#anger and rage and killing and biting

[dragon-spaghetti]

Have just discovered my entire ao3 was scraped for ai training ohhhh I am beyond furious

And with that; this is your reminder that I am strongly against generative ai. Thieving twats can go fuck themselves with cacti

[partywithponies]

[shikakunaras]

Boy howdy I don’t know how many “just get to next week/over this bump”s I got left in me. I’m tapped out.

[milo-is-rambling]

Apologies in advance to anyone who sees me in public during the Father’s Day aisle season

[badolmen]

“You should kill them with kindness!” no. throwing a frag.

[josephandrewstarkey]

beach fight - part 1

warnings: angst, mentions of blood, cussing, topper, fighting, mentions of cheating, Ruthie

disclaimer: this is so satisfying to read — requests are open!!

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

The Pogues were lounging on the beach, enjoying the rare moment of peace. Y/N tried to relax, but the air felt tense, like something was about to go down. She couldn’t help but notice the Kooks pulling up in their flashy cars, parking way too close. Rafe, Topper and the rest of their stupid crew stepped out, making sure everyone saw them.

The last thing Y/N needed was to see Rafe. After everything he did— cheating on her with Sofia. it still stung. they had a thing going on for a while, he changed when they were together— but that all went away when Sofia happened. And now, here they were, together, acting like nothing had happened

Topper and JJ had made a quick agreement not to start anything. Both knew things could get messy fast, so they decided to keep it chill for the day.

Everyone settled back into their spots, but Y/N could feel the tension in her muscles. She couldn’t help glancing over at Rafe, who looked too comfortable around Sofia, his arm draped lazily over her shoulder. Her stomach twisted with a mix of anger and hurt.

Suddenly, Kiara gasped. “Guys, look!”

The Pogues’ attention snapped to the tiny turtle hatch making its way to the ocean.

Everyone gathered around, watching as the turtle moved slowly through the sand. It was a rare moment of quiet wonder, the kind that reminded them why they loved this place.

But then the loud roar of an engine shattered the peace. Ruthie’s truck tore through the sand, heading right for the turtle, swerving dangerously close to the Pogues.

“Watch out!” JJ yelled, grabbing Kiara and pulling her out of the way.

The truck barely missed them, the tires kicking up sand. Ruthie laughed from inside, clearly amused at the chaos she was causing.

“She almost killed them!” Kiara said, horrified, looking back at the little turtles still struggling through the sand.

Y/N clenched her fists, biting her tongue. Her heart raced with anger, but she tried to hold it in. Not yet, don’t explode yet.

But Ruthie wasn’t done. She spun the truck around, her laughter echoing through the air. As she drove past them again, she leaned out the window, holding a drink. Without warning, she tossed it right on Kiara, drenching her in sticky liquid and ice.

Kiara stood there, frozen, dripping wet. “Are you kidding me?”

Y/N felt the last thread of control snap. “Don’t” John B muttered, trying to keep the peace.

But Y/N couldn’t take it anymore. She stormed toward Ruthie, eyes blazing with fury, not caring what anyone said.

“Y/N, don’t!” John B called after her, but it was too late. The anger that had been building for months—Rafe’s betrayal, seeing Sofia here, Ruthie’s blatant disrespect—had reached its breaking point.

Y/N marched right up to Ruthie, who was standing by her truck now, smirking at the mess she’d caused.

“What’s your problem, you bitch?” Y/N spat, her voice shaking with rage.

Ruthie sneered, completely unfazed. “What’s yours, Pogue? Go cry about it with your dirty friends.”

That did it. Without a second thought, Y/N grabbed Ruthie by the shirt and shoved her back, hard. Ruthie stumbled, caught off guard, but before she could react, Y/N swung her fist, landing a solid punch to Ruthie’s face.

Ruthie shrieked in pain, clutching her nose as blood started to drip. “You psycho!”

The Kooks looked on in shock, unsure of what to do. Sofia’s eyes widened as she watched Y/N completely lose it. But she noticed something else—Rafe wasn’t running to Ruthie’s defense. Instead, his eyes were glued to Y/N, a mix of anger and concern flashing across his face.

Ruthie tried to fight back, but Y/N wasn’t having it. She grabbed Ruthie’s hair, yanking her down toward the sand as Ruthie let out another scream. Y/N’s fists flew, fueled by months of pent-up rage.

“Y/N!” Rafe’s voice finally broke through, but she didn’t stop. He rushed over and grabbed her from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her off Ruthie. “That’s enough!”

Y/N struggled against his grip, still fuming. “Let go of me!”

Ruthie lay on the ground, crying and holding her bloody nose. Y/N had done enough damage, but the fire inside her wasn’t out.

Rafe held her tight, his breath warm against her neck as he tried to calm her down. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Get your hands off me, Rafe,” Y/N snapped, finally breaking free of his grip. She spun around to face him, her chest heaving. “What am I doing? I’m doing what you should’ve done—keeping your bitchass friends in check.”

Rafe narrowed his eyes, but Y/N didn’t give him a chance to respond. “You’ve been running around with these Kooks, pretending like nothing matters, while you’re just as bad as them. You cheated on me with her!” Y/N’s voice cracked as she pointed at Sofia, who was standing frozen, watching the whole scene unfold.

Rafe clenched his jaw, but there was a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “That’s not—”

“Don’t even try to defend yourself,” Y/N cut him off. “You lost that right the second you chose Sofia.”

Sofia, who had been silent this whole time, shifted uncomfortably as Rafe’s attention stayed focused on Y/N. She could see how much Y/N still affected him, how his whole demeanor changed around her. His concern, his frustration—it was all for Y/N, and that realization stung.

Y/N turned her back on Rafe and marched back toward Ruthie, who was still sitting in the sand, clutching her bleeding nose. Before anyone could stop her, Y/N grabbed Sofia’s drink from the hood of the truck and dumped it right over Ruthie’s head.

Ruthie gasped, soaked and defeated, blood and soda dripping down her face.

“Don’t ever mess with my friends again,” Y/N hissed, her voice low and dangerous.

Rafe watched in shock, still standing frozen in place, as Y/N walked back toward the Pogues. He barely noticed Sofia next to him, her face twisted in jealousy and confusion as she realized how much control Y/N still had over him.

The Pogues erupted in cheers as Y/N rejoined them. JJ slapped her on the back, laughing. “Hell yeah, Y/N! That was awesome!”

Kiara, still wiping the drink off her, grinned. “You really know how to handle things.”

But as the Pogues celebrated, Rafe stayed behind, his eyes locked on Y/N, conflicted emotions swirling inside him. Sofia glanced between them, noticing the way Rafe’s attention was fixed on Y/N, and it was clear: no matter what had happened between him and Sofia, Y/N still had a hold on him that Sofia could never break.

part 2 here

[gukcnt]

03 | SHADOWS OF OBSESSION ⭒ JJK

a criminal's obsession with a shy medical student starts a passionate mix of desire and darkness. As their worlds collide, secrets get exposed and possession turns into love. In a world filled with betrayal and the weight of their own pasts, can they find a way to survive together? or will their twisted bond ultimately destroy them both?

pairing — criminal dom!jungkook x student sub!femreader

genre — criminal au, dark romance, forbidden attraction, enemies to lovers, murderer!jungkook, stalker!jungkook, innocent shy!reader, virgin!reader, medical student!reader, violence, stalking and obsession, contrast of worlds, crime, thriller, smut, lots of angst, fluff

warnings/tags — 18+, explicit smut, angry!jungkook, posessive!jungkook, toxic!jungkook, emotional vulnerability, isolation and loneliness, intrusion and stalking, romantic gestures, violence and gore, fear, emotional manipulation, power dynamics, d/s dynamics, argument, crying and cursing, crying from pleasure, rough oral sex, multiple orgasms, aggressive and forceful consensual sexual acts, hair pulling and fisting, making out, marking and bruising, pain play, breast play, nipple sucking and biting, overestimation, sensory overload, pushing physical boundaries, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, she rides his fingers, solo masturbation, orgasm denial/control, jungkook watches reader masturbate, masturbation using a rose, intense clit play, body worship, dirty talk, slight degradation, praise kink, cum eating, absence of aftercare

wc — 11.7k

series m. list | main m. list

────୨ৎ────

It was nighttime, jungkook stood in the middle of the street, broad shoulders hunched, as always, his black leather jacket hugging his frame. The fabric was slick with sweat and a fresh splatter of blood from his latest victim, and it was soaking through his fabric, staining him with the weight of his sinful actions.

His knuckles were split open, the skin coated with blood—some his, most not. Beneath his boots, a man lay, his face pulped bloody flesh and shattered bones, unrecognizable as a human.

The man's chest no longer moved, his life taken away by jungkook with his knife and anger. The air was thick with the smell of blood, a cigarette between his lips.

He exhaled as dark eyes stared down at the dead body, but he felt nothing—no remorse, no mercy, only more of the rage that was clawing at his insides.

It had been seven days since he’d left you, since he’d tasted the sweetness of your pussy and felt your thighs tremble under his tongue. Heard the desperate, broken moans that spilled from your lips as he consumed your innocence.

Seven days since he’d knelt for you, something he never does for anyone, not even in the brink of death, but he did for you, his fragile petal.

Your purity weakened all his defenses.

He’d promised himself that he’d stay away, he’d let you live your soft, risk-free life untouched by the danger of his existence. But that promise felt like a lie that was making him suffer with the agony of your absence.

He was going completely feral, like a monster, his violence increasing to a limit that he himself couldn’t control.

In a single week, he’d killed three men—three lives taken from his fists alone, sometimes blades, and each death was more wild and severe than the last.

He didn’t kill for pleasure, he killed because he hated how tainted the world is, because his hands constantly itched to destroy something, and mainly because every moment away from you was driving him closer to madness.

“Fuck you,” he snarled at the corpse, voice guttural, “fuck all of you!”

His words were directed to no one, only something to fill his void. He kicked the body so hard it sent a jolt of pain through his leg, and he welcomed it, craved it, because pain was like an old friend to him, kept him grounded to a reality that he was losing.

His chest heaved, breaths ragged. His hands trembled not from fear but from the need to break something else, to tear the world apart until he felt even a small fraction of peace in his soul.

He lit another cigarette, trying to distract himself, jaw clenching. The first drag burned his throat, but the nicotine did nothing to dull the ache in his chest.

He smoked through several packs now, each cigarette was a mark of time spent without you. Sometimes he drank cheap whiskey, expecting it to help him, but it did absolutely nothing to numb his pain.

The nights were the worst when everything grew quiet.

Your face haunted him.

Your wide, innocent eyes glistening with fear and want as your lips trembled, whispering his name.

Your pussy, it was something he can never forget, no matter how much blood he spilled. Your pussy was so tight and wet, clenching around his fingers when he’d pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

He groaned, the sound breathy and animalistic, his cock twitching at the memory, body betraying him even as his mind screamed at him to forget.

“Why?” he muttered, voice breaking, the cigarette shook between his fingers.

“why can’t I get you out of my head?”

He slammed his fist into the wall, already bloodied knuckles getting even more bruised. The pain was sharp, but it helped to distract his mind, even for a little bit.

He wanted to storm back to your apartment, pin you down and fuck you until you were his, until everything in his world made sense again.

He couldn’t.

You were a flower, so very delicate, your petals soft compared to the harsh reality of him and he’d ruin you until your purity disappeared.

He sank to his knees, the pavement cold and rough, cigarette falling from between his lips and into the pool of blood.

“You’re killing me,” he whispered hoarsely, eyes burning, “you’re fucking killing me and you don’t even know it.”

The words were for you, for the girl who’d undone him with just a single act of kindness, you’d gotten into his soul and refused to leave. He pressed his forehead to the ground; body shaking with his despair and need.

He was a criminal, a killer, a man who’d lived for himself alone.

But you—you were it for him.

And he couldn’t change it no matter how much he tried.

۶ৎ

Early morning light hit you sharply through the bedroom curtains. You woke with a jolt, chest heaving, skin still humming with the memory of Jungkook's hands, his tongue, his presence.

Your room was still filled with the smell of him—cigarettes and musk—and it clung to your skin, even your very breath. The taste of him still clung to your tongue.

Your pussy still pulsed, a slight ache from the way he’d eaten you out, lips and fingers worked together to unravel you until you had shattered for someone for the first time, almost losing consciousness from the intensity of it.

You pressed your thighs together, pussy lips still coated in slick from last night, a soft whimper escaping your lips at the memory of his voice.

“You’re mine.” he growled, eyes burning into yours, stripping you bare with his eyes alone.

You sat up, heart pounding, your fingers clutched the sheets as if they could anchor you to the moment.

You stumbled out of bed. Everything felt wrong, way too quiet, the silence pressing heavily on your chest.

You searched every corner, breath hitching with every step, hoping for a trace of him. No pink roses on your kitchen counter, their sweet scent absent.

He left, just like that.

After last night, after making you feel so alive, he left with no glimpse of him left behind.

No usual cigarette butts around your house, no smoke in the air. The absence was something you had wanted for so long, you wanted him to leave you alone, but now it felt hollow, it twisted at the pit of your stomach.

“jungkook.” you exhaled, as if saying his name could bring him back, no one answered your small plea, a cruel reminder of how he had invaded your life and just left.

You moved to the window and pushed it open, air brushing against your face. You leaned out and looked at the street below.

Wanting to see that familiar shadow, someone with dark eyes, always staring at you from this very window

But there was nothing.

Just the hum of the city going on with their day.

The world moving on without him

۶ৎ

A week went by, each day felt too long, and the usual spark of your days gone. The apartment, often a comfort of your own, now felt far from it, like something was missing.

You’d always been introverted, content in your own space but this was different—this was loneliness.

You’d hated his stalking and feared him, along the intrusion of the gifts he’d leave in your house but now their absence felt like a wound increasing with each day.

Your clothes stayed in their place no matter where you left them, lazily tossed, no panties missing or no clothes displaced as if someone went through them.

Everything was left untouched, your world converting into what it used to be and you hated it.

