#my wrist hurts wheeze

[sasswonfp]

"I could be your doom boy! We could hold hands~ Listen to Slayer~ In the back of my dodge caravan! Doom boy!" (Doom Boy - The Dirty Nil)

Sometimes all you have is the lantern by your side.

[ervotica]

please don’t go, i love you so

pairing: young!coriolanus snow x reader

warnings: a lil toxic!coriolanus, he’s rough with r, possessive talk, quite tame in this but imma tamp it up soon, a bit of making out and being lovey

note: i do not careee about who likes this character or who doesn’t okay i am writing about him because he is literally one of the hottest men i’ve ever seen, kay? i’m not here for moral dilemmas thank u, enjoy (yes i will follow up w smut and my young!coriolanus snow reqs are OPEN!) please please remember to comment and rb, it helps me so much!

hunger games masterlist

Coriolanus is possessive.

It sickens him to his very core, sends nausea rolling like a wave through his chest; he’s not a child. Yet, the mere sight - thought - of you engaging with any other man, even innocently, is enough to have him seeing red: white-knuckled, muscles drawn taut like a bowstring, ready to eliminate any and all threat standing between him and his girl.

It's the way those boys look at you. As if you're a piece of meat, a toy to play with that they're just begging, aching to sink their teeth into, to leave a permanent mark on. The boys in this district are barbaric- that's what Coryo thinks anyway. It's disgusting, the things that he knows they think about you.

It's been a long day in District Twelve. Coriolanus' grey jumpsuit rubs and itches and his skin crawls with an uneasiness settled at the pit of his stomach. It's a warm day, his skin sticky as he peels the top half of the jumpsuit from his slender arms and ties it neatly around his waist. The grass by the lake is damp with the leftover dew from the morning.

He catches sight of you amongst the trees, weaving and bobbing through the undergrowth as you do, your lithe fingers brushing against leaves. Your head dips and then raises as his tall figure creeps into your peripheral vision. A smile graces your features, real and earnest with all your teeth.

There’s a slight waver in your countenance when you catch Coriolanus’ own expression; his brows are knit, pushing his forehead into a crease, lips pushed together tersely.

You walk straight into his arms, balancing yourself on one leg and pushing your shoulder underneath his armpit. You needle your way in, your forehead rested against his chin, so close you can feel his breath against your face.

“Hi, gorgeous,” you murmur. You reach up to push out the ridge in his brow and your thumb traces the bridge of his nose in a way that couldn’t be perceived as anything other than unbridled affection. “Something wrong?”

His slender fingers settle against your waist. You shiver at the contact when he spins and pushes you back into a tree. The bark digs into your back as you shuffle to meet his eyes— his eyes that have suddenly clouded with something dark and possessive.

“What is it?” you ask again; your voice is becoming more strained the longer he stays quiet, your own hands snaking up his arms like vines and squeezing.

He shakes his head and drops his face to look at you properly.

“Nothing. I have you.”

“Okay.” You click your tongue, tilting your head at him. His face gravitates towards yours, breath hot and mixing with your own. “You gonna kiss me or what, handsome?”

He doesn’t need any encouragement, surging forward to catch your lips between his own; his hands are rough, kneading the soft flesh of your hip. His other makes its way up to your jaw, fingertips pressing so hard you’re sure he’s branding you. You’ve never been kissed like this, with such fervour and passion and need. You gasp into his mouth and your arm wraps around his neck to pull him further into you.

“Coryo,” you pant.

“Shh,” he forces out, his fingers suddenly an iron grip around your neck; the hollow of your throat is bared to him and bobs under his cruel touch.

“Coriolanus, that hurts,” you say, strangled. His eyes are alight with a fire, a blazing inferno roaring in his head as he squeezes your throat and laughs.

You wheeze, clutching at his wrist in an attempt to loosen his grip. He obliges you, running a thumb over the indents he’s left in your soft skin to smooth them away.

“You know I’d never hurt you, right?” he asks. His head drops to the juncture of your neck, arms hooking loosely around your middle as he relaxes into you. “I just wanted to feel you. To know you’re mine.”

The incident is forgotten as soon as it ends. He has a charm in that sort of way; you don’t see his faults even when he shows them to you clear as day. You’ll never see what’s right in front of you even if he wants you to.

“Of course I’m yours, Coryo. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“The way they all look at you here…” He falters. “Like they all want you. Like they want to take you away from me. You’re mine- they have to understand that.”

“No one could take me away from you,” you giggle, your temple resting against the tip of his shoulder so you can duck your head to meet his eyes. “I know where I belong. And that’s right here with you.”

“Good.” He mouths at your neck like a man starved, arms coming right up until they’re hooked just underneath your own. He pulls away heaving for breath.

“Wanna show me just where you belong?”

[hanjisick]

Orders.

genre. mafia au. bodyguard!lee know x fem!reader

desc. your father is an elite, high ranking official in a mafia family. after your first kidnapping, a bodyguard was hired to ensure your safety.

warnings. nsfw. fingering & sex. torture. kidnapping. murder. violence.

wc. 10k

✉️ : this is my first writing after a 9 month hiatus. i apologize for the unannounced break and i will be answering and writing again shortly. enjoy! :)

You sit in a wooden chair, wheezing and thrashing from days of sleep deprivation and torment. Your body aches, wrists bruised and bloody from the ropes, and you almost feel like giving in and spilling Daddy’s secrets— allowing them to kill you and the family.

But you knew better than that. You knew that you'd be saved.

The gunshots and cries for help weren't unexpected from above the dark bunker.

With an ear-piercing creak, the door swings open and the shadow of a man emerges through the doorstep, shoes squeaking with fresh blood underneath.

He doesn’t let out a single word as he kneels to grab your face and examine it. Your attention follows the ring on his finger. An insignia that he is part of the family. You can depend on him.

But still, you wince, sharply inhaling as his fingers aggravate your wounds.

“Don’t get their blood in my wounds, I don’t know what kind of freaks they are,” You grumble, voice husky from days of screaming.

You let him turn your head, retaining eye contact with the floor as you grit your teeth.

“Relax,” he mumbles, “I don’t bite.”

He leans closer to examine your wounds. “You took a lot of hits. How many people are here?”

He draws back as you reply, “Can’t tell you exactly.”

“About four of them grabbed me while I was leaving the house— stupid on their part, no wonder you were here so shortly,” You trail off before catching yourself back on topic.

“But I’ve only seen three different men since I’ve been here. Only to beat me and interrogate me. Don’t worry, I didn’t say anything to put Daddy at risk.”

“I heard two other unrecognizable voices. That would make nine people in the building that I know of. Of course, there could always be more. How many did you shoot?”

“Six,” he responds before looking down at your scrapes and wounds again.

You feel him caress your cheek once more, his cold skin sending shivers down your spine.

“You’re in bad shape.”

“If there’s more here, we need to get out as soon as possible. We can worry about my wounds as soon as these people aren’t on our ass.”

You struggle in your bounds, the ropes burning your already bloody wrists, “Could you untie me, first?”

“Don’t move.”

You obey his command, halting as he unties the ropes, uncovering the painful burn marks and blisters.

“That fucking hurt,” you rotate your wrists, “I could’ve gotten out without your help eventually, though.” Your voice is rough, breath coming out in harsh, sharp drags.

“Sure, you would’ve.”

You stumble to your feet as he pulls you into him for safety. He reeks of gunpowder and high-dollar cologne— presumably something that Daddy has made sure that he has the money for.

“Stay close to me, when we get to the front, you go out first and then I’ll leave right after.”

You follow the unfamiliar man out of the maze, almost slipping on the floor blanketed in blood.

You adjust to the bright sunlight— and it feels gentle against your damaged skin. It seems like time has stood still while you were captured. “Did Daddy order you a car?”

“Yes,” he answers, “Some men are waiting out front to take us to the closest hospital— which isn’t too far.”

“I’m being hospitalized?” You follow him into the backseat, finally slacking for a moment ontop of the fresh leather.

“It’s not my choice to have you taken to the hospital, it’s the orders.”

“Do I have a statement to tell the nurse?” You look at him in concern.

“Am I supposed to say, ‘Oh, I was kidnapped by Daddy’s enemies! By the way, he’s in the mafia! Who wants to arrest Daddy?’”

“Tell them you fell down the stairs.” His flat tone contrasts your own, remaining unfazed.

“How would that cover up my wrists' burn marks?” You hold up the bloody and bruised dents, “Nobody gets these from falling down the stairs. There's way too much blood— and some of it isn’t even mine.”

He raises an eyebrow, looking over to the burn marks on your wrist and then back to you.

“Then tell them you accidentally burnt yourself while cooking.”

“Are you even listening to me? Are you stupid?”

He doesn’t respond for a moment, not seeming to care about the situation.

“It’s not hard to pay them to be silent.”

“How about I tell them that I was heavily bullied at school and a couple of classmates did this to me? I think that could work.”

You two arrive at the front entrance of the emergency room, he follows behind you, strolling through the automatic door.

“I’m fine, really, I was just beaten by classmates,” You lie through your teeth to the front desk, “My boyfriend took me here to get it checked out.”

He raises an eyebrow.

You comply with the nurses as they check your weight and interview you.

“I don’t have any stab wounds, at least I don’t think so— I don’t remember what they did to me. I was held captive for a few,” Your voice trails off as you wince at a sudden pang.

You glance down at your bleeding side and are unexpectedly whacked with all of the distress that you had been repressing at once.

Your vision starts to fade, face pale as a ghost.

The man rushes over as they carry you to a bed, and he kneels beside you to review your condition. Your body is pale and cold, breathing jagged and rapid.

You hear the whispers of the staff panicking. One nurse checks your pulse, and another elevates your legs.

“I need my blood sugar up,” the first words that come out of your mouth sound weak and painful.

You look over at the man beside you.

You need to lie. But you don’t even know his name.

“Boyfriend,” you determine, “please get me a sugary drink from the vending machine.”

A subtle smirk forms upon his lips, but it vanishes as soon as it appears.

“Fine,” he rises to his feet.

You hiss as the nurses sterilize your wounds, shrieking and thrashing on the mattress at the sting. You try to stay still, but the pain is intolerable.

Footsteps echo and you find the man returning with a chocolate bar, which he holds out to you. He brings it close to your lips and holds the chocolate against your mouth for you to take a bite, “Slowly.”

“I told you to get me a drink,” You disregard his command, biting the chocolate quickly, almost aggressively.

His lips turn up, amused by your action.

The nurses finish stitching up your deep gashes and bandaging your wounds, recommending that you stay the night.

“Pay for the bill with Daddy’s cash and let’s get out of here,” you state coldly, “I need to shower and get all of this blood out of my hair. I don’t want to stay here.”

“As long as you can walk by yourself, we can leave right away.” He replies. The man takes out a wad of bills quickly counts the money and pays for the bill.

You stay speechless until entering the car.

“Who are you?”

“I’m your bodyguard. Your father hired me to look out for you after the kidnapping.”

You nod in acknowledgment. “Will you be staying at the estate with me? Or is it a ‘only when I leave the house’ kind of deal?”

“My primary duty is to protect you from anyone or anything that could harm you, whether that be outside or inside the house. I could go wherever you wish me to follow you, and I will be there.”

“You won’t sleep in bed with me though, right?”

He stays silent for a moment.

“You are correct, I am here to protect, nothing more. I will not sleep next to you. I am merely your bodyguard and take your orders.”

“Good boy,” you grin, “I bet Daddy will pay you very nicely. Why else would you take this job? How much does he give you? Either way, I’m sure you have enough to buy a mansion.”

The bodyguard holds back an eye roll. “I will have more than enough money. Not only that but he also provides me with a home.” He adds with a smirk.

“Good.” You reply.

You fall silent, allowing him to drive, taking in the past few days.

You were never worried about surviving, You understood that Daddy would handle it. But you didn’t expect to be as hurt as you were.

He could’ve saved you sooner.

“When we get home, order the chef to make me something sweet, I deserve a treat,” you state, “I’m going to shower and you are not allowed to enter my bathroom under any circumstance. Even if I’m dying.”

“You would die before letting me enter your bathroom? I get it.” He retorts.

Once you both arrive at the estate, you stumble out of the car. You don’t linger for him.

You’re welcomed by a handful of workers as you enter the home, but ignore them as you make a beeline up the stairs and towards the bedroom.

The door locks behind you and the room is silent. You feel the weariness creep on as your wounds sting. You lean against the door, sliding down.

After a moment of peace, you head towards the shower to comb the dried blood out of your hair.

You scrub your face carefully, avoiding the stitches above your eyebrows.

You wash your body entirely, removing the blood stains with soap, water, and a wash rag. Then you comb out the dried blood.

Once you finish, you dry yourself off and dress in a plain, silk nightdress.

Leaving your bedroom, you turn to look for your guard. He is at the doorway of your room when you walk out. His eyes roam around your body for a brief moment, examining the nightgown.

“Do you require assistance?”

“Did you place an order for something sweet, like I asked?” You peer at his suit, moving in to adjust his tie.

He follows your hand as it moves, eyeing you for a few moments before he utters, “I did, the chef will be bringing it to your room once it’s prepared.”

“Good boy.”

You look up at his face once you are pleased with the positioning. You grimace at his sharp, cold face. The blood was dried, brown, and unpleasing. The man’s hand relaxes on the gun holstered on his hip.

“I order you to come into my bedroom.”

His eyebrows crease. He understands his role as your bodyguard— nonetheless, he doesn’t get a kick out of being ordered around in this tone.

He takes a deep breath. “Your wish is my command.”

The room is massive, a silk-covered canopy bed sits in the center of it. He pays no mind to looking around, concentrating on the job at hand.

“Sit down on my bed,” you demand, steering towards the bathroom and pushing open the double doors.

He obeys your orders without question, crossing his legs, and keeping his hand resting beside his gun.

The bodyguard keeps a close, attentive eye on the doors, supervising the way that you soak a washrag with warm water, squeezing out the excess.

You sit beside him, grabbing his chin and leaning into his face. He tenses.

“Relax, I don’t bite,” you smirk, reiterating his first words from the moment he met you back to him, massaging the dried blood off of his face, “No guard of mine will have a messy appearance.”

