#it feels like a small dark fire burning in my chest that refuses to go out yet still refuses to give light

[bg-brainrot]

I tried really hard to shake The Mood™️ this weekend to no avail, so get ready for another sad one shot, whoops.

[azrielslittleslut]

Angst is always good. especially if it ends in comfort or something like that 💙🤭 how about the fact that reader had to go through something similar to azriel and she also has burns/scars on her hands. That's why she feels very insecure and holds back a lot from others, which of course doesn't go unnoticed. The others try to help her, but in the end it is Azriel who gets through to her and also reveals to her his insecurity about his hands

"Scars Like His"

Azriel x Autumn Court!Reader

Warnings: angst, talk of past trauma, slight language, fluffy ending

Word Count: 3.5k

a/n: reader is Beron's daughter, and Beron is an asshole.

Enjoy!

You fumbled with the button on your glove, your fingers trembling with frustration. You always struggled with small tasks like this-buttons, zippers, holding a pen- but you were too stubborn to admit it to yourself.

You refused to acknowledge that your scars were a burden on your life, that they ran deeper than just the physical. So you ignored them, always covering them with gloves or placing them behind your back. You knew that if you looked at them for too long, you would be taken back to that dark time, back to that day when everything had been ripped from you.

Being the only daughter born to Beron and his Lady, you grew up like a caged flower, always being watched and scrutinized. You had been forbidden to leave your bedroom unless you were given permission. Your meals were timed and monitored, and anytime you did manage to get some freedom, guards were always at your side.

You had never understood Beron's hatred for you. You had always tried your best to be the daughter he wanted. You had never complained, even when you listened to your brothers play outside, laughing and living the normal life you so desperately wanted. The prison you had been locked in became so normal that you had never questioned if Beron would actually harm you. For the most part, it had seemed like he had forgotten about you.

Until that day happened.

You had been sitting in your bedroom, trying to read using the light coming from the small square window. Beron had slammed the door open, his guards right behind him. His face had been full of fury and rage, and you had cowered against the wall, your body shaking in the presence of the male who was supposed to love you.

"Where is it?" he demanded, his voice nothing short of a snarl. "I know you took it."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Father," you whispered, tears welling in your eyes. "I've been in this room, just like you want me to."

Beron's face twisted in disgust. "I am not your Father, and you are no daughter of mine." Despite the numbness you felt, the words stung. He jerked his chin to one of your guards. "Has she left this room? Don't like to me."

The guard's eyes flicked between you and Beron, his face pale. "Yes, my lord. She bribed me. I was going to tell you once my shift was over."

Your heart stammered inside of your chest at the lie. You hadn't left this room, but it was evident that your father believed the word of a low-ranked guard over his own daughter. "Seize her," Beron commanded. His guards rushed into the room, grabbing you by the shoulders and forcing you to your knees. "You think you can steal from me and get away with it?"

You looked up at him, tears streaming down your face. "Father, please I-" you were cut off as Beron slapped you across your face, your skin burning from the impact.

"I told you not to call me that," he growled. "Give me your hands."

You shook your head, but the guards holding you grabbed your arms, holding up your trembling hands. Beron raised his own hands which were now engulfed in flames. His eyes held no mercy, no love, as he lowered his hands, his fingers mere inches from yours.

"No! No! Please, no!" you screamed, struggling against the guards. But their hold on you was like iron, and your body was weak from lack of proper food. "I didn't do anything wrong!" The fire was so close now, so close you could feel the heat-

"Take this as a reminder not to take what is mine," Beron murmured as he grabbed your hands. The pain was agonizing, your skin melting off as the flames made their way up to your wrists. You screamed and screamed and screamed, but nobody heard you.

Nobody came to rescue you.

Your hands had healed, slowly. But they were still horribly scarred, the skin mottled and warped and disgusting. You had to re-learn how to do the simplest things, such as writing and dressing yourself... and clasping buttons on your gloves.

You supposed you should have moved on from that day, as you had not lived in the Autumn Court for a while. You had managed to escape, once you came of age, and you had sought refuge in various courts, praying to the Mother that Beron wouldn't come after you.

He never did, though. You were a burden on him, after all, and you being gone was one less thing he had to worry about.

"Are you ready?" Nesta asked, her soft voice pulling you out of your horrible memories. "Cassian is waiting. He said he expects you to be on time today."

You smiled at Nesta as you lowered your gloved hands. You had given up on the button, but the fit was snug, so you knew the glove wouldn't come off. "Cassian needs to learn patience," you said as you walked toward the door. "I'm never late. I'm just fashionably punctual."

Nesta laughed as the two of you walked toward the training ring. You had lived in some of the other courts, trying to fit in and live there comfortably. It wasn't until you had wandered into the Night Court that you felt what it was like to be home. You had always heard that the Night Court was full of sadistic killers, but you had found the opposite to be true.

You had gotten a job at one of the bookstores in Velaris, which was how you met Nesta. She had shown up one day looking for more romance novels, and the two of you had bonded over your favorite scenes in the books you had read.

Strangely enough, the friendship between yourself and the High Lady's sister had blossomed. You had heard rumors about Nesta's sudden and painful transformation that turned her into High Fae, and your heart had broken for her. Perhaps your friendship was so strong because she too understood what it was like to go through something horrible and traumatic, all while trying to act like everything was normal.

Nesta had introduced you to the Inner Circle, and they had taken you in as one of their own. They knew you came from Autumn Court, but that was it. You didn't tell them you were Beron's daughter, and they never asked why you always covered your hands. You had found friends and a... family, and you no longer wanted to live in the past.

It hadn't taken long for you to decide to start training with Cassian and the Valkyries. You wanted to learn how to fight, how to defend yourself against anyone else who could hurt you.

"What are we working on today?" you asked as the two of you made your way into the training ring. In the center, you could see Cassian showing Gwyn and Emerie some new sword techniques. "I need to know what to prepare myself for."

Nesta kicked her shoes off, a strand of her hair blowing slightly in the wind. "Cassian mentioned something about hand-to-hand combat. It's my least favorite, so I hope he changed his mind."

"He didn't change his mind," a deep voice said from behind. "Which is unfortunate. Hand-to-hand is my least favorite, too."

You turned on your heel, your eyes widening slightly as they landed on Azriel. He was dressed in his leathers, the scaled armor hugging his muscled form. Some of his shadows swirled around his shoulders and wings, while others hovered in the doorway as if they were trying to stay out of the sunlight. "Oh. Hey, Azriel," you greeted, forcing your voice to steadiness.

The shadowsinger had caught your attention the first time you met him. He was the most beautiful male you had ever seen, all tall, dark, and handsome. You knew that he was one of the most feared males in all of Prythian, but when you looked at him, you only saw gentleness and kindness.

You have seen true evil, and Azriel was nothing like that.

Azriel smiled softly. "Glad to see you're on time today. Cassian will be proud," he said, his hazel eyes dancing. The way he looked at you made you feel bare, as if he could see all of your secrets. You moved your gloved hands behind your back, desperate to keep them away from the spymaster's calculating gaze.

Nesta scoffed. "She says she's never late. Only fashionably punctual. Whatever the hell that means."

"Hey!" Cassian called from the training ring. "Less talking. More training. Let's go!"

You rolled your eyes, turning around to walk toward Cassian, but you were stopped by a gentle hand on your arm. You glanced down at the scarred flesh, your stomach twisting at the sight. You had seen Azriel's scars before, and you often wondered what horrible experience had caused them. "Your gloves," he murmured. "You should take them off before training. They can get in the way during this type of combat."

You gently pulled your arm free from his grasp, forcing your expression to remain neutral. "My hands are cold," you responded, hoping that was a good enough answer. "Thank you for the advice, though."

You sprinted into the training area, leaving Azriel behind in the shadows of the doorway. You could still feel his eyes on your back as you took your place beside Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie. Azriel made his way next to Cassian, his black hair gobbling up the light in the training ring.

"Today, we are working on hand-to-hand combat," Cassian announced. He paced back in forth, his wings tucked in tight as he gave his instructions. "First rule: keep your balance. If you're off balance, you're vulnerable. The second rule: control your breathing. It seems like a small thing, but it's the difference between lasting five minutes and lasting an hour." He ran a finger across his chin, his eyes flicking over to Azriel. "Anything to add?"

Azriel seemed to ponder for a moment, his eyes falling on you. His gaze was soft as it ran up your body, stopping for a second on your gloved hands. He cleared his throat before saying, "Keep your guard up. Don't give an opponent a shot at something they could use to their advantage."

You fought the urge to hide your hands again as you felt a blush creep onto your cheeks. You knew it was stupid to be wearing gloves, but you didn't want others to see your scars. What if they didn't want to touch you?

"Right. Let's quit wasting daylight and get to it." Cassian jerked his chin to Nesta. "Pick your opponent, Nes."

Nesta smiled, her eyes twinkling as they landed on you. "Let's see if little miss 'fashionably punctual' has learned anything since joining us for training."

You swore your heart stopped beating for a moment. Of course, you had taken part in some of the training exercises. You could hold a sword, and your endurance had gotten better. But you had never fought before, especially not someone like Nesta. She was a warrior, a Valkyrie. And you were, well... you. A female who is scarred, weak, broken, someone who wasn't even good enough to earn the love of a father.

Nesta's piercing gaze softened as she sensed your hesitation. "Don't worry," she murmured, offering her hand to you. "I'll go easy on you. This is to help you learn."

"Okay," you said with a nod. You took her hand, grateful that she didn't say anything about your gloves. "Let's get this over with."

You and Nesta circled each other, your heart hammering inside of your chest. Her expression was a mask of calm focus, which only seemed to increase your nerves. "Ready?" Nesta asked, her voice even, though there was a hint of something softer in her tone.

You nodded, your throat so dry you were unable to speak.

Nesta moved first, slow and deliberate, giving you a chance to react. "Stay balanced. Keep your guard up," she instructed, watching as you hastily raised your hands. "Good. Now, try to block me."

The first few strikes were controlled, more of a test than anything. Nesta's fists came at you with controlled precision, and you managed to block some of them, though each impact sent a jolt through your arms.

"Not bad," Nesta remarked, her breathing slow and even. You, on the other hand, were fighting for each breath. "But don't just react-anticipate."

You tried to focus, but the combination of nerves and heat from the sun made your movements sluggish. Your hands were starting to sweat in the gloves, and you silently cursed yourself for wearing them. Azriel was right- they were getting in the way. You were so focused on trying to keep them on, and Nesta's precise movements were causing your body to get tired.

Each strike was faster, aiming for your vulnerable spots. Nesta sent a particularly painful jab to your side, which caused you to stumble back. Nesta's eyes widened as she reached a hand out, her fingers grabbing your glove to keep you from falling on your ass.

She grabbed the glove that you had been unable to button earlier, and because of your sweaty hand, the glove slid off, and you fell down hard on your ass.

But the pain and embarrassment of your falling was nothing compared to the feeling of your scarred hand being exposed to the air.

Nesta's eyes landed on the glove in her palm. Slowly, she raised them to your hand, which was now lying limply on the ground, the scars plain to see due to the bright sun. "Are you alright?" she asked, kneeling down, her eyes now on your face. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed you that hard."

What? You're not going to say anything about my scars? you wanted to ask, but you stayed silent, your body shaking.

Cassian stepped forward, his broad hand gently clasping your shoulder. "Stand up," he muttered. "If you stay on the ground, your opponent will kill you."

You pushed yourself up, standing on trembling legs. You hid your exposed hand behind your back as you looked at everyone in the training ring. Nesta was still on the ground, her eyes full of concern. Cassian stood next to you, his expression soft. Gwyn and Emerie shared twin expressions of worry and Azriel... He was looking at you carefully, as if you were an animal locked inside of a cage.

You spun on your heels and ran, ignoring Cassian as he called out your name. You sprinted through the House of Wind, not knowing where you were going. You didn't live here, and you were only here because of Nesta's kindness.

What if she didn't want to be your friend anymore?

Hot tears spilled down your cheeks as you pushed open a door. The room appeared to be a sitting room of sorts, with soft chairs, a bookshelf, and a fireplace. You slammed the door closed and leaned against the wall, your breath coming out in rapid pants. You raised your hand up, your eyes looking down at your ruined skin.

Who would want you now? Who would let you touch them or be next to them with skin such as this?

The door opened, and you cowered against the wall, wishing you could just disappear. You opened your mouth to tell Nesta that you weren't in the mood to talk, but you snapped it shut as Azriel stepped into the room.

"Hey," he whispered, in that soft voice like shadows given sound. "I know you probably don't want to talk right now, but I wanted to make sure you were alright." His expression was uncharacteristically soft as he looked at you, and your heart clenched as you recognized the emotion- it was pity.

"You're right," you snapped, pushing yourself off the wall. You might not be able to fight, but you wouldn't cower, not any longer. "I don't want to talk. And I'm fine."

Azriel nodded his head once, his shadows moving frantically around him. "I'm sorry," he said, moving aside to give you access to the door. "I can take you home if you wish. Or I can escort you back to training."

You pondered for a moment, your eyes falling to Azriel's hands. They were at his sides, his fingers relaxed. You walked forward, not knowing what you were doing, as if you were being guided by some unseen force. You gently grasped his wrist with your scarred hand, pausing for a moment in case he wanted to pull away.

But Azriel didn't pull away. He let you raise his hand up, his skin visible to your eyes thanks to the light of the room. You had only seen his hands from a distance, but up close, you could see how bad they were. His skin was rippled and mangled, the scars rough against your fingers. His scars were like yours, perhaps even a little bit worse.

"How do you live with this?" you whispered, your voice breaking as more tears threatened to spill from your eyes. "How do you-" you broke off, unable to finish the sentence.

Azriel raised his free hand, wiping a tear off your cheek. He laid his palm flat against your skin, and you leaned into his touch. "I hate my scars, too," he whispered, his voice still soft. "I hate when people look at them, or when I have to touch someone. I wouldn't say I live with them. But I tolerate them because I have no choice."

You looked up at him through teary eyes. "What happened?"

Azriel's face hardened, his gaze going almost vacant. "My half-brothers thought it would be fun to see what would happen if you mix fire with the quick healing of Illyrians." He paused, his hazel eyes moving down to his hand that was being held by yours. "The warriors were too late to save me."

Your stomach rolled at the thought of Azriel being tortured like that. The fire must have been horrific if his healing gifts had been unable to get rid of them. "I am Beron's daughter," you said, pausing to let Azriel deal with his shock at the information. "He hates me. Blamed me for stealing something, so he taught me a lesson. Nobody came to save me."

Azriel's breath caught in his throat as your words sank in. The room was silent, weighed down by the shared pain between the two of you. His thumb traced the scars on your hand, the touch gentle, as if he was afraid of causing you more hurt.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I had no idea... I knew Beron was cruel, but..." He shook his head, as if words couldn't express the anger and sorrow he felt.

You glanced down at your joined hands, the sight of your scars intertwined with his bringing an odd sense of comfort. "It's in the past now," you murmured, though the words felt hollow. "But it doesn't make it any easier, does it? Knowing that we survived, but still carrying the reminders every day."

Azriel's grip tightened slightly, a silent affirmation that he understood. "No," he admitted softly, "it doesn't. The memories, the scars- they're always there. They never truly heal."

You looked up into his eyes, seeing the haunted depths that mirrored your own. “I used to think that I was alone in this,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “That no one could understand what it was like to carry this...this weight. But seeing your scars, hearing your story... I don’t feel so alone anymore.”