You walked home after classes, backpack heavy against your shoulders. The university library that you usually loved to be alone in and immerse yourself in studies now only reminded you more of your isolated life and how Jungkook, even for a bit, made you forget about the isolation.

You’d clutch your warm teacup, hoping to feel the goosebumps arise from his stare, the shiver that would go down your spine from the feeling of being watched.

Nothing.

Nothing could drown out the silence in your heart, no matter what you tried.

You’d reach your apartment, keys trembling in your grip, heart racing with a desperate hope. You’d open the door and search frantically everywhere—under the couch, your rooms, behind the curtains—for a rose, a cigarette butt or a note, anything to prove that he hadn’t vanished completely.

But there were no traces of him.

“Damn it, jungkook,” you croaked, “why did you leave me?”

The words felt foolish and dangerous, it felt like a betrayal to the good girl you’d always been.

You wanted to be a doctor, to heal and save the world, yet here you were pining and aching for a criminal, a murderer who’d stalked you… but he’d made you alive in a way that terrified you

You buried your face in your hands, tears streaming down your face.

“I should be happy,” you whimpered, “I should be glad you’re gone, you… you monster!”

But the words felt wrong, a lie you couldn’t believe.

۶ৎ

The nights were the worst for you as well, body relentless constantly. You’d toss in bed, tangling the sheets as your cheeks get flushed with heat.

The memory of that night always consumed your head—his deep, commanding voice talking you through the orgasm, fingers curling inside you, tongue lapping at your sensitive clit until you’d screamed his name.

You’d wake up panting, pussy throbbing and panty soaked with need, as your breasts heaved with pants.

“Stop it.” you’d hiss, angry at your own self.

You’d try to squeeze your legs together trying to dull the ache, but it was of no use; it worsened it, your little nub pulsing away, making you whine shakily.

You’d imagine his hands, calloused and strong, pinning you down, lips claiming yours in that possessive, hungry way like that day, until all you breathed or tasted was him.

His cock—oh god... you’d never seen it, but you imagined it, not being able to help yourself. He’d be thick and heavy, filling you until you broke, taking a part of you that you never thought you’d give to someone, especially a man like him.

You bit your pillow, whimpers muffling in it as your body trembled with a need you hated yourself for experiencing.

In a moment of desperation, you even stopped locking your door. You left your windows open, the night air entering freely in your apartment. You’d stand in your living room looking outside the window.

“Come back, please.” a plea to the darkness that you’d come to crave.

“I’m losing my mind,” you whispered to the empty room, staring up at the ceiling.

“You’re a criminal, a murderer, and I... I want you. What's wrong with me?”

The emptiness was getting deeper each day. Your apartment felt like a cage. He’d light up your world in his own twisted way, it scared you but even brought you excitement in a way that nothing can.

You hated yourself for missing the man, for craving that danger he always caused, the thrill, and, most importantly, how he made you feel so seen and wanted in a way no one ever had.

But the truth was undeniable: without him you felt like you were fading.

۶ৎ

It has been several days since he promised himself that he’d stay away, that he’d let you, his petal, live free off his presence.

But it was enough.

He needed to see you, even from a distance, to ground himself to something real, something pure. He tried to resist it, tried stopping himself a lot, but nothing worked, so he convinced himself that one glance was all he wanted from you, not knowing exactly how wrong he was.

He started walking, hands bloody from a kill but with his intention straight.

Your neighborhood was a big difference compared to his own tainted world.

He reached your apartment, and slipped into the darkness in the street, his back against a tree.

He lit another cigarette, jaw clenching. The smoke filled his lungs, a harsh comfort, as he watched your window. He could see the slight glow of your desk lamp from where he stood.

There you were.

Seated at your study table, you are surrounded by several of your textbooks and notes. Your eyebrows furrowed in concentration, plump pink lips slightly parted as you read, a detail that made his chest ache with a longing he didn’t understand.

Your hair was loose, a few strands falling on your face. You wore a baby tee, light blue as it clings to your curve; it also outlines the swell of your breasts, the hard peaks of your nipples visible even from this distance.

His cock twitched as a growl rumbled in his throat, fingers tightening around the cigarette.

You were so small, so delicate, a doll-like girl in a world of monsters, and he was the worst of them all, hunger for you twisting in his gut.

But you weren’t studying.

Your pen lay still, your eyes looking into nowhere as you stared at nothing, fingers gripping your notebook, like it was your lifeline. Your distress hit him like a punch in his stomach.

He saw it then—the loneliness and the sadness etched in your features, a reflection of the pain that he himself was going through.

You were missing him, craving him, the man who’d haunted you yet claimed you with his touch.

The realization was like a spark fueling his obsession for you even more, along with his anger and need.

He wanted to storm inside your apartment, pin you in that very desk, get you on all fours for him, fuck you from behind until you screamed his name, until your innocence was his forever.

But he stayed where he stood, reveling in the pain and agony of being away from you.

He moved closer, silently. Once he reached near your apartment, he started climbing the fire escape, his movements slow but quick until he was level with your window, the glass slightly open, letting him smell you from your bedroom.

He crouched slightly, looking at you, breaths shallow.

You stood from your study table in frustration, oblivious to the predator watching you, and walked to your bed, sitting down on the edge of the bed, fingers clutching your tee, a habit to keep you in the right state of mind.

The fabric rode up, exposing the soft skin of your waist, and his jaw tightened, teeth grinding.

Your breasts were hardly contained in the tee, they were almost calling for him, begging for his mouth, his hands, or his teeth.

He imagined tearing that sorry excuse of a fabric, wanting to see those tits bounce as they get freed in the air, he imagined your cheeks pinking at the shame, but he knew exactly how much you would want it.

He would lean down and suck your peaks until you sobbed like that night, body arching under him, pussy dripping for him.

You gripped the edge of the blanket, the sight of you was so vulnerable, so his. He saw the way your chest rose and fell, your bottom lip quivering as if on the verge of tears.

“jungkook.” you whispered into the room that you assumed was empty, used to calling his name at least once a day. Your soft voice barely audible, but it reached him, and it was like a knife to his heart.

You were calling for him, body and heart aching for the man who’d ruined you, and it was too much, breaking all his restraints.

He couldn’t stay away.

He slipped through the window as he intruded on your space once again. He looked around your bedroom, a softness that he has missed a lot.

It was a world he didn’t belong in, yet he couldn’t leave.

You were asleep now, body curled on the bed, the baby tee now fully bunched up, revealing your smooth stomach. Your chest rose and fell, breasts a temptation he couldn’t resist, nipples hard from the cool night air.

Your face expressed your longing even in sleep, a frown in your brows, your lips parted in a soft, needy sigh the same way they’d parted when he’d eaten you out and made you come with his tongue.

He stood over you, shadow falling over your form, his hands still bloody from his last kill, as usual.

“You’re killing me, petal,” he rasped, voice low. “I’m trying to stay away, but you’re in my fucking head.”

He reached out with trembling fingers and brushed a strand of hair from your face, which led him to leave a smudge of blood on your cheek—his claim along with his intention to ruin you.

The sight of it, red against your skin, was a twisted kind of beauty that made his heart thunder with need, cock throbbing, a reminder of how much of a monster he is, that he could never be what you needed him to be.

He placed a pink rose beside you. It was a mark of his obsession along with his apology for being away for so long.

“You don’t get to miss me.” he grunted, eyes dark with something he refused to acknowledge, “You don’t get to make me feel like this.”

He leaned closer, lips hovering over yours, his breath hitting your skin. He wanted to kiss you, to taste you again, to fuck you until he is sated and you can never escape his possession.

But he pulled back, hands fisting as the blood dripped down his knuckles.

He turned around slowly, not wanting to stay any longer, otherwise he would cross a line he would regret later.

He left as silently as he’d come, stepping outside. But the image of you—lonely, sad, calling for him—will forever be in his heart, killing him slowly.

You were his addiction, and he cannot let you go.

۶ৎ

You woke up the next morning with a racing heart, skin prickling with an unshakable feeling. The air felt different, like something was here in your bedroom—or someone.

Your heart pounded wildly as your eyes darted all over the room trying to search. The familiarity of your home was tainted by an unknown presence, and even though you couldn't see it, you could feel it.

Then you saw it—a single pink rose, resting on the pillow beside you almost like a lover lying beside you.

Your breath caught, a gasp slipped from between your lips that was half joy and half dread. Your fingers hovered over the flower, shaking, with the thought of what it meant after his absence for so long.

He’d been here.

jungkook.

The man who’d haunted your dreams, your body, and your soul, was finally here.

You reached for the rose, the petals cool against your fingertips, sending a shiver down your spine. You brought the rose close to your nose and inhaled; the scent was sweet, but still a small lingering smell of him—of danger.

A smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it, you bit your lower lip, heart filled with hope that he hadn’t abandoned you entirely.

But the joy wasn’t long-lasting as your eyes fell to the mirror. There on your cheek was a smear of blood, your eyes widened, tears welling in your eyes from fear, a gasp escaping.

He was a murderer, a monster, and his deed was there, marked on your face, yet beneath the terror, a sick, shameful excitement was there, even though the fear was very much evident.

No one has ever seen you the way he did, has never claimed you with such ferocity, and you hated yourself for the way your body warmed at the thought of his darkness.

For the way your pussy clenched, already aching for a man you should fear, and you were scared, so very scared of your own feelings, surprised at how he excited you.

By afternoon, you were feeling restless with an energy you didn’t know how to name.

You sat on your bed, the flower in your hand. Its petals felt soft as you traced them, almost sinful with the way it caressed your skin, your breath hitching.

The ache in your pussy returned, a throb that had been there since that night, since his tongue had made you come hard, and his fingers claimed all your intimate parts.

It was unbearable now; your heat demanded release, needed him, and you couldn’t fight it or ignore it anymore.

You didn’t want to.

Your hands moved on instinct, peeling off your clothes with a trembling urgency until you were fully bare except for your bra, the lace hugging your full breasts, nipples hard as the lace teased them, making you mewl.

The cool air kissed your exposed skin, raising goosebumps all over your body and you spread your legs, bare pussy glistening with need. The air brushing against your swollen heat made you gasp, lips parting.

You settled against the pillows, and you kept your legs spread. Your fingers found the clit, circling it slowly in a teasing way.

“Oh gosh… mm yes…”

A gasp escaped you needily, hips bucking on your fingers.

“jungkook.”

you whimpered, his name escaping your lips.

Your voice, a soft plea in the quiet room. Pussy was soaked, arousal dripping on the sheets as your fingers explored your cunt, coating yourself with your own arousal, you slipped one finger inside, walls sucking the finger in greedily.

“Ah!” You moaned at the penetration, shocked at how wet you were, how easily your finger moved, and how your body craved more and more.

You panted as your eyes suddenly fell on the rose, its pink petals calling for you almost like it could sense your own desperation. You grabbed the rose with trembling fingers.

You brought it to your neck and dragged it downward slowly, almost like someone's caress you imagined, that belonged to him. The petals brushed your collarbone, making you bite your lower lip.

It went between your breasts, your breasts heaving.

“Oh mhmm hah.” you let out needy noises as the petals teased your restrained nipples, the lace intensifying the sensation a lot more.

Your nipples ached for touch, for his mouth, or anything from him.

The rose continued its path downwards until it reached the tops of your thighs. You huffed, spreading your legs wider, your pussy exposed, the scent of your arousal evident.

You pressed the rose to your pulsing clit, the petals soft and cool, and the sensation tore a cry from your throat instantly, “jungkook, fuck, please!” you sobbed.

Your hips rocked, fingers thrusting deeper inside your pussy, the wet sounds and your needy noises and breathlessness the only sounds in the quiet room. The rose only felt like an additional torment.

You moved the rose in slow circles, the petals catching your clit, stroking it, stimulating it in a way that made you tremble, your moans high and frantic.

Your breasts bounced with each rock of your hips, nipples ached, and you slid a second finger inside, stretching yourself and letting out a muffled whine. Your arousal was now pooling on the sheets beneath you, making a big mess, but you were too much in ecstasy to care.

The stretch barely anything compared to that night when he used his fingers on you.

The petals were now slick with your arousal, gliding over your clit in a way that made you see stars. You imagined him—his dark eyes, his calloused fingers, and his tongue—and the thought pushed you closer to your release.

“I need you, please.” you cried shakily, thighs shaking as you thrusted your fingers faster and harder, the rose pressing against your clit.

You curled your fingers, and that was it. Your pussy clenched, entire body convulsed, and then it hit—the release so intense that it was almost painful, cum gushing over your fingers and the bed, coating the rose entirely.

You screamed his name, body almost arching off the bed, breasts heaving and you collapsed on the bed panting, pussy pulsing with aftershocks, your skin was slick with sweat.

The rose fell from your hand in humiliation, completely coated in your release, and you looked at it with dilated eyes, chest still heaving as you whimpered at your own shamefulness and how your need took over you in such a nasty way.

jungkook watched the whole thing from the shadows, his cigarette forgotten as it burned in his hand, but the pain didn’t do anything to dull the agony of seeing you like this.

His cock was painfully hard, straining against his jeans, chest was tight with a rage that wasn’t anger but something deeper, something primal.

You were his fragile innocent girl, and yet here you were fucking yourself with the rose he had given you, moaning his name, your body a meal for him that he couldn’t consume, and it drove him angrier.

His eyes were locked on you, taking in every single detail—the way your pussy glistened, cum dripping, breasts bouncing and restrained by your lace bra, those nipples just begging to be freed and sucked on.

Your moans and cries were breaking his restraint; each whimper of his name from you was pulling him even closer.

He didn’t flinch at the burn on his hand from the cigarette as the ash fell on the floor. His jaw clenched, breath ragged.

He was angry—at you, for being so reckless and naughty, and at himself for letting you in his life and trapping him, also for breaking his promise to stay away from you.

Your climax hit him straight to his gut, the scream of his name made his nostrils flare. He wanted to go inside and punish you so hard, wreck that slutty cunt of yours, until you forget everything except him.

But he couldn’t, so he stayed, his hands fisted, cock throbbing.

