#RINGS ENDLESSLY SCREAMING

[saturnsorbits]

Lessons in Serving your King

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Prince!Bakugo, Suggestive. Word Count: 1.6k.

Summary: Closing in on his 20th name day, tradition dictates that Prince Bakugo choose his first concubines.

A/N: This might become a series, but don't hold your breath.

'I don't want a fucking -.'

Grabbing her son by the cheeks, Mitsuki Bakugo fixes the young prince still with a cold stare. 'You will do as you're told.'

'But -'

'It is tradition, Katsuki. Not even your ego is large enough to put an end to that.' She smirks before releasing her hold and wipes a hand on the left hip of her dress. 'Now, come on... You're late.'

Huffing, Bakugo tugs at his shirt to smooth the wrinkles left by his mother, but follows on her heels obediently. Usually, he'd put up more of a fight, throw a proper tantrum, but the pit of curiosity growing in his stomach stops him making too much fuss. He's fucking human, after all. Of course, he's going to be at least a little interested in the collection of concubines that had been assembled specifically for his perusal.

That didn't mean he had any intention of choosing any of them, though.

The doors of the main hall seem more daunting than usual, but Bakugo hides his trepidation well.

Or so he thinks.

Mitsuki's hand touches softly on his shoulder, guiding him, not through the main hall, but down the corridor. She offers out her elbow, letting him cling to her as they continue to drift closer to a small, more intimate, service room.

The marble clicks under their shoes, the sound amplified endlessly as it rings behind them announcing their arrival. Large windows scatter light, bringing out the red in both Bakugo and his mother's eyes as they pass the selection of special guards already stationed outside the room. All seven of them, five sworn to his mother and two to him, are dressed from head to toe in royal finery with the lightest of chain mail glittering over their chests. Swords hang from their hips, but Bakugo knows there are much more deadly weapons hidden under their clothes and tucked away from prying eyes.

Captain Aizawa, one of Mitsuki's most trusted knights bows low when they reach the door.

Reaching out, Mitsuki presses a hand to his shoulder and pushes him straight again. 'Enough of that, you'll put your back out.'

Aizawa's mouth moves to argue, but Mitsuki doesn't allow his voice to summon a sound.

'Shouta, you have more than earned the right not to bow.' She chides in a way that makes goose-flesh break out on the other guards, but the Captain simply laughs.

'Is the prince ready, My Lady?'

Mitsuki's hand wraps around her son's bicep giving him a firm squeeze. 'Oh, you know him. Dragged here kicking and screaming.'

Bakugo scowls.

'But, I'm sure he'll manage.'

Another guard, tall and broad in the shoulders with a close crop of dark hair and a booming voice clears his throat. 'If I may speak out of turn, Captain?'

'You will not Yoarashi.'

Mitsuki waves him off. 'Oh, let the boy speak Shouta.'

The guard, Yoarashi, smiles. His teeth are too big for his mouth, but somehow there's still something strikingly handsome about him. Bakugo hates it. 'The consorts have outdone themselves this time, I've never seen a more stunning array of -.'

Captain Aizawa silences his guard with a raised hand. 'That's quiet enough, I think the Queen understands your sentiment.'

'Quite.' Mitsuki smiles, locking a chuckle behind her teeth. 'Speaking of the wonderful job my husbands consort has done, I think it's time to see what Inko has found for us, don't you, Katsuki?'

Bakugo nods, it's all he ca manage with the nerves threatening to make his knees wobble like some common whore. His jaw is tight, teeth clenched in his mouth, but it soon looses as he the doors are thrown wide and he's allowed to step into the room.

Inside the room is dark, the thick red curtains covering the windows putting an end to any natural light that should attempt to slink inside. Instead, the room is illuminated by a series of high torches that cast a godly glow about and perfectly highlighting the row of people stood across the centre of the room.

At once, Inko is upon them. She wraps chubby arms around Bakugo without a second thought and greets his mother with a warm kiss to her hand when offered. Following at her heel is Izuku, her darling son. 'Brother.' Izuku smiles.

'Half Brother.' Bakugo spits the former piece of his sentence, enjoying the way it feels between his lips – the distance it offers him from the man before him. They're the same age. Both Mitsuki and Inko had been pregnant at the same time and the boys born mere months apart, although Inko had done the chief portion of the nursing; especially when Mitsuki's milk had dried up. Something that had lead both women to an unlikely friendship.

'I heard you've outdone yourself this time.' Mitsuki pulls at Bakugo, steering him around to the front of the room.

Bakugo's eyes wonder. There's a conversation flowing in the air around him, but he pays no heed. How can he, when the most beautiful man he has ever laid eyes on is looking directly at him.

The man lifts his head. He is bare to the waist with only the smallest piece of cloth to cover his dignity. If Bakugo where to walk around him, which he just might, he'd bet he'd be able to see his ass in all it's glory.

He has red eyes, violent carnelian, that pierce right to Bakugo's soul and red hair that is tied neatly in a bun atop his head. Licking his lips when he catches the princes' eye, the man smiles, flashing a row of blade-like teeth that threaten to bring Bakugo to his knees.

'Did you hear?' Mitsuki pats Bakugo's lapel.

He didn't, but he nods anyway.

His eyes slip further down the line, silently comparing each concubine to the next, but no-one compares to the red-eyed man until his eyes are blessed by you.

You're near the end, stood beside two others that don't even come close to your beauty with your chin tilted to the floor and your hands clasped neatly before you. Like the others, you're dressed in almost nothing, but it's the bright red 'V' painted onto your skin across the top of your breast bone that has him pausing.

He's seen the mark before and a cursory glance back down the line tells him exactly where. The red head, amongst two or three others, also bare the mark.

Bakugo swallows.

Already he can feel his breeches tightening uncomfortably.

'How many?' He snaps, forcing his eyes from the line and onto Inko.

She blinks. 'Pardon?'

'How many... For my... For my harem?'

'Oh. Most choose at least six to begin with, but after that is custom to add another concubine for each year until you reach 29. Sometimes other kingdoms will offer then as gifts, but you're more than welcome to dismiss -.'

Bakugo raises his hand. 'I don't want a history lesson.'

'Oh, I -.' Inko blushes.

'Brat, watch your tongue...' Mitsuki raises her hand to crack him across the back of the head, but the prince side steps her assault easily.

'I want that one...' He points at you, eyes narrowed and hungry before he turns, pointing at the red haired man at the other end of the room. 'And him. That's all.'

Mitsuki's brow furrows. 'Two? Inko here scourers the kingdom for the finest it had to offer and you choose only two?'

Bakugo folds his arms. He can feel your eyes, the red-heads too, burning through his skin. It makes him hot, makes him wonder what it'll be like when your eyes grow heavy, when they're spotted with ears and your mouths are full of his tongue, his fingers, his cock.

Clearing his throat, he tries to readjust his breeches.

He won't have to imagine soon. No, soon, you'll be his.

'Have them brought to my rooms tomorrow.' Turning on his heel he shouts over his shoulder before storming from the room before his cock begins to soak into his breeches.

Tomorrow, he thinks as soon as the doors slam shit behind him.

That should give him enough time to fist himself stupid to the thought of red eyes and glittering skin.

Hopefully, that would stop him making a fool of himself at the first meeting.

Bakugo already looks bored when you're brought into his rooms at noon the following day. The door closes behind you, a guard having performed the customary introductions, and all too quickly you're swallowed by the nerves that climb up your body and twist around your lungs.

Adjusting his seat, Bakugo pulls a foot up onto his chair and spreads his knees. A bark leaves his chest that he hopes is harsher than it feels. 'I don't fuck virgins...'

You hear the wet click of Kirishima's throat from beside you in the silence of the room. Even though the red ink is gone, the fact of your both being intact remains the same. 'Uhm, my lord... I mean – Prince Bakugo, I'm... I think there's been some mistake, we're – we're both -.'

'I know.' He waves his hand. Anticipation creates pins and needles in his thighs. Even if he wanted to fuck right now, he's not sure his body would hold out long enough. Maybe, five orgasms in the space of a day was too much.

'Well, you can see how this might be a problem then...' Twisting his knuckles around each other, Kirishima chews at his lip and forces a weak smile. It's strange how he makes six-foot of man look almost as small as you are, but he does it easily and blushes pretty to boot.

'How -.' He clears his throat. 'How are we supposed to serve you if -.'

'You're going to fuck each other, first.' He arches an eyebrow, drawling as if the solution to his little problem has been more than obvious. A smirk curls his lip. 'I'll watch.'

-> Masterlist

[cumikering]

Neighbour Ghost x reader 5

2.9k | fluff, night terrors, being held at knifepoint Whose fault is it when the stray you feed won’t leave? (part 1) (part 6)

“You got a girlfriend now, Riley? You know you don’t have to keep coming back to base, especially not at this hour,” a lieutenant from another unit teased as Simon passed him in the hall. “Don’t forget our training is coming up.”

He kept his head down as he unlocked his door. It was inevitable for suspicions to arise after doing this for months now, but thinking of the eventual teasing he was getting in the dining hall made him groan.

Earlier that night, he’d left his hoodie at yours. If he couldn’t have yours with him anymore, maybe you’d appreciate having his.

You took the bait, a selfie of you in it already waiting on his phone when he lay in bed. He shouldn’t have left your flat - your bed was infinitely better than the one he was in anyway. Perhaps he could find an excuse to keep one of your shirts with him instead.

Simon came over almost every night and the banter only got worse when his peers started noticing how he was only gone a few hours each evening.

“Don’t you get tired from all the driving?” you asked as you poured him another glass of water at dinner. “It’s not a short drive at all.”

He looked up from his plate. “Do I bother you?” he asked carefully.

“No, no! I meant, why don’t you… Your flat’s right down the hall.”

Of course the drive was beyond tedious, but it was the lesser of two evils than to be caught having one of his bloody nightmares again.

When he had his first back home, fresh after deployment, his mum said his piercing scream woke the whole house up. He swung the bedside lamp around in a daze as he heaved, yelling at nothing. She said it shattered her heart to see her baby so.

“Why not stay there if you don’t want to be here?”

You thought he didn’t want to be with you?! Where did you get such an outrageous theory? He didn’t want to leave your bed if he was allowed to.

“It’s not that.” He put his fork down, weighing how to put it. “I dream sometimes. I’ve been told it can be really difficult to watch.”

They hadn’t been anywhere as vivid the past few months, but he knew the demons hadn’t left. They lurked around the corner, ready to strike at the earliest convenience.

He usually got them in the field or fresh after a mission, but shooting up into the still darkness was no shame among his sergeants as they shared understanding glances, a silent promise to keep it amongst the unit. Each of them carried the same weight after all.

You nodded, giving him one of those kind smiles again.

Why couldn’t he hold his tongue around you? The lame jokes, the embarrassing bet he lost and now this. What were you doing to him?

“And we have training this week. I’d prefer sleeping a little later than having to wake earlier to drive.” He averted his gaze. “I’m in the top third of the regiment. One of us is getting promoted to captain.”

For years, he looked forward to each promotion, excited about being and doing more, but that evening as the words formed in his mouth, they tasted… underwhelming. It dawned on him that it would be another reason he wasn’t enough for you, not someone you deserved. It caught him off guard that the title was not as shiny now up close.

“That’s wonderful. Captain Simon Riley does have a lovely ring to it.” You reached across the table and rested your hand on his. ”When do you get to know?”

Did the joy in your eyes ever lie? Was he allowed to imagine a world where the possibility to be apart longer wasn’t a problem for you, even when she couldn’t handle the mere thought of him being SAS?

His hand clasped over yours. “We’ll be deployed next month for a bit, but after that. So in two, three months.”

“Rest up then. You don’t have to come over. We can call meanwhile.”

Would you let him? That he only took without giving? He was supposed to provide, to be endlessly needed, but never need.

But you did. The rest of the week he was battered from training, but your soothing voice surrounded him as he lay in bed, melting the tension of his aching muscles away. It was far better than when he was deployed, but it wasn’t the same if he couldn’t hold and kiss you. He had to feel you pressed against him, to be constantly reminded that you were real.

By Friday, he was dead tired, but he couldn’t stay away from you anymore.

It’s raining hard. I don’t want you to have to drive so far again after a short visit. We can meet for breakfast tomorrow instead?

Nah

You opened your door to Simon with his hood pulled up, wet with rain splotches. He didn’t wait any longer before pulling you in for a kiss.

“Good thing you left the black one here.” You helped take his wet hoodie off, and the shirt under pulled with it before you smoothed it down. As you hung the black fabric on the back of the chair, you chuckled. ”Do you even have any in another colour?”

He shrugged, smiling, thinking of the secret matching one he got. “Maybe.”

You sipped your Ceylon tea as yet the same panda advertisement interrupted the episode of the Great British Bake Off.

“You’re making that face again, Simon.” You placed your cup back on the table and snuggled back against him.

He turned to you with a sheepish grin, his arm wrapping around you. “Am I that obvious?”

“Shoot. Don’t be shy.”

“Shoot,” he repeated, barely able to contain his own laughter. “What’s the scariest tree?”

“What?”

“Bam-boo!”

You giggled into the crook of his neck while he cackled at his own joke. He could have sworn you were mostly laughing at the way he laughed, but he liked it. He liked making you smile.

When you led him to bed, he noticed the nightstand on his side was cleared. You’d removed the night lamp and the colourful candles you liked to light at night. He let out a small sigh, thinking of you looking up ways to help. You didn’t have to be so thoughtful or he was never going to stop spilling his secrets.

Your fingers brushed along his black and blue arm making him shiver.

“Do you need anything for these?”

“They look far worse than they are.”

“How many people did you beat this week?”

He chuckled. “Enough.”

Simon was not one to avoid stare downs, but when your soft gaze lifted to his face, he couldn’t hold it for long anymore. He didn’t want you looking back at him, not like that with those gorgeous eyes. The façade he loved to intimidate people with had grown to be an insecurity. You were supposed to be with someone as beautiful as yourself.

“Love the shape of your nose.” You pecked the tip of his crooked nose – another proof of the terrible things he’d done.

He rolled you off him, climbing over you. Under his shirt, your hands explored the expanse of his muscled back as he kissed and kissed. He wondered if you could tell how many raised scars there were, the way his body couldn’t bury the memories properly anymore.

You pulled his shirt off and your hand trailed down his chest, littered with more cuts and scrapes. He wished it looked better for you. When he leaned back down, you kissed down his neck and collarbones.

“There’s nothing not beautiful about you, Si,” you breathed against his shoulder. “It’s too easy to love you.”

This huge, blemished, strange dog might have kept coming back to your door, but at this point, maybe it was a bit of your fault too if you kept inviting it in and feeding it. It was too good to be true, like it was all a dream to have come across you, to end up at your dining table, to be here in your arms.

How did you expect to say something like that without making him want to cry, without giving you his soul?

“Simon?” you whispered against his knuckles you were just kissing.

He hummed drowsily against your exposed shoulder, his bare chest against your back.

“What’s blue and not heavy?”

“What?”

“Light blue.”

The last thing he remembered was snorting softly as he smiled before he slipped into slumber.

And so the stray lingered longer and longer after each weeknight dinner and stayed at yours every Friday and Saturday. You didn’t seem to mind. Meanwhile, after weeks of back and forth between his mum and her lawyer, his dad was finally served.

Simon decided the occasion deserved a celebration. He tried the steakhouse again, telling himself he was going to take matters into his own hands if the place screwed up his reservation again. They didn’t, fortunately for them, and he was even given complimentary onion rings ‘for the mix up the other day’. Apparently it was hard to forget the huge man with the intense stare.

You kept surprising him how you even remembered his lame jokes when you retold them to his mum. He always loved seeing you both interact, how gentle you were. Most of all with him, the way you grabbed his rough hand under the table, stroking with your thumb. It was impossible to not love you.

But the best part of each evening was that he got to kiss you at the end of it, unlike before, when the thought of holding your hand almost made heat rise to his cheeks. But first, he needed to get cleaned up before he could climb in bed with you.

“Mum, you need to stop giving me that look,” he grumbled, tossing his keys onto the entryway table.

“What look?” She turned to him feigning innocence, but the amused smile she’d been wearing all night betrayed her.

“That one!”

She laughed, swatting his arm. “Oh, Si. You’ve been happy. It looks good on you.”

He blinked.

“There’s nothing a mum wants more for her son. Take care of her. She’s a sweet one.”

You were, indeed, especially in bed, all cosy in one of his shirts. You smiled before giving him your back – an invitation for him to come up behind you. He nuzzled your neck, arm wrapping around your waist.

“Wait, you’ve got a non-black hoodie!” You turned to him, fingers tracing over the pie patch on his chest. “Just like the one you got me.”

He smiled.

Acknowledging the tingles you gave him was weird, that his mum knew, and that his door wasn’t far enough from yours, especially when she wouldn’t stop shooting him those looks. It didn’t matter he was a grown man - he felt like a teen all over again, getting teased for having a crush.

It doesn’t hurt anymore to think about the past, about being left behind. You made him feel like he wasn’t just another unsalvageable, daft soldier, but someone worth having, caring for.

And so he willed himself to not ruin the time he had with you by getting ahead of himself. There were other great lieutenants too - he might not even get the promotion this year, and this wouldn’t have to change one bit.

With the divorce finally happening, things were falling into place. Breathing didn’t feel as heavy, and having you in his arms was the cherry on top. If being with you was home, he was never sure he even had one before this.

Simon was deployed the following week.

The night prior, he engulfed you in a hug at your door, nose buried in your neck as he inhaled. You made him promise to get home soon and safe as he kissed you. The more time you spent with him, the harder it was to see him leave.

You knew what you were getting into from the start, but you couldn’t lie the distance and risk he put himself in made you uneasy. Knowing how devoted he was to his job, you wanted nothing more than for him to climb further up the ranks, but you knew it also meant an uphill battle of balancing a normal relationship amidst his commitments. Even when there was almost no day without hearing from him, the hours in between were unbearable sometimes.

Your dad was supportive, as far as not blatantly voicing his opinion counted anyway, but knowing him, it was still a more positive reaction than to some of the men you saw. You were his precious one after all.

You thought he could see it too, that Simon was quickly becoming more than just a man you were seeing. But you didn’t miss the looks he gave - like you were making a huge mistake - apprehensive if the lieutenant was even a good man, if he could give you a proper relationship like what you deserved, if he was only going to break your heart. You reassured him he was a gentle soul despite his living, that he overflowed with selflessness.

“You’ll see when you meet him,” you promised.

On the first Saturday of the month, it was your turn again to volunteer at the soup kitchen. It was nice when Simon could help with the lifting and the ride, but this time you had to resort to a taxi like you always did. He insisted you use his car while he was away, but you rejected the kind offer.

Ben helped as much as he could, but you didn’t have the heart to see him strain and groan. He had history of a bad back anyway, which was why he stopped doing the majority of the baking those years ago.

“Don’t have to pay today, luv. Simon covered it before he left.”

“He did?”

“Yes. Go.” His hand wrapped around yours, curling it over the notes you held out to him.

“Thank you, Ben.”

“Thank you.”

Some of your friends asked if the ‘tall bloke’ didn’t come with that evening. You smiled. ‘Maybe next month when he’s in town,’ you said.

The shift ended little later than last time, Simon was far more of help than you realised. The chill wind hit as you walked home, and you slowed to tighten your scarf.

The next thing you knew, you were pulled into a dark alley. Nails dug onto your arm through your jacket as a man shoved you back against the rough and damp brick wall, making you yelp. He flicked out a knife from his back pocket.

Your breath caught in your throat when he leaned in, reeking of alcohol, his stare and smirk deranged. You realised… You realised you’d seen him before - the younger, healthier version of him at least.

“Hiya, little birdie. No Simon this time, huh? You’ll listen then…”

Tears pricked your eyes. “D- don’t hurt me, please. You can have everything. There’s an ATM-“

“No, no… I don’t want your money… Tell Mel to – hic – call off the proceedings.“ His grip loosened as his words slowed. “I haven’t been good to her… If she leaves, I’ll have no more chance to… make things right.” The knife clanked onto the ground as he hiccuped.