You can tell that he feels uneasy, but he can’t reject you. If you wish for him to relax, he will make an effort to relax.

You can’t help but notice his complexion when he isn’t scowling. The apathy melts away as you wipe the dried blood, giving you a new perspective on his appearance.

“You’re handsome,” you state bluntly, “Especially without blood covering your face.”

You toss the rag into the laundry basket carelessly, waiting for a maid to take care of it.

“Thank you.”

“What is your name? You never told me.”

His eyebrows arch slightly at the question.“It’s Minho.”

“I am Y/N,” You reply, holding out your hand to shake his own. His grip is firm and warm.

He keeps a stoic face as he glances at your face and back at your hand, as if he is searching for an ulterior motive behind this handshake.

The food.

The bell rings and the sound of it shatters the stillness of the room. Minho’s head jolts towards the door, hand back on his gun.

He rises instantly, opening it to reveal the maid with a tray of sweet snacks.

He takes it from her. “I will bring it in.”

“What a good boy, Minho,” you praise, clapping your hands together as he sets the tray on your lap.

“I don’t take you for a man who enjoys sweet food much. Do you like sweets?”

“Sometimes.”

You unwrap a piece of high-dollar chocolate, “I command you to open your mouth.”

Minho can’t deny you, it would be disobeying your orders.

He opens his mouth as the chocolate is positioned between his lips.

You relish in the chocolates with Minho and once finished, you set the tray on the floor for a maid to pick up at sunrise.

“I don’t think I mind you being around all that much, Daddy makes good decisions.” You lay down on the mattress.

“Your father does make good decisions.”

His gaze wavered on your face until you drifted off to sleep. Only then did they slowly trail down to your body.

The way your body was built captivated him. Minho was glued to your sleeping form.

He stayed in the room, taking a seat on a chair in the corner to watch you.

He didn’t know how long it had been since you had dozed off, but by the way that the room was now pitch black and noiseless aside from your figure rising and falling, he would imagine that it had been a couple of hours.

“How long are you going to sit there?” Your sleep-filled voice questions him, causing him to snap out of his daze, hand reaching for his gun out of instinct.

“Do you sleep? Are you allowed to sleep?”

“I will only remain in the room as long as you order me to. I do sleep,” He replies, “Now is there anything else you need my assistance with? Or can I return to my duties?”

“So you’re only staying in the room because I ordered you two hours ago?” There’s a tinge of dismay in your voice, but it was masked by sleep, “You can leave if you want, I don’t mind.”

Minho felt a sudden pit in his stomach. You sounded disappointed by his statement.

Your words are perplexing him, and he can’t conclude what you want from him. To stay or to go?

“Should I stay for a bit longer?”

You were already asleep again once he had responded.

You and Minho both wake to a maid opening the blinds and ringing a bell. You groan, stretching your body.

“Miss, let’s get you dressed for today.”

She pulls your nightgown up above your head as Minho’s eyes wander toward your laced underwear.

“What’s on my schedule for today?”

He quickly forces his gaze to look away and stares back at the maid.

“We want you to heal from your injuries, miss,” she answers, “we will start with a nutritious breakfast to encourage recovery, and attend to your injuries, and then you will speak with Daddy about your incident.”

The maid buttons your fitted dress, glancing in Minho’s direction, “Your bodyguard will need to be there for your conversation with Daddy.”

“He will?”

“He needs to tell Daddy what he witnessed from the facility.”

You nod, following her lead down the stairs and towards the breakfast table.

Minho follows suit, remaining at your side the entire time and he watches you eat, staying observant and cautious.

“Are you hungry?”

This question catches Minho off guard.

“No.” He adds in a dull tone— but in actuality, he is starving. He was entrusted to watch over you. He shouldn’t eat on the clock.

“Maid, go order,” You look Minho up and down, “A side of crepes. Blueberry crepes. And two cups of coffee.”

The maid hurries to the kitchen to place the order, and it is brought out a couple of minutes later.

He stares at the crepes being placed on the table, and his belly grumbles. “Thank you.”

The maid carries the mugs of coffee to the table. But it doesn’t take Minho long to catch sight of her cunning smile and the perplexing liquid that the maid slipped into the mugs of coffee.

He stares quietly, calculating his next action.

“Don’t drink it.”

“Why not?”

Minho’s sight narrows as you bring the cup of coffee to your lips.

This time, his tone is warning and direct. “It’s better that you don’t.”

You halt your sip at his harsh command.

The maid pulls out a handgun swiftly after realizing that she has been caught, aiming it at you.

A switch swiftly flips inside of him.

He lunges forward, grabbing the woman’s wrist and twisting the gun to the right, snapping a couple of fingers in the process.

It’s a rapid movement, and he had little time to think before shooting her in the head, watching the life leave her body. His face is apathetic and almost casual.

The maid’s blood spilled onto the floor as the others ran to clean it up.

“He passed the test, we can keep him. A promising guard so far,” Daddy compliments from behind you, “Urgently acting to protect. He knew that she was mindless and weak. He comprehends crises well.”

The older man slips a wad of cash into the breast pocket of Minho’s suit. “Good on protecting her. That was a setup with a stupid maid who was just aching to betray us. You will have the same fate if you are wavered by another team.”

“I think he’s a good boy. He won’t betray me.”

“Y/N, meet me at my office. Guard, follow her.” He swiftly turns away to lead the two of you as you eye Minho.

“You can relax now. No more tests.”

He nods in understanding, heeding silently towards the office.

“Tell me about what you saw at the facility.”

You nod. “Four men had taken me from our garden entrance and used Chloroform to knock me unconscious. I woke up in their van, where my hands and legs were tied. I heard them talking about what they planned to get out of me. They had intentions of murdering me if they got to a week of no answers.”

Minho listens to your explanation with hawk-like eyes, paying close attention to all the details and descriptions.

You clear your throat, running your fingers across your bruised wrist, “I was tied to a chair in their questioning room, and they used forms of torture for me to open up.”

“I was deprived of sleep and beaten if they caught me closing my eyes— trying to get my lack of sleep to cause me to open up about your activities.”

Daddy nodded solemnly, leaning into his chair.

“Waterboarding was their favorite method, but they enjoyed beating me. I assume that was mainly for fun.”

You continued, “Minho appeared and killed a couple of them and saved me, but most are still alive.”

“Still alive? You didn’t find and kill them, bodyguard, why?” Daddy’s intense eyes moved toward Minho, who appeared unbothered.

The fact that he missed a few guys is enough to drive him crazy.

“I had to get her to safety as soon as possible.”

Daddy merely nods. “I will send my men after them. Y/N, did you get any names?”

“They wouldn’t tell me anything about themselves, but I saw a couple of signs of their rival gang.”

“Guard,” he veered towards Minho, “Describe the faces that you saw. I need as much information as possible.”

“They look to be between the ages of 20 to 30, their faces covered in scars. One man had dark skin, and his facial scars were faded. His most notable feature was a slit across his brow. He wore a dark suit. I left him alive but with a bullet in his arm. The other man had a lighter skin tone and his scars were similar to knife wounds. He had gotten away.”

The boss nods.

“Good. I can work with that. Never let my little girl get into trouble like that again, alright?”

The second the words ‘my little girl’ leave his mouth, Minho can’t help but gaze at you. He observes your reactions and motions.

His heart beats by hearing his boss call you that, and his attention is now focused on every single twitch that you make.

“The nurses will be waiting in her bedroom shortly. Be good and do as they say.” He adds, snapping Minho back to him.

“Guard, do not let her go against any of the nurses' rules. She can be convincing. Do not give into it.”

“Yes Sir.”

You roll your eyes, turning away to leave the room.

“Stay safe.” That is the last utterance of the boss before you drag Minho out of the room and towards the bedroom.

“Sit on the bed,” a nurse commands you, and you quickly obey.

She dabs at your abdomen stitches with antiseptic soap and your eyebrows furrow.

“You can’t move around much, got it? No exercising for three weeks until we get these stitches out.”

You agree as she moves on to your wrists, rubbing cream into them, “You’re going to visit us twice a day for six days until the healing is almost complete.”

She yanks a bandage off of your face, causing you to groan in pain. She rubs another ointment on it before substituting it with fresh dressing.

Minho supervises each step that the nurse takes, noticing how she takes care of your body as if it’s her most precious gift.

She turns to Minho, “I need you to make sure that she’s well rested, drinking enough water, and not doing many straining activities. Take her back here once again in the evening, and then we will see her again this time tomorrow morning, got it?”

“Yes, I will take care of her.”

“What about him, nurse?” You eye the small cuts across his face and hands.

She smiles and leans over to you. “He is well trained. Trust me, he’ll survive a few scratches.”

Your eyes narrow. “I order you to treat his wounds to the best of your abilities.”

She sighs. “Yes ma’am.”

She moves towards Minho and checks his wounds, patching the ones that were newly caused. She brushes his face softly with an ointment.

“I don’t like it when my guards don’t keep up a good appearance,” you try to explain away your worry for him, “and being injured will only slow you down when protecting me.”

The man stares straight ahead, listening carefully. “I’m fine. I’ll recover just fine. I don’t need much care as you do.”

“Let her rest now,” the nurse tells Minho, “order the maids to bring her a glass of water and have her sip on it until lunchtime.”

Once she leaves, Minho turns towards you, “I’ll make sure the maids bring you water. You need to stay hydrated”

Once water is on your table, your gaze returns to Minho

“Now, I order you to sit down on my bed with me.”

He examines you with a neutral expression and waits for you to say what you mean, not wishing to assume or take anything wrongly.

“Sit down with me,” you demand again, patting the spot beside you, waiting for him to follow suit.

As soon as you ask him to, Minho does not waver. He sits down beside you, body brushing your own.

You turn to meet his cold expression with intensity. “Do you like your job so far?

Minho is taken off guard by your switch of topic. He stays where he is sitting, but turns his body as well and faces you.

“I enjoy my duties.”

“Good. Because I’m fond of you. You’re handsome, and you are good at your job.”

He stares at you with slight surprise. “Thank you.”

Your hands grab for his, playing with the ring on his finger.

Then, you reach your hands higher, tugging his sleeve up to reveal a cluster of scars littered across his forearm.

“How long have you been in the business?”

“Since I was fourteen. I was trained from a very young age.”

“Have you always been in Daddy’s family?”

“I was loyal to your Daddy from the moment I knew what this life was like. I haven’t had a moment of doubt.”

“Good. That means you won’t leave us, right?”

“I will serve your family until my last breath. You have nothing to fear about that.”

“What a good boy,” you reach to ruffle his hair, landing a swift kiss on his sliced cheek. “That’s exactly what I like to hear.”

Minho stiffens.

“I order you to take off your jacket. I want to see your body. To see if you’re strong enough to be a good guard.”

Your words are sharp as a knife and they cut deep through his defense system. His jaw clamps and his breathing accelerates.

Minho swallows his breath, nodding his head. His movements are rigid, starting to cautiously peel off his jacket. It takes him a moment to unbutton it, but once his jacket is off, he stays there, waiting.

You slide his jacket to the floor, touching the muscles of his bicep through his button-down. “You’re fit. That’s good.”

Minho yearns for you to keep feeling him. To keep praising him. He swallows. Your words sound like a honey trap to him, and it’s working as intended.

“I order you to take off your tie.”

“Yes.”

That is all that he says, slowly slipping his tie from underneath his collar and tossing it aside.

Unexpectedly, you’re climbing on top of his body. “Take off your button-down.”

He unbuttons his shirt as your eyes sear into his chest. He is now only wearing a black undershirt.

“So many clothes,” you sigh out, groping his bare arms. You run your hands across his biceps, listening to him shudder underneath the touch.

“Take off your undershirt now. I want to see your chest.”

You can feel the heat radiating off him as he shivers. His body is now sensitive, and your hands are making it worse for him.

Your orders are evident, and he hastily lifts off his undershirt, waiting for what is next.

You can see his whole chest with all of its blemishes, with every muscle covered in sweat, exposed for you.

Your hands travel down his chest and abdomen, feeling each ragged scar with your bruised fingers. The delicate contact causes his breath to catch and a soft groan leaves him, fighting to not show that he relishes in your touch.

“Let me kiss you.”

He stares at you for a moment before his eyebrows slightly shift— his way of showing you that he approves of that request.

Minho leans in slightly and closes his eyes, gently placing a timid kiss on your lips.

You smirk against him, pushing him to lie against the bed frame and deepening the kiss. Your hands reach for his dark hair, clasping a handful in your grip.

He kisses you deeply and wraps his arms around you to pull you in closer, offering full control to you. His breath speeds up.

You pull away after a moment, lips brushing against his as you catch your breath, but only for an instant before moving towards his jaw, sucking marks onto his skin.

Minho quivers at your touch, his breathing speeding up once more as you leave red and purple blemishes on his skin. He bites his lip to stop himself from groaning.

Your mouth moves from his jaw to his neck, leaving kisses and hickeys all across him, making sure that he is covered in them.

Your hips grind against him, breathing heavily with anticipation as you make your way to his chest.

Your hands and mouth are touching all of him, and each sensation triggers a reaction that he tries to conceal.

Your lips hover back to his lips, staring at him longingly. “Do I have to command you for you to do anything to me? You don’t have to ask. You have my permission. Do whatever you want.”

You can see his gaze shifting from your eyes to your mouth, to your neck, and then towards your chest.

You swiftly lift yourself off of him to let him remove your dress, leaving your body as bare as his own.

You grasp onto his neck, bringing him in for another deep kiss. Minho remains silent as he kisses you, allowing you to leave him as many marks as you desire.

“What are you thinking, Minho? Speak to me.”

He takes a moment, letting out an unstable breath. “I’m thinking of what you are doing to me. I,” he stammers, “I want to make you feel good.”

“Then do it. Please.”

“I don’t want to harm you,” he breathes out, “you’re injured.”

“The nurses said to not do,” Minho presses his eyes shut as you bring your hips up to meet his, “fuck, anything straining.”

“Remember what Daddy said? I can be convincing.” You sneer as your bodyguard fails to keep his cool composure, but the aching cock pressing into you is giving his true desires away.

You eye his internal struggle between following your orders and his cravings, or the nurse and his boss.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I can go relieve myself in the bathroom.”

“I like being hurt.”