“You’re killing me.” he husked out in the darkness, the words to no one but himself as he watched you collapse, body trembling as he watched your pussy drip with cum, and he gripped the window, wanting to break the glass with his fist.

He knew he lost, and he was involved with you in a way that would destroy both of you.

You lay there, breaths slowing, oblivious to the man outside watching you, body still trembled with the aftereffects of the pleasure. You didn’t know he was there, didn’t know his eyes had seen every moment, but you felt the weight of something, someone’s stare.

A predator watching his prey.

And somewhere deep inside you, you hoped he’d seen it all and that he’d come for you, hoped that he’d ruin you as thoroughly as you’d just ruined yourself.

Ruined your innocence.

۶ৎ

The days went by after that, each one marking jungkook's absence. Yet you knew that his shadow lingered, stalking you all the time, felt the heat of his stare constantly, a presence you couldn’t see.

jungkook, the criminal who’d come into your life like a storm, had vowed to stay away from you, but his obsession refused to die.

He watched you always and everywhere, his existence a secret into the night.

The air no longer carried his scent of cigarettes and musk, but his gifts began to appear, small things left for you in your absence, and each felt like a spark in your hollow heart.

You’d return from classes as always, your heart pounding with anticipation, hoping for a sign of him, hoping for him to intrude into your home show himself like that night, any glimpse of his darkness, but instead you found gifts.

All of the gifts were intimate, personal things you have always wished for but never had the ability to get or buy, and it almost feels like he’d peeled back the layers of your soul and seen you bare to know all your favorites without you telling him anything.

One evening you came home after studying in the library, fingers aching from hours of notetaking. You opened your door and gasped, your eyes fell on the kitchen table.

A small tub of chocolate ice cream—rare, expensive, the one that you’d randomly written on your bucket list, and you’d tucked it inside a notebook you barely opened and forgotten about it.

Your bucket list was just small dreams of you that you thought would never come true because you could never afford it, but he found it.

Without waiting further, you slowly walked forward and lifted the lid. The rich smell of chocolate made your head spin. Your heart raced, cheeks warming with a smile.

He was here again.

You bit your lower lip bashfully and whispered a shy “thank you” in the empty air, hoping that he is somewhere near enough to hear you.

The ice cream melted on your tongue, each bite reminding you of his absence, and you savored the treat slowly, chest heavy with a longing.

Another day, you found a book on your doorstep—a first edition copy of your favorite book, a novel you’d mentioned randomly to one of your friends during a study session as you expressed your love for the raw romance the characters go through in the book.

The weight of the book grounded you as you whimpered, hugging the book to your chest, you imagined a faint smell of him clinging to the book, you knew wasn’t there.

“How do you know me like this?” your voice cracked, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

The book felt like a mirror of your story, and you wondered if he saw himself in the main character's place with his devotion towards you.

The gifts kept coming, increasing each day. A delicate silver bracelet that you wore at all times, never taking it off, engraved with a tiny petal—like the nickname he’d given you.

Another time he left a box of your favorite folded chips, an entire set, the kind that’s very rare to find and you had to hunt for them in every store.

You noticed that you would usually receive such items when you’d have long study sessions and forgot to eat, almost like it angered him whenever you starved yourself, so he made sure to stuff your kitchen with food.

He also gave you a jasmine scented candle you’d once admired in a shop window unknowingly, there was also a note with it that made you light up with joy, you were getting a bit of his interaction.

The note was simple, handwriting sharp just like him: for you.

That’s all it said, just two words, no explanation, no name, yet it was enough to send a shiver down your spine: those words enough to show his possession.

Your stomach fluttered, thighs clenching unknowingly.

You’d sit on your couch, the bracelet on your wrist, his candle lit, the smell of jasmine filling the room as you are busy reading the book and felt him everywhere with his gifts—he took over your place without his actual presence.

Your heart ached, a constant beat in your pussy, tingling with the memory of his tongue and fingers from that night.

You hated yourself for wanting more than just his gifts, for craving him more than anything.

۶ৎ

One night you found a pink teddy bear on your bed, its fur soft and fluffy, it was huge, nearly as tall as you. You froze, heart hammering as you sank down on the bed and clutched the bear, arms circling it.

Tears spilled down your cheeks instantly, soaking into the fur of the teddy, you buried your face in it as you hiccupped; the softness of it made your heart ache even more.

“Why do you do this to me?” you choked out, voice pained.

“You’re gone, but you’re everywhere, and I hate you for it. I hate how much I want you.”

The bear is the only one that hears your words as you curl into it, wrapping your legs around it, dimming your loneliness, your tears continue soaking the pink fur.

“I’m supposed to be free of you,” you cried, “but I’m not. I'm trapped, and it's your fault. You made me need you... you bastard.”

Your tears soon lulled you to sleep, body tired.

jungkook watched from the shadows, your tears slicing through his guarded heart, your pain made him ache even more. He wanted to get inside, wipe those tears away, kiss them away, his tongue would claim each of your tears until even your sadness belonged to him.

He wanted to own every corner of your soul.

“Little petal,” he whispered. “I’m trying to let you go, but you’re making it fucking impossible, and I don’t know how much longer I can hold back.”

۶ৎ

It was midnight, and you were asleep, body curled against the teddy, your body clad in a black t-shirt as it clung to your curves, the hem riding up to reveal your plump thighs.

Your chest rose and fell, breaths quiet, unaware of what is about to happen.

A faint rustle broke the silence, and jungkook stepped inside your room, his presence enough to shatter the calmness of your apartment in an instant.

His gaze fell on your sleeping figure, pinning you to bed. His eyes traced every inch of you—the curve of your hips, your nipples hard against the fabric and especially the way your lips parted in sleep.

His jaw clenched, hands twitching to touch you, but he held himself back.

You stirred, eyes fluttering, a whimper escaping your lips as you felt the air shift in your room with an unknown yet familiar smell of cigarettes and something darker.

Your eyes opened half-lidded at first, then your eyes widened as they met his. The shock was a jolt through your body; your breath caught in your throat.

Fear instantly pressed on your chest, but beneath it there was that twisted happiness, longing finally satiated since he’d left you.

He stood there, no longer only his shadow but in full form, his beauty both deadly and so deeply handsome, he looked down at you, lips in a straight line.

“Do you trust me?” he asked lowly, eyes searched yours, demanding an answer, daring you to lie.

You didn’t speak, couldn’t. Your heart was screaming a desperate cry of yes, but your mind was saying otherwise, it was telling you to run, to scream, to save yourself from this monster of a man.

Your lips trembled, hands clutching the blankets around your body, trying to shield yourself from his intensity.

You sat up, t-shirt slipping further, exposing your collarbone, and he could see the rapid pulse at your throat, and his gaze lingered there, his stare alone felt like a physical touch, and your cheeks flushed despite your fear.

“jungkook,” you croaked shakily, “what are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer, silence louder than his words. In two long strides he was at your bedside, movements predatory.

Before you could even react or move away, he scooped you up easily in bridal style, like you weighed nothing.

His warmth seeped into your skin, and you gasped loudly, hands instinctively clutching his shoulders, fingers dug into his hoodie, eyes wide as you looked at him, breathing in his scent of blood and cigarettes.

It was overwhelming.

Your body was pressed up against his, breasts against his hard chest, his strong arms on the underside of your bare thighs, holding you, and the intimacy of all of this sent a shiver down your spine.

“Where are you taking me?” you asked, voice shaky with panic. Your wide eyes fixed on his face, demanding answers, but he remained expressionless, jaw tight and eyes fixed ahead as he walked.

He didn’t respond and carried you out of your apartment, the cool night air hitting you, making you curl yourself more into him. Your bare feet dangled, legs exposed with your flimsy t-shirt, and you felt vulnerable.

A small thing in the arms of a beast

The street was completely empty and quiet; he walked towards his motorcycle that was parked.

The bike was matte black, it looked as dangerous and fierce as its owner.

He set you down briefly, his hands lingering on your waist. Your heart pulsed, chest heaving, as you watched him take off his black hoodie, revealing the shirt underneath along with all his tattoos all over his arms that you barely saw before, your breath hitching.

He handed it to you, eyes dark and commanding.

“Put it on.” he growled an order for you that held no chance of argument.

You obeyed, hands shaking slightly as you slipped on the hoodie, you were instantly swallowed by the warmth of his body clinging to the hoodie, and it felt like a claim wrapping your body in his belongings.

It was way too big on you, the sleeves hanging.

His scent completely enveloped you—an intoxicating, strong smell of him, making your head spin.

You pushed up the sleeves, trying to fix the loose hoodie on you and he watched you intensely as if memorizing you in his clothes, and you could see the satisfaction it gave him.

He climbed onto the bike and gestured for you to follow. You hesitated, heart pounding as your mind still screamed at you to run back to the safety of your apartment and not follow him.

But your body moved, drawn to him with no further control. You slowly straddled the bike behind him, gasping softly at the feel of your thighs brushing against his hips.

He reached back with his rough hands, guiding your arms around his waist until your chest was flush against his back, breasts molding to the hard muscles of his back.

You squeaked, feeling embarrassed, his fingers squeezed you, trying to reassure you in his own twisted way.

“Hold tight,” he said, a hint of softness beneath.

“don’t let go.”

The bike roared as he started it. He pulled away, the wind hitting your hair and your exposed legs. Your hands tightened on his waist, fingers digging, feeling the heat of his skin through the fabric as you held onto him.

The wind carried a sense of freedom, and for the first time in your life, you felt alive, carefree… In a way you couldn’t explain, the weight of your quiet, lonely world lifting off your chest as a small smile curved on your lips.

You pressed your cheek to his back, his scent grounding you. You hummed a soft, happy sound unknowingly, and it surprised you.

The vibration of the bike, the wind hitting your face, his solid warm presence—everything mingled to a moment of peace. You felt his hand cover yours, grip possessive, and your breath hitched, cheeks flushing as you realized he’d heard you hum with joy.

“Where are we going, jungkook?” you asked, loudly over the wind.

“Please tell me.” a hint of fear in your voice.

He didn’t answer, but his hand squeezed yours again, an action that meant his silent promise, you were safe, that he would shield you, and for some reason you believed him, believed that he wouldn’t let a single hair of yours bulge.

The bike sped up through the night, and you clung to him, heart racing as you closed your eyes, ready for the unknown along with the danger he always brought.

You didn’t know where he was taking you, but for now you didn’t care.

You were his and he was yours.

And it belonged to you.

You both soon reached a forest; surrounded by huge trees and darkness. The forest heavy with the scent of rain and damp earth that grounded you even as your heart raced with uncertainty, confused at where he is taking you.

Finally, his bike rumbled to a stop, he got off his bike. His presence beside you, broad large shadow covering you completely.

You glanced at him, goosebumps breaking all over your skin, as you looked at his eyes, black pools. “Why are we here?” you asked breathily, a whimper lodged in your throat.

The forest surrounded both of you and seemed unfamiliar and endless, scaring you further.

jungkook’s lips curled into a smirk at your distress.

“To keep you locked up for me.” he growls, voice dark with amusement.

Your breath hitched and your eyes widened, finding no humor in it, almost believing his words, and he rasped out a chuckle.

“Relax, petal. I’m joking, for now anyways.” he said.

His nonchalant behavior did little to ease your beating heart, but you followed as he led you forward. His hand brushed your elbow; the slight touch felt like electricity.

Dried leaves crunched under your feet as he guided you, and he soon stopped walking, your heart stopped at the sight before you.

A tent stood in the center, glowing in the dark because there were fairy lights all around it, the glow in the dark making it seem absolutely magical, all the fairy lights looked like tiny stars around the tent.

You stepped closer instinctively, your fingers brushed the tent, and a gasp left your lips once again at what was inside the tent.

It was like a dream woven into reality.

A plush blanket was draped over a mattress, it looked so very smooth, and beside it was a small wooden table that held a stack of all your favorite first edition books that you’d loved since childhood. Along with that, there were also dvds of your favorite tv shows, the selective ones.

The snacks—folded potato chips the one he made sure to give you several before and knew exactly how much you liked them, chocolate-covered nuts, only the specific brand you enjoy, along with all those, there was also a bowl of fresh frozen strawberries and raspberries.

Your heart gripped you in an almost painful ache as you pressed one of your hands to your chest, trying to steady your breathing, tears pricking your eyes. It felt like your heart would combust from gratefulness or sadness, you didn’t know.

This wasn’t just a gift, it was a wish from the little girl inside you with no family or anyone by her side, the wish to get everything.

It was written in a diary when you were a little girl that was now tucked away in a storage box.

It was a silly, childish dream where you wished for a night under the stars surrounded by all your favorite things, a fantasy you have accepted will never come true.

Yet it was here, real, crafted by the hands of a man who was both your stalker and your protector.

You turned to jungkook, finding him standing there looking at you, drinking in all your expressions hungrily, like that’s all that mattered to him.

“jungkook… how did you know? why would you do this?” you croaked, voice barely audible and heavy with emotions.

He leaned at the edge of the tent, expression unreadable as his eyes—those haunted eyes—locked onto yours, searching, yearning, with a mix of anger.

“Don’t ask questions I can’t answer.” he said gruffly, like he was fighting something deep inside him.

“I saw it in your diary. I wanted you to have it. That’s all you need to know.” he finalized.

“But why?” you pressed, stepping closer. “You’re… You’re not this person. You’re dangerous, and you said it yourself, so why give me this? Why make me feel like—”

Your voice broke as tears finally streamed down your cheeks.

“Like I matter to you?”

His jaw clenched at your words, hands fisting at his sides.

“You don’t get it, do you?”

He snapped, voice rising.

“You’re in my fucking head every second, every day. I can't breathe without thinking of you, and it's driving me insane. I don’t do this—fairy lights, complete someone’s dreams. But you… you make me want to burn the world down just to see you smile, and I hate it. I hate you for it.”

His words caused your throat to tighten, stomach fluttering with something you couldn’t name, heart aching as you shakily wiped your tears away and didn’t press him further.

You stepped into the tent, walking slowly to the books, fingers trailing over the books.

“I don’t understand you,” you whispered softly, “but this… this is beautiful. Thank you.”

