?”

“Do we really need to be discussing this?” His eyes pleaded with you, but it was too late for you to stop.

“Oh c’mon, Chance. I’m your best friend, and a pretty good wingman. If I do say so, myself. I bet we could get them with you in no time. I just need a name.” 

“I’m not telling.”

“Well, what’s the point in reading it if you can’t put it into practice?” You huffed, hands on your hips.

“I just want to be ready.” He gave you a sad look. “You’re the one that has told me, in a bit too much detail, how terrible your experiences have been. So…” He waved the book.

“You make it sound like you haven’t had any experience.” While you were pretty open about your relationship and sexual escapades, Chance was typically tight-lipped.

“I haven’t had any experience.” He let out a heavy sigh, clearly embarrassed. “I’m still a virgin.” 

Eyes widening, you couldn’t find a response. Before you could say anything, the doorbell rang. 

“That would be the crew.” He sighed again, giving you a sad look. “Let’s just forget this happened, kay?”

Nodding, you walked up to him giving him a tight hug. 

“All forgotten.” You did a zip-lip and throw-away-the-key motion, granting you a chuckle from the man. “Now, let's get our G&G on!” You pumped your fist. 

You and Chance headed downstairs to greet your friends. As soon as she saw you, Dasha immediately lifted you in a strong bear hug. You laughed, returning the embrace. 

“Look at you, it feels like years since I’ve seen you!” She gave you a squeeze before letting you down. 

“I’ve missed you too Dash.” 

Dasha was a transfer from Russia after her father got a job in the states. You and Chance were the first friends you managed to make when she had just moved in. The three of you discovered she had actually played G&G when she lived in Russia. All of you bonded over the game, giving Chance his first real campaign that wasn’t one-on-one with you. Ever since, you’ve remained close. 

Eventually others joined your posse. The cousins, Penelope and Jerry, and the wild-child, Parker. All of you a bit quirky in your own ways, but still making up the perfect G&G party. Now that you had all returned from college for the summer, Chance decided to continue where you left off in your campaign. 

“My love, you have returned!” Parker exclaimed, pulling you into a hug.

In Chance’s game your characters had a will-they-won’t-they romance that ended with Parker’s character confessing to yours when they thought they were going to die. 

“Oh, darling, how I’ve missed you so!” You returned the hug. 

Chance clenched his jaw at the display of affection. He knew that you and Parker only saw each other as friends, but couldn’t deny that there was a lot of chemistry when you played out your romance. Shaking his head he pushed the thoughts away. This was supposed to be a fun reunion. Not a time for him to wallow in jealousy. 

After all pleasantries were exchanged, your group headed to the basement. The space had been pretty much claimed by Chance. Outside of some storage and laundry machines, it was full of G&G stuff. The table was all set up with his GM screen at one end. It looked like his mom had been nice enough to have brought the snacks down before she left. 

Chance had mentioned that she would be out for the weekend, so he had the house to himself. So you and your crew could be as rowdy as you pleased.

Your GM got his computer set up, connecting the audio to a speaker. Conversations were suddenly hushed as tense music blared through a bluetooth speaker. Chance sat behind the screen, looking over you with a dark gaze. The game night had begun.

“Welcome back, dear travelers. I take it you all had a good break?” His voice was low, sending shivers up your spine.

All of you nodded, a bright smile on your face as you buzzed with excitement. 

“Good. But be warned, the world you are returning to is not for the fainthearted. Last time you had managed to defeat the plague demon army. However, in your haste to escape the dungeon, you forgot one thing.” 

“Shit,” Penelope said. Immediately she flipped through her notes, then gasped. Turning her journal around, she pointed to a note. 

Deep in the dungeon lies a stone. No one knows what it does, but it might be powerful. (Cryptic, but okay?)

You chuckled at her little side comment, but then dropped your smile when you realized that you had left a powerful artifact behind. 

“I’m assuming you have realized your mistake?” Chance chuckled darkly, fingers pressed under his chin. 

“The stone.” You said.

“Precisely.”

“No! What does it do?” Dasha exclaimed. 

“Patience, dear Aradove.” Chance always used your characters names when in GM mode. “You escape the dungeon, all of you having the sudden realization hit you. The stone was still inside. At first you think you might be able to go in, but the entrance crumbles before your eyes.”

“I use stone shape to stop it from collapsing!” Penelope exclaims. 

Chance tuts. 

“I won’t have you roll for it, it would be useless. As you stare at the remains of the entrance, the ground begins to rumble. You watch in terror as the earth before you splits in two.” Chance rolls some dice, sucking in a harsh breath. 

“All of you, but Olyra, manage to stay on the same side. Would you like to try anything?” He turns to you. 

Biting your lip, you concentrate. You were a rogue, so your agility was pretty high, but you had no idea what was within that crack. 

“How deep does it look?” You ask. 

“You glance below and see that where the earth has split has become a canyon filled with molten lava. If you fall, it’s game over.” Again, he chuckles darkly. 

“How far away is she? I can cast enhance ability to help you cross.” Parker chimed in, sweat formed on his brow at the suspense.

“You have to be touching her to cast the spell.” Penelope chimed in. 

“Shit.” Parker said under his breath, then he looked up at you. “You can do this Olyra, I believe in you.”

Nodding solemnly, you turned to Chance.

“I’m going to try and jump.” 

“Wait! You should be able to add your lover bonus with Parker, I mean Nicholas.” Jerry blurted out, clearly the most nervous out of all of you.

Chance huffed, then looked through his notes. Jerry was right, once you had got into a relationship with Nicholas, both of you received a bonus if you comforted or inspired each other. 

“Very well, you’ll be able to add plus two to your roll.” He waved his hand. 

Sucking in a breath, you shook your D20. Praying to the gods that you could pass this. All of you held your breath as the die clattered on the table. It landed on a 14. You added your bonuses.

“19 babee!” You exclaimed.

From behind the screen you heard Chance roll his own dice. 

“Nicholas’ words fill your soul and you gear up to rush across the split earth. Taking a running start, you leap right as your foot hits the ledge. It looks like you’re going to make it, but you are suddenly stopped mid-air. Yanking you back, something has grabbed the hood of your cloak. Looking behind you, you see lifting you into the sky, a large black dragon. Roll initiative.” 

Everyone at the table gasped at the reveal. You had to do your best to get out of the dragon’s grasp and not fall into the abyss. Penelope, Jerry, and Parker were able to hit the dragon the easiest as they were ranged fighters. You and Dasha had a rougher time getting hits in. 

Finally, Parker managed to severely wound the dragon’s wing, making it fall to the ground. With it finally in range, you and Dasha were able to bring in major damage to the beast. 

As you thought you were nearing the end of the battle, Chance came back with a new surprise. 

“The dragon isn’t looking too hot right now. A broken wing, bloody stump leg, and multiple stab wounds. Realizing how injured it is, it’s turned to its last resort. With a loud roar, you feel the ground rumble again. From the canyon, you see familiar creatures. More plague demons have arrived to aid the dragon.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Penelope exclaimed, her eyes flew over her spell sheet. Everyone was running low on health and spell slots. 

Suddenly, Parker’s face lit up with a smile.

“Bingo!” He scanned over his sheet. “The rod of mass healing!” 