You notice his lip twitch at the comment, and you decide to provoke him further, grinding into him, and set a steady rhythm with your hips.

He groans as his head drops back, tugging onto your hair and trying desperately to control his breath, “Please, Y/N, I just want to take care of you.”

“You can take care of me in another way.”

“I need to follow orders.”

“Then I order you to fuck me.”

His eyes pinch shut as he tries to clear his head and reason with himself.

Perhaps if he were gentle, it would be alright.

But how long could he remain gentle when you were splayed out in front of him, willing to take anything that he gave to you?

He made his decision, gripping your shoulders gently and flipping you, pinning you to the bed, and surveying your face for any discomfort.

When he finds none, he impatiently unclasps his belt, throwing it to the floor along with his dress pants, leaving him in just his boxers.

You hold yourself up by your elbows, thighs pressed together and mouth watering at the man in front of you.

His hands were delicate, although they could easily snap you in half, as he unclasped your bra, leaving your top half bare.

Minho stopped to take in the view for a moment before grabbing at one of your breasts, his mouth attaching to the other.

Your whines were like music to him— something that he wanted to hear more of.

Your back arched in pleasure as he moved one hand down to your thigh, caressing it for a moment before slowly slipping his hand into your panties.

“Try to stay quiet, darling, I don’t want any staff checking on us,” He hushed you with his lips attaching to your own once again, feeling your wetness all over his calloused hands.

His thumb brushed against your clit and you whimpered into his mouth, clenching around nothing.

Minho then plunged two fingers deep inside of you and curled them. He was becoming lost in pleasing you, overlooking his own ache between his legs.

Your thighs shook beneath him, feeling him brush against your g-spot brutally. “Minho please, please just fuck me. I want you inside of me so bad.”

At your request, he slipped his fingers out, feeling your cries against his lips from the loss of friction.

“Yes ma’am.” He pulled away from your lips, replacing them with his now dripping fingers, lapping it up with his tongue.

Next, your ruined panties were yanked off of you, with his boxers soon to come after.

One hand gently relaxes on your hips, cautious to avoid aggravating your injuries as he uses the other to guide himself inside of you, a deep groan followed by your whines.

He gives you a moment to handle the stretch, but you hardly need it, already begging for him to move.

Minho cautiously thrusts, taking in a deep breath and furrowing his eyebrows in concentration. 
This is the ultimate test of patience for him. He needs to be as gentle as possible with you.

Ultimately, he sets a slow pace, hands locating themselves on either side of you, letting out uneven breaths as he tries to control himself from how good you feel around him.

“You really do care, don’t you?” Your hand reaches to cup his face, gazing into his eyes that are hazy with pleasure.

He keeps his response short, too concentrated on the waves of bliss through each thrust, “I do care.”

“Is it because you’re my bodyguard or something more?”

You study him, watching his adam’s apple move as he swallows deeply, inhaling sharply. He halts his thrusts for a brief instant.

“Both, maybe. I can’t tell.”

That was enough for you to continue, grabbing another handful of his hair and bringing him in for another hungry, deep kiss.

With each deep thrust, Minho’s mind got hazier and hazier, losing himself to pleasure bit by bit. You could feel it by the way his rhythm became rough and desperate, and his pace picked up.

One of his hands left your side, creeping towards your throbbing clit, causing you to let out sobs, all of which he ate up with his mouth against your own.

“Are you gonna cum for me?” He coos, knowing that you’re too lost in bliss to respond.

He takes your whines as a ‘yes’, his thumb rubbing circles faster, coaxing your orgasm out of you.

Your walls fluttered around him, squeezing your eyes closed and letting out a lengthy, drawn-out moan as his pace picked up even further.

“Just like that. You’re so good for me, so, so good, fuck,” he talked you through your orgasm between his thrusts, chasing his own high.

His brows crease, hips stuttering at how good it felt to have you gripping so tightly onto his cock. Finally, he let go, his load spilling inside of you and seeping out.

Both of you took an instant to catch your breath, coming down from your highs.

His hands slowly traced your curves in contentment, paying attention to the way your chest rose and fell.

Finally, he has a justification to gape at your body up close.

From your jawline to your hickey-covered chest, down to your bruised sides and stitches near your abdomen, and— Oh fuck.

Your wounds.

Minho slowly pulls away, feeling a sense of post-nut clarity and fright.

His hand slides away from your body, staring at you with concern.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, your own anxiety suddenly displayed on your face, “Do you regret it?”

“No! No,” He panics, “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?“

Back in reality now, your wounds ache and your head pounds with exhaustion and overexertion.

His mind calculates the solutions to the situation— ways to explain to the nurses, to fix you, to help you feel better.

It was his shortcoming, after all. He let his urges get to him.

“Let’s run you a bath.” He pulls himself up, tugging on his boxers and heading towards the bathroom.

You hear the tap turn on, lying in bed trying to catch your breath. Your breath is harsh from both adrenaline and pain, but you can’t help but feel as though the latter is more of the cause.

You had slept with a small handful of men, primarily Daddy’s men, but none of them were quite like Minho.

He was tough but breakable. He was still kindhearted at his core— something that wasn’t all that common in the business.

You could tell from the way that he ran the bath, bare muscles glistening from sweat, running his hand through the water to make sure that it was the ideal temperature. How concerned he was about your protection, even through his pleasure.

Not many other men that you’ve met throughout your life have been the same way.

You’re quite fond of the man that you have just met.

You hear the water shut off and footsteps coming towards the room. He holds a faint smile as his steps come towards the bed. Your gaze slowly wanders to his physique.

“It’s ready for you.” He says in a slight whisper.

“I order you to pick me up and bring me to the bath.”

He nods at your order, hooking his arms underneath your thighs and back, his strong grip securing you.

You inhale the powerful stench of gunpowder stuck to his skin, finding comfort in your bodyguard’s presence.

“Will you wash my hair?”

Studying his expression, it’s hard to read, but you let him carry you and place you into the water.

‘I do care,’ you recall his words.

‘Is it because you’re my bodyguard or something more?’ ‘Both, maybe. I can’t tell.’

Perhaps you had feelings for the man, especially while he massaged shampoo into your scalp with tough hands, making sure to rub your temples.

“Have you ever been a bodyguard before?”

When Minho hears your question, he hums while he proceeds to wash you, working on scrubbing the areas where he touched you earlier. “No, you’re the first one I’ve been a bodyguard for.”

“I did things for your father before this. Not as a bodyguard, a more, I guess, dangerous role,” he dismisses the question.

“Is that so?” You fall to silence as he continues to wash you, taking his time and guaranteeing that he gets every part. He hesitates when he washes around your injuries— every stroke and movement of his hands is smooth and temperate.

“Let me relax for a minute alone,” you murmur, “You should put your clothes back on, the maids should be here any moment to take my order for lunch. They won’t find it suspicious that I’m bathing, but they will question why you’re with me.”

Minho nods and pulls away from your body.

He stands up and his feet splash on the wet floor. He takes a double take at your closed eyes.

The way your body floats in the bath is something that catches his attention. You look very pleasing in such a vulnerable position.

He leaves the room, cracking the door to make sure that you are safe.

Minho buttons up his wrinkled shirt, pulling the jacket over it and smoothing it out to ensure that nobody suspects anything.

Minho’s eyes turn to the maid who enters the room with the ring of a bell.

His demeanor is unfazed, a hand on the gun in his pocket once more. He holds eye contact, his stare intense.

He would make sure that there wasn’t another incident.

“Where is Miss Y/N?”

“She is bathing at the moment.”

She nods, walking towards the bathroom and knocking on the door.

You hum, allowing her to enter.

“What would you like for lunch, ma’am?”

“I don’t know, surprise me.”

A few seconds go by as you immerse yourself entirely in the water before rising back to the surface.

“Minho,” you call out, “What would you like?”

You hear the faint sigh that Minho gives as a response back to your question.

“I’ll just have a sandwich or something, whatever you have is fine.” He replies to both you and the maid as she exits the bathroom, fulfilling her duty of reporting your lunch choice.

The bedroom door shuts behind her.

“Minho!” You call out once again, “I order you to take me out of the bath.”

A few seconds pass before you hear Minho’s footsteps come near the bathroom once again. He grabs a towel as you stand, body bare and dripping with water.

His eyes have an intense focus as he reaches out his hand.

Minho pulls you up from the bath wraps the towel around you, making sure to cover all of you, and begins to dry off your hair.

“Minho,” you begin, “Daddy can’t know about what happened. He’d shoot you dead on the spot.”

Minho pauses for a moment, his eyes darting across the floor.

He is silent for a moment. “I won’t reveal anything to him.”

“Good boy,” you cling to the towel covering your body, “Go fetch a maid to dress me. While she does so, I want you to change out of that suit and shower before lunch.”

“Then I’ll go shower now. I’ll be back.”

You hum in agreement, stepping towards your bedroom as a maid rings the bell.

You drop your towel, letting her sift through your drawers to find decent clothing.

She eyes a hickey on your breast, along with the other injuries across your body from the kidnapping.

“Your injuries look agitated, Miss Y/N, are you sure that a bath was the best idea for you?”

“Don’t question me,” you grumble, “I took a bath because I wanted to.”

“Yes, miss.” She pulls the dress above your head smoothes it out, and clasps a necklace behind your neck.

“You’re all set for lunch.”

The moment that you come out of your room, you can feel his presence. He is leaning against the front door of the room with an unreadable expression.

He has another suit on, a fresh one. Minho’s previously muskier, dark scent has been replaced by a new, sweeter fragrance.

“First shower at the estate?” You question, “Our soaps are quite lovely and mild on the skin. You smell wonderful.”

Minho’s lips curl at the compliment, looking you up and down, “Seems that we both are putting our best foot forward.”

You look around to see if anyone is watching before leaning to ruffle his damp hair and leave a kiss on his cheek, taking the man by complete surprise. He makes an effort to regain his composure, but you can see that his cheeks are blushed from the touch.

As soon as you lean in to lock arms, you feel him lean over to you to whisper something.

“I would love to do that with you again.”

You froze in your spot, heat rushing to your thighs.

You must regain your composure, caught off guard by his blunt words, something unlike the ordinary nature of Minho.

He takes a seat across from you, watching every move that the maid makes to be sure that she doesn’t try anything— he has learned his lesson.

“Pressed Italian Picnic Sandwiches and tea,” The maid states, setting the plates on the table.

You scrunch my nose up. “What’s in it?”

“Artisanal prosciutto, aged provolone, and sun-dried tomatoes inside of a crusty ciabatta,” She doesn’t hesitate to list the ingredients, “and a fragrant blend of rare loose-leaf teas with fresh cream and sugar cubes.”

She sets the teapot and cups out, along with a carton of cream and a bowl of sugar cubes.

Minho’s hand rests on his gun, waiting for her to leave before taking a sip of tea.

You follow his action, dumping a couple of cubes into your tea and bringing it to your lips.

I finish my lunch with Minho.

“Let’s go back to my room now. I'm exhausted.”

Minho nods his head and you both finish up the meals quickly.

You both leave the dining area and stroll back to your bedroom.

As soon as you get back into the room, you feel Minho close the door behind you.

You don’t hesitate to climb into bed and lie down.

The guard looks over at you, observing the way that your chest rises and falls as you breathe. He notices every movement that your body is making.

“I command you to lay down with me.” You lean back against the bed, your body still and eyes focused on his unmoving body.

He slips off his shoes silently, slipping into the canopy bed.

You grin, curling at his side, pressing against his body.

His breathing is deep and steady as he struggles to get into a more comfortable position.

Your mind began racing with questions about the mysterious man that you were slowly falling for, burying yourself further into the sheets.

“Minho,” you start slowly, “How did you become tangled with our family?”

Minho stays silent for a few moments and you feel his body shift a little against yours.

“I didn’t have a lot of money or family growing up,” he kept his answer short and simply, “the moment that this job came my way, I took it. The people connected to this business have always stayed on the down low, so this is an easy job to keep."

“Daddy seems to like you,” you grit your teeth.

Minho turns to you on the bed and sits up a little. He looks at you from top to bottom, reading the worry on your face with ease.

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

“He will kill you on the spot if he finds out. He’s done that to almost every man who has flirted or slept with me.”

You pause for a moment. “God forbid the one he hired as my bodyguard.”

“I am not so easily killed.” The words leave his mouth with a tinge of arrogance.

“I trust you.”

“Good.”

There is stillness between you both for a time, but he breaks it by grabbing your chin and leaning in to kiss you. You soothe into his touch, smiling against his lips briefly before he pulls away.

“I order you to stay here. Like this.”

It’s not difficult for you to drift off to sleep beside him, and as always, Minho pursues your request, keeping a close eye on you. You relax, your breathing slow, and he notes all of the occasional twitches and movements that you make in your sleep.

A couple of hours later, the door is knocked on by a maid.

“Dinner order?”

Minho jolts awake from the knock on the door, a hand swiftly placed on your shoulder to protect you from any threats before turning his head towards the noise.

His voice is full of sleep. “Repeat that?”

As she opens the door, there is a look of inquiry on her face, one that she won’t ask to ensure her job and health.

“Is she asleep?” She questions instead, glancing over at your peaceful figure.

He turns his head towards you to double-check, observing your napping body.

“Yes.”

“Alright. I’ll advise the chef to prepare her dinner later tonight.”

She gives a sharp nod to the guard and scurries out of the room, quietly shutting the door to not disturb the girl.

Minho’s eyes rest on the door for a moment, fully alert now with a hand resting on his gun.

Eventually, he turns over to you. He has his eyes on you for a few seconds before leaning down to kiss you on the forehead, letting out a small sigh.

You stir at the warm touch, scrunching your face up and stretching your body.

“What time is it?” You ask groggily before burying your head into his neck.

“Dinner is in about half an hour. You hungry?”

“Not really,” you pull yourself up and rub your sleep-filled eyes.

He notices your body shiver as you pull yourself up. Minho lets out a short exhale.

“Did you sleep?”

“A bit.” He doesn’t look away or turn his head as he admires the way you stand and stretch your body, smoothing your dress of its wrinkles.

You walk towards your vanity mirror, plopping down in the chair to readjust your necklace to the center. A few marks on your collarbone catch your eye.