He didn’t respond, just simply watched you, eyes softening just a bit as if he didn’t want your gratefulness but just your happiness in this moment, with all the things he gave so much effort in. He just wanted you to be yourself now.

You sank onto the blanket, the softness comforting you as you opened a bag of chips and grabbed a dvd of your chosen show, the screen turning on.

The sound of the show playing filled the tent as you nibbled on a strawberry, its juice staining your lips red.

jungkook, settled beside you.

His long legs stretched out, large frame barely contained itself beside you, his body almost too close to you, not exactly touching, but the graze here and there made your stomach clench, the entire moment felt intimate, like you both were a couple, but you shook it off your mind, not wanting to ruin what you were experiencing.

You just wanted to enjoy your time here without overthinking.

“You’re eating,” he said, voice almost gentle, eyes fixed on your lips and the way they glistened with strawberry juice. “Good. You don’t eat enough.”

Your cheeks pinked under his gaze, “I eat plenty,” you muttered, shyly popping another chip into your mouth.

“You’re just… always watching me, so you notice everything.” you huffed, not meeting his eyes.

He smirked, a rare genuine curve of his lips.

“Can’t help it.” he said.

He leaned back, one hand behind his head, muscles flexing under his clothing.

“You’re too fucking distracting.”

You giggled nervously and the tension between you two eased.

You spent hours in that tent, watching shows and eating snacks. You also read passages from a book aloud because jungkook wanted it and you couldn’t deny him.

Your voice was soft as the words felt like they belonged to this exact moment, and jungkook listened intently, his eyes never leaving you and you squirmed under his intensity but had no choice but to continue.

His expression was a mix of awe and hunger as he watched you, the sweet girl, enjoy such little things in life, so different from his criminal life, he thought.

His eyes were fixed on your lips as they moved, pronouncing each word. He wanted to kiss you, his jaw ached from self control, wanting you to have your own moment today without him pushing past boundaries, so he held himself back.

He knew that if he pushed you back in this very blanket, you wouldn't resist and give yourself to him, but you deserved better, so he would do anything for that, even if it meant killing himself in the process.

You played several episodes of your favorite shows, sometimes laughing at the familiar scenes, body relaxed against the blanket, you would sometimes lean on him without realizing.

The whole time he didn’t pay any attention to the shows, having his eyes fixed on you, noting all your expressions and movements hungrily, he knew he wouldn't be able get you so close to himself again.

At one point, you offered him a chocolate covered nut, holding it out to him with trembling fingers.

He raised an eyebrow but leaned forward, opening his mouth as he took it, tongue flicking on your skin for a second as he licked the chocolate off your skin.

Your breath hitched, pulse racing and he smirked, chewing the nut, eyes locked on yours.

“Sweet.” he rasped.

A double meaning that made your thighs clench.

You turned back to the screen, cheeks burning.

You were happy, truly happy, the kind of joy that you rarely experienced, and you were scared that the bubble might burst any second, ruining everything.

The forest outside was distant, and the tent was like a warm cocoon that kept you shielded from the world outside and made sure it wouldn’t touch you.

Where jungkook's darkness softened for the first time from your happiness and your laughter.

The night slowly deepened as your light mood slowly faded; you clutched the blanket heart filling with sadness again. jungkook stood, towered over you, offering you, his hand.

“Time to go.” he gruffed out, but there was also a reluctance in his eyes, something you couldn’t name.

You took his hand slowly, his calloused hand enveloping your small softer ones, as he pulled you to your feet.

“I don’t want to leave,” you admitted softly, eyes searching his, “this… it feels like a dream that I’ll never have again.”

His expression hardened at your words; thumb brushing your knuckles with a soft tenderness.

“You’ll have more,” he said, his voice a promise for the future.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

۶ৎ

He led you back to the bike. You climbed behind him once again, arms circling his waist without him telling you to do so this time, your body on autopilot, cheek against his back.

Your shyness gone from how safe you felt with him at the moment.

The ride home was quieter, almost laced with sadness.

You closed your eyes, letting the wind blow on your face, his warmth seeped into you, anchoring you.

Your hands tightening around his waist even more, heart heavy with words you couldn’t say.

Stay.

Don’t leave me.

I'm scared of what I feel for you.

When he stopped outside your apartment, you knew it would be a goodbye. You slid off the bike, legs shaky from the ride as you clutched his hoodie around your body, twisting it.

You wanted to speak, to beg for him to stay, to explain the ache in your chest, but the words were caught in your throat, stopped by your fear and longing for the man who turned your world upside down.

His eyes met yours, dark and intense, as his hands fisted, trying to hold himself back, jaw clenched, and for a moment you thought he’d kiss you, claim you right here under the stars, and your lips parted with shaky breaths.

But he didn’t.

“Go inside,” he said, voice heavy with anger and something close to hurt.

“now.”

He didn’t trust himself around you. If you stood there for another moment looking at him like that with those needy glistening eyes of yours, he wouldn't be able to blame himself for the animal he’d be.

You nodded, heart pounding, and rushed to your door, a smile tugging at your lips despite the ache in your chest.

You glanced back as you unlocked your door, but he was already turning his bike, about to leave, not being able to bear your presence for a single second without claiming you.

You entered inside, locked the door, leaning against it.

Cheeks flushed, and chest heaving as your eyes were still brimming with the memory of one of the best moments of your life, of the haven he created for you.

He wasn’t aware of it, but he healed the little girl in you without realizing it; he completed the dreams of you that you thought were fantasies only.

He mended something he didn’t break in the first place.

۶ৎ

You were in your bedroom, hunched over your notes, hair in a messy bun as you focused on studying. The world outside was a distant hum, but it was not what unraveled you—it was the presence you felt.

jungkook was here again, somewhere in the shadows as always, his gaze burning your skin, making your heart stutter.

You hated this, hated him, hated how he would give you everything one moment, give you all the happiness in the world, and in the next moment just disappear.

Just like that.

He stayed away, tormenting you, torturing you with his stalking, never giving the satisfaction of making himself visible, complicating everything.

So, you continued focusing on your studies, trying to write, but you couldn’t focus no matter what, senses attracted to him on their own, to the man who’d become your obsession as well.

He’d been watching you for days, his presence always there, but tonight it felt different—sharper, hungrier, almost like he was tired of constantly holding back and hiding in the shadows, just like you.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you tried to focus on your medical book, but your mind kept drifting back to him—his dark eyes, his tattooed skin, and the way his touch had set your body on fire.

You hated how he always consumed you, couldn’t pull him away, body always betrayed you at every thought of him, a constant ache in your core with a need you couldn’t suppress.

jungkook stood in the corner of your room, hidden in the darkness. His jaw tightened as he looked at you, drinking in your features and curves, the way the skirt you wore while studying outlined the shape of your ass.

You looked so damn sexy to him even when you were doing something as innocent as studying.

His cock hard and angry, the ache constant and always there, but tonight it was more than a desire as he watched you shift in your study chair.

He was filled with rage, burning in an uncontrollable anger at how you’d taken his soul in your little grasp, how you’d made him weak.

He’d watched you shower earlier, the door carelessly left ajar, your body a feast for his eyes under the water.

The glass was fogged, but he could see every curve—your full breasts bouncing as you moved, nipples hard and begging for his mouth, plump ass jiggling as you focused on rinsing your hair.

The soap suds slide down your body in a slow, intimate way that made him almost angry at how they were allowed to caress you, and he wasn’t.

The scent of your shampoo that he was familiar with filled the bathroom, along with the smell of your skin, and his eyes were dazed.

You’d been so innocent, so unaware as you hummed softly and washed your body, fingers trailing down your body sensually, and he wanted to press you against the tiles and fuck that tight cunt of yours while he watched your wet body bounce in front of his hungry eyes, your cries echoing in the bathroom.

You would beg for mercy, for a break from his fucks, but no one would be able to save you in this locked space, and he would ruin you completely.

He even killed a man afterwards, wanting to let out his rage on something, and it barely did anything for the release he craved.

Now, as you bent over to clean the kitchen floor, your little skirt rode up, exposing the curve of your plump thighs, along with your panties, the lace clinging to your ass.

The flimsy material doing nothing to cover your folds, it needs to slip a bit for him to see the entirety of your cunt fully.

The sight was fueling his anger even more, and that was it; he couldn’t hold back any longer.

He moved like a beast about to consume you, his steps silent on the floor. Before you could strengthen, he was on you in an instant, hard body pressing you against the wall, hands caging you.

A scream ripped from your throat at the scare of his sudden presence; his scent overwhelmed you. Your body trembled as his hips pinned you against the wall, your hands gripping the wall, trying to steady yourself, his erection hard against your lower back.

“jungkook.” you whispered, voice breathy with a mix of fear and need.

Your nails dug into the wall, heart wildly thrumming.

Before you could react, he pulled you to him harshly, kissing you with a hunger and roughness, a cry leaves your mouth from the pain of his bruising kiss and the shock.

He tasted of smoke and whiskey, his teeth grazed your bottom lip enough to draw blood, and you whimpered, fisting his shirt.

His hands roamed all over your body unrestrained, barely giving you a moment to breathe or think as he roughly felt you up all over, groping you in places.

One hand slides up your side cupping your breast, thumb brushing your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt, making it harden instantly. The other hand gripped your hip, fingers digging enough to leave bruises that’d stay for days, and he heaved it up around his waist, making you cling to him.

Your body melted into his despite the shock and fear of his presence and the knowledge that this was wrong, faded at the back of your mind.

He pulled back, eyes burning with desire and anger.

“Why the fuck do you do this to me, huh?” he roared in your face.

“You’re in my head every fucking second, tearing me apart! I can't think, I can't breathe and it's all your damn fault! I want to kill you and then end myself to make it all stop!”

You trembled, tears streaming down your face at his anger and words, cheeks flushed with heat. His words were tearing your heart apart, but your body responded to him, clit palpitating like your heartbeat.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you whispered, shaking.

“I didn’t want you to—”

“Shut up!” he snarled as his hand slammed against the wall beside your head, making you jump as your eyes widened, more tears spilling over.

“You don’t get it, do you? You’re a fucking drug I can’t quit, and I hate you for it. I hate how you make me weak, how you make me want to burn the world to keep you.”

You didn’t look away, feeling frightened but gaining a bit of strength to talk back to the criminal.

“Then why are you here?” you croaked.

“If you hate me so much, why don’t you just leave?”

He laughed bitterly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Because I can’t,” he growled, breath hot against your cheek.

“You’re mine, petal, whether you like it or not, and I’m going to ruin you right now.” he murmured.

Before you could respond, he tore at your clothes hands rough and impatient as your shirt and skirt fell on the floor along with your bra panty, the rip loud in the quiet room, a sob of shock left you.

You instinctively went to cover your exposed breasts, but he was quick to grab your wrists, pinning them over your head with one hand, iron like grip.

Your breasts bounced free for him, heavy and full, nipples hard and aching, begging for attention. He stared at them, his eyes dark as a growl rumbled in his chest.

“Look at you.” he murmured, free hand cupping your breast, thumb rolling your nipples until you arched, a soft moan leaving your lips.

“Always teasing me, these perfect fucking tits, always hard, always begging for my mouth. You don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”

His dirty words made you writhe, tears welling with shame.

He lowered his head, lips finally closing around your nipple, tongue swirling hot and wet, teeth grazed your peak slightly and you sobbed out, head falling against the wall, thighs pressing together.

He sucked harder, hand kneading and flicking the nipple of the other breast, making sure it got the same attention. His finger pinched your nipple, making you squirm, trapped in his grip, having nowhere to go from his torment.

Your moans were loud and desperate as you trembled, his hand keeping your wrists pinned.

“jungkook, please,” you whined.

Pussy so wet you could feel it drip down your thighs. Your own desperation shocked you, but you couldn’t stop your body from craving him, mind feeling hazy.

He released your nipple with a wet pop, releasing your wrists and you instantly clung to him, gripping his hair to ground yourself as he slowly knelt before you.

Leaving kisses all over your collarbone, cleavage, soon reaching your stomach, breath hot against your skin

His knees hit the floor as he knelt just like that night, and without wasting any second, he spread your thighs, eyes locked on your pussy, clit swollen and twitching.

He drinks you up like a starved man even though he saw you exposed before, but it will never be enough to satiate his wild need.

“Fuck, you’re soaked, baby,” he growled, fingers brushing your inner thigh close to where you needed him the most.

“All for me, huh? My innocent little petal dripping like a slut.”

You gasped, cheeks burning with humiliation as your hands struggled in his tight grip, “Stop it,” you uttered weakly, “I’m not… I didn’t”

He ignored you, fingers sliding through your folds, exploring you, collecting your slick.

“Mhmm, gosh.” you gasped, hips bucking at the sensation, pussy clenching around nothing, and he looked up at you, eyes dark and predatory.

“I saw you,” he said voice low and dangerous.

“Fucking yourself with my rose, moaning my name like a needy little whore. You think I didn’t know? you think I didn’t see how much you wanted me?”

Your face burned in shame as tears fell faster, your stomach twisting.

“I didn’t mean to.” you sobbed, trying to push him away, your hands weak on his shoulders.

“I was just ahh—”

He plunged two fingers inside you, cutting off your words, your pussy stretching around him, the penetration sudden and intense for you.

You cried loudly, back arching, your walls clenching around his thick fingers; the sensation was a mix of pain and pleasure.

He curled his fingers, hitting that spot inside you, thumb circling your clit relentlessly until you were moaning, hips grinding on his fingers, riding them, your body out of your control.

“Damn it, you’re tight,” he grunts, eyes locked on your face, watching every gasp and tremble of yours.

“So fucking pure, and yet you’re here taking my fingers like you were made for it.”

You sobbed, moans loud and broken, hips rocking faster despite your attempts to stop, “jungkook, oh god… please,” you begged, bare breasts heaving, glistening with sweat and his saliva.

“It’s too much, I can’t—”

He added a third finger, not paying any attention to your words or begs, as he took you the way he wanted. Your pussy was burning now with the fullness, something you have never felt in your virgin core, it felt like you were stretched at your very limit.