With it, you kicked his shin as hard as you could, making him fall with a shriek. You sprinted away, looking over your shoulder to make sure he wasn’t following before rushing into the closest corner shop, your knees pressed to your chest in the furthest corner.

Your hands shook as you tapped your phone, wiping your tears away as the line connected.

“M- Melanie?”

Every once in a while, while looking through the folder he’d made of the photos you sent - his favourite pastime as he waited for sleep after returning your texts, Simon would involuntarily come across that photo. He chuckled.

He stood in your small kitchen wearing the silly apron, a post-pie mess on the counter. He couldn’t hide his concern about the ugly pastry, thinking it wasn’t going to turn out. But it was the very first pie he’d made. Were his tainted hands allowed to create something so wonderful, with you? He wished he’d asked you to be in the picture too.

The way you made him feel, he realised it might be more than an infatuation, more than a fleeting crush. He still couldn’t wrap his head around how you said he was easy to love, but you were not one to lie. Being loveable to you to any degree was enough for him.

I’ll tell you when I’m back. He sighed as he stared at one of your selfies.

His phone dinged. Si, call me when you can

He sat up, dialling straight away. “Mum?”

“Your dad’s back. This time he went after her.”

“What?” His hand formed into a fist. That bloody bastard.

“She’s okay. Shaken, but alright now, sleeping in your bed.” She sighed. “I can’t keep running from my problems, Si. Look how I’m bothering you, even dragged her into all of this.”

“I’ll serve him the bloody papers, mum,” he said through his teeth. “And he’ll regret not signing them the first time around.”

@tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts @eve-lie @astraluminaaa @luvecarson @jaguarthecat @knight4xmas @unwrittenletter @mxtokko @reaperxxxxzz @audisive @sparrowgalaxy @fanficreblogs @lyenera

[dancingtotuyo]

Part I

High Infidelity | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: Tommy gets himself into more trouble than he can get out of.

Tags: Tommy x Reader, Joel x Reader, Tommy's Wife Reader, infidelity, emotional affair, slow burn (as much as you can get for 5 chapters), Tommy goes to jail, Reader has had a child

Warnings: US justice system (it don't work, probably bad understanding of how it operates), mention of drugs & weapons, alcohol consumption, let me know if I missed anything

Notes: when I planned this out, I didn’t realize I’d scheduled the first chapter to drop on Pedro’s birthday! So happy birthday to him!

Shout out to @janaispunkfor beta reading and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for letting me scream about this endlessly and shaping this world. Finally, @saradika-graphics for sustaining our fic writers with an endless supply of dividers!

Words: 4396

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Daily Clicks for Palestine & Other resources

You’re asleep, or at least you should be except the phone is ringing and the bed is cold next to you. That’s a bad sign. It always is. 

A small grunt echoes from your gut as bare feet hit the cool hardwood floor. You can’t find the phone before it stops, buried under clothes you haven’t folded, scribbled crayon drawings, and bleary eyes. It starts back almost immediately.

“Tommy?”

“He called me.” Joel’s voice echoes through the line. “It’s bad this time.”

“How bad?”

“He asked for a lawyer.”

You press your palm to your forehead. “Shit!”

“The sitter is on her way to yours. I’m getting Sarah up now. We’ll be there in 10.”

“Thank you, Joel.”

“Of course. See you soon.”  Joel hangs up. 

You roam through the laundry basket for a clean pair of jeans and an acceptable t-shirt. You run a toothbrush through your mouth to freshen your breath. You do your best to push back all the possibilities running through your brain. 

You crack open the door to Nathaniel’s room. Your two-year-old son sleeps tightly, his mop of black curls spread out on the pillow. You want to run your hand through his curls and kiss his cheek, but he’s the world’s lightest sleeper, just like his daddy. 

The sitter is there 5 minutes later, all too familiar with this routine for your liking. Joel ushers in a bleary-eyed minutes later. He tucks her into the spare room bed. Sarah doesn’t ask questions. She’s asleep before he can kiss her head.

You move like the well-oiled machine that you are. He grabs your purse, ensuring the checkbook is there while you say a few words to the sitter. Joel hands you the small black bag and a light jacket.

Doors open before you and close without you touching them. You and Joel are riding down the highway. The windows are cracked, the breeze playing through your hair as street lights play off the windows, growing bigger and brighter as your eyes fill with tears. You chew on your thumb as the thoughts finally begin to take over.  

You’ve felt Tommy slipping these past few months. You’ve tried to ignore it, excuse it. He’s had a hard time adjusting. This is hardly the first time he’s been in jail. It feels like a weekly occurrence at this point, but he’s never needed a lawyer. He’s never been held longer than overnight. 

“Did he say what they got him for?”

“No… he asked me to come alone.”

“Fucking hell.” You run a hand over your face. Tommy’s antics are aging you prematurely. 

“He’s going to be okay.”

“Says who?” You snap. “We’ve been doing this dance for months, Joel! I know he’s having a hard time adjusting, but maybe we’ve been giving him too much room.”

Joel sighs, letting silence fall over the truck cabin. His blinker clicks as you turn into the familiar station. You wonder if the night shift is actually going to fulfill their punch card offer this time. 

Joel has barely pushed the truck into park before you’re out of the vehicle, flying through the front doors. Joel is hot on your heels, not bothering to lock his beat-up pickup. 

Your ID is already on the desk, you don’t even have to say a name. The officer at the front desk doesn’t need your license. He barely looks at it. It’s all a raging formality. They escort you to a room, not a holding cell as you’re used to.

Tommy sits at a table talking to a tired-looking public defender. His head snaps up, eyes jumping from your face to Joel’s behind you. “I told you to come alone.”

“The fuck you did Thomas James Miller!” You say before Joel can defend himself.

Tommy stands to his feet, the chair skidding back. “You’re not supposed to be here for this!”

“I’m your wife! You call me!”

“Or maybe you should be home with your child!”

“Oh, I should be home with our son? And what about you?”

“I’m not having this fight with you right now.” Tommy throws his hands in the air moving his attention to Joel who leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “You were supposed to come alone!”

“What’re you in for?” You ask, not giving Joel a chance to answer. Not that he was going to. He knows not to let Tommy deflect to him when you are around. 

Tommy sighs falling into the chair like a rag dog. Stress lines engrave themselves deep into his forehead.

“Tommy…” A pit drops in your stomach. “What did they get you with?”

“A gun-“

“Without a permit.” The Lawyer speaks for the first time. There’s a roll to Tommy’s eyes. 

“And?” 

Tommy can’t meet your eyes. He shuffles in his seat. 

“Tommy,” Joel says, voice low and gruff. It’s automatic, parental even.

“A couple grams of coke.”

“Fucking hell, Tommy.” Joel hits his head against the wall. 

“I didn’t- I never took it. I promise.”

You take a shaking breath, trying to calm your worn nerves. “So what are we looking at here?” You ask, eyes trained on the lawyer. 

You see Tommy out of your peripheral vision using his pleading puppy dog eyes on you. You square your shoulders determined not to fall for it. They’re the reason you’re in this boat in the first place. 

“Babe-“

You hold up a hand cutting him off, eyes trained on the lawyer. “What are we looking at?”

“Probably Jail time. DA’s office has been cracking down on these kinds of cases the past few months.”

“Is he getting out tonight?”

The lawyer shakes his head. “We have to wait until tomorrow for arraignment and bail.”

“Then, I’ll see you two tomorrow.” You give them a firm nod, exiting the room in a flash.

The Texas air wraps around you as you exit the stale police station. Joel’s pick-up is cool under your fingers, anchoring you to something.

This can’t be happening. You’ve felt him slipping through your fingertips for months, but you wonder if this is it if this is the moment you lose Tommy for good. 

Firm arms wrap around your waist. It’s a warmth you’ve become way too familiar with over the last couple of years. You turn around, letting your tears soak Joel’s shirt as they have so many times before. You twist his shirt in your fists as he cradles your head against his chest. There’s a slight sway in his movements, soothing your wrenching soul. 

“We’re going to get through this.”

“He had cocaine!”

Joel sighs. “I know.”

“I can’t keep doing this. It’s going to kill me.”

“Let’s get you home. Get some sleep.” Joel squeezes you and then guides you into the passenger side seat. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

“What time is-“

“Lawyer said about 11. Wants us to meet them at the courthouse at 10.”

You nod, clearing the tears. “Okay.”

The drive home is quiet. You’re used to Tommy throwing out every excuse in the book, promising he’s going to change. The silence makes you want to scream. How do you go forward? How do you explain to Nathaniel that Daddy won’t be home for a long time? Jail Time. It bounces off the walls of your brain like a gong over and over. 

You’ve done this before. Raise your son alone. Tommy was overseas when Nathaniel was born. You did the first 3 months on your own- or sort of alone. Joel and Sarah spent many nights at your and Tommy’s home those first few months helping you through the learning curve of being a new parent. If you’re completely honest, you’re still doing it alone, but now with a shell of a man to look after as well. 

Joel hands the sitter cash and she’s gone without a word. Your purse and jacket are forgotten on the chair as you collapse onto the couch, holding your head in your hands. The weight of the night threatens to finally break you. 

“Here.” The cool weight of a bottle presses against your jeans.

“Thank you.” You take it, tipping the bottle back in unison with Joel in a quiet ritual. 

“I think I’m just gonna crash on the couch tonight.”

You nod, a humorless huff leaving your chest. “Just like the good ole days, I guess.” 

Joel looks over your profile, catches the wear in your frame, the silent tears slipping from your eyes. The rattle in your chest changes from sarcastic to sorrow and then a sob slips from your lips. 

Joel sets his beer on the coffee table, arm slipping around your shoulders. He pulls your loose body into his side. For the second time that night, your face burrows into his chest. 

“Shhh, I’ve got you, Darlin’. We’ll get through this.” His voice is soft and soothing. His fingers brush softly over your head down to the back of your neck. You fall asleep like that, lulled by the steady beat of his heart. 

You wake up to the morning sun, your body stiff from sleeping on the couch against Joel. He’s up, the smell of coffee wafting toward you. You hear him talking to Sarah and Nathaniel in the kitchen. 

You stand, stretching out your sore muscles in wrinkled clothing following the promise of caffeine. Sarah and Nathaniel sit at the kitchen table with syrupy smiles. 

“Mommy!” Nathaniel yells. 

You force a sleepy smile, kissing his sticky cheek. “Morning, sweet cheeks.” You dip your finger in the syrup on his plate, licking it off your fingertip making him and Sarah laugh. “Morning, Sarah Bear.”

“Morning, Auntie,” She says. “Your clothes are wrinkled.”

Joel’s hand lands on your back and a cup of coffee lands in your hands, sending warmth through your body. The hum in your body is automatic. “Thank you.”

Joel only nods, returning his attention to the pancakes sizzling on the stovetop. You sip on the hot coffee. Joel prepared it exactly how you like it, just like he always does.

 “You hate pancakes.” 

“Yeah, but the gremlins love them.”

“That they do.” You grin, sipping on the coffee again. “Ugh, it’s infuriating the way you come into my home and make better coffee than I do.”

Joel chuckles, flipping two fluffy pancakes onto a plate. He tops them with cut-up strawberries and whipped cream handing them to you with the biggest shit-eating grin. “And pancakes.”

For a minute you forget it all, the impending arraignment, your husband in jail for unregistered weapons and drug possession, the two children sitting mere feet away. It’s just you and Joel and a stack of whipped cream-covered pancakes. Joel who held your hand through labor and helped you with midnight feedings. The man who got you through Tommy’s deployment. The one who always calls the sitter and drives you to the police station when Tommy gets himself in trouble. You and your rock. 

The shattering of glass echoes through the kitchen. “Uh-oh!”

You spin around, taking in the broken glass on the floor. Orange juice leaks over the table, dripping over the edge. You and Joel spring into action, pancakes forgotten. “Both of you stay in your seats,” You say.

Joel grabs the broom before you, sweeping up the shards, his feet already protected in his boots. You turn off the stove, keeping an eye on both children to ensure you don’t add bloodied feet to your morning agenda. 

“Sorry, Daddy,” Sarah says, keeping her feet crisscrossed beneath her. She looked up at you. “Sorry about your glass, Aunt Bonnie.”

You smile at her, handing Joel a towel to soak up the spilled juice. “It’s okay, Sarah bear. I just want you to be okay.”

She nods back, curls bouncing around her face. “I’m okay.”

You sigh, staring at the pancakes on the counter. The whipped cream has melted into a lopsided mound, half of it turned back into cream that soaks through the pancakes. You take a bite, the flavors settling nicely over your tongue even if the texture of the pancakes is slightly off. For a man who claims not to like them, Joel Miller sure knows how to make a mean pancake. 

Your mind plays back to the nickname. Not many people call you Bonnie anymore. Just a few years ago, it had been a constant. Stemming from Tommy’s group of army buddies, they declared you Bonnie for always stealing Tommy away from their group cookouts and whatnot, and Tommy was Clyde due to his propensity for getting into trouble. For whatever reason, probably just to annoy you, Tommy had introduced you to Sarah as “His Bonnie.” So that’s what she calls you. 

Joel empties the remaining shards into the trash can. Several high-pitched clinks sound off until the shards settle. Your fork stirs the whipped cream and syrup together. 

“Pancakes are usually best eaten, not played with.” Joel teases, picking his coffee up to take a sip. His fingers graze your arm as he sets it back down, returning the broom back to its rightful place.

”You don’t even like pancakes.” You furrowed your brow, taking another bite. Whipped cream marks your upper lip. You take another bite. “God, one day you have to tell me your secret.”

Joel chuckles. He leans across the counter, elbows resting against the granite much like yours. He sips on his coffee, eyes watching as you stuff another bite into your mouth. “I’ve got many secrets, Darlin.”

You laugh, mouth full of fruit and cream. “You’re an open fucking book, Miller.”

”I think I could surprise you several times over.” He chuckles. Something sparks behind his eyes like he’s actually keeping something from you. You’ll figure it out. You always do. 

“These are delicious, Joel, but if I take another bite, I’m gonna be sick.”

Joel frowns. “You feeling okay? You don’t have a fever do you?” He presses his fingers to your forehead before you can roll your eyes. 

“Anxiety.”

Joel nods. “You’ve got a little-“ He motions to his mouth.

You cock your head to the side brain not picking up on the obvious signals. He sighs in mock exasperation. Reaching forward, he wipes the whipped cream from your lip with his thumb, pressing the excess to his mouth. The moment catches you off guard, something stirring in the back of your mind as you zero in on the thumb pressed to his lips. 

“You should go get ready.” He says as if nothing happened, taking your plate. “We need to leave in an hour.”

You nod, pushing back from the counter. The weight of the day at hand keeps that moment from playing over and over again on a loop.

”Daddy,” Sarah says. “Isn’t it time for school?”

”You’re going to stay here with Nathaniel and Miss Lacy today. Your aunt and I have some things we have to do.”

”Oh,” Sarah nodded. “Uncle Tommy things?”

You stop, sharing a look with Joel. You’ve tried your best to keep Tommy’s troubles from the kids, but it’s inevitable. Sarah is almost 6 after all. She’s always been incredibly perceptive and observant. 

“Daddy?” Nathaniel asks, looking around. Your heart breaks a little bit. 

Your mind wanders. When will he get to see Tommy again? 

Joel takes the lead when you arrive at the courthouse for which you’re grateful. You’re both dressed in nice clothing. High heels clack beneath you. A tie reaches around Joel’s neck. You hold Tommy’s suit in a garment bag as a guard leads you to an office-like room. Tommy sits at a table with his layer from last night and another man you don’t recognize. They seem to be deep in a serious conversation. 

All three men turn as you enter, making you feel like you’re in the wrong place. You can’t tell if Tommy is relieved to see you or not. A pit forms in your stomach, like you’re not going to like the outcome of this meeting. 

“What’s going on?” You ask. 

The door clicks shut behind you as Joel’s scent creeps around you.

”We’re talking.” Tommy says. 

“About?” You press. 

Tommy sighs, unable to meet your eyes. “A plea deal.” 

You bite your lip, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. This is easier. It’s probably better in the long run, but you’re not ready to face the music. You prepared for court, not a plea deal. Not for Tommy to admit guilt with a stroke of a pen, not a judge in sight. 

“What’s in it?”

”Baby…” Tommy pleads like he wants to make amends right now. 

“What are you signing us up for, Tommy?”

“Two years and a half years. Probation after that.”

You inhale sharply. 

“It’s a good deal,” The man you’ve never seen says. “He’s looking at at least twice that if this goes to court, and he will be convicted if this goes to court.”

You look to Tommy’s lawyer for confirmation. He doesn’t make it obvious but gives you a solid nod. 

“You were about to sign it.” You look at your husband. It’s not a question. 

“Yeah.”

”I’d have appreciated it if you had talked to me first,” you say. 

“You’d have told me to sign it.”

You nod, barely keeping the tears at bay. “Yeah.”

The DA holds a pen out to Tommy. Tommy looks back at you for final permission. You give it, watching that expensive ass pen glides across the paper with Tommy’s chicken scratch of a signature. Your heart breaks with each stroke, crumbling a little more as he dots the I and crosses the T.  

Joel places a hand on your shoulder. The heat spreads, anchoring you to the moment, keeping you afloat as you stare down the barrel of being a single mother yet again. 

Tommy slides the paper back to the DA. He looks them over, tapping them against the table with a satisfied nod as if a family hadn’t been torn apart. 

“You have about 30 minutes before they come to get him.”

”That’s it?” You ask. “We can’t even take him ourselves?”

The DA shrugs like he’s being generous, igniting a deep hatred of him inside you. You don’t even know his name. He holds up the papers before sliding them into his briefcase. “Terms of the plea deal.”

You clutch your fists as he walks out of the room. Tommy’s lawyer slips out with him, and then Joel, leaving just you and Tommy. 

He stands and you finally realize it’s all happening again. You’ll be alone, worrying about your husband though this time for different reasons. 

“Baby, I-” He steps towards you. You don’t move offering zero indication that you register Tommy’s movements. 

He reaches for your hands, but you pull them back. “You weren’t supposed to take the Bonnie and Clyde thing seriously.” 

You fight back tears, turning so he can’t see them. “Pretty sure they both died.”

A humorless laugh leaves your body as you collapse onto a couch, holding your head in your hands. 

Tommy kneels in front of you, slowly peeling your hands from your face, taking them into his. Despite it all, you feel yourself melting into his familiar touch. It only confirms what you are beginning to fear. It doesn’t matter what Tommy does, you’ll always be here waiting for him. He is the love of your life and you would burn the world down to look into his sweet brown eyes and feel his skin against yours. 

You look at him through blurry eyes, sniffing back the congestion gathering in your sinuses. He gives you that crooked smile you love so much, and you feel better despite the weight bearing on your shoulders. The past three years have aged him ten. You suppose time has done the same to you.

Slowly, he presses his lips to your hands. “I know I fucked up. If-” He pauses, swallowing. His thumb plays with the thin gold band on your left hand. “If you’re not waiting for me when I get out I understand.”

You squeeze his hand. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Tommy snorts. “Easily? Just last week you were yelling at me for putting you through hell.”

“Yeah, well…” You run your fingers through his black curls as you sniff back your tears. “You kinda hold my heart in your hands, Tommy Miller. I don’t think I could get it back if I tried.”

He smiles at you. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his. His hands creep up your thighs as he rises to his feet. Your back collides with the plush back of the couch as your fingers tangle in his long hair. Tommy presses his tongue into your mouth, a smile growing across your face. This is the first taste of your Tommy you’ve had in months, the one you fell in love with. 

The door opens, and before Tommy can pull away, Joel’s gruff voice echoes through the room. “Prospect of going to jail really puts you two in the mood, huh?” 

Heat surges to your cheeks. You’re not sure why. You and Tommy had been caught in much more compromising positions throughout your relationship.

