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hattersrabbit · 1 day ago

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SEE NO EVIL

batfamily x clairvoyant reader | sfw

CW! gn reader, hurt comfort, supernatural elements, good dad Bruce wayne supremacy, descriptions of crime scenes, descriptions of murder and injury, religious themes (not to harm or in bad faith), mental health issues, reader is vigilante (my oc's alias is used), john constantine is also there

Summary! You're family isn't all that believeable to the paranormal. Unfortunately, it's time that they come to terms that you can see it all, and it's really starting affect you in a bad way.

✎ᝰ. I was rewatching the conjuring movies since the 4th ones trailer is out and I got inspired so here 🫵 for you

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

It was easy for your strange powers to go unnoticed.

Also it helped you hadn't told anyone that you could see ghosts, or demons in visions. Seeing what could possibly happen in the past and what could possibly happen in the future.

You're family didn't believe in the paranormal despite the fact Gotham working with magic users.

In fact Gotham was haunted; you saw everything and it was horrifying.

Case and point; like when you were dressed as your vigilante person you were simply patrolling your route with Spoiler. What made it hard was the fact that you could see the ghost of a man at the edge of the buildings top.

A dangling foot and staring at you with those ghostly eyes. Taking every bit of yourself to stay calm. Not alert Spoiler that you were seeing something she couldn't.

It wouldn't turn away and you couldn't ignore it. You've been seeing these spirits for so long. You don't know if you can even handle this anymore.

"Nymph? Are you okay?"

"Huh!?" You jumped. Spoiler's eyes full of slight worry and confusion. "Oh I'm okay."

"Alright. Looks like you just saw a ghost." She dismissed you and went back to surveying your surroundings.

Oh how right she was.

Perhaps you should tell Bruce that his father was over his shoulder. Maybe you should by seeing how proud he was. His mother was bit of the way looking on with a smile.

A pleasant memory.

The two looked at you. Couldn't help but freeze up at those eyes of theirs. So much like Bruce's ice blue eyes. They were smiling at you with pride.

A whisper into your ear, "Take care of yourself, dear."

Every now and then you'd see them. Always a break from the scary figures you regularly saw in Gotham. Or the various demons that hung over apartments and houses.

And people.

Maybe the entities on your father's shoulder were sad, or angry? They came from all over. Some sobbing and some threatening for his very demise.

You didn't like such things.

Jason was the worst. The spirits and darkness that surrounded him was worrisome. For the longest time you watched over him despite being younger.

Always confused by it but he let it slide. You two were closer than most, but he didn't know that you did it to check on the ghosts.

They were horrifying.

Some had influence over emotions.

When Bruce and Jason would argue you could see them snickering. Voices loud in your ears. Forever to hear the unbearable. No one else heard or sense what was so dangerous.

The same went for Dick and Bruce. It hurt to see it happen.

Bruce always looked so sad after.

Alfred had questioned why there was rosary around your neck. One on your wall above your bed.

None of them really believed in such things, or magic despite the involvement in it. You knew the supernatural had its claw around you all.

The manor walked with monsters. They haunted everyone.

You dismissed it.

Alfred gave you a look but left it alone. You didn't want to explain any more than you needed. You preferred not having to describe what you were feeling.

Especially worse when even touching objects you could see and feel everything. When murders would occur, and you and Tim would find evidence you'd be the one to collect it all.

You two, along with Bruce were smart. While those two used their detective brain to solve it you could see it all. The pain and horrors of what was experienced. All the anger that was dealt to the dead person on the ground.

Relatively the killer would be found.

They would praise you.

The monsters simply glared.

The phantoms that hung over your father made you anxious. Always whispering for his death to become truth, but even so he survived.

The phantoms would torment you.

You wondered when the bruises started appearing on your skin. Wondered when your energy was just suddenly being sucked out of you.

Even one time you woke up with a gash in your leg. It wasn't hard for your family to notice the injury.

"How'd you get that, miss?" Alfred asked. His brows locked up suspiciously. You simply said you must have gotten it and hadn't noticed it.

He didn't believe you.

Bruce was worried. The man had been hovering more than ever. Recently during patrol you were patrolling with him and Damian more. Steph and Tim seemed quite upset about it but they understood.

You're recent behavior had been noticed.

Leslie did her best, but even so nothing could be done. You were simply tired. Tired of the monsters that tormented your sight and sleep.

Bless you when John Constantine came to visit. Exorcism was preformed on a presumably possessed man. The bats were less impressed, but they left it alone.

Again, you'd think they used to magic but bats were they were human. Even if they worked with meta humans, gods, and aliens.

You on the other hand found semblance with him.

On this recent case, a man, presumably possessed was going around killing people.

"Possessed? Killing people."

"Wasn't your boy under controll of the Lazarus Pit?"

Magic was a sore spot for Jason. The boy in this case rolled his eyes. "It was torturous to be under something else's control. We need to get it the fuck out of here."

You could attest to that. Sometimes Jason would go through rough patches and you'd calm him down. In the process you saw all the pain and you hated it.

The attempts on Tim and Bruce's lives were traumatic for you. You couldn't deny your image of Jason changed after that even if not of the Lazarus Pit's control. You were able to hide it relatively well.

Jason was good. You trusted him as he did you.

You didn't know how he'd react to your gift. That fact that you saw everything. No doubt he'd be shaken by that fact. Probably then pushing you away, because that seems to be everyone's method in this family.

Blood covered the floor. Bruce and Tim going over the crime scene. The rest of your siblings off trying different leads. You stood next to Constantine.

The blonde man surveyed the room closely. Looking for any signs of demonic or a evil spirit possession. His eyes had recognition as he looked around.

You wouldn't have left if it hadn't been for the pale man who was dirty and bloody. A ghost of another. His figure stalking towards you. John didn't seem to notice him, or maybe he did. Paying no mind to the ghost of a victim.

His ghostly figure whispering to you,

"He made me do it."

You didn't answer. Only stared wide eyed. Fear in your bones.

"He's gonna do it again...Stop him-"

His mouth opened. Blood came rushing out like a river. Trembling body. Almost like a reactment a knife seemed to appear. A stab to the heart.

Without warning you fled. Bruce and Tim's voices echoing. You couldn't find a care in the world to say why. It was all too much. Holding your head and body it was all too much.

Fear overcoming your body.

The stress was too much.

"Hey kiddo." John walking up to you with his hands in his pockets. "Some scene made?" His brow went up when seeing your face.

Bags, and less color in your complexion. "Hey what's wrong?" You didn't answer. Only collapsing onto the dirty hallways floor. Hugging your self when once again faced with another phantom.

"Do you see her?" You asked. A trembling voice echoing. Almost too quiet for John to hear. The woman being a woman with a slit neck. Ghostly eyes and bloody hands. "She killed her children." Her wicked smile confirmed it.

John seemed stunned. "You can see...ghosts?"

"All of them." You removed your glove and rolled up your suits sleeve. A giant bruise could be seen. Even going so far as to remove your boot to reveal a bandaged leg. "They won't leave me alone." Tears finally falling down your face.

"Oh, Kid. I'm sorry." He got down his knees. His arms snaking around you after you came a gentle nod. "They won't leave you alone? Like you can see them everywhere?"

"Even in my dreams." You shook your head. "I can't go to sleep normally. Everytime I wake up i have bruises or a sudden gash. It won't stop. Everyone's worried about me, and sooner or later I suspect I'll be dead." A sob finally fell from your lips.

"I know. It can be hard. Your attracting them, somehow, perhaps because of Bats. Or simply your that susceptible to you." He turned to look at you fully. "Some have attached themselves to you."

"Really?"

"Their weakening you. I'm assuming you see other than bad spirits, yes?"

"Yes. Sometimes I see B's parents. They always tell me to take care of myself."

"I can get Zatanna and we'll take care of it. Just hold out for longer while." John hugged you tightly. "Trust me, Kid. I know it's hard to see things that others can't."

You sniffled. "Okay, thank you." You hugged him back. You pretended that the breathing down your neck wasn't from a murderer; a man who killed several women.

They told you. For the sake of tormenting you.

After all the visions were just as terrifying.

They weren't done with you this night either. Having gotten home and everyone headed for bed (except Duke since he was day shift), and slept.

You settled into your bed. Eyes feeling heavy due to not getting the right amount of sleep. The visions of the future haunted you. Always so horrible. Your siblings and father getting hurt in ways you never wished for.

Your bed dipped and you realized it was Ace. Softly smiling the dog licked you hand as you petted him. Recently he had been coming to your bed.

Noted animals always seemed to see things humans weren't able. Never have you been so grateful for Ace. As a thank you Ace was awarded with kisses atop his forehead.

Finally settling down in your bed. Trying to get comfortable, and hopefully your dreams would be terrifying.

You were wrong.

The sight of the man you were after. A man wrapped in chains. White eyes and bleeding blood. Sobbing for it to stop.

Make it stop.

The ghostly sight of a demon reigned above. Black eyes. Mocking figure you treasured close to your heart.

It was a dream. This was all too much for you. Becoming lucid it became so much worse. The demon in your face. A hand around you neck.

Thorns pricking in your skin. Body on fire as you garbled out noises. Pleas for it all the stop. You could die in your sleep.

You'll die.

Gotham will be destroyed.

I'll never leave you alone.

You'll never escape us.

You screamed loudly. Your voice feeling like an echo and suddenly you were falling.

Ace was barking when you opened your eyes to find a demoic creature looking down at you. Blood and dirt on its body. A body of a human.

Giggling. It roared and you screamed. Thrashing as it attacked your. A blood curdling scream that mixed with Ace's barks.

"DAD!"

Like a screech you screamed for Bruce. The monster on you and tearing at your skin. Bruises no doubt forming on you as you rolled off the bed. Back hitting the wood hard, and pain rushed up your body.

Bloody injuries bleeding into the wood. Covering your skin. It wouldn't leave and for some reason it was attacking you.

Why? Why you?

Ace's barks never let up.

Even as the door slammed opened to reveal Bruce looking on with a shakened expression. He watched you moving on the floor like it was attacking you.

When had it left?

Ace having lept off the bed he joined you on the floor. Desperately trying to get you to stop hurting yourself even more. All the movement making your injuries worse.

"[ ]! Baby! Sweetheart it's okay!" He grabbed you into his body. You immediately clung to him, stopping your thrashing around. Ace's body not leaving you alone. Crying and sobbing from fear and pain.

"What happened?!" His voice was shaking. Eyes taking in the various bruises over your body. The blood hot on his nose and seeing blood through your night shirt. Three claw marks when he pushed up the damn thing.

"Make it stop- make them stop, dad!" Despite it hurting your arms you clung to Bruce. The cuts in your arms rubbing together as you sobbed. "They won't go away-!" You're voice was strangled as you sobbed.

"I keep seeing them- I can't sleep! I can't-" you couldn't speak any longer. Your chest was hurting too. No doubt tons of blood on your chest from scars.

Blood coated Bruce's silk pajamas.

You're siblings stood out the door with wide eyes.

Dick covering his mouth with teary eyes.

Jason's eyes were filled with unfamiliar fear.

Tim was bewildered.

Damian was beside himself. What the hell was he looking at?

Cassandra wanted to go to you.

Stephanie held Cass back. Horror and tears in her eyes.

Duke couldn't believe his eyes. His own anxiety shot up the roof.

Alfred came rushing in with a first aid kit. The old man shakened up, which was a rare sight. Far too disturbing for Bruce and the Kids.

Along, Alfred the Cat and Titus came rushing in. The animals joining Ace in crowding you with worry.

Bruce was whispering gentle nothings into your ears. He didn't know where to comfort you. Everywhere was injured. Your chest and back. Arms and legs. Neck and maybe even your head.

"Whats going on?" It was a simple question.

You stilled. Eyes wide.

Like you saw a ghost. "They won't go away. I saw him, the one John is looking for. He attacked me. All of them." You looked behind Bruce. He noted it.

"The phantoms want you dead, Dad." You turned to Jason. "They want you back in the grave." Your older brother was shakened by that news.

"Make them go away. Call Zatanna and John...I don't want to die...they'll kill me." You pleaded.

You were inconsolable. The family didn't know what to do. It was hard to cover your injuries as you refused to leave Bruce's side. You couldn't because you'd be alone.

Ace was there. But it wasn't enough.

You didn't want to be alone. You're family could speak to you, despite not being able to see it all. To see the horror of what you saw.

The living room was taken over. Pillows and blankets piled upon each other. A movie blaring on the TV.

A big space for you and house animals in the middle. Damian was quite appalled to see that Titus was refusing to leave you. Never seen him so close to someone else other than him.

The same could be said for Ace.

Despite that you refused to leave Bruce's arms. You're father didn't protest and your siblings let it happened.

You were so scared. They could see it clear as day.

A call was made by Jason quick to John. His voice threatening the warlock to come quickly tomorrow or else he'd have a bullet in the groin.

Late-night cookies prepared by Alfred. You were smothered in blankets and held by Bruce. You refused to let go.

The warmth of your siblings also refused to leave. Protectiveness swallowing them when you told them all you've seen. What you've seen all your life.

The ghosts of demons and spirits.

Bruce was crying when you admitted you could see his parents. Even saying you could feel Martha's ghostly motherly touch on you. A sad expression on her as she kissed you better.

Thomas next to Bruce. His expression hard as he looked at the injuries you recieved.

The supernatural was real and you could see it. All of it and it tormented you. A gift, sure, but you saw evil. It wouldn't leave you alone, and many attached itself to you.

"I promise baby it'll be okay." Bruce whispered to you. A kiss to your forehead just as Damian's arms wrapped slightly more tighter around you. You winced but you didn't mind.

"Sleep. We'll be here if something happens to you."

You were scared. Heavy eyelids threatening to close. Bruce's kissed the side of your temple. "It's alright."

You believed in your father, and all your siblings who were close. Closer than normal. Wanting to make sure you were never harmed again.

With that belief in your mind you slept.

Feeling content, even if the demon was in the corner.

A source of darkness can never defeat love.

And you had plenty of it.

#batfamily x reader #batfam x reader #dc x reader #bruce wayne x reader #jason todd x reader #tim drake x reader #damian wayne x reader #stephanie brown x reader #cassandra cain x reader #duke thomas x reader #alfred pennyworth x reader #sfw #platonic #gn reader #clairvoyant reader #supernaturlal elements

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keferon · 1 day ago

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I just want this fic to be here too👍 Part 1? Eh

_____________

“He's stalking his selebrity crush.”

“That's not stalking!” resents Swerve ”I'm just worried.”

Rewind makes a gesture that looks vaguely apologetic and looks at Tailgate again.

“Watching. He's watching his superhero selebrity crush who's a member of the Wreckers. And so far no one's survived long in the Wreckers, so he's shaking on every notification like a crazy mom.”

Tailgate tries to peer sideways into Swerve's phone

“That sounds stressful. Is that him? Is he dying?”

_____________

Blurr/Swerve, Superhero au, fic under the cut⤵️ Heavily inspired/based on this post

Blurr doesn't think life and death is something he can control.

He's about 99.99999% sure.

The remaining microscopic fraction of that idiotic statistic is held in place by one small but important factor that Blurr can't explain and isn't sure he even wants to explain. It's like the dream logic. The moment you realize exactly how things work is also the moment you wake up to realize it.

The very nuance understanding which destroys all magic or reveals the fact that magic never existed.

That nuance?

Blurr can't die.

And it's certainly not because he's not trying hard enough.

That last one sounds a little radical. But he has a history. His team has a history.

“Wreckers is a pretty peculiar collection of superheroes. It's easy to get into and even easier to get out of (usually feet first and in a bag). No other hero organization loses so many people so often. No other hero organization can also handle the level of threats that the Wreckers eliminate.

Their fans affectionately refer to them as the Suicide Squad. There is...a lot of black humor among the Wreckers fanbase and Blurr doesn't condemn it. Not after having to memorize new names and faces of teammates every six months.

The thing is.

He probably should have been dead a long time ago. A lot. A lot of “that was close” ago.

Just two days after joining the Wreckers, he found himself in the middle of an absolutely monstrous fire and miraculously escaped death by getting away just moments before the entire building collapsed on his head.

Only a week after that, he gets shot. Fifteen times.

And. Look.

Blurr is fast! Being fast is kind of his main thing as a speedster. He did the only logical thing and made an honest effort to dodge, but three of those fifteen bullets still ended up inside him and only miraculously didn't hit anything that couldn't be repaired.

Half a year later, a car falls on him.

Another month - some freaking supervillain decides to infect an entire country with a homemade super lethal virus and guess who becomes the only victim.

At least once a month, various psychopaths try to break his legs.

At least once every half a year he ends up being the one who “heroically saved all the hostages but didn't have time to save himself”.

It's like an endless stream of negative karma.

It's really amazing how such a small piece of civilization like Iacon can contain so many disasters. Even more amazing perhaps is how people manage to survive through all this neat smoothie of misery and violence.

Earthquakes, villains, villains, more villains, terrorists, natural disasters, monsters from outer space, and it all comes out of nowhere and it all takes a hundred percent effort to pack Blurr in a coffin.

Blurr... doesn't know why he's still alive.

He honestly has no idea how he's doing it. He may get into life-and-death situations more often than he does haircuts but every time things come within an inch of killing him. It's impossible luck. Statistically improbable chance. One-in-a-thousand odds. A fucking lightning caught in a bottle, but it happens so often it's like someone somewhere in heaven decided to open a bottled lightning factory and then reward Blurr with the title of their honorary loyal customer.

Blurr doesn't think he has power over life and death.

But here's the thing.

On some particularly violent nights, he wonders that maybe...

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

Sometimes Swerve thinks being a dedicated fan should be on the list of “unhealthy” high-paying jobs. One of those where they give you extra cash for the fact that you even bother to show up and then give you insurance and paid vacations.

Okay, that last one might be a bit of an overkill, but it would be nice if he at least had an endless supply of sedatives.

At least some chamomile. Preferably not from the sidewalk. He's not picky.

See, their world decided to change the rules of existence not too long ago and turned such a trivial thing as “trust” into a new in-game currency.

Simply put. If enough people believe something, it becomes true.

What has society chosen to do with that? Of course create an absolutely insane cult of celebrity worship, essentially giving a bunch of already rich and beautiful people superpowers as well.

As if they weren't already living luxuriously enough!

Swerve is not jealous. Certainly not. His first thought when he found out about the new “rules” was definitely not to tell everyone he knows that he won a million dollars and wait for the power of belief to make it true.

He surely wasn't trying to do that. Anyone who claims otherwise is either a liar or their name starts with a T and ends with Gate.

Speaking of.....

Tailgate scratches the back of his head puzzled.

“So you didn't actually win a million dollars?”

They are sitting in a small cafe, the name of which Swerve has honestly forgotten. Or rather he never memorized it, because the local owner of the place prefers to hang huge posters with superheroes right above the name. Swerve is a rather controllable customer.....

Rewind, sitting at the same cheap plastic table as them, hums.

“And here I was trying to figure out if your holey slippers were a cry for help or one of those crazy expensive 'fancy' designs.”

“Ha. ha.” says Swerve slowly and deliberately unhappily “If I get rich one day, I won't tell any of you.”

He slowly takes a sip of some obscure looking substance that Rewind ordered for them all as an experiment and turns to Tailgate.

“Look, it's a pretty fun system. Things that people believe in strongly enough - become real. So if uh, if uh, if we as a whole country believe that our government is honest - that will, in theory, make it honest. Or if a hundred thousand people genuinely believe you can fly, you will be able to fly. That's how it works now.”

Tailgate stares at him. With very large, puzzled eyes.

Swerve tries not to laugh too hard. Poor Tailgate had once gone off to explore the caves and somehow, by some incredible means, managed to get lost and stuck in them for two whole months. Then he crawled out and discovered that magic had appeared in the world while he was gone. Swerve thinks that if he were Tailgate, he'd look very stupid too, trying to realize the absurdity of the situation.

Tailgate is toying with his curled straw.

“So is the government honest now?”

Rewind makes a loud “snrk” noise into his cup.

Swerve chuckles. Not as “funny” haha but more like “we fucked it all up” haha.

It shouldn't be possible to fit all the sense of doom from the world's level of damnation into one expression, but he confidently goes for it.

“GOD NO, did you ever believe that government could be honest?”

“Well...now that's just sad...” decides Tailgate ‘Something good was supposed to come out of this, right?”

Rewind raises a finger victoriously.

“Oh! There are no more incurable diseases! The placebo effect is the new big thing now that a bunch of people have gotten the ability to cure any illness at the snap of their fingers.”

Swerve nods, dangling his drink in his hands.

“There was a guy who claimed he had magic hands that cured everything and gathered a crowd of fanatical admirers around him. So...now his hands are really magic because his followers believe it. Crazy stuff...”

Tailgate puts his elbows on the table, propping his head up with his hands.

“So if I tell everyone I won a million dollars.....”

“I recommend--” Rewind waves his cup “...first make sure you're not wearing holey slippers.”

“Аh”

“That, and you'll need at least about a million people loving and supporting you wholeheartedly if you want this to work.”

“That's...a lot of people,” Tailgate groans.

Swerve shrugs

“That's why all the really cool stuff only goes to celebrities.”

_____

Tailgate cranes his neck curiously.

“Hey Swerve, while you went to place your order your phone started buzzing.”

Swerve falls back into his seat as fast as if he'd just decided the entire floor was lava and starts scrolling through notifications, cursing at spam and useless newsletters.

“When??”

“Just a couple minutes ago” shrugs Tailgate ”Are you expecting someone?”

“I'M...OH NO NO I'M JUST. Shit, wait a minute.”

Rewind leans over to Tailgate and smiles deviously, not even trying to pretend to whisper.

“He's stalking his selebrity crush.”

“That's not stalking!” resents Swerve ”I'm just worried.”

Rewind makes a gesture that looks vaguely apologetic and looks at Tailgate again.

“' Watching. He's watching his superhero selebrity crush who's a member of the Wreckers. And so far no one's survived long in the Wreckers, so he's shaking on every notification like a crazy mom.”

Tailgate tries to peer sideways into Swerve's phone

“That sounds stressful. Is that him? Is he dying?”

Swerve slides down the back of his chair slightly and tilts the phone toward Tailgate

“No, it's not him. He's the one in the blue suit on the left. And no, he's not dying. That bastard is impossible to kill.”

Tailgate lets out an understanding “ooh.”

“Although,” Swerve admits, “ Following him was a lot easier when he was driving cars instead of saving the world.”

He's been a Blurr fan for so long that it can probably be put on his resume already. He remembers watching the Iacon 5000 race with friends with Rewind starting to joke about how they should all bet on someone brand new this year. To fuel the fun, they sat down to pick candidates to bet on based solely on the color of their cars.

Swerve then poked his finger at a random bright blue car and said he'd bet on it because “blue is a fast color.”

Later, his friends would joke more than once that Swerve had the gift of prophecy that day. Because blue wasn't just fast. Oh, God. No. Blue turned out to be the absolute leader, dominating the race track from start to finish.

Swerve remembers vividly the first time he looked at a racer getting out of that car and thought “who the hell is that” and then immediately “how do I find his socials”.

The answer to the second question came quickly. The answer to the first...well. The guy, Blurr, soon turned out to be a faceless celebrity. Shining at numerous races, but never showing his face. Swerve highly doubts it's due to shyness, given...some character traits. (Swerve has a running theory, which is that ...Blurr has no shame. Even as a concept.) Probably just to keep his life anonymous and quiet, he believes.

It's understandable.

He's not judging. But he has to admit that a billion fanarts on what a face under a racing helmet could look like in theory...really...fuels his fantasy.

He's a very normal and sane fan. He tries very hard to be a normal fan and he's doing a great job at it. Maybe except for those moments when Blurr gets into another car accident. Lots of them. Lots and lots of bloody accidents actually and Swerve at first catches a micro heart attack every time he sees the news, but eventually he gets used to it. Blurr is incredibly resilient. And just as rich as well.

Swerve is used to hearing updates about another incident and then seeing Blurr back in the race a couple months later. Just as energetic, carefree, and frankly . Really handsome. As if nothing had happened. As if any danger would just bounce off him without leaving a dent.

It was familiar. It was habitual.

Until, of course, the universe started handing out faith magic to people. Until Blurr walked up to this imaginary box of lottery numbers and pulled out a ball that said “congratulations you're lucky now go and fucking die.”