You screamed, body shaking, walls fluttering on his fingers, your slick coating his hand fully. “That’s it, you can do it.” he coaxed, fingers thrusting faster and hurried on your clit.

“You will. You’re mine, petal, and I’m going to make you feel it.” he snarled.

You saw white as your climax built faster than you could imagine, taking your breath away. You tried to push him away again, hands weak and tears falling, your hips moved on their own, chasing the release only he could provide.

“I’m sorry,” you hiccupped, voice breaking, “I… I didn’t mean to make you angry, I just—”

“Stop fucking apologizing.” he said angrily, fingers curled harder, thrusts almost brutal as you were full-on crying behind your hands now, drool trickling down the side of your mouth.

“You don’t get to be sorry. You don’t get to make me like this and then act like it’s nothing. You're driving me insane, and I hate you for it!”

Your climax hit at his words, an explosion that stole your breath, “jungkook, jungkook!” you rambled his name and squirted, pussy spasming.

Your cum soaked his hand as he helped you with the aftershocks, thighs trembling, throat aching from all the screams.

He pulled his fingers out slowly, pussy clenching around nothing, the loss making you whimper. He pulled you close to him, letting your boneless body rest on his chest as you looked at him with dazed eyes.

He brought his cum-soaked fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean, your taste enough to make him orgasm with no touch or anything at all, your sweetness better than anything in this world or even comparable to heaven.

“So fucking sweet.” he hummed.

You panted, tears staining your cheeks, body exposed and vulnerable.

He stood, hands gripping your hips, lifting you until you were straddling him, your weak legs supported by him, the harshness of his jeans against your sensitive cunt made you gasp.

His hands roamed your body possessively, groping your tits once again and pulling your already hurting nipples, achy from his teeth earlier. He can never get enough of you; even if he spent days touching you, he could never have enough.

You huffed, body trembling with overstimulation, tears prickling your eyes again. He looked at your essence-soaked bottom, still dripping pussy with release, along with your small, tight ring that clenched under his gaze.

His gaze was so intense, and you felt perverted as he saw all your intimate places, innocence gone just from his stare.

“I’ll fuck you when you beg for it.” he rasped, hands suddenly pushed you off him and onto the bed, you gasped.

You landed onto the bed with a thud, body bouncing as your tears fell. You looked up at him, bottom lip quivering. He stood over you, his erection very much visible against his jeans. He never minded that, always wanting to feast on you and please you, that was better than him getting pleased himself.

“Until then you’ll feel this.”

He said, hand gesturing to your trembling body, achy pussy, and thighs soaked with release.

“You’ll ache for me, and you’ll hate yourself for it.”

He turned, walking away with long strides as the door slammed loudly behind him, the sound making you flinch in the silence.

You lay there naked, body still thrumming with need, heart shattered at his words and how he left you.

You sobbed and hiccupped onto the sheets, gripping onto the it like you were gripping his shirt moments before.

You hated him so much.

The room smelled of him, of you, along with the agony he’d left behind.

You knew deep down that you were his prisoner as much as he was yours and there was no escaping it.

────

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[reiding-writing]

congrats for reaching 3k, love!!! You deserve it sm<3

step one, prompt list RIVAL: ❛ you can yell at me later. just let me help you. ❜

step two, list one: 7. them getting angry on your behalf

with s1!Spence:))

COLLATERAL DAMAGE. /spencer reid/

“you can yell at me later, just let me help you.”

getting angry on your behalf.

s1! spencer x fem!rival!reader 1.4k flangst event page. event masterlist. main masterlist.

The pain shoots up your arm the second you try to move it. You curse under your breath, gritting your teeth as you push yourself upright, the damp, gravel-streaked concrete biting into your palm.

Blood clings to your fingers in thin, sticky ribbons, smearing across your skin as you drag yourself away from the scene. The flashing red and blue lights of the local police cruisers wash over you in nauseating pulses.

You’re barely on your feet when you feel a hand grip your elbow, steady but hesitant, as though unsure you’ll let it stay.

“Hey, hey—wait, slow down. You’re—” Spencer’s voice cracks slightly, his eyes wide and wild with panic. You can feel the faint tremor in his hand, and you already know he’s spiraling through statistical probabilities of untreated injuries. “You’re lightheaded, you’ll pass out if you push your luck,”

You wrench your arm away from his grip, biting back a hiss as the motion flares the pain up again. The sharp inhale you take only makes your ribs ache deeper.

“I’m fine, Reid,” you snap, harsher than intended. The adrenaline still floods your system, making your voice sharp and clipped. “I just need to—”

“Stop,” he cuts in, surprising you. His voice is firm. Desperate. “You’re bleeding.”

Before you can argue, your attention is ripped away by the sound of the local detective’s voice barking orders. The same detective who had dismissed your intel half an hour ago. The same one who claimed he didn’t need to wait for your team’s profile before sending officers into the building.

The same one whose arrogance got you caught in the middle of a shootout.

Your lips press into a thin line as you watch him casually wave off the severity of the situation, speaking with another officer as if his decision hadn’t nearly gotten you killed.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath, your good hand curling into a fist at your side. You can feel the heat behind your eyes, not from pain but from the sheer rage clawing its way up your throat.

And then, before you can blink, Spencer’s voice cuts through the night.

Sharp.

Cold.

Furious.

“Are you kidding me?!”

Your eyes snap to him, momentarily stunned by the raw anger in his voice.

Spencer, who barely raises his voice in disagreement. Spencer, who avoids confrontation like it physically pains him. Spencer, who always speaks like he’s inconveniencing anyone listening.

But now? He’s stalking toward the detective with an uncharacteristic fury you’ve never seen in him. His shoulders are stiff with tension, his hands trembling slightly at his sides as though barely keeping himself contained.

The detective turns toward him with a look of lazy disinterest, which only makes Spencer’s voice sharpen.

“You ignored the profile we gave you. You dismissed every tactical recommendation. You refused backup,” Spencer spits, the words cracking slightly at the edges. He takes a step closer, his eyes flashing with unrestrained venom. “She could’ve died because of your incompetence.”

Your chest tightens.

You blink, unsure if you heard him correctly. You’ve seen Spencer angry before, but this is different. This isn’t quiet indignation or the soft condescension he sometimes falls into when correcting others. This is raw, unfiltered fury.

The detective stiffens slightly. “I don’t have to answer to you, kid. This is my jurisdiction—”

“You think jurisdiction makes you exempt from accountability?” Spencer’s voice pitches up, incredulous, eyes narrowing. “Jurisdiction doesn’t excuse negligence. You walked your officers straight into an unsub’s ambush. And you nearly got an FBI Agent killed.” He throws his hand out in your direction, voice cracking slightly on the last word.

You feel the eyes of several officers shift toward you, but you barely register them. Your gaze is locked on Spencer.

He’s still trembling. His hands, clenched into fists, are twitching slightly at his sides. You know him well enough to recognise the strain in his posture—the too-quick rise and fall of his chest, the darting of his eyes that signals he’s barely holding himself together.

The detective takes a half-step back. For a moment, he looks like he might argue, but then he mutters something under his breath and storms away.

Spencer is still glaring after him, eyes blazing with unspent fury, fists clenched so tightly you can see the faint tremor in his knuckles.

It’s only when you touch his arm that he flinches slightly, as if just realising you’re there. His eyes flick to you, still sharp with residual anger. His jaw clenches.

“Reid,” you say quietly. His name catches in your throat.

He swallows hard, his breathing still shallow, but the moment his eyes meet yours, they soften. Some of the fire drains from his gaze, replaced by a worried, desperate sort of tenderness. You’re not sure how you feel about it.

“You can yell at me later,” he says, his voice low but firm. “Just… let me— help you.”

His eyes flick briefly to your arm. His hand hovers over it again, hesitating, clearly waiting for you to pull away.

And you almost do. The familiar instinct to keep your pain to yourself, to push through without letting anyone see you falter, kicks in on reflex.

But the expression on Spencer’s face stops you.

His eyes are pleading. His jaw is tight, his brows pulled together with a mixture of frustration and concern. There’s still a trace of anger lingering in his expression, but it’s not directed at you—it’s the sharp, protective kind. The kind that makes your throat tighten unexpectedly.

You don’t stop him this time when he gently takes your wrist. His touch is light, almost hesitant, as though afraid you might break under his fingertips.

“Please,” he adds, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding and finally nod.

The tension in his shoulders eases slightly. He guides you to the back of the ambulance, staying close enough that his arm brushes yours, as though he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets you stray too far.

Once you’re sitting on the edge of the ambulance, Spencer kneels beside you without hesitation. He’s quiet, watching the paramedic clean the bullet graze on your arm, but you can feel the weight of his gaze on you the entire time.

The paramedic presses an alcohol wipe to the wound, and you flinch slightly, exhaling sharply through your nose. Spencer’s hand is suddenly on your knee, grounding and steady.

You don’t shake him off.

After the medic finishes and walks away, Spencer stays kneeling in front of you. His eyes search your face, his brows still pulled together in concern.

“You almost died,” he murmurs quietly, his voice barely audible over the noise of the scene.

You exhale through your nose, feeling the lingering burn of adrenaline dissipate.

“You shouted at someone,” you murmur, your voice rougher than intended.

His lips press into a thin line, an almost smile. His gaze flicks downward, almost ashamed, as though realising how uncharacteristic his outburst was.

“I couldn’t—” He swallows thickly, blinking a few times too quickly. “I just—” His voice catches.

You surprise yourself when you reach out and gently touch his hand, still resting against your knee.

“Hey,” you say softly, waiting until he meets your eyes again. You force the corner of your mouth into the faintest of smirks. “If you’re gonna yell at the locals for me, you could at least let me join in next time. Or are you gonna take that from me too?”

His lips part slightly in surprise, then he lets out a faint, breathy laugh—barely more than a huff of air, but you feel the tension in his frame loosen slightly.

He squeezes your hand gently, almost absentmindedly, before clearing his throat.

“Deal,”

[science-hoes]

Really frustrated after MCAT studying today soooooo would love #28 with Abbot pleaseeeee???

I love flirty Jack and I know he’s def the type to be an old school lover… but I love a little play fight bc I feel like yeah he’s old school like getting you flowers and taking you on a date first BUT he’s would def also be really good a trash talk (dirty version)

#28 “bite me.” “thought you’d never ask.”

This is the first one I saw and usually I start in reverse order but I know you’ve been suffering today so I had to write this one first!!

—

You sat in your chair of the doctor’s lounge, brooding and alone. It was only 3 a.m, still 4 hours to go of your shift. The cold air and silence of the room was hopefully all you needed to calm your rage and stay awake.

That was until Jack fucking Abbot walked in with a smug smile, each of his hands fisting a coffee cup.

“Hey there, kiddo.” He greeted, his voice laced with fake sincerity.

Your eyes shot daggers at him as he approached, sitting on the arm of your chair, lowering one hand to present a coffee in front of you, your exact order scribbled on the cup.

“I’m not accepting peace treaties at this time.” You muttered, but the coffee looked so so so good.

Jack let out a high pitched giggle. You wanted to kill him. “Are we at war?” He questioned, that devilish grin slathered across his face.

You raised an eyebrow. “Seems like you already know the answer to that if you’re bringing me coffee as an offering.” You retorted.

He shoved the cup in your hands, forcing you to take it or else it would spill in your lap. “It’s not too late to defect to the Dark Side.” He hummed.

Your hands grasped the coffee tightly, wanting to crush the cup with anger. “It’s not funny, Abbot.” You snapped. “You jumped in on my case like I was a fucking med student.”

Jack let his playful facade fall, and his lines pursed into a straight line. “Not like a med student. Like an intern.” He replied, tapping the badge clipped to your scrub pants. “You need an attending to do those kinds of procedures. You’re just a kid.”

The word “kid” hit you hard in the chest. You sat up straighter, still far below him as he sat perched on the arm of the chair, but the confidence made his lips crack a smirk. “You just love pulling rank on me, don’t you?”

He leaned down, closing the gap between your faces just a little bit. Not too close, but closer than he should have been. “I do. Because you love it when I do.” His voice was low, a husky tone. “Don’t you?”

Your nostrils flared, never breaking his piercing eye contact. “Bite me.” You hissed, refusing to yield to his charm that, honestly, he only reserved for you.

Jack’s lips pulled into a wicked grin, closing the distance between your faces until you could feel his hot breath on your cheeks. “Thought you’d never ask.”

His eyes were stuck on your chapped lips, almost ready to go in for the kill, until you cocked your head to the side. “Thought I was just a kid.” You murmured, letting him chase you a bit.

Jack pressed his forehead to yours, swallowing thickly as the possessiveness in him began to flare. “You are, sweetie.” His lips grazed against yours, not in a real kiss, but the promise of one. “But you’re mine.

[robinminustherichard]

And Falling Apart is The Only Way

Gen | BuckTommy | Spec/ MCD Aftermath | Good Friend Eddie Diaz

It's the night of the funeral that Eddie calls Tommy, and Tommy picks up because he walked away from them all after the ceremony and he figured someone would call eventually.

"Hey, Eddie," Tommy says, quiet in his house by himself, TV muted and playing a recap of the last A's game.

Immediately, Tommy clocks the grief and frustration in Eddie's voice. He tenses.

"Tommy," Eddie begins, blowing out a breath before continuing, "I need you to come to my--Buck's house."

Tommy's shoulders go rigid and his throat goes tight, worry coiling deep in his chest.

"What happ--"

"Nothing. He's fine." Eddie bites out, nearly a growl, "he's just God damn fine."

Tommy feels his eyebrows draw together and slumps back into his couch cushions. "Eddie, I don't think he wants to see me right now, I--"

"Yeah, to be honest, I'm kind of counting on that."

Tommy feels anger flare up, but he tries to shut it down first, just like he has been this past week; having to stand next to Gerard at the service, having to listen to Athena's mother make a tasteless comment when she thought no one could see her, having to get dressed down and get handed his suspension three days ago. He takes a deep breath, knowing it's audible to Eddie, before responding.