“The nurses will be in shortly.” You grit your teeth. “I hope they don’t notice.”

“They won’t notice.”

His figure can be seen from behind you in the reflection of the mirror. His lips are turned upwards as he watches you fix your appearance.

You pull out a couple of foundations and concealers, working on concealing the marks left from earlier.

“The maids wouldn’t, but the nurses will tell the difference between a hickey and a bruise. Especially since these are fresh.”

Even though you are busy with your makeup and covering up the bruises, Minho’s eyes are never off of you. It is a feeling that you will have to get used to— always having a watchful eye on you.

Once you were satisfied with the coverage, you rose from your seat quickly.

“Get up, we’re going to dinner.”

“So bossy.” He retorts. “What will you have?”

“I want to go out, let’s go somewhere fancy. Daddy will pay.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You want to go out when you have had a beating just two days ago?”

He asks it like he thinks it’s an absurd idea, almost condescendingly, yet his tone of voice is soft and full of concern for you, causing your stomach to flip inside out.

“I’m tired of staying inside already. This estate is suffocating,” you pull on your slip-on shoes.

“That’s how I got myself into this mess in the first place. I left the house and got kidnapped. That won’t happen with you here.”

“I guess you’re right. We’ll go somewhere nice.”

“Good. I’ll go tell Daddy.” You leave the door open for Minho to come after but don’t wait for him, yet you can tell that he follows behind silently, attending to the way your body moves in the dress as you make your way down the halls.

The door is slightly ajar, so when you knock, it pushes open with a creak, revealing your father inside.

Minho stands behind you like a shadow, his lips pressed into a straight line, gaze locked on your father, keeping his distance from the both of you.

“Come inside,” the older man invites both of them with a welcoming grin, “sit.”

You can sense that your father has something on his mind, which is never a good sign.

“I was going to call you to my office shortly, anyway.” Instantly you assume the worst.

You sit down, taking a seat in front of him. Minho is still standing in the back, his priority on you and your father.

The man looks over at Minho. Their eyes lock for a moment. “Guard, go lock the door. There is a conversation that needs to be had.”

Minho nods and he turns his head, locking the door behind him.

He turns his attention back to you, who is frozen in your seat, breath hitching.

The elite man fiddles with a pen at his desk, clicking it to drown out the tense silence.

The silence in the room seems so heavy that you wonder how neither you nor Minho is feeling sick. Judging by the thick atmosphere between the three of you, it is easy to tell that he isn’t pleased right now.

He fidgets with the pen and you wait for him to finally speak.

“Do you find my daughter to be precious, Guard?” He addresses Minho with a stern voice, finally setting the pen down at his wooden desk with a smack.

“Yes sir,” Minho replies flatly.

“Are you willing to protect her at all costs, even at your life?”

After moments of silence, he answers back confidently. “Yes sir. I am.”

A hand comes to rest at his side, toying loudly with a handgun, which he eventually pulls out of his pocket.

Tears begin to well up in your eyes, yet Minho stays concentrated. There isn’t a single sign of fear on his face. He is unshaken, calm, and collected as if he had been foreseeing this exact scenario.

“Do you know why you were assigned to guard my daughter, Minho?”

“I know the reasons.”

“There was a leak to the rivals from a previous staff member that I had a precious daughter in my life,” He turns towards you, “the one that I had climbed to the top of my career to protect and assure her safety and security.”

He cleared his throat before darting back to Minho, “It took less than a day for her to be taken from my hands and placed in the hands of one of my greatest enemies.”

Minho pays attention to every word that he speaks and clears his throat, waiting for your father to continue.

“I care for my daughter more than anything in the world. Which is why I had appointed the most valuable, honest, and competent man in the family to ensure her protection.”

Minho nods.

“Please don’t kill him, Daddy.”

The boss meets you with cold eyes, disregarding your words to proceed with his lecture. “You are my most prized possession. I would hurt anyone or anything to make sure that not a single person touches you. The men who kidnapped you are all taken care of, wiped out by my command.”

He continues. “I know everything that goes on in your life. Every meal, every kiss, every injury, the staff must report every minor thing that occurs in your day. I have eyes on you at all times, and you’re more than aware of that.”

Your shoulders stiffen. He knew.

“Minho,” his stare is burning into the other man, “I’ll get to the point. Did you sleep with my daughter?”

He doesn’t blink. His body tenses up and his voice remains neutral.

“Yes.”

The boss turns the safety off of his firearm and you dig your head into your hands, unable to observe the scene that is about to unfold.

The gunshot is fired, but the man deliberately aims to the left of Minho, grazing his cheek with the bullet before standing up instantly from his seat. The guard doesn’t react with more than a blink as the blood pools at the cut.

“I trust you, Minho. You are a good man. If there is a single person who I would choose to give my daughter to, it would be you.”

Finally, Minho takes this as a sign to let his guard down for a moment as his shoulders drop, lip quivering slightly. It was evident that there was more emotion that the guard was holding back, especially when he took a moment to look away.

“You have my approval.”

Your eyes widen.

“Take care of my daughter. If you break her heart, I’ll feed your own heart to her for supper.”

“Understood.”

“Take her to dinner,” a wad of cash is pulled out from one of the drawers, “buy her flowers and anything else that she asks for.”

“Yes sir.” He responds, “I’ll make sure that she gets the treatment that she deserves.”

You run to embrace your father, to which he places an arm around you, rubbing your back before pulling away.

“Get yourself dressed more sufficiently, I will have a car ready for you soon.”

Minho follows you out of his office, letting out a breath that he had been holding in once the door was closed.

“Did you hear that?” Do you know what this means?” You beam at the man before grabbing at his cheeks and pulling him in for a kiss.

He lets out a surprised noise, hesitantly wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing back.

When you break the kiss, he stares back at you with the first big smile that you’ve seen from him displayed on his face.

“Let’s get you ready.”

[belovedvenom]

breath play - jason todd

we've talked about how jason loves having his hand around your throat. it soothes him. feeling your pulse against his fingertips. 

but you love it too. 

his thick fingers squeezing the sides of your neck —the pulsing pressure in your head bringing you a sense of comfort. you feel safe. hands that have tortured and taken the lives of others but you know he'd never hurt you.

unless you asked him to. 

†˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖ †

“tighter.”

hooded eyes staring back in to his. jason's hands wrapped around your neck as you rut your hips in slow circles. his cock nestled deep inside of you, squeezed by your warmth. he tightens his hands just a bit.

"you ready?" tone gentle but firm easing any amount of tension within your body. 

giving him a curt nod, eyes pleading. his eyes darken and with a tilt of his head, he readjusts his grip on your throat before squeezing with more of his strength. eyes never leaving yours as your hands wrap around his wrist. wheezing out a grunt as it becomes harder to breathe— nails digging in to his skin. 

“it's alright. you know i got you. just let go.”

he thrusts his hips up into you as chokes and wheezes escape your lips. feeding you slow yet deep strokes. face feeling swollen and hot, pitiful slaps against his wrists that he ignores. continuing to dote on you. telling you how much he loves you, that he's right there with you, how youre so good to him. "just take it, hayati.” he adds more pressure, never stopping his thrusts. never taking his eyes off yours as they start to droop. 

black dots appearing in your vision— your mouth opening and closing but no sounds escaping and then finally your hands go limp. falling to your side as the darkness welcomes you. 

jason's quick to bring your limp body to his chest. hands rubbing up and down your back, still continuing to thrust. pressing kisses to your temple. using your body just a little bit more before putting a couple of firm slaps to your cheek to help you wake up. 

coming to with a sharp gasp, you heave into jasons neck as he pats your back. 

"theres my baby. breathe. there you go. just breathe.”

breathing with you as his nails stroke your back “look at me. hey! you're okay, let me see you.”

body shaking, you lift your head with a cough. jason meeting your tear filled eyes as he examines you. a smile forming on your face with a raspy giggle that makes him chuckle. "so proud of you. y'did so good for me"

his voice sending tingles down your spine. he kissed your puffy tear stained cheeks before leaning up towards your lips taking yours with his. whimpering, still dizzy. you scratch his chest making him grunt, breaking the kiss after a few more seconds. 

“you ready to cum now?”

[the-modern-typewriter]

Could you write something about the (lightly) injured villain waking up in the hero's apartment and attacking them, then getting surprised at the realization that hero saved and patched them up?

The villain woke up on a sofa. It would have been fine, except for the fact that it wasn't their sofa.

They bolted upright, heart jack-knifing, gaze sweeping around the room. Plants and bits of scrap and bolts of metal everywhere. Tools. A mess of sharp things.

The hero stepped into the doorway, clutching two steaming mugs of tea. Their eyes widened.

The villain was already on them; tea flying, fingers curled tight around the hero's throat, knocking the air out of them as they tackled them down hard onto the floor, straddling the hero's hips.

"Easy!" The hero wheezed, holding their hands above their head. "I'm not-"

"-Where am I?"

"My home. I'm not going to hurt you."

"You kidnapped me."

The memories filtered through and the villain's brow furrowed. The hero was saying something, starting to look a bit frantic with the crushing grip around their windpipe, but the villain wasn't listening.

Distractedly, their hand rose to the back of their neck, where their neural network was. They remembered the splintering damage. Wiring visible. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

All they felt beneath their hand was smooth skin. Perfectly fine.

The villain's hand recoiled from the hero's neck, but they didn't get up, staring at them.

The hero gasped for air.

The villain's eyes narrowed.

"You saved me," they said. "You...fixed me."

The hero managed a nod.

"Why?"

"Can you...get off me?"

The villain put their hand on the hero's throat again, but didn't squeeze. They felt the hero swallow beneath their palm. Warm and soft and oh so fragile.

"Did you change anything?" the villain asked, low and lethal.

"N-no." The hero's eyes were still so very wide. "I didn't even know until I saw that you weren't - that you are -" The hero floundered.

The villain's jaw clenched.

Cyborg. Android. They weren't entirely certain which was the best descriptor for exactly what they were. Born, but not made. Born, then remade? Something. A human heart and human coverings, but not much else beneath the surface that could truly be called flesh and blood.

"I've never seen anything like you," the hero whispered. "But I did my best to help."

The villain's gaze swept the room again, catching once more on the scrap and the tools. Not a torture chamber. The cramped home of someone who liked to tinker. Who were, whether they were quite aware of it or not, exceptionally skilled at tinkering.

They should definitely kill the hero, for knowing as much as they did. It would be easy to do. They'd taken the hero by surprise, they already had them pinned. All it would take was a twist of their wrist and the hero's neck would snap.

The hero didn't claw at them. They didn't try and persuade the villain to let go. They wet their clearly dry lips, like they were considering trying to say something.

"Why?" the villain asked, again.

"Because that's what I do." The hero seemed nonplussed. "I try to fix things. I try to help."

The villain stroked their thumb along the line of the hero's neck. The hero's breath - already unsteady - gave a noticeable quiver. They swallowed again. Their fingers twitched on the floor.

"You seem fine, anyway," they mumbled. "So you can go, if you like. I should clean up the tea."

"You did not think to restrain me."

"I thought about it."

"But you did not."

"I didn't want you to wake up scared."

The hero sounded like they were being honest, but so did most skilled liars. Still.

The villain couldn't quite bring themselves to kill the hero, as convenient and swift as it could be. The hero was warm beneath them.

"I'm never scared," the villain said, proving precisely that point about liars and their convictions. They rose to their feet, watching the hero still splayed beneath their legs for a moment.

Stamp. End it. Fix nothing. The world did not, after all, deserve to be fixed.

"Thank you," the villain said.

The hero backed up, into the tea stain, standing when the wall was against their back to support them and they were as far away from the villain as they could be. Their eyes stayed glued to the villain, but they summoned a smile that also looked genuine.

A surprise.

Everything about the hero was surprising.

The villain wanted to smile back. They did not.

"I know I said you could go," the hero said, after a moment. "But I would like to run some tests. I'm pretty sure you're fine - the injury was mostly surface, minor. But..." They shrugged.

"You wish to examine me."

The hero cleared their throat, scrubbing a hand over the back of their own neck. "You can say no."

The villain did not say no. They backed up to the sofa they had woken up on and sat down.

The hero approached them, after a beat. They were gentle.

The villain fled out the window when the hero went to make more tea, heart jack-knifing for an entirely different reason whenever they saw the hero after that.

[wingedjellyfishflight]

The Bang Game

Ghost hated being paired with a female sniper. He thought Price was joking at first, and he tried his hardest to force you to wash you out. You refused to quit, despite ending up in medical several times due to his abusive tactics. You always made up a cover story for it, though. He didn't know that for weeks until a nurse asked him to look out for you and your clumsiness.

When he did give in, it was all-encompassing. No one else was allowed to hurt or push you, or they would face his wrath. A game developed between the two of you. "Who is the sneakier sniper?" The goal was to sneak up on the other without being seen until you touch them or whisper, "bang" in their ear. This has led to both you and Ghost being impossible to find for days and sometimes weeks at a time when between missions. At first, the competition was who could sneak up on others, but the wheezing and heart clutching that Price did when you whispered "bang" and Ghost stood up a few feet away, cursing you out, scared you both a bit too much, so you agreed to limit it getting each other.

Ultimately, this has led to some rather uncomfortable situations between you and a building tension as you see each other in more and more compromising situations. The first time you see Ghost taking his mask off, you stand up, covering your eyes, game be damned. He startles, then realizes what you are doing. "Luv, just look and be done with it. No secrets between us, now." You brace yourself, then lower your hands, drinking in every inch of his face before he lowers the mask back over it. "Now, get out." You nearly run from the room with a blinding smile on your face.

When you felt a caress while touching yourself in your bed a week later, you had to bite back a moan. Ghost's eyes were wide, pupils blown, watching your every move. Covering yourself, you sent him packing, evening ruined and feeling guilty thinking that his name was what you were chanting in your head.

A week later, you sneak under his bed to wait for him. He walks in hours later, locking the door behind him, and takes off his mask, hanging it up. Laying back on his bed with his boots flat on the floor, you hear him unbuttoning his pants. You flush, trying to ignore the sounds of him slowly stroking himself, but fail, feeling your body heat up. After what feels like an immensely long time, you hear, "You gonna tap out or join in, Luv?" Sliding out on your belly and standing, you glance at the locked door before turning to face him.