“Yes!” Chance exclaimed, giddy at the realization.

“I pull out the rod, reading the runes along it. Healing the team by…” He rolled some dice. “45 hp!” 

“And 45 hp is syphoned off of the dragon!” Chance was grinning from ear to ear, so excited that Parker had finally used the rod. An item that was given to him ages ago that he kept forgetting to use.

“The dragon is really not doing well. You see its breathing has become extremely labored. Olyra, it’s your turn.”

“Since I’ve hidden as my bonus action last round I can use my sneak attack. I’m taking my rapier of speed and going for a jab.” You roll your D20 and add your bonuses. “Twenty-five!”

“That’s a hit, how do you want to do this?”

You gave a loud cheer, pumping your fist in the air.

“I race around the dragon, rapier in hand. Dodging the demons left and right, my eyes on my target. The soft spot right under its chin. Sliding under the dragon’s neck, I take my rapier and jab it right into its throat.” 

The rest of the party cheered with you. Chance smiled, loving the joy on your face. His gaze filled with adoration, a look that you caught when your eyes met. 

“With the final stab, the dragon slumps forward. Claws reaching for its throat as blood spurts out of it. It breathes a last breath then goes limp. All of the demons suddenly vanish, and the earth closes back up. Congratulations, you killed the dragon.” 

Your party members give you a round of applause. Dramatically you bow as they give you praise.

“Oh thank you, thank you. It was nothing.” 

After the session your group spent another hour together catching up. You and Dasha were chilling on the couch together. Talking about your studies and looking ahead to the next semester.

“So now that you’re back, are you going to actually talk to lover boy about how you feel?” Dasha asked you pointedly, eyeing Chance.

“Dasha!” You hissed. “Keep it down. And no, you know how I feel about doing that.”

She was the only person you had confided in about your feelings for Chance. 

“My dear friend, you do not know unless you try. Yes?” Her Russian accent adding a lilt to the question. 

“Oh you do not get to say that, hypocrite.” You jabbed back.

“Hypocrite? Who? Not I?” She chuckled awkwardly, pink dusting her cheeks.

“So you wouldn’t mind if I asked Able out for you?” 

She gave you a chilling glare, jabbing a finger in your face.

“You wouldn’t dare.” 

“Try me, Dash.” 

“You’re having quite the intense conversation!” A bubbly voice grabbed both your attention.

Parker plopped beside you on the couch, a boyish smile on his face and a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“Whatcha talkin’ bout?” He leaned toward you.

From across the room, Chance saw as Parker cozied up to you. Feeling jealousy bubble up within him again as his jaw tightened. 

“Excuse me.” He nodded at Jerry and Penelope before striding over to where you were sitting. 

The jealousy grew stronger when he realized that you were blushing at whatever Parker had just said. Chance’s appearance drew your attention forward. The man loomed over you, a look of irritation on his face. 

“What are you guys talking about?” Chance did his best to appear friendly.

“Oh, our friend here has a crush on someone, but she’s too chicken shit to ask them out!” Parker nudged you with a chuckle.

“Parker…” You warned, shoving him away.

Chance huffed, shaking his head.

“And you were giving me shit earlier about my relationship woes.”

“Oh, do you have someone you’re interested in?” Dasha asked, a smile growing on her face as she realized the tension between you and Chance.

“Uh, well, not exactly…” Chance was taken aback. 

“Really?” Dasha pressed.

“Alright, this conversation is over.” Chance pressed his fingers on the bridge of his nose. “Why don’t we all go home and get some rest, eh?” 

“Very well, keep your secrets.” Dasha pushed up from the seat, then placed a hand on Chance’s shoulder. “Though, I think you should go for it.” With a wink, she walked off and headed home. 

Everyone else dispersed leaving you and Chance alone. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air. 

“Are you heading out?” He asked softly.

You gave him a confused look.

“Obviously not. I haven’t seen you in ages dude, and we always sleep over after a session.” You hopped out of your seat. 

“You sure you want to spend the night?” He couldn’t help but feel the jealousy return. 

“Yes. I’m confused. Do you not want me to stay?” 

“No, I just thought maybe you would prefer someone else’s company tonight.” The look in his eyes was cold, taking you aback. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh c’mon, I see how you act with Parker!” He immediately regretted the words when he saw the hurt on your face. It quickly turned to irritation. 

“Parker? Seriously?” You let out an incredulous laugh.

Instead of stopping, Chance dug his heels in. 

“I see how you act around him, flirting and blushing.” 

“We’re playing pretend, Chance!” You were getting very irritated now. “And besides, why would it matter to you?”

“Because…” He stopped himself. “Nevermind.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Your voice wavered.

“Just go home.” He said your name quietly.

“No. Chance, what is going on? You’ve honestly been off all day. Did I push you too hard?”

“No, it’s nothing like that.” He couldn’t look at you, knowing that you would be giving him that sweet concerned face.

“Then what is it?”

Fine, you wanted the truth. He would give it to you. Looking up, he steeled his resolve as he met your gaze. Heart jolting at the way it looked like you were about to cry.

“I love you.” 

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. Brain short circuiting at his words. 

“W-what?”

“You heard me.” He sighed. “And I know you like someone else, but I just needed to tell you.” 

You let out a soft laugh.

“Chance, what makes you think I like someone else?”

Realization dawned on him, his mouth hung open in awe. There was no way…

“I couldn’t imagine..” You stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“Fuck, I’m so stupid.” You looked down shaking your head. 

“You’re not stupid.” 

“I don’t know, I think being secretly in love with the guy in love with me is kind of stupid.” 

Your words struck his heart, making him tear up. A warm hand cupped your face, pulling you to face him. He pressed his lips to yours. Eyes fluttering shut, you pressed a kiss back. Your hands reached around his neck. Softly, you flicked your tongue over his bottom lip. He groaned into your mouth, allowing your tongue to tangle with his. 

When you pulled away, your eyes met his. Both of your gazes sparkling with adoration. He pulled you to him, pressing his forehead against yours. A soft smile playing on his lips. 

“What now?” He asked quietly.

Biting your lip, you gave him a mischievous look. 

“We could put what you learned from that book to the test?” You asked coyly.

“Seriously?” He gave you a wide eyed look of surprise.

“Seriously.” You pressed another kiss to his lips before grabbing his hand and rushing upstairs. 

Bursting into his room, Chance found your hands all over him. Fingers curling through his hair and you pressed deep kisses against him. Pushing him against a wall, your lips trailed up his neck. A whimper escaped his mouth. 

No one had ever made him feel this good, and he did not want it to stop. 

Nibbling at his ear sent shivers down his spine. Hot breath tickled at him as you whispered.

“Let me know if it’s too much.” 

Pulling away he gave you a serious look.

“With you, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.” Red painted his cheeks. “You’re perfect.”

Your heart stuttered. Using the pause, Chance decided to take over. Flipping you around to press your back against the wall. His lips found their way to your neck. Trailing up softly, making you shiver and whine. The sound made him groan. 

“You sound so sexy.” He huffed against your lips before kissing you again. 

Eventually, you found yourselves on his bed. Your thighs straddling him as his hands trailed over your body. Every so often you felt him slightly push them right under the hem of your shirt. Pushing off of him, you pulled your shirt off. Smirking at the awestruck look on his face at the action. 