"Look, Eddie," Tommy says, careful and measured, "I don't know what you're trying to say here, but I don't think now is the time for Evan and I to talk. He has a lot going on, obviously. Before he called me for the helicopter ride, we didn't exactly leave things on good terms--"

"Yeah, asshole, I know what you said to him." Eddie says, sharp and hissing, "I know what he said to you. I also know that he called you and you came running, not just for Chim."

"Alright--" Tommy starts, feeling heat and rage building up his spine, but Eddie cuts him off again.

"I also know that you are the only person he has let himself break down in front of. That night, after...after Bobby died," Eddie's voice breaks here, "I know you picked him up and brought him home and I can't repay you for it. I have to ask you to do it again."

Tommy sits, struck silent by the sudden desperation that cracks through Eddie's voice.

"And," Eddie starts again, "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be a dick, not tonight of all nights. But Buck is numb right now, he's acting like he's fine, he won't stop moving and doing things, and helping. I know he thinks he's doing the right thing but I have to go back to Texas tomorrow and I'm afraid that this is going to kill him too."

"Eddie..." Tommy practically whispers, feeling like his strings have been cut. He's eying his keys and wallet where they sit by the door.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I have to ask you to come over. I'm his best friend but I've been a pretty shitty one and I just can't get him to break out of this--this mask he has on. Please, Tommy. Please come over. Karen said I can crash on their couch tonight, and I'll come back on the morning."

"What if--what if I make it worse?" Tommy asks, suddenly scared. He's getting up though, headed for his shoes because as he's come to find out he has a really hard time staying away from Evan Buckley.

"I don't think there is worse, Tommy. I think there is Buck, shouldering this until he breaks down. I can't let him go back to work like this. I can't leave California thinking he's going to act risky on a rescue and get himself--"

Eddie can't finish, and Tommy gets it. He knows, on a micro level, what it's like to lose Evan Buckley. He knows what it would do to him, to everyone, for it to happen completely.

Tommy's got his boots on and his wallet in his pocket and his keys in his hands and he's doing this.

"Okay," he says, itching to just go already. "Okay, Eddie, I'm coming. I'll be there in twenty."

Eddie breathes, and Tommy hears the slightest sniffle. "Thank you, Tommy--" he starts, before Tommy suddenly hears Evan's voice calling in the background, "Eddie? Who are you talking to?"

"Just Chris," Eddie says back, and Tommy winces. The call hangs up, but Tommy doesn't let it deter him. He walks out of his front door.

The drive passes in a blur, and suddenly he's at Buck's house, and Eddie meets him at the door.

"Thank you. I'm sorry." Is all Eddie says before he smoothly slips out the door with a bag over his shoulder and heads right for Evan's truck. The door closes behind him and Tommy stares into the house, can hear Evan moving around in the kitchen.

"Eddie?" Evan's voice calls, and he rounds the corner in an apron, drying his hands on a towel, but stops short when he sees Tommy. "Tommy. What--where's--"

"Eddie went to Hen and Karen's. He called me."

Tommy sees the flip, sees what must be scaring Eddie so badly. Evan's jaw sets, his shoulders pull back, his eyes harden.

"Well," he says coolly, "I'm fine. If he needed time away from me he could have just--"

"That's not why," Tommy says, keeping his hands at his waist and his eyes trained on Evan. Tommy knows this isn't like talking someone off the edge, this is going to be fight. "He's worried about you."

Evan scoffs, throws the towel across his shoulder and puts his hands on his hips. "I'm fine, Tommy. I'm sorry you came all this way, I made a coffee cake of you want some--"

"I don't think you are fine, Evan." Tommy says bluntly. Evan's jaw ticks slightly, and Tommy's like a bloodhound with a scent. "I think you're acting fine for everyone else--"

"I know how I feel--"

"I'm not saying you don't. I'm saying you're lying to everyone--"

"I'm not lying!" Evan says, volume rising but still controlled, "I am fi--"

"Stop tell me you're fine," Tommy cuts across him, realizing that this is the most emotion he's seen from Evan since Tommy had held him in the back of the ambulance that followed Chimney and Hen to the hospital, the thought Eddie was right shooting through him.

"I am!" Evan shouts, throwing his hands up. "I'm fine. Bobby said I would be okay and I am. He said the others would need me."

Tommy's heart breaks then, feels a cracking below his ribs, feels sick to his stomach. Evan's eyes have gone glossy and he's blinking quick.

"I'm sorry he said that to you, Evan."

That pulls Evan up short, confusion and upset breaking through his mask. "No, no, it's--" Evan starts, but Tommy's got the thread now. He knows how to unravel this. He takes a step closer, slowly.

"I'm sorry Bobby said that," another step forward, "I don't know if he meant this, Evan."

"Tommy--" Evan says weakly, not moving even as Tommy gets closer, "that's not fair, don't say that. Why are you here? You left, you--"

Tommy knows what Evan's doing, a last ditch effort to slice at Tommy and get him to turn around. Tommy won't, not this time.

"I'm sorry Bobby died, Evan," Tommy says, just a few steps away now, "I'm sorry you think he meant that you had to be strong for everyone and not let anyone know how badly this hurts. That's not what he meant, Evan."

"Stop, please, stop Tommy--" Evan chokes out, taking a stumbling step back as Tommy continues to advance.

"Bobby, like everyone else, always knew that your heart is what makes you, Evan," Tommy says, stopping when he's within grabbing distance, "he would never want you to cut yourself off from it like this. I think he wanted you to be okay not now but later--he wanted you to know that it's going to be good when you're happy again, some day."

Evan blinks, once, twice, and he can't keep the tears at bay any longer. They slide down his cheeks in thick drops, his breathing grows ragged. He says nothing, just looks at Tommy with a face that's a combination of grief and fear.

"Evan," Tommy says slowly and carefully, looking Evan in the eyes and reaching hand out to grab his arm, "I know Bobby was like a dad to you, and he died. He's dead, and I'm so sorry."

Tommy yanks, and Evan comes to him with no resistance. Tommy grabs him up in his arms and feels it when Evan's legs give out. Tommy drops them slowly to the floor as Evan lets out a heaving sob, and grips him as hard as he can, crushing Evan to his chest.

"I'm so sorry, Evan." Tommy says again over Evan's sobs and wails.

"He--he--" Evan tries to speak but he can't get the words out, Tommy lets him try anyway, "He said he loved--"

Tommy feels the muscles in his arms clench and protest at the way he's gripping Evan, afraid that Evan will fly apart if he lets go.

"How do I do this? How do I do this without him?" Evan gets out in stops and starts, chest heaving against Tommy's, "How could he leave me?"

Tommy just holds him as waves of grief and anger in equal measure seek to wash over him.

Tommy doesn't know how long they stay there on the floor, too long probably for his knees and back, but Evan eventually quiets in his arms. He loosens his grip once and Evan jerks like he's been hit, so Tommy tightens his arms once more.

Evan's breathing finally evens out, his sobs subside, and he pulls his head up to look at Tommy.

"You came," Evan says, red rimmed eyes fighting valiantly to show hope admist all of their tragedy. "After I ignored you for days."

"I can't stay away from you for very long," Tommy says before his brain can catch up with his mouth, "also, Eddie is kind of an asshole when he wants to be, but he cares. He wants to make sure you're taken care of too."

Buck nods, gulping and snaking an arm out of Tommy's hold to wipe at his face.

"I didn't--I thought I was hiding it well. I thought I was doing what Bobby said."

Tommy sighs, not unkindly, and lifts a hand to cradle Evan's jaw.

"I meant what I said. I think...I think Bobby was telling you that losing him was going to hurt you, but one day you'll be okay. It won't hurt any less, but you'll have room for everything else. And...when he said that the others would need you, he meant that you can't follow him. There are so many people in your life that need you."

Evan makes a wounded noise and leans into Tommy's hand, "I wouldn't--"

"That's what was scaring Eddie so much," Tommy says, cutting him off far more gently than earlier, "he was scared to go back to Texas not knowing if you would start taking unnecessary risks on the job."

Evan is quiet, heartbreak in his eyes but no denial. They're both quiet as Evan lets it sink in. Eventually, Tommy sees exhaustion settle onto Evan. His shoulders slump and his mouth is parted on slightly labored breathing.

"Let's get you to bed, huh?" Tommy says, preparing them to stand, "it's been a long day."

Tommy gets to his feet and pulls Evan up with him, turning and leading them to the bedroom. He gently pushes Evan toward his dresser to change and Tommy steps back into the kitchen to turn the lights off and drain the sink where Evan had been hand washing dishes. He fills up a glass of water to bring back with him.

When he returns to the bedroom, Evan is sitting on the edge in a pair of shorts and ragged looking t-shirt. Tommy stands in front of him and speaks gently.

"You should try to sleep, Evan," Tommy hands over the water and is satisfied when Evan automatically drinks half of it. "I can crash on the couch, okay? Eddie said he'll be back in the morning."

Evan nods, but looks far away for a moment. Tommy makes a move to start heading out but is stopped when Evan half rises from the bed and gets a hand on Tommy's wrist.

"Wait. I know--" he says, sounding nervous but determined, "I know we aren't, uh, together right now. But. I lov--"

"Wait," Tommy interrupts him, and Evan looks at him in despair. Tommy gently pushes him back onto the bed and sits next to him. He twists his hand out of Evan's grip and grabs at both of Evan's instead, holds them in his lap. "In the morning, we can talk."

"Bobby died without me saying it to him, Tommy." Tears gather again in Evan's eyes, but his voice is steel, "I'm not going to have anyone else not know."

Tommy nods, and takes a deep breath before speaking.

"Okay," Tommy says, and feels courage strike through him, "I love you, Evan."

Evan's breath hitches, and he looks at Tommy with a trembling mouth.

"I love you too, Tommy."

After everything, it's Evan's small but determined voice in that moment that brings tears to Tommy's eyes. He grabs Evan again and holds him to his chest, sets a kiss on Evan's birthmark and looks at the cieling, overwhelmed.

"Okay," Tommy whispers, feeling for the first time in a week that he's got somewhere to go from here, "Okay, Evan. We're going to be alright."

[womanofwords]

Everybody's Favourite (Part 4)

The more the rogues' gallery learns about your treatment at the hands of your family, the more they dislike the Waynes. "I honestly think I misjudged my friend Bruce," Two-Face said. "He really let that happen?"

"I have the scars to prove it," you said, rolling up your sleeves to show everyone the bite marks left on their arms. "Damian wanted me to help test Titus' abilities by giving him a target. Well, I was the target."

"Well, I'll have to re-evaluate my policy on hurting children," Riddler said.

"What. The. Hell?!" Ivy's anger was palpable. "This little sweetheart has been theirs for over ten years, and they can't even bother to pay a simple ransom?!"

"They seem about as delightful as gum on a shoe," Joker said. "If you need a certain mansion blown to pieces, say the word."

You whimpered at the thought of such violence, clutching a throw pillow for comfort. "I don't want them to be injured or killed. I want distance from all of them, metaphorical and literal. I don't want to see them again."

"Such a precious gem," Harley sniffed.

"And a terrific businessperson," Oswald said. "Designed an ice cream franchise with me in less than a week. The kid'll go far."

"Honestly, I don't want them to go," Riddler said.

"I don't want to go! I like it here!" you said.

"Great!" Joker clapped his hands with glee. "Because if you're staying, then we'll need to put a few things on the agenda. Like self-defence. Bane and Selina can teach you all about that."

You gasped with joy. "So I can kick butt while wearing heels?"

"Of course, kitten," Selina cooed.

"You shall have all the resources you need," Bane rumbled. "I'll even let you use Venom."

"NO!" everyone yelled.

"As a psychology professor, they will not even look at your patented steroid," Crane scolded.

"You dose people with fear gas, and steroids is where you draw the line?" Bane scoffed.

"Yes! Why would I want to tamper with Y/N's sweet disposition with nasty roid rage?"

"It'll ruin them, Bane. You might want a sparring partner, but I will lose a business partner," Penguin said. "An incredibly smart one, if I might add."

"Really? Me?" you spluttered.

"Oh, little dove, who else could I be speaking about?" Penguin retorted. You squeaked and hugged the pillow tighter. "Oh, little dove, I was just complimenting you, I promise! I didn't mean to fluster you!"

"Normally, the only people who call me smart are my teachers," you admit. "My folks barely notice my grades or skills."

"Well, it would be a shame to let that go to waste. You must have worked hard to obtain them." Penguin paused to adjust his monocle. "Now, how about we get you a nice new routine to help you settle into your new home?"

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4 <- You are here

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Taglist: @tinybrie, @enchantingarcadecreation, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @sh4rk-k1d, @prorpy, angelicbear, @sulleha, @sirenetheblogger

[doppel-doodles]

A normal post a about Kevin Barnes from Poppy Playtime.

I genuinely feel so bad for Kevin…

Like that was a kid who clearly had a lot of issues from the start, instead of getting the help he needed all that happened was him being marked off as a „problem child“.

And then he was turned into a toy:/

Read more of my full thoughts and a sorta character analysis/ramblings below cut!

Like honestly no wonder he is seething if he wasn’t troubled before he definitely is now-

Obviously he has no trust in anyone, almost every adult he ever knew screwed him over in some way, hell even the kids he shares a body with would go against what he would do.

(Great example: When Doey chases us in his monster form, it's the arms of Matthew and Jack that are trying to keep his mouth from biting us, Kevin's are trying to grab for us.)

He was hurt over and over again, clearly he wasn’t aggressive just because he wanted to be but because this was his only way of making sure he wouldn’t get hurt.

It was how he had a semblance of control, a sense of protection.

But of course the irony is: That coping mechanism brought him more pain, it was what got him killed.

Sure, maybe he could've just "calmed down", but why would he? He was hurt again, he lost everything AGAIN.

All because he listened to their judgement over his own. Kevin could've killed the player and Poppy on sight, clearly his emotions easily overpowered the other two, but he didn't.

Instead he agreed to trust them as well.

He was still willing to do that, surely if he were just a mindless monster he wouldn't be.