“Gotta get what I can while I’m still a free man.” Tommy grins at his big brother, pressing another exaggerated kiss to your lips. Joel’s eyes move to the corner of the room. Your smile feels a little more forced after that. 

Your thirty minutes fly at lightning speed. They take Tommy before you’re ready. Any energy you gain from Tommy’s affection is drained the moment he’s led out of sight. You barely catch the look he gives Joel.

”Take care of them.”

Joel nods, gripping his brother’s shoulder. There’s a silent exchange between them. “Take care of yourself.”

 A clerk goes over everything with you and Joel. You’re given a strict list of items you can drop off for Tommy at the prison. You don’t process a word, the weight of it all falling on top of you. You came to the courthouse today expecting an arraignment and bail, not to be kissing your husband goodbye for the next year and change. It feels unfair like something was taken from you. 

Joel is the one who keeps it together. He always keeps it together. He asks the questions and makes note of the important things. He secures the horde of important documents held limply in your hands. 

When the clerk says your name for a second time, or maybe a third, you’re not sure, it snaps you out of the fog. Joel’s eyes are sympathetic as he holds out a pen. His single nod tells you he has all the information in his head. You can sign. You don’t have to think. You sign as flashes of Tommy doing the same filter through your vision. 

The pen drops to the table as you push back headed straight for the nearest exit. You feel like you’re in a dream. Joel catches up, tucking everything you forgot under his arm. He grabs your elbow, steering your aimless body in the right direction. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay. He knows the answer. 

You feel like a toddler, wandering and lost, relying on Joel’s firm grip to get anywhere. He opens doors and boots you into his pickup, patting the door once it’s closed. The car is warm from the sun. You fumble with the seat belt, but Joel’s calloused hands are there, guiding your weary bones. 

The ride is silent. You basket in the warm sun, head pressed to the window with your eyes closed. The world feels so far away, but you’re extremely tuned into the heat of the sun, the rumble of the truck on the shitty roads, the blinking indicator light, and Joel’s listless tapping on the steering wheel when the vehicle draws to a stop from time to time, toeing the line between consciousness.

This is just a dream, right? You’ll wake up soon and Tommy will be behind you, drawing random patterns around your stomach hip, or thigh. The past year of your life and the past 12 hours have just been the world’s longest nightmare. That’s all. 

The truck lurches to a stop. The engine turns off with a distinct click. Your eyes blink open slowly. Your stretch out, toes curling in your dress shoes. Joel’s tie lays haphazardly on the dash. His cuffs are unbuttoned, pushed to his elbows, and the top couple of buttons of his dress shirt are undone. He still looks out of place in his dress attire, but a little more like himself. He hadn’t dressed this nicely for your and Tommy’s courthouse wedding. 

Your eyes drift out the windshield. A neon light reflects off your irises. This isn’t home. You look at Joel. “Why are we here?”

His seat belt comes undone with a click, snapping back. “We’re going to go in there and get drunk off our asses.”

”It’s the middle of the day.”

Joel raises an eyebrow at you. 

”Can we just go home?”

”No.”

”Why the fuck not?”

“Because we have a sitter all day, and you deserve a night before the weight of the world falls back on your shoulders.”

”Joel.” You want to go home and crawl in bed.

”This is three times longer than his deployment.” The statement hits you square in the chest. “You need this. Give yourself today. If you don’t do it now, you never will.”

You sigh, staring down the flickering neon in front of you. He’s right. You know he is. You might be exhausted, but it’s tempting. When was the last time you let go? Maybe that one good month you had after Tommy got back? When it was all making up for lost time and shit. 

“We’ve got a sitter for the whole day,” Joel says. “My treat.”

You inhale deeply, allowing the memories of drunken nights past to fill your brain. You can feel the thrum of alcohol already. You haven’t cut loose in a long time unless you count the nights spent at home alone drowning away the world after you’d tucked your son in for the night. 

Your fingers press the red release button of your seat belt. The metal buckle hits the window. “Fuck it. Let’s go.”

Joel smiles, dragging you inside.  

Taglist: @pamasaur @alltheotps @rizzraa @moel-jiller @misstokyo7love @justagalwhowrites @pedritosgfreal

[sugarcoatedstarkey]

Tear stained pillow case

Pairings- Drew Starkey x Fem!reader

Summary- reader is in a long distance relationship with Drew and the constant shipping of him with his cast mate (Odessa) and hate get to her.

Warnings- Angst, yelling, swearing, a smidge of domestic abuse, cheating.

A/n: to the anon who requested a sad Drew fic, I’m sorry this isn’t the best. I hope I kind of got what you were looking for but I need to work on my angst! Please send me a message when you read this xxx

“YOU, you can’t keep going on like this?!” You shouted; anger bled through your veins. You felt sick, the bile rising in your throat. “You’ve got to be fucking joking me!”.

The nerve of your boyfriend, he spends months away from home. Spends every waking minute with his co-star Odessa, he kisses his co-star off screen and he’s the one who can’t keep going on?!

“Yes Y/N” Drew begins to argue, you cut him off by throwing his pillow at him. He doesn't even flinch, his face screwed up in anger. “No Drew, I’m not fucking done” you yell, you look crazy.

You look like the crazy jealous girlfriend his fans had painted you out to be, and you had every right to be.

“You don’t get to put this shit on me Drew, YOU KISSED HER!”.

-Previously-

You couldn’t take it anymore; his face was all over your FYP. You were stupid enough to create a TikTok account, scrolling endlessly and searching the tags for your boyfriend Drew.

You knew what you would see, thirst traps and edits of him and his cast mate Odessa. Edits of the sex scenes they had to film, everyone shipping them together. You were trying to make yourself hurt, you sat there reading the comments. Reading the hateful things they said about you, the words cutting you like tiny knives.

Ugly

Not good enough for Drew

She’s not even famous

Fat

You were ugly crying at this point, unsure why you put yourself through the pain day in day out. Drew had told you a handful of times not to go searching for these things, to pretend like the fans didn’t exist.

But how could he expect you to pretend? He was famous and there was no hiding it. He had been away for 3 months now; you had a routine of face timing every night around 6pm, but tonight was different. He had an event. An event with Odessa.

“GOD Y/N! What are you doing?!” You shouted, staring up at the ceiling. You roughly rubbed your face, your mascara smearing under your eyes. The tears didn’t stop falling down your cheeks. “STOP!” You ordered yourself, but it only made it worse.

Hyperventilating at this stage, gripping the blankets under you. Pressing your face into the white pillowcase, you were pathetic. A pathetic mess. You were so glad Drew was 12 hours away, there was no chance he’d walk through the doors and see you right now.

You hated that you were being so jealous, you knew he loved you. He adored you. Whenever someone tries to hint at him and Odessa in interviews, he always mentions you, you’re all over his Instagram.

You had never met Odessa; you never had the opportunity to. You did think that meeting her might make you feel less jealous, seeing how they act together in person and not from stupid TikTok clips that were edited purely to make people think they were together.

Your phone ringing cuts your crying short, you sit up quickly and reached for your phone. Seeing his face flash on the screen had you nervous, your skin clammy and heart racing.

You wiped away as much mascara as possible and dimmed the bedside lamp, pressing answer on the screen. His smile appearing on your screen moments later, he was in dark room with a small yellow overhead light.

“Hi baby” he grinned; you could see the glimmer in his eyes. You wanted to burst out crying again but instead you dig your fingernails in your thigh and gave him a fake smile. “Hey baby” you whispered, worried your voice would be husky from all the screaming and crying.

“Why is it so dark?” He questioned, his eyes darting around the screen as though he was trying to look over your shoulder. You shrugged and moved to lay on your stomach. “Going to bed early” your voice cracked, and you quickly hid it behind a cough, you could see a shift in his face.

“What’s wrong babe?” He questions, his eyebrows crease together. He looks over his phone for a second and mouths ‘hold on’ and his eyes dart back to you on the screen. “Nothing, I’m okay. You need to go babe, we can talk later” you smile, brushing him off, you wanted to go back to your sob fess.

“Your lying” he states, his features have hardened. You know he doesn’t like it when you keep things from him, he likes you to be open about your feelings. But right now, you didn’t have the energy to discuss why you were spending your Saturday night crying in bed at 6pm.

“Babe, we can talk about it when your home” “No, tell me now”

“Drew!” His eyes dart over his phone again and he lets out an exasperated sigh, he runs his hand over his face and squeezes the bridge of him nose.

It’s as though you can see the tension building in his shoulder blades, you so badly wanted to be there to offer him comfort. You wanted to be the one to rub his shoulders and whisper ‘you got this’

“Okay, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tomorrow”.

He ends the call without an I love you, that just sets you off again and you spend the next 2 hours crying your eyes out until you pass out against his pillow.

—-

When you awaken the next morning, you’ve rolled over onto Drew’s side of the bed. Squeezing his pillow tightly against your body. Breathing in his scent that barely lingered anymore.

“Such a loser” you mumble to yourself; you reach for your phone that’s hidden under the blankets.

No notifications

You let out a defeated sigh and make yourself get ready for the day; you had planned to clean the apartment. Drew would be home in a few days, and you wanted him to come home to some normality.

And that’s exactly how you spent your Sunday, cleaning and staying off your phone. It was much harder to do the latter, you were itching to call Drew.

You usually sent texts back and forth every day, sent a couple of pics and just tried not to go crazy without one another. You had hoped listening to music and keeping you busy would stop the incessant thoughts that were flying around your head.

But you found yourself battling with your thoughts more than listening to the music. By the time nightfall came you had scrubbed every corner of the apartment. You had lit a candle in the living room and taken a seat when your phone lit up, the music travelling through the empty room.

You answer, plastering a smile on your face. He gives you a soft smile, he’s dressed in a green button up. The button up you had brought him for his birthday, you loved that colour oh him.

“Hey babe” you both say at the same time, letting out a chuckle at the two of you being awkward around each other. “How are you?” You ask, eyes flickering around the screen.

You can’t see much from where he is sat, you can hear voices and assume he’s just got back from the poguelandia event. You don’t even realise he hasn’t answered, too focused on who’s voice you can hear so close to the phone.

That’s when you look back at him, he’s not even looking at the phone. He’s looking over it again, mourning something and rolling his eyes.

“Why are you acting strange?”

“I’m not?”

“Okay.. why do you keep looking over the phone?”

“Oh, just watching something”

I’m that moment you knew something was going on, Drew always gave you his undivided attention even when he was mad. You didn’t like this, it made you feel sick again.

You were so sick of feeling unwell and anxious. “I’m going to bed”

Drew nods his head and finally looks at you, you press the end call button. You didn’t want to look at his face, you didn’t want to hear his voice. You wouldn’t be able to handle not hearing I love you back. It was easier this way.

You don’t know why you do it, but you don’t go to bed. Instead, you go searching on tiktok again. And that’s where you see it, the videos from poguelandia.

How close he and Odessa are, the way she dances with him. The whispering, the walking close together. You knew it, you just needed confirmation. He liked her, he didn’t want to be with you anymore and that’s why he’s distancing himself.

The tears don’t come though, your body seems to go into denial. Your stomach still unsettled, and your mouth feels dry but you place your phone on the counter and stare at the wall.

- 2 days dater -

“Hey, babe” you’re aroused from sleep, somebody shaking your arms. You jump, gripping the blankets around your chest. “Oh, it’s you”.

“Don’t seem so happy to see me?”

You don’t answer him, instead you stare at him. He takes a seat at the edge of the bed; he smells like the cologne you had brought him for his birthday.

He showered and is dressed in jeans and an oversized white shirt, hair a little messy since he’s growing it out for a project. “I missed you” Drew smiles, it’s a fake smile. You can tell them apart now.

He moves to give you a kiss, but you press your palm to his shoulder, giving your head a small shake.

You’re not dressed for an argument, so you pull yourself to stand and grab an oversized shirt. Not really sure if it’s one of yours or Drew’s but it really didn’t matter at the time.

“What’s wrong babe?” He questions, pulling himself to stand. He towers over you, making you feel small. The tough exterior you had been working on, crumbling slowly.

“Stop calling me babe... just, tell me the truth Drew”.

You don’t even need to clarify what you’re talking about; he runs a palm down his face. He begins to pace the bedroom floor; you had hoped he would deny it.

“I knew it”.

“It was a kiss” Drew states, your heart breaks. You feel as though you can physically hear the cracking of your heart, the bile rises in your throat and the tears pierce your tear ducts begging to be released.

“W-what?” You whisper, your voice wobbles. Your hands shaking as you move to hold yourself against the desk chair. You needed stability or you’d fall to your knees.

“I kissed Odessa, the night of poguelandia”

Your nails carve deep crescent moons into the wooden chair, your chest rising and falling heavier as you try to calm yourself down.

You can’t let yourself fall apart in front of him, he didn’t deserve to see you crumble.

“What the fuck Drew?” You yell, but your voice cracks and you slam your palm over your mouth to stop the hysterics from starting.

Turning your body so you’re not looking at him as the tears cascade down the apples of your cheeks, biting harshly on the skin of your lip. The familiar metallic taste fill your senses.

“It meant nothing”

“FUCK OFF with it meant nothing, why did you do it then?!”

This just seems to set him off, igniting something inside of him that he’s been holding onto for a long time. He’s stepping towards you and you’re taking steps back.

You’re back meeting the wall as he towers over you once more, making you feel smaller than you were. “Because Y/N, you’ve been acting weird. You’ve been distant and quiet; you’ve been making me feel bad for having a career”.

His voice is low and threatening, his hand hits at the wall behind you. You push on his chest, making him stumble back slightly.

“No Drew, I would NEVER make you feel bad for your career choice. However, I would distance myself so that I wasn’t sitting at home crying over you every night, missing you. Wishing I was with you, do you know how hard it is for me?!” You cry, you poke at his chest with your pointer finger. His larger hand grabbing yours to stop you from doing it.

You fight against him until he drops your hand, and you step away from him, your cheeks burnt red with frustration.

“How hard you’ve got it? What about me Y/N? Why is it always about you? I’m the one having to leave, do you know how hard that is on me?”

You shake your head, of course he was turning this all back around to the two of your issues. Acting as though kissing Odessa was okay, that it was just something he needed to do to forget about the issue at home.

“Don’t, don’t bring up all this. You kissed another woman; this is on you. Yea we have problems, every couple does. Yeah, we all have it hard, doesn’t make it okay for you to kiss your co-star” you shout.

You grab your phone; you don’t know why you want to add fuel to the fire. You’re on tiktok before you can rationalise with your brain, the second you’re on the app. The videos are there waiting.

“You see the shit that I have to deal with, go on, watch it”.

You throw the phone across the bed, his eyes falling to the screen of the iPhone. The video loops over the two of them dancing and whispering at the event, you can see him swallow harshly.

“This is a fan editing videos- “Drew begins to argue, and you let out a grunt of frustration, running your hands through your messy bed head.

“I can’t keep going on like this”

“YOU, you can’t keep going on like this?!” You shouted; anger bled through your veins. You felt sick, the bile rising in your throat. “You’ve got to be fucking joking me!”.

The nerve of your boyfriend, he spends months away from home. Spends every waking minute with his co-star Odessa, he kisses his co-star off screen and he’s the one who can’t keep going on?!

“Yes Y/N” Drew begins to argue, you cut him off by throwing his pillow at him. He doesn't even flinch, his face screwed up in anger. “No Drew, I’m not fucking done” you yell, you look crazy.

You knew you looked like the crazy jealous girlfriend his fans had painted you out to be, and you had every right to be. Your boyfriend of three years had kissed someone who wasn’t you and it wasn’t for a movie.

“You don’t get to put this shit on me Drew, YOU KISSED HER!” You cry, you can’t stop the tears now. You’re hyperventilating again, pressing the palms of your hands into your eyes.

He’s stepping around the bed and pulling you against his chest, you want to fight against him. You want to tell him to get out of the apartment.

But you also want to beg him to stay, beg him to stop seeing Odessa. Beg him to start fresh with you, move on and be happy.

“This is the end, isn’t it?” He questions, you pull away from him slightly. Mascara pooling in your lower lashes, you probably should have washed that off before you went to bed.

“It has to be” you breath, tears begin to fall from his own eyes. This only makes you hysterical, sobbing into his chest as he holds you tighter. You don’t even want him to let go.

“I’ll always love you Y/N, I’ll always think about you when I walk past a bookstore or see those fancy chocolate donuts in the bakery down town” he whispers, his lips are pressed against your hair. His grip is tight around your body, he doesn’t want to let go either.

“I was lucky enough to love you, I’ll always remember that” You whisper, tears fall harder as you look at one another.

“Oh.. if we are doing the right thing, why does it hurt so much?”

“I don’t know”

His thumb wipes away the tears on your cheek, pressing his forehead to yours. You let him kiss you one last time. His lips are soft, and they feel like they always do, they were made for you.

“I should go... I’m so sorry Y/N, truly so sorry”.

You watch him leave, you wait for the front door to close and that’s when you let yourself fall. Knees meeting the hardwood floor, the draft from under the bedroom door kiss your toes. You let out a gut-wrenching sob, praying he would come back and fight.

Taglist- @novxturient @kookypogue111

Part 2

[rk1stars]

WE CAN’T BE FRIENDS ( PART TWO )

-> part one

IN WHICH..

As you erase your memories of Sunghoon out of anger, a sense of regret slowly creeps in during the procedure. Despite your initial determination, doubts begin to surface about whether this is the right decision. As you make your way to his apartment, uncertainty gnaws at you. How will Sunghoon react when he sees you? Will he be surprised, angry, or confused? The thought of facing him fills you with anxiety, but deep down, you know you have to see him—one last time.

PAIRING & CATEGORIES

ex husband! Sunghoon x gn reader, second chance, divorced to lovers, angst?, fluff

CAUTION

force, kissing, skinship, crying, NOT proofread

STAR’S DIARY

I wrote this at midnight

TAGLIST

@cholexc @yyawnjun @rosas-in-the-garden @allforhee @ilovejungwonandhaechan @ifuckedheeseung @jooniesbears-blog @niki-the-genius @lilyuwon @ihrtnrk @kgneptun

HEADPHONES PLAYING..

we can’t be friends by ariana grande, ordinary things by ariana grande

“N-NO!” you sobbing and screaming while your tears stream down your eyes continually.

You were aware that you would eventually feel remorse for your actions. Your tendency to prioritize your trivial emotions over logic was a recurring pattern. The memories held great significance for you, each one cherished and irreplaceable. The thought of losing them all was unbearable, weighing heavily on your conscience

You couldn’t do it. It was a bad idea but even though you didn’t get your happy ending, you at least had a sweet story. Sunghoon made you the happiest you’ve ever been.

So you did it, you swiftly made your escape from the operation room and raced towards the familiar surroundings of you and Sunghoon's former apartment. The adrenaline fueled sprint through the city streets was exhilarating as you navigated through the bustling crowds, determined to reach your destination.

Memories flooded back as you approached the building, each step bringing you closer to the safety of your shared home. The sense of urgency pushed you forward, the need to escape and find solace in the comfort of familiar surroundings overwhelming. Finally, you reached the door, taking a deep breath before ringing the doorbell.

As you stood there waiting, time seemed to drag on endlessly. The feeling of impatience grew within you, making you question whether it was worth it to keep waiting.

Doubt crept into your mind, whispering that perhaps it was time to give up and walk away. But just as you were about to surrender to the frustration, a glimmer of hope appeared. The door finally creaked open, flooding your body with nervousness.

As you gazed upon the familiar figure of Sunghoon, memories from years past flooded your mind, causing tears to well up in your eyes. Sunghoon's own eyes widened in recognition, his lips parting in surprise as he took in the sight of you. The passage of time seemed to melt away as you both stood there, sharing a moment of silent understanding. It was a bittersweet reunion, filled with a mix of joy and sorrow at how much had changed.