“Your turn, hot stuff.” You pointed to his shirt. 

He leaned up, reaching for the hem of his shirt. As he lifted it over his head, you let out a small whine. Fuck he was hot. A sculpted chest and arms with just a peek of abs, but there was still that bit of softness that you loved about him. You didn’t say anything as you looked over him, making Chance nervous.

“Is everything okay?”

“It’s more than okay.” You pressed a kiss to his lips. “You’re perfect.”

He blushed at your comment, then pulled you against his chest as you kissed. His hands fumbled at your bra clasps, so with a swift motion, you pulled it off. Throwing it to the floor, you sat back up to give him a full view. 

“Can I touch you?” He asked, to which you nodded. 

His hands cupped your breasts, thumbs trailing over your nipples making you jump. You let out a soft moan as he teased them. 

“So soft…” He said to himself. 

Pulling himself up he shifted you onto his lap. He gave you a deep kiss as he continued to tease at your nipples. Deciding to experiment, he pinched his fingers together. The action eliciting a yelp of surprise followed by a whimper of pleasure. His lips trailed down till he reached your breasts. Looking up, his eyes asked for permission. When you nodded, his lips latched onto one of your nipples making you cry out. 

Beneath you, you could feel the tent growing in Chance’s pants. One of your hands trailed down his sculpted chest till it reached the bulge. You gave a soft squeeze, making Chance moan. His hand grabbed your wrist, stopping you. Soft eyes giving you a pleading look.

“P-please don’t. I’m not sure I’ll last long if you do that.”

You nodded and gave him a kiss. 

“So, do you actually want me to try what I’ve learned?” He asked quietly.

“Yes, if you want to.”

“Oh I very much do.” He nodded enthusiastically, making you giggle. 

“What have you learned? Or I guess what things have you learned that you want to do?” 

“Pretty much everything, but that would take awhile.” He paused, thinking. Finger tapping his chin, then he smiled. “Could I eat you out? I bet you taste so good.” 

That had you blushing. You nodded, slipping off of him. Before you could start taking your pants off he stopped you.

“Actually, could I take them off?”

“Of course.” You laid back.

He popped the button of your pants, then slowly pulled them off. Letting out a hiss as he saw the lacy pair of panties you had on. Tentatively, he brought a hand to your core. Groaning as he felt how wet the fabric was. 

“You’re already soaked…” He said in awe.

His fingers pet you over your panties, making you squirm. You let out a frustrated huff, wishing for more friction.

“Chance…” You whined.

He gave you a smirk, obliging in your wants. Pulling your panties down and moaning as he watched a string of your slick snap between your pussy and the fabric. Large thick fingers trailed over your sex making you moan. He dipped a finger between your folds then brought it to his lips. The taste made him let out a delicious moan. 

“I was right, you taste amazing.”

With that, he moved to the edge of the bed. Spreading your thighs and pulling you toward his face. The scent of your sex made his mouth water. He so desperately needed to taste more of you. Without a second thought, he dove in. Tongue sliding through your folds, and meeting your clit. A burst of pleasure rushing through you. Flicking his tongue in circles around your clit had your body jolting. 

Oh that book really did teach him…

His eyes watched your response to his ministrations, cataloguing every jolt and twitch his mouth and tongue brought you. Moving from your clit, he dragged his tongue through your folds. Lapping up your slick with a deep groan. 

Faster than you expected, you could feel a familiar heat burning in your belly. As he continued to lick at you, your moans grew louder and louder. The pleasure building more and more. If he could hear you moan like that all the time, Chance would die a happy man. 

All of his focus was bringing you absolute bliss. And bliss did he bring. The heat continued to grow in your core. Little gasps and loud moans continued to escape you as his tongue memorized you. Tongue flattening then thinning to bring precise licks right to your clit. The fast speed bringing you closer to climax. 

“Chance… ah! I-I’m…” Your sentence ended in a moan as he groaned against you. 

“Please, cum for me.” 

His words sent you spiraling. With a cry, you came undone on his mouth. Your pussy gushing over his lips and chin. His tongue continued to lap at you as you spasmed. When your climax dissipated, he didn’t stop. Your thighs tried to close from the over stimulation, but strong arms pinned them apart. 

The man was pussy-drunk out of his mind. Desperately needing to please you more. All you could do was whimper and take it. Feeling another orgasm growing within you. Warm tongue continued to lap away between your folds. His lips occasionally catching around your clit and sucking, making you cry out. 

This time, your orgasm hit you like a train. Seemingly coming out of nowhere with a well placed lick to your clit. Your slick squirting out, spraying on his face dripping down his chin. He moaned at the feeling, then pulled away.

“You’re so fucking hot.” He said, wiping his chin. 

He stood up, loving the sight of you shivering with the aftershocks of pleasure. 

After a moment, you composed yourself. Shifting to your knees, your hands reached for his pants. This time your eyes were asking for permission. He nodded, licking his lips in anticipation. Your fingers unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. Then you pulled them down, gasping at the size of the bulge in his boxers. The other article joined his pants, revealing his very hard cock. 

It was about average size, but extremely girthy. You almost wondered if it would fit inside you, but decided that you wanted him regardless. Wrapping your hand around his length had him groaning. You gave him two pumps before he whimpered a warning at you. 

“Can I ride you?” You asked, eyes filled with want.

“Yes, please.” He breathed out. 

Both of you shuffled around on the bed, with you straddling the man. Before you could move he stopped you. 

“I-I just realized, I don’t have condoms.” His eyes were wide with concern.

“That’s okay. I’m clean and on the pill.” The way you said it so nonchalantly had him taken aback. You bit your lip, embarrassed. “Or we can stop and I can blow you.”

“N-no. I just want to be sure you’re cool with me going raw.” 

Leaning down you gave him a deep kiss, tongue tangling with his. 

“I am very cool with it.” 

With that, you slid your wet heat against his cock. The man below you groaning at the feeling. 

Everything hit him at once. This was happening. You were happening. He was about to have sex, with you, the woman he loves. His heart soared at the realization. 

Before his thoughts could race, they blanked out. You slid yourself down his length, groaning at the stretch. Yeah, he was big. Deliciously so.

Beneath you, Chance moaned loudly. Wet soft heat enveloping his cock, made him twitch inside you. There was no way he was going to last long. Already his balls were tightening, ready to release their load deep inside you. The thought had him shivering. 

“Am I good to move, Chance?” You asked softly. 

He responded with a nod. His warm hands landed on your hips. 

Slowly, you lifted up, then slid back down on his cock. As you built up the pace, all Chance could do was moan and whimper. Your own voice joining his as he hit the perfect spots within you. Your clit rubbing against his torso sending pleasure coursing through you. The softness of you walls moving against him was becoming too much. 

Just a few more slides against him had him gritting his teeth with a moan. Inside you felt warmth fill you as his cock twitched. Spurts of his cum filling you with a satisfying heat had you moaning. You could certainly get used to this. 

Falling back onto the bed, Chance caught his breath. His hands absentmindedly trailed over your torso and hips. 

“I’m sorry I finished so fast.” He gave you an apologetic look.

“Chance, you made me cum already. Twice, might I add.” You gave him a sweet smile that had his heart jolting. 