"You sure, Ghost? Can't turn back once you fuck me," you say with a wink, confidence pouring off of you, despite the nervousness in your gut. Your eyes feel nearly locked onto his cock as he slowly strokes up and down.

He growls, "I'm not worried. You're stuck with me now." You nod and unlace your boots, toeing them off, then begin unbuttoning your pants. He stands, pressing his cock into your stomach, and wraps his long fingers around your wrists. "Allow me." When you pause, he grabs your shirt and rips it off of you. Your noise of protest goes unacknowledged, but he is less destructive with the rest of your clothes, carefully unhooking your bra and tugging your panties off.

You reach for his hem and push his hands away when he tries to help. Slowly lifting it, you kiss each scar that is revealed. Once you have it off, you push him back down onto his bed and jerk his pants out of the way. You straddle his thighs and lean in for a kiss. "Last chance to back out, Ghost." He smirks at your teasing grin.

"Ride my cock, Luv. Show me what you've got." You line yourself up, slowly sinking down on his long cock. The grin is gone by the halfway point, replaced by a look of concentration as he fills your passage to its limits. When your hips meet, your cunt is already clenching tight around him. "Attagirl, takin my whole cock. You gonna cum on me already? C'mon, move your hips." He smirks at you, thinking he may have to take over and show you what a man can do.

You growl at his cocky attitude and start moving quickly, squeezing tightly as he slides in. His smirk is wiped away, and with every roll of your hips, it becomes clear to Ghost that he will not last long. He pulls you down into a kiss before flipping you on all fours so he can take charge. He drives deep into you, lifting your hips until he finds an angle that makes you whimper excitedly. Sighing in relief internally, he reaches down to tease your clit. "That's it, Luv. Cum for me." He drives harder into that spot and you try and fail to form words, looking back at him over your shoulder, which he delights in. "Fuckin you dumb just might become my new favorite thing after all." His smirk is back in full force. If he times it right, he knows, he can make you cum twice.

Suddenly, you're over the edge, gripping his cock tight inside and squirting on his stomach. The sudden splash across his abs makes him positively feral. He drives hard and fast into you, cock throbbing as he lets loose, filling your cunt with cum.

"Sorry, tried to warn you," you pant back at him with a wry grin, collapsing onto your front with a sigh.

"Never fuckin warn me, Luv. You were right. God damn addicting." He carefully pulls out and stands up. He finally undresses, taking off his boots and clothes. He cleans you with the remains of your shirt, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Pulling away, you start to get up only for him to press you back down. "You're not gonna run off now. Nobody'll miss us for at least a day or two. You can spend the night, though I won't guarantee much sleep." The feeling when he wraps his entire body around yours, nuzzling into your shoulder, is almost as good as sex. You've never known Ghost to be this gentle and this affectionate, but you could definitely get used to this in the privacy of his quarters. And the way he kisses your neck has you already well on the way to round two.

[luveline]

ooh yay okay short blurb idea!! stevie comforting anxious!reader with back rubs? I feel like he gives the best calming back rubs ever!!! need him to help me w my anxiety :( 🤍🤍🤍

It's not that Steve's presence alone can stave off your anxiety, he's not a miracle, though he is miraculous, but it doesn't take long without him to fall into unhappy thoughts. He leaves to shower and you worry about everything one ache at a time, hands braced on your knees, begging your body to just let it go this time. Just this one time. 

You listen to the shower running, glad for the noise to hide your breath as it begins to wind, but Steve is quick. A minute later he's turning off the water, and a minute after that he's propping open the door to the ensuite to let out the hot air. His hair is still dry. He only wanted a refresher after the hot weather. 

You squeeze at nothing, your hands aching from the scrunch and unscrunching of your fingers. Steve must sense it, your quiet hurting, because he looks up with that resigned concern already lining his mouth, lips pulled down into an unfortunate frown. 

"Hey," he says, pulling the last sock on, "I'll be right there." 

The distance between you is relatively small and huge nonetheless. "It's okay," you say. 

You're wheezing. Steve's eyebrows furrow, and he grabs his glasses off of the night table as he sits down beside you. They slip down his damp nose and fog a little from the heat of his skin, which is a nice distraction until you realise it's a distraction. 

"Can I touch you?" he asks quietly. 

You nod quickly. Sometimes the panic is too much, and anyone's touch feels like a burn, but right now it's the one thing you want. Steve slides right up to your side, thigh to thigh, elbow to elbow. He slides the arm closest to you behind your back to hold you, and the other comes over his lap to your leg, where he squeezes the soft fat of your inner thigh. 

"What is it?" he asks. 

"I think…" you breathe in until your chest feels like it'll pop. "An attack." 

"Okay," he says, pulling you that last bit closer. You're like one person.

You lean forward away from him without thinking. Steve doesn't follow, but his hand tracks a heavy weight on your back. He starts to draw as he usually does when this happens, long fingers and a soft palm roving up the length of your spine and down again, filling the dip of your back as his voice melds to a whisper. "It's okay. We have to ride it out, that's all. You know that already. Keep breathing, babe." 

You cover your face with your hands. Steve makes a small sorry sound and takes your wrist, pulling your hand from your mouth.  

"Just breathe, honey." 

It's not easy. Not as simple as just, but you breathe. Steve's hand is dutiful and loving as it goes, tracing the same path over and over again. He whispers every now and then when you hold your breath or show signs of cracking, and when your eyes fill with tears his touch turns especially tender. 

People forget how full of love Steve is. He wants to love people, even if he does get annoyed at everything. Everything, and yet never at this. This is where his patience lies. 

Your back starts to feel ticklish from his touching. It works better than intended, one uncomfortable feeling replacing the other slowly. Steve puts his second hand on your chest to feel your pulse, his pinky finger sliding under the neckline of your shirt. He counts under his breath. 

"Good," he murmurs, pulling out his hand. "Good job, baby. You're okay." 

The attack ends, the shaky aftermath begins. You feel weak from hyperventilation, hands still shaking. Steve wraps you up in his arms now you're in no danger of suffocation to hold you together, pulling your face to his neck, his cheek turned from you as he sighs in relief. "You're okay," he says again. "That was a sudden one, huh? You okay?" 

You manage a soft laugh. "I thought you already decided." 

"It's two different okays." He rubs the top of your shoulder with his thumb, leaving warmth in his wake. "I know from your heart that you're okay, but are you okay? You know. What do you need me to do?" 

You hug him weakly. "Nothing. I don't need… Thank you, Steve." He's done more than you could ever ask for. 

"You're welcome," he says, kissing your cheek twice, his words warm and quiet against your skin. "Don't mention it. Just glad you're feeling better." 

[lonely-cowboy]

hi!! how are you? i just wanted to tell you that i am obsessed with your writings omg :’((( i can’t even put into words how happy i am to find your account, the way you write connor is just <33

i was wondering if it’s okay to request something where connor is being protective over fem!reader?maybe some hurt/comfort with fluff in the end <3 I don’t have a specific scenario in my head, so it’s totally up to you, and i would love anything you decide to write for this request!!! also, you are totally free to ignore this if you don’t feel inspired enough by this request, it’s absolutely okay! ♡

thank you! have an amazing day and please sorry for my english, it’s not my first language

ugh thank you my love this is so sweet to hear!! i'm so sorry it took me so long to post, midterms have not been fun my friends. i fear this is not my best work, but i hope you can still enjoy our silly android boy <3 you have an amazing day too!!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

helping hand

pairing: connor (rk800) x f!reader

summary: connor comes to help you when you don't need him. again.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: graphic(?) violence (connor shoots a guy oops)

author's note: i write way too many first kisses and this is no exception. prepare for silly goofy domestic married fluff in the future bc that's what i live for

masterlist ⟡ requests

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You could’ve handled it all perfectly fine on your own. You didn’t need Connor’s help, you didn’t want Connor’s help. You were entirely capable of taking down a runaway vigilante on your own.

Sure, maybe it was stupid of you to run off on your own to the crook’s last known location the second the call was made. But he had been only three blocks away from you. What were you supposed to do, wait for backup? Of course not. You had the opportunity to catch a known criminal, so you took the risk. It was all part of the job.

You found yourself at an empty construction site with your gun drawn and pointed at the runaway criminal. You inched closer to your target– some crazy, murderous, anti-android protestor, there were a lot of those these days– slowly drawing your cuffs. You reached forward to restrain his wrists, fingertips brushing against his skin.

And then you were on the ground. You had been practically tackled, your temple striking the rocky earth hard enough that it looked like the world was spinning.

You sat up uneasily as you tried to orient yourself. Who in the world would have shoved you like that? The only indicator was your attacker’s quick “Sorry, Detective.”

You grunted in frustration as your vision cleared, focusing on the one person you did not want to see: Connor.

In all the time it took you to readjust, Connor had taken the vigilante to the ground. He stood overtop the criminal who groaned between crazed laughter. Connor’s foot pressed firmly into the criminal’s chest, a gun– that certainly did not belong to the android– pointed directly at the laughing man’s face.

You moved slowly from the ground, holding your surely bruised side. Your gaze was locked on Connor’s trigger finger, anxiously anticipating gunfire. You feared what it could mean if Connor pulled the trigger. 

“Connor,” you warned quietly, your voice steadier than expected. 

As you approached, you noticed the twitch of his finger. His LED was cycling through every color imaginable, his brows furrowing and unfurrowing as he held the criminal’s gaze.

“Never even think about touching her again,” Connor spit, his voice so cold that it frightened even you.

The pinned criminal only laughed, an ugly wheezing sound as Connor’s foot dug deeper into his chest. “An android in love, huh? Never thought I’d see–”

Connor’s foot rose quickly, stomping hard on the crook’s face until he was knocked out cold. From the impassive look on Connor’s face, you could tell he was practically seething. But that didn’t matter. Now was not the time to comfort him because you were equally as angry. 

With an agitated huff, you shoved Connor by the shoulders as hard as possible. He barely moved at all, only adding fuel to your fire.

It was then that Connor seemed to snap out of his daze and remember you were there. He turned to you abruptly and discarded the gun, his hands finding their place on your biceps with a firm grip. His eyes immediately scanned over your frame, analyzing you for any damage. The only damage he found was what he had done.

The crease between his brows returned as he reached up to touch your throbbing temple. When he pulled his hand back, his elegant fingers were tipped with your blood.

“Did he do this?” Connor questioned, an edge of doubt in his voice.

“No, Connor,” you snapped, shaking off his hands. “You did this! And it wouldn’t have happened if you had just let me do my job for once!”

His LED blinked a steady red. Funny how it matched the blood on your temple.

“Detective, I was only trying to help,” he reasoned feebly.

“I don’t need your fucking help, Connor! I was handling this just fine on my own! And then here you come to save the day yet again, all knight in shining armor! Acting like I’m your damsel in distress, in need of saving!”

“Did you know he was armed?” Connor asked dismissively, quizzically cocking his head in a way that usually enamored you but only seemed to irritate you now. 

You opened your mouth to retort, but nothing came out as you processed Connor’s words. Armed? No, you hadn’t known he was armed. But if you admitted that then you would’ve looked stupid, like you needed Connor’s help. Like you were some damsel in distress.

When you didn’t answer, Connor gestured to his forgotten gun. “That was his. He was preparing to shoot you.”

“I could’ve easily disarmed him,” you scoffed, crossing your arms arrogantly. “I’m a trained professional.”

“The probability of success was 29%,” Connor stated matter-of-factually. “A majority of outcomes would have resulted in your death, Detective. I couldn’t take that risk.”

“Then maybe you’re not cut out for this job,” you growled. “This job is all about taking risks, Connor. I knew that when I signed up, and you should too.”

Your harsh tone made Connor pause, though he was quick to recover. He was determined for you to understand. 

“If I can prevent your death, then I will. I won’t let your pride stop me,” he said.

It was your turn to pause, lips pursing into a thin line at the reality of Connor’s words. You knew he was right. He was right, he was right, he was right. But you refused to acknowledge that. 

When you opened your mouth to speak, nothing came out besides a yelp.

So quickly you could barely process what happened, Connor’s grip on your arms tightened as he spun you around. One arm wrapped around your shoulders to pull you into his chest protectively while his other hand moved to your holstered gun.

A single shot was fired. And an accurate shot, you guessed, by the sound of a slumping body.

Peeking past Connor, you found the body of your runaway criminal, a bullethole pierced right through his skull. You made note of the gun beside his fallen body, the same gun Connor had carelessly discarded.

You felt Connor return your gun to its holster before his hand moved to your chin. He turned your attention away from the dead body, forcing you to focus on him instead.  

“I know you’re capable, Detective,” Connor murmured, his voice full of a fondness you hadn’t noticed before. “But that doesn't mean I can’t help. I feel better knowing you’re safe than assuming you are.”

You swallowed hard as you held Connor’s steady gaze. His free hand moved to brush your aching temple. His touch was so gentle you could barely feel it as he wiped away the blood with a frown.

“I only wanted to keep you safe,” Connor explained, his voice holding a tinge of– was that regret? “And I only managed to hurt you myself. Maybe you’re right, Detective. You don’t need me. I’m sorry.”

Your hand moved to tug Connor’s hand away from your temple, holding him in your warm grip. His thumb rubbed against your knuckles soothingly as if it was second nature to him.

“I do. I do need you,” you insisted suddenly, surprising even yourself. One minute, you’re practically yelling at Connor for helping. The next, you’re reassuring him that you’ll always need him. You were confusing even yourself, you couldn’t imagine how confused Connor, the poor android. “I… I do. But… not all the time.”

Again, that crease between Connor’s brows returned, your lips forming a smile at the sight.

“I don’t appreciate you enough,” you continued with a defeated sigh. “I do need you. If it wasn’t for you, I’d already be dead, you’re right. You’ve saved me twice today. But that doesn’t mean I need you to swoop in and save me every single time. I can still handle myself.”

“I know… I know…,” Connor whispered, his eyes unfocused as if lost in thought.

You let a beat of silence pass, watching Connor expectantly. There was something he wanted to say, it was on the tip of his tongue. So you patiently waited until he found the words.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

An android in love.

The criminal’s words replayed in your mind as they suddenly came back to you. At the time, you hadn’t completely processed what he said, your anger outweighing any thoughts of reason.