As the silence lingers, a wave of embarrassment washes over you. His blank expression and lack of recognition leave you feeling small and insignificant. It's as though you never even crossed his mind, as if your presence in his life was completely forgettable. The weight of this realization settles heavily on your shoulders, causing a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“I- i’m sorry! You don’t even know me..” but as you were about to run away, you felt a warm hand gripping your wrist.

As you stood there, lost in your thoughts, a sudden warmth enveloped you. It was an embrace so comforting, so reassuring, that all your worries seemed to melt away. Sunghoon's arms wrapped around you, holding you close as if promising to never let go.

His touch was like a gentle caress, soothing and tender, filling you with a sense of security and love. In that moment, everything else faded away, and you were left with the simple, pure joy of being held in his arms. It was a moment of pure bliss, a moment you wished would never end.

“Sunghoon..?”

“How do you even remember me..”

Finally, Sunghoon turned his gaze towards you, tears shimmering in his eyes. A faint blush rose to his cheeks as he nervously scratched his neck, a clear sign of his embarrassment. It was evident that he was struggling to find the right words to speak, his emotions overwhelming him. Despite his attempt to compose himself, his vulnerability was palpable.

The weight of his unspoken words hung heavy in the air, the silence between you both speaking volumes. And in that moment, you couldn't help but feel a surge of empathy towards him, as you awaited his hesitant words with bated breath.

“I coudn’t do it..”

“I-i tried to but I just..”

Before he could continue speaking, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his. The unexpected kiss caught him off guard, causing his words to fade away into a jumble of thoughts. His heart raced as he felt the warmth of your lips against his, a rush of emotions flooding through him. Time seemed to stand still in that moment as you shared a passionate connection.

The intensity of the kiss left him speechless, his mind reeling with confusion and desire. And in that instant, everything else faded away as he focused solely on the feeling of your lips on his.

As all the memories flooded through both of your minds, drawing you closer together, Sunghoon gently lifted you up. The rush of nostalgia washed over you, intertwining your hearts and souls in a moment of pure connection.

With each passing memory, the bond between you grew stronger, solidifying the unbreakable link you shared. Sunghoon's touch was tender yet firm, conveying a sense of protection and love. In that moment, you felt truly seen and understood, as if every memory was a thread weaving you both closer together. And in Sunghoon's arms, you knew you were home.

As the kiss broke, Sunghoon's breath hitched in his chest, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and worry as he gazed at you. The intensity of the moment lingered in the air, a silent exchange of emotions passing between you both. His gaze was filled with longing, his lips slightly parted as if yearning for more. But beneath the desire, there was also a hint of concern, a worry that perhaps he had crossed a line or that things were moving too fast.

“C-can we try again..?”

“Yes, dork.”

With a grin of relief, Sunghoon leaned in and kissed you once more before scooping you up in his arms and carrying you into his apartment. The warmth of his touch and the joy in his eyes filled you with a sense of contentment.

As he gently set you down, you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the rush of emotions that flooded through you. The closeness between you two was undeniable, and in that moment, you knew that you were exactly where you were meant to be. Sunghoon's kiss was a promise of love and happiness that you eagerly embraced.

At last, you guess you can say that you two finally got your happy endings..

[daechwitatamic]

Of Ruin: Chapter 1 || KTH

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Of Ruin (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni Genre: vampire!au magic!au royalty!au, s2l, slow burn, eventual smut, angst and fluff

Summary: Taehyung of House Rune, Prince of Infracticus has been cursed. You’re the human world’s leading curse-breaker. It should be simple. But unraveling the curse becomes the least of your problems in the face of a world on the brink of civil war… and the love you start to feel for the prince.

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @/sailoryooons for betaing!!! 💕

//

Section Warnings: vampire hunting and killing, blood and gore in vampire attacks, language

WC: 5.7k

Maggie’s mother always told her nothing good happens after midnight. Maggie disagreed. Lots of good things happened after midnight. Usually in bars with loud music, her friends’ laughter ringing in her ears and a little too much alcohol singing in her bloodstream. 

That was the case tonight - and the night had been wonderful. She and Farrah had still been going strong at midnight, throwing back shots in tandem. The DJ had been stellar and they’d danced until their feet hurt. And, the piece de resistance, they’d run into that guy from their Econ class - the one with the dark eyes and killer smile. He’d stayed with them the whole tail end of the night - even offered to walk them home, back to their apartment building. 

He’d stayed with them, but his eyes had been on Maggie. And when, on the walk home, Farrah skipped ahead of them, buzzed and happy, he’d tugged on her hand and kissed her sweetly, right there on the sidewalk.

Nothing good happens after midnight, who? 

And then, something weird happened. The stretch of sidewalk seemed suddenly darker, as if there was something between them and the flickering streetlight - like netting, or mist. It seemed, suddenly, that the lack of light was an entity - alive, all around them, shifting and changing and wanting. 

“Farrah,” Maggie called, the hairs on her arms starting to stand. She’d only been a bit ahead of them, but somehow Maggie was having a hard time seeing her friend. Econ Guy put his arm around Maggie’s shoulders protectively, glancing around them.

But there was nothing to see except darkness that felt darker.

“What in the fuck?” he muttered, and then two things happened so quickly that to Maggie’s human eyes, it seemed to be at once: a bit of darkness moved much too fast just in front of her, and Farrah’s body slumped to the ground.

“Farrah!” Maggie screamed, her breath caught in her throat. She started towards her friend’s motionless body, but she was tugged back. Econ Guy was pointing at Farrah’s body, his mouth moving like he was trying to make a word, but couldn’t. Maggie looked again, closer. 

The darkness that had moved was bent over Farrah’s body, obscuring their view of her shoulder and face. Maggie’s heart beat so hard in her chest that it hurt, and a tingling she associated with panic started in her fingertips as her body pleaded with her to run.

“What is it?” Maggie whispered in horror. Beside her, Econ Guy made a choked sound and took a step backwards, his arm falling away from her, all pretenses of toughness vanishing. 

At the sound of her hushed question, it looked at them, head snapping up, the motion sharp and jerky. Then, it clambered to its feet, stepping over Farrah’s body and staggering towards them. As it approached, Maggie could see it - him - for the first time.

He was undeniably beautiful - or would have been, if it weren’t for the blood, black like ink in this light, running in rivulets from his mouth down to his chin. Could have been, if not for the inhuman growls and snarls that rippled from his chest like the start of an antique lawn mower, if not for the way his eyes were glossy black, no pupils or irises visible at all. Could have been, if not for the inhumanly long incisors ending below his curled upper lip.

“Infracti,” Maggie said hollowly. 

Beside her, Econ Guy found his voice again. “Hey,” he said sternly. “You can’t hunt here. It’s against the law.”

The Infracti stalked closer, unblinking, then stopped a few feet before them. Its upper lip was curled in what looked like disgust, displaying its most fearsome weapons clearly. Maggie’s entire body shook and she dropped to the ground, her legs refusing to hold her up - let alone to run. 

Not that she could outrun an Infracti. 

The beast looked at them evenly, then stuck out its tongue and languidly - as if putting on a show - licked its lips, sucking a few more drops of Farrah’s blood into its mouth. Maggie didn’t see the monster move, but suddenly Econ Guy was screaming, arms flailing as he tried and failed to shove the Infracti away from his body. The Infracti’s long fingers gripped his upper arms tightly, holding Econ Guy in place, its frightening face buried in the crook of his neck. 

The scream fizzled to a sob. The Infracti opened its hands - fingers splayed purposefully as it emptied them - and its victim’s body hit the pavement. The sound - a round, weighty thud - echoed through Maggie’s head as the Infracti turned to face her. Its all-black eyes seemed calculating, in their own way. Still on the ground, Maggie was almost face to face with Econ Guy’s corpse. His eyes were still wide and frightened, though unseeing. 

The Infracti stepped closer to her, gently, carefully, and then it crouched down, swirling black eyes meeting hers. The growls subsided, and Maggie thought wildly that it looked almost thoughtful. Her heart wasn’t beating anymore as much as vibrating. Her breaths were so shallow they barely counted, and the night swam around her. 

When Maggie was seven, her grandmother was mugged while they were walking together. In the moment, her grandmother had tossed her purse into the street, and grabbed Maggie’s hand to run when the thief lunged for the bag. When Maggie asked about it later, in that way that kids do, her grandmother had explained to her, “He wasn’t interested in you or me. He was interested in my money. I gave him what he wanted, so he left me alone.”

Now, eye to eye with a beast straight out of her nightmares, Maggie saw her grandmother’s face, heard her sweet voice. I gave him what he wanted, so he left me alone. Tentatively, she held out her wrist, veins up. The beast moved like liquid again, a shifting of darkness, until he was closer to her, her wrist clutched tight in his cool grasp. Then, gently, as if he were a gentleman kissing the back of her hand in greeting, he brought her wrist to his lips and let his fangs pierce the flesh.

Taehyung wakes to a shout; he becomes aware of the pain before anything else. His head throbs, his throat feels like there’s glass in it, his shoulders and back ache like he’s carried marble slabs all night. 

It’s a uniquely human curse to question, and Taehyung isn’t human, but he immediately tries to figure out why he hurts from head to toe. Especially since he hasn’t hurt in several centuries. 

He shoots a quick glance around to see what he can figure out without moving. Right away it’s clear that he is not in bed. He is on the floor, the stone cool beneath his palms. A servant is crouched near him, repeating his name but smart enough not to touch him.

He can tell, as his blurry vision clears bit by bit, that he’s definitely in the palace proper, though not in a wing he frequents. The floor beneath him is just stone - no marble, no thick carpeting - which indicates he’s not in a living-quarters wing. The walls, however, hang with vibrant tapestries and oil portraits, gilded sconces lighting the way every few feet. Most definitely still the palace.

“Why am I here?” he manages to croak.

The servant turns over his shoulder and shouts to someone, “Alert the King!”

This is the first moment that Taehyung feels alarm atop the pain. He struggles to sit up, takes stock of his surroundings. The same servant still hovers near, face pinched with something akin to fear. 

How did I end up on the floor? 

Not only that - he isn’t even entirely sure where in the sprawling palace he is.

When he hears approaching footsteps and recognizes the sharp, staccato clicks and clacks, he almost sags back to the floor in relief. Instead, he pushes himself to standing, a wave of dizziness sweeping over him and then ebbing just in time for him to incline his head and intone, “Mother.”

Despite the centuries that have passed since Taehyung was small, something affectionate and maternal remains in the Queen. She presses cool palms to Taehyung’s cheeks and looks him up and down. She winces at something she sees. “Darling,” she says, the word lilting in the strange accent she has, one that belongs to a language long-dead. “What were you thinking?”

It takes Taehyung a moment to articulate a response. He’s frightened - something quite new to him - and he isn’t sure the correct move to make in this situation. The fear toys with logic, makes the answer slippery, hard to grasp.

He settles on the truth. “I don’t know what happened,” he says. “I mean - I can’t remember. I don’t know how I got here.”

He doesn’t ask, did something happen. It’s obvious that something did. 

He hears his father, Sunjae of Rune, King of Infracticus, long before he enters the room, his authoritative voice barking questions and orders.

“How far has word spread?”

“There was only one witness. She’s in custody.”

“Handle her and send her back,” the King snaps. “As quickly as possible. Where is my son?”

This last question is roared as he finally enters the high-ceilinged corridor where his wife and son stand.

“I’m here,” Taehyung says, needlessly. 

The King sizes him up, eyes narrowed, chest puffed. “What do you have to say for yourself?” he spits finally. 

Taehyung clears his throat and then ventures, “For starters… I’d really like to know what happened.”

The King’s face slides from fury to something befuddled, his hands sinking to his sides like sails in the absence of wind.

–

Taehyung’s father leads them back to their private wing and closes them into a dimly lit room that houses floor to ceiling bookshelves full of tomes so old they’d crumble to dust if you dared to touch them. A fire roars in the hearth for aesthetics only - Taehyung’s kind can’t feel cold. 

He locks the door and turns to face them. Taehyung’s mother has sunk delicately onto a fainting couch, and she watches her son sharply. 

Taehyung feels itchy under her gaze. She’s the smartest of the three of them, and Taehyung knows it even if his father doesn’t.

“You’re telling me,” the King growls, low, “that you don’t remember any of it?”

“I was in my wing,” Taehyung promises. “Sometime near midnight. That’s the last thing I remember, until I woke up on the floor in a random hallway -”

The King and Queen exchange a look, an entire conversation in just a glance. Then, the King heaves a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. 

Then, the Queen ventures, “The Elders should see him.”

The King grumbles something under his breath.

She tries again. “He could be ill. He could be going mad. We need to know!”

“Will someone please tell me what’s happened?” Taehyung bursts out, finally unable to take it - the anxiety, the questions, the conversation about him but not involving him, all of it.

“You went rogue,” the King says dryly, his eyes on the dancing fire instead of his son.

Taehyung feels his stomach drop. “Meaning?”

“Exactly what he said,” the Queen says, something steely in her tone. “You went above, alone, and… hunted.”

Taehyung feels his legs turn to stone. His stomach twists and a wave of nausea rocks him. “I what?” he asks, but it comes out like a gasp. The sides of the room are starting to go black and he breathes slowly, one hand gripping the back of the couch.

Silence expands, filling the room. Taehyung’s stomach lurches, and he closes his eyes.

“Did… did I -?”

“You took two humans and left a third alive. We have teams cleaning up, up there, and we’ve got the spare here -”

Took two humans.

The spare.

Taehyung’s stomach twists again. The black creeping at the edge of his vision draws closer to the center. Taehyung loses sight of his father’s face in the encroaching darkness. 

“Darling, we’ve covered up incidents like this countless times. No one will know. We’ll make sure.” The Queen’s voice is soothing, bringing to Taehyung’s mind all the times when he was a child when she would hurry to calm him.

Taehyung shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m concerned about.”

“You didn’t know you were doing it,” the King muses - his next problem to solve, not a placation to reassure his guilt-stricken son. “We must uncover the cause.”

“The Elders,” the Queen says again, insistently. “At least let them give him a medical once-over.”

The King sighs in defeat. “I suppose we have no choice. Wait in your rooms, Taehyung. I’ll summon the Elders at once. The sooner we find out what came over you, the better.”

—

Taehyung is in his wing when Jimin comes – uncalled, unbidden, simply as if he sensed his best friend’s distress. And perhaps he had – the Infracti have shown stranger powers before.

“I heard you had a bit of an adventure,” he says carelessly, flopping sideways along Taehyung’s favorite leather couch, feet propped on the armrest, as he has millions of times over hundreds of years.

“News travels fast,” Taehyung says bitterly.

Jimin smiles indulgently, used to his moody friend. “Not so. But they called on Seokjin to help wipe the memory of the girl who survived before they sent her back.”

Taehyung blanches. “That’s illegal.”

Jimin gives him a dirty look and a scoff to accompany it. “Please,” he says dismissively. “You can’t be that naïve, not in your position.”

The Queen’s words run back through Taehyung’s mind. We’ve covered up incidents like this countless times.

He sulks. “They shouldn’t be breaking treaty laws over me,” he grumbles.

Jimin lets out a sigh. “If rules can be bent for anyone, shouldn’t they be for you? Besides…” He sits up, looks at Taehyung more seriously. “It’s not like one of us went up there willingly, like… on purpose. If someone decided to just fuck the protection laws and go hunting, I’d obviously object to a cover-up. But that isn’t the case here. Something happened to you. They’re not covering up a crime, they’re recovering from an accident.”

An accident. He’d killed two innocent people. Nearly killed a third.

Taehyung drops onto a chair near Jimin’s feet, covering his face with his hands. “Truly,” he says hollowly, the words muffled by his palms, “I have never in over six hundred years felt this deeply guilty about something. Jimin, I killed people. Me. I did that.”

It’s an understatement. There aren’t words – not in any language, dead or alive – to describe the deep, crawling self-hatred Taehyung feels. There’s no phrase for the twist and ache in his stomach when he pictures the scene above-ground – bodies limp on the ground, the echo of screams from the survivor floating away into the uncaring night, blood thick and metallic on his tongue, a wild flash in his eyes.

Jimin shakes his head, lips protruding in a pronounced pout. “It wasn’t you. We all know that.”

“Those people are dead and the fault is only my own,” Taehyung says firmly.

“You weren’t yourself,” Jimin insists. “What did the Elders say?”

The Elders are terrifying, is Taehyung’s take-away. His own father is thousands of years old, and looks like a child in comparison. Infracti are not immortal; rather, under the right circumstances - and often with the help of the magic they can control - they can live for tens of thousands of years. The oldest Infracti that Taehyung knows - not counting the Elders, as he doesn’t know them - is around thirty thousand years old, and weaker every day. The Elders, whose ages Taehyung doesn’t actually know, seem so fragile they might be made of dust, particles held together by magic and force of will. He’d showered three times after leaving them just to get the icky shudders to stop.

“That I’m not ill and I’m not mad,” Taehyung recites dryly, finally removing his hands from his face.

“Which leaves what possibilities?” Jimin asks with a frown.

Taehyung shrugs. “They’re meeting about it right now. I’ve been told to stay in my own wing.”

Jimin squawks. “For how long?”

“Until they’re sure it won’t happen again, I suppose,” Taehyung guesses with a small shrug. “Or until they’ve come up with an answer.”

“Lovely,” Jimin quips sarcastically, and moves to rise. “Well, I’ll check in on you later this evening. I’m sure you’ll be bored, cooped up in here.”

“I’d rather be bored than -”

“I know.” Something new creeps into Jimin’s voice – some kindness, some understanding. “It wasn’t your fault, Taehyung. You didn’t do it on purpose.”

Taehyung gives him a nod and sees him out, his stomach twisting and roiling. Only one of those things, he knows, is true.

Sunlight and fresh air assault you as you make your way slowly down the city block, the messenger bag around your body laden with thick books and hastily scribbled notes. The ache in your shoulder from carrying it has been part of your existence for so long that you barely notice it anymore.

You pass a bank and glance at the screen displaying today’s date and temperature, followed by the time. It indicates that you’ve somehow ended up here between buses. You’ll have to wait a bit for the next one.

At least it’s nice out, you think, and settle onto a bench just across from your bus stop. It backs up to a park, and you watch as people bustle by, most of them glued to their phone screens or carrying on conversations into their earpods. In the park, a group of kids is playing loudly, shouts and shrieks rising towards the cloudless blue sky.

“Songie’s team, you’re the Runes!” someone shouts, and it grabs your attention. You smile, watching them gather and form groups.

“It’s not Runes,” someone corrects snottily. “It’s Ruins.”

Actually, you think, hiding a little smile, the proper pronunciation of the powerful Infraci family falls somewhere between the two words. 

The ancient language of Infracticus has phonics that most modern people struggle with. As a result, there tends to be two schools of thought regarding pronunciation. Commonly, the families are called the Runes, the Cleaves, and the Scores. At the university that you’d attended, at which you now work, they’d taught you Ruins, Leaves, and Scorns.

But it’s all the same, really.

You watch the game for some time. It’s a lot like freeze tag, and you remember playing it in the schoolyard as a kid. Teams – one Runes and one Scores – try to cross a field past each other without getting tagged and frozen. Teams had elected members called Cleaves, who were the only players who could unfreeze another.

It’s funny, you’ve always thought, how the actual history of the three Infracti families translated into the rules of the children’s game. To be historically accurate, it should have been three teams – Cleaves wouldn’t be members of Runes or Scores but their own faction altogether.

However, you do wonder if their ability to unfreeze players is derived from the Cleaves’ ability to heal, something the other two bloodlines have never possessed.

And is it coincidence that the game became the Runes versus the Scores, when those two families had a particularly ugly blood feud, millennia ago? 

All three families have vied for power at one point or another – most known history of the Infacti includes this never-ending power struggle. But the Runes have managed to hold court since the time the protection laws were passed, the ones that both protect humans from being hunted and bans those same humans from doing the hunting. The ones that decree quarterly blood donations from every adult human to ensure there’s never a shortage that could lead to hunting. The ones that declare the monarchy follows only the Runes’ royal bloodline.