“Besides, there’s plenty more where that came from.” You purred against his lips before giving him a soft kiss.

“More? Really?” He seemed surprised.

“Of course, Chance. I told you, I love you.”

“I love you too.” He smiled brightly at you.

“So, how was your first time?”

“I’d say, a critical success.” 

[briefinquiries]

Tyler Owens x Reader: The Storm Inside Your Mind

Request: Anonymous said: "tyler x reader with panic attacks"

Word count: 2k

Warnings: panic attack tw

A/N: obviously stole some of Kate's trauma for this one... I feel like I've written a few fics where reader has panic attacks now, so sorry if this sounds repetitive at all. But as always, thank you all for the kind words, replies, and comments on my work. It's super encouraging and very appreciated!!

The team isn’t chasing today. Instead, you set up the RV and some tents at a campsite, hoping to enjoy what little time you had left of tornado season. 

Tyler gets a fire going while Boone and Dexter drag the camp chairs around it. There’s only half an hour or so left of daylight, and the crew decides s’mores will do just fine for dinner. 

Boone makes a joke about s’mores meeting all his nutritional food group needs, everyone laughs. Tyler settles into the chair beside you, his knee gently grazing against yours to catch your attention. 

When you look at him, he winks. A silent toss of affection. A sweet reminder that it’s you and him, even amongst the chaos of all your friends. 

The sun sets, casting a thousand shades of pinks and purples through the sky. It’s mesmerizing– the evening is perfect. 

It’s amazing how quickly things can fall apart.

All it takes is one note– 

Dani grabs their guitar and begins strumming softly to no tune in particular. Then Boone shouts out a song request that makes your breath catch. You try to be subtle, but you notice Tyler’s eyes lingering on you, because he can read you just as well as he can read any storm. 

You offer him the best, most reassuring smile that you can– and it must be good enough, because he looks back towards the fire. 

You pick at the skin around your nails, because it’s always been a good distraction. But even that isn’t enough when Dani plays the first note– 

“Took my love and I took it down,” they sing softly. 

And then suddenly, you can’t breathe. All you can hear is your best friend asking you to turn up the volume to her favorite song when it had come on the radio only minutes before everything had gone so, so wrong. 

Normally, you can talk yourself down from these moments, you can practice all the grounding exercises your therapist taught you and move on. But you feel the sense of panic creeping up your throat and it’s strong and fast. You don’t think you can deep breathe your way out of this one without anyone noticing.

In a rush, you stand up from your camp chair and mumble something incoherent about needing to go. It’s not very subtle, but it’s all you can manage before stumbling into the RV– aiming for the bathroom. 

Tyler calls your name, but all you hear is the sound of your friend screaming it over the increasing winds as they reached for you. 

From there it only gets worse– 

It comes in waves– memories of Fleetwood Mac still playing from the radio while you sat in the car and frantically tried to decide which way to run– the realization that no matter where you went, the tornado was going to consume you– knowing that the overpass was the worst place to go, but your alternative was remaining out in the open. Your name tumbling from your friend's lips as she begged you to help pull her up the ramp because her shoes kept slipping. The sound of her scream when the chunk of debris sent her flying into the storm. You losing sight of her body after only a second– 

The bathroom door rattles. “Y/N?” Tyler calls with a knock. “What happened?”

“What happened?” your friend’s dad had asked with tears spilling down his cheeks after the officer told them that their daughter was dead. “What the hell happened?” 

“There’s no storm,” you whisper to yourself. “The skies are clear– there’s no storm.”

Tyler calls your name a second time and knocks harder– the door rattles. You grip the edge of the sink and bite down harshly on your lip to keep yourself from screaming. Because despite the calm conditions outside, the storm inside your mind is here– it’s rattling the door and shaking the RV– it’s creating dark clouds, and causing them swirling around in every corner of your body– winds are flying through your stomach and your chest, the air is heavy, it’s harder to breathe– 

You put your hands over your ears and sink to the floor helplessly. 

“Y/N, answer me,” Tyler’s panicked– you can hear it in his voice. “I swear to God, I’m gonna kick this door down–”

You try to inhale– to tell him not to do that– that repairing a door will be expensive. But instead of finding your words, all you can do is choke out a desperate sob. The storm has stolen all your air– it’s sucked it right from your lungs… 

Before you can try again, the entire bathroom shakes when the hinges on the door break loose with a bang. Tyler’s eyes land on you– huddled on the floor, gasping for the breath you can’t find. 

Except– it’s not Tyler. It’s your friend’s dad. He’s come to get you– to kill you like you killed his daughter. 

You attempt to push yourself backwards on the floor, but the bathroom is small and soon, you've only managed to wedge yourself between the toilet and the wall. You try to speak again– to tell him how sorry you are for getting his daughter killed– but you can’t. Clutching desperately at your chest, you heave and heave, squeezing your eyes shut. 

The storm inside your mind causes the clouds to start swirling around chaotically– 

The storm inside your mind rips trees right from the roots– 

The storm inside your mind destroys everything in its path– 

“Baby–” a familiar warm voice cuts through the fog. And then, suddenly, someone grips your knee, causing your entire body to seize. 

“It’s me,” a gentle voice murmurs. "Hey, it’s me.“

Through your foggy haze, you recognize Tyler’s touch– and when you open your eyes, you see him squatting down to get on your level. 

But your knees– you open your mouth to say, except all that comes out is a gasp– a plea for help. 

“Okay, it’s okay. Look at me, baby,” he says. “It’s okay– you’re okay.” 

“I– can’t–” you gasp, your own hands flying up to grip his forearms for some sort of lifeline to reality. “I can’t– breathe–” 

“Okay, okay, okay,” he says. He’s trying to stay calm, but you can hear the uneasiness in his voice. “With me.” 

He gives a deep, methodical inhale before letting out a slow, intentional exhale. “Just do it with me. Slow, like this.” 

He continues, and you try to match his pace– to breathe with him, but it feels like the storm has stolen your lungs– ripped them right out of your chest– 

“Tyler–” you beg, your voice hoarse. “I can’t–” 

“C’mon, with me,” he repeats earnestly. He’s looking at you with terror in his eyes, but you find comfort in their familiarity just the same. “We’ve done this before, you know how to do this.”

“I– I–” you stammer, but the words won’t form. 

“Shh, with me. Everything’s okay. I’m here. We’re both okay,” he assures you. His gaze is just so tender and soft and careful while his thumb grazes your cheek. 

“I- I can’t-” you choke again, “Please–”

“Shh-” he soothes. “Look at me, nothing else, just me.”

Your wide, desperate eyes meet his. You don’t say anything, just shudder and gasp frantically.  

“With me,” he repeats.

Tyler slow and calming, in and out breathes. After a few seconds, you latch onto the sound, mimicking it, and then finally follow along. 

“There you go,” he whispers.

Your facial features slowly start to relax as you’re able to breathe properly.  Without your loud, choking sobs, you’re able to hear your heartbeat pounding in your chest frantically.  

“Good job,” Tyler sighs. “Look, it’s just you and me, we’re okay, we're both safe–” 

But he can’t even finish his sentence before you lean forward and reach for him. Tyler takes advantage of your gesture and quickly grips under your arms, yanking you from the corner and pulling you forward. He sits back on the floor, back resting against the door frame while he rests you on his lap. As soon as he’s settled, you wind your arms around his neck– desperate and longing for some sort of comfort. 