An android in love.

“Was he… was he right?” you asked after a beat to which Connor tilted his head with a puzzled look. Damn him for not being able to read your mind and immediately know what you were struggling to say. “The guy. What he said… He said that you…”

“Are in love,” Connor finished, his tone flat and conveying not a single sense of love.

“Yeah…,” you shrugged.

“If love can be defined by a desire to keep you safe, then yes, I would say I’m in love with you.”

With you.

With you.

He was in love with you.

You couldn’t hide your wide grin, ignoring the warmth that had suddenly spread to your cheeks. Seeing your grin, the corners of Connor’s lips quirked into a small smile too. Your faces naturally moved closer together until your noses were brushing, the warmth of each other’s breath against your lips.

Connor leaned closer. Closer, closer…

He was going to kiss you, and you were going to ruin it.

“You know,” you interrupted, pulling back no more than an inch. But it was enough to make Connor frown. “I’d rather not kiss next to the dead guy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Connor’s smile returned, an affection glint in his eyes. His hand found yours, pulling you away from the scene.

“Backup is on the way,” he said. “They can handle this on their own.”

With his hand in yours, Connor led you away. He gave your hand a quick squeeze. It was a reassurance. A sign that you were safe with him, that he would do whatever it took to protect you. You returned his firm squeeze. Because you would do the same for him. 

[dreamauri]

Hey Auri, idk if you’re taking requests but I could really do with some Charles comfort please (if you have the time ofc) 🥹 thank you x

♪ — 𝗦𝗢𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗘 charles leclerc x fem!reader (fluff) “. . . charles always has your back, no matter what. always ready to provide you with what you need, in this case: sweet comfort.”

( general master list | more of charles leclerc ) ( requests | taglist )

While some people drove a sixteen million dollar car on a track for a living almost every weekend, you were not one of the lucky few. Stress was a primary consequence in your job. One that, although you love the job, despised.

Charles watched you sprawled on the couch, face down in a pillow. You've been like that for hours, he didn't even know if you were asleep or dead by now. Too scared to disturb you and receive a pillow in his face.

He stared down at you for another three minutes before be decided that he had nothing better to do, plopping down beside you and pulling you into his embrace ( which confirmed that you are in fact alive from the whining noises and the escape attempts ).

"Charles." You huffed once you've given up on escaping his arms. You couldn't see him since he was hugging you from behind, but you were pretty sure he was smiling a little. "You're like a small fussy puppy." He chuckled nuzzling in your nape, pressing small kisses.

"Wow. Beautiful compliment, char." You rolled your eyes, giving in and leaning into his warmth and touch. "What? It's true." He chuckled, turning you over to face him. You looked in his eyes for the first time since he came home.

You always loved his eyes. A beautiful green beyond compare. "Whatcha thinking about, love?" He asked kissing your neck softly in a ticklish manner. You giggled calling his name, trying to break free by pushing against his chest, but to no avail.

"Tell me." He insisted, using his hands to tickle you now, pulling laughs from your mouth as you wriggled under him. "What are you thinking about, hmm?" He tried again, pressing his lips to your cheek.

"Your eyes! They're green!" You gave admitted between laughs and wheezes, gripping his wrists to attempt stopping him. "Wow, I didn't know my eyes were green." He teased stopping his movements, calming down from his own laughing fit. He knew this wasn't what was bothering you, but it was best to forget about all of that now.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"I can't believe you're making me do this." You shouted as he dragged you through the streets. Running through the heavy rain and thunder. You two were soaking wet, like two Chiwawas that were dipped in water. Your lungs hurts from the laughing, and your feet felt uncomfortable from the wet socks.

"Hurry up." He shouted before changing his mind and throwing you over his shoulder. The two of you looked like lunatics, hair sticking to your faces, clothes and shoes wet from all the trampling and sprinting, and laughing like two big idiots.

But you were idiots. Idiotically in love for sure as well.

Charles finally put you down once he entered through glass doors. wheezing as he tried to catch his breath. You laughed at him, pointing at his hair. He only smiled at you, kissing you softly. "Come on, before they kick us out." Charles gestured to the ice-cream bar. "Pick 2 flavours."

What better way to solve the blues than with ice cream?

[lunarw0rks]

hi!! i absolutely love ur work and ur most recent fic absolutely ripped my heart out 😭 i was wondering if u could maybe do a simon x reader where y/n has a panic attack from their nightmares (can be abt anything) and ghost helps them calm down and is just there for them with a lot of fluff? thank u so much!!

A/N: i love this type of fluff sm <3 out of all of them, he would understand what it's like to suffer panic attacks and nightmares :(

Summary: When you suffer a nightmare that then turns into a panic attack, Ghost comforts you.

Warning(s): GN!reader, depictions of panic attacks/nightmares, hints at ghost's trauma, brief gun mention, established relationship, domestic!simon, fluff | Word Count: 971

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ PART TWO // requests | ao3 ver.

Bad Dreams | Drabble

When Simon came back from his deployment, it wasn’t always warm welcomes and pillow talk. He was usually too exhausted to change clothes or make it up the stairs for that matter.

After a quick embrace at the door and a cheap takeout dinner—he was out cold on the couch, snoring away in some god-awful position.

You were used to this by now, and you understood how drained he would be after months away. Of course, when you went to sleep that night you wished he was there next to you. You only had so long together before he’d be shipped off somewhere again, and for who knows how long.

Nightmares got more frequent, especially the longer he was away. They always gave you a sense of dread, and waking up to the empty space beside you only made them worse. The one you had tonight was especially chilling.

You felt like you were being pulled every which way, and whatever was chasing you was too fast for you to get away from it.

Most frightening, you had the sense Simon was watching you being pursued and had no intention of helping you. His eyes were cold, unlike any look he’d ever given you. He looked as if he was merely enjoying the show of you defenseless and fleeing from your attacker.

When you’re finally gaining some speed, the attacker catches up with you. As you’re being whipped around to face them, you jolt awake.

Downstairs, Simon’s eyes opened when he heard the gasps from upstairs. He crept down the hallway and grabbed the pistol he kept on the hallway table. He braced himself for anything when he peeked inside the bedroom, instantly placing the gun down when he saw you.

He knew that look all too well—bloodshot eyes frantically darting around, tear-stained reddened cheeks, and the wheezes escaping your trembling lips.

You still hadn’t come awake fully. The blurriness of your vision rendered you unable to comprehend what was real and what wasn’t. Usually, you’d wake up from these nightmares, toss and turn for an hour, and find yourself back asleep.

This was different. You were in full-blown panic, and you weren’t able to snap yourself out of it.

Simon's hands found you, gently holding your wrists so you didn’t hurt him or yourself with your panicked haze.

He didn’t want to smother you with an embrace and risk making things worse. Although he knew the by-the-book instructions on how to help you, inside his head, he was filled with unease.

Had you suffered like this before while he was away? Was it his own problems rubbing off on you, like the prospect of him never coming home one day?

You felt yourself become a bit more grounded when he constricted your wrists, but mentally you were still running off the adrenaline. You blinked away your tears, finally able to see him sitting at the end of the bed, his brows furrowed in tenseness.

“You’re alright…” He wanted to sound reassuring, but even he was unsure of that.

Your hyperventilating turned into low, rapid breaths slowly but surely. He sat there as long as you needed him to, just studying your body language to make sure you wouldn’t have another attack.

He released your wrists and placed a hand on your cheek, rubbing away one of the stray tears. “Should’ve told me you were struggling like this, love…” He whispered, both lovingly but firmly.

“They’re usually not this bad.” You muttered, feeling slightly embarrassed at the fuss. It wasn’t his fault, or anyone’s for that matter. It was just your anxiety getting the better of you.

“Don’t excuse it,” he forced you to look at him, giving you a pleading look to be let in. “I’m not upset, but you need to tell me things like this. Don’t want you passing out on me.”

You swallowed away the lump in your throat, leaning closer to him. He took that as his invitation to finally embrace you, placing a tight hand around your waist as you buried yourself into his large chest.

“You were tired… and there are bigger things than my night terrors, Simon.”

He pulled your head out of his chest, locking eyes with you once again. It was that look. The look he gave you when he was at a loss for words, and his eyes were convincing enough words for you. Stern, protective, but tender.

He left the bedroom without saying a word, which made you think your words angered him. You tightened your brow when his shadow disappeared down the hall, now feeling more ashamed than before.

Not a minute later, he came back with a glass of water clutched in his fist, and he watched you drink it until you finished the whole thing. As soon as you set it down on the nightstand, he crawled atop you, using the pressure of his frame as a way to cage you in.

“Nothing’s more important than you, ‘doesn’t matter how tired I am.” He muttered, staring directly down at you, as if confining you to him would force you to believe his words.

He leaned down and pecked your lips, then trailed a few down your neck, before rolling over onto his side of the bed. He traced his fingers down your forearm, stopping when he intertwined them with yours.

“We’ll continue this conversation in the morning.” He spoke playfully, pressing his lips to your shoulder blade.

With him beside you, it didn’t take long to fall back into slumber. His body was like your own personal furnace, especially when he was clutching you so tightly.

He waited until your faint snores filled the room again, using that as his signal to finally get a good night's rest, not letting go of you for a second.

[the-saltiest-saltine]

Could you write a Chrollo x kidnapped Reader where he just gentle noncons her after being held captive for months . She just really doesn’t warm up to him as he imagined it to considering she is shy and insecure👉🏼👈🏼

Thank you and I really love your work❤️

I’ll be 100% honest I was not expecting that as my first request lmaooo

I think I went a lil off topic sorry 😭 +  implications are my specialty

Anyways, thanks for the support! Hope you like it <333

Warnings: non/dub-con (implied), yandere

——

There’s nothing for you to be afraid of. You know that.

Well, in the physical sense, at least. Since your first morning waking up in his presence, you’ve been verbally assured of Chrollo’s lack of desire to hurt you. You can’t say that he’s completely lied about that.

Chrollo has never hit you. He’s never pushed you, never slapped you, never grabbed you by the wrist, even when you tried to run away from him.

You’ve only ever attempted that once, many months ago. You’d seen your opportunity and taken it, smart enough to know that the bustling crowds in the heart of York New City are useful tools of both obstruction and disguise.

You weren’t smart enough, however, to understand who you were dealing with.

You’d ditched your iced tea at him - a move that surprised both of you, considering your nature - knocking over the outdoor café chair as you sprinted away into the busy streets. Your limbs moved on impulse, motions imprecise as you expected him to appear in front of you, ruining your chances of freedom before you even had a chance to get your hopes up.

Instead, Chrollo chose to calmly follow you through the city streets with his hands in his pockets. You’d taken a gambling glance over your shoulder once you’d thought you’d created enough distance between predator and prey.

To your horror, he was only about twenty metres away, his fur-lined coat unmissable. His nonchalant attitude was unnerving, to say the least. He was just being an ass, right? That was the reason for his unfazed demeanour.

Narrowly missing an opportunity to stumble over your own feet, you continued your escape.

You took another glance.

Phew. He wasn’t catching up, still the same distance.

You put even more power into your legs, running faster than you’d ever run before. Another glance. Still the same distance. So he’s not catching up, what a relief.

Wait. He wasn’t falling behind, either.

No matter how fast or slow you ran, he was always behind you.

Unlike Chrollo, your endurance had a limit, eventually slowing yourself to a stop by an ice-cream parlour, panting and sweating and wheezing. You neither had the energy nor the gall to fight back as his arms snaked around you, sealing your fate.

He didn’t hurt you. But he hasn’t taken you outside for months, save for your last move into your current residence, a suburban house on the outskirts of Yorbia.

Perhaps he should’ve revelled in your touch more when he collected you. Since then, your anxieties have evidently only increased, shying away from all his touches, no matter how gentle, no matter how necessary. You won’t let him hold your hands, nails bumpy and bitten, or put an arm around your waist, shoving it away as he attempts to squeeze the soft flesh there.

His kisses don’t hurt you. His lips are delicate and his movements are gentle, a stark contrast to the man you know he truly is. Every time he tries, however, you move back on impulse. You can’t help it.

You’re nervous. It’s something he has to consider. If you were outspoken and sassy, he could just gag you. Forcing someone else to speak is leagues more difficult than simply cutting out their tongue. Frustration burns inside of him - you’re obedient in every sense, except for this single obstacle. He wants to touch you without having you back away, frightened out of your mind.

It’s unfortunate it has to come to this, it really is. But alas, you’ve both learnt that you can’t get what you want all the time. 

He stands up, taking precise steps towards you. There’s terror in your eyes as he towers over you, shrivelling yourself up on the sofa. You don’t know what he’s going to do to you, but you know it’ll be horrid. Maybe he’ll kill a family member in front of you for your rejection, or threaten you with his Ben’s Knife, or maybe he’ll even slap you.

Chrollo does not do any of those things.

Instead, he crouches in front of you, caressing your cheek with his hand. Your eyes squeeze shut, trying to relax into his gesture, but your heart beats out of control.

He leans in, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, unreciprocated, before pulling away. It’s not enough. It never was.

You squeak as he throws you over his shoulder, carrying you to your shared bedroom, placing you down on the bed eagerly. He’s never been this rough with you, but there’s a first time for everything.

He peppers more kisses over your face, whilst you lie there, frozen in horror. As his kisses trail downwards, along your jaw, you manage to muster a few words out.

“Chrollo, please, st-”

“Just relax,” he coos, voice threatening to waver with anticipation.

You’re whimpering like a beaten dog, pathetic little thing you are.

Your eyes squeeze shut again, tears rolling. “I-I don’t…I can’t…”

“Yes you can, darling,” he coos as he plants delicate kisses up the length of your neck, the soft sensation of his lips adding to the conflict in your chest and mind.

Your words get clogged behind the lump of horror and fear that forms in your throat. Furiously shaking your head, a frantic last resort, you feel your jaw get caught in the web of his splayed fingers. Your eyes open as you feel his warm breath envelop your ear.

“You know what I promised you,” he purrs, “and I intend to keep it. I swear to you, doll, I won’t hurt you.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 34

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, allusions to abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: this guy, again.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You hear the air go out of Amber as she croaks. You can’t stop squeezing her. You almost don’t believe she’s actually there. That she’s real!