Blurr is a racer. A damn good racer. Incredibly popular too. Of course his many fans who adore him beyond measure gave him a superpower.

Of course that power was speed.

Of course.

Blue is the color of speed. What else.

As a racer, Blurr is undefeatable.

As a superhero, ..

Swerve still thinks this guy is impossible to kill, but that doesn't mean he doesn't get worried every time he sees the news headlines and live feeds.

“You're alive” Springer states ”Literally how are you still alive?”

Blurr tilts his head because it's the only part of his body he can still move while trapped under ten tons of mangled steel from a Decepticon flying base falling out of the sky.

“Hello to you, too.”

Springer tentatively pulls the nearest sheet of metal and hums in satisfaction when he feels the structure is stable enough.

“Bleeding? Fractures?”

“I think my hair's ruined.”

“No one can even see your hair.”

“Doesn't mean I shouldn't care about it,” snorts Blurr

Springer tosses aside another piece of metal and reaches for his earpiece

“Smoke...? Nah...no really.....REALLY. ....No, you're not going to believe this. ......Aha, digging him out.” he looks away from the earpiece and leans over Blurr ‘Smokescreen wanted me to tell you that he's impressed and,... I quote ’personally saw that damn wagon fall right on your head'. He also wants to know if he needs to shoo away the paparazzi.”

Blurr tries to shrug but remembers in time that it's best not to fidget too much.

“Tell him I'll need a new suit. Let him keep everyone, I'm fine.”

“Literally...like...” barely audibly mutters Springer. “Like.h ow..”

Blurr smiles “My guardian angel is working overtime.”

Swerve takes a deep, nervous exhale, unhooking his fingers from the phone on which he's watching the live feed. Ah shit. Okay. Okay. Alive. Fine.

Rewind looks over his shoulder.

“Looking out for your pookie?”

“HE'S NOT MY

__________

Smokescreen stops right in the middle of an inspired argument with the advertisement agent when his side vision registers a flash of blue to the right of the entirely destroyed street.

“Blurr??”

“Oh, hey!” waves Blurr, “'Sup Smoke?”

The crumbled asphalt beneath his feet crunches softly. Just a few minutes ago, this street was a complete mayhem....

Smokescreen waves the clipboard in his direction

“I thought you had your head ripped off, you suicidal son of a bitch! Do you know how hard it was to calm your hysterical fans down??”

Blurr knows no one can see his face but rolls his eyes anyway. Almost immediately his brain tells him that this was a bad idea, sending a whole bunch of black spots in front of his eyes.

“Hey, you're getting paid for th...ugh...this.”

Blurr doesn't elaborate on the fact that he was sure he was going to be left headless today as well. One of the Overlord's freaking monster minions grabbed him and for a split second Blurr could swear he heard his own neck crunch.

He tries not to think about it.

The more he thinks about it, the less sense it will make.

The more he analyzes, the louder becomes the voice in the far corner of his head saying he should have been dead a long time ago.

A week ago when an entire air base fell on him. Three weeks ago during the battle with Menasor that practically broke his spine. Even earlier, when he was so busy evacuating hospital staff that he ended up being the only one present when that hospital exploded.

He's afraid that if he starts looking into the causes, this magical effect..this life-saving placebo will disappear.

He's convinced it's a placebo. It's the way this world works.

Someone out there must be doing some complex mental magic, keeping him more or less alive and whole and...Blurr is probably going a little crazy. Probably.

Maybe one of those many blows got him harder than he thought. Maybe it's his own self-confidence manifesting miracles of salvation one after another.

(It actually...doesn't sound that unbelievable. Blurr has a lot of belief in himself. Many people would say even too much. The question is whether it counts.)

(He prefers to think it counts.)

__________

Swerve sees red. Lots of it. LOTS of red.

More than he ever wanted to see in his life.

Uh-oh. That's not good.

His vision is blurring. His head buzzes with a nasty sharp static and his left shoulder hurts like a BITCH.

Above him is the flickering, faltering light of the bulb and below him is a growing puddle of his blood. His hair is wet and sticking to his face, making it hard to focus his already shaky gaze.

He makes an attempt to shift, but all it brings him is an explosion of pain.

Ugh.

Sirens are blaring outside, warning the public to evacuate. He's not really sure he can make out exactly what the sound is announcing. He has memorized all kinds of emergency alerts, but the thought escapes him.

What was it

Oh, yeah.

He's been shot.

He's been shot and he's probably going to die because everyone he knows is either too far away or busy evacuating. He vaguely hopes they'll remember about him.

Maybe only after getting to a safe place, but he'll take even that.

The red around him is getting bigger.

He tries to reach for his phone to...where is his phone? Did he leave it in the kitchen? He probably did. Swerve seemed to have no time to grab it when the entire building shook and ugly semi-mechanical monsters fell from the sky.

One of these monsters noticed Swerve just moments later and activated something resembling a cannon mounted in his hands. Swerve then looked at the glowing muzzle and thought that firing this thing would probably send his atoms so far away that his dna would be found on the moon. He could stick his hand down that gun barrel. And his hands are far from the smallest and most delicate hands you can find.

Why did this have to happen on a Saturday? Why not a day later or earlier? If it were any other day, Swerve would be at work right now. In a different place, with other people and probably with a much better chance of not being killed like a loser.

Not sure he wouldn't have been shot, but at least someone would have seen this and picked him up off the floor, put him in their pocket and taken him to the rescue.

Ugh.

He realizes that he closed his eyes at some point and hurriedly opens them. His expertise is by no means professional, but he is almost certain that that weapon wasn't ordinary. He has no idea what it means for him. Maybe he needs stitches, painkillers and a kiss and he'll be good as new. Or maybe it's like one of those films where you get hurt by an unknown creature and then you grab the sink in front of the mirror at midnight and watch the veins under your skin move on their own.

He doesn't feel shot, as silly as that sounds. He feels numb. Falling. Farther and farther away.

He is falling and falling as deep as he's ever fallen in his life. Maybe not as far as "got lost in the woods" far. No, more like " a coin dropped behind the fridge" far. It's not really about the distance but more about the feeling that he's never going to get out of here because no one ever looks in here.

He’s falling until the state of falling starts to register as a resting point, because that's the only variable he still feels. This corner he falls into is very deep and dark and dusty.

He doesn't remember to open his eyes again.

___________

Smokescreen sounds frankly hysterical, yelling at Blurr through his earpiece.

“I understand you like to show off, but you can't outrun a freaking tsunami?!?!”

Blurr only speeds up, “Watch."

“You cocky IDIOT this is suicide!”

“Relax Smoke” laughs Blurr ”You say that every time.”

The half-destroyed bridge shakes and sways like a wounded animal as the water from the overrunning sea crashes into it, gouging into the concrete and bending the metal.

The whole scene is...depressing. Water and debris everywhere and damn. This isn't the first time Blurr is witnessing a large-scale attack by the "forces of evil" as the hero agency likes to call them, but looking at the wrecked cars and scattered debris doesn't get any easier with time. Maybe it just hasn't been long enough. Who knows.

Springer doesn't look like he is bothered by it. But Springer also has a lot more experience being a superhero. With his skill at giving out smiles and encouragement in absolutely any situation, not many can compete.

Blurr certainly can't. In fact. He's got a face with subtitles that turn on in almost any stressful situation. Wearing a mask is probably one of the best things he can do to calm down any random civilians waiting for him to save the day. If they can't see him making panicked grimacing eyes, they'll be feeling much better.

A few more seconds and he's on the collapsing bridge. The people stuck on it look hysterical and bruised, but no one seems injured, so it shouldn't be difficult.

Blurr's plan is simple. Get all the people out of the disaster's path. Then get yourself out. Easy.

Easy?

He can pinpoint the exact moment when something goes wrong.

It's the second that a crooked, hideous-looking monster grabs his leg and pulls him underwater. The second when Blurr fights it with all his might and realizes with sudden horror that his strength isn't enough. That he is. Not enough.

His lungs burn, begging him to take a breath and he doesn't even know which way is the surface because all there is around him is the dark, black, cold pressure of water. It's clinging to him, seeping through his suit, his hair, burning his eyes and making his fingers go numb. It's pulling him somewhere, and he's obeying whether he wants to or not.

His spine prickles with panic.

His personal miracle. His damn magic or guardian angel or cursed luck or whatever the hell it was called. That thing that was always there to catch him like in that game of trust fall. He'd gotten so used to it's presence, he began to take it for granted.

Like the air you trust to be there every time you need to take your next breath.

And right now?

It's not here.

His body takes a convulsive breath and finds nothing but water.

280 notes · View notes

brookghaib-blog · 1 day ago

Text

The ghost I left behind - One-Shot

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x reader

Summary: It’s Bob’s turn to watch baby Georgie without his mother for the afternoon while Y/N gets a rare, much-needed break—a hair appointment and solo coffee date she's been putting off for a year. She leaves Bob at the Watchtower with an overly detailed list, and a kiss on the cheek. Bob is confident to do it alone. He’s ready.

He is not ready.

Word count: 3,3k

Note: surprise...? I've received requests to a little of this, and my story "Silence between hearts" is about to hurt, so here's something teeth rooting sweet

“Don’t call me unless he grows a second head or you explode.”

Y/N stood at the door of the Watchtower quarters, one foot already out, the other stubbornly stuck in her mom-brain. A hairbrush dangled loosely from her fingers—she hadn’t even finished brushing her hair—but this was the first time in months she was about to be alone. A solo afternoon. No bottle bag. No sticky hands tugging at her shirt. No cosmic boyfriend brooding in a corner while their baby giggled during diaper changes.

Just her, a hair appointment, and a painfully overpriced coffee in a place where no one would ask her how many teeth Georgie had now. Heaven.

Bob—the Sentry, golden-eyed god of light and destruction—stood barefoot in sweatpants, proudly holding Georgie like he was a war medal. The baby was perched on his hip, chubby legs kicking, two fingers jammed in his mouth as drool glistened on Bob’s shirt. Bob looked thrilled. Slightly wild-eyed, but thrilled.

“Please,” Bob scoffed, puffing out his chest like he hadn’t spent the morning panicking over how to warm a bottle. “He’s just a baby. And he’s my son.”

“Uh-huh,” Y/N replied dryly, grabbing a folded piece of paper that practically unrolled like a medieval scroll. She handed it to him like she was passing off the nuclear launch codes. “Feed him at noon. Not eleven. Not twelve-fifteen. Noon. Change him right after or you’ll have regrets. His favorite toy is the orange squid. Not the blue one. The blue one is cursed. If he says ‘boo,’ that means he’s sleepy. If he says ‘baba,’ it means he’s tricking you. Nap at one. And don’t—"

“I got it, you know I'm his dad right?” Bob cut in, smiling too confidently for a man who once accidentally put Georgie’s diaper on inside-out. “We’ll be great. Right, Georgie?”

Georgie responded by slapping him square in the face with his teething ring, then letting out a wail that could probably be heard three floors down.

Y/N didn’t even flinch. “He’s testing you. He smells weakness.”

“I am not weak,” Bob said, now slightly pale.

She kissed Georgie’s forehead and then pressed her lips to Bob’s lips , lingering there for a second longer than usual. “Be good, baby, have funny with daddy ? Love you.”

It was hard to say if she was talking to Georgie or Bob.

She turned back toward the door with the air of a woman stepping onto a plane to paradise. “And try not to cry.”

Bob grinned, lifting Georgie into the air like Simba. “Cry? Pfft. I got this.”

Georgie promptly spit up on him.

“...I’ve handled worse,” Bob said, blinking through the goo, voice wobbling just slightly.

Y/N just waved over her shoulder as the door shut behind her.

“Good luck, Sentry,” she muttered, smiling to herself. “You’re gonna need it.”

Hour One

Bob did not got this.

Fifteen minutes after Y/N left, Georgie let out a wail so powerful, Bob was almost certain it tore a hole in reality. The kind of scream that rattled the windows and summoned an instinctive fear deep in his cosmic-powered bones.

“Okay—okay, what is it?! What do you want?” Bob shouted over the sound of despair, pacing the room like a man who had definitely fought gods but had never faced a diaper with this much confidence.

Bottle: rejected. Diaper: halfway on, slightly crooked, and possibly backwards. Georgie: red-faced, screaming, cheeks wet with tears. Bob’s shirt: soaked in spit-up and the unmistakable scent of panic and baby wipes.

“…I guess I'm not your favorite.” Bob muttered to himself, trying to rock Georgie gently but ending up looking like a malfunctioning seesaw. “Okay, okay, you want the orange squid? THE ORANGE SQUID?!”

He scrambled across the room and grabbed the sacred plush—Y/N had made it very clear this was the only acceptable toy. With trembling hands, he presented it to his furious son like an offering to a very picky god.

Georgie made eye contact. And then—yeeted the orange squid across the room like a shot put champion.

Bob stood in stunned silence. “You… betrayed the pact.”

Georgie screamed harder, now seemingly offended that his father hadn’t caught the toy midair like a proper superhero.

“Right. Right, okay,” Bob said, panicking, swaying faster. “What would Y/N do? She’d stay calm. She’d sing. Sing! You like music, right? You’re a baby. Babies like music.”

And then Bob Reynolds—interdimensional powerhouse, man who had once been described as a living weapon—began softly singing the theme song to Bluey while desperately bouncing his son like a milk-drunk maraca.

By minute twenty, he’d tried every soothing technique he could remember: humming, rocking, whispering affirmations, showing him a spoon, talking about gravitational waves—none worked.

Georgie’s rage was eternal.

By minute twenty-five, Bob had texted Y/N no fewer than seven times:

“He screamed.”

“I think I did the diaper wrong.”

“He threw the squid.”

“I threw the squid back.”

“It’s a blur.”

“Why does he hate me.”

“Do not come home. I got this.”

The baby, finally exhausted from the chaos he’d unleashed upon the world, quieted into little hiccups. Bob sat on the floor, legs sprawled, cradling him like a glass of nitroglycerin.

He whispered hoarsely, “We made it. Hour one.”

Georgie let out a gurgle and drooled on his chest.

Bob blinked. “…Please don’t poop.”

Hour Two

Bob hit the emergency comms like he was ordering an airstrike.

“Team. Immediate assistance required. The baby’s angry. Possibly planning a coup.”

There was a pause.

Then Alexei’s voice crackled through: “Does he have tiny knife? Is he armed?”

Bob looked down at Georgie, who had somehow dismantled the baby monitor and was now chewing on a AA battery. “…Unclear.”

Twenty minutes later, the Watchtower looked less like a high-security military compound and more like The Hunger Games: Diaper Edition.

Alexei burst in first, shirt half-unbuttoned and holding a protein shake. He took one look at Georgie and nodded solemnly.

“In Soviet Russia, baby trains you.”

Without further explanation, he hoisted Georgie upside down by one leg. “This is strength test.”

“Alexei!” Bob yelped. “He’s not a dumbbell!”

“He is small. Compact. Good form.”

Georgie farted directly in Alexei’s face. The Russian didn’t flinch. “Powerful child.”

Yelena walked in sipping iced coffee, took one look at the chaos, and sat cross-legged on the floor like a judge at a toddler UFC match.

“Incredible,” she muttered in her dry Russian monotone. “One baby. Six adults. No survivors.”

Georgie hurled a stuffed giraffe at her. She caught it mid-air and nodded. “He has the killer instinct.”

Walker showed up in full uniform, plus a tactical diaper bag strapped across his chest.

“I brought emergency swaddles. Kevlar-lined. And baby sunglasses. Baby’s gotta block UVs and weak emotional boundaries.”

He tried to put the sunglasses on Georgie.

Georgie slapped him with a teething ring and screamed bloody murder.

Bob leaned in. “He doesn’t like authority.”

“Then he’s just like his dad,” Walker muttered, swaddling himself in frustration.

Ava phased through the ceiling. “Did someone say coup?”

She tried to phase into the crib to fix the music mobile, which was currently stuck playing Baby Shark in reverse. It sounded haunted.

Unfortunately, Ava got halfway through the bars and jammed. Legs dangling. Head inside the crib.

“Cool. Love this for me,” she deadpanned as Bob and Walker yanked her out by the ankles like an aggressive game of human Jenga.

Then, Bucky showed up with a dusty cardboard box under one arm and a PB&J sandwich in the other.

“I brought vintage baby gear,” he said.

Bob opened the box and immediately gagged. “Why does this smell like depression and mothballs?!”

“Those were my baby clothes from the ‘40s,” Bucky said proudly. “Wool. Bulletproof. Passed down from the trenches of Brooklyn.”

Yelena pulled out a hole-ridden sweater the size of a loaf of bread. “It has... bullet holes.”

“They’re historical, Yelena,” Bucky snapped.

“It’s screaming, Bucky.”

“That’s the spirit of American baby fashion,” he argued.

Through it all, Georgie was thriving.

He sat in the middle of the chaos like a baby warlord, covered in fruit puree, holding the blue squid he allegedly hated, laughing like he’d summoned the madness himself.

Alexei was teaching him how to do squats by moving his legs like a tiny puppet. Yelena had crafted him a crown out of wet wipes. Walker was still trying to enforce baby sunglasses regulations. Ava was stuck to the crib again. Bucky was sewing a patch onto a moth-eaten onesie labeled “SERGEANT CUDDLES.”

Bob, exhausted, crusty with baby food, orange squid stuck to the back of his head, finally sat down and sighed.

“This is fine. Everything’s fine.”

Georgie looked at him, giggled, and immediately pooped his pants with enough force to shake the mobile.

The team froze.

“New mission,” Bob groaned, standing up. “Code Brown.”

“OH GOD, NOT AGAIN!” Ava shouted as Walker reached for the tactical wipes and Bucky handed him a helmet.

“Baby training complete,” Alexei grinned proudly.

And somewhere, in a quiet salon chair miles away, Y/N took a peaceful sip of her latte… unaware that her son was currently being worshipped like a baby war god by Earth's most dysfunctional superhero team.

Hour Three

Everyone was covered in either baby powder, spit-up, fruit puree, or the unmistakable residue of regret.

Bob sat cross-legged on the floor in the wreckage of what used to be the Watchtower’s pristine living room. Now it looked like a daycare after a tornado. Toys everywhere. One sock on the ceiling fan. The orange squid somehow lodged in the TV.

He held Georgie in his lap like a war casualty—himself included—hair matted, eyes bloodshot, a faint purée smear on his cheek. Georgie, unfazed, was happily chewing on a hairbrush he’d commandeered from Ava’s pocket mid-crisis.

“I’m so sorry, buddy,” Bob mumbled, gently wiping at the drool pooling under Georgie’s chin. “I’m a mess. I—I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Georgie blinked up at him. Silent for a beat. His jaw worked around the hairbrush like it owed him money.

And then.

Clear as a bell. Soft and sweet and a little wet from the drool: “Da-da!”

Bob’s entire soul left his body.

He blinked, stunned.

Georgie giggled. Wiggled. Flapped his arms like a baby penguin in battle mode.

“Da-da!” he said again, grinning wide with tiny teeth and baby joy.

Bob’s mouth fell open. His heart exploded. “That’s me,” he whispered, voice cracking. “That’s me, buddy. I’m your Da-da.”

A choked laugh slipped from his lips as he scooped Georgie up, holding him close like a miracle. His hands shook. He rocked gently, pressing a kiss to the baby’s forehead, humming the lullaby Y/N always sang—the one she said her mom used to sing to her.

Georgie’s limbs slowly stilled. His head slumped on Bob’s shoulder. His tiny hand curled around Bob’s shirt collar.

Fast asleep.

The chaos settled.

Silence filled the room like a warm exhale.

Across the room, Alexei wiped his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. “That…” he said, voice thick, “was beautiful. Like watching Rocky hold his tiny Adrian.”

Yelena, sitting backwards on a dining chair with a juice box, nodded solemnly. “I am tweeting it.”

Walker leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyebrows drawn. “…Okay. That almost made me feel a human emotion. I hated it.”

Ava, still half-stuck in the crib, deadpanned, “If one of you doesn’t get me out, I will phase into the vacuum cleaner and haunt this place forever.”

“Shhh,” Bob whispered, rocking Georgie gently. “My son just called me Da-da.”

“Yeah,” Bucky muttered, emerging from the kitchen with a peanut butter spoon and what appeared to be one of Bob’s shirts tied around his head like a baby bandana. “Meanwhile I’ve been trying to get him to say ‘Uncle Buck’ all day.”

“He thinks you’re a chair, Barnes,” Walker said flatly.

“Still counts!”

Yelena stood, walking over quietly. She crouched beside Bob and the sleeping Georgie, looking at the baby like he was a tiny grenade that had somehow taught her what peace looked like. “He really loves you,” she said, softer than usual. “It’s all over his weird little face.”

Bob smiled down at his son, his whole chest aching with a kind of love he never thought he’d be worthy of. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted, brushing Georgie’s curls back.

“No one does,” Ava said from the crib. “But you're trying.”

And for the first time since Y/N left that morning, Bob didn’t feel terrified. He just felt… full.

Georgie stirred. Sighed. And nuzzled closer into his father’s shoulder.

Then, of course, Alexei ruined it.

“Okay, but hear me out,” the Russian said, eyes wide. “We start baby boot camp tomorrow. Real tiny obstacle course. Baby repels. Very small kettlebells.”

Hour Four

Y/N opened the Watchtower door with one hand, sipping from her well-earned iced latte with the other, sunglasses still perched on her nose. She paused at the threshold, blinking slowly.

The room looked like it had been hit by a daycare-themed apocalypse.

Orange squid toy hanging from a light fixture. A stack of baby books precariously teetering like a Jenga tower. Finger paint (she hoped it was paint) smeared on the wall in what looked suspiciously like ancient runes.

Ava was stuck—again—half-phased into the playpen bars with a teether balanced on her forehead like a crown. Alexei was slumped in a baby swing meant for a 25-pound limit, snoring like a foghorn. Bucky lay unconscious on the couch, a pacifier somehow stuck in his mouth and a bib around his neck reading "Spit Happens."

Yelena sat in a beanbag with her phone, narrating like it was a nature documentary. “Observe. The aftermath of paternal delusion. One dares to father. The others fall.”

And in the center of the chaos: Bob.

He sat in the rocking chair, moving slowly, Georgie curled up and asleep on his chest. One of Bob’s massive hands cupped the back of the baby’s tiny head protectively. His shirt was stained, his hair was a mess, and there was a stuffed animal tail sticking out of his pocket.

His eyes opened when he heard the door.

“You’re back,” he whispered, like she might vanish if he spoke louder.

“I leave you for four hours,” Y/N whispered back, stunned but very, very amused.

“He said ‘Da-da,’” Bob said reverently, as if revealing the third secret of Fatima.

“Oh no,” she groaned, trying not to smile. “I’m never gonna hear the end of that.”

“I might tattoo it on my chest.”

“I believe you.”

Bob carefully stood up, like Georgie was made of glass and dreams. The baby stayed snoozing on his shoulder, drooling into his dad’s collarbone like it was his full-time job.

“We survived,” Bob said, dazed.

“Barely,” Y/N replied, walking up to kiss Georgie’s head… and then Bob’s cheek. “You did good, Da-da.”

From the couch, Walker groaned, lifting a pillow to cover his face. “Next time, I’m babysitting. Just me. No Russian gymnasts. No possessed chairs. No ghost babies.”

Alexei shot up mid-snore, eyes wild. “You wish! I will raise the child to become strongest soldier! He crawled at me once—I saw purpose!”

“Over my dead body!” Bucky shouted, jolting awake, still wearing the pacifier. “He said ‘Uncle Buck’ in his sleep!”

“NO, HE DIDN’T,” Yelena shouted. “He gurgled at a shoe. That does not count!”

“GUYS,” Yelena yelled over them all, hands raised. “HE. IS. ONE.”

Georgie stirred slightly in Bob’s arms and mumbled, “Da-da,” before sighing and settling again.

Everyone froze.

Bob blinked rapidly. “He said it again.”

Y/N reached up to take Georgie gently from him, pressing her nose into the baby’s curls. “I heard it, love. You win.”

Bob looked at her like she hung the stars.

She looked down at the boy in her arms. “He’s perfect.”

He met her eyes. “Just like his mom.”

She smiled—tired, tender, in love in every possible direction. “Just like his dad.”