Strong, sturdy arms wrap around you as you hide your face into his chest. You breathe him in, letting his familiar scent wash over you. The sound of his heartbeat races in your ear (bum, bum, bum, bum). It reminds you that you’re both here– right now. Not stuck in an underpass, not chasing a tornado. But here– on the floor in the RV bathroom. 

“It’s okay,” Tyler soothes. Upon feeling your shaky body pressed against his, he squeezes tighter. “It’s okay, baby. I’m here, I got you.”

You melt against him in response, bunching the fabric of his shirt into your fist, trying to communicate just how badly you need him to hold you right now. 

And that’s exactly what he does— until you can finally breathe on your own again. 

And then the wave of guilt comes.

Suddenly the realization of everything hit you– what a basketcase you’ve been, running off like that, having a meltdown in front of everyone– you probably scared the shit out of them. And then there’s the door– broken right from the hinges. 

Slowly, you pull back. 

“Are you okay?” Tyler says before you can even open your mouth. He brushes the strands of loose hair from your face.  

You exhale a deep, shuddering breath that you can feel down your entire body. “I’m okay,” you say, your voice raw. 

“Baby, you don’t have to run from me when you’re having a panic attack. I’m here for you, you know that.”

“I know,” you whimper. “I know– I’m so sorry– I didn’t mean to freak out–”

“Shh. Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay,” Tyler says. “You don’t have to apologize. I just– I want you to come to me when you’re struggling. I want to be able to help you.”

“I just—” you start, but you stop when you notice how choked up your voice sounds. You take a slow breath. “I can't think clearly when they come. All I could think about was getting away. I didn't want to scare you– I wanted to prove to you that I was doing better– that I wasn’t going to freak out all the time. But it–” 

As soon as you feel the tears burning behind your eyes, you dig the heels of your palms into them frustratedly, like you were physically trying to push them away. 

“It was the music. That was her favorite song.” You didn’t even have to say your friend’s name for Tyler to know what you were talking about. “I just… I heard that first note and I panicked– I just felt like I had to get away.” 

Tyler nodded in understanding. “You don’t have to hide from me,” he whispered. “Next time, you drag me to the bathroom with you and we’ll get through it together, okay? I think that’ll save us many doors in the future.”

You exhale a puff of air, your best attempt at laughter. 

“I’m just sorry you have to deal with me all the time. You have enough on your plate,” you groan, rubbing your tired eyes. 

Tyler sighs. “Baby, I drive around and chase tornadoes– shoot some fireworks into the air when I’m really feelin’ it. I think I can handle being there for you on top of that,” he says. “I love you. And I want you to be okay, always. That’s all I’ll ever want.”

Nodding slowly, you lean forward and rest your forehead on Tyler’s chest. 

Strong, warm arms anchor you to safety. You hold on to Tyler– letting the sound of his heartbeat (bum, bum, bum, bum) block out any noise from the raging storms inside your mind. 

[ohhoneypascal]

Learn To Love | Husband! Marcus Acacius x Wife! Reader

Summary: Marcus Acacius never wanted to marry, especially when his main priority was being a Roman general. After suffering a wound to his abdomen, he went back home and was in the presence of his wife, someone he strongly chose not to get close to.

Warnings: Angst, Forced Marriage, injury, blood, Marcus being kinda mean to his wife in the beginning :((, Marcus realising he actually needs to love his wife ffs! :’), pretty much ends with fluff and doting husband added all

word count; 1.1k

Shout out to @steviebbboi for the perfect divider that goes well with this🫶🏻

Many would say being married to the Roman general Marcus Acacius would be nothing but a blessing. Yes, he was a strong man, a hero, a leader, and someone who captivated the eye of many, but he was no husband… being forced into marriage with the Roman general agreed upon and organised by the Roman emperors Caracalla and Geta would only make your life nothing but difficult. Most of the time he was away either conquering a part of a country, in battle, or simply avoiding being anywhere near you, just as he was on your own wedding night many months ago.

Though all that had changed as Marcus had returned home injured, as you lay awake you could hear his voice and his footsteps getting closer to the bedroom door, with it opening to reveal your injured and very exhausted husband, Marcus Acacius. Your heart dropping at the sight of his injury, you immediately got out of bed, wanting nothing but to help him.

“I can handle it myself. I do not need you prying over me like an injured animal…”

Looking at him in disbelief, you had spoken up. “I am not looking at you like an injured animal, but I can see you’re in a lot of pain. All I do is wish to help clean your wound and prevent infection.”

Marcus scoffs, walking over to the bed, although it’s nothing more than him grunting and in terrible pain with his lower abdomen where his wound was. Feeling the bed dip as he sits down, he holds the bloodied bandages to his wound. “I do not wish for a lecture on infection…” he turns to look at her, something within him stirring as he watches her face. She’s beautiful… No, a goddess perhaps, but he would have never admitted that it was something he couldn’t and wouldn’t do. He could never actually love someone or let anyone in, considering him being a Roman General. He was terrified of losing someone close to him, or maybe he hated the fact that a day would come where his wife could become a widow.

“If you wish to clean my wound, hurry up and do so.” It’s almost like he was holding back but not wanting to go into depth with your overthinking you quickly left to get fresh resources to help clean his wound. Shortly returning back into the bedroom, “I have fresh water, cloth, oils and fresh bandages for your wound Marcus.” Her chest was heaving since she quickly rushed back to the bedroom to his aid.

“Thank you.” He murmured, without looking at her as she comes closer to him as she started to remove the bloodied bandages he had to his abdomen. He quickly reached out to grab her wrist looking at her his brown eyes boring into hers, “Gentle, it’s still an open wound and I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Meeting his gaze, the grip on her wrist firm but gentle she nodded.

“I promise, I will be gentle, but it will sting..” He didn’t answer her; he just watched her in front of him kneeling to clean his wound. He didn’t want to be harsh to her; he treated her as if she was nothing to him. He wanted to learn to love his wife. In reality, Marcus thought she would have wanted a man who treated her well, who could be a better husband… Yet, she was here constantly by his side, even when he pushed her away. Snapped out of his thoughts, wincing in pain. “Watch it! My love!” Not realising the “ my love” slipping from his lips as he was in pain, yet his wife did, and her heart was beating.

“I’m sorry, I’m being as gentle as I can. I have to clean the wound properly…” her eyes meeting his as her hand holding the cloth dabs on his wound gently… “squeeze my free hand… whenever you feel pain, squeeze my hand. I don’t care if you crush my hand, but I don’t like hearing you in pain.”

Marcus grunts, shaking his head… “Don’t be so foolish! Why would I do such—Ahh!” She looked up at him. He took her advice and squeezed her hand… His wife’s hand. Marcus didn’t want to crush her hand or cause her any pain, but the wound did, in fact, cause him a lot of pain. “I’m sorry. I was going as gently as I could! I—“ She was cut off as Marcus reached out and touched her face. “It’s okay… I promise you it’s okay. Do not stress yourself, my love… I know you’re being gentle.”

There it was again. “My love,” she nodded. Marcus let go of her hand as she went back to work, tending to his wound. They remained in silence, but this silence wasn’t uncomfortable. For the first time, it felt comfortable being in the same presence as husband and wife.