Azriel’s gaze softened, a warmth spreading through the cold that had settled in the room. “You’re not alone,” he assured you, his voice steady. “Not anymore. We’ve both been through hell, and we’re still here. Maybe that means something.”

Despite yourself, you let out a low chuckle. "Maybe it does." You dared to raise his hand to your lips, where you gently pressed a kiss onto his skin. "I don't need the gloves anymore, do I?"

He sucked in a sharp breath as your lips lingered upon his hand. "No. Don't be afraid to show off your hands."

You smiled up at him as you felt a warmth spread through your chest- a warmth that you had never before felt. "Only if you stop being afraid to show off yours." You had seen how Azriel would hide his hands at times, obviously just as insecure as you about his scars.

Azriel chuckled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. "It's a deal."

And as you stood there, hand in hand with Azriel, the silence that followed wasn't filled with pain or fear, but with the quiet understanding that neither of you would ever have to face your demons alone again.

general tag list: @quiet-loser @andreperez11 @lilah-asteria

@anarchiii @inkedinshadows @panther-girl-124

@scorpioriesling

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Seeker of Cradles.

He swore to protect them. His children, his princess, his country.

Lives are precious, and he will not see them snuffed out prematurely.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

Lilia acts before he can think.

He pays no mind to the audible gasps of the senators, to Baul’s worried pleading. The only voice he listens to is the one that draws him like a moth to a glowing flame.

It’s a shrill cry, the sound any infant makes. But the sob is filled with an overwhelming sadness, a deep desire that resonates with him. Lonely, longing for love.

It breaks his heart, makes him tear up.

“Wait for me!" he shouts. "I’m coming to you right now...!”

He thunders up the steps of Cradle Tower, bracing himself against the lightning hurtling his way. His hood is thrown off, hair whipping, slapping him in the face and standing on end. Lilia fears no man--but in the presence of such sheer, raw power, he's compelled to cower.

He soldiers through, forcing himself up another step. Right as his foot connects, a wild bolt comes down hard, striking him.

Lilia lets out a guttural cry, his small body keeling over. Every fiber of his being screeches in pain.

"Vanrouge-dono...!!"

He stays stationary for one long, awful moment. Then--a sharp intake of breath--and he miraculously rises on trembling legs.

"H-Hah..." he grits out, clutching onto himself. "Is that... Is that all you've got?! It'll take a lot more than THAT to take me out. Your mother has made me deal with tantrums far worse than this!!"

Lilia resumes the arduous climb. More lightning is lobbed at him. Wincing, he wills his aching muscles to weave as best he can around the incoming attacks.

He's nearing the top of the stairwell now, where the power is most concentrated and the wind howls like a banshee. Lilia raises his voice, calling over the storm.

"Are you upset because no one's paying attention to you? Well, you're wrong!! Everyone... Everyone is terribly worried about you!!

"You're such a spoiled child, rejecting your grandmother's magic. Do you know what will happen to you if you don't take it?! You'll die. You'll DIE, and all the people who sacrificed themselves so you could live was for nothing. You don't have the luxury of choice!! You MUST live!!"

The future depends on you.

He doesn't know if the unborn child can understand him or not. It must, to some extent, because the screaming in his head escalates to a frenzied pitch. A strong gale nearly knocks Lilia off the tower--he grasps onto a column and inches closer to its treasure.

The dark, speckled egg floating inside of a barrier.

"You stubborn thing!! Lilia scolds, pushing against the magical shield. His palms burn, as if coated with acid. "If you still refuse... then take me instead of Maleficia...!! I'll give you everything."

He pushes, the barrier holding firm. Pain climbs up his forearms, eating him alive from the inside out. He feels his energy being leeched, his flesh screaming, on fire, as it is sucked out.

"My love..."

The barrier shudders, shakes.

"My magic..."

His biceps are searing, his blood, molten.

"My life...!!"

A crack.

"Accept it all, Malleus...!!"

It breaks.

Lilia falls through, arms extended toward the egg. He entraps it, hugging it tightly against his chest. It’s warm. Malleus is warm, and Lilia can feel a faint flutter of a heart on his skin. Contentedness floods him, even as he feels the pull of magic as it is drained and hungrily devoured.

The egg gives off a green glow from within. The light grows brighter and brighter, until—

“Kyuuuuuuuuuuu!”

Suddenly, an explosion of blinding white. The shell splinters and sheds.

There is no egg in Lilia’s arms, but a lizard with raven scales and a violet underbelly and spines. It blinks up at the general through round, reptilian eyes, belching a line of emerald fire.

“A-Ah… You are…” Lilia’s knees go weak. He falls to the ground, still cradling the baby to him. “Malleus…! You’re here at long last. I… I-I…”

He doesn’t realize it, but he has started to cry uncontrollably. Fat tears dribble down his cheeks and land on the baby dragon’s hide.

Lilia allows himself to wail. It’s ugly, full of raw emotion. Less human and more like the cry of a hideous beast.

From below, cheers and praise float up to him.

“Our hero!”

“Congratulations, Vanrouge!”

“The prince owes his life to you.”

Their words sting his head. The world wavers, wildly distorting--Lilia can't tell if it's his tears blurring his vision or not.

He crumples over with a groan. "M-My head... Agggh!"

"Kyuuuu?" Malleus pads a claw onto his cheek, confused.

The senator's voices are growing louder, angrier.

"VANROUUUUUGE!!"

"What has he done?! This is going to be a scandal--a scandal, do you hear me?!"

"Oh, to think that a disgusting bat has tainted the noble Draconia bloodline...!"

The contradictory shouts mix. It feels like there are fists beating his skull in from both sides. Lilia hangs his head, pulls at his hair, tries to understand the clashing sounds.

That's when he senses the presence of a shadow standing over him.

"I’ve found you at last, Lilia.”

He slowly raises his eyes, careful to keep Malleus guarded with his arms. There is a man in black robes towering over him, his mouth fixed in a frown. A pair of horns protrudes from his head, crowning his ominous yet regal aura.

“What… Who are you?!” Lilia demands of the stranger. “That face, those horns…!”

They're just like Levan and Meleanor's.

The stranger ignores his question. His expression has morphed from displeasure to anger. "Insolent fools!! How dare they speak ill of you. There will be severe consequences for this.”

The air stirs, chilling. Thunder crashes in the distance, seemingly in response to his fury.

He regards Lilia again, his voice dropping to a dangerously dulcet coo. “Ah, but you needn't concern yourself with them."

He takes a stride forward, and Lilia shrinks away. "S-Stay back! I'm warning you...!"

"What sort of a dream would you like to have this time, hmm?" he asks nonchalantly. "A dream in which mother and father are still by your side? A dream where you can live freely with your children? A dream for you to find true love? Just say the word, and it is yours."

With each suggestion, Lilia backs up further and further--until he is nearly at the platform's edge. Wind blows from below, sending hair and fabric flapping.

Here is the devil, come to tempt, and the jaws of death behind him.

The stranger bends down, his smile serpentine and eyes iridescent, twisted with obsession. Charming as a snake. He extends an arm, palm open. "Come, Lilia. Take my hand."

“FATHER!!”

CLANG!

A bolt of silver arrives, expertly blocking Malleus's outstretched hand. He stumbles back, glaring at the two bodies that put themselves between him and Lilia.

“You are…”

“Are you alright?” The quiet question comes from a boy with aurora eyes—clear as a cloudless sky.

Silver.

“Lilia-sama, stand back!!” His partner, Sebek, barks, baton at the ready. “We will protect you!”

“What nuisances,” Malleus snarls. “Still you insist on disrupting these dreams? It is a hopeless endeavor.”

“Maybe it is.” Silver tightens his hold on his own baton. Resolution threads his voice, and he stands his ground against the encroaching monster. “But we will never stop trying until we’ve broken through your blessing.”

“Bless... ing?”

The single word is like magic. One droplet rippling in a pond, setting off a chain reaction.

Memories fire off—the departure, the packing, the party, well wishes, the thorns. Someone screams, jet black tears streaming down their face. The wrath, the hurt.

“I DON’T WANT TO LOSE YOU!!”

The fog lifts from Lilia’s head, and the world clears. The identity of the horned stranger, the same as the baby dragon he holds.

Malleus… It’s you. It was always you.

Lilia gives a shaky laugh. "This is no blessing, boys. It's a curse."

Malleus glowers. “… You’ve awakened, haven’t you?!”

“That’s right. It seems I was dreaming for quite some time too—but I’m alright now, thanks to Silver and Sebek~”

“Father…”

“Lilia-sama!!”

“You too then… You’ve decided to turn traitor on me.” He hisses it, loathes the taste of treachery.

“No, Malleus.”

“Kyuuuuuu?”

Lilia steps beside his students—a general joining his knights. Ruby meets emerald, glittering with defiance.

“We’re going to save you, simple as that 🎵”

[luckyollieboy]

Shared Nightmare

» Pairings/Characters:

GN!Reader × Jin Kamurai.

» Contents/Warnings:

Kind of angst. Nightmares and mental illness. Implied CSA from the past on the readers part. Also hints that Jin watched his mom commit suicide. Touchy feely. Jin might be OOC idk, let me live my fantasy. Hurt Comfort kind of thing. OMG they're sharing a bed, so scandalous!!! Uhmmm, idk what else. Enjoy I'm sleep deprived homie (and desperately want Jin). ||EDIT: Hello humans I'm finally rewriting this because I am not letting a bunch of people read this and like it when it's horrible||

Fog.

Everything was fogged. A black endless pool of nothing and the smallest bit of fog stretching on forever. Despite the seemingly harmless scene, my anxiety spiked. My heart pumped hard making my ears ring as I looked around frantically.

No. Please no—

That familiar feeling crept up my throat, suffocating acidic sensation of panic. Head to toe my body burned, not like a fire, but like the closest of ice. Everything felt wrong. I knew why. Of course I did, I knew this scene very well infact. Which is why I was begging the inky darkness to spare me, to let me dream of something I knew I couldn't have tonight.

The warmth of tears slid down my cheek and I turned on my heel and ran, ran as if something was coming to kill me right in that moment, like a scary monster was hidden in the darkness.

There was a monster hidden.

And it was going to catch me no matter how far I ran, how much I begged, no matter what it would catch me. It couldn't be stopped.

The faster I ran the more I could see.

The house.

Oh God, the house. Not this place, not tonight please.

Within a matter of second I hear that laugh.

That fucking laugh.

Clear. Closer.

Not again.

Closer. Clearer.

Please.

I busted the front door open and ran to the bedroom, knowing that I wouldn't be safe. I never will be, but I try anyways. I froze in the room, not sure where to hide.

That pause costed me everything.

Those fucking hands, touching my skin.

It felt like how a vile rotting corpse smelled.

This has to be what death felt like. Nothing else can explain this suffering.

The sobs shook my body as I knew I couldn't do anything, nothing, fucking nothing.

I was that small child again, my childhood pajamas, the color I use to love that I now hate burned my eyes. No, the tears are what burned. Invisible scars were left as the tears slipped down my childhood face.

That voice pierced my ears, clawing my brain the way a bear would when threatened.

I wanted to scream, yell for my guardian— for anyone really.

I was turned around and I shut my eyes. I refused to remember that face.

I don't want to, please.

Every touch felt like a part of my soul was stolen, all of it was robbing me.

The bed, the one I use to feel safe in now turned into my biggest fear, was now touching my back.

If I could scream, or fight, or anything.

No.

No.

NO.

NONO

NONONO

NONONONO—

"NO!!"

I felt arms wrap around my cold sweaty body, I started to struggle against them until I heard his voice. It was thick, sleepy, and scared. Jin.

"I'm here."

The arms squeezed me closer and I felt the trembles. I sucked in a shaky breath, trying to not cry as I whispered back, "I'm here."

I cringed ever so slightly at the rawness of my voice, his face was buried into my back. If I was a fool I would have never noticed the small trembles in his arms as he held me. I shut my eyes as I took one last deep breath. Looks like we both had a nightmare this time.

I gently turned around and held him close to my chest. Frosthiem was always too cold to have crickets, but the wind replaced that sound at night. I had gotten Jin a wind chime not too long after meeting him, we had a small struggle putting it up in the window, it was gently playing it's song now. I shut my eyes and buried my head into his hair, that cold fresh smell of his shampoo grounding me further.

"Was it...about her?" I muttered softly against his head, my fingers gently scratching his scalp.

He nodded gently before his thick scratchy voice spoke, "I woke up before you. Same one tonight?"

I nodded against his head. His strong arms squeezed me tightly before he rolled over onto his back, eyes closed and arm over his face. I shifted to lay on his bare chest, his heartbeat slowed the longer we laid there. His hand traced small circles across my back and arm in a soft gentle motion, betraying how he acted any other time.

I knew he only acted like he was so high above me and he only wanted me around as a servant, he couldn't bring himself to love me fully without some sort of barrier. But moments like these, only the two of us would know, we let the acts fall and just... Were.

Nothing special. Nothing dramatic. No expectations. Just us. Real us. Nothing more nothing less.

The softest, almost timid sounding words fell from his lips, "I love you..."

My heart throbbed and my anxiety left fully as I mumbled against his chest, "I love you."

He gently used his finger to tilt my head up, his eyes raw and puffy, the softest and most beautiful facial expression on display for me. Only me.

His eyes said a million words he couldn't say verbally, promises he knew he couldn't keep, and pleas only I could understand.

My fingers grazed his cheek, his eyes fluttering closed at the action. I leaned in and pressed my lips against his softly and he returned the favor.

In this cruel nightmare, we have each other.

[dearmantis]

Heart to Heart

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x sick!Reader

Summary: Your weak heart has kept you up all night once more and Aleksander is forced to face the fact that the person he loves is still mortal.

Warnings: sick and insecure (and slightly self-sacrificing) reader, conversations about death, the rest is just fluff, I think

Word Count: 1.5k

Authors note: I'm still alive. I'm sorry for taking such a long break without explaining why. I didn't really go online at all for a month because some things came up at the end of december that didn't really leave me alone until very recently. I'll try my best to not repeat this and start working my way through my missed notifications soon.

I'm not a native English speaker, and this isn't really edited at all. The title is from Heart to Heart by Mac DeMarco

When Aleksander wakes in the morning the first thing he notices, before he even fully realizes that he is awake and has to get up, is that he is alone.

Your side of the bed is cold and he curses quietly, fully aware of what this means. He can feel his heart rate shoot up, adrenaline rushing through his body as his thoughts take the worst turn. Quickly standing up he gets dressed for the day, trying his hardest to calm his mind. You're alright. Someone would've notified him if something bad had happened while he was asleep. One of his guards would've woken him up.

He knows this like the back of his hand, yet he pauses as soon as his hand wraps around the cold metal knob of the door that leads into the living room of your shared quarters. His mind is trying to prepare him for the worst. Prepare him to find your dead body curled in on itself on the sofa in front of a cold fireplace, all alone.

He has always hated this habit of yours. This obsession with keeping his day as peaceful as possible, of never bothering him with anything, has led to you refusing to tell him when something is wrong. You've been sick for almost your whole life, your heart a bit weaker than it should be, and every time you have issues with it during the night you leave your shared bed to hide away in a different room to make sure you won't disturb his sleep.