And then, from the couch, a voice chimed in:

“Told you everything would work out.”

Y/N turned. Mr. Cooper—casually leaning against the wall, sipping a juice box that no one had seen him come in with—nodded like some sort of mystical babysitting cryptid.

“Heyy, I didn't see you go up.” she barked, laughing. “Are you stalking us now?”

“I heard ‘Da-da’ over open comms,” he said with a shrug. “I figured it was either a miracle… or Bob finally short-circuited.”

Bob blinked. “Wait. How is he always here?!”

"Oh I called him, to catch up, a litttle chat."Y/N responded.

Mr. Cooper didn’t answer. He just winked at Georgie and dropped a tiny NYPD plush teddy bear on the armrest.

Georgie grabbed it mid-sleep. Tiny fingers curling around it. He smiled in his dreams.

Bob looked at the chaos, at the team, at the baby in Y/N’s arms, then back at Y/N. He stepped beside her, slipping an arm around her waist.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Now I really got this.”

From the floor, where Ava was still phasing in and out of frustration, came a mutter:

“I give it twelve hours.”

Yelena raised her juice box like a toast. “To Da-da. And whatever the hell just happened here.”

Alexei joined her. “And to tiny future warrior! May his thighs be strong like mine!”

Y/N and Bob just laughed.

The soft glow from the baby monitor flickered gently in the dim bedroom as Bob and Y/N stood side by side, their bodies close but not quite touching yet. Through the small screen, little Georgie lay curled up in his crib, fast asleep, the tiny rise and fall of his chest the most peaceful sight either of them had seen in weeks.

Bob’s voice broke the silence, low and warm. “You know… I don’t say this enough, but I’m the luckiest guy alive. I have both of you in my life—my son, my family... and you.”

Y/N turned her head slightly to look at him, the soft lamplight casting shadows over his face, highlighting the tenderness in his eyes. She smiled, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. “You’re pretty sexy when you’re all proud dad and soft like that.”

Bob chuckled, his confidence shifting to a teasing smirk. “Oh yeah? You like this version of me?”

Her eyes sparkled as she stepped closer, fingers sliding up to trace the line of his jaw. “I might have to see more of it… after bedtime, of course.”

He caught her hand, pulling her gently into his arms. The playful heat in his gaze deepened as he lowered his voice to a sultry whisper. “You know, I’ve got plenty of energy saved just for you.”

Y/N leaned in, her breath warm against his neck, heartbeat speeding up. “Good. Because the kid’s sleeping, the night’s ours, and I’m ready to remind you exactly how lucky you are.”

Bob’s hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. The baby monitor hummed softly in the background, a quiet reminder of their new little world—but right now, all that mattered was the fire burning between them.

With a slow, teasing smile, Bob pressed his lips to hers.

Just as Bob’s kiss deepened and Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, a tiny, unmistakable sound echoed from the baby monitor — a soft, urgent “Waaah!”

They both froze, breaking apart with a shared glance that mixed amusement and inevitability.

Bob sighed dramatically, mock groaning. “That’s our cue.”

Y/N giggled, resting her forehead against his. “The universe doesn’t want us to have all the fun tonight.”

He smiled, brushing a gentle kiss on her temple. “Well, Mr. Georgie’s got impeccable timing. But don’t worry… once he’s back asleep, I’m coming back for round two.”

She grinned, slipping her hand into his. “Deal. Now, let’s go be the best ‘da-da’ and ‘ma-ma’ this little guy’s ever had.”

246 notes · View notes

teddypoi-qd · 7 hours ago

Text

{ID - Series of screenshots of dialogue from Disco Elysium 1 - You - "Lieutenant, have you by any chance *named* our case?" Kim Kitsuragi - "No -- actually. Any ideas?" You - "THE SETTING SUN." Kim Kitsuragi - "Okay. Okay." He nods. "It's a good name, but it has one problem -- this case has nothing to do with the setting sun. At all. It has nothing to do with that. So…"

2 - Shelf of Boomboxes - One especially catches your eye. Deep gold and amber plastic with a big old handle on top. A classic boombox that says: "STEREO 8 approved." Inland Empire - This is you. Gold and orange. A sunset suite.

3 - You - "What is a… Tequila Sunset? You keep saying it." Idiot Doom Spiral - "It's you. You're Tequila Sunset."

4 - "THE TIME HATH COME FOR TEQUILA SUNSET. THE END OF ALL THINGS."

5 - You - "Wait, so is Tequila Sunset an event or a name?" Idiot Doom Spiral - "I'm not sure. I think you were the event. Tequila Sunset. You know, as opposed to a Tequila Sunrise, which is long gone."

6 - Jean Vicquemare - "Ha-ha-ha, ho-ho-ho." He grabs his stomach in mirthless laughter. "Tequila Sunset -- not Sunrise, because you're almost dead. So funny, Harry. Thank you for fucking me."

7 - Egg Head - The young man with the tape recorder acknowledges your return. When he looks at you, he squints as though you were the setting sun…

8 - You - "You know, a past incarnation of myself called himself 'Tequila Sunset.' I wonder why that is." Lilienne, the Net Picker - "It's a common Revacholian expression." She narrows her eyes. "Means drinking yourself to death."

9 - The Sun - The sun also falls on the cape-side tenements and war-torn ruins. An old sea fortress juts out, seemingly impervious to the sheen cast over everything else, shaking you out of your reverie... Inland Empire - The Sun does little for the dead, and those hopelessly lost in their own minds.

10 - Kim Kitsuragi - "Sunrise, parabellum," the lieutenant says. He's in the middle of a freshly cleaned room, with the fan above his head like a halo. His face is covered in bruises.

END ID}

disco elysium + sunsets

Bonus:

#disco elysium

2K notes · View notes

writingwisterias · 2 days ago

Note

Do you think you could write something for the girlies who can't come from penetration? When I read smut, I always feel a little disconnected when there's just penetration. I'm not sure if you're taking requests, but I wanted to ask anyway. Just in case c:

I think Leon would be very understanding about this.

Hii! I can definitely do this for you!!! I hope you enjoy 😘😘

Warnings: SMUT, MNDI, Oral (F Reviving), Fingering, Praise Kink, Porn with little plot, Missionary, unprotected sex, aftercare

Leon Kennedy x AFAB!Fem!Reader

Taglist: @senawashere @danigirls-missions @lxzy-bxby @074calicocat @gut1ess @shymoob

(not proof read)

It wasn't that the size of Leon was a problem. You definitely felt the stretch of him each time he shoved his cock as deep as he could. The thrusts were perfect, the words he muttered in your ear were even better. His tip was the perfect size for you to feel it drag against the spongey spot inside of you. He was perfect, yet for some reason– you couldn't cum from his cock alone.

It didn't matter the speed of his hips or how deep and connected he made you feel as he man handled you into all different kinds of poses. It never came.

Leon could see your frustration as he thrusted into you everytime. The slight pinch in your eyebrows as you felt the coil tighten, that release impending, praying and hoping that this time it would come. But it never did, his thoughts would cloud with his process doubting the rhythm he used, whenever it was consistent or not. Although he knew you faked it for his sake he couldn't seem to care, not when he made it his mission to find out why and to see your face react live when he was the first one to do it. You weren't like the other girls he has been with before, the simple penetration his cock would give them was enough. That however didn’t mean that he wasn’t up for the challenge of figuring it out, to be the first one to give you an earth shattering orgasms — which if he had anything to say about it would make him the only one to do it.

With the way your walls communicated to him in pulses as he attempted to figure it out he knew he was on the right track at least. He knew with each squeeze of your velvet walls that you were enjoying being so close to him, being so intimate. Your frustration was evident to him with the fact you couldn’t give him this single joy in sex, that no matter what he did or what you thought you wanted him to do there was just no finish.

Leon noticed that your aftercare changed as your frustrations grew, it wasn’t a problem to him after a quick conversation he was more than happy to cuddle up with you as his loads dripped out do you. The warmth of his arms as well as his seed was what you needed as you dreamed of the day that your own orgasm would come and join his in the cocktail of sex. At this point Leon had tried every position, drove himself to any depth he could were he swore he could feel the entrance of your cervix suction itself to his weeping tip. Unlocking a desire he didn’t know he had in him…but that was something he would allow himself to indulge in once he has achieved his goal.

Tonight was different.

The candles he filled the room with let off a soft vanilla scent, ironic considering the mental list of his activities tonight was anything but that. He smiled softly at the sight of you dressed up in his favorite nightdress, the blue mesh fabric draping over you like a piece of wrapping paper for his favorite gift. Hopefully he would get it tonight, to unravel you just as he would the ribbon strands that created the straps of the dress. To finally feel the gush of enjoyment not only for his sake but your own. Fuck whatever the government wanted him to figure out he would do this mission instead, to find out what he's missing and finally satisfy the love of his life.

It was the least he could do for you, after all the sleepless nights you endured waiting for him to come home bruised and battered. Or when you gifted him the best orgasms of his life as you worked yourself on his cock. Your tits bouncing around like some laser pointer for his attention span. His kisses were soft and intimate as they landed on your neck, his teeth lightly grazing the pulse point causing goosebumps to spread along your skin. Leon’s fingers cupped your breasts gently, softly groping them with tender squeezes. Tweaking the nipples to earn small breathless gasps.

Leon was attentive to every noise, listening and watching for the sign he was doing something right. Your grasp on his forearms tightened as he pulled on them slightly whilst nipping on the underparts of your jaw, the tender spots a memory on your skin. "It's not going to work today Leon, it never does" you whispered, pulling against his hair to see his face. "Your doubt in me, wounds me my love" he whispered, the crows feet appearing as he smiled. Leon aged beautiful, like fine wine. His kindness still lingering in his eyes as well as his loyalty and devotion. All traits he had never lost over the years. "I don't doubt you, maybe I'm just a defect. We are in our thirties and it's never happened"

Leon chuckled, his hands leaving your breasts to unwrap the delicate ribbon on your shoulder. Kissing the new area of exposed skin. The night dress pooled on the floor, the candle light giving your skin a golden glow. You were his angel and he would get on his knees to pray for you, to whisper prayers of devotion you alone like you were some holy goddess that would cleanse him of his sins. You were pushed against the bed, legs spread apart with your weeping pussy against his leg. The heat of your core warmed the fabric. You watched him sink to the floor, his face in line with glistening sex waiting for your permission for his heavenly feast.

You watched his eyes light up from between your legs as he made his first lick, a timid one like he was trying a new ice cream flavour for the first time. The difference was he only needed one try, since this was the sweetest taste needed to satisfy that craving. The ridges of his nose implanted itself between your lips, notching at your clit as his tounge began to scoop and probe your entrance. Your hands wove themselves into his hair, pulling his face closer to your cunt. Your moans were louder when he lifted his face slightly to observe your features. His nose rubbing along your puffy nerve that twitched with each lick he gave you.

It wasn't that he didn't give your clit any attention, perhaps he just didn't give it enough attention. You felt him smirk against your lips, like he had figured it out. The strokes of his tounge going higher like he was mapping out the path he was going to take for the final destination. You gasped loudly as he latched onto your clit, sucking against the nerve as pushing the hood away with his tounge to expose it further. Your nails scratched at his scalp, pulling his hair in a way that made his cock jump in his boxers. The Pre-cum steadily lubing himself ready for the finale.

You barely felt him adjust the positions of his hands, his fingers now circling your entrance in a teasing motion. He knew this wouldn't bring you any closer to the impending release, he was just eager for a faster on the clenches you would give off as you reacted to the orgasm. The squeeze he was so keen on feeling around his cock finally. You were wet enough for two fingers, the intrusion barely noticable as he began to thrust them inside. Curling them against the "broken" spot inside of you.

"Leon fuck– it's too much" you whimpered, desperately trying to claw him away. You felt his head shake, smiling against the clit he was currently attacking. He could feel you tighten around his fingers all the moments finally bringing you closer and closer. "Leon—baby please... stop" you whined leaning back in the bed and grabbing at the sheets desperately. He watched your body writhe and tighten up. Preparing for the first orgasm.

He wanted it on his cock but he wasn't one to judge, not when he would be able to taste it first. He nearly came when he felt the gush, the final squeeze you needed after he flicked the tip of his cum along your clit. Your moans were breathless, the arch of your body looked perfect as he watched your release all the years worth of tension. When you finally glanced down at him, he was smirking.

"Beautiful" Leon cooed as he began to move up the bed towards you. His cock strained against his boxers in eager anticipation to feel your orgasm around him. You smiled softly at him, your gaze falling onto his cock. He could have left you here, in a new satisfied state after finally achieving your shared goal but that's not fun, that's not meeting your new aftercare needs. Definitely not the fact he wanted to see your shared spend finally poolig out of your cunt.

"Think you can give me another one angel?"

Your eyes shot open, a weak plea for no more leaving your lips as you followed his movements to the waistband. "I think you can"

Your dripping cunt made it easy for him to sink his length into you, the added wetness almost making him cum instantly. You felt perfect– glorious as he began to thrust. His balls tightened quickly as your arousal began to soak them, the added sensation was fantastic. "Fucking hell angel, if only you could feel this" he groaned. His face buried in your hair to become obsessed with the scent of you. You took over everything, his current thoughts, his feelings, his desires all from the tightening pulses of your cunt. He was obsessed with you.

His hands traveled down your sides, reaching your hips before one inched closer to your clit. At first rubbing small circles around the nerve. Teasing it to feel you tense. You were begging now, demands of speed and more which he happily obliged.

"it won't work, it never does" you whimpered, your brows pincing as the famliar feeling of frustration settles in. The muted pleasure you were so used to feeling, now felt like utter shit compared to the searing hot one you just experienced. You felt greedy, your body needy for him to grace you with the feeling again.

"Have you no faith? Did I not just give you, your very first orgasm?" He smirked. You nooded weakly, arching your body to meet his. The desire increasing as his length hardened with his own impending release. His body eager to fill you with his love and warmth.

Leon came first, much to his disappointment. The release of his load somehow helped in your own. You collapsed against the bed, a glowing smile plastered on your face as your breasts jiggled with the heavy breaths. He worked quickly, pulling you into his arms just as he would every time. Only now your lips whispered a quiet thank you against his skin as sleep overtook you.

#~mads rambles #leon kennedy x reader #~mads~mail💌#leon kennedy #resident evil x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy smut #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon smut #leon s kennedy x you #divders by elleisdesigning

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titaniasfairy · 2 days ago

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i just pray that you're alright

okay here's part 2 to what i posted yesterday! i'm so glad y'all are enjoying it, i missed writing so much.

MDNI

pairing: remmick x female reader

warnings: cunnilingus, remmick's an eater

you must’ve been hallucinating. you believed you’d finally become the looney shut-in you dreaded becoming. reflexes forced the door shut, the loud slam echoed through the walls of the empty home. your hands became clammy, shakily gripping onto the doorknob like your life depended on it. ‘this isn’t real, he isn’t real' you thought to yourself with your eyes squeezed shut.

“i’m as real as it gets, sugar. cmon, don’t you want to see me?”

you could hear the shit-eating grin on his face, that sinful voice rang through your ears and sounded just as sweet as it did on that dreaded sunday. the wood beneath his boots creaked and you knew it was real. you stared at the shut door as the memories replayed in your head. the long conversations you wished never ended, the songs he’d sing for you, that time mama almost caught y’all on the porch whispering to one another, his mouth between-

you opened the door and couldn’t believe your own eyes. he looked just as handsome as he did the night you last met. his eyes were the same piercing blue as before, his smile the same toothy grin you used to daydream about. it was unnatural. remmick stood in front of you with his shoulders back and his hands in his trouser pockets. he wore what he always wore, with a white wife beater under a slightly unbuttoned dress shirt with the sleeves rolled over his elbows. the moonlight cast a shadow on him that appeared almost menacing, like an omen.

“well aren’t you as sweet as a magnolia in may?”

your jaw sat slacked and your mouth was slightly agape as you looked him up and down. the air was stagnant and silent as you stood in disbelief

“what the hell are you doing here?”

remmick’s eyes went wide in surprise as he scoffed at your question. “that’s not a very polite way to welcome a guest, now is it?” he took a step forward and ran his eyes down your body, licking his lips like he was starved.

“you got a lot of nerve showing up here like this. you have no idea what you put me through.” your eyes fought tears as you spat your words at him, you couldn’t stand to look into those eyes anymore. “now what makes you say that?” he cocked his head to the side and had the audacity to look confused. “you left me! you hung me out to dry without even having the decency to say goodbye.” your voice shook with ire as salty tears raced down your warm cheeks. “i had business to handle.” he looked at you with a sorrowful gaze, his eyes resembling those of a sad dog. “but i’m here now, isn’t that enough?” he took another step and took your face in his hand, forcing you to look at the eyes you once called home. “i waited every night for you, remmick. hell, i even prayed. i prayed straight to god for you to come back around.” the look in his eye shifted and the hand on your face stiffened, gripping you ever so slightly.

“me and god don’t get along that well.”

your mouth hung open as you tried to study his expression. what happened to him? “i got married, y’know.” his face lit up again and he chuckled, “oh, i know. a right bastard, he was. can’t believe you let him put your hands on you.” remmick’s eyes went black as he seethed with envy. suddenly, your mouth went as dry as the dust bowl out west. “but i took care of that for you, baby.”

“y-you what?”

he brought a finger to your lips and shushed you slow, your name fell from his lips like a prayer, easing you into silence. he cupped your face with his hands like he was holding the world, his world. rivers now ran down your face, a non-stop flow from your puffy eyes. you should have been angry, you should have been seeing red, but it was impossible to care when his lips were hovering above yours after all those years.

“why’d you have to leave me?”

before you were given the answer you’d been waiting for for ages, remmick silenced you with his lips. your hands gripped his face and you melted into his touch. your soul had released an exhale it had been holding for what felt like a lifetime. the kiss was eager and starving, your tongues weaved together like knots. one of his hands had made its way to your hair, gripping the strands to keep you close. his lips migrated from your mouth to your jaw, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses to your ear while you moaned out loud.

“i’m starvin’, baby.”

your spine tickled with arousal, making your thighs clench. his voice tickled the hairs on your neck before being kissed and licked. your head tipped back in utter bliss as you let out a wanton moan out into the summer air. remmick’s arm was now wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his broad body. you could feel him leaving marks on you, and for some reason, you didn’t care. “i need to taste you, sugar. please just let me get my fix and you’ll never have to see me again i promise.” he was begging you, now. his voice dripped in your ears like honey and made your teeth ache from the sweetness. “please just let me back in, baby.”

how could you ever say no?

you reached behind you to open the door, stumbling back in the house. his lips found your’s again, teeth clashing and tongues smashing against each other in a lustful haze. after a few steps, your back hit the kitchen counter. with almost zero effort, remmick lifted you from the ground and place you on the counter. he stood between your open knees and kept his hands on your waist. your hands slid from his jaw to his shoulders, pushing him to knees. his fingertips pushed your cotton nightgown up your calves and left the fabric sitting at the tops of your thighs. his muscular forearms pulled you towards the edge of the counter as his head dipped between your legs. plump lips grazed your inner thighs and kissed the soft skin. it was when his mouth inched closer that he learned you weren’t wearing panties.

“did you know i was coming, darlin’?”

you felt his teeth against your thigh as he smiled and kissed your thigh one last time before his mouth engulfed your heat. your head fell back and your back arched into the air as you moaned out his name. your hands found their way to the soft locks on remmick’s scalp, running them along his scalp. his tongue lapped up your arousal before his lips wrapped around your clit, making your fingers grip his hair. he looked up at you as if you were a goddess walking among mortals, and his tongue was the only worship you ever wanted. remmick moaned against your cunt, the vibrations sending chills down your body. he feasted on your wetness like ambrosia, his tongue fluttering on your clit like he were playing your pussy like an instrument and he was a maestro.

it wasn’t long until you felt the coil tightening in your stomach, slowly getting tighter with each passing of his tongue. his eyes continued to stare into your’s as he ate, making your heart skip. your orgasm was approaching, and remmick knew exactly how to get you there. “jesus christ- remmick i’m going to cum.” your chest began to heave as your back arched off the cabinets. his grip on your thighs tightened and his breathing went heavy.

“cmon’ baby give me what i’ve been waiting for.”

your body obeyed him as a wave of utter bliss passed over you, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. moans rang out into the house and scared the crows outside as remmick continued to consume you. his mouth kissed your thighs through the aftershocks, soothing you. slowly, remmick rose to full height and kissed you gently. your arousal was still on his lips, making you taste yourself on his tongue.

as he pulled away, his eyes stared deep into yours. you assumed it was the moonlight at first, but there was no real explanation. remmick’s eyes were suddenly a dark red, a crimson storm swirling around his pupils. his hands gripped your waist tight and he smiled with that same toothy grin, only this time his canines were daggers. your mouth sat agape as his appearance was almost inhuman. “remmick?” long fingers ran up your chest and rested on your neck with a soft grip. his head titled to match his mouth with your ear.

“this time i’m not leaving, i promise baby.”

#bear rambles #sinners #sinners 2025 #remmick x reader #remmick x you #remmick #remmick x y/n #remmick smut #jack o'connell

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dragoneyelashart · 2 days ago

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firefighter! billie x police officer! reader

smut ୨ৎ

a/n: this au is so fun to write for

the radio crackles, and you barely catch the dispatcher’s words over the thudding in your head. sirens wail in the distance. smoke stains the sky in angry plumes behind you.

and then—her.

“get in the damn truck, y/n.”

you whirl, lips already curling. “excuse me? i don’t report to you, firegirl.”

billie eilish, six feet of ash-streaked, suit-clad muscle, gear slung over her shoulder like she owns the place, narrows her eyes at you. “you’re not staying here. that structure’s unstable. i’m under orders to escort you out.”

you scoff, shifting your weight like you might bolt anyway. “i'm under my own orders, thanks. you haul hoses, i haul criminals. stay in your lane.”

billie steps in front of you, close enough to feel the heat still radiating off her. “you gonna pull rank with me while the floor collapses under your feet? is this a cop thing or just your ego again?”

you cross your arms. “it’s called knowing what i can handle.”

she mutters something under her breath that sounds an awful lot like “fucking brat,” then grabs your wrist. not hard, but firm. unyielding.

you glare, but she doesn't even blink.

“fine,” you bite. “chauffeur me then. better make it fun.”

the ride is short and so not silent.

"you drive like a grandma," you mutter, legs propped on her dash, boots scuffed from the chaos you just came from.

“you threaten to get yourself killed for attention,” billie fires back, deadpan.

you grin. “maybe i just like it when you get all bossy.”

that earns you a side glance, jaw ticking. her knuckles flex on the wheel, turning white. you see the annoyance evident in her face, you smirk slightly to yourself.

she pulls into an empty lot. the sun’s dipping low now, turning smoke to gold. she slams the truck into park.

“out,” she says.

you tilt your head. “what, no coffee first?”

her door slams before you can finish. you scramble out, heart hammering with something that’s not adrenaline, not quite.

you round on her. “what’s your problem?”

“you.” billie’s on you in three strides. not touching—just towering, pinning you with that calm fury she’s always so good at hiding. angry but calm. “you act like it’s all a game. like if you flirt enough or talk back enough, no one’ll notice you almost got buried in that collapse.”

“i had it handled,” you lie.

her eyes burn. “no, you didn’t. you were three feet from a support beam that split like a toothpick.” she grabs your vest, pulling you flush against her, “yet you just kept whining like a dumb girl. thought you had to be smart for this job, princess?”

you blink, breath caught in your throat. “maybe i did.”

something shifts. billie’s gaze drops to your mouth, then back to your eyes.

“you want me to put you in your place, officer? need a knight in shining armor, so you can be treated like a princess?” she murmurs, low and rough. “because you’re pushing me.”

you’re silent. then, very softly, “what if i want to be pushed?”

her lips curve. not a smile—something darker.

billie’s hand tightens in your vest, yanking you forward until your chest collides with hers. her voice is a low, dangerous rasp. “you’re lucky i’m off shift.”

“you’re lucky i’m still in uniform,” you shoot back, half-grinning, half-breathless.

she spins you before you can blink, shoving you back against the side of the truck, the cool metal kissing your spine through your shirt. her thigh slots between yours, pinning you in place. she’s not rough—just controlled. calculated. like she’s waited for this moment and she’s going to savor it.