After cleaning his wound, she looked up at him, her hands softly resting on his lap. “You know, you have called me “my love” twice… did you simply mean for it to slip past your lips?” Marcus chuckles simply. “Yes, I knew what I was saying. I do not regret it.” He didn’t regret it, but he had pushed her away, and now? This was overwhelming.

“I’m sorry, I’m just… not used to you being so…. loving.” She slowly stood up, so she could discard of the bloodied bandages, cloths, and dirty water, but with the look Marcus was giving it was like he didn’t want her to move or attempt leaving.

“Those can be dealt with. Could you sit with me?”

Sitting down next to him on the bed, she looked at his wound on his lower abdomen, freshly cleaned and bandaged.

Marcus trailed off, “I must admit, I wasn’t keen on marrying you. In fact, I never wanted marriage. Being a General, that was my one and only priority… until I married you. I pushed you away, not wanting you near me. I didn’t even want to speak with you. I actually took in how saddened you were of our wedding night. I apologise for that. I actually apologise for being cruel towards you.” Marcus took her hand in his.

“I promise you, I am no perfect man and I’m sure as not a perfect husband. I am willing to try, I am willing to love a goddess like you. I want my heart to yearn for you, although I feel I am a coward, my biggest fear is opening my heart to people I love for either them to get hurt or myself. I do not wish for you to become a widow.”

“So love me, be the husband you wish to be.” Her fingers tracing his lips… Marcus looked at her, his heart beating for her affection by just a simple touch on his lips.

“I promise you, I will be the husband you deserve, but please be patient with me. I will try…”

Marcus pulled her closer to him, stroking her cheek… he leaned up and kissed her, to feel her lips on his were nothing but bliss.

[aamircoeur]

just distressed (not a damsel) - ultraman, ken sato.

getting familiar with your robot-like saviour after his nth time of saving your life.

PART 2.

cw: brief mention of bl00d. sfw, female reader. UNEDITED

"hello again, little ma'am." the huge character looked down on you, his glowing eyes acting as a spotlight as he held you on his palms. a purple-colored, lizard-like kaiju had destroyed the top of the apartment building that you were staying at, and luckily, ultraman was there to save you.

only for, like, the sixth time this month.

"not causing trouble again, are you?" ultraman teased, and you just rolled your eyes, making the being laugh.

the first time was when you were on your first (and after that incident, also the last) date with a guy you met at a bar. he took you to sumida river for some sight-seeing, and a kaiju appeared from underneath the waters, targeting those who were at the bridge. out of fright, the people screamed and scattered like ants, including your date who left you to flee for his own safety.

upset, you took a moment to process the happenings around you while you stared at the back of the guy as he ran. without noticing, the kaiju creeped from behind you in an attempt to catch you off-guard and eat you for its lunch (you assumed). fortunately, ultraman was there in the nick of time, blasting the kaiju with his powers that came from the moon or something, you thought. you really didn't understand how he or his powers worked, and you really couldn't bother learning either.

being the only person to stay on the bridge, ultraman approached you after sending the kaiju back to where it emerged from. "uhm, hi," he said, looking down on you as he was wiping debris off of his shoulder. "you okay?" he tilted his head.

"yes, i am. thank you!" you shouted at him, hands cupped to both sides of your cheeks.

he nodded. "okay, get home safe, little ma'am." he said before walking away. you looked at him as he made his way through the water. you thought about the weird nickname and shrugged, thinking that everyone must be little to him when he's that big.

upon arriving home at your apartment, you saw a series of messages of apologies and excuses from the guy you went on a date with. you scoffed and blocked him without responding.

the second time that you were saved by ultraman was when you unfortunately got in the crossfire between him and a kaiju that looked like a dinosaur. you were underneath a separated car door after trying to run to safety, your left leg and forehead dripping with blood, and you were too light-headed from the blood loss to help yourself out of your current position.

after the shaking of the ground has stopped, assuming that the battle has ended, you opened your eyes only to reveal that everything was blurry. an elderly woman was crouched in front of you, slightly tapping your face before wiping the blood off of your forehead. "oh, you poor thing," she said. a tear made its way across your cheek, finally feeling the pain after the numbness had faded away. "you'll be okay," the woman said before standing up and walking into the middle of the street, and it was the last thing you saw before passing out.

the elderly woman had called for ultraman, waving her arms out as high as she could. seeing her from a few streets over, ultraman rushed to her, careful with his steps to avoid stepping on a car. "hello! is something the matter?" ultraman greeted.

"here, here!" the woman called and led her to where you were. shocked, ultraman knelt down and lifted the car door, placing it down on the sidewalk before scooping you up into his palms. "poor girl has been bleeding since i saw her." she added, her hands cupped together, worriedness heard in her voice. "if you rush, we might save her!" she exclaimed.

ultraman nodded and stood up on his feet, slowly moving covering you with his other hand. "thank you, madame. please, go home to where you'll be safe." he said before flying off.

hearing a constant beep woke you up from the hospital bed that you stayed in. you squinted your eyes as you adjusted to the light on the ceiling, you then saw your right leg with a cast. groaning, you took a deep breath before looking around more. there was a desk beside you with a folded piece of paper.

you reached for it and unfolded it, and there was a note in blue ink that said, "the bills have been covered. please, get well soon."

the third time of being saved by ultraman was when a kaiju attack has been reported near you once again and ultraman took you to safety via his palm because you couldn't walk properly with your cast.

by the fourth time, you simply greeted the character with a simple hello despite having yet another kaiju attack near you. ultraman greeted you back, laughing after realizing that he was getting used to seeing you when there's a kaiju attack and saying, "hello, little ma'am."

for the fifth time, you were in a restaurant for dinner that had unfortunately caught on fire because of a flame-spitting kaiju. although you had the opportunity to leave early the moment smoke was seen to guarantee your safety, you helped every person you could to leave the restaurant instead before helping the staff control the growing fire.

the fire department in the city was handling the fire in a hospital which led to their lateness in handling the one in the restaurant you were staying at. fortunately, the five million meters tall (your exaggeration) superhero was there, helping the humans put out the fire and successfully doing so.

as the staff were being interviewed by news reporters, you went on your way to a different restaurant instead to continue your dinner. a few streets down from where the restaurant was, you walked downtown to where the road was quiet and empty, and you just casually bumped into ultraman.

by casually, you meant that he almost stepped on you after not looking before taking a sharp turn. "woah there!" the huge being exclaimed, his robotic voice echoing throughout the evening. you had your hands in the pockets of your jacket as you looked up at him.

"wait, i know you." he said before going down on his knees and lowering his body to take a better look at you. "little ma'am!" he exclaimed, his bright eyes widening.

you squinted your eyes at the brightness and smiled sheepishly. "hey, ultraman."

ultraman sat up and held out his palm for you, which you accepted. you stepped on his finger before making your way towards his palm, and he then lifted you up before holding you in front of him as he looked at you.