She touches your side gently and gives another wheeze. You make yourself release her and pull back, beaming a bright smile at her. Your cheeks hurt and your eyes are glossy. You latch onto her hand and bounce on your heels.

“It’s cold out here, you should get inside,” Andy girds from behind you, “you’ll catch cold.”

“She’s fine,” Amber squeezes your hand back.

“Please, come in,” you tug on her, “do you…” your voice catches, “do you wanna help me cook?”

“Sure, bubbie,” she smiles, “I was planning on banana pudding. You still like that, right?”

You laugh, so giddy you feel delirious, “I love it! You know I’m so lost in the kitchen.”

“You’re a better cook than you think,” she assures you, a slight tremble in her voice.

You turn, keeping your grasp on her and find only a narrow space between Andy and the door frame. He glowers down at you, past you at Amber. You wince but keep going, pulling her inside. She shoulders past him and steps onto the mat.

“Brought some wine too,” Steve announces as he enters just behind her, “everything we need for the pudding and my own treat. That’s still a surprise.”

“Hurry up,” you beg Amber.

“Please,” she chuckles, “I can’t get my coat off with you hanging onto me.”

“Oh, sorry,” you retract your hand and clasp your wrist against your chest.

You stand back and watch her. Andy comes to stand beside you, a puff through his nostrils brush down to your sleeve. You peek up at him. He grimaces at Amber as Steve takes her coat to hang for her. Those two seem to get along.

“Let me just get this into the kitchen,” Steve picks up the box again, “let me guess, football?”

He struts into the front room without invitation. Andy doesn’t respond or budge. You follow Steve as Amber reclaims your hand, your arms swinging between you.

“This is a nice place,” she says as the floor groans and Andy finally follows suit. “Wow.”

“Thanks,” he grumbles. 

“It’s pretty big,” you admit. “The kitchen too.”

You pass through the archway as Steve puts the box on the counter. Your mess awaits you, a meal half-finished. You chew your lip as he smiles at you across the island. 

“Well, I’ll let you girls get caught up but if you need an extra pair of hands,” he wiggles his fingers at you, “I’m at your service.”

“Thank you, Dr. Kemp,” you chime and sense Amber peek over at you.

He finally leaves, his timbre following him into the front room as he calls to Andy. The TV continues its blare and swallows up their conversation. You face Amber.

You both stare speechless at each other. You don’t know where to start. It feels like forever and no time at all. You don’t realise until that moment how much your missed your sister.

“How do you know Dr. Kemp?” You’re the first to break.

“I… I got a phone call a few nights ago. You know, your mailing address is still mine,” she explains, “at first, I was not sure but I’d do anything to see you again. To find you.”

Your heart falls, “oh, Amb, I’m… sorry.”

She’s quiet as she looks down, crestfallen, “you’re an adult, you’re allowed to leave but… why did you have to go like that?”

“I’m sorry. I was afraid– No, it was mean. I’m sorry. I’m a bad person, Amb, I see that now.”

“Bad?” She lifts her eyes, “is that what he tells you?”

“Who?”

“Andrew,” she clucks, “that you’re a bad person.”

“N-no, no. But… I see things now that I didn’t before. Dr. Kemp is helping me fix myself.”

She sighs and glances away, “you’re not broken.” Her eyes drift back in your direction, “I’m glad you’re getting help. Steve seems like a smart man and I’m sorry I could never afford to get you what you need.”

“That’s not true. You did so much. I just took it all and gave nothing–”

“I never wanted anything but my sister,” she lets go of your hand and at once, you’re in another hug, this one has you trapped. “I’m just glad you’re safe.” She parts and holds you at arm’s length, “and happy, right?”

Your mouth falls open. Your eyes skitter around; the large kitchen shines around you as her voice reverberates in your head. Her amazement, her happiness, she always wants to believe the best of you. You don’t want to let her down again, you’ve hurt her enough.

“I am,” you lie, “Dr. Kemp helps and… I should show you my painting! It’s almost done.”

“That’s wonderful,” she smiles and looks over her shoulder, “but maybe we should figure out dinner first?”

🕊️

You pull on the hem of your skirt, happy for the shield of the apron as the dress rides up with each move. You set out buns on a platter, adding them to the dishes set to go out to the dining room. As you wiggle awkwardly against the short dress, you sense Amber watching you.

You give a sheepish smile as she wrinkles her brow funnily, “what even are you wearing?”

You look down, “you don’t like it?”

“It’s cute. Looks nice on you but… it isn’t you, is it?”

You bat your lashes, “I don’t know, what… erm, the dress is nice.”

“I like it. But… you don’t really wear dresses. Or didn’t”

“I know but I’m trying new things.”

“And that’s good. I guess,” she pushes her shoulders up, “I just don’t know the new you. I liked the old you.”

“Oh,” you murmur glumly.

“Old or new, you know I love you, bub,” she hums.

“Love you too,” you force a smile.

“Hey, girls,” Steve startles you as he struts through the door, “mmm-mm, it smells delicious in here. Anything I can help with?”

“Lots,” Amber answers dryly, “but we’ll settle for setting the table.”

“Oh, I’ll help,” you offer and grab a stack of plates. Steve meets you at the end of the counter, clutching the sides beside your hands, “um, here.”

You let him take them and turn to take the napkins and utensils waiting to be set out. He thanks you and turns on his heel. You notice how Amber watches him. She grins at his back. You’re happy she likes him as much as you.

You follow him into the dining room. He places the four plates out neatly as you put down a fork, knife, and spoon beside the first one. He looks up at you as he keeps his head inclined. His eyes are so bright and warm. You feel like it’s been ages since you’ve seen him. Just like everything else, it feels so unusual. As if those days spent in that bedroom were a whole other planet.

“Here, let me show you a trick,” he comes around, gathering up the utensils you just put out.

He pinches the corner of a napkin still in your hand and pulls it free. You let him and watch as he puts all three pieces of cutlery against the napkin, resting them against the table as he expertly rolls them up into a tidy pocket. He moves them beside the plate and drags his hand away.

“That’s pretty,” you say.

“Like you,” he says, “I really like that dress.”

“You do?” you look at him in the face. That act alone makes you want to melt. His eyes blaze back at you.

“You always look nice,” he says, “I thought… before I got here, I thought maybe you were mad at me.”

“Mad?” You frown.

“You haven’t been answering me so…”

“Um,” you suck in your lip as your eyes flit away from him, “I’ve been taking a break.”

“That’s a good idea. Blue light can really mess with your circadian rhythm and there’s nothing wrong with putting yourself first.”

“Okay, but I’m sorry. For not answering. I hope you’re not mad.”

“Not at all,” he assures you, “sweetheart,” he steps closer, “are you okay?”

“What?” You breathe.

“You look faint. Do you need to sit down?”

You shake your head and pout your lips. You can smell his cologne. It’s citrusy and rich. You could just bask in the scent. You resist the urge to bury your nose in his woolly sweater for a better sniff.

“I’m okay,” you sigh, “all that cooking.”

“Yeah, gets pretty hot standing in front of a stove,” he agrees and lays his hand on your shoulder, rubbing his thumb into it, “you’re not… you’re happy I brought Amber?”

You see the doubt in his eyes. You can’t believe it but you think he’s actually nervous. Does he really care so much about what you think?

“I’m so happy. Thank you,” you sway, nearly hugging him like you did Amber. You stop yourself and give a nervous giggle. “I really missed her.”

“I could tell. I… know you don’t like to talk about her but it’s Thanksgiving. It’s about family, right?”

“Yeah,” you smile and look down at your handful, jangling around the cutlery, “um, I guess… can you show me how to do that thing again?”

“Sure,” he puts his hands around yours and eases the cutler and napkins away. “So, you just put down the napkin,” he sets it all on the table and puts a napkin flat. He moves it diagonally so it’s a diamond and you watch his thick fingers move. Something about his hands makes you tingly, “then your cutlery,” he pushes up the bottom corner, “tuck and roll. Voila.”

He takes another napkin and places it in front of you, “you try,” he says as he hands you cutlery.

You shakily place the three pieces on the napkin. You're much slower than him, trying to get it perfect, pushing up the point and rolling tight. When you finish, you feel a tickle along your back.

“Good job, sweetie,” he leans in to whisper in your ear.

You smile as your cheeks round hotly, “thank you.”

“Go ahead, do the last one,” his voice grits as he flutters his fingers up your spine, “I’ll go get some glasses for the wine.”

🕊️

Amber sits at the seat next to you. Andy comes in with a sense of reluctance, hands in his pocket as his eyes focus dully on nothing. He looks almost pale as he shuffles along the opposite side of the table. He turns to face you and meets your gaze before glancing towards your sister.

His hand grips the chair and he slowly pulls it out, scraping the floor with the legs. He clears his  throat and sits, heaving a sigh as he peers up and down the table. Amber shifts beside you.

“Um, Andrew,” she begins tenderly. “I didn’t get a chance to say thank you.”

His eyes flick up as his brows arch, “thank you?”

“For having me. You have a lovely house and I’m so thankful to be able to spend today with my sister. I know… we didn’t get off to a great start so maybe this is our chance to start again.”

“Maybe,” he mutters and scans the table again, “where is the green bean casserole?”

Your eyes widen. You don’t remember making it. You’ve been so distracted with having Amber there that the details all blend together.

“Oh, my bad, I forgot to bring those out,” Amber stands, “be right back.”

She gets up and sweeps out of the room. You swallow as you watch Andy, waiting for him to look at you. Dreading what he’ll say.

His nostrils flare as his eyes pinpoint on you, “you’re happy to see your sister.”

It doesn’t really sound like a question but you nod. His forehead wrinkles as he runs his fingers around his mouth and narrows his eyes. He lets the tension drain from his features and sits back.

“So it’s a good thing I let her stay, huh, dove?” He says.

You swallow, “thank you, Andy.”

He smirks, tight-lipped as he drops his hand onto the armrest. He grips it and fixes his posture, his eyes returning to the chair next to you. Maybe he’d wanted to sit beside you.

“Here we are,” Amber returns and puts down the glass pan of beans, “well, I don’t think anyone will go hungry.”

Andy hums monotonously as she reclaims her chair. There’s a thick silence as you peer back and forth between them. Amber folds her hands on the table then sits back and pulls them over her stomach. She watches Andy, almost expectantly.

“Ah, can’t forget the wine,” Steve enters with a bottle in hand, “sorry to keep you waiting.”

Andy coughs and squares his shoulders. Steve approaches the empty chair next to your host and twists off the cap of the wine bottle. He reaches to you, beckoning for your glass. Amber takes it and hands it over. He pours it and she trades it for her own. 

“I know you’re more a beer connoisseur, Andy, but there’s lots to go around,” Steve offers.

“No thanks,” Andy sniffs, “still got some Stella.”

He reaches for the green bottle with the white label. You know when he drinks, it won’t be a happy night. Especially after the unexpected company. Despite his attempts at niceties, you can hear the razor edge in his tone.

“You snooze you lose,” Steve chimes as he sits and pours himself a glass. He lifts it by the stem, “cheers.”

You pull your glass close and look into the golden depths. You sniff it, it’s almost sweet but tickles your throat. You look over at Amber as she holds out her glass to clink. She never really drank and you didn’t either. But it’s a special occasion.

“Cheers,” she says.

“Dove,” Andy undercuts, “I don’t think you like wine, remember?”

“Huh?” Amber tilts her head towards him, “she can make up her own mind.”

“I’m not saying she can’t, I just wouldn’t want her to be sick. We haven’t even eaten. She shouldn’t be drinking on an empty stomach,” he argues.

“She’s about to eat,” Amber counters.

“It’s fine, Andy,” Steve intones, “it’s all just good fun. It’s Thanksgiving, live a little.”

He clinks his glass against Andy’s bottle then raises it again. You pick your glass up and tap it against Amber’s. You mimic her as she brings the brim to her lips and you drink in unison, slightly unsure of yourself. It’s not bad, almost sour but in a pleasant way.

Amber pulls the glass away and puts it down gently, “you like it, bub?”

“Um, yes, it’s… different,” you say as you examine the glass, the wine swishing as you twirl it, “I like it.” You take another taste, a bigger gulp than the last, “thank you, Dr. Kemp.”

“Yes, thank you, Steve,” Amber adds, “you’ve made this day so special.”

Andy inhales and his nostrils flare, “yeah, thanks, Steve.”

[wonijinjin]

THE WEEKND SERIES: CALL OUT MY NAME - CHOI SEUNGCHEOL

author’s note: the first work of the series! i am all for strangers to more tropes so i hope you guys will have fun reading it! take care<3

synopsis: will shared fate with a stranger turn into something more, something you had never expected?

word count: 0.6k | genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, dark themes (apocalypse) | pairing: cheol x gn! reader | warnings: mentions of injury, doctors, apocalypse, death

the masterpost to this series can be found here.

the wind was blowing coldly as you reached the deserted capital, body tired from dragging it all day, not finding anyone near who could help you out. in the distance you could spot a silhouette, a human’s to be exact. “wait!” you shouted from the top of your lungs, taking all of your energy and putting it into a final call before you saw the figure turning around, running in your direction. the pain in your injured leg became unbearable and forced your knees to buckle; luckily the stranger who had arrived by your side just at that moment had caught you, laying you down on the muddy ground. “hi.” you smiled at him while his eyes widened in surprise seeing another human alive. there were not many people who survived the earthquakes or the tsunamis after the collision of the meteor. “nice to meet you.” he smiled back at you, inspecting the wound on your foot. “i guess you got this while trying to escape from the storm.” you wheezed. “good guess, sherlock.” his movements halted and he got a roll of surgical tape and bandaids out from his pocket. “so, do you want me to fix you up? you are not doing so well as i can see.” you nodded immediately, thanking him several times. “i have been searching for signs of life for days, but have seen noone so far.” he shook his head in agreement. “because there is almost no human here as of today. i’m surprised to see you here, never thought i would cross paths with someone here. everyone i know is at the same place, the mall. they gathered there, but they are starting to go crazy so i left.” he explained what he knew about the situation happening. your lack of response and the way you stared into nothing alarmed him and he pulled your body towards his so he could see your eyes. “you with me?” he swung his hand in front of your face. you nodded slowly to ensure that you heard and understood him. “good.” he thought for a moment. “must be shock which got you so quiet all of a sudden.” he finished wrapping up your leg, patting it for good measure. “can you stand?” he questioned with a warm look, one which you missed so much, after so long of not being in contact with others. “hello? i asked if you can stand up and walk.” he was crouching next to you, grabbing your chin to check your eyes again. you assumed that he must’ve been a doctor since he was looking for signs of head injury for sure, you knew this much of first aid. you leaned in without thinking, kissing him quickly. this caught him off guard, but it was so quick and sudden that it was over before he could register what was happening. “sorry, i just needed to check if you were real. i’ve been alone for a while, i wasn’t sure if it was just in my head or not.” he had a weird expression but only for a moment, then caught your wrist and lifted your finger to his face, poking it. “you could’ve just done this, you know.” he laughed sweetly, another thing you had been missing from your life. “you are right…” you whispered shyly, a bit embarrassed. “anyways, i see that you are quite lonely. you can accompany me for the time being if you want to. at least i can make sure your leg actually gets better.” you grinned tiredly. “if i’m gonna be your companion i gotta know your name at least though.” he extended his arm towards you. “just call me seungcheol.”