“i should make you beg,” she murmurs, lips brushing your jaw, her breath hot. “you run your mouth like you don’t know what happens when someone finally calls your bluff.”

you’re trembling and you hate it—or you would, if it didn’t feel so fucking good. you grind against her thigh, just once. “maybe i want to beg.”

billie chuckles darkly. “brat.”

her hand slides under your vest, fingers dancing over your waist, up your ribs, until they settle just under the edge of your bra. “you gonna be a good girl now?”

you arch into her touch. “depends. you gonna finally shut me up?”

that’s all it takes. her lips crash onto yours, all heat and frustration, tongue sliding into your mouth like she owns it. you moan, one hand gripping her gear strap, the other tangling in her damp hair. she tastes like smoke and sweat and something distinctly her.

she breaks the kiss just long enough to tug your vest off and unclip your duty belt, letting it fall with a heavy clunk onto the cracked pavement. her hands find the hem of your shirt, and she pauses.

“say it again.”

you meet her eyes, breathless. “yes.”

your shirt’s gone in seconds.

her mouth trails fire down your neck, over your chest, until she latches onto your nipple through the lace of your bra. you hiss, back arching, grinding harder against her thigh now. she groans low in her throat, pressing you harder into the truck, her thigh flexing between yours. you’re soaked, and she knows it.

billie pulls back, lips swollen, pupils blown wide. “you get off on disobeying me?”

you pant, smirking through it. “only when it ends like this.”

she pushes your legs apart with her knee, dragging her fingers down the front of your pants. “keep talking, and i’ll leave you here all desperate and dripping for me.”

you don’t stop. “promises, promises.”

her hand slips past your waistband, under your panties, and then, finally, her fingers slide over your clit, slow and deliberate.

your smart mouth falls open with a sharp gasp.

she grins. “that shut you up, huh?”

and it does. because billie works you like she’s got you mapped out, her fingers circling just right, sliding lower to tease your entrance. you’re squirming, moaning into her neck as she pushes two fingers inside you without warning.

“god, you’re tight,” she growls. “and so fucking wet.”

you’re gasping, thighs shaking, the edge coming fast and hot. she hooks her fingers just right, grinding her palm against your clit, and it’s too much.

“billie—fuck—”

she clamps her hand over your mouth, smirking. “what was that, officer? can’t hear you.”

taglist: @amara-eilish @bilswifee @iamnicoke @jayjaywetforbils @bittersuitekim @bxllxebxtch @bitchesbrokenpromises @ijustlovemaths @ilovealiceosemann @bilssturns @peytonneilish @chrissv4mp @too-sapphic-to-function | send an ask or comment if you want to be added to my taglist!

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screambirdscreaming · 10 hours ago

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Something I am constantly unpacking for people irl, when they start to get weird about "gluten stuff", is that "gluten problems" encompasses several WILDLY different issues. The pervasive public perception that gluten issues of any type are "fake" or that people are "bait and switching" them about what things do or don't cause problems, is often due to people conflating these different issues.

So one: food allergy. This is actually something I've rarely heard of with regards to wheat or gluten, although I'm sure some people do have this allergy. BUT a lot of people seem to expect gluten problems other than wheat allergy to behave like food allergies they're familiar with: rapid onset of hives or anaphylaxis after consuming allergenic food. I've heard people outright claim their friend was "faking gluten problems" because they didn't have an overt allergic reaction to drinking a beer. The friend in question had been surprised and dismayed to learn beer in general had gluten - the people accusing them of faking took this as further evidence of faking, and not a cause for concern over how bad a night their friend might be about to have.

Two: gluten digestive intolerance. This is the broadest category of "gluten problems", as far as I know. This one is roughly parallel to lactose intolerance, or to the FODMAP thing - for whatever reason, be it lack of enzymes or gut bacterial composition or both, your gut has a rough time breaking down some specific protein or sugar and you get gas, cramps, diarrhea or constipation, etc etc. Feels bad guts time. This is not something that's usually medically diagnosed for gluten, it's more in the realm of people (often people with chronic gut problems that are not being medically well managed) trying things and fumbling towards diets that make them feel less wretched. Of course, this is also where the diet industry marketing bullshit comes into play. Diet changes that make some people feel better get spun into narratives about "wheat is poison!" or overt weight loss scams. People who are rightfully disdainful of things like weight loss as a marketing concept, or the perennial reinvention of the "foods which are poisoning you" list, get pissed about this in ways that they then take out on people who are modifying their diet for any reason. Which, I gotta say: don't do that. Yes, the diet industry is evil and the marketing sucks. But even setting aside that most people I know with long-term food-limiting diet experimentation are doing it in a desperate attempt to self-manage undiagnosed gastrointestinal disease - being shitty to people about their diet choices doesn't help anything. Sorry! Even if they straight up fell for the marketing bullshit, mocking them about it is not the way to go. You're gonna have to learn how to criticize predatory marketing without shitting on people who fall for it! Or on people who are doing the thing being sold for their own reasons!

Ahem. Anyway. "Gluten intolerance" as a broad category often means people are aiming to eat less gluten, not none. This is consistent with the model of "doesn't digest very well" - the gut can handle a little bit of trouble, but not too much. And of course this will vary from person to person, depending on severity or on how much other gut trouble they have going on. But in general, for this category of people, micro-contamination is usually not a concern.

AND THEN there's celiac. This is an autoimmune disease, which means the immune system is attacking and destroying the bodies own tissues and organs. What's odd about celiac is that gluten acts as a sort of "sleeper agent activation phrase" for the immune system going rogue. If there is a gluten molecule present - in any amount! Any at all! - the immune system starts attacking your own body. The only way to get it to stop is to make sure there is no gluten, at all, anywhere.

Obviously the management for this is pretty different from if you get indigestion from too much gluten! This is the disease where people really need to know what's gluten free, as discussed above, down to the level of "has it run through machinery that also processes wheat sometimes." Gluten is a very sticky molecule and very difficult to remove completely from surfaces. If you have a cutting board in your kitchen on which you sometimes cut bread, it is not safe to prep food on for a person with celiac, no matter how you wash it. Hence the concerns about separate processing facilities, etc. This is also where you find out that gluten is used in an ENORMOUS number of applications, as a non-toxic (to most), water soluble sticky substance. It's in pills as a binder. It's in cosmetics, papers, glues.... A range of things that will make you feel like your brain is unraveling to track down and eliminate. Unfortunately, many people will also take this necessary thoroughness as a sign of delusion. (And they won't handle it with any of the compassion that people who do have delusions deserve, either.)

Also, while even trace amounts of gluten can cause catastrophic damage by reactivating the autoimmune attack, this process happens on a delay. There is usually not any short-term, detectable reaction to contacting gluten for people with celiac. This is one thing that makes it harder to actually track down things with trace gluten content that could be causing problems. But it's also another factor that makes people jump to "faking" - as with the girl with a beer, people think it must not be real if you only get upset when told about the gluten.

In my experience, people broadly conflate gluten intolerance with celiac, and then get pissy when people with each of these (different!!) conditions tell them different information about whether trace amounts of gluten are ok or not. And then get mad at both cases for not looking like a straightforward food allergy. (Probably, if you do have a straightforward wheat allergy, people find a way to be rude and dismissive of that too, tbh.)

Anyway. If people are telling you about their specific personal dietary needs, treat that as an exact and unique case, rather than conflating it with stuff you've heard about vaguely similar conditions. In this way, most "contradictions" about "made up conditions" disappear!

it is weird that celiac stuff has become part of the 'culture war'. because it's literally just a medical thing.... I get super anemic unless I cut a certain protein out of my diet, because it bulldozes the villi in my intestines. but if I post about it, right-wingers send me gore images. I guess you can't expect shitty people to be logical, but I've even heard lefty people make fun of gluten stuff, and it's like why are you mad about this??? why are you pissed off that I'm eating bread that doesn't taste as good so that I can have blood in my body? it's so morally neutral.

#I don't have celiac myself this rant mostly comes from having a friend go through the diagnostic phase while we were in highschool together #So apologies if any of my info is out of date.#But it is genuinely wild to me how people toss around gluten intolerance/ gluten allergy /celiac as if they were interchangeable terms #And then get mad about contradictions that straight up would not contradict if they weren't conflating totally different conditions.#Some of what I said is redundant to stuff above but I was trying to write something that made sense self-contained #Obviously everyone in the chain above me knows the difference in these conditions. And is being clear about which they're talking about #BUT that clarity of distinction only lands if the people reading it are aware of the relevant seperate categories that exist.#hence my unpacking addition.#The person screenshotted about gluten enzymes for example clearly does not understand the distinction here.#that would do nothing for either celiac OR allergy. That's specifically a digestive aid.#And a speculative one on top of that because there's not consensus on what causes difficulty with digesting gluten either.#It could be that an enzyme helps but it also might not if the issue is eg too much bacterial fermentation #But thats a whoooole other can of worms.

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kabsey · 1 day ago

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So one day, post-Veilguard, Lucanis goes looking for Rook at Viago's townhouse. When he gets there, he finds them in Viago's study discussing a job. Viago frowns at him hovering in the doorway but doesn't say anything. He just finishes his briefing.

Then he asks Rook, "Do you think you can still handle this your usual way? They may know your face now that you're a big hero."

Rook laughs. "We both know they never look at my face."

And it isn't that Lucanis has never considered that Rook may seduce some of her targets. The thought had crossed his mind, but he had just... stopped thinking about it whenever it did, so he's not really prepared to face the reality.

Viago glances at him with sharp eyes and a perfectly groomed eyebrow lifted. "Is there a problem, First Talon?"

Lucanis of course says no because what else is he going to say? This is how many Crows operate. The fact that he rarely has himself is more about the kinds of contracts he was assigned and the skills he had. He doesn't even think he's bothered exactly. He doesn't know what he thinks (he is not a man who is deeply in touch with his emotions), though he is dreading having to explain the whole thing to Spite, who is probably going to have very strong opinions on the subject.

When Rook leaves the study, he follows her up to her bedroom, but she stops him just outside the door. She goes up on her toes to whisper in his ear.

"Do you want to see what I'm going to wear?"

And Lucanis of course says yes because what else is he going to say? He spends a few minutes awkwardly standing in the hallway and thinking about the kinds of things he's seen other Crows wear and trying to picture Rook in them, and while he has no doubt she will look amazing, it also feels a little bit like he's trying to get turned on by a stranger.

Then the door opens, and Rook stands in front of him, her hands clasped at her waist. The dress she's wearing is a bland gray color and covered by an apron. Her long hair is tucked under a neat scarf, which only serves to accentuate her pointed ears. She's not wearing makeup, and she's not looking him in the eye.

She definitely looks like a stranger, but he's not turned on at all. Instead he looks at her and feels a twist of sadness. He's quiet for so long that she does finally look up at him, and immediately she is Rook again, cupping his face in her hands with a concerned frown.

"I'm sorry. You so obviously thought we meant something else." Her thumbs stroke soothingly through his beard. "I thought it would be funny."

He covers her hands with his and shakes his head. "No, don't apologize." He huffs a laugh at himself. "The fact that I never considered such a possibility makes me feel hopelessly naive."

Rook smiles. "I think I'm... flattered?... that your mind went straight to seduction. Because I'm actually horrible at it."

"Not so horrible," he tells her, and he brings her hands to his lips and kisses each one. "But I have a hard time imagining you posing as a servant either."

"It's worth the effort." Her smile turns to a sharp-toothed grin. "You should see the looks on their faces when they realize who's killed them."

Lucanis laughs because that? That is his Rook. She's not a stranger.

And he may be just a little turned on.

#lucanis dellamorte #rook de riva #oc: ilene de riva #rook x lucanis #rookanis #dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age

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pinescent-and-gingerbread · 2 days ago

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Grinding through clothes and having to be quiet with Arthur for your little writing sprint? 🤲 (gn?)

OOOOhh yes anon, I have such a kink for this and I will definitely do it justice! Got a little carried away!

(I'm going to publish a few last mini prompts answer this weekend!! Don't worry if your ask isn't answered yet, it's coming soon! 🫶🏼)

The way Arthur handles you tonight is almost too much for you.

Just at the edge of camp, while everyone was busy celebrating Jack's reunion with the gang, Arthur had been quick to steal you away from the festivities and pin you against one of Shady Belle's old walls, barely hidden from everyone. The way he holds you up against it is almost ridiculously easy for him, as if lifting up a bunch of feathers; his hips settled between your legs, arms strongly holding them up and open, you're trapped between this eager furnace of a man and the coldness of the shabby wood against your back.

"H-how many did you had, Arthur?"

"Not that much... Just enough to give me the balls to man up and have my way with ya." He smiles at himself, pathetic bastard. "Not enough to make me forget about all this tomorrow morning, though..." He assures, voice a rough whisper, his lips crashing against yours in a deep and direct kiss, humming when he feels their soft plumpness.

He can't help it, you're just so pretty, so perfect, and tonight, after feeling the sting of saving the son of someone else to reunite a family that wasn't his, to be forced to only observe the love and fulfillment only a blood link could bring, never able to feel it anymore, he couldn't hold himself; craving. Craving for some kind of attention, any kind, from you.

He's already hard in his jeans, he has been for a long moment to be honest, since he saw that grin of yours he loved so dear, since you had whispered those filthy, teasing things into his ears right by the campfire, knowing damn well what you were doing. You should have seen it coming. His hips starts to press against your core, and with your thighs open and your dress pulled up, you can feel the hard line of his shaft grind aaall against your pussy in a long, deliberate movement.

"Oh!" You can't help but moan at it, your hands locking on his shoulders, trying to hold on to something, anything, to keep yourself grounded on Earth.

"Tut-tut, girl, you gotta keep quiet," He reminds you, a smug smirk on his lips, so fucking pleased with himself. He instantly rocks hismelf against you again, his clothed cock rubbing right where you need it against your pulsing clit, the tightness of his jeans emphasizing the hardness and pression of it against the fabric of your undergarments.

You can't stop yourself. You try to muffle it, but another sigh of pleasure is quickly turning into a whine, and he grunts, more quietly than you, barely a pleased exhale.

"What did I jus' say, hm? You want one of these fools come walkin' on us, uh? S'at what you want?"

"It's not that easy!" You protest, voice low but indignated. Wanting to prove your point, you suddenly aim for his neck, lips attacking his flesh, tongue and mouth suckling at his scarred skin, and this time, you're the one grinding your wet core against him.

And feeling you doing it to him, oh Lord, it's a whole other thing. Arthur is losing all sense of decency. He moans like he's been hit by a bullet, sinful hands sliding to your ass, grabbing each cheek with one hand, pressing you even more against him, encouraging your movement.

"S-see? Who's making noise, now?" You tease him with a triumphant smile, still whispering.

"Shut up," He growls, unable to resist anything anymore and hating himself for being that weak. He looks at you, angry stare mixed with so much desperation and lust that the whole world's limits are blurred. Without any more warning, he bends his head to yours and searches for another kiss, tongue sliding against yours, both of your tastes blending, the borders between you and him collapsing even further.

Accompanying the kiss, your body naturally rubs against his in a sensual, demanding move, and he responds instantly. It's a long moment of your two sexs grinding against the other, muffled moans mixed with a few loud pants and groans, Arthur wincing at the pain the frabic is causing him on his cockhead but not stopping for the wolrd, you moaning more and more as his large cock presses and grinds and rubs hardly against your clit. It's almost a competition now, seeing who would pull out the biggest sound from the other.

"Oh, for God's sake, Arthur you have an actual room for this now! Use the damn thing, goddamn it!" Hosea's paternal voice cuts through the air and stops your unholy throes of passion.

The outlaw in question grumbles as all answer, slipping his arms under your legs and lifting you up from the wall in a quick jump, marching as fast as he can inside the sheltering mansion.

There, at least, he would be able to take all the time he needs to treat you like you deserved, and make you pay for those cheeky moves of yours.

#mini prompt #miniprompt sprint #few requests that I didn't answered during the sprint!!#loooooved this prompt #one of my kinks actually sooo yeah #I wrote a longer one oops #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader

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nikovraskol · 1 day ago

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OG timeline repeatedly trying to resurrect Reader, making Reader sick in the new timeline. When new timeline gets magic users involved, they get told someone is trying to steal the Reader's soul in a past lifetime or something.

On another note, I'm imagining Reader getting so frustrated with the doors being barricaded or locked that they decide to leave threw their windows. They end up doing so a few times without anyone noticing. But one day, they fall while escaping and get bruised up. It's only on Reader's arms and legs. Reader goes back into their room without anyone noticing. Long sleeves and long pant legs cover everything. But Dick tries to cuddle them, Jason pushes them, or Damian grabs them, and Reader flinches. Their eyes get watery.

They find out about the bruises but don't know how Reader got them. And Reader refuses to say anything in case they start locking the windows too.

Really like your writing and will wait patiently for the next chapter, cause you're worth it. 💓

cracking my knuckles rolling my back getting back in the zone.

if anyone saw me use the wrong your YOU DID NOT I DIDNT

masterlist

for the first ask, yeah i see that happening, in the og timeline everyones gripping their hair desperately trying to bring you back, only for john to pull up with all the commotion and casually drop, "yeah, their souls gone."

meanwhile, in the second timeline, you're getting sick like crazy. literally dizzy every waking moment, you throw up at random times -- you're just all 'round unwell and your family is freaking out because -- ?? what the flip? why are you sick?! and no matter how many doctors they send to you, or how much medicine you take. you're still sick!! (but it does make you less likely to run away.)

but neither timelines are willing to give you up.. good luck!

as for the second prompt, ugh i love this.

you sneak through your window, climbing down the tree and jumping into some bush just to hang out, get some ice cream and relax for once. but the jumping and climbing tend to bruise you, and with your stupid family constantly pushing you around -- someone's bound to notice.

dick notices it while he's cooing and hugging you, holding you so close that he can feel the frantic beating of your heart merge into his own steady rhythm, when he notices a pained expression on your face that would usually hold an annoyed scowl. then he notices that you're wearing long sleeves in summer -- his thoughts spiral into you, his poor, baby, sibling lying in a bathtub of their blood and--

"ow! dickhead, you're crushing me!" you grit, trying to wriggle out of his iron-clad grasp as he pushes against your bruises.

"oh-- my poor (name)!" he coos, rubbing his cheek on the top of his head as his hands slide towards the hem of your sleeves -- inching to reveal what he fears the most before you throw yourself out of his arms with a gasp and running away.

dick stands for a moment before running after you with a gleeful call of your name.

after a series of bumping into jason, running from damian, parkouring from tim and trying to hide from cass -- you thought you were in the clear.

later, with a relieved sigh you go to open your window -- only for it to not budge.

you push once, twice, thrice! before gripping the damn handle with both hands and practically brawling with it, grunting and cursing and huffing.

"what the fuck." you grumble, only for a larger hand to gently take your wrist. you feel your heart stop with a deafening thud -- with comical slowness you look up to see bruce.

fuck's sake.

"you're hurting yourself." he hums worriedly, his thumb running over a particularly deep bruise on your wrist. his frown deepens as he pushes up your sleeve to reveal a series of bruises, cuts and splinters. "(name)..."

thats how you find yourself smothered by your family as they bandage and rub ointments on your wounds, cooing and scolding.

so annoying.

meeeeyow

#yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #platonic batfam #platonic yandere batfam #platonic yandere #batman #yandere bruce wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere batman #dc fanfiction #platonic yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere batfam x reader #yandere cassandra cain

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rigormortisriot · 2 hours ago

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@thelostmetallurgist that's a lovely sermon you just gave us, but it's all "let's just talk it out" until it's your art that being taken despite begging to be left out of it. Until it's your friends, and family, and community being grifted and stolen from and talked down to. Until you are the one missing out on commissions and watching hundreds of well meaning but completely uninformed and oblivious people even within your circle use AI instead of asking you or commissioning people because it's "easy". They don't understand, they never will. I didn't spend hours painstakingly learning every brush stroke and lens shutter and lines of prose just to be told " to agree to disagree" as I'm shoved to the side and ignored while those out there who also have the means to pay for art or learn, have the time and luxury to do it with nothing stopping them, steal my work and make a profit off it.

Do you think these companies making these AI programs aren't benefitting directly? Do you have any idea how many of them have gone behind people's backs and put scraping bots onto art websites, knowing it's against the site's TOS or that the TOS hasn't been updated yet to include that, and stolen work? How artists have to claw and bite and tear their way through so many insidious hidden machinations meant to hide what these companies and tech brose are doing? All the while true artists are being shamed for being angry? For hurting other people's feelings who don't give a rats ass about us? I'm sooooo sorry you can't handle that your action have the consequences of deeply hurting the people you claim to give a shit about. Don't use that as a fucking excuse.

Live with your actions fully, and writhe in your injustice

"ai is making it so everyone can make art" Everyone can make art dipshit it came free with your fucking humanity

#i do infact speak #fuck ai #anti ai #anti endo #mod gale

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pandapetals · 1 day ago

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Ain't No Grave

Chapter Six: Burnin' Heat previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: A clicker bite should’ve ended your life. Instead, Joel made a brutal choice to save you. Now, one hand gone and your place in Jackson hanging by a thread, you're left to battle grief, survivor’s guilt, and the town’s growing fear.

Pairing: jackson!joel miller x fem!reader

Content warnings: angst, trauma, PTSD, pain, guilt, no y/n used, she/her pronouns, joel being supportive, established relationship, jackson setting, reader struggling/lashing out

A/N: divider by @saradika-graphics. Alright, I reworked this chapter like 4 times. I'm unsure how I feel about it, but I combined the two requests I got into one. There will be chapter seven, which is the last one. Lucky number 7.

Four months later…

No matter how much time passed, it never seemed to get easier. The heaviness didn’t leave; it shifted, settling into the quiet moments and the stillness between conversations. You’d gotten good at chasing the dark thoughts away when you were busy, when people were around. But when it was quiet… that’s when they crept in.

Slow, sharp, and all-consuming, until you felt like you were drowning, and no one could tell by looking at you.

You shook it off, bending to slip your boot on. The same stubborn, broken-in pair you refused to replace. Things like this had gotten easier. How your fingers fumbled less, and your left hand had learned to steady what your right no longer could. You could manage now. But other things… the rest of it… hadn’t.

“Darlin’?”

Joel’s voice tugged you out of it, startling you in a way you didn’t let show. You blinked up to find him leaning against the doorframe of the living room, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, brow furrowed just enough that you knew he’d been watching you for longer than he let on.

“Huh?” you mumbled, forcing a smile that felt tight around the edges.

He studied you a beat longer, something unreadable flickering in his eyes before he spoke.

“Where you headed?”

You hesitated a half-second too long before answering. “Out with Ellie. We’re meeting at the greenhouse.”

The lie tasted sour on your tongue, your stomach knotting because Joel wasn’t the type to miss the small cracks in a person’s voice. But you smiled again anyway, hoping it looked easy, natural. Hoping he didn’t hear the tension beneath it. Hoping he didn’t know you were slipping out on patrol.

Joel’s jaw tightened, just a flicker, and you could tell he didn’t quite buy it. Not entirely, but he didn’t call you on it.

Instead, he gave a soft grunt, his thumb rubbing along the seam of his jacket pocket. “Alright,” he murmured. “Be careful, y’hear?”

How he said it, like he already knew, like he was letting you go anyway because fighting you on it would break something fragile between you, made your throat tighten.

“Yeah,” you managed, grabbing your jacket, keeping your eyes on the door and not on the way Joel’s gaze lingered on you like a tether you were cutting.

You told yourself it was fine. That you needed this, but deep down, you knew it wasn’t just about proving you could still handle yourself.

It was about outrunning the quiet, and you were already losing.

“You know the rules — stay close to your partner, eyes up, check your six, and if you get separated—”

The patrol officer’s voice faded to a low hum, like static in your ears. You weren’t listening. You didn’t need to. The rules were muscle memory, stitched into you like old scars, as familiar as your heartbeat.

You could’ve recited them in your sleep. Then there were Joel’s rules. The ones that carried more weight than any town briefing ever would.

Always count your ammo.

Don’t hesitate.

If you get in too deep, run.

Your stomach twisted.

God, Joel.

You clenched your jaw, your throat tightening as his name filled your head, thick and heavy. You were lying to him. You told him you were meeting Ellie and would stay inside the gates. Yet, here you were — out on patrol when you weren’t even sure you could manage it.