Many times has he asked you to stop, to wake him up so he can help make you more comfortable or call a heartrender to help you in case something is seriously wrong, but you just won't listen. You're trying to protect him from the pain of seeing you suffer, he understands that, but it makes no sense to him. Why are you, a mortal little otkazat'sya, so obsessed with protecting him, an ancient being who most people would argue has lost his humanity centuries ago if they truly knew him as a person?

Most... except you. You have found out about his true nature, about the darkness sleeping in his chest in the place where his soul should sit, and decided that he was worth loving. You saw and embraced all of him, the beautiful and kind, but also the cruel and ugly.

You. A small, mortal otkazat'sya with a sick heart.

The closest thing to a soulmate he thinks he will ever get.

With a last deep breath he finally opens the door and lets his eyes glide through the room, and he can feel his heart jump when he finds you carefully sipping on a cup of tea while sitting in front of a warm, burning fire, gaze focused on the snow silently falling outside.

Your head turns when you hear the door open, eyes lighting up when you see your husband.

"Oh, I'm glad to see you're awake. I sorted your folder for the meeting with the king and his advisors today. I hope I didn't mess up one of your weird sorting system though. I know you have your own way of doing things, but I thought this could-"

Your voice cuts off as soon as he reaches you on the sofa, quickly kneeling down in front of you before pressing his head against your chest. He knows your heart is beating, but he has to hear it right now. Has to hear the soft, familiar rhythm to calm his own heart and reassure him that this is all real, that he isn't dreaming.

You don't continue speaking after the surprise of his sudden movement dies down, instead mowing your hands up to run softly over his head while he listens to your heart pump blood through your body.

It still speeds up when he's close. You're glad it does.

You sit like this for a while, your fingers carefully moving to comb through his thick, ink black hair and loosening any knots that may have formed while he slept alone.

"I told you to stop disappearing." You finally hear him whisper after a few quiet minutes, arms still wrapped tightly around your middle while his head stays pressed against your chest.

"I know, Sasha... but it just wouldn't stop. I wanted to stay with you, but the pain wouldn't go away. I couldn't breathe right because of my own fear, so I kept coughing and it was so loud. I didn't want to wake you in the night before your meeting. I promise, if I felt like things were going to end last night, I would've woken you up."

You can feel the way his arms clench around you. You know how much he hates thinking about your death, how helpless and weak the simple fact that you will die makes him feel.

"Stop talking about it. It won't happen."

"Sasha, please, I know you don't want to think about losing me, but we have to make plans for-"

"No. I've created the fold, milaya. I will not let you die. I won't let it happen, even if I have to break the laws of nature once more. I will not let you leave this world without me. I refuse to lose another person. I can't be alone again, can't lose you too. I will not watch as the universe takes another person from me and leaves me alone to pick up the pieces of my broken heart. Not again. I can't do it again. You can't ask me to. You can't."

"I don't care about the king and I don't care about my rest." He hisses before finally lifting his ear from your chest, dark eyes looking up at you. "And I'm starting to hate your heart for keeping you up at night, for hurting you like this."

A soft smile finds its way onto your lips as you map out every freckle on his skin, every small wrinkle and every pore on his eternally beautiful face.

He never says it out loud but it's clear that it frustrates him more than anything that he can't fight the thing that is harming you. There is no enemy to slay, to throat to slit, no king to overthrow. He can't rip your heart out of your body and give you a painless, happy life that way. All he can do is hope that the medicine prescribed to you by the best doctors he can pay for will help and that the corporalki order will keep an eye on you.

This is entirely out of his control, and it's probably the worst feeling in the world for him.

"Hey, this heart is filled to the brim with love for you, don't be mean." You chastise playfully, grinning when you see Aleksander roll his eyes before moving to sit next to you on the couch. Leaning your head against his shoulder, you breathe in his familiar smell and let it soothe your soul. He still smells a bit like the soap the servants use to clean your bedsheets, with an underlying sweetness that comforts you like nothing else ever could. He smells like home, like belonging.

"I need you to swear that you will get me no matter what is wrong. Even if it's just a weird feeling in your chest, you need to wake me or come to me, please. That's all I ask of you, my love. All I want. I can't do my job as your husband and make you feel better if I don't know that something is wrong."

You think about it for a few seconds, mind replaying every other time you've had this conversation with him. This time is different though. He's not mad or upset, there are no tears in his eyes, he isn't even shaking. He just sounds calm, with a hint of pain in his voice, as if an old wound is giving him issues again.

Slowly you nod, arms wrapping around him as you snuggle closer to him.

"I promise I'll wake you Aleksander. I swear it. No matter what it is. I will wake you up or go find you."

Looking up at him you see the way his eyes shine at your words before he leans down and presses a soft kiss on your lips, movements careful as if he thinks you might break if he kisses you too forcefully. The only thought you have is how much you don't want to lose this. How much you want to stay with your husband.

You've accepted that you will die early years ago. Born into a simple family, you had no chance to truly survive long. You've already made it further than you should've. But being with Aleksander has made you greedy, his own ambition leading you to play with your own what-if scenarios. He convinced you to start dreaming again.

And the only dream you have is one of a world where you will never have to leave him behind, even if that means breaking the laws of nature.

Taglist: @snowkestrel

[buckyarchives]

bedless | bucky barnes.

summary: relapsing wasn’t great, ever. but bucky’s is there.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: SELF HARM. i wrote this as a s/h comfort fic and that’s pretty much all it is. i’m serious if ur triggered by graphic descriptions of self harm please go find a different story.

author note: wrote this A LONG time ago on ao3 and i’m attempting to move all my storys to tumblr. so it’s probably really bad lol. i also wrote this when i was struggling but i’m 6 months clean now!! whoo!

You stare blankly into the distance of your bathroom, your eyes landing on nothing specifically, simply zoning out from the world around you. It was dark besides the blue-tinted night light plugged into the wall across from you. The floor below you was hard and cold, the expensive tile felt like stone under you as your limbs pulled close to your chest, you stayed deadly still. The aftermath ritual of relapsing. Moments ago you were dry heaving, tears streaming down your face as you desperately scratched away at your skin trying to find that small blade hidden away in attempts you'd forget. Your mind was racing so fast that you couldn’t keep track of a single thought for more than a second, and it wouldn't stop. And now, you sit in a weird comfortable peace, face dry of tears and incredibly tired. Your limbs burned from your self-inflicted torture but you couldn't be bothered to focus on it.

Today hadn't been a hard day exactly. Actually, it had been a relatively good week, but these things just creep up on you like that. Ended up with you coming to the alternative that wasn't exactly smart but you trusted it, it has worked before. You ignored Thor calling you down for dinner, it wasn't an unusual thing for an avenger to refuse and miss out. Everyone was dealing with their own shit. You hoped no one would notice your absence. But when have you ever been right before?

Your bathroom door was slightly cracked open, but it was slowly nudged further open as you heard a soft knock at your door. A familiar gruff voice called your name. It was Bucky, Bucky's room was across from yours and you both shared a small kitchen and common area as you two were the only ones on the floor of Starks enormous tower. You suffered from insomnia and he suffered from horrible night terrors that left him screaming awake. So naturally, the two of you found comfort in each other, whether it be sharing a bed for the night or being in each other's presence in the kitchen or living room in the dead of night when neither of you could bear to sleep. Bucky wasn't foreign to your addiction, to him walking in on your aftermath ritual of dissociating on a cold, hard floor.

“Doll?” his voice sounded worried from the other side of the door. You couldn't bear to tear your eyes away from whatever you were staring at, or even muster up a small noise as a response. You didn't move. Nonetheless, he pushed the rest of your door open, and right as he came into view you were void of your trance. Your eyes snapped to him. Bucky stood with his vibranium hand gripping the doorknob, his metal finger wrapped tighter as he processed the sight of you. His eyes were wide and worried, and a wave of terror flashed across his face.

You only bow your head in shame, you couldn’t look at him and see how disgust and disappointment filled his face. Bucky's footsteps ascended towards you, you wanted to yell and push him away and lock the door and never let anyone back in but, you were tired and he was much stronger than you. So you continued to sit still until the flesh warmth of Bucky's hand rose to your face, directing you to look at him. His face showed so many emotions you couldn't begin to suspect what he was feeling. He was just staring into your eyes, those perfect ocean blue eyes. He slowly shook his head disapprovingly.

You blinked, once, twice. Your throat croaked as you attempted to apologize to the man in front of you but nothing came out.

Your eyes diverted down again, you felt on fire under his stare. “Do I need to take you to the med wing?”

He asked this question every time, and you always shot your head up and would rapidly shake your head and beg him not to carry you away to be fixed by an unfamiliar doctor and have to bear the disapproving looks of anyone you saw in the hall. And word gets around fast in the tower to by the end of the night everyone would know of your damage.

“Bucky.” your voice came out hoarse but quick. “Please don't make me go, please.” He just looked back at you, leaving you unanswered. His hand still held steady on your face, he was squatting down to your height. The silence was deafening but as soon as you were about to make up some excuse for your relapse, his hand left your face and the warmth left your body with it making you feel cold and weak once again.

“Same place as last time?’ Bucky asked but it sounded more like a statement than a question as he opened a cabinet and grabbed bandages and your usual stuff to clean the open wounds on your arms.

You didn't usually clean yourself up after, besides just getting water and cleaning up extra blood. All your life you left the scars untreated. You were never sure if you did this as an extra way of torture, letting the sting of the cuts linger longer or because that meant the marks would be more apparent for longer, leaving a reminder for you all the time. The first time Bucky had walked in on you, he ran to bruce's lab and back after you begged and pleaded with him not to take you to the med bay. And he came back with enough bandages to cover your wounds and then by the next day you found a box of bandages and tape as well as hydrogen peroxide to clean your wounds sitting on your bed in a Walgreens bag. A small gesture that weirdly made you want to do it less, but you would never tell Bucky that.

Bucky turned back to you with a bottle and cotton pads in his hands, he sat across from you on the bathroom floor. Your eyes averted away from his face, you couldn't hide the embarrassment on your face, you felt like a little kid that made a mess just for someone else to unrightfully clean it up for you.

“Sweetheart, I need you to look at me.” his soft voice rang through your head, and as much as you didn't want to you obeyed. Your eyes traveled up Bucky's face to meet with his blue eyes, he looked tired and upset and suddenly another way of guilt went through you. “I'm going to clean this up, okay?” he waited patiently for your response, you just nodded tiredly. “This is going to sting, just tell me if it's too much, and I’ll stop.”

Slowly, Bucky grabbed your arm from your lap and he began running the clothes across the wounds. You watched the blood wash away just for it to keep coming up from the lines you created. You bit your lip, you felt like you were going to cry out but you were simply too drained to shed another tear.

“Look at me.” bucky said, “I need you to look at me.”

You tore your eyes away from your wrist and met with his eyes once again. His icy blue eyes that you could get lost in, as cheesy as it sounds, you just genuinely could stare at him all day just to drown in the ocean he had for eyes. Bucky Barnes was an incredibly attractive man, you would not deny that, and almost every person on the planet would agree with you. Women swooned for him left and right in the 40s, as Steve would retell stories of their past life decades ago. But there was truly something so different about him. The shape of his nose and the hollow of his cheeks, his jawline looked like it was sculpted by the gods, and his smile. Oh god, his smile was such a beautiful and rare thing. During the past months of being close, you would sometimes do anything to get a good genuine smile out of him, even if it mean embarrassing yourself in the process.

“You're staring, dear,” Bucky spoke, and you looked down to see your arm had already been wrapped in the white bandages. Damn, had you been staring at him that long?

“You told me to look at you, not my fault.” shrugging your shoulders, beginning to pull your arm back to you but Bucky's grip tightened. Not enough to hurt you but enough just to keep you from pulling away from him. A moment of silence fell between you before he brought your arm up to his lips and he placed a gentle kiss on your bandaged skin. He looked back up to you before shifting his weight so he could lean in and continue to place another kiss on your forehead. The warmth spreads through you and makes you feel lighter and slightly better.

“I'm disappointed in you, doll,” he whispered. you nodded in agreement, knowing he should be. “You need to understand how much this hurts me too, everytime I see you like this, it hurts me so much because I care about you more than you imagine.”

He spoke clearly and genuinely, the words hit you hard in the chest. Making you feel equally better knowing he cared but also worst because you hurt him, one of the things in life you actively attempt to avoid. His eyes turned glossy and he swallowed hard and, suddenly your throat went dry again. You couldn’t speak a word of a response so you just bow your head again, averting eye contact so speaking to bucky would feel less intimidating.

“It has to hurt, it won't stop unless I do this.” you choked out, waterworks started up once again and the tears started streaming. “I'm sorry, buck. I just never know what else to do.”

Bucky grabbed you gently and pulled you into him, feeling his warmth more closely. He shushed you softly and wiped away the tears from your cheek as he placed another kiss on the top of your head. Holding you close to his chest, you would faintly hear his heartbeat over your racing thoughts, bringing you down back to earth as you focused on the beats of his chest. Eventually, you calmed down completely but bucky didn't let you go yet, he still held you close. He was slightly rocking you back and forth as he rubbed your back with his metal arm.

“Can you sit still and be good for a moment? I need to grab something real quick, sweetheart.” he pulled away just far enough so he could see your face. He wiped away whatever tears remained on your face. Bucky gave you a small reassuring smile as you nodded while mumbling a quiet agreement.

And soon enough he got up and the warmth of his body left you again feeling empty and you slumped back into the wall behind you. You felt so drained and limp you could have fallen unconscious right here an now. The quietness of the room felt intimating, it was so easy for you to grow accustomed to Bucky’s presence that it terrified you. You wondered if he would lie and leave and not come back, finally getting fed up with your self-destruction and cleaning up your messes. You wouldn’t blame him for it, leaving you, you didn't believe you deserves an ounce of his care. He was an ex-assassin and struggling to come back from being brainwashed to do horrible things without a choice, while now being in a new time, having to adjust to a new world. He needed to focus on himself and take time to recover. Not take care of you. But as soon as you were about to convince yourself Bucky wasn't coming back and that you did in fact deserved it he came through the bathroom door again, with a bowl in his hands.

You tilt your head, your eyebrows furrowed together in confusion to see a bowl of ice in his hands as he sets it down in between the two of you. bucky sits down next to you and grabs ahold of your unbandaged arm. “If it absolutely has to hurt,” he grabs a couple of cubes of ice and puts them in your hand to hold. “Holding ice for a while usually leaves a sting.”

As your fingers wrapped around the cold cubes in your hand, you waited and as he said, it left a small sting. You held it in your warm, sweaty hands until it melted and grabbed another fistful. Your eyes traveled up to Bucky’s face to see he was already looking at you with loving eyes.

“Bucky..” you began to speak, but your words fell short and nothing came out.

He sighed, “I'm not going to tell you to stop, because I understand what you’re feeling.” he paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts before continuing. “But I really care about you and it hurts knowing you have to harm yourself to feel better.”

“I'm sorry,” you said, was all you could think to say to him at this moment. You dropped the rest of the ice into the bowl and shoved it aside and shifted, trying to scoot your drained body close to bucky. “I'm sorry that I hurt you.”

Bucky blinked a few times before grabbing your face again and giving you another comforting kiss on your forehead. Both vibranium and flesh hands raised to hold your face, pulling all your attention onto him.

“Promise me that next time you feel like this. come to my room and ill take care of you, doll” he spoke sincerely. His eyes sparkled with admiration it almost made you want to cry.

You raised a shaky hand and stuck out your pinky finger in front of him. “Pink promise.”