Hunting - both of and by Infracti - still happens, of course. There’s no such thing as utopia. But at least now there are consequences when an Infracti attacks a human, and consequences when humans turn to violence to drive Infracti out of their communities.

Questions like this, constant curiosity about the Infracti culture and history, had carried you through dual degrees studying the history and sociology of the Infracti. Now, after nearly a decade of your adult years spent in academics, you tote multiple degrees, including extensive experience with both curses and counter-curses.

Your family hates it - never understood it. Your mother has called it an obsession time and time again. But neither she nor your father can argue with the career opportunities in academia that you’ve been afforded, now that you’re full-time staff at the university.

And they don’t even know about the other opportunities that keep falling at your feet: more and more curse-breaking cases as the years pass. The more your reputation and success rate grow, the more your name seems to be passed around. You think your mother would faint on the spot if she knew that only two months ago your team had flown into deep Brazilian jungle and helped them to cast the counter-curse that freed an entire village from unending rain. 

When the bus finally pulls in, bringing with it a warm breeze and the smell of gasoline, you rise, hefting your bag higher on your shoulder and searching for a seat. It’s about twenty minutes to campus unless you catch an Express – and you have no such luck today.

Your phone rings in your pocket as you sit, and you shift in your seat until you can slide it free. Your boss’s name floats across the top of the screen and you answer it quickly. 

“Are you on campus yet?” he asks in lieu of hello. Dr. Kim - the department head at the university where you teach - is nearing seventy, but he’s the leading curse-breaker on the eastern coast and you find it unlikely that he’ll slow down anytime soon. He was one of your first professors when you showed up here as a bright-eyed undergrad, years ago.

“Twenty minutes out,” you report. “I’m on the bus.”

“Come directly to my office,” he requests, but you can hear the urgency dancing in his tone. You know what this means: he’s been contacted about a curse. 

“I have a class at ten thirty,” you warn him. “I don’t have a lot of time.”

“It won’t take long,” he promises, and you agree to stop by before ending the call and turning your attention back to the bus window. 

It’s somehow chillier when the bus drops you on campus, cloud cover removing the warmth of the sun as you hustle down one of the paved walkways towards the academic buildings, dodging students standing in groups talking, others riding bicycles and the rare electric scooter. 

You hurry into the building that houses most of the staff offices, bypassing the corridors the students frequent and taking the narrow back staircase that leads to Dr. Kim’s office.

He’s waiting for you, door open, a spread of papers on his desk. 

You greet him with a smile, dropping your heavy bag by his door as you have hundreds of times in your professional history. Dr. Kim was one of your first undergrad professors, years ago, and you’ve worked closely with him in all the years since: first, as a TA for his tougher classes, then co-teaching when the university took you on, and finally joining his team of curse-breakers, rapidly bypassing several team members who had more seniority but less knack. 

“We got a call?” you guess, drawing closer to the papers and peering at them for clues. That’s when you notice the young man already seated in one of the two chairs across from Dr. Kim’s desk. Embarrassed, you hurry to nod hello to him, murmuring an apology. He has dark hair, sculpted cheekbones, razor-sharp eyes, and - you notice when he smiles in greeting - a deep dimple on each side.

The expression on Dr. Kim’s face is a little strange - almost like he’s nervous to give you the news. You can’t imagine what might be giving him pause, considering your last meeting like this had landed you both in a literal rainforest. Could he have gotten a request for the team to go somewhere even more remote than that?

“We did,” he allows with a tight little nod. “It’s… a bit unorthodox, though. I’d like you to consider the situation carefully.”

You feel yourself frown. “What is it?”

He sighs, then nods towards his door. “Will you close that, please?”

You reach behind you and gently press the wooden door shut, feeling flutters of uncertainty for the first time in your career. The stranger shifts in his chair uneasily.

“Perhaps you should sit,” Dr. Kim suggests, holding a hand towards the empty chair opposite his desk. 

This isn’t how these meetings go. You’ve done this a dozen times or more - usually as soon as Dr. Kim can see your face he starts chattering excitedly about the details: who’s been cursed, what the effects are, the specifics of the location, the bits of travel itinerary he’s already worked out. 

You sit hesitantly, hands gripping the arms of the chair nervously. You try hard not to glance sideways at the man you don’t know. 

“Well?” you prompt, when Dr. Kim still doesn’t speak.

“This is Namjoon,” Dr. Kim says, belatedly realizing he hasn’t introduced you. “His degrees all focus on curses. A comparable background to yours, academically.”

“That’s not true,” Namjoon says, holding up a hand. “I didn’t study Infracticus. My magical knowledge is focused solely on curses and curse-breaking.”

Dr. Kim makes a noise like he doesn’t quite agree with this. “Anyway,” he says to you, “I personally asked Namjoon to make the trip and hear the request. I think he’ll be invaluable in picking this one apart.”

“Okay,” you agree easily. You trust Dr. Kim with your life - literally - and if he thinks someone will be an asset to the team, you’d never argue with that. You turn sideways just a bit and murmur an it’s nice to meet you before turning your attention back to your (normally) fearless leader. “So what are we in for?”

He sighs and runs a hand down his face, almost as if he’s unsure if he should tell you or not. “You need to know right from the start how very dangerous this could be,” he says, looking back and forth between the two of you, his voice more grave than you’ve ever heard it. 

“Because of the magic involved?” you ask. Curse-breaking is always dangerous, that’s the very nature of it. You always run the risk of making a fatal mistake; you could turn the curse back on yourself, or strengthen it, or simply end up creating side-effects you hadn’t intended. He’s never given you this warning before.

He shakes his head. “Not necessarily. Not more so than any other. It’s… well, my dear, it will involve a stay in Infracticus.”

You’re shocked into silence. You can’t help but meet Namjoon’s eyes, sideways, and find him looking just as surprised as you. You utter, quietly, “What?” even though you heard and understood him perfectly well. It’s more than you need help processing, facing the reality of the words. “An Infracti has been cursed?”

He shakes his head, though the answer isn’t no. “Not just any Infracti,” he corrects. “The Prince of Ruin.”

Your jaw literally drops. “Someone cursed the crown prince?” you gasp in disbelief. “Who would dare?”

“The Scorns, I imagine,” Namjoon murmurs, almost to himself.

Dr. Kim gives you two a wan smile. “Luckily, we aren’t tasked with solving that. Just finding and casting the counter-curse.”

You sit back in your chair in a daze, blinking slowly, cogs in your mind whirring fast. “Okay,” you say finally. “We’d be protected, though, right? They’re inviting the team, so they’d make sure we were safe?”

Dr. Kim seems to look far-away for a moment, contemplating his answer. You shift nervously, glancing sideways at Namjoon. You would have been reassured by a quick answer - the fact that he needs to formulate a response does nothing to quell your unease. 

“I trust we are being invited there for the reasons they say,” he allows. “And so, I do believe the royal family will want us to be safe, yes. But the fact still remains that we will be humans walking around Infracticus. I’m sure we will be given guards - the question becomes, can we trust those guards completely? I fear I cannot say for sure.”

“It’s like walking into the lions’ den,” Namjoon murmurs beside you.

“Quite,” Dr. Kim agrees, nodding. 

“Except there’s an injured lion and only we can fix it,” you point out. 

“We can’t rely on that to ensure our safety,” Dr. Kim says, frowning more deeply. “It’s a delicate situation. The royal family cannot let it get out that the prince’s well-being has been… compromised.”

Namjoon frowns in confusion. “Why not?”

You think you understand. You venture, “To admit weakness, to admit to having been successfully attacked, to admit that the crown prince is cursed - it would be an open invitation for rebellion.”

“Yes,” Dr. Kim confirms, inclining his head, his white tufts of hair moving breezily. “The Infracti respect the laws that are currently in place, but the crown prince is the last member of the Ruin bloodline. If he were to die, or to be unfit to lead…”

“There’s nothing in the laws about who would rule next,” you finish for him, eyes wide. “It would be…”

“A war for the throne, I imagine.”

You sit in silence for a moment under the weight of this. Then, Namjoon says carefully, “I’m sorry, but can we circle back? The prince’s curse has to be secret, I got that - but how does that affect the safety of our team?”

“We’ll be hosted in the palace as honored guests,” Dr. Kim tells you both. “But no one beyond the royal family will know why. They don’t know that if they slipped up and harmed us, it would harm the prince, too. We can’t assume our purpose will serve as protection. Any Infracti beyond the royal family should be considered a threat.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh, turning to face Namjoon. He looks just as bamboozled as you feel, validating your reaction. 

“This is wild,” you utter, mostly to yourself. “This is absolutely bonkers.”

“This is why I said you need to consider carefully,” Dr. Kim insists. “There is much at stake. You’re in danger every moment you’re down there, even with the promised protection. The curse itself must be complicated, or they’d have solved it themselves. If your reason for being there is uncovered due to a fault of our own, we’ll be facing the wrath of the royal family. And I… I’m afraid I won't be able to join you.”

“What? No - you have to,” you blurt, panicked. “I can’t do it without you - you’ve decades of experience over me - I’ve never led a case before!”

“They don’t want me,” he tries to explain. “They don’t want any possibility that someone will figure out who I am and put the pieces together. A simple inquiry of my name blows the whole thing - the first thing they’d find is curse-breaker. As I said - the secrecy of the prince’s condition is vital.”

You scoff. “So they want me because I’m nobody.”

He looks at you kindly, used to your moods. “They want you because you have a high success rate. Your ability to stay… lowkey, as the kids say -”

Namjoon makes a choked sound like he’s fighting a laugh.

“- you should see it as an asset.”

“I don’t want to go without you,” you say, because it’s true. Because it feels safer to have someone older, wiser, with more experience. Because it feels like less responsibility to not be the person in charge. Because it’s what you’re used to, and you cling to the familiar. 

He shakes his head sadly. “The royal family will not allow it. I’m sorry.”

You lapse into silence again. 

Namjoon speaks slowly, as if a new thought is dawning on him, and he doesn’t like it. “If they suspect the Scorns…” 

Your stomach sinks. 

Dr. Kim nods. “I imagine you may see the beginnings of some political unrest if an accusation is made.”

“Forget the accusation,” Namjoon says hollowly. “If we uncover that it was a Scorn attack… we’ll be walking into Infracti civil war.”

“Will it be that bad?” you ask, frowning, pulse quickening. 

Namjoon shrugs. “The Ruins and the Scorns would each love a reason to point the finger at the other. If we do happen across the cause of the curse as we try to break it… it’s likely there will be political ramifications.”

“God,” you mutter. 

“As I said,” Dr. Kim repeats. “I won’t accept an answer today. I want you both to sleep on it. Discuss with your families.” (You snort at this. As if you ever would.) “Talk to me tomorrow about how you’re feeling.”

He dismisses you then, shepherding you both towards his door, leaving it open now that you’re done discussing the equivalent of vampire state secrets. 

Halfway down the stairs, Namjoon calls your name. Ahead of him, you pause, turn, and let him catch up to you. 

“Can we exchange information?” he asks, digging in his wallet. He finally hands you a business card, and you do the same, hoping you have one tucked behind a credit card or something. 

“I’d like to talk to you about this, later, if you have time,” he says, a bit sheepishly. “I’m… not feeling very sure about it.”

“Okay,” you say easily, glancing at the time - you’ve got seven minutes to get across campus to teach your first class. “Do you want to grab a bite later? Your number’s on here?” You wiggle the business card, and he nods. “I’ll text you,” you promise, and start down the steps again, mind racing.

Next ->

thank you for reading! i hope you liked this first installment! chapter 2 will go up next friday!!! <3

[whoreish-behaviour]

Can you handle that?

If you haven't watched Scream 1996 (how?!) please pleasee go watch this scene - (Timestamp 3:25 specifically) :))

This is like a modern version.

Part 2

Ghostface x Fem!Reader

Warnings ; dubcon, coercion, voyeurism, guided masturbation, phone sex?, slight overstim

The popcorn popped gently in the background as you endlessly scrolled through your phone, looking for any horror movies that peaked your interest.

Boring.

Predictable.

Wayy too gory.

Dropping the phone onto the counter, you huffed in annoyance as you rested your head on your hand. The popping sound filled the otherwise silent kitchen, the house being empty of its usual life.

You raked your brain for ideas now you were finally alone. And now that you thought about it more, it had been a while since your hands traced your body as you dived head first into self-please.

Yeah, you knew exactly what you were going to do.

The thought alone already had your thighs squeezing together.

Just as your were turning to shut off the stove, your phone vibrated below you. Eyebrows furrowed, your eyes scanned the name.

No Caller ID.

Shrugging, you picked up the phone without a care and pressed the little green button.

'Hello?'

'Hello.' An unfamiliar voice responded back.

'Yes?'

'Who is this?' Hadn't he called you first..?

"I think you have the wrong number.' You pursed your lips.

'I don't think I do and you didn't answer my question.'

His suddern steriness made you nervous and your thighs shudder.

Jesus, had it really been that long?

'I think I’m gonna go, you definitely dialed the wrong number. See you.' You announced quickly and before he could even speak two words, you hung up.

Before you could even place the phone back on the counter, it vibrated again in your hand.

You hesitated on pressing 'answer', however your curiosity about what he wanted grew stronger until eventually you caved.

'Hello?' You hoped he didn't hear your voice quiver.

'We weren't finished talking, were we sweetheart?' The nickname made you swallow thickly and clench your fist.

'I think we definitely are now.' You tried to sound stern, not wanting some man over the phone to think he had any kind of control over you.

'Hang up again and you'll regret it.'

"Fuck I will." You argued back before doing exactly what he told you not to do.

You tossed the phone on the counter, before turning your back to it completely. Sure, he had shaken you but that was exactly what he wanted.

It was probably just an ego boost for him to freak woman out over the phone, picturing their scared faces in their own homes.

Fucker.

The phone vibrated consistency where it laid, however you stared mindlessly at the ceiling, cursing out the universe for ruining the mood.

You began to chew your nails, his words ringing in your head.

You'll regret it.

An incoming text made your ears prick, looking over your shoulder and down at the device. The text made your heart jump against your ribs.

Unknown Number - Answer the phone.

Unknown Number - Now.

The text didn't hold any explanation marks but you knew that he wasn't fucking around anymore. Your stomach sank as your ringtone yet again rang out.

Last chance, before what? You didn't know.

The phone was in your hand again, thumb pressing down on the screen as you brought it up to your ear.

'Whats got you all nervous over there? Never had a punishment before hm?' His implication made you shived with fear.

He couldn't see you, could he..?

'Or maybe its just because you haven't touched that sweet cunt of yours in a while..' You gasped out loud, pure shock and heat blooming on your face.

'You sick fuck-'

'Ah ah, thats no way to talk to me sweetheart.' He scowled, voice deep and dripping with dominance. Against your better judgement, your core responded.

'What do you want?" Your voice was quiet, all confident gone.

"I just wanna play a game is all.' His tone almost mocked you, as if you had no reason to be terrified.

'What kind of game?' You body shrink as you waited for his response. He seemed to think about it for a second, the silence killing you softly.

'It involves you taking off them soaked panties and sitting your pretty self on that counter for me.'

You froze as he once again rendered you speechless. You hand holding the phone shook as your mouth ran dry.

'Can you handle that?' He teased.

You didn't know what to be more disturbed by: his request or that your body throbbed in response. Theres no way you wanted this..right?

Would that make you just as bad as him?

You gulped, looking at all the windows - wondering if you'll see a glimpse of his shadow. That was if he was even watching you.

'Quit acting so modest, you think I haven't noticed that little stunt you've been pulling with them thighs of yours.' He almost whispered as if it was a dirty taboo thing (it was).

''I don't kn-'

'Now sweetheart.'

You don't know what possessed you. Maybe it was his veil of seduction or just your horniness but you found yourself thumbing at the band of your panties.

Would it be so bad? To have a stranger watch you touch yourself? It sounded like some corny porno.

'If you don't move within the next 2 seconds, I'll come tie you to the fucking table myself.' His voice dropped, his frustration becoming evident.

And that was more than enough for you to clamber up onto the cool marble, contrast to your hot clammy skin, hands already working your underwear down your sticky thighs.

It dropped to the floor with a disgustingly wet slap! You grimaced as you picked your phone up once again.

'Look who's finally behaving herself. Put me on loud speaker and face the patio window.' You heart beat up against your ribcage as you did as you where told.

'Mhm, look at youu.' He dragged out the 'you', adding a playfulness to the tension building. You shivered as his statement solidified that was he indeed watching you.

'Now spread those pretty thighs for me, let me see the mess I made.' You felt yourself drip even more as each word left his mouth.

You gently lifted your legs - feet resting on the counter with you and spread your knees apart.

The cold air against your pussy made you whimper as you clenched around nothing.

'Fuck, I knew you were a slut.' He groaned and you almost moaned right back at him from the sound alone.

'Trace them beautiful thighs for me sweet.' He spoke low and stern.

Your right hand trembled as you ran it down your stomach, across your hip and finally to your thigh, your left hand staying behind you to support your body.

You allowed just the every tips of your fingers to run across your skin, nerves making them shake slightly.

'Mhm good girl. Now get closer.'

You did, your whole body shaking from anticipation as your nails grazed where you need it most. Everything felt wet and you whined at the lack of stimulation.

'You need it that bad huh pretty girl? Go on, touch that pussy.' He pushed and you wasted no time.

You first ran your fingers down your slit, collecting that sweet arousal until it coated your fingers. You then moved up to your clit, rubbing your clit in quick circles.

'No, no - slower. Can't have you coming too quick, can we?' He tutted, redirecting you before you got too carried away. You moaned in response but obeyed nevertheless.

Your fingers slipped every now and then as your whined and moaned into the quiet again. The man on the phone encouraged you continuously, dragging you closer and closer to the edge.

'Good fucking girl.'

'Keep rubbing that puffy clit for me. That's ittt.'

'I can see you dripped down on the fucking table - you're so desparate.'

The only words that left your lips were 'Please' as you threw your head back, rubbing your clit harder until he scolded you to slow down once again.

'If you need it that bad, put a finger inside that tight cunt and fuck yourself 'till you cum.' You almost cried out in happiness as you slid your hands lower, a single finger entering you.

'Fuck I can hear that sloppy pussy through the phone, put me closer.' You responded with a quiet 'okay' and moved the phone closer to in between your legs.

'Go on, fuck that cunt.' He ordered and your once again threw your head back, moving your finger faster.

You curled your middle finger up against your G spot until you felt that pit in your stomach built up once again. This time you didn't care what he said, you were going to make yourself come.

You also slid your left hand in and rubbed your clit, your coordination slightly off but you didn't care, it was working.

'Come for me pretty girl.'

That was your final straw as your felt everything you had built crumble between your legs. Your hips bucked up against your own hands and you dropped back flat against the surface below you.

'Move your hands sweet girl, let me see.' He cooed at you and you did as you were told, bringing your hands up to rest on your chest.

'Fuck, your rubbed your poor pussy raw babe.' He faked sympathy but you were too busy trying to catch your breathe.

'But don't get too comfortable. Keep going.' You froze.

'W-What..?'

'You heard me, sit up and. Keep. Going.' He ordered and you couldn't even splutter a response. You back ached as you sat up, thigh trembling and twitching.

You slid your hand down, soaked with you arousal, back down to your pulsing core.

However, as your fingertips came in contact with your clit, your hips bucked away as the painful surge of overstimulation shocked through you.

'I-I cant.'

'You can.' He instantly spoke back, 'I wanna see you come from those pretty fingers again.'

You decided to leave your clit and slide lower, reentering your middle finger into your quivering core. But even then, you flinched away from sensitivity.

'It's too sensitive.' You whined, retracting your hand away completely.

It went quiet for a bit and you gulped, scared you had somehow pissed him off. Even though you had been good for him, all things considered.

'Fine,' You breathed out a sigh of relief and rested your head back.

'I guess I'll just have to do it myself.'