Sure, months had passed. You could hold a gun again. You could hit a target, not as sharp as you’d been, but you managed. With your left hand, you’d learned to steady the grip and brace against the recoil.

But this wasn’t the target range.

This was the real thing, and deep down, a knot of dread settled in your gut because you didn’t know if you were ready.

The click of a rifle being chambered nearby snapped you back. The patrol group started moving toward the gate, the heavy sound of hooves crunching against frozen earth.

You followed without a word, your pulse drumming behind your ribs.

The guilt clung to you like a second skin. Not because you didn’t want to be here, but because you knew Joel would’ve gone with you. Would’ve risked anything just to stand at your side. No hesitation. No questions.

And you left him behind.

Because some part of you was still clawing to prove you could be the person you were before. Even though another part whispered, cruel and relentless, You’re not.

The group rode loosely along the narrow trail, the leaves crunching under hooves. You settled between Astrid and Bonnie, faces you knew but didn’t know. Jackson folk. Good people, probably.

You could feel it.

The flicker of glances. The quiet between conversations when you drew close. How Bonnie’s eyes darted to the stump of your right wrist, then quickly away.

Or maybe she didn’t, perhaps you imagined it.

Maybe it was all in your head, but its weight sat heavy on your chest, turning every silence into suspicion.

Do they think I can’t handle this? Are they watching me because they’re worried, or because they’re waiting for me to break?

The thoughts came sharp, one after the other, until you could barely hear the wind over your own pulse pounding in your ears.

Astrid coughed into her glove, a simple sound, harmless.

But you felt your spine stiffen.

You tightened your grip on the reins, jaw clenching.

Maybe it’s not them. Maybe it’s you?

You told yourself to focus. To watch the tree line, the ridges, the rise of distant hills instead of their faces. But it didn’t stop the prickle at the back of your neck, the simmer of doubt curling in your stomach.

You weren’t sure anymore if it was their unease you sensed…

Or your own.

By the time you reached Snake River, you were unraveling. The tightness in your chest hadn’t eased since you left Jackson’s gates, and now it was a low, suffocating weight pressing against your ribs. Every creak of a saddle strap, every crack of ice under a hoof, sounded too loud, too sharp.

What were you thinking?

You didn’t belong out here. Not like this. Not anymore.

The darkness in your head — the same one that crawled in during quiet nights and early mornings — had crept in unnoticed, wrapping itself around your throat.

Then a snap.

A branch breaking.

It was harmless. Probably?

But in your ears, it sounded like a snarl of a clicker.

Your body reacted before your brain could reason with it.

Your shoulders jerked, your breath catching hard in your throat, and your pulse a wild, sick thud against your skin. You barely registered Bonnie turning in her saddle, her eyes wide. A sharp look fired your way—a silent, desperate plea: stay calm.

But you couldn’t.

Your hand clenched around the reins so tightly your knuckles ached, nails biting into your palm. Your gaze darted to the treeline, every shadow moving wrong, your mind spiraling through what if it’s a clicker? A runner? One of them? What if, what if, what if—

And then you saw it.

Movement between the trees. Low, fast, too close.

You screamed. A raw, high, and terrified sound tore out of you before you could stop it.

Your horse spooked, jerking back violently, the reins ripping from your hand as the animal reared. You felt yourself lose balance, the world tilting suddenly before your body slammed into the ground, the breath knocked clean from your lungs.

Voices shouted, someone cursing, hooves pounding.

It was a deer when you forced your blurry gaze toward the trees.

A single, startled deer, bounding through the brush and disappearing into the undergrowth like it hadn’t just shattered you.

Your chest heaved, each breath jagged and too shallow, the earth biting into your back through your jacket. The sky above spun, a dull, gray blur behind the sting of tears you hadn’t realized were falling.

Sharp, angry voices snapped around you. Astrid’s voice cut through the haze, barking something you couldn’t make out.

“Get up—dammit, you can’t just—move!”

But the words felt like they were coming from underwater, warping, distant.

You couldn’t move.

Your body wouldn’t listen. Your hand scrabbled at the ground, grasping at nothing, while your vision tunneled in, the edges darkening, narrowing to the pale stretch of sky above and the ragged, uneven sound of your breathing.

The panic clawed up your throat, a sharp, suffocating thing, choking off air and thought. Your heart pounded so hard it hurt, a drumbeat of terror that made your limbs tremble.

It’s happening again. I can’t—I can’t—I can’t—

Your ears rang, a high, relentless whine drowning out everything else.

You felt weightless and crushingly heavy all at once, and then darkness—a soft, sudden drop.

The world slipped out from under you.

“I got her.”

The voice tugged you back to consciousness. You stirred, blinking a few times as the world tilted into focus. The dull ache in your head, the cold still clinging to your skin. You tensed instinctively, your first thought Joel — his arms steady around your shoulders.

But it wasn’t him.

It was Tommy.

“Damn,” he muttered, giving you a small shake. “You tryin’ to get me killed? You know what my brother’s gonna do to me when he finds out?”

You tried to sit up, your body heavy and sluggish. Tommy’s arm steadied you, his other hand gripping your jacket.

“Fuckin’ went on patrol without tellin’ anybody?” Tommy went on, his voice low, disappointment threading through it like a dull knife.

“Don’t start,” you snapped, brushing his arm off and trying to plant your boots under you. Your head spun, your chest still tight from earlier.

“I—”

Tommy’s scowl deepened, his brow furrowed hard. “Alright,” he cut you off, straightening and backing off. “But Joel’s gonna lose his shit—”

“Damn right I am,” came that familiar voice, rough as gravel and sharp enough to cut through bone.

You didn’t need to look up to feel the weight of Joel’s scowl bearing down on you as he stalked over, his boots heavy against the dirt, his jaw tight, eyes burning.

“What the hell were you thinkin’?” he barked, his voice low but deadly, months of fear and frustration packed into every word. “Sneakin’ out here like some damn kid? After everythin’—after what you—” He cut himself off, chest rising and falling like he’d sprinted across Jackson.

The sting of it hit you hard and sharp in your chest. All the exhaustion, shame, and grief boiled up too fast to stop.

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that!” you shot back, voice cracking under the weight of it, your hand balled into a fist at your side. “You don’t get to stand there and act like you own me, Joel!”

His face twisted, something like pain flickering behind the fury. “I ain’t tryin’ to own you, goddammit. I’m tryin’ to keep you alive!”

“I am alive,” you bit out, your voice trembling, eyes stinging. “And you hate it! You hate that I didn’t die like I was supposed to, that you had to fucking save me, and now you gotta deal with this broken, half-useful version of me!”

The words spilled out before you could stop them, sharp and reckless.

Joel went still.

The fight seemed to bleed out of Joel’s face, the stern scowl faltering, jaw clenching and unclenching like he had a dozen things to say but every one of them caught somewhere in his throat. His dark eyes flickered over your face, then to the ground, then back again.

“I’m not fragile,” you snapped, the words sharper than you meant, but you couldn’t stop them. “I’m not a fuckin’ child, you need to babysit every second.”

Your voice carried in the cool, brittle air like a whipcrack.

Tommy, standing nearby, cleared his throat and took a subtle step back, the unspoken I’m not getting in the middle of this shit clear on his face.

Joel’s jaw ticked, the muscle in his cheek twitching. His gaze dropped for a half-second to the ground, then back to you, hard and tired and goddamn terrified.

“You don’t have to risk your life just to prove a point,” he said, low and rough.

The words landed heavier than any shout.

Your chest heaved, heart pounding so hard it felt like it was rattling your ribs. The sting behind your eyes came fast, hot, and unwelcome.

“I wasn’t—” you started, then shut your mouth because you had been, even if you didn’t want to admit it.

Joel took a breath, his shoulders stiff and jaw tight, his face a storm of fear, and something brittle and broken in the lines around his mouth. His hand flexed at his side like he didn’t know what to do with it, like he was still deciding whether to reach for you or let you go.

And then he did.

Fingers brushing yours, hesitant for half a heartbeat before curling around your hand like a lifeline.

Not a word spoken, but you took it without hesitation because no matter how raw the air between you felt or how sharp the words cut between you moments ago, you couldn’t push him away completely.

Your fingers threaded through his firmly.

The walk through Jackson was heavy with it. A silence so thick it felt like another body walking beside you. The wind bit at your skin, the leaves crunching underfoot loud in the absence of voices. Joel’s thumb would brush against your knuckles occasionally, like he was reminding himself you were still there.

The silence followed you inside like a shadow, thick and suffocating. The door creaked shut behind you, and every step Joel took toward the kitchen made your frustration gnaw deeper, your chest tight and aching with everything unspoken.

You stood there, fist clenched at your side, heart pounding loudly in your ears.

“So that’s it?” you snapped, your voice sharp and cracking through the quiet. “You’re just done? You’re not even gonna yell at me?”

You slammed the door harder than you meant to, the sound rattling the windows.

Joel let out a short, bitter scoff, his back still to you as he moved toward the kitchen, jaw tight, shoulders stiff.

“Don’t you walk away from me, Joel,” you warned, your voice low and shaking with the weight of everything you’d been carrying.

He stopped.

His hands curled into fists at his sides, his shoulders rising with a slow breath. Then he turned a storm in his eyes, dark and relentless.

“Darlin’,” he said, voice rough, low, and edged with warning, “you are walkin’ on mighty thin ice.”

The room felt smaller for it, the air thick between you.

You took a step closer, the fury and fear knotting in your throat. “Good,” you bit out. “Maybe I’ll fall through and save you the trouble.”

Joel’s face tightened, something breaking behind his eyes, the words hitting deeper than either of you expected.

“Don’t say that,” he growled, voice sharp, his expression a raw mix of fear and pain.

“Why? It’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?” you threw back, heat stinging your eyes. “I’m a liability out there. I can’t shoot like I used to. Can’t fight. Hell, I can’t even stay in the goddamn saddle. You’re terrified every second I’m alive.”

“That’s not—” Joel started, his voice breaking.

“Then say it!” you shouted, the weight of it crushing you now, spilling out whether you wanted it to or not. “Say whatever the hell it is you’ve been holdin’ in, because this — this quiet, this waitin’ for the moment you snap—it’s killin’ me, Joel.”

“Is that what you want?” Joel asked, his voice low but cracking at the edges. “You want me to snap at you? You want me to fuckin’ yell?”

Your mouth opened, but no words came. You closed it again, throat tight.

He scoffed, a bitter, broken sound, running a hand down his face before dropping it to his side. His jaw clenched, and when he spoke again, it was rough, strained, like every word scraped against something raw in his chest.

“Fine.” He took a step toward you, his eyes searching yours. “Why the hell do you gotta prove somethin’, huh? Why’s it always you out there makin’ reckless goddamn choices just to prove you’re still somethin’ you never stopped bein’?”

You flinched. The truth of it hit too hard, too fast.

“You lied to me this mornin’,” Joel went on, his voice catching. “Looked me in the eye and told me you were meetin’ Ellie, and I believed you ‘cause I wanted to. Because I thought maybe you were finally—” he broke off, chest heaving, shoulders tight with restraint.

“I don’t hate you,” he rasped, quieter now, his voice fraying in the middle. “Christ, darlin’… there ain’t a goddamn thing about you I hate.”

His hand lifted like he meant to reach for you, then hovered, fingers twitching, unsure if he was allowed.

“I’m scared,” Joel admitted, his voice barely a breath now. “That’s it.”

You swallowed hard, your throat burning, your chest pulling tight like your ribs might crack open. You tried to speak, but nothing passed the knot lodged in your throat.

Joel dragged a sharp, shaky breath through his nose, eyes dropping to the floor as though he couldn’t look at you.

“I just… I can’t lose you,” he rasped.

The words hung in the space between you, thick with grief, with anger, with love neither of you knew how to carry properly.

Everything in you crumbled, splintering like glass under the weight of Joel’s words. A man who kept his feelings locked up tight, who buried grief and fear under years of calluses and hardened muscle — and here he was, cracked open and bleeding in front of you.

It left you gutted.

Left you realizing you weren’t the only one drowning.

“I’m sorry—” you choked, the words catching in your throat as your hand trembled, fingers curling uselessly at your side. The shame, the guilt, the endless ache of it clawed at your ribs.

Joel shook his head before you could get another word out. He crossed the space between you in two strides, his hands finding your face, thumbs rough against your skin, and then he pulled you in, wrapping his arms around you so tight it knocked the air from your lungs.

You let it happen. Let yourself fold into him, your face pressed against his chest, the steady, uneven beat of his heart thudding beneath your ear.

His hand cradled the back of your head, his other arm locked around your shoulders, holding on like he feared you might disappear if he let go.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your hand fisting in the fabric of his shirt.

“I didn’t mean to lie,” you whispered, your voice raw. “I just… I needed to feel like I could still be me.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” he murmured, pressing a rough, lingering kiss to your temple. “But you don’t gotta break yourself to prove you’re worth keepin’.”

“But I do,” you whispered, the words clawing out, brittle and desperate. “I have to prove it to myself, Joel.”

Your throat tightened, the ache blooming sharp behind your eyes. “I thought I was ready. I thought—” Your voice cracked, splintering like thin ice.

Joel didn’t answer. He just held you tighter, one hand stroking your back.

You let out a ragged sigh, your body sagging against him. There was no point in holding it anymore; no strength left to keep the walls up.

“For months,” you whispered, your words spilling into the quiet room, “I’ve tried not to fall apart. Pretended I was fine. Smiled when people looked. Made myself get up, move, eat, and laugh. But it’s been eating me alive, Joel. Every goddamn day.”

Your hand clenched tighter in his shirt.

“You…hovering…watching me like I’m about to break,” your voice broke, thick with tears. “I feel like a failure. Like nothing I do will ever be good enough now.”

You swallowed hard, the words a raw, ugly thing rising in your throat.

“I’m so fuckin’ scared too,” you confessed, the truth burning as it left you. “I hate myself for being this person now. For not being stronger. For not… for not being who I was.”

The next part came softer, jagged, and ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I guess I just… thought you saw me that way too.”

The words hung between you like a cloud.

Joel’s hand stilled against your back, his breath catching. You felt the tension ripple through him — not anger, not frustration. Just grief. Grief for you. For what you’d both lost.

His hand came up, cupping the back of your head, and he leaned his cheek against your hair.

“Listen to me, baby,” he said, voice hoarse, but thick with feeling. “Ain’t a thing about you that makes me ashamed. Not then. Not now. Not ever.”

He pulled back just enough to catch your face in his hands, his thumb rough but careful as it brushed beneath your eye, catching a tear before it could fall.

“I'm here,” he murmured, plain and certain.

Your throat tightened, and you managed a slight, shaky nod before the tears blurred your vision. The weight of being seen, wanted, even in all this ruin, cracked something open in your chest.

You buried your face in his chest, his warmth anchoring you as your tears soaked into the worn fabric of his shirt. His arms came around you again, tighter this time, one hand cradling the back of your head like he could hold you together by sheer will.

Even with Joel’s arms around you, his voice rough and steady in your ear, a part of you itched for distance, quiet, and space where you didn’t have to be seen or held together by anyone but yourself.

So once the tears dried and the ache behind your eyes dulled to a throb, you gently pulled away. Joel didn’t fight it. He just let you go, his hand lingering a second too long against your arm as you stepped back.

“I’m gonna shower,” you muttered, voice worn thin.

He only nodded, his expression unreadable, and you turned before you could see whatever was written in his eyes.

Upstairs, the house felt too quiet. Every floorboard creak beneath your boots sounded sharp in the silence. Dirt and sweat clung to your clothes, the stench of the patrol thick in your skin and hair.

You stripped down in the small, dim bathroom, peeling clothes stiff with grime away. Dark bruises bloomed along your ribs and hips, and the angry red mark of the fall crossed your shoulder.

Your reflection in the cracked mirror made your stomach turn.

The face looking back at you felt like a stranger’s — hollow-eyed, pale, thinner than you remembered. The sleeve of your shirt hung loose at your side where your hand used to be, the stump still scarred, a constant, unrelenting reminder.

You stared for too long, waiting for something—recognition? Or a flicker of the person you’d been before.

But the mirror gave you nothing.

Just a tired, broken thing pretending to be still standing.

You swallowed hard, turned the water on, and stepped into the shower before your legs gave out.

The scalding heat didn’t burn away the ache, but for a little while, it drowned out the noise in your head.

Once you stepped out of the shower, steam clinging to your skin, you grabbed a towel and wrapped it around yourself. The faint sound of footsteps outside the door reached you, trying too hard to be quiet.

You sighed, rubbing a hand down your face.

“I’m fine,” you called, sharper than you meant, annoyance and exhaustion tangled in your voice.

Silence.

Then, there was a soft creak of the bathroom door, and it opened just a crack.

Joel’s face appeared in the gap, his brow raised like he expected you to throw something at him. “I ain’t hoverin’,” he grunted.

Despite yourself, a small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Sure you’re not.”

Joel stepped in a little farther, lingering just inside the doorframe, his hand resting on the knob. He didn’t say anything for a second; he was just watching you in that quiet way of his.

“I can do this,” you said firmly, crossing the room and dropping onto the stool before the vanity. The old mirror was fogged around the edges, and the glass cracked in one corner. You grabbed the hairbrush with your hand, the bristles catching in your damp hair.

Joel’s jaw flexed, his gaze flicking down to your hand, then back to your face.

“I know,” he murmured, it wasn’t patronizing or pitying. It was just plain truth.

He lingered a beat longer, then gave a slight nod and backed out, pulling the door halfway shut behind him.

A part of you ached for Joel’s help. You could still feel the echo of his touch, the steady warmth of his arms around you downstairs. You knew he’d come if you so much as called his name. That was just who he was.

But the stubborn part of you, the one that hadn’t died with the rest of it, wanted to do this alone.

You let out a ragged sigh, staring at your reflection, so twisted inside you didn’t know what you wanted anymore.

Wasn’t that the whole damn point of loving someone? Of having them? So you didn’t have to carry all of it by yourself.

You set the brush down on the vanity with a soft clatter and reached for the small glass jar of cleanser you’d made weeks back. Your good hand wrapped around it, fingers slick against the smooth surface. You pressed your thumb to the lid and twisted.

You adjusted your grip and tried again. The jar slipped, catching the edge of the counter. Your heart spiked, and your breath caught sharply in your throat.

You clenched your jaw and gritted your teeth, fighting the sting in your eyes as you dug your fingers in, twisting harder.

The frustration cracked out of you like a whip.

“Goddammit!” you snarled, slamming the jar down harder than you meant to, the sound sharp in the small, quiet room. It didn’t shatter, but it rattled enough to hammer your pulse.

You swiped angrily at the tears threatening to fall. You’d opened this jar a hundred times before. It hadn’t been a problem.

So why now?

Why did everything feel so impossible when you were finally alone?

You leaned forward, bracing your hands on the vanity’s edge, your breath hitching, grief and rage and helplessness mixing thick in your chest.

You didn’t want to call for Joel, but you wanted him.

And you hated that you wanted him.

Did that make you weak?

You swallowed hard, the ache in your throat thick as you stared down at the stubborn little jar like it was mocking you.

“Joel?” you called, louder than you meant to, the sound cracking at the end.

A few seconds passed before the bathroom door eased open, and there he was — broad-shouldered, wary, his eyes searching your face.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he asked carefully, like he wasn’t sure which version of you he was about to find.

Your bottom lip quivered, and you forced it down, fighting the swell of frustration and shame.

“I need help,” you whispered, voice unsteady, your gaze flicking to the jar on the counter, then back to him.

Joel’s face softened instantly. He stepped inside, closing the door halfway behind him, and reached for the jar. His fingers gripped the lid and twisted it. It resisted for a second, then popped open with a soft, sharp sound.

You blinked, staring at it in disbelief, and then a laugh tumbled out of you, awkward and watery, catching both of you off guard.

“It… it was stuck,” you managed, rubbing a hand down your face, trying to collect yourself.

Joel’s brow furrowed, a little confused. “What’s that?”

“I—I couldn’t open the lid,” you admitted, your voice thick, eyes stinging again. “It was stuck, and I… I lost my shit over it.”

The confession hung there for a beat, heavier than it should’ve been.

Joel set the jar down and came closer, his hand brushing against your arm, his rough fingertips gentle.

“Hey,” he murmured, tilting his head so you had to look at him. “Ain’t about the jar, sweetheart. It’s everythin’ else.”

Your throat tightened, the sting behind your eyes sharp, but you forced yourself to nod.

Joel stayed there a moment longer, his hand still warm and steady on your arm like he wasn’t ready to let go. His thumb brushed absent circles against your skin, rough calluses catching on the fine hairs of your forearm.

“I’m here,” he said, softly and simply.

You swallowed hard, reached for the jar with trembling fingers, and then passed it toward him — a silent ask.

Joel hesitated. His brow furrowed as his eyes searched yours, as if making sure you really meant it.

“Darlin’…” he muttered, a rough little huff of breath. “I ain’t good at that kinda thing.”

“Please?” you whispered, voice wobbling, the word catching on a sharp edge of emotion you didn’t bother hiding.

Joel took the jar from your hand, setting it down gently on the vanity before grabbing a clean rag from the counter.

He dipped the cloth into the warm water from the sink, wrung it out with those sure, calloused hands, then reached for you.

“C’mere,” he murmured, coaxing you toward him.

You closed your eyes as the cloth pressed against your cheek, the heat of it a quiet shock against your chilled skin. Joel’s touch was gentle, his hand cupping your jaw to steady you as he wiped away the grime, the sweat, the evidence of the day you’d been dragging behind you.

The cloth moved over your skin in slow, deliberate strokes. Across your brow, down the bridge of your nose, along your jawline. Every swipe of his hand made you relax into his touch.

When he finished, he set the cloth aside, his thumb lingering on your cheekbone.

“Pretty girl,” he muttered, like it slipped out before he could catch it.

You let out a watery breath of a laugh.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your eyes finding his, the weight of everything unspoken lingering in the space between you.

Joel gave a gruff nod, then leaned down and pressed a rough kiss to your forehead—the scratch of his stubble against your skin.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. “You want that… what’s it — that lotion stuff you put on after?”

“Moisturizer, Joel,” you corrected softly, an honest chuckle slipping out before you could stop it.

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Yeah. Same thing.”

You rolled your eyes, another small laugh shaking loose, and reached for the small jar on the counter. “I can do it,” you said, your voice steadier now, though your hand trembled slightly as you unscrewed the lid.

He just gave you a quiet look — one you knew meant I’ll be right here if you need me — then stepped back, leaning against the doorframe, watching with that unreadable expression.

After you finished up, you padded out of the bathroom, the soft creak of the floorboards giving you away. Joel was already in bed, one arm propped behind his head, glasses perched low on his nose, a worn paperback balanced in his other hand. The bedside lamp cast a warm, flickering light across his face, softening the lines etched deep into his brow.

You crossed the room with bare, tentative steps, tension curling in your stomach as you slid beneath the covers on your side. The warmth of the bed was immediate, but it didn’t settle the ache in your chest. The silence between you still felt thick with everything left unsaid.

You stared at the ceiling, the familiar water stain in the corner catching your eye, and let out a quiet, uneven sigh.

“I…” you started, your voice too thin, too tight. You swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it might offer you some answer. “I know these past few months I’ve been…distant.”

The words felt jagged, scraping their way out.

“I tried to tell myself I was fine, didn’t need anyone, and could get through it on my own. But I…” Your voice faltered, throat tight, shame thick on your tongue.

Joel pushed his glasses up, folded them neatly on the nightstand, and set his book down. Then he turned, propping himself up on one elbow, his eyes on you.

You could feel the weight of his gaze, steady and unflinching.

“I hated it,” you whispered. “Feeling like a burden. Like every time you looked at me, you were waiting for me to fall apart.”

The confession landed in the dim, quiet room, a sharp ache pressing against your ribs.

“I didn’t wanna be another person you had to save,” you admitted, voice cracking. “I didn’t wanna be one more weight you had to carry.”

Joel’s brow furrowed, his jaw working like he was holding something back. His hand reached out, fingers brushing against the back of your hand where it rested on the blanket.

“You were never a burden,” he said quietly, his voice a low, worn thing. “You’re not somethin’ I gotta carry, baby. You’re somethin’ I wanna hold onto.”