Bucky's eyes shot from your face to your hand, and a small smile crept onto his face at your gesture. But nonetheless, he took his flesh hand in yours, repeating the line before both of you locked it with a kiss on the hand.

“Now let's get you to bed.”

And with that Bucky helped you up, guiding you slowly to your bedroom. He asked you if you wanted to change out of your clothes, and you just explained to him how tired you were and you flopped onto the bed. After tucking yourself comfortably under your blanket and settling to your side, Bucky followed after tugging off his shirt. His arms wrapped around you as he began to speak sweet nothings into the back of your head as you dozed off into sleep.

[rebelwrites]

Twenty Six: He’s Gone

Charles Leclerc x Nova Teller (OC)

Till the wheels fall off Masterlist

Small town meets the fast lane. What happens when two souls meet? Will it end in happiness or will they both crash and burn?

Once again I’m sorry

As always reblogs and feedback is highly appreciated ❤️ if you want tagging in future parts let me know ❤️

Staring into the darkness I just felt numb, in a matter of hours everything had come crashing down on the family. I refused to believe that the man that saved my life, the person I looked up to and the one I ran to in my time of need was now gone. Nothing could stop this pain, I had dealt with a lot of heartbreak in my life but this was by far the worst. I felt like I had just watched someone cut my heart out of my chest, ripping it to pieces followed by setting it on fire in the process.

“Nova, sweetie, can you come in here for a second,” Pascale called from the living room.

Letting out a heavy sigh I slowly kicked the kitchen chair away from my body as I stood up. I felt like I had lead bricks tied to my feet, weighing me down with every step I took.

The moment my gaze locked onto my brother’s expression I found myself struggling to hold back tears, I could count on one hand the amount of times I saw Jax cry so seeing him this broken was like someone was stabbing me in the gut.

He roughly wiped his eyes with the back of his hands before lifting the blanket up signaling for me to join him and Elenor. Shuffling across the room I found myself flopping on the sofa, resting my head on my older brother’s shoulder trying not to break down for the millionth time this evening. I honestly didn’t know how I was still producing tears.

“I know you are both hurting right now,” Pascale said softly as she perched on the edge of the coffee table, “I am not going to tell you your feelings are invalid because we all grieve in different ways, so do what you need to do,” she paused, resting her hand on my knee. “Drink a whole bottle of whiskey, get high, punch things but please stay in the house where I know you are both safe.”

Taking a deep breath I flashed her the weakest smile, I was so grateful she was here, I honestly don’t know how we would have coped if it was just the three of us. The sound of my phone vibrating on the wooden table was the only noise that echoed through the room. Pascale slowly picked the device up before holding it out to me. “C'est Char, ma chérie. Ne le repousse pas, laisse-le être la force dont tu as besoin maintenant. It’s Char, my dear. Don't push him away, let him be the strength you need right now.” she whispered.

I knew she was right but how was I meant to tell him the Pops had died, I was struggling to form words to Pascale and Jax. Reaching out I took my phone off her before pushing myself to my feet. My heart sank when I realized Charles was facetiming me, there was no way I could try and hide anything. Part of me didn’t want to tell him what had happened because he needed to keep his focus on today’s qualifying, however deep in my heart I knew he needed to know.

Soon enough Charles’ face appeared on my screen, his smile was as bright as the sun but his expression quickly changed when he took in my appearance. I knew I looked like I had been dragged through the bushes, my hair was sticking all over the place and my eyes were red and puffy from the hours of crying.

“Nova, que s'est-il passé ? Parle-moi. Nova, what happened? Talk to me,” he said softly, with a concerned look on his face.

“He’s go-” my bottom lip started quivering as the word got caught in my throat, the thought of saying it made it real, leaning my phone against the bottle of beer on the kitchen counter I covered my face with my hands as my body shook from the sobs. I tried to steady my breathing before I spoke again, I desperately needed him here with me but he was practically the other side of the world, in Japan, “he’s gone Char, he’s fucking gone.”

“Sunshine, who’s gone?” he asked quietly.

“Pops.” I cried, refusing to look at the screen.

Charles found himself frozen on the spot, it was like someone had just pressed a mute button and the buzz of the garage suddenly disappeared. He couldn’t believe what his girlfriend had just told him, running his hand over his face he tried his hardest to blink back tears but it was no use. He didn’t care if the cameras caught him as he barged past the mechanics trying to get out of the crowd. Once he was alone in his driver room he slumped down onto the floor, “Babygirl, I am so fucking sorry,” Charles cried, knotting his fingers in his hair. “I can’t believe it.”

“I don’t know what to do Char,” Nova sobbed.

The sound of her heartbreak was crushing Charles, knowing he was what felt like a million miles away, when his girl needed him the most. Before he met Nova all that mattered was racing but now he didn’t give a shit about today’s qualifying nor the race tomorrow, he needed to be back in Charming with the person who meant the world to him.

His heart sank as he let his last conversation with JT play over and over in his head, it was something he was glad he got to do, especially because he knew how much JT meant to Nova.

The pair of them sat in silence both with tears streaming down their cheeks.

“Fuck, I was only on the phone with him yesterday,” the Monégasque breathed, looking up at the ceiling trying to hold it together the best he could for Nova, but he was failing drastically. “He seemed absolutely fine.”

“What, what do you mean Char?” Nova whimpered, causing Charles to look down at the screen.

Taking a breath he shook his head, he couldn’t tell her the reason for the phone call, he had the perfect plan in his head, although the news of JT might cause him to change things slightly. “I was just checking in on him,” he whispered, trying to not reveal the truth, silently hoping that Nova wouldn’t ask too many more questions.

Charles found himself wandering aimlessly around the garage, his phone pressed against his ear, hoping he caught JT on a good day especially with the question he was wanting to ask.

After four rings the cheery voice of JT came through the device.

“Aren’t you meant to be getting ready for free practice?” he chuckled, causing a large smile to appear on Charles’ face. His body sagged in relief as JT was making jokes over the traditional greeting.

“I swear I am getting in the car very soon, this just couldn’t wait,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with the palm of his hand. His heart was pounding against his chest, for some reason he was petrified that JT was going to say no and his hopes and dreams would come crashing down around him.

“The camera just panned over to you and they are making jokes about this being such an important call it’s delayed you getting into the car,” JT chuckled, Charles could feel the warmth coming through the phone.

“This kinda is an important phone call,” Charles breathed, letting his eyes flutter closed as the words fell from his lips. “I have something to ask and I think this is going to be the second most important question I will ever ask.”

He could picture JT sitting there with an amused look on his face with a raised eyebrow, “You know I am intrigued now son, what is the most important question?” JT hummed, the tone of his voice told Charles he knew what was coming.

Charles took a deep breath before responding, “asking your daughter to marry me,” he paused, trying to calm his racing heart down a little, “she is the one for me, I want her to be my wife, more than I want to win the championship. So JT I am asking for your blessing for Nova’s hand in marriage.”

He was met with silence, causing his mind to race. His stomach was churning as he waited patiently for a response. “Boy, it’s taken you long enough to ask.” Charles was a little taken back by the response, he was worried that because he hadn’t been dating Nova long it would be a red flag to JT but here he was joking about the time it took. “I knew you were the one for my little girl the moment I introduced you to her.”

Charles’ heart fluttered hearing JT speak. A large smile appeared on his face as he glanced around the garage, holding his finger up to Andrea signaling he would only be a minute. “I am so glad you said that, because I already have the ring.”

JT paused for a moment before speaking, “I’m glad to know my sweet angel will be taken care of when I’m gone.” Charles could hear him choking on his words as he spoke, in fact hearing JT talk about when he was gone instantly brought tears to the Monégasque’s eyes. “Thank you for making her so happy, I haven’t seen her this cheerful in years.”

“Now JT, there isn’t any need to be saying shit like that, I don’t think you are going anywhere for a long time old man, plus Nova wouldn’t let you anyway,” Charles said with a small chuckle trying to lighten the conversation.

Hiding his face in his hand, there was no way he could go out and race, not now. He knew he would just end up putting the car into the wall and that was the last thing anyone needed, especially Nova.

The sound of someone knocking on the door gained Charles attention, causing him to look up as Andrea’s face appeared. “Charles, on a besoin de toi dans la voiture dans cinq minutes. Charles, we need you in the car in five minutes.” Andrea said with a large smile which quickly fell when he saw the state of Charles.

Charles took a deep breath, looking back at his phone, “Sunshine, I gotta go,” he hummed,

Nova flashed him a weak watery smile. “Please stay safe out there, Char,” she cried, roughly wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you too.”

“Je ne vais nulle part, bébé. I'm not going anywhere, baby,” he whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Char. Get pole and win this one for Pops.”

The call came to an end, Charles took a moment to steady his breathing before pushing himself to his feet. “I need to find Fred,” he mumbled, causing Andrea to flash him a worried look. “Nova’s dad passed away last night.”

The moment the words left his lips he felt like someone had just stabbed a knife through his chest.

“Oh Char, I am so sorry,” Andrea said quietly, placing his hand on his shoulder. “Fred is out on the pitwall, do you want me to go get him, saves you being hounded by the media.”

“If you don’t mind,” Charles sighed, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his fireproof top.

Andrea quickly disappeared from the doorway of the small room leaving Charles alone with his thoughts. His heart was in a million pieces right now, JT was an amazing man. Even though he had only known him for a short period of time he welcomed him and Pierre into his life with open arms. Suddenly the door burst open revealing his best friend standing in the opening, looking exactly how Charles thought he looked.

“Get your shit, we are going,” he gasped, like he had ran the length of the pitlane to get to Charles. “Jax just texted me, told me what had happened,” Pierre whispered, trying to hold back tears. Before Charles could speak Fred appeared by Pierre’s side, Charles had no idea how he would react to him dropping out of the race but he didn’t care either way he was getting on the first flight from Japan to California.

It was as if the words were caught in Charles’ throat, “I’m not racing,” he finally managed to spit out. He was struggling to explain to Fred what the situation was due to the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. Luckily Pierre stepped in to update the Ferrari team principal.

“Why are you still here?” Fred asked, cocking his brow at his number one driver. “Get your ass on the next plane.” Charles was a little taken back, he didn’t expect Fred to respond like this. “We will get Rob in the car, luckily he has already done FP1 this weekend so we aren’t breaking any rules. Go be with Nova, she needs you more than I do right now.”

@withmyteeth @chibsytelford @stillbreathin @danzer8705 @keyweegirlie @burningcupcakefire @dragon-of-winterfell @ohthemisssery @a-distantdreamer @sgkophie @angywritesstuff @enchantedbytomandhenry @scribbuluswrites @dangerouspursepeachbear @buendiabebeta @ferrarifwendvale @theplobnrgone @charlesleclercje @queenslife @panicforspec @justme2042 @liv67 @derpinathebrave @clcspeonies @pleasantducktimetravel @raaaaabzzz @mehrmonga @sbgal @fangirl-lb @pitconfirmbutton @oslokij @tall-tanned-tattoo @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @pumpkin-spice-hate @talicat713 @band--psycho @little-diable @i-love-scott-mccall @fourthwallhateclub @theysayitscrazy @rosieposie0624 @choochoo284 @meteora-fc @beeroses @darklydeliciousdesires @the-jer-bear @extraneousred @youflickedtooharddamnit @babypink224221

[marvelmusing]

Take Over

Pairing: Crime Lord!Billy x NYPD!Fem!Reader

Summary: It’s fair to say that the Russo case has taken over your life. But maybe you’re okay with that. The Punisher Season 2 AU (where literally everyone except Billy dies)

Warnings: reader’s boyfriend is a pushy asshole, mentions of canon level violence and death, the reader is into violence (probably as much as Billy is but she hasn’t admitted that to herself yet), alcohol consumption, kinda suggestive flirting.

The lifeless body of the Punisher was delivered, beaten and bloodied, to Homeland Security.

Desperate for justice, Agent Madani had followed the trail only to run into Krista Dumont. When Dumont consequently fell to her death, Billy Russo was there on the sidewalk to witness her last moments.

In a siege of violence, Billy had stormed into Dumont’s apartment, firing a burst of bullets towards Madani. He had choked the life out of her himself.

Within the space of twenty four hours, the only two people capable of stopping Billy Russo were dead.

There was no stopping him now.

Six months later, you’re a key analyst working on NYPD’s case against Russo. The research knocks you down the rabbit hole, spending countless late nights reading and investigating. Soon, there’s no one who knows him better than you.

This knowledge and understanding of Russo unsettles your colleagues, and your superiors refuse to listen to your predictions - even when you’re proven to be right. All in all, work is a hell of your own making.

When your boyfriend Callum asks you to join him on a night out at a new club you’re tempted to say you’re too tired. It wouldn’t be a lie. But then you feel bad.

Over the last few months you feel like you’ve neglected Callum, but you’ve been so busy with work, alongside managing all the household tasks since the two of you had moved in together. So you agree.

It’s only you reach the entrance that you realise this is one of Billy Russo’s clubs.

Nerves twist over in your stomach, but there’s no reason for Russo to suspect you of anything. There’s no reason for him to even be here, at this club, tonight.

As usual, Callum finds some supposed old friends to catch up with, leaving you alone at the bar.

When the atmosphere shifts, you turn and watch as Mr Russo descends the stairs in the corner. Music continues to thrum through the building, but to you it might as well be silent as you watch him.

The crowd parts for him as he makes his way towards the bar. Staring hard at the liquors lined up over the wall, you fail to see how his eyes linger on you. A shiver runs through your body at the sound of his voice as he speaks to the bartender.

“My usual. An’ another one-a those.”

He gestures towards your glass with a casual lift of his fingers as he sits down, dropping his jacket onto the seat beside him.

“Thank you, but you don’t need to, sir.”

He shakes his head with a coy grin.

“A beautiful woman like yourself shouldn’t be drinkin’ alone.”

Cheeks warming, you look down awkwardly before you stammer quietly,

“Oh, erm, I’m not here alone.”

Not that it happened often, but if someone hit on you your usual response would be to tell them you have a boyfriend. When had you become so embarrassed to admit that Callum is your boyfriend?

Conflict filling you, a glance over towards the dance floor has you grimacing lightly as a girl practically grinds against your boyfriend’s body.

Mr Russo looks you up and down carefully, before he takes a drink.

“That your fella?”

You nod with a small hum.

“Unfortunately.”

You smile at the bartender as she places the fresh glass down in front of you. Swallowing half of the contents in one go, you relish at the burn in your throat that matches the emotion burning in your chest.

Mr Russo is wearing a fitted khaki sweater, and what looks like a black tee underneath. Casual clothes, but he looks the most put together out of everyone here. Maybe it’s the way he holds himself.

His dark hair is slicked back away from his face, stylish and practical, giving his scars nothing to hide behind. It’s been almost a year and a half since the Punisher had left those scars on his face and they’ve healed well.

From the doctor’s notes that you’ve read, there hadn’t been much hope for him even after he survived the surgery that saved him.

The fact that he was able to sit near you and have a conversation was a miracle, let alone manage a flourishing criminal empire.

You shouldn’t be impressed by that.

“You deserve better.”

Swivelling your head back to look at him, you find Mr Russo’s eyes are staring directly at you.

“Excuse me?”

His expression doesn’t falter.

“You heard me.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I need to know you to know that you deserve better than that?”

He raises a brow, gesturing with his face back towards the dance floor. Two girls are now dancing over Callum, and he seems to be enjoying all the attention.