You bolted upright, uncomfortable as your pussy slid against the now warm counter.

'What did you just say..?'

'I'll give you a 5 minute head start, go hide and if I don't find you - you get off scot free.' He said, 'I promise not to peek.' his voice light and airy while you choked silently.

'But-'

'5 minutes.' He said before he hung up.

Please do not steal, copy or translate my work

[thepersonnamedsam]

champion - cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary: abu dhabi 2024

word count: 1k

warnings: none

note: hiya, hope you’re all good? have fun with the second 1‘000 follower special :)

masterlist / taglist

The Race was intense, it was hot and steamy and all so risky. But he was so near. He could almost taste it, taste you. If he won this race, he’d be champion, champion of the world. His second most important price, you always come first, of course.

You stood in the Ferrari garage, your fingernails bitten down to the flesh. You were more nervous than he was. God, only four more laps to go. Charles was leading, but Max was only 0.6 seconds behind him. One mistake and Max would be a 4x World Champion.

But you were certain that he was gonna make it. Charles was your best friend and he deserved that title more than anything. He wasn’t just your best friend, you were gonna become his fiancée today if he won, but you didn’t know just yet. The ring was securely stored in his jewellery box inside his drivers room. You had no idea.

Three more laps to go.

You were sweating, not just from the heat, you were standing on your toes the whole time. Your heart pounded, probably as fast as Charles‘ car. This was gonna be it. Charles Leclerc, World Champion of 2024!

Frederic was standing beside you. His hands wrapped tightly around your shoulders, squeezing every other second, waiting for your boyfriend to finally finish that race. You both couldn’t wait anymore. „Fred, if he wins, will you pay him some therapy sessions?“, you joked. He only laughed at you. „He doesn’t need them after the win.“

Two more laps.

The anticipation only grew. At the time, probably everyone at home sat at the edge of their seats. Max was so close behind Charles. If he only lost some speed, Max would pass him. They made a show. And nobody liked it.

„Charles, Max is 0.4 seconds behind. Let’s switch to Plan C“, you heard Xavi over the coms. „Okay“, you heard your boyfriend say back. „What’s Plan C?“, you asked Fred. „He’s gonna let Max pass, get into his DRS zone and then hopefully he can pass him with greater speed.“

Your heart dropped into your stomach, Ferrari is gonna fuck Charles up against You knew it. It was not gonna work. And when Charles met Max pass, everything played out in slow motion. Max passed the red Ferrari, Charles tried to stay behind the Red Bull.

One lap to go.

It was silent in the Ferrari garage. You could hear a needle drop on the floor. Everyone was sweating. You stopped breathing, at least that’s what you thought, because honestly, no one ever stops breathing in these moments.

The moment Charles passed the Red Bull, the garage errupted into loud applause. Your heart skipped a beat, letting a small scream out. Excited for the new outcome. This was gonna be it, Charles will be champion. You could feel it.

The last meters were ahead of both cars, with Max only 1.7 seconds behind. Charles was gonna make it, he just couldn’t fuck it up. Nothing could happen now. And when Charles crossed that finish line and was declared Champion of the World, you cried. Happy tears streamed down your cheeks. A big prominent smile on your face and wet eyes.

„Go, go!“, Xavi ushered you out to the outside of the garage, where Charles would park his car on the number one spot. And there he stood, proud on his car, his hand up in the air, pointing to his late father. When he looked down again, he saw his whole proudness standing in front of him. You.

He got down from his car, quickly getting his helmet off and kissing you. You were so, so proud of him. Your champion. And when Carlos sprinted towards him with a suspicious little black box, you couldn’t believe what was going to happen.

„My love, mom bijou. I love you endlessly and I wouldn’t know what to do without you. You are my stars that light up the night. Tu es le soleil, qui répand la chaleur dans tout mon corps (You are the sun, that spreads warmth throughout my body). I love you with all my body, with all my heart, with all my everything. Will you make me the happiest man in the whole wide world and marry me?“

Your body shook from the cries. You couldn’t believe what was going on. Tears streaming down your face, you could only nod. And you nodded, looked at him with your tears stained face and got down to his level. You kissed him, so hard he couldn’t believe the force you had. And you said yes, of course you said yes.

Charles wasn’t only Formula One Champion, he was also the luckiest man on earth, with his big love in his arms, crying like the world might end. But it doesn’t, the world only just started for you two. Life was being written from a whole new perspective now. Not only is the luckiest, but you were los the happiest woman.

And the fahnden went crazy, Charles Leclerc, the 2024 champion got engaged to his long term girlfriend on the day he won the championship. And when he stood on the podium and received his trophy, he couldn’t stop smiling, not crying. He was looking down at his fiancée and the whole world stopped, just for a moment, just until he realised he was gonna marry this girl, for sure now. Not only in his dreams, but in reality too.

For him this day did not only mean he achieved his biggest goal, but also his biggest dream.

And for you, you were going to be the happiest bride on your wedding day, when you were going to walk down that isle and see this man standing in front of you

°°°

taglist: @ironmaiden1313 , @hiireadstuff , @biglittlesecret, @gulabjamooon , @lovelyy-moonlight , @peachyplumsss , @mistrose23 , @copper-boom , @love4lando , @champomiel , @serenityleah , @iloveyou3000morgan , @angelwithoutmywings , @elleeeee21 , @mikauraur , @thybulleric , @lpab , @fdl305 , @mellowarcadefun , @teti-menchon0604 , @vildetry06 , @bibissparkles , @aurora-maria , @lunnnix , @sya-skies , @Buckywifeyy , @dakotali , @rechtrecht , @noncannonships , @1eclerc16 , @pitlanebabe , @sopheeg , @avengersheart , @thatsadsmallchild , @peachiicherries , @idkiwantchocolatee , @callsign-scully , @mehrmonga , @badbatch-simp24 , @lissyontour , @din0nugs , @elliegrey2803 , @gay-for-victoria-de-angelis , @10vely-yutazen , @daggersquadphantom , @azriel-the-shadowsinger , @i-love-scott-mccall , @darleneslane , @mikauraurr , @heartmetaphor , @ellswilliams , @thxtmarvelchick , @nataliambc , @dontjudgeabookbythecover , @hockeyboysarehot , @thehistoryone , @zimm04 , @woozarts , @mellowarcadefun , @deephideoutmolkshake , @grimeslvrr , @tallrock35 , @namgification , @pear-1206 , @trouble-sistar

[b0r3dtod3ath]

hello :) will you write something fluffy with tashi duncan and reader? thanks!

Thanks for the request! I didn't really know what to write so here's a thing I created:

Tashi Duncan fluff alphabet:

Affection (How affectionate are they?)

Quite affectionate when in private but she still has problems with it. Sometimes in the evening after a long day she will come to you and let you hug her. In moments like this she fells weak but the comfort you provide her makes all problems go away.

Bonding (What's your favorite mutual bonding activity?)

You like when she teaches you how to play tennis. At first she didn't want to do it because she felt like she was obsessed with it before and it would ruin your relationship. When she finally gives in, she's the most gentle trainer ever. Delicately adjusts your posture, softly points out mistakes and how to fix them and gives you lots of praise. You make tennis feel like fun and not competition.

Cuddling (How do they like to cuddle?)

She loves cuddling while on the sofa or bed. In the beginning of the relationship she was always the big spoon but she eventually found comfort in being the small one from time to time.

Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

She definitely wants to settle down. Insists on buying a house or at least a flat when the relationship gets more serious. She wouldn't let you clean and she wouldn't like to do it either so she would get a maid. If you like cooking, she's in love with it and the sight of you in the kitchen always makes her heart melt. She doesn't mind, if you don't.

Equal (Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?)

She's the dominant one but gives you a lot of space and is much softer than she was in previous relationships.

Fight (Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?)

She doesn't scream or throw hands when she's mad at something. She tends to say rude things or point out things that aren't necessary true. Once she notices she has hurt you she immediately tries to fix it. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what it was. I don't mean it, you know it.". She will try to hug you but if you need some time she will leave you alone.

Gifts (How do they feel about gift giving? What are their habits when it comes to this?)

She loves giving you gifts. Matching jewellery!!! Anniversary? A ring. Got a promotion? Pearl earrings. Birthday? A diamond necklace that's more that you thought she can afford.

Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often? What are their hugs like?)

Quick hugs and a peck on a check in public. In private, every evening there's a cuddle session that ends in you two falling asleep.

I love you (Who said it first? How often do they say it?)

She said it first. You were the first person she had ever said it to. You were already dating for more than half a year and you knew that her not saying it didn't mean she didn't feel it. When she said it she felt very vulnerable but it's a sign that she trusts you endlessly.

Jealousy (How jealous do they get? Do they get jealous easily? What do they do when they are jealous?)

She gets jealous very easily. You usually notice it and calm her down. She would be very obvious - would tighten her grip on you or change her tone towards the third person.

Kiss (Do they like kissing? How often? What is their favorite type of kiss?)

She wouldn't say she enjoys kissing but she does. From small pecks to heated make outs. She loves your lips and would gift you lip balms to make them even softer. Her favourite thing is when you kiss her neck - it makes her melt.

Love language (What’s their love language?)

I think it's either quality time or gift giving. She's usually busy so when she gets a moment she loves to spend it with you and no distractions.

Morning (How are mornings spent with them? What’s their morning routine?)

Definitely slow mornings. Yoga or stretching together, a healthy breakfast and some time spent on the couch.

Nickname (What do they call you?)

Doesn't like nicknames but will call you love from time to time.

Obvious (How obvious is it that they like you?)

Very obvious. She changes her whole tone when she's around you. She becomes more soft. Big hearteyes. People can easily notice it.

PDA (Do they brag about you? Do they gatekeep you from others?)

She is very proud of you and will show you off all the time. Won't be really affectionate in public tho as she thinks it should be something between you two.

Quiet (How are the calm, quiet moments with them?)

Usually the mornings and evenings are really calm and quiet. You both have you routines that consist of some activities that you do together and some that you do alone. You two like to have soft music playing in the background.

Romance (How romantic are they? Cliche or creative?)

Very cliche. She would bring you flowers every week. Candle lit dinners are definitely something that happens regularly.

Security (Are they protective? How?)

Very protective and very jealous. God forbid someone looks at you in a wrong way, they are done. She won't leave you for even a second. If you get injured by any chance, she is more stressed than you are.

Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

She doesn't like talking about tennis. She feels like it ruined her relationships in the past.

Understanding (How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?)

She can usually sense something is not okay but can't really tell what. She doesn't always fully understand you but tries her best and believes in communication.

Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Depends. If she's going out than she always tries to make herself look good. But when it's only you two she doesn't mind not being the prettiest. She loves matching outfits with you.

Warrior (Would they fight for you?)

Definitely. Maybe not always with hands, but she would for sure scream or say some pretty rude things if someone hurt you.

X-ray (How well are they able to read you?)

Like I said, she tries but prefers to ask you rather than assume how you feel.

Yes (Would they and how would they propose?) 

She loves the idea of her and you creating a family. She would buy a diamond ring and have it hidden for months. She wouldn't make a big deal out of it and plan it. She waits for a good, calm moment and one evening while you are in the garden she just pops the question.

Zen (What calms them down?)

When she can lay her head on you chest and feel your heartbeat. She loves to listen about your day as you lay and caress her back.

April 28, 2024

[sissylittlefeather]

Hi Sissy! If it’s not too late, could you do a Fic of Elvis based on the song “Help Me Make It Through the Night?” Like Elvis and you know you’re not good for each other, but you can’t stay away. Can develop into smut but if you’d prefer not, that’s okay too! If it’s too late, I completely understand! Thank you! 😊

@peaceloveelvis Hi! Definitely not too late! First of all, this is one of my most favorite songs. I actually have a series planned to go with this song later, so stay tuned. But also, I haven't written anything without smut in a LONG TIME. This one came out this way and I might revisit it to expand on the smut later if there's interest, but I kind of like it without it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this ficlet!

Help Me Make It Through the Night

Warnings: none really, cussing, mentions of sex

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

Elvis has been a part of your life since you met him during his Timex special with Frank Sinatra. The only thing you did more than make love relentlessly was fight endlessly. The nights were hot, but the mornings never failed to conclude with both of you yelling and at least one of you crying. There was no end to the way you loved each other or the way you managed to drive each other insane. There was always something to fight about and you left each other every time swearing you'd never be together again. But somehow, you'd end up in the same place and before you knew it you were naked in an elevator or in his backseat or in a bathroom or a hotel bed in some sketchy by-the-hour kind of place. Even after he got married, you didn't stop. Your pattern of fucking and fighting stayed the same.

In 1969, though, you had a particularly spirited tryst that ended with both of you saying things you regretted almost instantly. But you were both too stubborn to admit it, so instead you threw a shoe at him and screamed at him to get out and he called you a name and swore he'd never end up in your bed again. This time, the pain you caused cut so deep that you both insisted you'd never give in again. It was over, for real this time. The hurt was too much to make the good times worth it.

So, you did what any self-respecting woman would do. You married someone else.

When he heard about it, he broke an end table and all the things sitting on it in a fit of rage and jealousy and something else he was afraid to admit.

On your wedding night, you cried yourself to sleep with your new husband snoring quietly next to you in the bed.

Then, in 1971, you find yourself walking down the street and come upon a loud and frantic crowd. Your curiosity gets the better of you and you look to see what all the commotion is about. The crowd parts like ill-meaning clouds and he looks up at just the wrong moment.

His blue eyes pierce you straight through to your soul, even from across the street. Something inside you jumps and your hand goes to your throat. Memories of every time you've ever been together slam into you like a freight train and you're somewhere between ecstasy and wanting to die. By the look on his face, you can tell he's experiencing something similar. Everything inside you is screaming at you to go to him, but you feel the cold little ring on your finger and know that you can't. You turn and walk away as quickly as you can. He fights to get away from the crowd around him, but by the time he does, you're gone.

******

You're pacing the floor of your living room when the phone rings. Even several hours later, you haven't recovered from your encounter. You pick the phone up aggressively, annoyed to be distracted by the call.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Presley would like you to meet him tonight at the Presidential Motel at 11pm." Your blood runs cold.

"Why?" The line clicks with no answer. He's left the ball in your court and you hate it. You won't meet him. You just won't. He's impossible.

But at 10:45pm you're in your car. You've spent the last several hours trying to remind yourself of all the reasons you hate him. You finally decide you're going to see him just to tell him that you don't care what he says; you were serious last time. This is not a thing anymore and it never will be again.

At 11:06pm, you sit in the parking lot of the motel, a battle raging inside you.

"This is stupid." You mutter, finally getting out of the car. At the desk, you ask which room Mr. John Burrows is staying in. The clerk tells you and you stomp towards his room getting more and more angry as you walk. The nerve of him to think he can just summon you like this.

You pound on the door with every ounce of rage your body can contain flowing through you. The door opens slowly and your heart skips. Why does he have to look so good?

"You came."

"What the fuck could you possibly want to say to me?! The last time you saw me you called me a whore and said you'd rather swallow a knife than see me again. So, whatever you have to-"

"I miss you."

"You... what?" He speaks again slowly and deliberately.

"I miss you." It feels like your stomach has fallen to your kneecaps. "I'm lonely, honey."

"Call your wife."

"Will ya just... no. I want you."

"Have you forgotten-"

"No, I haven't. And I'm sorry." He's never apologized to you before. You stand in stunned silence just outside the door.

"You're-"

"Sorry. Yes. Now, will you come in please?" You stand there completely lost. Finally, he grabs your arm and drags you into the room, shutting the door behind you.

"What the hell, Elvis?!" He pulls you close to him and presses his lips to yours. For a second, you melt into him. Then, you remember why you were mad and pull away angrily.

"No, I'm not-" He pulls you in again, wrapping his arms around you and kissing you more deeply this time. You fight to get away, but he holds you tightly. Eventually you're able to escape his grasp and you push him backwards. He goes to grab you again and you slap him across the face. Your hands go to your mouth in shock and he looks at you stunned.

"Oh god, I'm-"

"I guess I deserved that." He walks to the bed and sits down. "You actually hate me, don't you?"

You stand there for a few seconds before sitting down beside him on the bed.

"No. I don't. But we said this was done."

"I know. I'm just... I'm alone, honey. And I miss you so much it hurts worse than being with you." You look at him, but he won't meet your eyes. It comes to you that he must be pretty desperate to put himself in this position.

"You're alone?"

"You know how it gets for me. There's people everywhere, but I just... I miss you."

"Why me?" He rolls his eyes and looks at you finally.

"You gonna make me say it?"

"Yes. If you want me to stay here, then-"

"I love you. I've been in love with you since I met you. You're the only one I want when I feel like this and it's been so long-" You reach out and put your hand on his knee and he looks down at it, setting his on top of yours, gently wrapping his fingers around yours.

You're used to these vulnerable moments from him. They're what has brought you together over and over throughout the years. So when he breaks down and sobs, you pull him into your arms and hold him without thinking. Somehow you end up lying in the bed with him cuddled tightly against you, head on your chest. You stroke his hair and hum quietly. This is a familiar position for the two of you and you've missed it more than you care to admit.

Eventually, his breathing evens out and you realize he's fallen asleep. You kick your shoes off and snuggle in to spend the night. As angry as you were, you can't deny him what he needs because the truth is you love him too and you always have. You kiss his forehead and hold him tightly. You've missed this too.

******

In the morning, you make love and it's sweet and sensual and exactly what you've both been needing. And this time you don't fight. Somewhere in the year you were apart, you grew. The love that you have is more important than anything that might separate you.

And as you lay naked together, the world opens up for you. He talks about leaving his wife and you decide your husband will be better off without you.

Will it happen? Will you finally find a way to be together in a way that works for you both? You don't know.

But you made it through this night together. Something tells you that you can make it through anything now.

******

The end?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

[adrift-in-thyme]

@kikker-oma happy belated birthday!!! Sorry it took so long for me to finish this! But I hope it proves worth the wait <333 (Also I hope you don’t mind some whump)

CW for blood and injury, vomiting, a panic attack, and a cave-in (be careful if you’re claustrophobic)

————————————-

In the wake of the explosion, Sky feels nothing. There is a high-pitched ring in his ears, spots in his vision, warm, sticky blood trickling from his nose. But no pain.

Until there is.

It hits like a claymore, cleaving through the half-consciousness he has clung to thus far. And the next thing he knows, he’s jerking upward, gasping. Only, he can’t sit upright at all.

His mind screams the panicked order, his muscles attempt it, but a weak, agonizing twitch is all he manages. Something is holding him down, something massive and heavy. His chest struggles to rise beneath its constant compression.

Sky blinks again, squinting past the tiny eruptions of light and the dust that floats, thick and suffocating in the air around him. There is nothing much to see in the endless darkness. But he can make out jagged shapes, blocky forms, the outlines of sand-covered objects.

Caging him in. Holding him down.

He’s pinned, he realizes with a streak of mind-numbing terror. And suddenly, what little air he had managed to drag in turns to nothing at all. He gasps, eyes blowing wide, as he thrashes.

Or attempts to. All he manages is to bring on a fresh onslaught of dizzying agony. It strikes through to his very bones, sending sharp pricks of static dancing before his eyes and crawling up the back of his head. And for a split second, everything goes a striking shade of black.

Then, he’s breaching the surface once more, too soon, much too soon, skyrocketing back into a world of pain and suffocation.

Sky coughs, choking on blood and tears. He has never really considered himself claustrophobic, but this experience might just change that assumption. Of all the ways to die…

But you’re not, he berates himself. You’re not dead yet, so think, think. Figure out a way to survive.

He can’t reach his pouch. The rubble piled beside him makes certain of that. It presses against him, crushing his side and tugging at the hem of his sailcloth. But if he can move it just a bit…

Trembling hands press to its jagged surface. With a sharp intake of breath, Sky steels himself and pushes.

Something shifts and for a split second, Sky dares to hope that maybe, just maybe he can get free. But then, the rubble on his lower half crawls sideways with the rest. And Sky screams.