“I know,” you rasped, voice cracking around the words. “I know you don’t see me that way. I do. I get it now.”

But it didn’t matter.

Your throat tightened, the sting behind your eyes sharp and unrelenting.

“It’s my head, Joel,” you choked out, your hand pressing against your chest like you could hold yourself together. “It’s a fuckin’ mess up here. These thoughts—” You shook your head, the words slipping out faster now, brittle and uneven. “I can’t shut ‘em off. I can’t breathe sometimes. And I… I don’t know what to do about it.”

The admission left you raw, exposed in a way you’d avoided for months.

You stared up at the ceiling like you were afraid of what you might see if you looked at him.

“I tell myself it’s fine that I’m okay. That it’s just a bad day, or it’ll pass, or I should be grateful I’m even still here. But it keeps coming back.” Your voice dropped to a whisper. “That voice in my head that says you’d be better off without me. That I’m not enough anymore. That I never was.”

A tear slipped down your temple into your hairline.

“I’m so tired, Joel.”

Joel’s hand slid across the space between you, warm and rough, threading his fingers through yours without a word. He squeezed your hand gently.

You finally turned your head, meeting his gaze.

Then, without a word, he reached over and switched off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into soft, familiar darkness. The only sound was the wind rattling faintly against the windowpane.

You felt the mattress shift as he lay back down, but instead of settling on his side of the bed, he reached for you, tugging gently at your hand.

“C’mere,” he said, voice rough, quiet.

You didn’t hesitate.

You slid closer, letting him pull you into his chest, his arm wrapping firmly around your shoulders. His other hand smoothed down your hair, fingertips catching lightly in the strands as he pressed his chin against the top of your head.

“You don’t gotta carry all that by yourself,” he whispered into your hair, like distant thunder. “You feel it? You give it to me. Piece by piece if you have to.”

You swallowed hard, blinking back fresh tears.

Joel didn’t rush you. Didn’t ask for more than you could give.

He just held you there, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.

The noise in your head didn’t fade as the minutes stretched on. It stayed — a restless hum beneath your ribs, a shadow at the edge of your thoughts. The ache, the guilt, the jagged pieces of fear. It was still there.

But for the first time… that was okay.

You felt it, named it, let it be what it was because this was you now.

You didn’t have to outrun it. Didn’t have to keep proving you were the person you’d been before. You were still here, in Joel’s arms. You realized you could carry it: the grief, the noise, the weight of the world. Not perfectly or quietly, but you could manage.

You exhaled, your hand fisting gently in the fabric of Joel’s shirt.

“Okay,” you whispered into the quiet.

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wooyoungiewritings · 7 hours ago

Text

Borrowed Time - Seonghwa x Reader (EPILOGUE)

Summary: It's been a year since you and Seonghwa decided to commit to each other fully. You have a date night, casual teasing as usual, until you accidentally say something that makes Seonghwa doubt himself. Wanting to apologize, you do what you know he'll love. And it's not for the weak ones.

Word count: 11.1K

Genre: Fluff, Rich Seonghwa, SMUT

warnings: Seonghwa with reader (fem pronouns), she accidentally hurts Seonghwa's feelings, our boy is sad and hurt :(, TEASING, Seonghwa is a menace, DOM/SUB Seonghwa, DOM/SUB reader, fingering, oral (fem and male receiving), LOTS of dirtytalk, sex while on the phone (omg yall it's so filthy i'm sorry), creampie, aftercare (<3), lmk if I missed anything!

Authors note: The very last chapter we're gonna get from this story and this Seonghwa.. A little bittersweet because I LOVED writing him and I can tell he's got you all hooked as well. But thank you so much for the support on the story, I can't put into words how thankful I am. I wish you all the best, stay tuned for the next story! <3

This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Seonghwa in any way.

It’s been a year since you and Seonghwa officially started your relationship, and so much has changed. The time between you has been full of growth, personally, emotionally, and together as a couple. What started as stolen moments between two people who couldn’t help but be drawn to each other has evolved into something solid and unshakable.

You left your old life behind in more ways than one. The house you once shared with your ex-husband, the memories of your past life, all of it now feels like a distant chapter. With Seonghwa’s quiet, unwavering support, you packed up your things, everything from old photos that no longer held meaning, to the things that represented who you used to be.

Seonghwa helped you move every single item from your old house. He was there for the little things, like when you found the remnants of an old birthday card tucked away in a box, or when you had to call the movers to sort through the mess of broken furniture. Through it all, he remained a constant. His presence was a reassurance, his touch gentle but firm when you needed it.

You moved into his place soon after. His apartment, which already had the warmth of someone who lived there fully, felt like home in an instant.

And yet, the transition hasn’t been without its challenges. Your ex-husband, in the wake of everything, struggled to understand why you had chosen to walk away. Even after the day your ex-husband tried to lash out at Seonghwa and he had pulled a knife. The arguments had been tense, but Seonghwa made you feel safe.

Your ex-husband was charged with assault and carrying a weapon. The legal proceedings have been slow, but it’s clear he’s facing serious consequences for his actions. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but it’s also a relief. You’re no longer tethered to a life that no longer made sense, and Seonghwa’s support through the entire ordeal has been everything you needed.

The candle flickers between you at the restaurant midtown, silverware clinking against plates, low conversations around you filling the silence as you have dinner with the love of your life.

“Wait, did you remember to move the laundry before we left?” you ask, mid-laugh, swirling the wine in your glass as you lean toward him across the table. There’s a tiny smudge of sauce on your plate and soft piano music humming through the air, but all you’re looking at is him.

Seonghwa pauses, fork halfway to his mouth. The guilt flashes across his face immediately. “...I absolutely did not.”

You gasp, faux-offended. “Seonghwa.”

“I got distracted!” he defends quickly, placing his fork down. “You were standing in the hallway wearing that dress and spraying perfume and looking like… like that-, what was I supposed to do? I barely remembered how to speak, let alone handle the laundry.”

You smirk, tilting your head. “So, we’re coming home to damp, probably mildew-scented towels. Again.”

He gives you a sheepish look, reaching for his wine. “I’ll rewash them. I swear. With lavender detergent. Extra soft cycle. Don’t punish me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh, I will punish you.”

He coughs into his drink, eyes flicking up to yours with a flicker of heat. “Not sure if that was meant to sound like a threat or a promise, but either way, I’m listening.”

The smile you give him is wicked and slow. “Depends on how the towels smell when we get home.”

He exhales through a breathy laugh, watching you like he’s almost tempted to skip dessert and drag you home right now. His fingers tap idly against the stem of his glass. “You’re lucky I love you.”

You kick his ankle gently beneath the table. “You’re lucky I love you. You’ve ruined three loads of laundry in the last month and tried to blame it on the weather.”

“The weather was humid.”

You roll your eyes, but you're still smiling. His hand slides across the table to brush yours. Warm, calloused fingertips graze your knuckles, lingering. The light from the candles flickers against his jaw, casting shadows that make him look dangerously beautiful.

You intertwine your fingers with his. “Are you working late on Monday?”

Seonghwa’s gaze lifts to meet yours, his thumb still idly stroking along your palm. “No,” he says. “Switched a few things around. I’m all yours.”

You hum softly, your foot sliding slowly up his leg under the table, brushing along the warm skin through his trousers. The slow movement isn’t innocent, you feel it, and so does he. “Good,” you say, lips curving into a sly smile, the kind that hints you’re already miles ahead in your own head.

His eyes narrow just a little, curious. “Why?”

You glance at your wine, then back at him, smirking like you’re keeping a secret. “Because I already know how I want you Monday night.”

His fork freezes halfway to his plate.

“…You can’t just say that to me in public,” he mutters, eyes darkening slightly.

You tilt your head. “But I just did.”

His eyes flicker over your lips, then back up to your eyes, burning with a heat that makes your breath hitch. He raises his glass slowly, taking a measured sip, jaw tightening as if fighting a rising tide of want. The silence stretches, thick and electric.

He watches you over the rim of his glass as he drinks, jaw tight, eyes smoldering. “Tell me.”

You blink, pretending to play innocent. “Tell you what?”

His voice dips lower, more dangerous. “How you want me.”

You lean in just a little closer, your eyes locked on his, shining with that mischievous light he knows too well. The restaurant’s soft lighting brushes over your skin, but all he can focus on is your voice, smooth and casual, like you’re talking about the weather.

“Monday,” you say, slow and deliberate, “I want you to tie me up.”

He nearly chokes on his wine. The glass slips, and he coughs, hand flying to his throat as if trying to catch his breath. His eyes widen, flicking around the restaurant like he’s checking if anyone else heard what you said.

You sit back, innocently biting your lip, pretending to be utterly unaware of the effect you just had.

His fingers tremble slightly as they fumble with the top button of his shirt, loosening it with more force than necessary. He leans back, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to shake off the sudden rush of heat, but his eyes never leave you. “That’s not something you just throw out casually over dinner.

You shrug slowly, biting your lip. “I mean, you can. If you want to.”

He blinks, slow and deliberate, like he’s just recalibrating his thoughts. His usual steady composure flickers for a heartbeat, just a quick flash of surprise, but then he smiles, cool and collected, fingers tightening on the wine glass as if to remind himself who’s in charge.

“You say that like it’s nothing,” he murmurs, voice low, eyes darkening with something sharper now. “But I can see exactly what it does to you… seeing me like this.” His gaze drifts to your lips for a moment before snapping back to your eyes, cutting through your teasing smile.

You bite your lip, slow and deliberate, watching him more than you speak. “Maybe I like seeing you like this,” you say, voice innocent, but the heat behind it is unmistakable.

He chuckles, deep and slow, the kind of sound that promises he’s not about to lose control, no matter how much you push. “Careful,” he warns, leaning closer, his breath brushing your cheek. “You’re tempting me in all the wrong ways, and I’m not sure I’ll play nice Monday.”

You settle into the challenge, your fingers tightening around his hand beneath the table. “Good,” you whisper. “I wouldn’t want anything less.”

The evening ends with sexual tension and laughter still lingering between you two, the kind of easy, effortless laughter that fills the air as you walk down the sidewalk. The night is cool but not too chilly, and Seonghwa’s hand is warm in yours. You chat about nothing in particular, tossing around silly comments and inside jokes. It’s just the two of you, enjoying the simplicity of being together after so much time has passed.

“We need to pick up a few things for the week,” you say, breaking the comfortable silence between you as you step toward a convenience store. “I don’t feel like cooking tomorrow. Maybe just a quick, easy dinner.”

Seonghwa gives a nod of agreement, his smile soft and easy. “I got it,” he says, already heading inside with you. “You just tell me what you need.”

You follow him through the automatic doors, the familiar buzz of the store greeting you with its aisles of snacks, drinks, and everyday essentials as Seonghwa grabs a basket.

He picks up a few things, your favorite tea, the cereal you’ve been eating for months, a couple of random things that seem to just appear in his hands as if he knows what you like before you do. It’s easy, almost like you don’t need to say anything at all, and he just knows what to do.

You can’t help but feel a little guilty. “You always do too much,” you joke, glancing at him as you reach the pasta aisle. “I don’t need all of this. I can do it myself.”

He laughs, a light sound that makes your heart feel full. “I know you can,” he says, but his tone softens slightly. “I just like to take care of you. I want you to feel good at home.”

You stop for a second, glancing at the shelves and picking out a jar of pasta sauce. “Yeah, I know. It’s sweet of you.” You pause, a teasing smile playing at your lips as you turn to him. “But don’t get too comfortable, you know. You’re not the only guy who can win me over.”

You say it offhandedly, your tone light, more as a joke than anything else. But as soon as the words leave your lips, you don’t notice the shift in Seonghwa’s expression. His smile falters for just a second, his eyes clouding over with something that catches him off guard.

He doesn’t even know why it stings so badly. It’s just a joke. A stupid, offhand remark. But suddenly, he’s questioning everything.

He takes a deep breath, his gaze drifting toward the shelves in front of him as he forces a smile, but it’s tight, and it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You’re already moving on, picking up a carton of milk and dropping it into the basket. “So, should we get eggs? I’m kind of craving some scrambled eggs for breakfast tomorrow.”

Seonghwa just nods, quiet, as he grabs a few more things off the shelves, his movements slightly slower now. He keeps his distance, trying to figure out what to say, what to do, but the uncertainty in him is louder than anything else. He’s unsure of how to move forward without feeling like he’s overstepping, unsure if being this sweet, this attentive, has been a mistake all along.

You don’t notice it, but for him, it feels like a reality he’s been dreading, a quiet reminder that no matter how much he tries to be perfect, no matter how much effort he pours into showing you he’s there for you, there’s always the possibility that you might slip away.

You push open the door to the convenience store with your hip, arms full of snacks, grinning as Seonghwa keeps it open for you without a word. The cool night air hits your skin, and you shiver slightly as you step out under the glow of the parking lot lights.

“I swear, we went in for two things and came out with enough for a sleepover party,” you say, adjusting the bags in your arms.

You glance at him, expecting a grin, maybe a sarcastic comment, but his face is neutral, lips drawn into a soft line, eyes focused on the pavement as you walk to the car.

The ride back is quiet. You talk most of the way, telling him about a trailer you saw earlier for a movie you want to watch, asking him about the weekend. He gives short answers. There’s no more teasing tonight. No warmth in his voice. But you’re still caught up in your own good mood, not quite catching on.

When you pull up to the apartment, he takes the bags without a word. You thank him, distracted, already going on about what movie you might watch while unpacking things in the kitchen.

He helps, silently passing things to you or putting them away himself. No jokes. No small touches. Just a quiet presence.

At one point, you bump into him while reaching for the fridge handle. He steps back quickly, avoiding the usual playful contact.

You don’t think about it. You’re already talking about something else.

Later, when you crawl into bed and call out to him to hurry up, he just murmurs, “Coming,” from the bathroom.

He slides in beside you a few minutes later, settling stiffly on his side of the bed. His arm is warm when it wraps around you, but there’s hesitation in the way he holds you, like he’s not sure he should.

You let out a happy sigh, burying your face in his chest. “I love nights like this.”

He smiles, but you don’t see that it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Me too.”

But inside, your words still echo.

“Don’t get too comfortable. You’re not the only guy who can win me over.”

You’d said it like a joke. Something flippant. Light. But it hadn’t landed that way.

Not to him.

Because he was comfortable. Not with the idea of being safe, but with you. Because he didn’t think of this as temporary. Because he'd been trying so hard to be everything you needed.

And maybe that was the mistake.

He stares at the ceiling long after your breathing slows. He wonders if he’s been too much. Or maybe not enough.

He closes his eyes, and holds you tighter anyway.

***

The apartment is quiet when you wake. The warm morning light spills through the curtains, soft and golden, but it does nothing to soothe the weight in your chest. You turn over expecting to find Seonghwa asleep, but he’s already up, sitting at the edge of the bed, shirtless, hunched slightly, hands resting on his thighs.

You blink the sleep from your eyes, sitting up slowly. “You okay?”

He turns with a small smile, one that barely brushes his lips. “Yeah. Just couldn’t sleep much.”

There’s something distant about him. You watch as he pulls on a hoodie, movements slower than usual, like his body is weighed down by something heavier than tiredness.

You hesitate. “You sure you’re okay?”

He nods, still avoiding your eyes. “Do you want coffee? I was about to make some.”

You climb out of bed, following him to the kitchen. He doesn’t reach for your hand like he usually does. He doesn’t tease you about being a sleepyhead or offer you the first cup like he always does without fail. Instead, he pours two mugs silently, sliding one across the counter to you without looking up.

“Thanks,” you say softly. He just nods.

Something’s off. Really off.

“Are we okay?” you ask quietly.

There’s a pause. Just a breath too long.

“Of course,” he says gently. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

You look into his eyes with worry, brows furrowing. “Because you’re acting weird.”

“I’m not.” He smiles again, but it’s too quick. Too practiced. He leans against the counter and sips his coffee, eyes down. You study him for a long moment.

“Seonghwa.”

He exhales through his nose, gaze dropping to his coffee. “I don't want to make a big deal out of it.”

“Out of what?”

He hesitates, then shakes his head. “Nothing. Seriously. Let’s not-”

“No,” you cut in, your voice soft but steady. “You always tell me to be honest with you. That I don’t have to pretend I’m okay when I’m not.”

That stops him. His eyes lift to yours. For a second, they just search your face, like he’s trying to gauge how much to say. Whether it’s worth the risk.

Then something gives. A crack in the surface.

“…Right,” he murmurs, voice quiet.

“So…” you continue gently. “Can’t you do the same with me?”

His jaw tenses a little, he looks like he’s thinking through every possible way to respond. His lips press together, and he exhales through his nose like he’s been holding it in all night. He sets the cup down slowly. Then finally, he speaks.

“That thing you said last night,” he says. “About me not being the only guy who can win you over.”

You feel the air still. Your heart dips.

He gives a soft, humorless chuckle, but there’s no real amusement in it. “I know it was a joke. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

“But it hurt,” you say.

He nods slowly. “Yeah. It did.”

You wait, quietly.

“I know it was a joke,” he says, finally meeting your eyes. “But I’ve been trying so hard to be good for you. I don’t expect anything back. I just… I want to be the person who makes you feel safe. Loved. Like you’re not alone. And hearing that…” He pauses again, swallowing thickly. “It felt like none of it mattered. Like it could be anyone. Like I could lose you just like that.”

He lets out a breath, voice more fragile now. “And it made me wonder if I’ve been doing too much. If I’m just overwhelming you.”

“No, Seonghwa-” you begin, but he gently raises a hand.

“I know you didn’t mean it that way,” he says quickly, softer this time. “But I need you to know that I’m not trying to be some perfect boyfriend. I just want to be someone you don’t want to leave.”

You don’t speak, your chest is too tight.

“I spent the night wondering if I’m just… trying too hard.” he took a deep breath. “I thought maybe if I did everything right, I wouldn’t have to worry,” he says, his tone finally beginning to crack. “But when you said that, when you laughed and told me not to get too comfortable, it was like… I don’t know. Like I could do everything right and it still wouldn’t be enough. That maybe I am too comfortable.”

Your chest tightens.

“That’s my worst nightmare. That I’m doing everything I can and I’d still lose you. And I can't lose you again.”

You step closer, cupping his cheek. He leans into the touch instinctively, eyes closing for a moment.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean it. I never wanted to hurt you. I was careless with my words, and I’m so sorry. You do so much for me, more than I deserve, honestly. I’m grateful every day that you’re here.”

His eyes finally meet yours, and for the first time since yesterday, you see the mask drop completely. The hurt. The quiet fear beneath the surface. Like something delicate in him has cracked open.

He gives a slow nod as he closes his eyes briefly, jaw working as if holding back something. “You don’t have to say that. I know. I see it too.”

You smile softly, the corners of your lips lifting with genuine warmth. “I want you to know, I see everything you do. And I see you. I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to prove yourself to me. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He opens his eyes, shimmering with something tender and real. Then, with a small, almost shy smile, he cups your face and pulls you into a kiss, Slow, deep, full of all the unspoken words between you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper against his lips. Stroking your thumb along his cheek.

“I know,” he murmurs, voice raw.

Then his hands find your waist again, sliding gently over your sides, grounding himself in your warmth. He leans in, pressing his lips to yours again, not rushed, not needy, just full of quiet emotion. A kiss that says we’re okay.

You melt into him, arms winding around his shoulders as his fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt. He kisses you again, and again, soft and slow, like he can’t get enough of you. Like he’s memorizing the way you feel, the way you taste when it’s safe again between you.

When you pull back just enough to breathe, your noses bump and you both laugh under your breath, forehead to forehead. His thumb brushes beneath your jaw as he kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then your forehead.

Then you feel his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in as he breathes you in like he needs it, like he missed this even in the smallest absence.

You smile again, a little crooked now, brushing your nose against his. “Can we go make breakfast now? I want to pretend this morning started in the kitchen. Not me being an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” He laughs, low and genuine, kissing your forehead. “Maybe a little,” he teases gently. “But you’re my idiot.”

You smile, cheeks flushed, and slide your arms around his neck. “So… should we start the day over?”

He grins, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

Fingers laced, hearts lighter, you head further into the kitchen together, ready to begin the morning again, this time side by side.

You start pulling ingredients from the fridge, working in easy rhythm together. He’s in charge of eggs, and you handle the toast and coffee. Every time he passes behind you, his hand brushes along your lower back or waist, and you steal a kiss on his cheek each time he reaches for something near you. It’s sweet, almost ridiculous, like you’re teenagers in love for the first time, unable to keep your hands to yourselves.

You’re standing at the counter spreading butter when your phone buzzes in your hoodie pocket.

You pull it out lazily. The name on the screen makes your stomach twist.

Ex-husband Can we talk? Please. I just want to see you.

The sight of his name alone used to wreck you, stir up all the confusion and pain. But now… now it just feels distant. Faint. You stare at the screen for a second, lips parting in surprise. Not because it’s unexpected, he’s been sending messages like this every few months, but because of how numb you feel reading it now.

Your eyes drift to Seonghwa. He’s by the stove, sleeves pushed up, brow furrowed slightly as he cracks an egg with one hand, effortlessly graceful even in a hoodie and sweats. He glances over and smiles at you, the kind of smile that says you’re his favorite part of the morning.

Something swells in your chest. You lock your phone without replying and leave it on the counter.

Then, quietly, you walk up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist.

He freezes for half a second, then leans back into you with a breathy little laugh. “Again?”

“Mhm,” you mumble into the fabric of his hoodie. “Can’t help it.”

Your hands slide up under the hem of his hoodie and find the bare skin of his stomach, soft at first, then slowly tracing over firm muscle with featherlight fingers.

“I love you,” you whisper.

His breath hitches. “I love you too but,” then, low and warm: “you need to be careful.”

You bite back a grin and slowly release him, stepping away like nothing happened. “Sorry,” you sing innocently, moving back to your toast.

He watches you out of the corner of his eye, a smirk pulling at his lips as he stirs the eggs. But you act like you didn’t just get a reaction out of him. Like you didn’t just wake something up.

He chuckles, but then pauses when you lean over the counter just a bit too far, the curve of your body on full display. Your hoodie rides up just enough to tease his imagination, and your little satisfied sigh as you sip your coffee doesn’t help.

Even with the tension rising between you, there’s something light and beautiful in the air. You steal bites from each other’s plates, wipe crumbs off each other’s lips, laugh too loudly when you burn the first toast. You kiss over the coffee pot.

It’s not dramatic or extravagant, but it’s everything.

The quiet gratitude that you don’t have to wish for love anymore. You’re living it.

The rest of the morning flows in that slow, perfect rhythm. Dishes done together, sunlight spilling through the windows, occasional kisses stolen in the hallway. It’s one of those quiet days that doesn’t need a plan. No errands. No meetings. Just two people wrapped up in each other, moving through the softness of a lazy Sunday.

By early afternoon, Seonghwa is curled up on the couch, legs stretched out, one arm draped along the backrest. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and an old black tee, barefoot, hair a little messy from your fingers running through it earlier. His phone rests beside him, untouched. Some documentary plays in the background, but he isn’t really watching it. He’s just… existing. Content.

You peek around the corner from the hallway, heart fluttering as you tighten the belt on your robe. You come padding into the room, soft steps on the hardwood floor. He glances up casually at first, then does a double take.

You’re wrapped in your short silkrobe, cinched tight at the waist, hair still slightly damp from the shower, skin soft and glowing. Something about the way you carry yourself is different. Intentional. A quiet tension hums beneath your slow approach, and it draws him in immediately.

He’s watching you too closely now, sensing something in the air.

“Hey,” you murmur, stopping a few feet from where he sits.

“Hey,” he says back, voice a little rougher now. “You okay?”

You nod, gaze flickering down as you toy with the edge of your sleeve. “I was just… thinking about last night again.”

His brows pull together slightly. “You don’t have to keep thinking about that. We talked-”

“I know,” you say quickly. “I know we did. And I know you said it’s okay. But I still feel bad.”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing just a touch as he studies you. “You don’t need to. Really.”

You take another slow step forward, the robe shifting slightly with your movement. His eyes follow the delicate sway of fabric, the way it clings and parts at your legs just enough to hint at what’s underneath.

“But I want you to know,,” you say, eyes flickering to his and away again. “That I really hate that I said something that made you feel like I didn’t love you enough. Or that you weren’t enough. You are. You’re… everything to me.”