When he manages to catch you gaze you give him an unimpressed look. He starts to move towards you, prompting you to finish the rest of your drink, leaving a tip for the bartender as you stand.

It’s then that you notice Mr Russo has disappeared.

At that moment, your boyfriend arrives, giving you no time to ponder the whereabouts of Russo. Callum leans in, caging you against the bar with his arms.

“Hey babe.”

Your own greeting comes out tense as he mouths sloppily at your cheek.

“Callum.”

He then attempts to slide his hand up your skirt.

“Callum, stop.”

He groans in protest before he says in a chastising tone,

“Babe. Quit being difficult.”

Tears prickle in your eyes and you go to move away from him.

“Are you serious? We’re not doing this.”

Despite the strength you attempt to put into your statement, your voice wavers. Then Callum grasps your wrist, squeezing hard. Writhing uncomfortably in his hold, you tug away.

A man nearby steps closer, narrowing his eyes at Callum.

“Hey man, she told you to stop.”

Your boyfriend releases his hold on you, using both hands to shove at the man. He’s tall, and barely moves an inch as Callum snaps,

“Mind your own fucking business.”

Another man steps in your direction, looking Callum up and down with a rather disgusted expression.

“There a problem here?”

“My only problem here is you and the rest of Russo’s dogs.”

These men work for Russo. The bottom of your stomach plummets. Your boyfriend is going to get himself killed. One of the men straightens his shoulders, his nostrils flaring.

“The fuck did you just say?”

Some people might hear those words and consider what they’re doing. Callum doesn’t. He doubles down, and you wish you could just disappear into the ground.

“I said you’re my problem. All I ever hear about these days is Billy Russo this and Billy Russo that. I’m fucking sick of it.”

Is he talking about you? Work might have consumed you a little at the moment, but you never talked about Russo at home.

“Well, ain’t that interesting?”

Callum freezes, as do you, at the sound of a familiar voice. The man stand aside, revealing Mr Billy Russo. He slides a hand into his pocket, as he takes a few smooth steps towards you both.

“You know Callum, I understand where you’re comin’ from. If I owed a guy the amount-a money you owe me, than I’d be sick to death of his name too.”

Stunned, all you can do is blink at them both. Your boyfriend was in debt to the criminal you had been attempting to bring in for the last six months. Not only are you finally realising Callum isn’t worth your time, but you also think you aren’t very good at your job.

Then Callum takes a swing at Russo. It doesn’t even land, and soon his men has pounced, subduing Callum in mere seconds.

Mr Russo hadn’t flinched.

You’re mortified, and a little terrified.

“Mr Russo, I’m so sorry.”

He waves away your apology.

“Not your fault now is it, darlin’?” He grins, almost softly at you before he adds, “An’ you can call me Billy.”

He winks and your heart flutters traitorously.

There’s a cry of pain behind you, but just as you’re turning to look Billy speaks again,

“C’mere darlin’.”

There’s half a second of hesitation before you’re moving towards him. When you come close enough, he takes your chin between his fingers, squeezing softly.

“Good girl.”

The corner of his mouth twitches with a cocky smirk as he observes the haze that momentarily clouds your vision.

“You wanna watch?”

Confusion enters your expression and Billy turns your head to face the group that has circled around Callum as he lies on the floor groaning in pain.

“You wanna watch my men kick the shit outta your boyfriend?”

A soft exhale falls from your lips before you correct him.

“Ex-boyfriend.”

Billy grins, and his shoulders shake lightly as he laughs. Turning to look at him, you catch his gaze again and the spark in his eyes bursts into a flame that warms your whole body.

It’s only now that you notice the quiet. The music is still playing, though not as loud as before, but there’s no one else in the room. Blinking, you realise the club must have started being cleared the moment Callum had approached you.

Billy traces his tongue over his teeth as his eyes rake down your body, and if you thought you were on fire before, now you’re an inferno. He raises a brow, almost casually as he wraps his arms around you.

“So, you’re single?”

A small laugh escapes your lips and Billy seems thrilled by your response, his entire face lighting up at the sound of you laughing.

Despite the fact that your ex-boyfriend is being beaten up in front of you, you can’t stop yourself from batting your lashes and asking coyly,

“Are you asking me out, Mr Russo?”

He pulls your back flush against his front and even under the soft fabric of his sweater you can feel the hard lines of his chest. Shifting your hips lightly, you watch as his eyes darken.

His hands grasp at your waist, holding you still with a force that makes you shiver.

“Careful, baby.” His voice is low as his lips brush lightly against the shell of your ear. “Don’t wanna start something we can’t finish.”

Billy takes you earlobe between his teeth, tracing the delicate skin with the tip of his tongue before he withdraws, pulling a gasp and a shudder from you as his teeth nip down.

“Soon this place will be crawlin’ with cops, I’d have to take you home with me.”

A whine falls from your lips as he mouths along your neck, his stubble scratching over your skin and he breathes out a small laugh.

“Maybe you’d like that, hm? You wanna come home with me, darlin’?”

You don’t hesitate for as long as you should and before you know it, you’re nodding. Billy nods back with a wide smile.

His smile drops as he step away from you. Billy’s men are still circled around Callum, who can barely move from his position on the floor, bruised and bloodied. The men part as Billy moves forward, leaning down slightly to look at Callum.

All you can see is Billy’s back, as he stares down at your ex-boyfriend. Then he gives the order,

“Finish him.”

Rolling his shoulder lightly, Billy rocks back on the balls of his feet as he moves away and his men continue with their work. He grins when his eyes fall on you.

“I got better things to spend my time on.”

The dark look in his eyes as they scan down your body makes you squeeze your thighs together, drawing Billy’s attention down there as you do.

Biting down on your lower lip, you look at him curiously.

“Better things?”

He nods, holding his hand out towards you.

“Let’s get outta here.”

You take his hand.

»»---------------------►

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch

Billy Russo Tag List: @blackbirddaredevil23 @rafaelakelley @theysayitscrazy @nyx2021 @skybridgerton @dragon-of-winterfell @chickensarentcheap @stardustmorozov @sweetwritingfanficfriend @witchcraftandwit @ladyofsoa

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny

[sourpatchys]

Chapter three: Blood

Time: Quarry

Rating: nothing explicit. Mentions of walkers and death.

Word count: 1.3k

Summary: a magnetic pull, and a nights rest. The two survivors are growing closer by the day.

A/n: this took much longer than I had hoped for! I’m going to try my hardest to get the next chapter out much faster haha, hopefully the wait was worth it!

Guidelines masterlist Daryl!Masiterlist

The camp was in utter ruins when Daryl had returned.

Walkers were clawing their way into rib cages, ripping away the flesh and bone— screams echoed throughout the hills and trees, begging— pleading for help.

Any negativity Daryl had, from Merle, the weird fucking nursing home or the pieces of shit he had to live with— it all fell away in an instant. He was firing, shaking, even screaming— his body moved on pure instinct shuddering in a way he had never experienced before.

He was fighting for his life— for the life of others. Ripping arrows through the air, his eyes frantically searching for an end.

The way here was calm and quiet. He was pissed— angry and upset. His brother was gone and all he had to show for it were the people who left him to die. Walking home on an uneven trail, kicking the rocks under his shoes, cursing any god that would listen for ruining any life he had left.

The closer they got— the more Daryl started to pick up his speed. His muscles began to tense, a hot swarm of fire ants lighting up under his rugged skin. Something in his mind— in his body— started screaming, yelling at him, telling him to move faster. It felt as though he had lost all control, his legs were moving before he could even wonder why.

The sun had set by the time the small misfit group had returned, its burning rays hidden under the horizon, leaving terror in its wake.

He wasn't sure exactly what he was trying to accomplish— smashing in the heads of the dead with anything he could get his blood crusted hands on. At points he used nothing but the soles of his boots, caving in the skulls of the monsters he'd come to despise over the passing few months.

The blood was warm, washing over his burning skin like a safety blanket. Each pass of his fists, his axe or his bow, lightening the load of horror little by little.

It felt as though it had lasted hours, the adrenaline making every move he took feel slow— as if he were a movie on rewind— unable to reach the end.

Daryl's skin was sticky, his face was hot and his heart felt as though it was going to rip out of his chest. He was looking for something— static electricity was shooting through his brain like lightning, unwilling to stop, forcing his body to move— refusing to let him rest for even a moment.

His vision was blurry, fading lines together— the overwhelming darkness of the night only worsening his disheveled state. It felt as though he were having a panic attack, unable to catch his breath, chest caving and screaming for the release of pressure.

The moment he saw the group, huddled together and checking for injuries— something in him stilled.

He wasn't sure what did it, be it the proof that there were survivors, or the overwhelming pull of knowing everything was finally over— but the static left, replacing itself with cotton.

—

The attack on the camp alerted everyone to the dangers of staying still— something had to change and it had to change fast.

You weren't sure if you had ever felt that level of panic in your life— the overwhelming feel of being alone— forgotten.

It didn't make sense— nothing about your mind or your body's reaction to the chaos made any fucking sense. You understood the fear— the urgency of safety and the pull of death.

But why— why did you feel so utterly alone? You weren't alone— not even slightly. The entire group was with you, witnessing the carnage and bloodshed. They all saw Amy being ripped apart, her curdled screams for help. They all saw the ripped muscles and pointless deaths. Hell— they protected you! Killing any of those vile things that got near you.

Your mind was in a haze— unable to focus or understand. You felt like a child lost in a grocery store. The yelling of those who had left, running into camp from their mission and joining you in your fight for survival— it was the only thing that threw you out of your mangled state of mind.

Sleep did not come easy that night. The corpses of your newfound friends still littered the outside, rotting into the ground and killing the grass below.

Your pillow felt as if it were filled with rocks, your blanket cut into your skin like needles— and the ground felt twice as hard.

Part of you wondered how Daryl was doing.

Perhaps it was a way for you to distance yourself from the carnage, but you still couldn't help but wonder if he was okay. Merle hadn't come back that night, his presence erased entirely, never to be spoken of again.

Sighing in defeat, you sat up, ripping your needle pointed blanket away from your clammy skin and making your way towards the outside world. You didn't allow yourself a gander. Your eyes focused solely on your slippered feet, making a slow crawl towards the bright blue tent in the other side of camp.

The smell that plagued your nostrils was almost enough for you to call it quits— the undeniable rot and decay rising from the soil. Even without the visuals, it was impossible to ignore.

But the sight of that closed up tent door kept you right on track. It was like a pull— a magnetic connection that you couldn't ignore.

"Daryl?" You whispered, your index finger bent, tapping lightly on the closed up mesh. "Are you up?"

There was shifting behind the blue door before the zipper eased its way down, the small sound echoing through the hills, daring you to make another.

“What do you want?” His voice was gruff, his southern lull deeper than you had ever heard it before.

“I wanted to see how you were doing?”

His milky blue eyes looked you up and down, casting a spell of unease, unsure of what to make out of your nightly visit.

“Why?” He asked, finally removing his eyes from you and looking around at your surroundings. Unzipping the door all the way and stepping back. “Get in here, you don’t need to be out there.”

Thankful for the separation, you stepped inside, plopping yourself down on the hard floor and crossing your legs— unsure what to do with yourself in the new environment.

Daryl sat himself across from you— mimicking your own actions from the day before, as he turned on his bedside lantern, placing it between the two of you.

“I couldn’t sleep— I got to thinking about you.”

“Oh yeah?”

His eyes were unreadable, staring right through you.

“You never answered me.”

Grunting, the archer leaned back in his hands, pulling his eyes away from you once more, choosing instead to look up at the makeshift ceiling.

“M’fine. Couldn’t sleep either.”

It was silent after that, though it wasn’t unpleasant. You found yourself calmer than you could ever recall being before, sitting tight in a broken down bright blue tent.

Feeling more comfortable, you allowed yourself to stretch, pulling your legs out from underneath you as you adjusted.

“Tomorrow— whatever we end up doing, and wherever we end up— can I leave with you?”

He stared at you, unsettled— confused by the request. Though, he couldn’t find it in himself to deny you.

“Whatever.”

A warmth unlike any you had ever felt seeped into your skin, glowing and trailing along through your veins. A smile— small yet true— made its way onto your face, a gleam of hope finding itself inside you once more.

“Thank you Daryl.” You beamed, placing your hand on his knee.

Soon enough you found yourself drifting, your eyelids growing heavy as your face began to tingle. It didn’t take long before your once restless night became something else entirely.

Next chapter

[sunflowersoldat]

Embers & Whiskey

Ghost x Roach Sister!Reader

I've been in a Ghosty mood lately. I have also beaten that damn games more times than I can count.... Anyhow, enjoy this drabble that I have had in my head for the past few days. I might do something with it later.

He wants to reach out and touch you.

To tell you everything is going to be alright. 

He can’t.

Can’t bring himself to that edge like all those years before. The thought of you mourning him twists his insides. 

He’s here.

Right fucking here.

It’s not fair, he could have you, here and now… then what? He can’t stay here, live the domestic life. 

He refuses to let you live the way he does. It’s too dangerous, you are safe here.

Away from him.

He returns inside as his shift on watch ends, you have fallen asleep at your desk, head propped on your hand. Your computer screen is dark from inactivity, a small smile tugs at his lips.

Roach enters the room on his way to take his place, before he sees Ghost, he sees you and stops. Moving to pick you up, Ghost stops him,

“I’ll take her…” he offers.

Roach nods, allowing Ghost the berth to pick you up from your chair. When Ghost turns, his eyes meet Roach’s, sorrow and understanding swim in Roach’s eyes, “The longer you wait to tell her the worse it’s going to be…”

Ghost straightens himself with you in his arms bridal style, “I don’t plan on telling her.”

—

You shove at his chest, your palm flat against his beating heart. A burning fire in your eyes as you stare, Ghost, this annoying giant of a man, in front of you, down.

His hand covers yours on his chest, stopping you from effectively pulling away. At first his eyes are equally hard, but they soften as they lock with yours.

They are familiar and warm. 

Eyes of embers and coal.

Pools of bonfires and whiskey that stick to your memories like fresh drops of honey..

Your breath catches in your lungs, it can’t be; Simon died over a year ago. If he were alive, your brother would have told you. Nonetheless, his eyes burn you, the warmth and fire enveloping every piece of you, lighting even the darkest parts of you.

“Simon?”

You felt silly, you weren’t able to stop his name from falling from your lips. You shake your head, muttering an apology before trying to pull away, but his body had stiffened at the name. You hadn’t noticed it at first, but now you can feel his rigidity. The tense muscles of his expansive chest, the slight hammering of his heart under your palm.

His eyes now clouded with uncertainty.

Your brows furrow, tears pricking at your eyes, “S-Simon?!” A painful lilt cracking your voice. 

It was over almost as quickly as it had started, he lifted his hand from yours, letting your hand drop limply between the two of you.

Without a word he backs away, before leaving you standing in your living room, alone and utterly confused. 

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

13th Day of Christmas

Baby, It’s Cold Outside

Summary/Prompt - Baby, It’s Cold Outside song imagine

Pairing - Dean Winchester x Reader

Christmas Masterlist | Masterlist

A/N: This one was a little passion project - this song keeps getting on my nerves as it feels very creepy and controlling. So, I just wanted to finally save the girl from the creepy man.

You, Sam and Dean are all at a bar having a few drinks to destress after coming up empty on your current case. Young, single women have been going missing from the area but you can’t find anything that connects the victims.