"what brings you here?" you asked, crossing your legs on his palm, making yourself comfortable.

he let out a small chuckle at how used you were to stay on his palms. "uh, fire, in the uptown," he explained. your eyes widened as your eyebrows lifted. "woah, were you there?" he asked, worried.

you nodded. "yeah, i was supposed to have dinner but then the ceiling started burning. i tried to help some elderly people to head outside." you explained.

ultraman smiled down at you, happiness obvious in his robotic facial expression. "you've helped greatly." he said.

you laughed and swatted your hands in front of him. "nah, the cook and waitresses helped control the fire before you got there." you said.

"no way," ultraman shook his head. "don't undermine what you've done, because you've done great. i never would've dumped the bucket of water if i had known that there were people inside, and it would have been hard for me to help them out with my big size." he said. "really, thank you for the help."

you just smiled at him and scoffed playfully. "just another day for a super human," you joked.

you and him shared a laugh and continued your talk. "so, what're you gonna do now?" he asked you, now leaning on the office building behind him as he got more comfortable throughout the conversation.

"ah, i wanted to continue my dinner, but there's this big bug that just wouldn't stop pestering me," you joked, referring to him which made him drop his jaw playfully as if he was offended.

the two of you laughed. "what about you?" you asked.

ultraman tilted his head to the side and rested it on his shoulder. "oh, man, i am beat. i might nap for weeks after tonight, so i'm leaving the city-saving to the new superhero called "little lady". ever heard of her?" ultraman said.

"nah, never. she sounds cool though, probably pretty with big muscles, i assume?" you rode along with his joke, making him laugh.

"oh, yeah, definitely. really pretty thing," he said casually.

your laughter halted upon hearing what he said, making your cheeks and ears flush at the compliment. when he finally realized the words that came out of his mouth, ultraman fixed his posture and stuttered an excuse. you laughed and patted his palm. "don't worry, hypnotizing people to make 'em think i'm good-looking is part of my one hundred and three superpowers."

ultraman let out a hearty laugh at this, making your stomach warm by hearing it. "yeah? better get started to knowing each one."

you smiled at him and took a deep breath. your conversation had finally stopped, the two of you thinking about your own things. after a few more small talk, ultraman had decided to call it a night to let his body rest after the fight with the kaiju. you agreed and he let you down from his palm before standing up to his height that surpassed the building's.

"also, if you want dinner, tonkatsu tonki is the place to go." he said before waving off and flying off.

and the sixth time was now. "hey." you greeted, a tired expression visible on your face.

"always in the centre of the tornado, huh, little ma'am?" he said as he had you in his palms once more, walking you towards the evacuation center.

"lucky me," you sarcastically said.

"lucky you, my personal damsel in distress." he echoed you jokingly.

you rolled your eyes.

taglist: @ttulipwritezz @c-losur3 @saeyari @luvly-writer

[petriwriting]

Falling in love all over again. - Finnick Odair X Reader

Summary: Finnick is with you while you recover in District Thirteen.

A/N: Re-reading the hunger games series and I just love Finnick.. I couldn't resist. Feminine pronouns for reader. Takes place during mockingjay. Reader is rescued from the Capitol.

Angst! Fluff

Your shrieks haunted the halls of the District 13 hospital. Guttural, vile in nature. Finnick found himself rushing to the source of the sounds. while terrified, he pushed forward, disregarding the voices that shouted at him to stop, pushing past the security team that tried to stop his efforts. Finnick was strong, making it through the barricade of people without any serious casualties.

He emerged into the room where you had just woken up from sedation, and his heart ached immensely. The sight of you there, thrashing against your restraints. You looked drained of color, nutrients, and life. Emaciated and with a raspy, hoarse voice, you still shouted, convinced you were going to be tortured again. convinced that the doctors were going to hurt you, that the excruciating pain might never go away.

Finnick stopped himself; security had grabbed his arm and gently urged him to leave the room. The doctors were saying you would need time, which was something Finnick felt he did not have a lot left to spare. He choked, standing there watching you struggle. You hadn't even noticed him, until you did. Your eyes locked onto his.

For a moment you saw something comforting, something real in Finnick's eyes, but the capitol's torture methods took over you, the distorted images of him hurting you came back and your body recoiled. You shrieked louder, thrashing in your restraints, distressed. Finnick felt a piece of him breaking.

"Please, Sir," a strong voice urged.

"She needs space,"

He finally complied with Security's plead to get him to leave, not wanting to cause you any further harm. As they escorted him out of the hall, he choked out sobs, and the hot tears ran down his cheeks.

. . . .

Finnick found himself back by your room, unable to sleep. He had fallen asleep for a short time with his back leaning against the wall by the door, woken suddenly when a doctor had opened it and stepped out into the hall. Finnick quickly swept up onto his feet.

"How is she?" he asked, wanting to barge in there, to see you, hold you, and tell you it was okay. but he didn't want to cause you any distress. He was terrified for your recovery and worried everyday for you after seeing what they'd done to Peeta.

"She is stable." the doctor said, taking a short breathe. "We need you to be patient." he continued. "Recovery will have its ups and downs, and we will do everything we can..."

Finnick's heart raced. The doctor made it seem like you would never come back. "When can I see her?- Can I please just sit with her?" he asked. The doctor gave a sympathetic look.

"In a few hours, when she wakes again, we can allow you visitation."

Finnick nodded, he knew he had to wait, but he still longed for you.

"It's best if both of you are well rested when you visit, " the doctor said, offering a comforting hand to Finnick's shoulder and giving him a squeeze. "I'm staying here." Finnick insisted. The doctor gave a soft sigh. "Very well." he said, nodding at him.

Finnick sat with his back to the same wall by your door all night, softly dozing to sleep for a several hours when exhaustion overtook him.

In the morning, the hustle of the nurses and doctors woke him, and his eyes fluttered open softly. He rose back up to his feet quickly when he heard the faintest calling of his name.

"Finnick," you sounded rough, you had lost your voice almost entirely.

The door slid open, and he stood in the doorway. You came too, fully, your brain feeling unclear. you stared, now conscious looking at the figure. He was unarmed. That's the first thing you noticed. You looked at him in confusion as he cautiously and gently approached you.

He sat by your bedside and looked at you; his sea colored eyes were glazed over, filled with worry and fear. A strange feeling came over you. Finnick said your name so tenderly, so gently, barely above a whisper. Do I know him? did he hurt me? Is this real? you thought. He reached his hand out to set it on your own, but you pulled away and flinched as if he was going to strike you. Finnick pulled away quickly, the movement startling you more.

They had done unthinkable things to you, and it hurt him to know that they had distorted your image of him, that they had taken the sweetest, kindest person you loved and twisted them into some kind of monster. Your memory of Finnick was vague, plagued by images of violence that felt blurry. Deep down he knew that there had to be the same girl he fell in love with somewhere in there.

He took a step back, noticing your distress. "It's okay, you're safe." He said softly. "Who are you!" you spat, anxiety rising in your chest.

"I want to go home!" you shouted.

This alerted the attention of one of the nurses, who came over and administered some kind of medicine. The liquid quickly entered your system, and you dozed back off to being half awake, mumbling and uttering unintelligible words while the nurse checked your vitals.

The nurse turned to Finnick, apologizing.

. . . .

You can hear them coming. Mutts. They stamp onto the arena's grounds furiously, and you are out running them, just barely until they catch up with you are the group. First, they tear apart Peeta, Katniss' shrill cries haunt you, then they devour her, and you turn to see the rest of your friends being attacked by the mutated beasts.