He blinks, caught off guard by the sincerity in your voice. His throat bobs as he swallows, caught off guard by how soft your voice is. How close you’re getting. How goddamn breathtaking you look under this lazy afternoon light, skin glowing, lashes casting shadows, mouth pink and nervous.

You take another step, and he shifts a little on the couch, legs parting instinctively as you drift closer into the space between them. You’re not touching him, not yet, but the tension is a livewire stretched between you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, eyes meeting his. “I’m really sorry.”

He blinks slowly. “You’ve said that like… four times now.”

You smile, just barely, lashes lowering. “I know. I just need you to understand how much I mean it.”

“Mmhm,” he hums suspiciously. “And this doesn’t feel at all like the start of something else?”

You widen your eyes innocently. “Like what?”

His gaze drops to where your robe has shifted slightly, just the faintest hint of something darker, softer, underneath. Not skin, not yet, but something lacy and out of place for a lazy Sunday.

Your smile grows, sweet, cheeky, utterly full of mischief. The robe shifts again as you step even closer, until you’re right in front of him, standing between his legs, barely breathing. You pull at the belt just slightly, just enough that it loosens at your waist.

“I just want to say sorry properly,” you murmur, the robe loosening, parting just slightly at the top to reveal a delicate strap against your shoulder. “That’s all.”

“Uh huh,” he says, dry but breathless, leaning back into the couch like he’s trying to maintain some sort of composure. “Just a pure, heartfelt apology?”

“Exactly. Nothing more.”

His gaze flickers over you, jaw slackening as more and more of the robe shifts, revealing the delicate curve of your waist, the high cut of the lingerie hugging your hips, the way the lace kisses your skin in all the places he loves most.

You drop the robe entirely, letting it slide off your shoulders and down your arms in one fluid, quiet movement.

His mouth opens, but no words come out. He’s completely paralyzed, unable to form anything coherent, his eyes glued to you, his gaze scanning the curve of your body like he’s memorizing every detail.

You’re standing above him in the most stunning set of black lingerie he’s ever seen, something sheer, something lace, something you bought weeks ago but never wore. You’d told yourself it had to be the right time. Something meaningful. Not just lust, but love. Trust. A real connection.

And today, after the talk, the honesty, the sweetness. Today feels like that day.

But it’s not just the outfit. It’s you. The confidence in your posture, the softness in your expression, the way you look at him like he’s the only thing that matters.

You place your hands on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing underneath your fingertips.

His hands twitch at his sides, but he doesn’t dare touch you, not yet. Not until you allow it.

You lean forward, just enough for him to feel your breath ghosting across his skin. His eyes flutter, and you smirk, knowing exactly what you’re doing to him. You move your lips closer to his neck, brushing softly at first, testing the waters. You pull his hair gently, just enough to tilt his head back. Your lips trail lower, over his pulse, down to his collarbone, leaving light, lingering kisses.

Seonghwa’s body tenses with every touch, his hands curling into fists beside him. His lips part again, but it’s still only a soundless gasp.

"Seonghwa..." you whisper, your hands sliding down his body, fingers tracing the muscles under his shirt, teasing him with just enough contact to drive him crazy. You look up at him, your eyes glimmering with mischief as you drag your fingertips along his abs, taking your time.

He’s shaking, his breath coming in uneven pants now, but still, he can’t speak. He doesn’t know how to. There’s nothing to describe how beautiful you are, nothing he can say to capture how stunning, how perfect you look standing before him, so in control.

One thing you’ve learned about Seonghwa this year is how he adores when you take control. When you take the lead, tell him what to do, all while behaving so innocent. It weakens him and you love it.

And when you reach the hem of his shirt, he finally mutters something close to a whisper, his voice thick with need.

Your heart races as you drop down onto your knees, placing yourself between his legs. He doesn’t move, his eyes wide, drinking in the sight of you. You gaze up at him through your lashes, your hands resting lightly on his thighs. There’s a playful glint in your eyes, one that tells him exactly what you're about to do.

“Seonghwa,” you murmur softly, still looking up at him, “I don’t want to make you feel like you're not enough,” you continue, your voice sweet but layered with something deeper now, something he can’t ignore. “I feel so bad for saying what I did.”

You let your hands slide up his thighs slowly, the touch light and teasing. He’s growing noticeably harder under your touch, his body betraying him, but he’s still silent, completely at your mercy. You smile softly, knowing the effect you’re having on him.

“Do you know what it does to me… watching you try so hard to take care of me?” you ask, voice airy, adoring. Your fingers moving higher now, brushing gently against his waistband. You let the edge of your fingers trace the fabric, feeling him react to every light touch. “How strong you are? How patient?”

Seonghwa swallows, the tension in his jaw obvious. “Y/N,” he manages, but his voice is shaky, low. “What are you doing?”

You look up at him, your expression innocent, yet full of mischief. “I’m just trying to apologize properly,” you reply, voice sweet and slow. “Don’t you want me to make it up to you?”

His mouth opens, but no words come out. He’s breathless, completely caught in the spell you’ve woven around him.

You give him a playful, teasing smile as your fingers tease the waistband of his sweats.

Seonghwa's eyes flicker between your face and your hands, watching your every movement as you tease him.

You finally slide your fingers under the waistband of his sweats, your touch just light enough to make his body tense. Slowly, you begin to touch him, gently, at first, just over the fabric, and he inhales sharply, caught between breath and moan.

“Does that feel good?” you ask innocently, your voice sweet, but there’s no hiding the teasing tone.

His chest heaves with another shaky breath, and he finally speaks, though his voice is hoarse and strained. “Y/N… you’re killing me…”

You don’t stop, your hand moves lower, wrapping around him just slightly through the fabric, feeling the full length of him, the heat of his skin through the material. He groans softly, his eyes closing for a moment as his grip tightens on the couch.

“I love you,” you murmur softly, voice tender but with a hint of playful fire. “You’re the strongest, most incredible man I’ve ever known. You make me feel safe, loved... like I’m the most important thing in the world to you.”

He swallows hard, jaw tight, eyes dark and fixed on you like you’re the only thing that matters. He’s completely under your spell now.

Your nails skim lightly beneath the elastic, just enough to make his breath catch again. You glance up at him through your lashes, lips barely parted.

“Still okay?” you ask sweetly, voice soft and full of false innocence.

He swallows hard, then gives a weak, breathless nod. “Y-Yeah,” he manages.

You hum approvingly and begin to ease his sweats down slowly, your fingers careful and unhurried. He lifts his hips just slightly to help, and you smile at his obedience. The fabric drags over his skin until the waistband of his briefs is exposed, then those too, bit by bit, revealing the unmistakable evidence of how much he’s aching for you.

He’s fully hard now, flushed and heavy, resting against his stomach. You pause for a moment, eyes fixed on him, before looking up to meet his gaze again. He’s watching you like he’s dreaming, his lips parted, chest rising with shallow breaths.

“You’re so quiet,” you whisper, teasing. “No words for me?”

He tries, but nothing comes out. Just a soft, guttural sound in the back of his throat as you lean in, breath ghosting over his skin.

You place a single kiss just above his hipbone, your hands spreading over his thighs, holding him still. Then another kiss, lower this time, close enough that his body jerks ever so slightly.

You run your fingers along the inside of his thigh, nails grazing delicately as you keep your eyes on him. “You’re incredible,” you murmur, your voice rich and low, “So strong, patient, and completely perfect.”

His hand twitches against the cushion, and he exhales sharply.

“You always make me feel so good,” you go on, brushing your lips over his lower stomach, so soft it’s barely contact. “And now it’s your turn.”

You trail your fingers to the base of his length, light and slow, and he groans, finally breaking the silence.

“Please…” he whispers.

You smile. “Please, what?”

His eyes meet yours, dark, dazed, desperate. “Just… please.”

You press one more kiss to the base of him, just above where your hand rests. Then your lips part, and you finally take him in your mouth, just the tip, warm and slow, and his head falls back against the couch with a quiet, broken sound.

You hollow your cheeks slightly, tongue teasing the underside as you start to move. Soft, steady, deliberate.

He’s unraveling already, hips twitching beneath your hold, one hand leaving the couch to bury itself in your hair. But even then, he doesn’t push or guide, he just holds, grounding himself.

You pull back just enough to speak, your voice low and sultry. “Do you want to touch me?”

His eyes darken with need, flickering between your face and your body. His breath hitches, voice rough and eager. “Please… can I?”

You smile, slow and knowing. “Not yet.”

His hand twitches in the air, hesitant, like he’s begging for permission, utterly captivated by your control.

With a playful gleam, you reach for the thin rope from your robe, twisting it between your fingers. Before he can protest, you loop the soft fabric around his wrists, knotting them together gently but firmly. His breath catches, a mix of surprise and thrill sparking in his eyes.

You smile, satisfied, and then take him in deeper this time, tongue curling, hand stroking what you don’t fit. He groans again, louder now, the sound raw and unfiltered. His hands tied tightly, leaving him utterly helpless. All he can do now is watch you, eyes wide, breath hitching.

You’ve got him exactly where you want him, breathless, speechless, and completely at your mercy.

And the best part is: you’re just getting started.

“Say something,” you purr, kissing the sensitive tip again, tongue flicking out ever so lightly. “Or are you already too far gone?”

He tightens what little grip he has, hands bound, clutching at the air, then shakes his head as if trying to clear the fog.

“I-, fuck-,” he rasps, voice low and hoarse. “You’re… unbelievable.”

You giggle sweetly, like it’s the most innocent thing in the world, dragging your tongue slowly along the underside of him in a long, languid lick that makes his hips jerk and a choked moan escape his throat.

“Mm. You liked that,” you say smugly, then take him back into your mouth, a little deeper this time, slow and warm and deliberate.

You pull off with a soft pop, saliva connecting your lips to his skin for just a moment before you lick it away, hand replacing where your mouth was, stroking him in that perfect rhythm that makes his head fall back with a desperate groan.

“You’re shaking,” you tease gently, voice full of amusement. “Is that for me?”

He barely nods, swallowing hard. “Y-yeah. You-, fuck, Y/N, you’re gonna kill me.”

You pout mockingly. “Awh, I know you can take it.”

He lets out a broken laugh, half-disbelief, half-plea, and you grin, proud of yourself.

“I’m here to take care of you,” you say sweetly, licking the tip again, giving him one slow stroke from base to tip. “You know you’re doing so well, don’t you?”

His voice is barely there now. “Yes… I try.”

You pull back, breath warm against his skin, eyes sparkling.

“Good,” you whisper. “Because I’m not stopping until I say so.”

Your mouth returns to him, slow and hot and wet, and this time, you suck just a little harder, swirl your tongue in just the right spot, and the noise he makes? It’s ruined. Absolutely ruined.

His breath is ragged now, chest rising and falling like he just ran miles, tied hands clenched into fists, thighs trembling under your touch. Every time your mouth pulls off him, he lets out the softest sound of frustration, like it’s physically painful to be denied.

And you love it.

You press a soft kiss to the inside of his thigh, then lick slowly back up to his hip.

“Y/N-” he groans, his voice cracking around your name.

You glance up at him, lips glistening, cheeks flushed. “Hmm?”

His eyes are wrecked, pleading, helpless, needy. “I’m-, fuck, I’m close. Can I-...”

You give him one more long stroke, slow and tight, then let go completely, hands sliding back up his trembling thighs instead.

“Can you what?” you ask sweetly, feigning innocence even as your eyes gleam with control.

He swallows hard. “Can I… can I cum?”

You tilt your head, pretend to think about it, even as your hands press into his thighs to spread him a little wider between your knees.

“I don’t know…” you murmur, lips curving. “Do you want to?”

“Yes,” he breathes out instantly, no hesitation, no shame. “Please.”

You trail one hand up his stomach, nails scraping lightly over his skin under his shirt, just to feel the shudder it sends through him. Then you lean up, mouth at his ear.

“But wouldn’t it feel better,” you whisper slowly, “if you came inside me instead?”

He practically whimpers.

You pull back, just enough to see the complete desperation in his eyes, the flush in his cheeks, the way he’s barely holding himself together.

“Do you want that, baby?” you ask gently, your thumb brushing over the head of his cock, making him jolt. “Want to be inside me?”

“Yes-, fuck, yes, please.”

You smile, satisfied. Then, your hands move to the rope binding his wrists, fingers working carefully to loosen the knot. His eyes widen, breath hitching as you free him, letting his hands fall to your skin.

Then you pull back just enough to meet his eyes and murmur:

“Then take me.”

And in the next instant, he moves.

His arms shoot around you, strong and sudden, standing with you in one smooth motion as if he doesn’t even feel the weight. He’s carrying you before you can blink, mouth crashing to yours like he’s starving.

You laugh into the kiss, breathless, triumphant, dizzy with how much he wants you.

He’s hard. So hard, the outline of him straining against his sweats still burned into your vision, and now it presses hot against your thigh as he carries you. His jaw is clenched, breath shallow, like he’s using every ounce of strength to not lose it completely.

By the time he reaches the bed, he’s trembling.

But even now, even now, he sets you down with care. Like you’re too precious to just drop. Like he worships the very feel of you.

His eyes flick over your body, dressed in lingerie, glazed with hunger and awe.

You shift onto your elbows, spread your legs just a little more, watching the way he swallows hard, so hard it looks like it hurts.

“Cat got your tongue?” you tease, voice syrupy sweet.

He exhales shakily, running a hand down his face. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

“Oh, I think I do,” you purr, trailing one finger down your stomach. “You’ve been so good, baby. Letting me tease you. Beg. You were gonna come just from my hand, weren’t you?”

He groans, like the memory physically pains him.

You crook your finger at him, eyes heavy with heat. “Come here. Let me feel how badly you want me.”

He moves like a man possessed, kneeling on the bed, hands already reaching, but he doesn’t dare touch until you nod.

Only then does he slide a hand up your thigh, mouth parted like he can’t believe this is real.

“I want to make you feel good too,” he breathes. “Let me. Please.”

You smile, fingers threading into his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him moan.

“Then make me feel it.” you whisper.

He moves without hesitation.

One second he’s on his knees, eyes locked to yours like he’s praying, and the next, he’s lowering himself between your thighs with a reverence that makes your breath catch.

His shirt is off in a second, his hands slide under your thighs and pull you closer to the edge of the bed, lips grazing the soft skin there as his breath shudders out of him.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispers like it’s hurting him, tugging your panties down as he looks at you like you’re the most precious thing.

You rest back on your elbows, heart hammering in your chest as you watch him kiss up the inside of your thigh.

He dives in slow, teasing at first, tongue sliding between your folds like he’s savoring every inch, every sound you make. His hands are firm on your hips, keeping you exactly where he wants you, but it’s not about control, it’s about devotion.

He moans softly the first time he tastes you fully, and the vibration sends a jolt through your spine. You reach down, fingers weaving into his hair, and tug just a little, guiding him, grounding yourself.

“Right there,” you gasp, and he groans again, like your pleasure is his reward.

He flattens his tongue, licking deep and slow, then flicks it exactly where he knows you need it. He’s relentless, not rough, not rushed, just overwhelming in how thoroughly he focuses on you. Like you’re the only thing that exists in his world right now.

Your thighs tremble, your back arches, and you feel the first wave of heat beginning to build, steady and sharp, curling low in your belly.

And Seonghwa knows.

“Already?” he murmurs against your skin, lips glistening. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, voice breaking.

He doesn’t. If anything, he doubles down, lips wrapping around your clit as he sucks just enough to make your legs start to shake. His fingers dig into your thighs, holding you still, and when your hips buck, he lets out a deep groan that goes straight through you.

You’re teetering on the edge, eyes squeezed shut, breathing shallow.

Then you feel his hand leave your thigh, only for a second, before a single long finger slides inside you, slow, deep.

You cry out.

His mouth doesn’t stop moving.

“Come for me,” he whispers, voice wrecked and reverent. “Come on, baby. Let me feel it.”

And with one more deep flick of his tongue and a curl of his finger, you fall apart for him, back arching, fingers fisting in his hair, legs clamping around his shoulders as your orgasm crashes through you.

But even then, he doesn’t stop.

He licks you through it, eyes fluttering closed like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

Only when your hips twitch, too sensitive to take any more, does he finally pull back, panting, lips swollen, chin wet with you.

He looks up at you, completely gone.

“Can I have you now?” he whispers, voice rough and full of need.

Seonghwa leans in, his lips brushing over your collarbone as he kisses his way to your neck. His hand slides down, finally reaching the waistband of his sweats.

“I want you, Y/N,” he murmurs against your skin, and before you can respond, he’s pulling down his sweats, his cock springing free, fully hard and pressing against your inner thigh.

His eyes don’t leave yours, blazing with hunger, a slow burn that sears through you. He leans over you, pushing you back into the sheets, his weight settling between your legs, strong thighs caging you in. He takes your wrists in his hands, pinning them gently above your head.

And then, to your surprise, you hear a familiar sound.

A soft pull of fabric. The faint slide of a knot being tightened.

Your breath catches as you realize what he’s done.

He brought the rope.

The same one you used on him earlier.

You hadn’t noticed, hadn’t seen when he grabbed it, but now it’s there, looped around your wrists as he secures it snugly, expertly, like he’d been waiting for this moment.

Your wrists press together above your head, bound tightly to each other. Not painfully. But firmly. Completely.

Your eyes flick up to meet his, wide with surprise and heat, and his expression is dark with satisfaction.

“You didn’t think I’d let that little stunt go unanswered, did you?” he says, voice low and dangerous, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “You tied me up and made me beg.”

He dips his head, kissing you slowly, deeply, until you’re breathless beneath him.

“Now it’s my turn.”

You whimper against his mouth, hips rising instinctively to meet his, but he pins you down with one strong hand on your thigh, not allowing you even that much freedom.

“I said no more teasing,” he growls softly. “You’re going to feel me, Y/N, every inch of me, and you’re not going to move until I say so.”

His words are devastating. Delicious.

But he’s doing it for you. Because you asked. Because he remembers everything you said.

And because, right now, he wants nothing more than to make you come completely undone.

His words make your pulse race, but there's something else, a deep trust in him, the way he makes you feel safe while still pushing you to the edge.

You feel him shift, one hand moving between your legs to line himself up with your entrance. The anticipation is unbearable, the air thick with tension.

But just as the thick head of his cock begins to press into you, slow and deliberate, he stills.

“Tell me you want this,” he demands, his voice quiet but firm, his eyes locked on yours.

Your wrists tug instinctively at the rope above your head, bound tightly and useless now. You’re completely at his mercy, and he knows it. “I want you,” you whisper.

And that’s all he needs.

With a powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, filling you in one smooth, possessive motion. The sudden fullness knocks the air from your lungs, a soft gasp spilling from your lips as your body arches beneath him.

He doesn’t hesitate. He starts to move, slow at first, purposeful, but it builds fast, his hips snapping harder, deeper, each stroke more intense than the last. His hands leave your thighs only to clutch at your hips, dragging you down onto him with every thrust, like he’s trying to pull you even closer, like he needs to feel you everywhere.

Your wrists are tied together in front of you, still flushed and trembling from how he bound them, and now they’re pressed against your chest as he pounds into you with maddening control.

“You feel that?” he growls into your ear, teeth grazing your jaw. “Every inch of me inside you, just like I said.”

You nod helplessly, unable to do more than moan and cling to the sheets with your bound hands, the rope tight and biting into your skin in the most perfect way.

But then, your phone rings.

His gaze shifts to the nightstand, where your phone buzzes insistently.

But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow down. If anything, he grins, that wicked, knowing smirk spreading across his lips like he’s been waiting for this.

Seonghwa leans over, eyes glinting with mischief, and grabs it. Glances at the screen.

“Well, well…” he hums. “Look who wants your attention.”

He smirks. Looks down at you, flushed and wrecked beneath him, helpless in the knots he tied.

“It’s your ex-husband,” he murmurs, his voice dark and teasing, still thrusting into you like he owns the moment. “Answer it.”

He holds the phone above you, just out of reach, taunting. His pace doesn’t slow, not even a little. And the look in his eyes?

It says you’re his now.

Your body goes rigid as the phone keeps ringing, your heart pounding, your breath hitching, but the last thing you want is to speak to him. Especially now. Especially like this.

Your bound hands tremble as you take the phone from him, just barely able to clutch it between your fingers. You hesitate for half a second, but one dark look from Seonghwa, one slow roll of his hips that makes your eyes roll back, and you obey.

You barely manage to slide your thumb across the screen to accept the call, your voice a whisper as the line opens. “H-Hello?”

Seonghwa doesn’t pause. He fucks you through the word, drawing out the breath at the end of it, making your voice shake in a way you know your ex will hear.

He watches you with a crooked smirk, fucking into you slowly now, deliberately, dragging it out, because he wants you squirming, wants to see how long you can keep your voice steady.

“Y/N?” your ex’s voice crackles through. “You sound… are you okay? I’ve been calling-”

“I’m f-fine,” you manage to breathe, fighting to keep your tone level, even as Seonghwa shifts his angle and thrusts up hard, sending a bolt of pleasure straight through your spine.

Seonghwa’s smirk deepens, his thumb brushing over your clit in slow, lazy circles that nearly make you cry out. “Tell him you’re better than fine,” he whispers against your jaw, his breath hot and cruel. “Tell him you’ve never felt better.”

You bite your lip hard.

“I’m just… busy,” you murmur into the phone, your voice breaking as your hips jerk from the next thrust.

Seonghwa chuckles darkly against your ear, his breath hot as his lips graze your skin.

“Busy,” he echoes under his breath, and then drives into you again, harder. “That’s one way to put it.”

Seonghwa’s tongue drags up the side of your neck, slow and possessive. “Hold the phone still, sweetheart. Let him hear how happy you sound.”

You try, god, you try, but your hands are shaking, wrists straining against the rope, voice catching with every deep thrust he gives you.

You don’t even hear your ex-husband’s voice clearly anymore, everything fading into the background as Seonghwa takes you to the edge.

He grins, knowing you won’t be able to speak much longer, that the pleasure will soon take over completely.

“Such a good girl,” Seonghwa murmurs, voice thick with lust. “Answering your ex like this with my cock buried inside you… God, look at you.”

You’re barely holding on, your bound hands wobbling as the phone threatens to slip from your grasp. Seonghwa notices, of course he does, and with a soft laugh, he plucks it from your fingers effortlessly.

He leans back for a moment, letting you feel every inch of his length as he pulls out slowly, teasing. His cock glistens in the low light, and he doesn’t break eye contact as he brings the phone to his ear.

Your chest rises and falls quickly, your whole body aching from the edge he keeps dragging you along.

Seonghwa tilts his head slightly, listening to your ex's voice, panicked and confused, on the other end.

Then he smiles. That smile.

He leans down, his lips brushing your ear, and his voice is just loud enough for you to hear over the pounding in your chest.

“You’re not really interested in hearing this, are you?” he whispers, his tone amused, taunting.

And then, with an audible smirk in his voice, he leans back again and speaks into the phone.

“You know, buddy,” he drawls lazily, thrusting back into you with just enough force to make you gasp, “we’re kind of in the middle of something.”

“Wait-, what? Is this—Seonghwa?” your ex stammers. “What the fuck is going on? I just want to talk. I’m still—”

Your cheeks burn, humiliation and arousal tangling into something electric, something dangerous. Your bound hands twitch, instinctively trying to reach for the phone, but Seonghwa catches your wrists easily, wrapping his fingers around them like it’s nothing.

He pauses, hips grinding into you, his cock hitting that spot that makes you cry out. His grin widens as he watches the sound punch out of your chest.

“She’s not really available right now,” he says into the phone, voice thick with satisfaction. “But don’t worry. I’m taking good care of her.”

Your ex’s voice spikes in frustration. “What the fuck are you doing with her?!”

Seonghwa laughs softly, clearly enjoying this. “Well, that’s none of your business. Excuse us.”

And then, casually, like it means nothing to him, he taps the speaker button and tosses the phone onto the mattress beside your head.

Then he fucks you harder, brutal, relentless. The rhythm, the pressure, the humiliation of your ex’s voice being drowned out by the filthy sounds of your pleasure, your moans echoing through the room. Seonghwa’s hand tightens around your wrists, keeping you grounded, keeping you his, as he drives you closer to the edge.