Once you finish your drink you get up to get a refill. You’re waiting to get served when your phone rings. You quickly answer it, only to realise it’s one of the people you interviewed today; a professor for one of the victims university.

“Hi, Agent Grohl, are you there?”

“Professor, hi. Yep this is Agent Grohl. Did you remember something?”

“Sort of. I found something that you might want to see.”

“Great! My partner and I will head over first thing in the morning.”

“Actually, I have class in the morning, is there any way you can come over now?”

“Uh, sure. Text me your address. I’ll head over soon.”

You hang up and make your way back over to the boys. You grab your coat off the back of the chair and slip it on.

“The professor just called, he wants to meet, says he found something I should see.” Dean pulls out his wallet to pay the tab but you shake your head. “I think he’ll be more likely to talk to just me.”

“At least let me drive you over there,” Dean says as he places a few notes on the table and stands up.

“Yeah, I should get back to the lore and research anyways,” Sam adds.

“Alright then,” you say.

They grab their jackets and follow you out to Baby. Dean drops Sam off at the motel first and then drives you to the professor’s house.

“Just wait in the car. Whatever it is, it shouldn’t take long,” you tell him.

“Alright then, just be safe and call if you need.”

You lean over to kiss his cheek but he turns and catches your lips. “I promise I’ll be safe. I love you.”

Dean nods and you get out of the car. He shuts off the lights once you get across the road and walk up the driveway. He watches diligently as you disappear through the doorway, he doesn’t take his eyes off the house. He trusts you and knows you can defend yourself, but you just never know what you’re walking into.

Meanwhile, the professor welcomes you inside and leads you down the hall to a dark office. Through the window you see snow starting to fall and suddenly a chill runs down your spine causing you to shiver. Unfortunately, the professor notices and rubs his hands down your arms. You try to pull away but he holds you tight.

You clear your throat. “You said you had something to show me?”

“Uh yes. It’s just here.” He grabs an unmarked folder off the timer desk and holds it out, but as you reach for it he pulls it close to his chest quickly. “But it’s cold in here. Let’s go look at it by the fire. You’ll be much more comfortable there, Agent.”

He leads you out, back down the dimly lit hall to a spacious living area. A wood fireplace is burning in the corner and two fancy glasses are set out on the coffee table. You stand back cautiously but he places a hand on the small of your back, leading you towards the couch.

“Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“I shouldn’t drink on the job.”

“Yet I smell liquor on your breath…”

“I wasn’t on the job until you called. But I am now.”

He turns some music on while he pours you one anyway and then sits down beside you.

“So, if you’re not going to show me anything then I really can’t stay.”

“But it’s so cold outside.” As he finally goes to hand you the folder again he hands grab yours. “Your hands are like ice. Let me hold them.”

You try to pull away gently but he refuses to let go. “Really, my partner will start to worry.”

“Come on, beautiful, what’s the hurry? Just listen to the fireplace roar. It’s getting bad out there.”

You finally pull your hands away and in an attempt to keep them busy and stop him from taking them back you take a sip of the drink he poured. “Say, what’s in this drink?” You feel more relaxed as you take another sip.

Noticing your guard is slipping down he scoots over closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“I really should go,” you say without moving.

“Just look outside at the storm. You’ll freeze out there.”

“It is nice and warm. But I really can’t stay.”

“Your lips look delicious.” He leans in. You’re unable to pull away as he places his lips on yours. “Gosh, your lips are delicious.”

Suddenly you can’t stop. He looks like the most attractive person you’d ever seen. You rejoin your lips, wrapping your arms around his neck. He deepens the kiss and pushes you to lie on your back. You don’t fight back, you just let it happen.

You hear a loud crash from down the hall but you ignore it, letting yourself get lost in the professor. As someone enters the room the professor sits up.

“Kill him, then we can be together.”

You look blankly at Dean not feeling anything for him. The professor picks up one of the glasses and smashes it before handing you one of the larger shards of glass. You take it and stalk towards Dean. His reflexes are faster than yours. As you swing at him he catches your wrists and forces you to drop the glass. He pulls a bronze dagger out of his pocket. “Baby, I’m so sorry,” he says as he slices your arm to coat the dagger in your blood. He pushes you harshly to the ground away from him before lunging at the professor and digging the dagger into his heart.

Suddenly you feel more sober. The guilt settles in the pit of your stomach. You abruptly stand up. You rush out the door, pulling your jacket tighter around your shoulders. Dean meets you halfway down the driveway and wraps you up in his arms and leads you back into the Impala.

In the safety of the car you tear up. “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. He forced me…”

“Listen, are you okay?”

You nod.

“Sam called. He figured out the connection and that the professor was a siren. Whatever you did in there, that wasn’t you. He manipulated you. Poisoned you. But I’ve got you now, you’re safe now.”

“I was gonna…I almost…”

“But you didn’t. We’re both safe now.” He kisses the top of your head. “Look, I gotta clean up this mess and then we’ll go back to the motel and get you cleaned up. But for now.” He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and wraps it around your arm. “Keep pressure on that. I’ll fix you up when we get back, okay?”

You nod. Dean rounds the car and backs it into the driveway as close to the house as possible before disappearing inside. You curl up in the passenger seat and let your tears fall. You watch as snow flakes continue to fall on the wind screen and you shiver. You squeeze your arm as tight as you can manage while you wait for Dean.

By the time he finally returns you’re starting to feel lightheaded from the blood loss. The second he sees your head lolled to the side his heart sinks and he begins to panic. He dumps everything in the trunk and yanks out the first aid kit. He climbs in the driver’s seat and pulls you into his lap.

“Come on, Y/N, it’s gonna be okay. I got you. Stay with me.” He pulls the blood-soaked handkerchief off your arm and winces as the amount of blood loss. “I should’ve patched you up first. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I did this to you.” He pulls an alcohol wipe out of the kit and cleans off the area around the cut. With it clean he sees how deep he made the cut. He takes a deep breath and pulls out the needle and thread. He slowly and carefully sutures the cut back together before wiping on some antiseptic cream and wrapping it up in a clean bandage. He kisses your head and holds you close, monitoring your breathing and heart rate.

“Dean?” You rasp, after a while.

“Y/N? Sweetheart? I’m right here. How you feeling?”

“Sore…weak.”

He nods. “Let’s get you back to the motel so you can rest properly.” He helps you sit up on your own and then turns on the engine, driving carefully on the slippery roads.

[mrsaltieri-real]

His Perfect Victim (Mickey Altieri X OC!Dahlia Levine)

Chapter Seventeen: Three Little Words

Words: 4.7k

Warnings: language, angst, smut, first time, fingering, multiple orgasm, teasing, praise, dirty talk, riding, spit, biting, nipple play, arguing, gaslighting, a little fluff.

A/N: WE’RE FINALLY HERE FOLKS! The long awaited smut chapter, but with a twist at the end. This one has feeling, I felt so much writing it. Next few chapters are going to be rather intense, after that it’s borderline smut and then we’re pretty much at the end! Can’t believe how fast this is going but it’s just so much fun! Let me know what you guys think and I hope you enjoy!

Thank you to @bisexual-horror-fan for editing and beta reading. You’re really my rock and are helping me get through this so much! I wouldn’t have gotten this far if it wasn’t for your constant encouragement and help!

@lizey-thornberry

(Here’s a moodboard for Dahlia I made a while back that I completely forgot about!)

Campus was almost completely deserted, most people had gone to visit their families at the end of the semester. Randy offered again for me to go with him, saying his parents wouldn’t mind if I wanted to stay, but I told him no, there were things I needed to sort out here.

I’d been avoiding Mickey like he was the fucking plague, and he’d noticed fairly quickly.

I’d cancel plans, tell him I was under the weather, which wasn’t really a lie. Not only that, but I felt sick to my fucking stomach every time I thought about talking to him, having to undoubtedly lie to his face.

Lexi’s words played on my mind nonstop. “He isn't okay, there’s something dark about him, be careful.” It was driving me crazy. When I did see him, I found myself cautious and on edge for weeks. The sinking feeling was coming back and this time, it was more painful than ever.

The feeling that something bad was coming was one I could not shake. Every time he looked at me, I could tell he knew something was wrong, and I knew it bothered him that whenever he asked I would tell him it was nothing, I was just tired, I’d just had a long and busy day. It didn’t help that the few weeks till the next semester had raced to an end, and I’d hardly spoken to him.

About a month into break, my door was practically being hammered off its hinges and I groaned, mumbling out, “Fuck off,” at the noise, pulling my blanket over my head, but it didn’t stop, just grew angrier and more persistent. I forced myself out of bed and dragged myself to the door, pulling it open ready to shout at whoever it was.

Mickey looked furious. Angrier than I’d ever seen him before.

“So, you met Lexi?” He all but spat the words, glaring down at me.

I froze, still half asleep and a little dazed. His eyes were on fire, his hand gripping the door frame so hard it’s a wonder he didn’t splinter the wood.

“I don’t-“

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Dahlia.” His voice was sharp, instantly waking me up, and I took him in properly. I’d never seen this in him before. His eyes were burning, his jaw set rigid and tight as his stare blazed down at me. Mickey was always tall, but now it felt he was towering ten feet above me, and it took everything inside of me to not cower away like a kicked dog.

How the hell could he possibly know?

I asked him as much, voice small and my eyes refusing to meet him. He held a small piece of paper up to me as he walked past me into my dorm before snatching it away before I could see what it said.

“I got a note under my door this morning. What the hell is wrong with you?”

This caught my attention. My head snapped in his direction and I felt myself getting angry with him. “What’s wrong with me? Maybe I should be the one asking you that.”

He scoffed, turning on his heel to face me. “And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

I bit the inside of my cheek, glaring back at him with my arms tightly crossed across my chest.

“Oh, did she tell you some things about me? What an awful, awful person I am? How much I ruined her life? Did it never occur to you that she’s nothing more than a spiteful bitch who wants nothing more than to ruin whatever happiness I have because I couldn’t find it with her?” I could see his anger gradually begin to fade and twist into something different, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

“She just…” I trailed off. Looking at him now, looking at Mickey, made me feel different. He looked almost sad, but that sadness was something I’d later find out to be nothing but a show. He knew he was a bad person, and he knew what he’d done. “-told me to be careful.”

His brow furrowed in confusion before he sighed, walking past me and sitting down on my bed, putting his head in his hands. “Right. I’m sure she did.”

Something in my mind told me to protect her, not tell him what was really said. That thought came too late, but I decided to attempt altering the truth. Not just for Lexi, not just for me, but for him too. I had to do the one thing I hated doing most in the world. I had to lie.

“I didn’t listen to her.” I said as smoothly as I could. “I know you. You’re a good person, Mickey.”

“Why did she come? How did she find you?”

“I didn’t ask.” I lied again, moving to kneel in front of him. His hands were shaking, I took them gently in mine. He felt ice-cold and burning hot at the same time. “I just told her to leave.” I didn’t see the point in mentioning this Debbie person to him. What would it achieve? It would just give Mickey another person to be angry about, and seeing him angry sent a cold feeling of dread crawling across my skin.

“Fuck, you don’t actually expect me to believe that, do you? My ex-girlfriend knocks on your fucking door, and you just told her to leave? Don’t treat me like I’m that fucking stupid.”

The venom in his voice would have made me flinch a year ago. But now, it just pissed me off.

“Oh, right! Yes. My mistake, Mickey. I forgot everything fucking revolves around you! Jesus Christ, what the hell is your problem?” I shouted the words at him bitterly, moving to my feet. This time, I was looking down at him, my hands curled into fists and my nails biting into my palms.

“I fucking-“ Mickey cut himself off, and I could see in his face he was trying to search for the right words, “It wasn’t a good relationship, Dahlia. But I’m not that person anymore. So whether you talked to her or not, don’t tell me. I could give less of a shit. But if you did, that guy she told you about wasn’t me.”

I didn’t say anything. I crossed my arms across my chest, turning my head to focus my glare out of my window.

“What? What are you thinking?” He asked. I could feel him staring at the side of my face intently, but I ignored his gaze.

“That now you’re lying to me.”

I felt his eyes boring into me further, but I continued to ignore it, focusing on the soft waving of a tree branch outside instead. It kept me grounded and calm, making it easier to have this conversation with him.

“I have never hurt you, Dahlia.” His voice was too calm, it unsettled me.

“Yeah, you did. When I didn’t kiss you at that party, and you fucked that girl right in front of me-“

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” He shouted this time, throwing his hands in the air, making me jump and my arms curl around myself, focusing more intently on the tree branch eyebrows creased with worry while I fought the urge to close my eyes and shy away from him.

“That was practically a year ago, Dahlia! We weren’t dating, fuck, we weren’t even friends!”

“I know but I- I fucking… Cared.” I struggled with my words, still not wanting to look at him. I knew if I did, I would break. “I wasn’t okay back then. In a lot of ways, I’m still not. You were the first real person I’d met here, and it just showed me that if I even upset you the slightest bit, you can just turn, Mickey! I’m terrified every single day that we’ll fight, and you’ll do something like that again! I wouldn’t be able to handle it, Mickey!”

“You’re… You’re scared of me?” His voice was smaller, pretty much unfamiliar. If he wasn’t sitting right in front of me, I would have assumed it wasn’t him speaking at all.

The words were hard to put together, they felt heavy and difficult on my tongue, but I told him with surprising clarity and confidence, “No, I’m not scared of you. I’m scared of the things you could do.”

“Dahlia, you’re talking like I cheated on you or something. I didn’t. Okay, I admit, I was trying to get a rise outta you and yes, I did just want to see how far I could push you but… Dahli, I don’t think you know just how much I care about you.”

His words were so intense, so real, I could feel tears stinging my eyes and threaten to spill. I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking my head and sniffled once. “Come here.” He said, voice softening.

“No.” I don’t say it with any conviction whatsoever.

He laughed once, standing up and walking to me. I felt his hand circle my wrist and pull me to his chest, his arms wrapping around my waist like a vice. I buried my face into his chest, fingers clinging to the soft material of his grey sweatshirt.

“You mean everything to me.” I mumbled into the material, unable to stop myself.

He pulled back just a touch to look down at my face, the smile I loved creeping onto his face. His eyes met mine and I could instantly tell he believed me.

“Really?” He asked. I could see the hint of hesitation in his eyes. It made me smile. I always saw Mickey as a confident person but maybe in his own way, he was insecure too. I watched the relief on his face as I nodded my head.

“I’m sorry for coming in like that. You just… You’ve hardly spoken to me in weeks, and when you do, it’s like your mind is somewhere else entirely. Then I found out about Lexi and I just.. just made an assumption. I’m sorry, baby.” He spoke softly, much more sweet, calm but not unjustly so. It fits the current moment much more.

The thing is, I wasn’t nearly as convincing as I thought. Mickey knew I was lying. I found out a few years later that Lexi Castro had been reported missing in mind to late 1997. The dates added up to when she’d come to Windsor and warned me off of Mickey, and it explained why I never heard from her again, especially after… Everything.

“It’s okay, baby.” My hand cupped his cheek, my thumb gently grazing under his eye. “Mickey, you know there isn’t anything you could do to scare me away, right?”