And you know what? I believe he blames himself just as much if not more for what happened than he blames us and Poppy and projects it tenfold.

Because maybe, JUST MAYBE-

If he didn't allow himself to trust again, then everyone would still be alive.

But he did...now see what that got him?

In his mind he's proven right.

So what's an emotionally unstable child to do? After being hurt AGAIN?

That's right.

He lashes out at the first thing he sees that had something to do with his pain:

Us.

Is he in the right? Hell nah- bro we didn't mean for that to happen! But do you seriously think this kid is thinking rationally right now??? NO! He is seeing red right now, he is in fight mode! All emotions and must I reiterate that the only way he knows how to express them is through anger and violence?

There is NO reasoning with wrath try as you might! And that hurts because yeah maybe you could've dealt with that if he was still a gradeschooler but he isn't! He is 900 pounds of living dough with a thirst for blood!

It's either our life or his now. And we already know what the outcome of that is.

Honestly I think it's better that we only hear Matthew and Jack apologise for what happened, I do not think Kevin would even if he did feel bad for what he had done.

Because why would someone who has been scorned so many times be vulnerable all of the sudden? When his main character trait is biting at those who bark at him?Why would all that rage suddenly disappear? If anything the stress of dying only causes him to lash out more.

You don't need an apology from him to feel bad for him.

He is hurting anyone with two eyes can see that and for what it's worth, I do believe deep down he knew what he was doing was wrong but it was too late for him to see any other alternatives and even if he didn't and thought he was right for doing what he did it doesn't take away from the fact that he was fucked over by life.

Kevin is not the worst part of Doey, he is just a part of him.

And that part is not just a violent hunk of playdough.

It’s a scared, confused little boy that cared just as much about every toy in safe haven as his other two components did.

Because if he didn’t why would he get so angry about their death?

Anyway thanks for coming to my ted talk-

Also feel free to agree or disagree with my take, those are just my thoughts so let me hear yours, I like discussions:}

For those interested here are some Jack thoughts and Matthew!:D

And the big blue lump Doey

[msnova-scotia]

Thinking about Lydia Barkrock, and how her entire party was killed during a mission. How she not only had to plunge a soul gem into her heart, but was constantly in a state of rage to keep a devil trapped inside the gem. And how she had to make her way all the way back home by herself, all without the ability to walk. Maybe in this new constant state of rage, she got angered at every little thing. The bars she wrecked on the way back, picking in a fight with anyone and everyone. The inn rooms she left a mess because she couldn’t even sleep and enjoy the room. Days, maybe even weeks later, finally making it home to a young Ragh.

Snapping at him for the first time since she got home, and seeing terror in his eyes, knowing she caused him to feel afraid of her more than he ever has before. Realizing she can’t keep doing this, she can’t keep letting her rage control her. She works on her anger management, harder than anything she’s ever applied herself towards before. Ragh flinching every time she loses her temper again.

Lydia realizes she can’t even show her anger anymore because of how scared her son is every time she gets angry, fearing that it’ll be directed towards him again. So she starts walking on eggshells around him, and everyone else in her life so they don’t ever feel afraid of her again. She can’t handle seeing them look at her like that, like she’s a monster. Can’t they see she’s doing this to keep everyone safe from Bakur? No, no they can’t. They weren’t there

Everyone else who was there, never came home. She’s the only one who knows the true evil that she holds inside the gem, inside her own body, every day. They’ll never understand. So she steels herself again, making sure everything she does is controlled. Her actions are rigid, tight, planned. Nothing she does anymore is on a whim or impulsive, otherwise she risks her anger getting the best of her again

And it works, she’s the best mom ever (according to her son). She does everything right, and he stops being afraid of her. Every now and then she can’t help but notice an occasional involuntary flinch from him, one that he feels ashamed for even letting happen. But they talk about it, they work on communication so Ragh knows she’s not mad at him, that he never will be again, not like before at least.

One can imagine how difficult it must have been for Lydia to keep her cool when she was killed by Kalina. Not only dying, but finding out that she’s been in a clone this whole time. Has it been this whole time? Arthur never told her she was in a clone, nor did she have any memory of ever agreeing to something like this. How long had it been that she was kept hidden away?

It had been a long time since she had felt this angry, being left in the dark like this. All Lydia wanted to do was bite and hit and smash and break and ki-

No!

She can’t let her emotions control her. It doesn’t matter how mad she is, she has to stay in control. Even if Arthur does deserve a beating. So she smiles, she thanks Arthur for doing what he did, because it means she’s still alive another day to hug her son.

Then almost a year later, the Bad Kids are investigating a dead god, the same one Bakur was trying to raise all those years ago. And in their investigating, they come to her. “We think we can remove the gem from your body,” they tell her. So she agrees, trying not to let her hopes up too much. It almost goes badly, she feels for the briefest of seconds that this is a mistake, that she’s about to die, but at the last second she feels it. The gem comes out, and it stays sealed. Bakur still trapped inside.

For the first time in years, she comes out of her rage and it’s the biggest relief of her life. She cries. Lydia cries more than she ever has, because she knows she can rest. She can finally feel her emotions again without fear of losing control, without fear that Bakur will escape, without fear of hurting her son.

That night, Lydia sleeps. She can finally sleep. It’s the best night’s rest she’s ever had, and though she had forgotten what it was like, Lydia dreams again as well

[rizzanon]

His place

a tim drake and batsis! reader oneshot | m.list

Summary: you remind your brother what his role is in the family | events somewhat align with pre-Red Robin if you squint

Tim Drake barely registers the destruction around him. The broken glass, the overturned books, the scattered papers—all of it blends into the edges of his vision, insignificant in the face of the storm still raging inside his chest. His breath is shallow, uneven, like he’s just come up for air after drowning. His hands are curled into fists against the floor, his nails digging into his palms, but he doesn’t move.

He can’t.

Everything feels wrong.

Bruce is gone.

Dick is Batman.

Damian is Robin.

And Tim—

He is nothing.

There’s a raw, open wound inside him, and he doesn’t know how to close it. Doesn’t even know where to start.

The word ‘replaced’ makes his stomach twist, but it’s the truth, isn’t it? It had taken Dick all of two seconds to strip the title away from him and hand it over to him.

Damian.

A murderer. A child who barely understood what this family was supposed to be. Who had killed and barely flinched. Bruce had spent months trying to reach him, trying to ground him, and now Bruce was gone, and Dick thought the best thing to do was put Robin’s colors on his back?

It’s like spitting on everything Tim had ever fought for.

He exhales shakily, the weight of it pressing down on him. He’s spent days holding himself together, clenching his teeth and pretending it didn’t matter, that he didn’t care, that he wasn’t unraveling beneath the surface. He knew Bruce isn’t dead, he knew something isn’t right, but nobody would believe now, would they?

And now, standing in the wreckage of his own room, he feels like all that certainty—the thing keeping him grounded—has slipped through his fingers.

His room is a disaster—papers strewn across the floor, glass glinting under the dim light, books lying open and discarded like corpses. The air is thick with the weight of his own fury, his grief, his goddamn exhaustion.

And yet, it still isn’t enough. He still feels hollow.

The room feels too small.

He blinks hard, staring down at the floor. His chest feels too tight. His heartbeat is too loud. The mess around him is suffocating, but he can’t bring himself to move, to clean any of it up.

And then—

The door creaks open. A quiet, deliberate sound.

Tim tenses.

He doesn’t need to look up to know it’s you.

You step inside quietly, careful with your movements. He listens to your soft, measured footsteps, the way you move carefully, deliberately, like you’re navigating through a minefield. You don’t speak. You don’t rush. You don’t even let out a sigh, though he knows you must want to. Instead, you just move toward him, stepping over broken pieces of whatever he destroyed, before lowering yourself onto the floor beside him.

Not too close.

But close enough.

Tim stares ahead, fixating on the cracks in the broken lamp, the scattered books, the torn papers. He listens to your breathing, slow and steady, the faint rustle of fabric as you shift slightly.

He wonders if you can hear how unsteady his breathing is.

You don’t push him to speak. You just sit there, patient.

You don’t sigh. You don’t try to fill the silence.

You wait.

Tim clenches his jaw.

For a long moment, there’s only silence.

Then, finally, he exhales sharply through his nose. “What, did Dick send you?” His voice is rough, bitter, but the exhaustion drags it down, taking most of the bite out of his words.

He regrets it the second it leaves his mouth.

Because you aren’t the problem here. You aren’t the reason everything feels like it’s caving in.

You don’t deserve to be on the receiving end of his anger.

You glance at him. “No.”

Tim scoffs, shaking his head. “Right, you here to tell me I’m overreacting then?”

“No.”

He huffs out a humorless laugh. “Great. That makes one person in this house.”

You don’t react, don’t flinch, don’t tell him he’s wrong. And for some reason, that makes his chest tighten.

“Why are you here, (Name)?”

You don’t answer immediately. You shift slightly, glancing around the mess of his room. Tim wonders if you’re judging him for it. If you’re piecing together everything that must have led up to this moment. If you’re staring at the wreckage and seeing him for what he really is—angry, bitter, and more lost than he wants to admit.

When you finally speak, your voice is softer than before.

“I just want to talk.”

Tim scoffs, dragging a hand through his hair. “Yeah? What’s there to talk about?”

You glance at him, and he hates the way your expression softens just slightly. Like you’re seeing right through him. Like you already know.

And then, finally, you say it. The thing he didn’t want to hear.

“You know you still have a place here, right?”

Something twists in his gut.

Tim swallows, forcing a scoff, his fingers dig into his knee. “Do I?”

“You do.”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “That’s real funny, because from where I’m sitting, it looks like Dick made his choice.”

You don’t react the way he expects. You don’t rush to correct him or try to argue. You just look at him. Your gaze was steady and unwavering.

And for some reason, that’s worse.

“Dick needs you.”

Tim scoffs. “Yeah? Sure didn’t seem that way when he gave my suit to Damian.”

“He didn’t give your suit to Damian,” you say. “He just… gave him a suit.”

“Oh, that makes it so much better,” Tim snaps. “Like I should just be fine with the fact that he handed Robin to someone who doesn’t even understand what it means.”

You exhale through your nose. “Tim—”

“No.” He turns to you now, eyes burning, his voice sharp, bitter. “He knows. He knows what Robin is. What it means to me. And he still—” He clenches his jaw, forcing down the words that feel like acid in his throat.

He still chose Damian.

The words taste like poison in his mouth.

Like betrayal.

Because he and Dick worked together. Because Tim trusted him. Because Dick should have known better.

Robin was never just a suit. It was never just a name.

Dick made Robin a symbol, but Tim made it a legacy. He had built on everything that came before him, upheld it, protected it. He never saw himself as a sidekick—Bruce never treated him like one. And neither did Dick.

But then, the moment Bruce was gone—

The second he was gone—

Dick had replaced him.

He had given Robin to someone who didn’t understand it. Someone who didn’t earn it. Someone who treated it like it was his by default.

Someone who had killed.

And that—

That was something Tim couldn’t forgive.

“He didn’t replace you.”

Tim can feel your gaze on him. Studying him. Assessing him. You’re quiet, like you’re deciding what to say to him—what not to say, as if he was a bomb ticking. He hates that.

“You don’t get it.”

“Then help me understand.”

That makes his stomach twist, because you actually mean it. There’s no pity in your voice, no condescension. Just quiet sincerity.

Tim exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. His thoughts are spiraling again, overlapping, contradicting. He doesn’t know how to say what he’s feeling, how to put it into words without it sounding pathetic.

But you’re still watching him. Still waiting.

So he just—

He lets it out.

“Robin was mine,” he mutters, voice tight. “I—I earned it. I worked for it. I built on it. It wasn’t just a name, it was—” His breath shudders slightly. “It was a legacy. And Dick—he just handed it over to him like it didn’t mean anything. After everything. He didn’t even—” His voice catches for half a second before he forces it steady again.

He hears the shift in your breathing. Feels your hesitation.

“Tim… with Dick as Batman now… you and him can never have a Batman and Robin dynamic. Not really.”

Tim stills.

You hold his gaze. “You were partners. He respects you and your judgement. He trusts you to call the shots, the same way Bruce did.”

Tim’s chest feels tight. His hands twitch slightly against his knees.

“He doesn’t see you as a kid anymore,” you continue. “That’s why he couldn’t make you Robin. Not because he doesn’t want you by his side. But because he doesn’t see you as someone who needs to be Robin.”

Tim’s throat feels tight.

“You don’t need Robin, Tim.” Your voice is gentle but firm. “And Dick knows that.”

His jaw tightens.

“He believes in you, Tim. He always has, and he always will.”

Tim lets out a slow breath, his fingers twitching against the fabric of his jeans. His thoughts are spiraling again, analyzing every interaction, every choice, every word. He doesn’t know how to respond to that.

Doesn’t know what to say.

Had he really—?

Had Dick really—?

It’s stupid. It’s so stupid, but for some reason, the words hit something deep in him, something fragile and unspoken.

Dick trusted him.

He always had.

But Tim—he had been so focused on what he lost that he hadn’t seen what was still there. It was hard not to. His mom, his dad, Conner—

Tim exhales sharply through his nose, looking away. His hands curl into fists against his knees before slowly unclenching.

You shift beside him, your voice softer now. “You’ve already made your place in this family, Tim. Nothing can ever change that.”

Tim presses his lips together, staring at the floor.

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

Because the anger is still there, the frustration, the bitterness. But underneath it—buried so deep he almost missed it—there’s something else.

Something that makes his breath come a little easier.

He knows you’re right.

But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

His fingers tighten against the fabric of his jeans. He stares at the floor, at the pieces of his broken lamp, at the mess he made in a moment of pure frustration.

You don’t push him to respond. You just sit there, quiet, patient, letting him process, letting him breathe.

Eventually, after what feels like forever, Tim exhales, voice barely above a whisper.

“…It still hurts.”

You shift slightly beside him. When you speak, your voice is just as quiet.

“I know.”

“Where does this leave me?”

You hesitate. Tim feels the way your breath hitch, feels your gaze on him once more.