You run, your feet carrying you far enough that you are in a small wooden shack, something that's safer than being out in the open. The beasts rack the walls, beating against the now locked door, as you notice Finnick emerge from the shadows. His eyes are different. he looks cold, sober, and menacing. He lets out a growl and lunges towards you, tackling you to the ground.

His hands hold you down, finding their way to your neck as they begin restricting your airway. His expression is void of emotions. His hands feel cool, and his calloused fingers force bruises on your skin. You struggle against him, begging for your life . . .

After one week of recovery, the nightmares begin to plague you. That was the first of many to come. You woke up with a gasp, desperately trashing and trying to save yourself, Once you realize where you are, you try to rationalize with yourself. You gasp, unable to catch your breath, feeling you neck as if you are hurt, and upon examining yourself, there are no bruises. It had to have been a dream.

Finnick appeared at your bedside, scared to touch you and agitate you more, "Hey, hey," he cooed, his voice was soothing. you felt conflicted, the man in your dreams had eyes devoid of color, and Finnick's were the color of the sea, remaining calm, concerned.

"It was just a dream, you're safe." He said softly.

"You," you managed to rasp out between hyperventilation.

"You tried to hurt me," you said, tears now spilling from your eyes.

"No, love, It was a bad dream. I would never lay a hand on you." he said gently, he was being patient. It was clear to you now that he did not intend to hurt you, because if we was going to he would have tried before the nurses came rushing in to check on your heart monitor that was making a raging beeping noise.

Finnick stood by your side, looking at you with worry.

"You're okay, just try to get some more rest." the nurse said. You nodded, exhaustion once again taking you as you rested your head back against the pillow. Whatever sedatives they had you taking were working well, lulling back into a slumber, hopefully this time without nightmares.

. . . .

After another week you hadn't been sleeping well now relying on the sedatives too heavily, with fear the images from the nightmares would take you out of reality again, each one more painful than the last.

Your eyes fluttered open, nothing too bad this time. The room was dimly lit, it had to be at least midnight. The halls were quiet, your restraints were still there, for your own good, the doctors had said the previous day. You attention was drawn to the gentle snoring of the man sitting in the chair in the corner of the room.

You looked at him and a sickly familiar feeling came across your chest. There was something about watching his chest gently rising and falling in his uncomfortable-looking sleeping position that seemed unthreatening.

You gazed at him, a glimpse of a memory surfacing, you could remember him, you couldn't quite place where you were, but you were standing in water and the sensation of the cool lapping waves against your body somehow felt like home. It calmed you. He was there, you recognized him, a vague figure standing with you in the water. No strangulation, no weapons, just standing in the water in his arms. You couldn't tell if that was real or not, but it seemed happy, calming, the first decent memory you had in a long time.

After a while, you warmed up to his presence, watching him sleeping, you were far too weak to do much else. you still hadn't determined if the memory was real or not.

His eyes fluttered open, and he noticed you were awake.

"Hi sweetheart," he said sheepishly with a yawn.

"Did you get some sleep?" he asked you. you reluctantly shook your head. "I can't sleep," you said, your voice was low, still scratchy but a vast improvement from before.

"Do you want me to stay up with you?" he asked. you waited, hesitating for a long time, before nodding honestly. It was nice to have another person near you, even if you weren't entirely sure who they were, you were beginning to see him as a non threat. baby steps.

After another bout of silence, your voice carried across the quiet room. "I can't tell what's real anymore," you confessed. Finnick frowned. "You don't have to right now," he said. "All you should know right now is that you're safe, and I'm here." he said. you felt comforted.

The two of you stayed up for a while, and he stayed up to watch over you as you stared at the ceiling for a while, contemplating everything, before finally feeling relaxed enough to rest again.

. . . .

After that night, you felt more comfortable, and would sometimes laugh at a small joke Finnick would make. You had even warmed up enough to allow him to sit closer to you, and after several weeks, you allowed him to hold your hand. His felt soft and warm, nothing like the memory of his hands you weren't sure you could trust.

One month of treatment and therapy and conditioning. you were starting to feel somewhat like your old self. Somewhat normal, despite your questioning of your own memory. The doctors had helped you work out ways of differentiating your memories from what was real. It was tough. It felt like a daily battle. But at least now you had someone to tell you what was real, and what was not.

Your eyes fluttered open that morning to see Finnick in the chair in by your bed, flipping through the pages of some novel he had found, pretending to read the page, skimming the words but not really reading them. He noticed your gaze and smiled softly.

"Good morning, love." he said in a quiet voice.

"Hi." you said.

Finnick just stared, admiring your beauty, yearning to have you back. He was beyond thankful you were alive and here with him, so now he focusses all his energy on your recovery.

You were lost in your thoughts for a long while. The memory of the two of you in the water kept resurfacing. Bits and pieces came back to you as time passed, now you were able to form a somewhat coherent image.

you were in his arms, on the beach, back home, in District 4. He held you while humming a gentle song in your ear, the waves pushing and pulling against your bodies, gently complementing Finnick's melody. The safe feeling warmed your whole body, and you felt a love surround you. The gentle sea breeze combing through your hair, the smell of the sea flooding your senses...

"Can I ask you a question?" you spoke suddenly. Finnick leaned forward in his chair. "Of course," he said honestly.

"I think," you said, still unsure of the memories.

"I think you loved me."

the words hung in the air softly and fell upon Finnick like a melody.

"That's not quite right," he said. you gazed at him in confusion. "I Love you. still, always," he said. "No matter what happens." he smiled at you, wanting to cry.

"I love you," Finnick said softly, brushing a piece of hair from your face. "That is real." he said. you nodded, this time initiating contact and placing your hand over his. There was a mutual understanding that day.

"Everything is so fuzzy," you begin.

"But I remember being in the sea with you, back home, I think."

Finnick nodded. "Is that real?" you asked him, gazing into his eyes, the same ones from the memory that brought you comfort now, even if you couldn't remember much else or any other context. It came back in fragmented parts. "Yes," Finnick said without hesitation. "I remember it too."

"That was the first time I realized I was in love with you." he said. you took his word for it, why would he lie? "We had just met up when I had come home from the games; we were so young." He continued on, as you listened to his story, eager like a child to hear more.

"You told me you were scared that you'd never see me again, and you were happy I was home." You smiled softly, tears filling your eyes, flooding with a warming, loving feeling. "And I said to you," he stopped himself, smiling softly, tears gently falling from his cheeks. he hesitated, but your memory became a brighter beacon now, and you finished his sentence for him.

"I'll always come home to you."

The words caused Finnick to sob. he nodded, taking your hand and gently caressing your bony hands with his fingers.

"I'm so sorry they took you." he said with a bit of guilt.

"It's not your fault," you whispered gently.

"I thought the Capitol had taken you from me. I almost lost hope." He confessed. you stayed quiet for a moment.

"Finn?" you uttered softly; his heart fluttered when you said his nickname. "Yes, love," he exhaled, wiping his tears away.

"Will you hold me?"

and with that, Finnick situated himself on the bed next to you, close enough he could hear your heartbeat. You laid your head on his chest, that warm feeling flooding over you again. You finally felt safety, comfort and content. You realized you had all you needed.