He scoffed, lips turning up a little for a second as he placed his hand over mine, our fingers twisting together as he pulled me back toward my bed and sat down. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

What surprised me is that I wasn’t trying to convince him of it. Regardless of what Lexi had told me, I wasn’t scared of him. Not my Mickey. His rapid change from furious to loving was enough to give anyone whiplash. Maybe I was still so broken inside I genuinely couldn’t tell that he wasn’t a good person. Or maybe I knew, but I simply didn’t care. One of the things I learned during my relationship with Mickey is that love can make you really fucking stupid.

“I’ve been thinking about Stu a lot lately.” I told him, trying to change the subject away from Lexi as swiftly as I could. “Wondering why he did what he did. Then I realized, he cared for Billy so much he would’ve and did anything for him, even the very worst thing you could possibly do.”

Mickey looked confused as I spoke, watching as I stood up and straddled him, my hands gently touching the base of his neck. “I couldn’t imagine caring about somebody like that, not before. Then I realized I would do anything for you.”

His face entirely softened, his finger grazing my healed over scar once before his hands settled on my waist.

“He told me once to wait for the right person because when I do, it’ll be worth it. I never thought I would meet anyone, that I was being stupid by putting it off.”

“Dahl, what are you-“ I placed my hand over his mouth quickly, shaking my head.

“I want to.” I insisted, taking my hand away from his mouth and pressing my lips against his instead.

I could feel his hesitation through his kiss, almost as though he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. His hands gripped my upper arms, keeping me at somewhat of a distance. “Are you trying to change the subject?”

“Depends on if it’s working.” I said with a half smile. I felt his grip relax, allowing me to pull myself closer to him, my hand locking behind his neck.

He really was beautiful. He seemed more keen now, hands gripping my ass and making me roll my hips down against him. The sensation made me let out a small moan into his mouth, which only prompted him to do it again. His lips were soft, careful. Too careful. I couldn’t help but think of how Lexi had described him. Intense, angry, violent. With how tender and gentle he was being, it was hard to imagine him being that way with anybody.

I needed this, I needed him. I pressed myself closer to him, fingers twisting in his hair and he chucked against my lips, hands sliding up my shirt and his fingers dancing across my back. So gentle. But I didn’t fucking want gentle.

“I’m not glass.” I mumbled, pulling back just slightly. He cocked an eyebrow at me, brown eyes curious before he said gently, “Dahli, it’s your first time. Don’t worry, I’ve got all the time in the world to fuck you like a whore.”

His words made me blush, which he relished deeply. He looked proud of himself, moving his fingers to my face to touch my pink cheeks. “Mm.” He murmured under his breath. I didn’t bother to ask him what.

I kissed him again, not pulling away this time. It was like I couldn’t.

My first time with Mickey was indescribable. It didn’t hurt anywhere near as much as I had built up in my head over the years, but that was due to him. He was so careful and so gentle with me, but not because he thought I’d break. I was still prone to panic attacks, so when he looked into my eyes, when he told me that I was beautiful as he pulled me under him, he was all I could focus on. How he looked, how he smelt, how he felt.

His fingers worked over me for a while, his lips dancing from my lips to my cheeks to my throat as he prepared me. He smiled his dimpled smile as he touched my bare pussy, and I jolted as he made a comment about how ready I was for him that turned me on to no end. I was. I don’t know if the fight had simply turned me on, or if it all just genuinely felt right, but I didn’t care. I could feel him against my bare thigh, so hot and hard.

It just made me fucking hungry for him.

I tugged impatiently at his pants, making him scoff affectionately as he helped me tug them off. “Are you sure?” He asked me for the final time.

“I am so sure.” I said softly, moving my hand up to cup his cheek.

“How bad do you want it?” He asked. His fingers continued circling my clit, determined to make me as wet as possible. I writhed beneath him, pushing myself against the pads of his fingers pathetically, practically preening as I felt them plunge inside of me and begin to curl gently. “Tell me how bad you want it, Dahlia.”

“S-so bad. So fucking bad. Please…” I whined, I begged, already a squirming mess under his skilled hands. He removed his fingers from my hole, forcing them into my mouth and ordered me to, “Suck,” to which I obeyed, tasting myself and sucking my slickness off of his long fingers. He watched my face as I did, favouring my lips as I suckled and swirled my tongue around his digits, looking him in the eye.

“Mm. You taste good, don’t you, honey?” He asked, dragging his fingers away from my tongue to smear my own saliva and wetness across my lips and chin. I sucked in the air, unable to look away from his eyes.

“Not as good as you.”

Mickey rolled his eyes affectionately, pulling me under him more securely. He reached between our bodies, pumping his cock a few times before he settled it gently in my throbbing hole.

He pushed himself into me slowly, carefully watching my face as I flinched and adjusted myself, working past the initial uncomfortableness. I could see that his expression didn’t really change at my pain, more that he somewhat revelled in it, but I didn’t let my mind play on that. Once it subdued, it quickly started to feel good. Really fucking good. My eyes fluttered closed, and I arched my back off the bed as his hand slid down my body, his fingertips lingering for just a moment over my scar to toy with my clit as he carefully rolled his hips.

“So fucking tight, Jesus.” He groaned under his breath, his head dropping to kiss my shoulder. I gasped in response as his hips snapped a touch harder, his fingers adding more pressure onto my clit. His other hand was roaming, palming my bare tit and twisting my nipples gently. “This is the only cock you’re ever going to have, understand?” I moaned, nodding dumbly and tugged at his hair with my fingers. I needed more. I needed him to really fuck me.

He ducked his head, teeth sinking into my nipple sharply. I felt my body twitch, the feeling sending a shoot of arousal straight to my pussy as I gasped when he pulled away. I felt my cunt clench around him as I let out a whimper into his ear, my legs wrapping around his waist securely, pulling my body impossibly closer to his as I pushed myself against him, my nails digging into his toned back and making him groan softly and begin to fuck me a little harder, registering I was more comfortable.

I knew Mickey was good. Too good. We’d done pretty much everything else before, but this was something else entirely. So much more intimate, and I’d never felt closer to anybody in my life. I felt so beautifully full, I’d never felt this stretched to capacity and content before, like he was a missing piece of me, and he’d snapped the final part of the puzzle into place.

I felt complete.

He lifted his head to look at me, his hand moving to grip my hair tightly, forcing me to look into his eyes. “Such a good girl, aren’t you? Taking me so, so well in your nasty little virgin cunt.” He praised me, degraded me, bending to kiss my lips again, to which I eagerly returned. It was a mess of spit and tongues and teeth, moans and sighs, but I never wanted this to stop.

I couldn’t help myself, I splayed my hand on his chest, pushing him onto his back and straddling him, connecting my lips with his as soon as I was on top of him. It took him by surprise, a muffled laugh falling from him as he let out a soft grunt, his arms wrapping around my waist. His fingers dug into my hips before he dragged them to my ass, squeezing the flesh harshly as he began to slowly thrust up into me. I placed mine onto his shoulders, steadying myself on top of him. Fuck, I could really feel him like this. I tentatively ground my hips down, hearing and soaking in the gentle groans falling from his lips as he watched me on top of him before his eye fell to my face again.

I slid my hands to his chest, my nails digging into his soft skin as our movements synchronized. I could feel him throbbing, achingly hard inside of me as my cunt clenched around him, wanting nothing more than to feel him finally cum inside of me. He was like a drug, I couldn’t get enough of him.

Mickey easily switched me back beneath him again, pushing his hand on my inner thigh to already my legs wider for him. “This is for you, not for me.” He insisted as I opened my mouth to dispute the change. I shut my mouth, fingers trailing his jaw as I watched him work over me. From the stories I’d heard about him, I assumed for the longest time that although spectacular at fucking, he was always quite selfish. I wasn’t picking up on that at all.

His hipbone was rubbing against my clit and I could feel the burning sensation in my stomach begin to boil. It felt better than I could have imagined, the combination of my clit being stimulated at his cock making me clench around him with every push, every thrust sent me into an orgasm so intense, he had to pin my body down by my hip. My back arched off the bed as I cried out his name, teeth biting into the flesh of his shoulder, which made him curse softly and his cock twitch.

There wasn’t much talking, I think we were both too lost in the moment. He fucked me through my orgasm, his pace picking up considerably. I knew he was close, that he was holding out for me. He’d told me countless times that when he fucked me for the first time, he was going to ensure that I had, cum all over his cock more times than I could handle, and the thought had made me both embarrassed and unbearably horny. But I didn’t care, I wanted to feel him cum. I craved it intensely.

“Want you to cum.” I gasped out and Mickey looked down at me again, that devastating smile on his face mixed with nothing short of contempt.

“You do?” He asked, voice teasing and light, albeit a little shaky. He was holding back, not wanting to until he’d lived up to his promise. “Now? Why?”

“I want to feel it.” I could hear that my voice sounded a little whiny, but I didn’t care, desperately pulling my body as close to his as I could. At that point, he was practically lifting me up, my ass hardly touching the soft mattress. There was nothing I wanted more than to feel Mickey’s cum cost me from the inside, feel his hot mess completely claim me as his and his alone.

“Oh, you want to feel me cum inside you, is that it? Dirty bitch, you want me to mark my territory?” He bit down on my neck, making me hiss softly, the feeling sending a spasm of arousal to my already hungry cunt before his tongue lapped over the crescent teeth marks he left behind. “Mark my territory, hm?” His voice didn’t have any humour, it was dripping with arousal, just like his eyes. I couldn’t reply, I just mumbled something dumbly at him, focused on his words and now fucking good he was making me feel. When I opened my eyes, he was looking at me like I was a slut, a piece of meat. And I really fucking liked it.

That was until a few minutes later, when I said the most stupid thing you could possibly imagine.

I could feel his cock pulsing and throbbing erratically, could feel the now familiar butterflies begin to flutter in my stomach. I could feel that he was close, his breathing had become more unsteady, his hips began to stutter slightly and his grip on my waist became so tight I had no doubt it would leave bruises. He began fucking me slow and deep, his forehead pressed against mine and so completely connected with him being so passionate, it just felt right.

He moved to kiss me again, so gently and carefully, and when he pulled back I said those three little words. Those three stupid fucking words.

“I- I love you.” I moaned, surely enough, looking into his soft brown eyes.

And what did Mickey say? Absolutely nothing.

He acted as though he didn’t hear it, but I had no doubt that he did. He’d paused for a split second, not looking at me but more at the space above my head before his hand moved toward the back of my knee, pulling it up and sending a new sensation through my body as he began to touch a new place I didn’t know existed, the head of his cock pushing firmly on the spongy tissue again and again, building up a harder and faster rhythm than before, burying his face into my neck. Not only that, but he began kissing it gently as he rhythmically rolled his hips. As good as he felt, I could help a stray tear from falling as I registered what I’d said to him during the most vulnerable state I could have possibly been in, and the fact he couldn’t return it.

He fucked me, he made me cum again at the same time he did. The feeling of him filling me, coating my walls, branding me and his before I felt him leaking out of my cunt was hot, it was satisfying in a way I could begin to describe but at the same time, it didn’t feel right at all.

He didn’t say anything.

I felt stupid, unbelievably embarrassed. I could hardly look at him as he pulled out of me and fell onto his back with a sigh, his eyes focused on the ceiling. I just wrapped myself into my blanket, rolled onto my side and squeezed my eyes closed.

Why did I say it, why did I say it, why did I say it?

Of all times to tell someone you love them for the first time, I couldn’t have picked a worse moment.

“I, uh, I have to-“

“No, yeah. Go.” I managed to keep my voice even, surprising myself. I felt him stand up from the bed, and heard the rustling of his clothes as he got dressed before he headed for my bathroom. I lay there, wanting the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

He emerged a few minutes later with a towel and a glass of water, placing the glass on my bedside table and the towel beside me. He squatted down, placing his hand on my face.

I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. I focused on watching the condensation drip down the outside of the glass as I could feel Mickey pondering on what he should say.

“I do… You know.” He said softly, pushing my hair out of my face. I saw from the corner of my eye that he immediately frowned when he felt the moisture on his fingers, and he sighed deeply, his eyes closing for a few seconds before opening again. “I just… I can’t say it back. I’ve never said… That to anybody before.”

“It’s fine, Mickey.” I mumbled. I wasn’t angry that he didn’t say it back, I was angry that I had said it before either of us were ready. I knew how I felt about him, but it wasn’t the time or place. And him not being able to say it back made me feel painfully aware that he and I may not be in the same place in our relationship.

That is what hurts.

“Maybe one day I’ll be able to tell you.”

I didn’t reply, closing my eyes tightly. He took that as his cue, leaning forward and kissing my hairline softly. He lingered a little longer than necessary, almost making me open my eyes to check he was okay, before he pulled back sharply, straightening up and leaving my room without saying goodbye.

Maybe one day I’ll be able to tell you.

[bored-worldbuilder]

Had a character concept/Backstory kinda run away on me into this long story that I thought I might share. Had a lot of fun with the formatting tho I may have gone a little overboard with it.

Feel free to include these characters or story in your campaigns just please don't put them in anything commercial like a book, or even a fanfic site. Also like share it with me if you use my stuff cause that's cool.

Content Warning: graphic descriptions of violence, vehicle accident, overall dark tone

G'rard was a man, a husband, a masterful knight and general.. was.

Elandra was a woman, a wife, an herbalist and arborist.. was.

---

It had been over a year since he saw his wife and that had been at a court ball. She was so beautiful. It had been even longer since he set foot in his home. It was a small cottage just outside of his home village. He had been offered land or even a manor in the capital but he always refused. 'could never ask her to move away from the woods she so loves.

The carriage jolts bringing G'rard back to reality and out of his daydreaming. He was already staring out the window but with his attention actually focused he notices how close to his destination he was. Home The road got rougher as they entered the forest. Looking down he closes his book, an old worn bestiary that he habitually reads, "A good knight knows how to dispatch any potential enemies." he remembers the words his old knight captain drilled into him causing a shiver to race up his spine. He was so cruel. Catching himself before his mind starts wandering again he put his book in his satchel getting ready to finally arrive home. My Elandra will be so happy to see me.

Suddenly he feels the familiar sensation of adrenaline coursing through him. Fuck. Time slows to a crawl as he searches for what his subconscious intuition has flagged as a threat Where is it?! His heart drops as he recognizes the smell of smoke, a smoke familiar to a knight HOUSEFIRE. Screams echo through the woods Elandra! Before he can react he feels the rush of immense heat as a ball of fire crashes into the side of the carriage knocking it on its side. G'rard comes to, the sound of a man screaming ringing in his ears, as he gathers his bearings and looks for the man he realizes his throat and chest hurt and he is the source. Shit. Not good. Pulling himself up and out of the side door of the carriage that's now at the top of it. He drops onto the ground as his left leg buckles under him and pain thrums. Broken. Blood starts to pool against his shirt. My sword cut me in the crash.

He doesn't care, he barely feels it he has to get home. He pulls himself up against the carriage and starts moving towards the burning cottage. Rushing The Figure standing over his wife he draws his sword and slashes towards the figure but it.. doesn't connect? A sudden pain fills his body as his arm thuds to the ground. G'rard looks up just in time to see his adversary's blade come back down and carve across his face painting a searing pain as half his vision goes red. Doesn't matter SAVE HER!! He goes to strike again this time with his fist, it's all he has left. When he suddenly finds himself on the ground his adversary having knocked his broken leg out from under him NOO SAVE HER DAMN IT!! It gets significantly harder to breathe as his adversary drives their blade clean through his back piercing his right lung before putting their boot on his back to pull it out twisting and grinding it against his ribs and spine. Finally it's clear to G'rard that he's completely out matched and going to die without saving the one he loves. He looks to his wife one last time and his stomach turns in knots and his heart is broken. she.. she's not breathing. His adrenaline fades and with it his consciousness.