“Still here.”

And somehow—somehow, that’s enough.

His hands aren’t shaking anymore.

He barely notices. His pulse is pounding in his ears, his mind buzzing with too many thoughts at once, overlapping, colliding, turning over and over until he feels like he’s going to short-circuit.

His mind is spinning too fast, circling around the same thought, the same certainty that he knows—he knows—what he’s saying is real.

He lifts his head, forces himself to look at you. His voice comes out strained, barely above a whisper.

“Bruce is alive.”

The words are heavy, pressed between his teeth like something sacred. Something unshakable.

You shift beside him. He feels it before he even looks.

A pause.

Then—

“Tim—”

“I can’t tell you how,” he cuts in, sharper than he means to, his chest rising and falling too quickly. “I can’t tell you why.” He turns to you fully now, his hands gripping his knees, his eyes burning. “But I know.” His breath shudders slightly. “He’s still alive.”

You’re looking at him now. Tim watches every movement, every flicker of hesitation in your expression, every breath you take before responding. He can already feel the doubt coming.

You hold his gaze, steady but cautious. Then you sigh, exhaling through your nose as you place a hand on his arm.

“Tim…” Your voice is gentle. Too gentle. It makes something inside him twist, makes his throat go tight, because he knows what that tone means. You’re trying to ease him into something. Trying to let him down gently.

It makes his stomach sink.

“We saw Bruce’s body,” you say, fingers tightening slightly against his sleeve. “We can’t change what happened during Final Crisis. Bruce… he—”

“He’s alive.” His voice rises, strained, cracking on the edges. His pulse is too fast, his breathing shallow. His skin feels too tight, his own body suffocating him. “He’s still alive. I can feel it.”

You still.

You freeze.

Tim sees the way your lips part slightly, the way your shoulders subtly tense, the way your fingers twitch before curling against your lap. He sees it, and it sets something uneasy, something cold, deep in his chest.

You hesitate.

He can feel your hesitation.

You hesitate, and suddenly, Tim can’t breathe.

“We always base things off facts, Tim,” you say slowly, carefully. “You always base things off facts.” Your brows furrow. “But now… you’re trying to tell me Bruce is still alive because you can just… feel it?”

Tim’s stomach twists.

It hurts.

It actually fucking hurts, and he wasn’t prepared for that.

Because—because you were different.

You had always been different.

You were the one he could always turn to, the one who listened, who never brushed him off or made him feel like a stupid, reckless kid. You never doubted him. You never judged him. You never looked at him like he was losing it.

That’s why he told you first.

That’s why he needed you to be the first one to hear it.

And now—

Now, you’re hesitating.

Now, you’re doubting.

Now, you’re looking at him exactly how everyone else has.

He clenches his jaw, his hands curling into fists. His throat works around something thick, something unbearable, something raw and ugly that he can’t let out.

He doesn’t have an answer to that.

Because you’re right.

You’re right.

And yet—

He clenches his fists against his knees. His mind is racing again, replaying everything, twisting the words over and over, trying to find the logic, trying to find the missing piece, trying to prove it.

You don’t believe him.

You think he’s lost it.

Just like everyone else.

His breath hitches slightly, his body tense, his muscles coiling. He can’t tell if his chest feels tight from anger or something worse.

Finally, his voice comes out hoarse, strained, desperate.

“I know—I know it sounds fucking stupid.” He swallows hard, his heart slamming against his ribs. “That I don’t sound sane right now.” His chest is too tight. His vision is too sharp, too focused on the way you’re watching him, on the doubt in your eyes. His jaw clenches as he looks at you again, searching, pleading. He forces the words out, desperate.

“But you’ve got to trust me.”

Silence.

Heavy. Suffocating.

Tim watches you. Scrutinizes every tiny shift in your expression, every flicker in your eyes, every breath you take.

You aren’t responding.

You aren’t saying anything.

Your eyes dart slightly downward, like you’re processing, debating, deciding. The way your fingers slowly uncurl from his sleeve before settling against your own lap.

And suddenly, Tim knows.

He knows you think he’s lost it.

Just like Dick.

Just like everyone else.

His breathing hitches slightly, panic creeping up his throat. He tries to fight it down, tries to swallow it back, but he can feel his pulse racing, his hands trembling slightly where they’re clenched into fists.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if you—

“…Okay.”

Tim stills.

“I believe you.”

His stomach drops.

His mind goes blank.

“What?”

You hold his gaze, expression unreadable. “You’ve proven to me so many times that nothing is really what it seems. That there’s always more to a truth. More to a fact.” You exhale. “And if you say that Bruce… somehow… is still alive?” Your voice softens. “If you really believe that, then maybe—just maybe—you’re right.”

Tim doesn’t move.

Doesn’t breathe.

He can’t.

His mind is blank, wiped clean, like he just walked into an ambush he should’ve seen coming but somehow didn’t.

He doesn’t know what to say.

Doesn’t know how to say anything at all.

He can’t process what just happened, can’t process what you just said, can’t process the fact that—

You believe him.

You actually believe him.

And suddenly, before he can stop himself, before he can even think—

He’s pulling you into a hug.

You barely have time to react before his arms wrap tightly around you, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, his grip desperate, almost painful, his fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt like you might disappear if he lets go.

His voice is rough, barely more than a whisper.

“Thank you.”

It’s not enough.

It’s not enough to convey what this means to him, what you mean to him, but it’s all he can manage.

You don’t hesitate this time.

You just return the hug, solid and grounding and warm, and the feeling of it—the reality of it—hits Tim all at once, makes his chest feel too full, makes his eyes burn slightly, makes his throat ache with something he doesn’t know how to name. His heart is still hammering, but for the first time in weeks, it doesn’t feel like it’s suffocating him.

After a long moment, your voice murmurs against his ear.

“So… what are you going to do now?”

Tim swallows, pulling back slightly. He meets your eyes, searching for something—he doesn’t even know what.

“I’m not sure.”

You watch him, knowing. “I can tell you’re planning to leave.”

Tim lets out a breathy, humorless laugh. “Hah. Maybe…” He smirks faintly, something bitter in the curve of his lips. “But you know I’ll always come back, though, right?”

You sigh, shaking your head.

“You better,” you mutter. Then, softer, “And take care of yourself.”

Tim holds your gaze, memorizing every detail, every flicker of warmth, every ounce of trust.

He nods.

And this time—

He doesn’t feel like he’s drowning.

lowkey self indulged with this lol 😅🫣 tim was really going through it in the comics during this period but hey! at least it gave us Red Robin Tim Drake 🤭

taglist (open): @k1arar3 @kingshitonly @rainnyydaysworld @ceridwyn3 @darkfaethedestroyer @blueiones @strwberryglass @lithiumval @thephantomdanny @eli-mayhaveatencats @rockyeatrock @dreaming-of-the-reality @shirp-collector-of-fixations @gneepgnorpsneepsnorp @skerbablo @dind1n | ask to be added <3

[hoe4hotchner]

Mine | [A.H]

Pairing: Mafia!Hotch x Fem!reader | WC: 0.8k | CW: club scene, alcohol, violence.

The club pulsed with life, the bass thrumming through the floor, weaving through the low hum of conversation and the sharp clink of expensive whiskey against crystal glass. It was the kind of place where power was by who sat behind the velvet ropes—where the most dangerous men in the room never had to raise their voices to be heard. It was also the kind of place where no one touched what belonged to Aaron Hotchner.

Yet, somehow, the man standing in front of you had made that mistake.

His fingers curled around your wrist, the grip just tight enough to be possessive, just firm enough to make you uncomfortable. The stench of expensive cologne mixed with the sharp bite of whiskey on his breath as he leaned in, grinning like he had already won whatever game he thought he was playing. "C'mon, sweetheart, no need to play hard to get. I can give you a better offer than whatever you're getting now."

You didn’t have time to answer before the atmosphere shifted. The air around you seemed to still, the space behind you darkening with a familiar presence.

Then, in the space of a single breath, the man was ripped away.

Hotch moved faster than you could process, his hand wrapping around the man’s throat and slamming him against the nearest wall with a force that rattled the framed liquor displays behind the bar. Glassware trembled. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. The entire club fell silent.

“Touch her again, and I’ll break your neck.”

His voice was quiet, and controlled, but there was something in it that sent a chill down your spine—something deadly. Hotch rarely needed to make threats, not when his reputation spoke for itself, but when he did, it was never an empty promise. He could kill.

The man gasped, his fingers clawing at Hotch’s grip, his face turning an alarming shade of red. The smug confidence that had dripped from his words only seconds before had vanished completely. He knew exactly who he had just crossed, and from the way his body trembled, he also knew there was no undoing it.

Hotch leaned in slightly, his grip tightening just enough to make his point clear. “You think you can put your hands on something that belongs to me?” His words were measured, deliberate, and left no room for misinterpretation.

You should have been startled by the possessiveness in his voice, by the sheer force of his anger, but all you could focus on was the way he stood in front of you, a wall of control and fury as if there was no reality in which he would let anyone lay a hand on you and walk away unscathed.

The man gave a frantic nod, his expression somewhere between desperation and pure terror. Hotch held him there for another long moment, letting the weight of his words settle in before finally releasing his grip. The man collapsed, coughing violently as he stumbled back, eyes darting around the club as if looking for an escape route.

When no one moved to help him—when not a single person in the room dared to challenge the man who had just nearly choked him out—he scrambled toward the exit, disappearing into the crowd without so much as a backward glance.

Hotch exhaled slowly, his body still thrumming with tension as he turned to you. His eyes, sharp and dark beneath the low lighting, scanned your face before trailing down to your wrist where the man had touched you.

His jaw clenched, and before you could say anything, his fingers brushed over your skin, tracing the faint redness left behind. His touch was the opposite of what you had just endured—gentle and respectful, ensuring you weren’t hurt.

“Are you alright?” His voice had softened, but the barely contained rage still simmered beneath the surface.

You nodded, your pulse still racing. “Yeah.”

He didn’t look convinced. His fingers lingered on your wrist for a moment longer before he exhaled sharply and threaded his fingers through yours instead, his grip firm and protective. The warmth of his palm against yours sent a shiver up your spine, but it wasn’t from fear.

It should have been.

You should have been wary of a man who could snap a neck as easily as he could open a bottle of scotch, a man whose power extended into every shadowed corner of the city.

But you weren’t afraid of him. You never had been.

His hand tightened ever so slightly, his thumb brushing over the inside of your palm in a way that felt more like a promise than a simple touch. His eyes searched yours, and for a brief second, the room around you disappeared.

“Take me home,” you murmured, and the second the words left your lips, his grip on you became unshakable.

Hotch had never been the kind of man to let go of what was his.

And tonight, that included you in his bed.

[zhelin-thames]

Danny and Dex-Starr saga

Read the prev parts Masterpost (Lantern corp)

Dex-Starr eyes the glowing ecto-snack, his glowing red aura flickering with hesitation. After a long, tense pause, the angry cat cautiously snatches the snack with one paw and inspects it.

Dex-Starr: [Grumbles, sniffing] “This better not be poisoned, ghost-boy.”

Danny: [Scoffs] “Seriously? Like I’m gonna waste good ectoplasm on poisoning a space cat. That stuff’s hard to make!”

Dex-Starr takes a tentative bite, his furious expression softening for a moment as the snack melts into a satisfying glow in his mouth.

Dex-Starr: [Mumbles through chewing] “…It’s not bad.”

Danny: [Smirking] “See? Told ya. You’re less scary when you’re not hangry.”

Dex-Starr glares at Danny, but the intensity has dulled into something more akin to annoyance than murderous rage. He floats closer, his red aura dimming slightly.

Dex-Starr: “So what’s your deal, anyway? You don’t smell like the rest of these humans.”

Danny: [Floating backward slightly] “Uh, thanks? I’m kinda… half-dead, I guess. Half-human, half-ghost. It’s complicated.”

Dex-Starr: [Narrowing his eyes] “Half-ghost? That explains the weird energy.”

Danny: [Shrugs] “Yeah, it’s a whole thing. But I’m still technically alive, so... anyway, why’re you so mad at everyone? Space cats don’t usually hang out in sewer systems plotting doom, right?”

Dex-Starr’s plasma flickers again, and his posture stiffens. He looks away, his growl returning faintly.

Dex-Starr: [Quietly] “Humans killed my human. The only one who ever cared about me. They hurt her… and they took her from me. Now all I have is rage.”

Danny’s casual demeanor falters as he processes Dex-Starr’s words. His own memories of losing loved ones flash in his mind—the times he felt powerless to protect them.

Danny: [Softer] “…I’m sorry. That sucks. A lot.”

Dex-Starr: [Snapping back] “I don’t need your pity!”

Danny: *“It’s not pity. It’s just… I get it. I lost people too. Felt like the world was out to get me for a while. But staying mad forever doesn’t fix anything. Trust me, I tried.”

Dex-Starr hesitates, his claws retracting slightly. The flicker of anger in his eyes doesn’t disappear, but there’s a hint of something else—doubt, or maybe curiosity.

Dex-Starr: “…And what fixed it for you?”

Danny: [Grinning awkwardly] “Uh, I mean, I’m still figuring that out. But helping people, even when it sucks, kind of makes it suck less? Plus, I’ve got a ghost dog who keeps me company. That helps too.”

Dex-Starr tilts his head slightly, his red aura dimming further.

Dex-Starr: “A ghost dog?”

Danny: “Yeah, big guy named Cujo. He’s kinda like me—half-alive, half-ghost, 100% lovable.”

Dex-Starr: [Grumbles] “Hmph. Sounds ridiculous.”

Danny: [Floating upright] “It totally is. But hey, if you’re ever tired of being mad all the time, you could come hang out with me and Cujo. I bet he’d like you, even if you are a walking rage ball.”

Dex-Starr stares at Danny for a long moment, his tail twitching. Then, with a huff, he turns and starts to float away.

Dex-Starr: “Don’t count on it, ghost-boy. But… I’ll think about it.”

Danny watches the glowing red light disappear into the sewer tunnels, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Danny: [To himself] “Progress. Angry space cat progress.”