The nauseating numbness that had begun to take root vanishes, replaced with the absolute agony that splits through his legs. He turns his head to the side and chokes up bile.

That one moment seems to last forever, pain dancing along his body endlessly. He lies there, limp and gasping, gazing at the blurred splotches his vision has been reduced to. And the waves wash over him, stealing the air from his lungs and turning his thoughts into incomprehensible things.

Needles streak up his neck, bringing with them unnatural heat. His eyelids flutter, eyes preparing to roll back in his head and plunge him back into the painless deep.

“Sky!”

A hand finds his, desperate in the way it grasps at him. Sky inhales sharply, jolting back into some semblance of awareness.

He had thought no other heroes were near the blast. He had thought they were all clear of the area. So, why…

Wait.

Memories crash back into his mind like waves on the sea. Memories of a building crumbling behind him and a boy by his side, running, running away from the collapse, away from certain death. Memories of the fiery knowledge that had situated itself firmly in Sky’s gut, the knowledge that he must protect him, protect the hero who came after him.

Protect the hero who was the first to feel the brunt of his failures, no matter the cost.

His hands fly out on instinct to shove the small figure in front of him through the doorway. Echoes of a terrified voice in his mind as he leaps, meaning to follow, wanting to.

Only for darkness to catch him before he can.

Four. Sky’s breath hitches, a sob of relief and agony catching in his throat. Four is here with him. Four is alive.

And he came back.

“Sky, can you hear me?”

The Skyloftian focuses all his strength. Weakly, he squeezes Four’s hand. The smithy blows out an audible sigh of relief.

“Thank the goddesses. We’re gonna get you free, okay? We just need a minute. If we move anything now…”

Though he trails off, the words left unspoken weigh on the Skyloftian even more heavily than the rubble. He drags in a thin gasp, swallowing against the growing lump in his throat.

“But I need you to stay awake until we can get you out,” Four continues, forcing a lighter tone into his voice. “Can you do that?”

“Yes,” is what Sky means to say. “Hurts,” is the croaked cry that comes out.

Four’s grip tightens. “I know, Sky. I’m-I’m sorry.”

Sky closes his eyes. The darkness there is safer, more comfortable than the dusky dimness floating around him.

“Not your fa-fault.”

“You shouldn’t have pushed me.” The voice is grim and drenched in guilt. Though it aims to sound accusatory, Sky feels that it hardly meets the mark. “‘There was time. We could’ve both gotten out. We could’ve…”

“K-kept you safe.” It is hardly a croak. The word burns in his throat. “Smithy…I w-wanted to…”

He drags his eyes open, stares into the expanse of floating nothingness. He still can’t breathe.

“It’s the least I…could do.”

Four is silent for a long moment. Then, his fingers constrict just slightly. Their warmth is welcome in a world of cold darkness.

“You’re going to get out of there, Sky,” he murmurs and there is something in his tone that Sky cannot identify. Maybe he could if he wasn’t so tired. Far more than usual in fact. This exhaustion drags him down like a leaden weight, pulling at the remaining scraps of consciousness.

“Just hold on,” the smithy says, and Sky pushes back against the endless deep.

Hold on.

He can do that. He can…

“T-tell me about y-your Hyrule,” he croaks.

And Four does. The smithy has many secrets, perhaps, even as much as the old man, and yet, he tells him. Of his grandfather, of Dot, of his home and his world and the tiny creatures known as Minish.

Sky clings to every word that tells him more about the hero who followed after him and the land he fought to protect. He clings to the sound of his voice, the warmth of his fingers, the painting he paints of his life…until his brothers come.

And then, finally, finally, the world is opening back up and the sunlight is streaming in and he can drag in thin gasps of fresh air and…and Four is right there, still holding his hand but gazing down at him now. Concern gleams in his multicolored irises.

Sky offers him a weak smile. “‘M okay now, smithy,” he murmurs, every word agony. “T-thanks for…for staying.”

Four’s face splits into a grin. A teary one, but an expression of joy nonetheless. “I’ll always stay. It’s the least I can do for the person who paved the way.”

There is respect in those words, Sky realizes dimly. Respect and something else…A connection, perhaps, that is stronger even than their bond of brotherhood.

He deserves neither.

But as he lets his eyes slip shut, as the voices of his family swell around him and arms lift him with a gentleness that belies their strength…he is glad to know about their place in the timeline. He understands the look in Time’s eye a little better now, when he gazes upon Twilight.

He is proud of his successor too.

[whorediaries-09]

million dollar man;

pairing- sirius black x camgirl!reader warning(s)- drinking, 18+ content, slightly dark themes. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- shit's porn with no plot fr.

ps- 🎵i don't have to pretend i like acid rock🎵

masterlist

and I don't know how you get over, get over someone as dangerous, tainted and flawed as you

the plastic dildo stretches your pussy open, your hand fondling your breast as you continue you ram the dildo into yourself. you bite your lip, moans leaving your mouth as your device starts tuning endlessly, your viewers sending you money for the show you put on for them.

'fuck fuck, am so close,' you whimper, your walls clamping down around the dildo. your fingers entangle with silk sheets under you and you arch your back, cumming around the dildo.

'shit,' you scream, your orgasm taking you from within, consuming the shit out of you. you fondle with your clit trying to calm yourself, breathing heavy,

'yeah, thank you guys for the money and shit, i've gotta leave.' you suck your fingers audibly before turning off the stream.

'god,' you mutter to yourself, falling back on your bed, scrolling through your phone, going through your reminders. the metal of your ring sat cold on the hot skin of your forehead, sending shivers down your spine.

your phone rings. it's lily, and with some hesitation, you pick the phone up.

'hey,'

'hello,'

'why do you sound so breathless? are you okay?'

shit.

'yeah i'm okay. just burned a few eggs,'

stupid.

the sound of her slapping her hand against her forehead is audible through the line and you chuckle,

'seriously, woman you need to hire a chef or something to make you some simple eggs,'

'eh, i was just you know distracted,'

'hmm....so you remember the plan right?'

silence.

'plan?' you mutter.

'oh yeah you totally forgot. anyways i'm introducing you to my boyfriend and his friends at the local pub today...but you already know them,'

'yeah i know them, but i also know you,'

'yep... so nine thirty?'

'i'll see you there,' you confirm before she cuts off the line.

you had half an hour to get ready.

*****

while the place is not unfamiliar to you, and neither are the people around you, you feel out of place within the bounds of sitting in the group of people. everyone seemed to really know each other, and you felt like the black sheep of them group. and that was true, somewhat.

you only really knew lily properly, as you grew up as the shy and quiet kid in school. while james and his group were known throughout the school, you obviously had heard of them, but somewhere along the lines, you never engaged in much conversations with them. except for perhaps peter and remus, who seemed to be fairly quieter than the other two but not to be mistaken as the 'innocent fellas'. remus and peter seemed to be the masterminds of all the shenanigans the group caused within the walls of the school, but rarely engaging in the plans they curated themselves.

'so what do you do for the money?'

the question directed at you pulls you out of the stance and you stare blankly for a few moments before answering,

'nothing much right now, just working at a toyshop, what about you?'

you're not sure who had asked the question, but just to make it seem like you had been paying attention, you had asked back the question. but when the gray eyed, raven haired man had answered your voiced question, you felt a spark of heat lightening you up,

'i work at as a tattoo artist, but trying for a modelling career to be honest,' sirius answers, his voice similar to how you remembered it, yet so different. he pops an olive in his mouth, swirling his teeth over his front row of teeth. you feel his eyes gleam and scan you. you're not sure whether he's judging you or checking you out with the smirk on his pretty lips.

but there's something about his unbroken gaze that speaks to you, that makes you think that he knows something you don't. there's something about it that makes you feel hot from within, and a like a solemn chant, it echoes into your head. your lips curve around the glass of alcohol, the liquid unnervingly warm down your throat. you let the ice cube sit atop your tongue, the coldness numbing down the nerves of your senses.

'lily,'

'hmm?'

'i'm excusing myself.'

'yeah, yeah sure,'

******

'always wanted to feel this pretty pussy gripping my cock tight,' he groans into your ear, pushing your face into the dirty mirror of the washroom. how he got into the ladies washroom without offending anyone wasn't your lookout.

not when he was filling you up so much better than your stupid plastic dildo ever could.

you moan out in severe pleasure, feeling the coil of orgasm hit you again, build up in your nerves. his finger runs complicated figure eights on your sensitive clit and you throw your ass back, trying to get more of him inside your gushing hole.

'more, more, please sirius,' you beg. in a swift move, he's got you turned around, plunging himself into you even deeper, wrapping your legs around his hips. he smacks your ass, pushing three of his wet fingers into your mouth. he feels his the mixture of his warm cum and your saliva in your mouth. he brings your mouth down to his, and forming a pellet of spit on his tongue, he drops it into your mouth, and your groan.

'swallow it you filthy little thing,'

you obey, swallowing away the wrecked mixture of cum and spit. he splits you open, devouring the insides of your hole. his pubic hair teases with your stimulated clit. his cock hits your g-spot so perfectly, it makes you tear up, your mascara rolling down your heated cheeks.

he bites the skin of your neck, leaving spots, marking you all over. you feel trepid, the way he makes you see stars with every push of his cock inside you, filling you up with his treacherous, dirty words.

'f-fuck,' you scream, as you clench your walls around his cock, squirting open his torso. your eyes roll back, toes twisted against the sole of your slippers. you slack your mouth open, with the pleasure that his touch drives you into, and you're high, cock-drunk with the way he's filling you up, using you.

'thought i wouldn't recognize you?' he shudders, thrusting upto you, grabbing your bare nipple between his teeth.

'exposing all of this pretty cunt to the world, getting money with your pretty moans and words. how does it feel to let a real cock fill you up? hmm?' he asks, mockingly.

'so, so good,' you cry the walls of your overstimulated pussy. you cry it in a benevolent lust as he fucks you stupid, chasing his high.

'come on, come on, look at me,' he growls, grabbing your chin to make you look into his lust drowned eyes. you feel him empty himself into you, filling to till your guts, the warmth of his seed feeling you up. he circles around your sensitive clit, groaning and moaning into your ear, feeling the warm walls of your cunt flutter around him.

'now this pretty pussy is mine. j-just fucking mine.'

[kivino]

CLOSER || SLASHER!SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY X M!READER

my masterlist

ao3 link to this fic

Word counter – ~2.9k

Tags/Warnings – very much dead dove do not eat, dealing with dark topics, stalking, unhealthy obsession, kidnapping.

Summary – You hear various dark rumors from your colleagues and you don’t believe them, until there is one particular ghost looking you right in the eye.

A/n – Fair warning, I am not trying to romanticize all those things. Requested by the anon from this post. Not proofread, so i'm very sorry if there are any mistakes.

At first, you didn’t believe all the rumors about ghosts, ghouls, and serial killers scouring every corner of the town in the dark, scratching the brick walls and howling in the tight alleyways. Your coworkers who usually talked about that kind of stuff appeared like gossiping teenagers exchanging something they heard or saw. Whispering on their breaks over lunch, or in those hours when business in the little coffee shop you worked in was slow. 

You thought their talks about some boogeyman hunting on the streets for new victims each night were silly at their best, and just distracting at their worst. You, coincidentally, were also usually the one working night shifts, taking over them after your female coworkers kept complaining about some creep waiting around until the end of the shift and scaring the crap out of them. 

So, how could you not help your colleagues out in a dire situation like this? Those shifts paid more anyway, and you needed all the money you could get. And, to be completely honest, you enjoyed the night. The lack of annoying customers, who’d scream at you for getting their order wrong, not smiling or some other stupid bullshit (whatever it takes to get that glossy paper with the words “20% off”, right?) died down by the night, so it was a breeze. Of course, you’d have to clean up and prep so much stuff for the morning shift, but then again, it was better money. So you could do with stacking some cups and taking out the trash and so on. After closing, you’d walk out a bit tired, but still enjoying the fresh night air, that would knock out any insistent worry straight out of your mind. 

And oh, what a fool you were for that. 

Ghost wanted to laugh, really. It was very amusing to him when you’d bravely head out into the dark, back to your shitty rundown apartment complex, listening to your music in your silly little headphones and not paying enough attention. Not a fucking thought inside this handsome head sometimes. Just perfect. Ghost knew he liked you for a reason. Which, of course, your appearance wasn’t solely why he felt drawn to you like you were a damn magnet. 

At first, he didn’t even notice you. Out and about, searching for any potential victims. Which became harder and harder each time he got bored and finished off the last one – their names fading from his memory as soon as the ringing from their strained, ear-splitting screams died down to a complete silence. They were borderline shrieks of wild, trapped animals that rang in his mind endlessly, day and night, echoes waking him from his restless dreams and lulling him back to sleep. Eyes snapped from figure to figure – searching, looking like a hound dog for something, someone that could satiate his hunger for blood. 

Followed a potentially interesting target to a small, cozy-looking establishment. Tried to look around more, still not completely set on the decision to commit to them. But then he laid his eyes on you and felt that familiar buzz under his skin, the pleasant vibrations that spurred him on like a prized stallion during a race. His blood felt scorching hot in his own body, anticipation for the desired thrill of the hunt already boiling in his veins.  That’s who he needed.

The huge man would follow you home with light, silent footsteps, uncharacteristic for his burly form. He would observe you from the dark corners of the forest, from between trees bunched together in thick, impenetrable layers. Ghost would come in during different times of the day, but wouldn’t ask for you, in fear of drawing too much attention – your coworkers looked like the types to run their mouths for fun, so he figured they would snitch on him to you. And that would just spoil all the fun, wouldn’t it? But then Ghost started feeling something he never thought he would. The more his eyes went over your form, over and over, like fingers picking at a bloody scab, or a tongue grazing gums where the tooth is missing, the more Ghost felt that ache poke needles through his skin, then change and transform into unfamiliar shapes and forms. Prickling on his insides, thorns gashing and bleeding his heart dry, his mind reeling at the mere sight of you in this stupid uniform, or just going about your business, and not knowing what kind of predator was following close behind in the shadows.

He craved more than your blood, your skin, and your smell on his knife, pooling between his fingers and onto the dirty floor of the basement. Etching scarlet lines into your sole being, slicing, cutting, and handling you like he would a piece of precious wood for his woodcarving projects. Ghost’s mind would go rampant with various images of you being with him. Not a victim, but a companion. A worthy one at that. The one Ghost deserves, with your presences intertwining until you two could not be separated from one another, grown together so deeply that you’d find parts of yourselves in each other wherever you’d look.

The only wish Ghost had was to be consumed by you wholly. And to consume you was a natural outcome of that. You’ll come around eventually. One way or another.

The images of his previous trophies resurfaced like thin, melting ice from fresh lake water. Each and every single one of them was an animal. In their life and their death. Scared but swift rabbits. Talkative crows that liked shiny things. Rabid hyenas that bared their teeth at him in a taunting grin. Gorgeous pheasants with their gentle coos. All of them so different, yet same in their dullness and lack of something Ghost was searching for in his prey.

You though, you were special. That’s why Ghost didn’t want to kill you, oh no. He wanted to keep you. All to himself. Lock you up like a wild bird in a golden, intricate cage and hear you sing lullabies and arias for him, and only him. Not for your stupid friends. Not for your idiot classmates. And not for your lazy ass coworkers. Only for him. 

So naturally if he wanted this songbird to be his, he had to get to work. Simon was a man of his words and actions, but Ghost preferred to act, rather than talk. First things first – he had to prepare a “cage”. One where you won’t escape from. One that will keep you safe from any harm. But not from him. He’d never harm you, in a million years. Ghost had to rearrange a room in the basement for that. And while it took some time and care, his feelings only grew stronger, when he would move and carry around so much stuff he had piling up in that dusty room. Then he had to know your schedule by heart, to know when and where he’ll be able to finally get his hands on the beloved songbird. It turned out to be pretty easy, Ghost got it down in a week and everything was working out perfectly. Finally, he had to catch you. Which, he was working on right now.

He waited until the perfect moment came to strike, like a hunter he was. One chance, that’s all it is going to take. And you’ll be his. His gut stirred with anticipation and excitement, that familiar buzz intensifying with each second, he waited to finally start his pursuit while hiding in the darkness. If it was anyone else but you the chase would’ve been lethal. For you, he had to contain his strength. Balling his fists together, beaten and bloody under the rough fabric of his gloves, he could easily snap a neck or break some fingers with the sheer power contained inside of his body, trained and adapted into the perfect shape for his…line of work and “hobbies”. For your sake, Ghost will have to use less force, for once in a long time. You’re only worthy while you’re alive.

The whole shift you felt like something was wrong. That sudden gut feeling, along with impending doom and anxiety that ate away at you was overtaking slowly but surely. Every second ticking away on the digital clock near the register only stretched that unusual, weird feeling like something (you weren’t sure what) was going to happen to you. You even felt a bit of cold sweat pop up right on your forehead, and the worst thing is, you couldn’t even point out what exactly threw you off your usual rhythm. So, all you had left to do was try to pretend like there wasn’t a whole hurricane of worry and panic bubbling inside of you.

You felt like you could snap any minute now from how tense you were. Intuition wasn’t your best suit, but you could not ignore a gut feeling so strong that you felt like vomiting up your lunch each time you were left in silence, alone with your thoughts, that spun around a variety of outcomes where you ended up dead on the side of the road because you didn’t listen to that gnawing dread curled inside your gut.

And you should’ve, really.

Maybe then you wouldn’t have been in the position that you’re in right now. Your chest and throat hurt, cold air burning with every shallow and quick inhale, as you ran, as fast as you could, blood pulsing in your ears with increasing pressure. You were pretty sure your heart was about to jump out of your chest. If it wasn’t for your headphones running out of battery and you having to walk back without any music you wouldn’t have heard the quiet, rapidly approaching footsteps. You couldn’t see your pursuer, too focused on the road, or lack thereof in front of you.

Why did you think dipping into the dark grove at the first opportunity to lose the person who was following you was a good idea? Your feet stumbled over the thick roots that webbed the fresh, wet ground, moonlight barely managed to pierce through the thick layer of leaves overhead and it seemed like any animal in your close vicinity disappeared, with how eerily quiet everything was, safe for your heaving and wheezing, that easily gave away your position.

You’re scared, oh, you’re so fucking scared you could feel the way hairs all over your body stand up from the terror, unknown follower sparkling fear so primal your thoughts are reduced to barely a semblance of your usual self.

You could hear the crunch of the leaves under your shoes, vines, and branches smacking you, as you ram through them in your attempt to get away, to save yourself from whatever wild beast was chasing you, whose heavy breath you could almost feel on the nape of your neck. You were pretty sure your face got smacked by another thorny vine, this time delivering a harsh, stinging cut that made you wince. You didn’t slow down, however, adrenaline made you push yourself to surprising lengths, that you didn’t think were possible in a normal, safe environment. The cut felt warm. You were pretty sure it started bleeding.

That is until your foot slips and you feel everything going upside down, crashing onto you, sharp pain digging into your sides, as you tumble down. And from water in your nose, eyes, and airway, you can give a wild guess that you fell into some kind of creek. If it’s true, then your clothes and your backpack are most likely busted. You try to get up, but your hands slide over slick, wet rocks on the bottom of the stream, making you slip back into the water and sending you into a whole coughing fit, bitter water resting on your tongue like a layer of algae. You yank your foot from under some rock, desperately trying to listen to the footsteps that at the moment were as loud as hell’s bells for you, stumbling to your feet, and through the thick darkness, you see that the path ahead will only be uphill. The ground is wet and muddy, but you don’t care, hands and nails digging into it, crawling upwards as fast as you can. You feel yourself grow cold when you hear a quiet slide and feel a hand grab you by your leg.