Waking up was surprising, wishing he was in a different kind of hell than he was currently in. He opens his eyes to see it's now dark; the glow from the embers of his home the only light left in the forest. Elandra. He crawls to his wife's side and holds her with his remaining arm. I'm sorry.. I'm so fucking sorry I couldn't save you... and I'm sorry I'm not ready to give you up. G'rard's whole life had flashed before his eyes while he was unconscious and in that he remembered something from his bestiary Revenant. "The spirit of a recently deceased is bound to a body using a seal drawn from blood with a purpose; usually the hunting of the one who killed the spirit.." That's the part he remembered anyway. It was a lot of words and the undead have such similar weaknesses so he usually skimmed that chapter, something he's regretting now. He may not remember the words but what he did remember was the pictures, including an example seal. I can do this,I.. I *have* to do this. I'm going to bring her back. He pressed his hand against her jagged wounds. Oh love, those must have been painful, that blade was designed for torture. Dragging his bloody hand against the stone porch he traces the seal he remembers. However G'rard made a mistake he wasn't thinking about his own wounds and his wife's blood wasn't the only blood on his hand... Something is wrong. I..I don't think I did this right. His entire body fills with searing white hot pain like pouring liquid sunlight through his veins and he finds himself screaming again as his eyes slam shut.

---

Elandra was spending her day resting in bed after spending all of yesterday cleaning and preparing for her husband's return. She feels her heart jump as she hears a knock on the door. Odd I didn't hear the carriage? As she gets up and approaches the door with a gitty prance of a walk she suddenly feels nauseous finally noticing the smell of aether, she stops, her hand resting on the handle That is Not my husband. Who/Whatever is on the other side of the door knocks again harder this time. Elandra is still frozen in fear, her mind racing about what could be on the other side of the door and what to do about it.

It pounds against the door again this time cracking the door with the force. What the fuck. Elandra startled takes a step back which saves her life as the door explodes in a ball of fire knocking her back against some shelves. The door splinters, pieces of it embed into her body the largest about the size of her forearm was in her gut off to one side. FUUUUCKK. The Entity that's no longer behind the door is a huge person? humanoid thing in a large black cloak. Honestly actually seeing this thing doesn't actually help me identify what the fuck it is. It stalks twords her ducking its head slightly as it passed through the hole where the door used to be. He will save me. She struggles but it grabs her leg and drags her out of the now burning house and onto the stone porch. He'll be home any second to save me.

Elandra finds it hard to move at all against the pain of her injuries as it grabs the large chunk of wood in her gut, first pressing it deeper before twisting and pulling it out; causing shrieks of pain to come from her. It pulls out a large wavy blade but at this point the pain was so overwhelming there wasn't much she could do as it carved the remaining shards of wood out slowly torturing her. Fuuuck. G'rard please save me.

As she screamed suddenly It stopped and turned around, something happened and there was an explosion and a crash. what's happening?? She hushed her screaming, suppressing it to better listen to what was happening when she heard something that made her blood run cold. Her husband. Her hero was screaming in agony. no nonononono he'll save me, he has to save me, he'll save me, right? Her vision goes dark, the last sensation she feels is her pulse fade.

---

They open their eyes to see their spouse's?/own? face it looked ghostly/injured. What's going on? I don't know. Something was wrong they remember losing an eye so why can they see even more than before? They remember dying bleeding out calling for their husband so how are they here? Wait I did the ritual what happened? Why is she just a ghost? what ritual? How am I not dead? It finally clicks G'rard did the ritual to bind her spirit with a mix of their blood binding her spirit to his body instead of hers. Understanding this she takes her place in their body, as she does this they notice their wounds have unnaturally closed. They stand, out of reflex they lean to use their dominant hand to brace themself Elandra's ghostly hand faintly glows as it presses against the ground. huh I guess that works

They walk to the carriage still on it's side several feet off the road, the driver's burnt corpse was laying in the road. We should probably feel something about that.. we would have before. The horses are nowhere to be seen. I wonder? They reach through the bottom of the carriage with their ghostly hand and grab their satchel tossing it up and out of the carriage catching it in their body's hand. neat They retrieve the bestiary flipping through to find the entry on revenants but unfortunately there's nothing on living revenants. Fuck are we unique or something?

They look back at the smoldering house Do we.. burry your/my the body? I guess not It's not like it would do anything. They turn and start walking to the village. Time to kill the one that killed us.

[myst867]

The room was dark except for the moonlight streaming through the window. The moon was almost full, but I didn’t need to look out the window to know that, I just had to meet his eyes in the dark, see that amber gleam. Like a fire raged behind his gaze. 

I was pale, silver and black and he was fire, honey and golden.  He seemed to content to wait for me to come closer and the predatory feel of him made the small hairs on my body stand at attention. 

It wasn’t fear though, it was anticipation. My body seemed to shrink into itself waiting for him to reach for me. I needed him to be able to breathe. I was winding tighter and tighter as he watched me with unblinking eyes from across the room. 

I wanted to play it cool, to smile at him confidently, but my bravado went up like smoke when we were alone.  The presence of others gave me some type of armor I didn’t have when I was alone with him.  When my entire world was the fire burning in those amber eyes. 

My heart beat uncomfortably in my chest as I waited, the prey to his predator. The animal inside me whimpered, pushing at me to show my throat. I trembled with the exertion it took to remain still, waiting. Still fucking waiting. 

The destructive part of me, the part of me that pushed me to rebel no matter what the cost, fluttered inside my soul. No more waiting. 

No more waiting. 

With a grimace that I tried to pass off as a sneer, I turned my back on him reaching for the doorknob to leave. I had barely touched the handle when he was behind me, his hand wrapped around my wrist, his fingernails a tad too long and scraping my skin. 

Remus’ chest rumbled with a low growl that vibrated through my entire body. My cock was so hard, the fucking stupid leather pants I wore was strangling me. I tried to speak and all that came out was an embarrassingly hoarse sound and I cleared my throat to try again.  

My heart still refused to beat properly, as if it was so obsessed with him it was trying to burst out of my chest and offer itself to him. 

Here you hungry, Moony? This is your treat. 

My throat was still too tight, and he didn’t do anything besides press against me and let me feel him as I had so many times before. Too many times. 

Secretive brushes that I had played off as accidents. Cuddles I when I pretended I was asleep and didn’t know what I was doing and he pretended he didn’t know. Remus had to be so bloody noble all the fucking time. So fucking everything! 

I yanked harder at the door trying to loosen his grip but he just tightened his hand, the tips of his nails pricking me. 

“Where are you going?” 

The words were garbled and half growled against me. He was so close I felt the movement against my neck, his hot breath on my skin and lightning shot through me. Even though I faced away from him, I knew exactly the expression he was making. Annoyance and possessiveness. 

I’m your friend, Sirius. 

My fucking best friend. But I wanted more. I always wanted more.

[abugeatbugworld]

A Dumb Question: Part Four

Part One Part Two Part Three

“Flik?”

She waves a hand in front of his eyes, which have been staring down at the wrench in his hand for the last twenty seconds.

Flik closes his eyes and shakes his head as though he’s trying to dislodge something from his brain. When he opens his eyes again, they find Dot.

Her stomach twists at the way he’s looking at her. There’s a bead of white like a tiny pearl in the corners of his eyes, a reflection of the light on his tears.

She didn’t mean to make him cry. She just wanted to know the truth.

“Never mind,” she says hurriedly, pushing herself off the bench and taking a step towards the tunnel that leads out of Flik’s lab. “I think I heard my mom calli—”

“Dot.”

Flik’s hand catches one of hers, rooting her in place. Against Dot’s will, her lower lip begins to wobble. The room’s colors bleed together in front of her, swirls of dark blue and fluorescent green.

“Please look at me.”

Dot shakes her head hard and squeezes her eyes shut as tightly as she can. When she opens them, her sight is clear.

Her cheeks are also wet.

“It’s not important,” she whispers, tugging weakly at the hand holding hers. It doesn’t let go.

“It is to me,” Flik says softly.

A second goes by. Then another. Finally Dot brushes her arm across her face and slowly turns around, determined to keep her gaze trained on the floor until she can stop crying. Flik releases her hand, and it drops to her side. Then she feels a gentle pressure beneath her chin.

Dot reluctantly allows Flik to tilt her head upwards until their eyes meet again. Those pearls are still there, but at least he’s smiling. A sad smile is better than none at all.

“You were right,” he says. “I was scared when Hopper told me to take you. But…”

He looks away for a moment. The pearls grow slightly bigger.

“It wasn’t me I was scared for.”

Before she can respond, the pressure on her chin moves to her armpits. Flik picks her up and carries her back to the bench they’d both been sitting on a moment ago. He lowers himself on it before settling Dot into his lap, positioning her legs so they spill over the side of his thighs.

She crosses her arms over her chest and sits there stiffly for a moment, a stubborn part of her refusing to get comfortable. The part of her that — if she’s honest with herself — is still the tiniest bit angry with her friend.

The part that doesn’t want to hear his reason for leaving her in a monster’s hands.

Flik either doesn’t notice or he doesn’t mind, because he keeps talking.

“Okay, maybe a little part of me was scared for me. I mean, Hopper’s a big guy. He could probably squish me with one foot if he wanted to.”

A giggle bubbles up through Dot’s chest and comes out like a hiccup. She claps a hand over her mouth, then folds her arms again and resumes looking indifferent. She peeks up to see if he noticed.

Flik is smiling, but after a moment the grin on his face fades and his eyes go far away again.

“The truth is, Dot…in that moment, I wasn’t thinking much about me at all. I was terrified for you.”

Her heart stutters.

“You couldn’t see him, but the look in Hopper’s eyes…he was so angry with me for stopping him, for challenging him in front of everyone. And the way he had his hand around your head—”

She winces. The hooks.

“—it was so big, and you were just so small.”

Dot’s gaze drops to her lap, warmth flooding her cheeks. She reflexively clenches her hands into fists. I’m too little, she thinks bitterly. Even Flik knows so.

Suddenly Flik’s hand cups her cheek. Dot takes a shaky breath and slowly lifts her head to look at him. The fierceness in his eyes surprises her.

“There is nothing wrong with being small, Dot. Nothing at all.”

Her vision is blurring again, but this time she doesn’t look away. The fire in his eyes burns brighter as he goes on.

“What is wrong is when you use your size to hurt others. That’s what Hopper does, and that’s what I was afraid he was going to do to you if I tried to take you away from him. He knew I cared about you, and he wanted to see how far I would go to protect you. And I was afraid to take the bait.”

Flik grows quiet again, munching on his bottom lip as though deep in thought. When he speaks again, his voice sounds broken.

“But I still should have tried. And I’m sorry.”

Whatever was left of Dot’s resolve crumbles, and she finally lets herself melt into Flik’s chest the way she’s wanted to do all along. She slides into place like a puzzle piece, her antennae brushing along the bottom of his chin. His heart thrums fast against her cheek and she wonders if this is what it sounded like when he was looking at Hopper, deciding whether or not to take her. Worrying what would happen if he did.

After a moment Dot presses a hand to Flik’s chest, her fingers curling against his skin. The rise and fall of his ribcage begins to slow, and she suddenly realizes that the space beneath his chin is damp.

The pearls have finally fallen.

Dot listens to her friend cry for a few minutes, a lump rising in her own throat. She’d been so hurt by Flik’s choice not to take her when he was given the chance, it had never occurred to her how hard that choice must have been.

How it must have hurt him, too.

Flik’s sniffles are briefly muffled by the rumble of Dot’s stomach. Somewhere in the distance her mom calls her name for real this time, reminding her that she has somewhere to be. The colony is hosting a big banquet for the warrior bugs tonight, and Dot is supposed to help escort the guest of honor — a ladybug named Miss Francis who helped save Dot from the bird — to her seat at the table.

But there’s something more important she needs to do first.

Dot climbs out of Flik’s lap and stands up on the bench beside him, waiting for him to look at her. When he does, she reaches out to wipe her thumb across the corner of his left eye.

Then she wraps her arms around his neck and plants the smallest kiss on his cheek.

“I’m really glad Hopper didn’t squish you.”

[gratisdiamanten]

if it’s not too late for the wip game i’m really curious about apokatastasis! love ur writing style

My friend calls it “slow burn eternally pre-slash” which is a pretty good way to describe it? Kind of dark but mostly kind of heavy and expansive. Almost everyone has died in a pandemic and like a small group all scattered is trying to pick up the pieces.

Daniel abandoned his family six months into it—he’s 16 and angry and scared and he lies to them that he’s heading out to find food but he leaves them presumably to die. He’s violent in the initial months on his own fighting for food. But that fades as time passes and there are fewer people who are more tired and at this point you’ve either banded with a group or died.

As things start to slow, Max is very young at this point, like 8, and he starts following Daniel and refuses to leave even when Daniel threatens him. Jos had descended into religious psychosis in the final months of collapse and was planning to kill them and Sophie made him and Victoria go outside and run in opposite directions and never look back. So he’s frightened and has been abandoned by groups or adults multiple times at this point and just wants someone to protect him, so despite the fact he’s beginning to starve he tries to offer Daniel some of his food to convince him to let him stay. This kind of annoys Daniel because now he would feel bad leaving him. But he keeps him around and eventually Max shares his sleeping bag bc it’s November now and very cold. He tries to take care of Max, because he’s all he’s got left. But Max had gotten sick, just hadn’t died. He lapses into illness often.

Max barely remembers the world before. He collects magazines… looks at pictures of homes and picnics and weddings and celebrity drama. Tries to read books but they kind of bore him. He likes the pictures. He saves them by the stack, asks Daniel questions all the time. One time during the winter, they’re dying of cold with no tinder for the fire, and Max offers his magazines. Daniel feels so guilty. Max says I won’t be able to find more if we die, Daniel, it’s okay.

When Max is 13-14, they come across an old vacation cabin by a lake, which is reasonably constructed, an old dusty bed inside and a couple small rooms. And they try and build a home there. Daniel sees Max familially- kind of as a son/brother/best friend, but Daniel’s literally all Max had ever had, so of course Max falls for him :( and Daniel keeps refusing him. So he’s caught between upsetting Max (refusing him) and harming him (giving him what he wants) and it kills him how he has to comfort him so often while he’s the one causing the pain. But he’s clinging to his humanity and his responsibilities and trying to make up for the family he abandoned. He loves Max. Just won’t in that way.

Anyway Max grows more sick over the years, intermittently having times that promise recovery, and Daniel grows frightened some nights that he won’t wake up. Ear to his chest fingertips in the hollow of his throat. Feeling for the thread-tug of his pulse. And then Max wakes up and touches his hand there. And Daniel aches bc he can feel him leaving him every day

Max passes when he’s 19 :( Daniel never wanted him to die by himself but Max dies when Daniel leaves for the first time in days to hunt. Max would have been relieved he didn’t see it. Anyways. The suffocating greenness of a landscape recovering from humanity mocking it with its growth and life :) the stifling smell of the forest the indifferent chorus of birds even as Daniel buries him!

Addition: kind of reader’s choice if Daniel has grown to reciprocate by the end but he can’t tangibly as like. A character mechanism. Like the point of this Daniel is him trying to preserve old norms trying to stay Human. Anyway. Kind of emotionally a choose your own adventure