You try to hold it back, but it’s useless.

Every inch of you is trembling, raw and exposed, as you finally let go, the orgasm tearing through your body in an overwhelming wave that makes your vision blur.

It’s like everything else disappears.

The only thing you can feel is him.

You’re a breathless mess beneath him, barely holding it together, your body trembling. But Seonghwa isn’t finished. He grabs the phone again with a smirk when he sees the call is still going, his voice low, commanding as he speaks directly into it.

“Oops… guess I forgot to hang up.” A smirk lifts the corner of his lips as he presses the button, ending the call with a casual flick of his thumb. The room falls into heavy silence, broken only by the sound of your breathing, unsteady and wrecked, and the faint echo of your pulse in your ears.

He leans down slowly, his mouth brushing your ear. “Now, where were we?” he whispers, voice low and smug.

His eyes lock on yours, dark with lust, satisfaction, and something more. Something possessive.

Before you can answer, his lips are on yours, not rough this time, but slow and hungry, like he wants to taste the way you’ve fallen apart for him. He kisses you deep, teasing, savoring, like the rest of the world still doesn’t exist.

Then he starts moving again.

His thrusts pick up pace, fast and relentless, slamming into you with the kind of rhythm that makes your legs shake. You’re already so sensitive, your nerves shot, but he doesn’t slow down. He won’t. He chases his own high with the same control he’s had from the start, hands gripping your hips, holding you exactly where he wants you.

You’re barely aware of the choked cry that escapes your throat as he pushes you straight into another climax. It crashes through you like lightning, your wrists trembling where they’re tied together in front of you, fingers clenched uselessly.

And Seonghwa groans against your neck, finally giving in, his hips snapping forward one last time as he spills inside you.

You feel every pulse of him.

He stays there, buried deep, chest heaving against your back, his breath warm and ragged in your ear. His hand slides up your side, slowing, grounding you. Neither of you speak, the silence somehow louder than anything.

Eventually, Seonghwa shifts, his fingers grazing the knot at your wrists. There’s a tenderness in the way he unties you, like his own quiet form of aftercare. The rope slips away, and your hands fall loose with a sigh of relief.

And then, finally, you reach for him.

Your arms wrap around him weakly, pulling him closer, needing him. Not just the way he fucked you, not just the way he ruined you, but the way he stayed. The way he held you there after. The way he gave you all of him.

He lets himself collapse against you, careful not to crush, just to be there.

Skin to skin. Chest to chest. His warmth wraps around you like a second blanket, his head resting in the crook of your neck, the softest sigh falling against your shoulder. One of his hands slips into your hair, fingertips massaging lightly at your scalp, the other resting protectively over your hip, holding you close without a word.

Then, slowly, with care you didn’t know he was still capable of after all that intensity, he begins to guide himself out of you. You whimper without meaning to, not in pain, just from the loss, the ache of being that full of him for so long, and now not.

He hears it instantly. Feels it.

His lips press to your shoulder before you can even breathe his name.

“Baby,” he murmurs, guilt softening every syllable. “Don’t move, okay? Let me take care of you.”

You hum, melted into the mattress, and he presses one more kiss to your skin before slipping away.

You hear the faucet, the rustle of towels, drawers opening. He returns within moments, quiet, collected, but his hands shake when they first touch your skin again.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs, kneeling beside you on the bed.

The first press of warm cloth between your legs makes you exhale, your lashes fluttering. It’s gentle, so gentle, like he’s afraid to touch you too firmly, as if you might break. He dabs softly, cleaning you with the kind of reverence most people wouldn’t even know how to give.

To him, this isn’t a chore. It’s devotion.

“Still okay?” he asks, voice low, threaded with concern.

You hum. “Mhm. Still floating.”

He smiles, even though you can’t see it. You turn over on your stomach, resting your face on a pillow as you close your eyes. You can feel his love in his kiss when he leans down to press his mouth to your lower back, right at the curve of your spine. He kisses you again, a little higher. Then again. His mouth moves over your skin like he’s rewriting the story he just left behind in red, not erasing it, just softening the edges.

“I didn’t mean to mark you so much,” he murmurs, tracing a thumb over one of the faint handprints on your hip. “But God… the way you feel… the way you sound when you fall apart for me…”

His voice cracks a little, like the emotion is catching up to him.

You reach back, threading your fingers through his hair instead. He leans into your touch instantly, sighing into your skin.

“I like the marks,” you whisper, smiling softly. “It means you wanted me. It means you couldn’t help it.”

His fingers are so soft, so careful, tracing every mark he left behind, like he’s trying to memorize them. Then, his lips follow.

Kisses. Dozens of them. Scattered like stars across your back, your shoulders, your neck. Tender and slow and endless.

His breath hitches, and then he’s leaning over you again, pulling the blankets up carefully over both of you before tucking himself behind you, chest pressed to your back, one leg tangled with yours, his arm sliding beneath your neck to cradle you. You can feel him everywhere.

He nuzzles your touch immediately, pressing his nose to the side of your face with a long exhale. “Does anything hurt, my love?”

“No,” you breathe. “Just sore. In a good way.”

“Too much?”

“Never.”

His arm slides around you, and he reaches for your hand, the one you wear the ring on. The promise ring. The one he gave you after everything. After you chose him. But you didn’t know that he bought it before you knew you’d be his forever. When he had no right to. When all he could do was hope.

He finds your fingers and threads his through them, bringing them up between you.

And then, he kisses your finger with the ring.

Not quickly. Not casually.

It’s the kind of kiss that makes your breath catch.

It’s slow. Gentle. Reverent.

“I love you,” you whisper, the words trembling out.

He tucks his face into the crook of your neck, his arms tightening around you.

“I love you more,” he breathes. “And I’ll keep choosing you. Every day. Just like I always have.”

And that’s how you fall asleep, his fingers laced with yours, the promise of forever resting warm and golden between you. His kisses don’t stop. Neither does his touch. Neither does his love.

And he’ll never stop.

Not in this lifetime. Not in any.

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legendofmorons · 3 days ago

Text

Written in the stars (forever on loop) chapter eleven - something in the orange

Pairing: eventual poly! Chain x reader, Wind & reader

Rating: T

Summary: After a nice break and lunch you find yourselves under attack in the evening. Injuries and hovery heroes leave you ready to bathe... but when you're alone you meet two people you probably shouldn't. The boys are trying their best to help you and handle themselves but the shadow makes that hard.

(Aka: After you and Wind chill, Time experiences grief during a battle and then sees the injuries. Oh, and you meet Onyx and Dink, who are Poorly Socialized... the boys have a heart attack. Twilight and Aild are just... tired.)

Warnings: cursing, injury, blood, canon typical violence, semi-graphic descriptions of injury, broken bones that stick out

Other: If I missed anything please let me know

Curse count: 3

Previous masterlist next

-------

Even after eating breakfast and packing up camp, you find yourself dealing with two hovering heroes in the form of Legend and Warriors. Both men walk directly behind you and Wind, bantering half-heartedly and staring at you.

You're about ready to ask them what's going on when Wind grabs your arm and excitedly points to a hill that looks perfect to roll down. "Race you to the top!"

"We can't just run off," you snort as you eye the teen.

"Old man!" Wind calls, "Can we take a break?"

Time turns, surveying both the group and the land around you. He looks so serious.

He isn't like you remember, but you barely remember anything. Do you even know him?

Do you know any of them? Are you going to?

Time's voice cuts through your thoughts. "We can take a break."

("We can take a break, darling," the man before you soothes as he loops his own red scarf around your shoulders as you shiver. "You will get sick at this rate.")

Wind grins as he takes off towards the hill. His excitement is infectious as he cackles.

You snort again, running after him.

You drop your bag at the foot of the hill where he drops his and then keep going.

Wind beats you by a little bit, but he's absolutely grinning.

It's good to see him happy.

Wind throws himself sideways and rolls down the hill as you gasp his name in shock. He laughs the whole way down.

He pops to his feet and calls out to you, "Come on! Roll down here. It's fun!"

"Sailor don't make people roll down a hill," Hyrule sighs.

You snicker, but roll down the hill anyway.

You roll to a stop at the bottom, and Wind flops over your stomach immediately.

Grunting, you raise a hand to pat his back. "Warn me next time."

"Sorry," Wind says.

You let your eyes close, soaking in the sun.

The others chat around you, and Time passes lazily. The sound of your boys is relaxing in a way that only

"You know, I'm glad you're traveling with us again," Wind informs you.

You let yourself smile a little, "Me too."

"Do you know what's going on with Legend and Warriors?" Wind asks you as he turns his head, resting it on his arms while he still lays across you.

You give a half shrug. "Not really."

"They're being... weird," the teen muses. He bites his cheek and then sighs. "They only act like this when something is hurt or upset."

"Is someone hurt?" You ask, eyes widening.

"Not that I know of."

"Maybe... maybe they're upset?" You muse.

It makes sense.

There's the way they hover and the strange far away looks. Both of them trail after you...

Maybe watching you fall into the river upset their grief again...

"Maybe," Wind says.

You sigh, relaxing into the ground.

Wind's weight across you is a welcome anchor to reality.

"You know, I met you as a grown man?" You offer idily.

"What?" Wind says.

"I went through a portal between the town and reuniting with you guys."

"You did?" Wild asks from where he works on lunch.

"I did. I met Wind, but he was old enough to have gray hair," you say easily. "Spooky loved him too."

"No way," Wind gasps.

"Yes way."

"Prove it!"

"He knew about the seagull you gave me. Also , he had pictures of the group."

"That's so cool!" Wind declares.

His eyes may as well have stars in them. His excitement is almost contagious.

You laugh. "He was pretty cool."

"Well, duh," the boy snorts.

Spooky comes to stretch out across your chest and lean against Wind. They would like attention now. Please and all that.

You grunt but move to pet the panther.

"Did I tell you anything important?" Wind asks.

You give a soft smile, trying to be reassuring.

Nausea courses your viens. How do you answer that?

So much of what older Wind spent time telling yyouis important. Most of it you aren't supposed to share.

Well...

You can say one thing.

"He said we all live through this mess," you offer.

"Fuck yeah!" Wind cheers.

"Language," Time calls with a sigh.

"Hylian!" Wind calls petulantly.

You snicker. Should you encourage the kid? Probably not. But it's funny in a petty sibling way.

When lunch is ready, you find yourself thanking Wild. His food is amazing.

-------

Time finds himself in the back of the group for the second half of the day's walk.

You're in the front now, with Wind and Spooky on either side of you. Warriors and Legend are still hovering around you.

Twilight walks beside Time this time, silent as Epona walks with them.

The oldest of the group can't pull his gaze from you.

Nothing you're doing right now is particularly eye-catching, aside from the fact that you could convince anyone you are his dearest. You are not. He knows this, but you are so close that it both burns and frozen his heart at once.

There's a split second of dread. Something is incredibly wrong.

Time opens his mouth to warn them, but you beat him to it.

"Get down!" You bark in a voice far too close to commanding officer than a civilian should possess.

He barely has time to process your voice.

There's the sound of horns as moblins and bokoblins rush from the trees, rocks arcing through the air haphazardly.

Time takes his sword in hand, and he focuses on the fight.

He can't afford to stare after you. Not in a fight like this.

The monsters are a mix of black blooded and not, which makes it hard to tell until you get a cut on them.

Metal clashes.

Time catches strikes on his blade.

Growls and grunts echo around him.

Hissing and curses.

Thuds sound around him.

Time finds himself back to back with Warriors.

You fight back to back with Legend and Wind both, Spooky happily mauling monsters in Time's peripheral. He has the moment to think a quick 'good kitty'.

Lizafos and keese come out of the trees.

The monster forces double in numbers with the additions.

This is not good.

At all.

Adrenaline pumps in his viens.

His heart thunders in his ears.

Time grips his sword in both hands as he blocks a strike. He twists it around and disarms the lizafos.

He stabs through it.

There's a yowl of pain.

Time glances over as he slashes his sword.

Spooky is flying, deep slashes across their ribs.

Ouch-

"THAT'S MY CAT!" You shout as you dart forwards towards the moblin responsible for it.

"(Y/n)!" Legend calls.

Time flinches.

He turns to his own fight.

He has to get through this.

Then he can help others.

Time becomes more vicious.

He bashes aside swords.

He knocks his pommel into heads.

His slashes become faster.

His stabs crueler.

The only thing that exists aside from his blade is the captain at his back.

Time is not letting -

There's a hiss that steals his attention.

"Leave them alone!" Wind calls.

Arrows start piercing through monsters.

Time glances over towards the trees and spots Wild.

The champion is firing off arrows two or three at a time with deadly precision.

Good.

Time finally is able to look back towards you, whole fighting.

Your sword stabs through the beasts leg.

Good.

Legend speeds behind it via pegasus boots and ends it with his own weapon.

Time slays the last of his monsters.

The rest of the fight blurs.

His heart pounds.

His sword sings.

His body twists around.

Blood rushes his viens.

Laughter rings out from Warriors behind him as the last monster goes down.

Time puts his sword away.

He takes a deep breath.

He starts his post battle head count and safety check.

Warriors is fine with a few scrapes and minor cuts. Nothing major. Maybe a bandage or two for the slash across his bicep.

Time finds Wild with a few gashes and dark bruises but standing and coherent.

He sees Hyrule and Four together, also a little roughed up but no worse for wear.

Sky has a limp and a gash across his leg, but he is stable for now.

Time checks himself and finds some new dents and a few new gashes and bruises, but he is fine.

The old man looks to where you, Legend, and Wind are, and his blood runs cold.

You have a solid wound across your side, tunic sliced and hanging open over the wound.

Legend has a broken arm that hangs at odd angles.

Time swallows hard when he sees Wind.

The sailor is in the worst shape by far. He has blood coming from the back of his head and a bone actually sticking out of his shin. Blood is all over him.

He wants to take you, Legend, and Wind to a healer right now. All three of you are hurt beyond acceptable and expected fight standards.

Time can't make his feet move.

He watches as Warriors starts towards you three.

Hyrule is rushing over as well.

"Don't look at your leg, look at me," your voice carries through the open area.

"My bone is sticking the fuck out," Wind grits.

You nod. "It is. Look at me anyway."

Time manages to start moving now. He walks closer.

He watches as you take Wind's hand in your own.

"You're going to have the coolest scar," you say.

Wind groans as Hyrule starts prodding around the extruding bone.

"And you'll have a new kick ass story," you offer easily.

"What happened to you three?" Time asks as he stops behind you.

"Lizafos," Legend huffs.

Wind shouts a curse as his bone is reset.

Hyrule starts healing him.

You pat Wind's shoulder gently. "You're doing great."

"I'm not a baby," Wind huffs.

"No, but you got slammed against a tree, and your bone was sticking out, I'd tell anyone they're doing great. You didn't even kick when they reset the bone. I'd have kicked," you admit wryly.

Wind sighs, "I guess."

Time glances over to see Twilight set Legend's arm and watch the veteran grunt. Ouch.

You still bleed steadily from you gash in your side.

Time can hear Warriors muttering about shields. Again.

Hyrule heals Wind quickly.

Wild fishes out a fairy from the depths of his slate before releasing it above you.

The fairy heals you with a few chimes.

Hyrule heals Legend next.

Time doesn't know what exactly you just experienced, but he does know he should have protected you.

He didn't.

Time failed miserably.

He can't justify the ocarina, but part of him wants to.

-------

You find yourself at a river a little bit away from camp. Bathing in a river is not ideal, but it's a thousand times better than nothing. You aren't going to pitch a fit. You're just happy to wash off the sweat and blood.

You set out the extra tunic that Twilight scrounged up for you.

Finally away from the group, including the oddly hovery Warriors and Legend, you let yourself relax.

Spooky, who currently has bandages around their injury, sits nearby playing gaurd for you.

Convincing Hyrule to wait to heal Spooky until after he's got his magic up again was a test in patience. You aren't even sure why he's so set on it? Spooky's is okay, the slashes across them are shallow and mostly done bleeding.

(He doesn't hate Spooky, but he also hasn't spent much time around the panther?)

You strip off your clothes and step into the river, wading in until the water reaches your waist.

The cool water rushes by like a blessing.

You allow yourself to take this time to reflect.

Since you found the boys you almost drowned, had some weird flashback to a war, gotten a hurt again, and found yourself two clingy heroes.

Sky is withdrawing, but you can't blame him. He's probably got a lot on his plate, and if you're bringing up memories...

You're just grateful he waited to withdraw until after a few of the others started to step up.

Sky is such a sweetheart, you know, aside from killing a God and also being a menace. You're still unclear on if he took the gremlin options in his adventure that was presented in the game or not...

You can't even begin to understand what's going on with Time and Twilight right now.

This is such a mess.

It would he so much easier if there were a walk through of this like there are for the games.

You bathe and let yourself take time to recharge.

You dry off and re-dress in the clean tunic, putting the torn one on top of your bag so you can ask Legend to repair it.

He did offer after all.

There's a ripple of something distinctly cold in the air but it's almost a sub consciousness feeling.

You turn to look behind you and gasp, stepping back.

Two shadowy figures are before you.

One is easy to name, a familliar figure that sends your heart on a run.

Dark Link stands there, shadowy magic whips around his firm as his red void eyes seem to peer into your soul. He looks like the teen version of Time...

He looks dangerous.

The air is getting colder by the second.

The second figure has the same dark grey skin. Their eyes are a silver void, haunting and strange. They look like - like a Dark Link version of you.

You yank your sword from beside your bag, and hold it out towards them. Your hands shake.

"What do you want?" You ask as calmly as you can.

Your heart races.

Spooky comes up to your side, staring the two figures down.

"You're scared," Dark Link says with a grin.

"We won't hurt you unless you start it," the Dark You (?) assures in a sickly sweet tone.

"Who are you?"

"You, little human, can call me Dark," Dark Link - Dark - says before he takes the hand of the other dark figure. "This is my darling lamb, Onyx."

You have the distinct and half hysterical thought that Onyx looks less like a lamb and more like a wolf borrowing your shape.

"What do you want? I'll scream right now," you threaten.

"We just want to give you some friendly advice," Onyx purrs. "Those heroes of yours are no good."

"They are deplorable, but you especially are better off away from them," Dark informs evenly.

You take a deep breath.

You white knuckle your sword.

"You aren't making any sense. They are heroes," you say.

"They are a death sentence," Dark sneers immediately, shadows starting to whip around him like fire.

"Why do you care?" You ask.

You should probably scream... you probably should have already screamed or tried to run.

But honestly? Your curiosity is always easy to peak. It's part of how you ended up staying to meet Spooky.

It's how you found so many things in Zelda games.

Your curiosity is strong... and the two beings before you have piqued it.

"We rather like you alive," Onyx says as they step forwards.

They cross the space between you, knocking your sword aside and to the ground before you react.

Onyx grips your chin, resting it on their minter and using their thumb to angle up your head. They run a nail along your throat. "You're rather breakable, (Y/n) (L/n), and those heroes will get you killed."

You yank away from Onyx, swallowing hard. "Don't touch me."

"So touchy," Dark chuckles, and he slides up beside Onyx, snaking an arm around their waist. "For a light creature, you are entertaining."

You swallow hard. You don't like any of this.

You know you won't win this fight. Spooky is hurt, and your sword is already on the ground.

You make a choice.

If you are going to die on this adventure, it will not be because you didn't ask for help against the being made to match the best fighters in Hyrule.

You know Legend and Warriors can probably run the fastest without grabbing anything. Split second thought running like a tornado.

"HELP! LEGEND! WARRIORS! ANYONE!" You scream at the top of your lungs.

"Oh, you just had to ruin our fun," Onyx pouts.

Dark sighs, "You will never learn, will you? Tell me, do you even know what you are?"

Onyx tilts theie head, "You know, I know you better than you know yourself, little human. You're still curious."

"You - You don't know me," you say.

There's the sound of running coming from behind you.

"We should go," Dark says, "Do try to stay alive, yes?"

Legend and Warriors break the tree line.

"GET AWAY FROM THEM!" Warriors snarls.

Dark and Onyx laugh as they sink into the shadows, letting the sound echo.

The two beings are gone.

Your heart still feels like it might beat out of your chest.

"Are you hurt?!" Legend demands as he skids to a stop by your side.

"I - No."

The others come sprinting over.

"Thank the Golden Three," Warriors breathes out as he sets a hand on your shoulder.

"What happened?!" Wind demands.

"The shadow was here, talking to them," Legend snarls lowly.

"It had a friend," Warriors grits out tightly.

"Holy shit," Wind breathes out, "(Y/n), are you okay?!"

"Just... shaken up?" You manage as you turn to see the others.

Every single hero looks like they have lost all the blood in their face.

"You're sure you're not hurt?" Time asks tightly.

"I'm sure."

Legend grabs your arm, hands gentle with you even as he looks like he might go hunt down every evil of the world right now. "You're absolutely sure? If you're trying to hide something and it gets infected-"

"I'm okay," you say firmly. "It was just - really weird."

"What happened?" Twilight asks.

You swallow. "They showed up behind me and started talking? They said you're all bad and are going to get me killed? They're weird..."

The entire group aside from Wind reacts to the 'getting you killed' comment so strongly it hurts.

Legend's grip on your arm turns bruising as he makes a soft, half cut off sound.

Warriors stiffens beside you and chokes on a response.

Time looks like he's going to vomit, face going even paler.

Twilight and Wild both look incredibly akin to guilty dogs, refusing to meet your eyes.

Hyrule has his hands in fists as he stares at the ground like he's trying to psychically light it on fire.

Sky and Four both look like they might pass out, eyes wide.

"Well, evil assholes always say dumb shit," Wind scoffs.

Thank goodness for Wind.

"Seems like it. Thanks for coming... I - didn't know what to do," you admit.

Legend lets go of your arm. "We're just - glad you're okay."

Sky nods, "We are."

"Let's get back to camp. We all need to eat," Time says quickly, not looking at you.

Oh.

He has too many feelings about this.

He can't be blaming himself... can he?

You take your things and let yourselves go back to camp with the others.

Warriors and Legend flank you on either side.

None of the heroes seem willing to stray too far from you... but you aren't upset about that right now.

-------

Twilight is on middle watch with Wild keeping him company while he lets his mind wander. The champion can't sleep, and Twilight is happy for the extra eyes.

"I can't believe the shadow got so close to them," Wild sighs.

Twilight nods, looking over the camp again to be sure everyone is safe. "I dunno what he was thinkin', but I don't wanna risk lettin' him get so close ag'in."

Wild huffs, "You said it."

Warriors mutters in his sleep, turning over.

Twilight sighs. "I dunno how any of 'em are sleepin'... I couldn't get a wink 'fore my watch."

"I don't think I'll be sleeping tonight," Wild agrees.

The rancher sighs, gaze landing on you like it often does during his watch these days. His shoulders are still tense. "I - I know that the (Y/n) here isn't our (Y/n)... but they're close 'nough that hearin' that scream damn near killed me."

"I know where you mean," Wild sighs.

You lay on your stomach with Wind across your back and half out of his own bedroll. Spooky lays against your side.

There is no cause for concern. You sleep hard still...

Twilight can't stop worrying.

What does that damnable shadow want from you anyway? You are already on this adventure despite not being a hero.

Is this a way to torture them?

"What are we supposed to do? Twi - we can't keep this up. They're in danger all the time and nome of us are doing okay..." Wild sighs as he trails off.

"We just -" Twilight takes a deep breath. "We just gotta do our best, Wild."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Wild says before he offers an empty chuckle.

"Y'know, yer gonna be fine."

"I'm just tired, Twi. We all are."

"Yeah..."

You mumble something in your sleep, faintly sounding like a name.

Twilight just sighs. This is going to be a long night.

--------

Next - wip

Taglist: @danyzta @vrsin @silver-the-pendejo @tulip-does-stuff @justanotherweeb666 @yourlocaltreesimp @blueberrysungie @victoryssong23 @shu-leepy @sleepifonlyigoti @sour-patch-delight @phlying-squirrel @pumpkincitrus @krys0210 @theregoeskittykat @fuckingfaraway @doodle-with-rhy @luxreader @chaos-inperson @justacommonwriter @time-shardz @ships-lover @theforgottenheros @clementine0068

#misty writes #linked universe x reader #lu written in the stars (forever on loop) au #lu written in the stars au #written in the stars au

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