And then you start kicking, screaming, howling until a bitter burn on your throat makes you cough, spreading the sharp pain with every collapse of your chest. Fingers digging into the fresh mud and leaves, raking through them, earth sticking to the underside of your nails, as you try to grapple onto something, anything, to hold onto and save yourself from the iron hold on your ankle. Your heart is beating so fast you can hear it pumping the blood through every single artery and vein, and you’re sure that animalistic fear is being spread through your body along with it.

“Sing for me, boy. Nobody will hear you.” The man’s voice, devoid of emotions, littered with deep sighs and grunts of exertion rumbled from above you, as he dragged you down from the insignificant height you managed to climb.

“Fuck off! Let go of me!” You scream, your body contorted into a bizarre shape as you turn your head, trying to catch a glimpse of the man and correct the aim of your kicks. Your neck was weeping in pain and strain, along with every other muscle in your body. Fear scorched your insides. This was it for you, truly. Nobody will find your body in this stupid fucking forest and you’re just going to become the food for local fauna. Beautiful.

You expected anything – harsh blows to the back of your head, being drowned inside this shallow creek, stabbed to death, until you paint the water red, getting your head bashed in, or even shot like a rabid, stray dog who had no one to care for it. Instead, you’re getting your hands and legs tied together, and the man throws you over his shoulder, despite your attempts to scratch or punch him. You scream and cry, burning your throat raw, kicking and writing in the hold of the unknown person. Chanting harsh insults, and trying to kick or punch didn’t work either, but you didn’t care. You weren’t about to find out more about the local serial killer. However, no matter your intentions, you could not see where you were going, dark earth being the only thing in front of your eyes. Your thoughts and presence float far away from here, as the man brings you somewhere, jabbing a needle with something that makes you light-headed and sleepy.

When you finally wake up you’re changed from your dirt-stained, wet clothes, with your body aching like no tomorrow and the cut on your face dressed. The room has barely any light in it, and you feel the warm covers enveloping you, reminding you of home until you turn your head and see…something. Someone. His presence is enough to send shivers through your body.

He’s sitting by the bed you’re tucked into. Skull mask. Large, looming figure. Dark eyes gleaming right at you. You feel your face contorting into an angry scowl when you look at him and try to get out of bed. He doesn’t move. You get yanked back, and promptly turn your head again, feeling the muscles in your back and neck ache. Your hand is cuffed to the radiator. You feel a rough lump in your throat rise and drowsiness floating away. It doesn’t quite sink in yet, but you could feel the anxiety forming once again in the pit of your stomach and that lump rising as if you’re about to vomit whatever was left of your insides.

You hear the man get up from his chair with a quiet shuffle and the squeak of the chair legs on the floorboards. You flinch back, your back pressing into the warm metal of the radiator, almost burning the skin through your clothes. The bed dips down under the weight of the man. He’s not taking away his eyes from you, even for a second. It makes you want to crawl under the blanket that is now resting at your feet, just to hide from the piercing, heated gaze that you want to avoid at any cost.

You close your eyes, trying to calm down and think about anything else, but what surrounded you. Which proved impossible the moment you felt a rough, calloused hand shift from its position on the bed and rest on the side of your face. Warm, scorching fingers stroking your cheek gently, like that same hand wasn’t just dragging you through water and muck in the shallow forest creek.

Ghost felt…Good. Despite the bad first impression, he was sure that he was on the right track. Your skin felt divine, your beautiful eyes made him want to keep you here forever and never let go. And the way you looked while sleeping made him want to abandon observing altogether and crawl into the bed with you, caging in a tight, bone-crushing embrace that would show you just how much he craves you. But for you, it would probably be too fast, too shocking. For now, just being able to look at you and touch you was enough.

Maybe, if Ghost had a little more bravery he would whisper:

“You’re mine, songbird. Forever”

But for now, it’ll do. You’ll come around. One way or another.

check out my masterlist for more fics or send me a request/comment!

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

Great War

Bucky Barnes x Reader

a/n: another TS song inspired story.

Summary: During an attack, reader is hurt.

“…my hand was the one you reached for all throughout this Great War.”

The pavement, broken under Bucky Barnes’ boots. He stepped confidently and carefully, while keeping his eye out for anyone that might need help. The air smelled like it was on fire, lungs working overtime as he called out for Sam. His voice was meek as he asked if he had seen you, where were you. His response gave nothing to Bucky, so he kept foraging on. The chaos started to simmer as he approached a group of civilians; he walked towards them and kneeled next to the nearest person. He assessed their wounds and tried to reassure them that medical help was on the way when his eyes caught a glimpse of your face. A face he could never forget, memorized deep inside the core of his mind. He stood up, halfway through his sentence and promised to return, as he moved passed dozens of victims of the attack. Another attack of this great war.  That’s what you called it, the constant fighting; continent hopping and spying. Endlessly tiresome, that’s what you were, and you had made sure everyone knew this was it for you.

“I’m not fighting after this one, consider it my two weeks’ notice.”

Bucky watched from his seat, silently contemplating.

“You don’t mean that.”

Natasha, she was always so desperate to keep everyone together; you smiled fondly at her but shrugged. “I’m tired.”

The tone in your voice made it final and no one else argued, even if they wanted to. Your focus moved to Bucky, and he gave a knowing nod as your shoulder’s relaxed. That was it and now he was moving towards you, on autopilot. You stood leaning against a brick wall, hand cradling your abdomen.  His heart sank a thousand times when your eyes locked with his; he knew instantly, regrettably. The look on your face, the haphazard smile told him everything he needed to know; this truly might be your last fight, ever. Bucky rushed to you and as if you had been waiting for him, fell into his arms as he reached for you. Drowning in the warmth of his touch, your head cradled back against his arm, and you looked up to him.

“There you are.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” he whispered, panic straining in his vocals. He looked around, gobsmacked in the heart, and then he saw medics running toward the large crowd and he screamed. Bucky screamed louder than he ever had, his voice ringing repeatedly in your ears as you passed out.  Your eyes slowly fluttered shut and he quickly, guilty, handed you over to the medics. He wished then that he had become a doctor in his earlier life – he’d fix you right there, in the chaos. He didn’t care about everyone else, and he felt selfish as the medics worked on you. He stood over them, warning them with his sheer power glare that he wasn’t going to lose you. Not today, not on the last day of this great war. This fight that was made up of countless days, with little pockets of happiness the two of you managed to squeeze in.

“I kind of really like you.”

Bucky looked up from the hotel bar menu, he leaned against the counter; the two of you sat shoulder to shoulder and he grinned. Your entire body went warm, and he pursed his lips, placing the menu down to get a real look at you. You looked a bit frazzled from work lately, but even under the lowlights of the bar, all he could see was beauty.

“I knew it,” he teased, flinching when you smacked him on the shoulder. The two of you laughed and he quickly ordered two beers and you waited for a response other than what was on tap. The bartender placed two glasses on the marble counter and Bucky pushed one to you. He held his up and nodded for you to do the same. You asked what there was to cheer about and he smirked.

“To me and you doing this.”

He pointed a finger at you then himself and you couldn’t help but be obliged. “To doing this thing.”

Bucky whistled as the glasses clinked together and he smiled, reaching a hand for yours. His fingers touched deeper than your skin, in that moment, he touched your soul.

“I’m not losing her today,” he grunted through his teeth, and he noted the way one of the medics cringed. He apologized just as Sam appeared at his side, taking a moment to take in what was happening before touching Bucky’s shoulder. He promised Bucky you would pull through, quickly reporting what happened to the others. He walked away briefly, but Bucky never took his eyes off you or the blood. The medics had to tear open your uniform, he thought he could smell plasma in the air as he saw the blood soaking into your stomach or from. He felt queasy then, but Bucky stood his ground and watched as they worked meticulously, knowing they needed to get you to a hospital.

“Natasha’s landing now. The facility is preparing for her arrival. We need to go now.”

Sam didn’t wait for a response, instead he instructed the medics on the plans to move you. Bucky heard the word stretcher, and he finally snapped his attention into action. He moved you himself from the ground to the stretcher, so tenderly. He held his breath the entire time until you were strapped down, barking at the others to be careful. Then the quinjet landed and he found himself walking at your side as the others pushed the stretcher to walk up.

“We still need up down here,” Sam called to him.

Without bothering to answer, Bucky looked up to where Natasha stood, clear apprehension on her face. Her eyes held onto the image of you, passed out and bloody as she moved aside. “We can have her there in minutes, she’ll pull through. She’s a fighter.” Bucky nodded and the two of them ascended after the medics and stretcher, where you lay unconscious. Natasha moved to the cockpit when Bucky called her name out softly and she turned.

“Hurry the hell up.” “Keep her company, I’ll get us there in no time.”

She did, in minutes, like she promised.

The medical team was ready for you as the quinjet landed, not waiting for Bucky as they rushed the stretcher inside. He felt a wave of relief, just for a moment as Natasha walked him inside. He knew you were in good hands, but he was already plotting everyone’s death if you…

He shoved the thought into the back of his mind and sat down outside the operating room. The medical technology at the facility should have given him hope, but all Bucky could feel was dread as Natasha handed him a cup of coffee. It was bitter and he drank it with ease.

“I think I really love you.”

Bucky looked up from the book he was reading, the two of you sat shoulder to shoulder eating at the hotel breakfast bar. His eyes softened, but surprised filled them and it made you laugh. He asked what was so funny and you shrugged. “I’ve never seen you so shock in your life.”

His nerves calmed and he grinned, placing the book down next to his plate. He turned on the stool to face you; knees to knees, he reached for your hand and held it tight. Your smile faded as he brought a palm to your face and the blaze of his warmth hardened against your body, like an invisible shield from the world. He knew then that he would do anything, everything for you.

“I love you too.”

They worked on you for hours, the severity of your wound was more complicated than the doctors initially thought. Two different times, they almost lost you, but in the end, you fought. Bucky sat slumped outside the OR, never drifting into weariness. He was alert the entire time, counting every second and anticipating bad news. It never came. Instead, the doctor pulled off her mask and called for him, Bucky stood up so fast his head spun.

“Did she…”

He couldn’t even bring the word to his lips, but the doctor just smiled.

“She’s a fighter, she pulled through. It took longer than expected but she’s going to fully recover.”

He wanted to scream in relief, hug the doctor so tight he might suffocate her; but instead, he asked ever so politely when he could see you. “She’s going up to the recovery room now, she’ll be ready to see you in an hour. Can you wait?”

What kind of question was that?

He would wait three lifetimes for you.

“No problem, thank you, doctor.”

Bucky finally examined the clothes he was wearing and noticed the blood on his uniform. He needed to change, didn’t want you to see all the blood on him – your blood on him. He called Natasha, who had returned to aftermath of an endless fight and updated her on your condition. He could hear the tears in her voice, and she promised to come as soon as possible. “Take your time,” he said, wanting to keep you for himself. He didn’t care how selfish that made him; he would be the most selfish bastard if it meant getting to be with you.  He quickly left for the living quarters, right into Steve’s room. Bucky and you had an apartment in the city, so he had to borrow some clothes from his friend. He ended up with a pair of jeans and black plain shirt. He washed up in the bathroom, wetting the day’s nerves away with cold water. He dried off his face and stared into the mirror. “Lucky bastard,” he whispered to himself before leaving to see you.

….

The room was cold, but the sun brightened the room from the large windows. He talked to the nurse for a moment before she excused herself; he thanked her and slowly walked to the bed. It was a large hospital bed, he knew from the looks of it, it was more comfortable than the one back home. His face was grime as he drew closer until he saw you staring out the window. Your eyes were flickering until you slowly turned to him. He cried then, feeling the weight of the world dripping off his shoulders as you held up a shaking hand to him. He moved to your side in a heartbeat, sitting down on the edge of the bed facing you. He held your hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. He leaned his head against your knuckles, cheek against your skin as you told him everything was okay.

“It hurts like hell,” you croaked, but smiled. “…but I’m fine, Bucky.”

His eyes simmered; tears gleamed in the light of the sun. “I nearly lost you.”

Letting him soar through his emotions, you held his hand as he sobbed. He was careful not to move you, but his forehead remained against your hand as he held it. His sorrow made tears fall from your eyes, but then you said his name and he let out a deep breath, letting go to wipe away his tears. He laughed then, shaking his head. “You’re going to get people killed one of these days.”

Confused, you asked why. He shook his head again. “The medics, the doctor…I was contemplating everyone’s death if you hadn’t…”

Understanding, it was your turn to kiss his hand. “…but I did and that’s all the matters. “

He agreed, letting go of all the anxiety of what-ifs, allowing himself to be present again. He asked what had happened and you shrugged. “The great war, what a way to retire, huh?”

The details he would get later when things calmed down. When the two of you were back at the apartment, away from everything and everyone. It might be weeks, but he could wait. He leaned forward and kissed you on the lips, then forehead before sitting up to tuck you in. “You need your rest, I’ll be here.”

Head resting deeper into the pillow, you smiled hazily up at Bucky. “Always?”

Bucky smiled the smile meant only for you. “Always.”

[silverbladexyz]

We saw dazai with reader who doesn't like him. What about dazai with reader who does like him, more than a friend

Uhhh please ignore the fact that I haven't written any requests in ages ;w; I hope you enjoy ❤

The image used is not mine. It belongs to it's original owner.

TW: None

Fell first, fell harder

Oh, heavens.

Just when had you fallen prey to this disgustingly nice feeling that accelerated your heartbeat and filled your stomach with so many butterflies that it felt like it would explode from the intensity?

Whenever he was in your presence, or whenever you looked into those beautiful brown hues as he talked to you with his irresistibly smooth voice, you could feel your chest constrict and your knees weaken helplessly as you fell prey to his endlessly charming appeal. It was painfully obvious that you were stuck pining after him, despite all the warning bells ringing in your head about the complexity of this man.

Yes; the man you had fallen for was none other than Dazai Osamu, the suicidal maniac who could outwit demons himself.

You should've seen it coming when you reciprocated his flirting one day.

It was initially to shut him up, as you were already having a stressful day with lots of paperwork and impatient calls to attend to. Despite being able to momentarily silence the man, you soon learned that it was the worst mistake of your life as his flirting had nearly doubled in both it's intensity and amount at the end of the day. Even when you knew he was only teasing, you were determined to get back at him. And you, like the unknowing, competitive fool you were, decided to challenge him to see who could fluster the other person first.

Soon, you found yourself wishing that the ground would split open and swallow you up whenever he dropped another impossibly smooth compliment that you didn't even see coming.

You would've already given up and told him of your feelings were it not for the fact that it was Dazai that you were crushing on.

At first glance, anybody would say that it was reasonable for you to fall for him. He was tall, witty, had a way with words, worked in a respectable company, and attractive; many people had helplessly fallen for his charm. The very same charm that he utilised as a weapon to manipulate others as he pleased.

Throughout the many playful banters and friendly conversations you had with him, you noticed how sometimes, his silly persona seemed slightly forced. How his eyes seemed to see through your very existence, finding out your darkest secrets and laying you bare to his sharp gaze. And how he never showed any genuine emotions, despite being an expert at reading them.

Plus the fact that he was a womaniser who still had countless admirers who were vying to have another chance with him, and he had rejected every single one of their advances. You were a personal witness to them, and each rejection made you rip up your feelings and toss them to the back of your mind, only for them to resurface as soon as he turned his attention towards you. Yet it was obvious that your feelings were in vain.

You gave a small sigh as you typed away on the computer, thinking about this complex dilemma you were in.

You knew that you should only stay friends with Dazai for your sake, but your heart just said otherwise.

"My my, you are sighing quite a lot today. Are you thinking about me and my irresistible charm, perhaps?~"

The butterflies resurfaced in your stomach again as you turned to face the cause of those damn feelings.

"Heh. As if. Instead, I was thinking how good it'll be if you actually did your work for once instead of pushing it all to me and Atsushi-kun to complete. It'll be a great help to all of us, don't you agree?" You gave your best agitated smile, despite wanting so desperately to scream out 'I like you!' at the top of your lungs and unbottle all those feelings you had harboured for Dazai.

"Ah, don't be maddddd! You know I do that because it's my love language! The best type of love language, if I may add!" He grinned cheekily, seemingly unaware of how fast your heart raced at his gorgeous smile. Your faux irritation quickly melted away into attraction and longing for him, already having gone past what friends normally felt for each other.

"Besides, I know you love me too much to actually make me do my dreary paperwork on my own.~"

Dazai's grin grew wider as his brown eyes gazed into yours; those same brown eyes which had drawn you in and made you captive to it's warm, bewitching stare. In fact, everything about him had made you fall, and fall hard.

He really was going to be the death of you someday.

Not too proud of this oneshot, but it really did exercise my rusty writing skills. I'm open to any criticism about my writing ❤

@circinuus @ashthemadwriter @sariel626 @dazaiyohane @xxelfmamaxx @nekokinax @yuugen-benni @i-just-like-goats

[campbell-rose]

Helluva Rewrite: Millie

Okay, i dropped my phone in water and was so scared i'd ruined it, but thank the gods it was fine. Though it's fucked so i'm going to post all the IMP redesigns in short order before it dies and i lose them forever. Onto Millie!

I wanted Millie to read as a country girl. I remember being like ‘oh, that’s her voice?’ when I watched the first episode, because for some reason it just didn’t match her design for me. I considered giving her back the white splotch in her hair, but decided to change imps and give fem imps white horns. I’ve got two guesses for why it was removed: 1) she was originally trans and it was changed 2) the dimorphism of imps was thought of after the pilot. Either way, I like it. I suppose the explanation for this version since her horns are fem is she might have been born intersex?

I wanted her and Moxxie to contrast in their designs, as such she’s wearing less while he’s fully covered, she’s tall he’s short, etc... Now, as a Wrath imp, she has a darker skin tone and has spikes on her body.

Now, as a character, i'll build off of what the show has given us.

Supposedly Millie is secretly very insecure? From leaks she’s like willing to die because she thinks she’s holding Moxxie back and in Unhappy Campers she had that whole breakdown. Now, I think this actually could’ve been built up a bit.  

In the rewrite, Millie is the youngest of her five siblings and the second girl. Now, from the bat lets make her a bit of a drain on the family. They hadn’t planned for her birth, and it was another child her parents had to take care of with limited money. She picked up on this when she was little, realizing that her parents often cut corners and struggle, and she perceives this as her fault. This ties into how she mentions her family going to Loo Loo Land, except in this it was once and was specifically for her birthday. She knows her parents had saved up for months to afford the trip and feels innate guilt for it. Boom insecurity explained. 

Now, in this Millie meets Blitzo first. They bump into one another once Millie moves away from the Wrath Ring to Pride to try and alleviate her parents’ stress. During this time Millie has been working as an assassin for a couple months and ends up bumping into Blitzo who was hired by a different person to kill the same target. This would be during Blitzo’s attempt to start his business in hell killing demons. They fight for a bit, then realize ‘oh wait... let’s work together!’ so Millie was the first to join IMP. 

Millie trains endlessly. When she isn’t doing her job, she’s at the gym. She is constantly striving to be the best because her parents pitted her and her siblings against one another (unknowingly, with things like the harvest festival). As a person she is very observant and emotionally intelligent. She is very kind and loves conversation. She also is very tight with money, and very appreciative of any gifts she receives because she grew up with little. She treasures things genuinely and is just all around a very genuine girl. 

Now, other than fighting, she is fairly mediocre at anything else, due to the culture of Wrath mainly being kill or be killed and you have to be tough. One hobby and talent she does have and is working on is singing, something she shares with Moxxie and works as something they can do together. Millie loves to play guitar and sing and is constantly striving to improve. On the topic of Moxxie, Millie loves him deeply and wants only the best for him and some part of her feels like she isn’t enough. 

All around I want this Millie to come off as a very confident and genuine person, trying her best to push down the deep feeling within her that she is a drain on everyone around her. So when people start showing her with praise rather than screaming in agony she is enthralled. She loves the cheers of crowds, as it was often Sallie Mae getting cheered on during the Harvest Moon Festival while Millie was always second best. She wants that kind of adoration and acknowledgement. 

That’s it. Gotta work on finishing Blitzo and Moxxie rn