[save-the-villainous-cat]

terrified hero and kind villain? <3

have a sweet one !

“Are you okay?”

The question floated around the cold warehouse, filling every corner of it with its echoes and as the trembling hero looked up at their saviour, they couldn’t quite believe this was a possible outcome of their dilemma.

“Are you alright?” the villain asked again with the same monotonous voice they used to express every emotion they could feel. They stepped over a corpse, not even looking down as they approached the hero. Whatever they were truly feeling, they didn’t show it. Never had. Probably never will, considering the circumstances. Training to be an assassin was a small portion of their past.

Which was probably why the blood on their boots didn’t bother them.

The hero didn’t know why they were crying, didn’t know why they were so weak out of a sudden.

“Yes…” Their voice cracked in all the unpleasant ways, leaving not much interpretation for their enemy. Tears filled their eyes once again but this time, they could blink them away. “Christ.”

“What is it, love?”

The hero’s bottom lip quivered as the memories infected their brain again. Being dragged out of their house in the middle of the night. Robbed of their powers, being tortured, brought here…Not ever had they felt this helpless, not even as a kid. They supposed this was a lesson life was giving them. A wake-up call that told them they were taking everything for granted.

“You killed them,” the hero wheezed. The villain’s eyebrows bunched and they turned around slowly, observing their work.

“Looks like it,” they said quietly. Their eyes were still on their victims, as if they were weighing their next options.

They turned around.

“They hurt you, didn’t they?”

The hero swallowed a painful sob. Chills ran over their body and they couldn’t help but feel the kidnappers’ hands all over them once again. Voices in their head had screamed at them to defend themselves but they couldn’t. Too many people. And somehow, they had stolen their powers.

Fuck, their powers. Another spiral of thoughts overwhelmed them and anxious thoughts rose out of graves that had been sealed by confidence and training.

“Oh god—” Reality had gotten a harsh grip on them. They had lost their powers.

“Love,” the villain said but the hero was already too deep in their thoughts. “Look at me.”

The villain grabbed their chin softly and forced them to look at them.

“I—” The hero grabbed the villain’s wrists, squeezing. They’d lose their job, they’d become an easy target, they’d get killed eventually. They were prey with a huge sign saying “free to kill” on their back.

“It’s okay,” the villain said. “You’re safe now.”

The blood of their enemies was sprinkling the villain’s suit whereas the hero’s own was sprinkling their half-shredded pyjamas.

Eventually, the hero stared at the cold concrete underneath them, blocking everything out as they tried not to start crying. What they didn’t expect was the villain’s gentle hand on their shoulder. They took off their cape and placed it around the hero’s shoulders.

It was heavy. Weirdly comforting, that. And above all sweet.

The villain pressed the palm of their hand to the hero’s cheek. Words weren’t their strength, the hero knew that. But they made up for it with acts of service. With physical touch.

The hero leaned into the touch, closing their eyes. They couldn’t hold back the tears anymore.

“They took my powers,” they whispered.

Both knew this was irreversible.

[gintrinsic-writing]

A Flicker in a Distant Timeline

CW: references to violence, loss of a limb, blood.

--

Like this, the King of Evil didn’t look like much—sweating through his robes, hair in disarray, panting through pain and exhaustion alike. He was too weakened to transform, and his baser form—his simple Gerudo body, absent of Demise’s visibly corroding influence—lacked the same petrifying, untouchable presence. Link figured he should tell him so. 

“You reek.”

Ganondorf’s glare was half-ruined by the tears rolling down his face; courtesy of some well-aimed dirt, Link thought smugly. “And you,” Ganondorf managed between breaths, “sound like a dying frog.”

Link barely had enough energy to muster up the indignation that deserved, but he managed. “A frog? That’s the worst you could come up with?” He scoffed, ignoring how much it stung to do so. “Were you even trying?”

“Croak, croak, croak,” Ganondorf griped, waving a hand back and forth. The Triforce of Power shimmered like a kaleidoscope against the back of his hand. “Annoying little wheezes.”

“Oh, forgive me. Some asshole punched me in the throat.”

“Only after another asshole pulled my hair!”

“So what?” Link croaked—ah, dammit, Ganondorf was right. What a miserable day.

“So, hair’s off-limits.”

“Off…” Link paused to stare. He blinked several times for good measure. Only a little blood managed to dribble into his eyes. “It was a fight! To the death!”

“Fated by the deities themselves,” Ganondorf agreed darkly. 

“And you think hair is off-limits?”

“Well, yes.” Ganondorf sneered at Link as if the hero was particularly dense. “We’re not animals.”

“You literally are, you dumb pig,” Link groaned. 

Ganondorf made some weird growling sound, then coughed. “Just you wait,” he grumbled. “As soon as I catch my breath, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Link mocked. “You’ll kill me? With what weapon? You couldn’t summon a speck of dust right now.”

Ganondorf curled his lip disdainfully. “As if you’re one to talk. You can’t even get up, can you?”

Link chose that moment to finally admit to himself that he’d been managing his half of the conversation while lying prone on the ground. He was sure the Master Sword was within grasp if he needed it. Probably. “I can move,” he answered loftily, only croaking a little, “whenever I want to.” 

“Sure,” Ganondorf agreed.

“I can.”

“Like I said, sure.”

Link groaned again. Dirt stuck to his lips in a very unheroic way. 

Seconds passed, then Ganondorf heaved another breath. It sounded more significant than the previous ones in some strange and foreboding way. He pushed off his knees with both hands and stood up straight. His spine popped immediately. “Damn the goddesses,” Ganondorf spat, bracing a clawed hand against the small of his back as he resumed his slouch. Link couldn’t help but nod in tired agreement. “And damn Demise!”

That sounded particularly vicious. Link nodded again for solidarity. “Is Demise the reason you’re so fucked up?”

“Yes,” Ganondorf hissed.

“Ah.” What was he supposed to say to that? Something meaningful, probably. “Sucks.”

“Indeed.” 

Something wet fell on Link’s face. Then it happened again. Rain, he thought bitterly. Maybe he’d be lucky enough to drown. “I don’t suppose you’re dying? Spare me the trouble of having to finish this?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Ganondorf grumbled. “You?”

“Also unfortunately no.”

Ganondorf eyed him skeptically. “I thought you’d bleed more when I cut off your hand.”

Ah yeah, that. His right wrist really hurt. “To be honest, me too.” A wave of dizziness washed over Link, which he promptly ignored like he had the last four times. “How did you survive that light magic bomb?”

Ganondorf shook his head. “No fucking idea. Luck, perhaps. I felt my heart stop for a moment.”

“Really? Cool.”

Ganondorf shrugged. 

“So… now what?” Link asked quietly, licking at the raindrops gathering on his upper lip. They tasted like dirt. “You gonna kill me?” Because in all honesty, he couldn’t get up. Trying left his pulse racing and his limbs trembling. He was pretty much useless. 

“I should,” Ganondorf answered just as quietly. 

When nothing else was said, Link grunted. “But…?”

“I’m tired.” Simple, honest, absolute. 

“Yeah,” Link muttered. “Me too.”

With a pained little oof, Ganondorf sat down beside Link, crossing his legs at the ankles and keeping his weight off of his left hip. He fiddled with his many bracelets. Link struggled to read his expression. “Perhaps I’ll feel up to it in a minute,” the King of Evil finally said. 

There was something awkward about that. Something sad. Link decided to do what he did best and make a nuisance of himself. “Did you have to sit so close? I wasn’t lying earlier. You stink. Does deodorant not apply to demon kings?”

“Shut up, worm.” Ganondorf flicked a pebble at him. Somehow, it landed right between Link’s eyes. 

“Ow! Fuck you.”

“In your dreams.”

Link gagged, loudly. The effect was ruined when it started to rain in earnest. Before he could think of the best way to complain, Ganondorf threw out a hand, and tendrils of dark magic formed a barrier above them. 

“Oh,” Link said lamely. “Guess you’re not out of juice after all.”

Ganondorf frowned up at the barrier. “It’ll last a minute if we’re lucky.”

“Then what?”

“Then we’ll get wet. Maybe you’ll be able to walk by then, assuming you don’t bleed out in the meantime.”

A pretty bold assumption, all things considered, but Link wasn’t going to say so. He’d take what he could get. “And then?” he pressed. 

Ganondorf clearly held back the first answer that came to mind. He pursed his lips before saying, “Your choice. I got us this far.”

Link couldn’t help it—he laughed. It sounded pretty terrible. “Yeah,” he wheezed after several seconds. “Yeah, I guess so. Okay.”

Ganondorf shook his head in apparent resignation. The barrier began to flicker. 

[oddsconvert]

My brain: make friends! Send asks! Exist in more then just your blog!

Me: but what if I'm scared of friends!?!?!

Anyway, can I request Ronan catching Issak hurting Henley?

Flowers for author. 💐💐💐💐💐

Friends!!! It's official! No being scared! <3 I am so sorry for the delay with this but I hope this ticks your boxes! :D

---

“How do you sleep at night?”

Henley stirred awake, his world a blurred mess of throbbing pain. Crusted sleep clung to his lashes, he blinked fiercely to chase away the haze. He could only just about make out a hulking silhouette looming over him. When his vision finally sharpened, he instinctively clutched his scratty blanket closer to his heaving chest - his futile shield.

Cold dread flooded Henley as he saw Izaak, free of the chains that usually rattled with every twitch of a muscle. The chains that kept Henley safe and sound, out of harm's way. Far from Izaak’s reach.  Izaak's fists were clenched so hard his knuckles were white, his face contorted in a feral snarl. Panic squeezed Henley’s chest like a vice. He was a rabbit trapped in a fox's den. 

“Wha-?” Henley’s voice was a hoarse rasp. He’s half-convinced no sound left his lips at all. 

"Oh, did I interrupt your sweet dreams, Henny?" Izaak's voice was a low growl, sending shivers trickling down Henley's spine. That nickname. The way it dripped with mocking familiarity, but years of ingrained fear hid within it. It made all the hairs on Henley’s arms stand on edge. 

Izaak suddenly lunged forward. One massive hand clamped around Henley's throat, squeezing every last drop of air from his lungs. Henley's wrists burned in protest against his chains, straining as he fought for a sliver of slack, a desperate inch to reach his throat and fight Izaak off. "You," Izaak spat, barely containing his rage, "are the reason for my suffering. The cause of my anguish. Every scar on my body has your name written on it.."

Tears pressed from beneath Henley’s eyelids, and he shook his head furiously. Passionately. No. It’s not true. He’s not responsible for this. He didn’t land them here, he didn’t start all of this. This is all Izaak’s doing. This is the price he has to pay. 

“So answer the question,” Izaak demanded, now nearly crushing Henley’s windpipe as he choked and wheezed, “How the hell do you sleep at night? No. Scratch that shit. Better yet. How do you live with yourself? After what you’ve done to me?”

“I-Izaak, pleas-”

Izaak’s fist came at Henley with such speed it was like a cannonball. It connected with a sickening crunch as Henley felt his nose cave in, and hot-white pain erupted. The force of the blow sent him sprawling, the floor rose up to meet him with a jarring thud. He lay helpless. Cool blood dripped from his nose and pooled on his lips, he could taste the metallic tang. 

“You dare call me that again, and I’ll put you six feet under this fucking cement. Understand?” Izaak seethed through gritted teeth, with spit spraying and a vein pulsing from his temple. Izaak didn’t even give him the second to respond, Henley was still reeling and seeing stars. “I SAID, “DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!” he roared. 

“Yes!” Henley wailed miserably. Tears mingled with blood and dirt. He sniffed pathetically and whimpered as new pain flared through his obviously broken nose. He stayed glued to the floor. Too afraid to move, to even dare lift his head up. Henley didn’t see Izaak reaching for his long curls of hair and wrenching them in his fist. Yanking his head back, Henley’s Adam's apple bobbed against his collar as he gasped and gulped back the fear.

“‘Yes’, what?” Izaak whispered. It was hard to miss the element of enjoyment in his voice. It sounded like old times. Must feel like it to him too. 

But Henley immediately knew what he was looking for.

“Yes, sir!” Henley gasped out. There’s not a beat of hesitation. Izaak can say many things about Henley. A bad pet, he is not. 

Henley’s head smacked to the ground, his forehead banging against cold, unforgiving cement as Izaak threw him out of his hand. He’s on a warpath. He paced back and forth, contemplating what to do next. 

Izaak's foot then swung into Henley's gut. The air whooshed from Henley's lungs in a strangled scream that ripped free from his throat. The world lurched sideways, a wave of nausea crashing over him. Bile rose in his throat as pain lanced through his abdomen. Izaak unrolled Henley from his cocoon and straddled his hips, slamming his palm over Henley’s mouth, “Shut the fuck up! Don’t you dare make a sound.”

Henley obeyed. He forced himself to seal his lips, now sobbing silently and huffing through the pain. 

“You got us into this fucking mess. You deserve everything you’ve got coming to you. I’m going to make you wish you were never born-”

“I already do-” Henley croaked.

Izaak doesn’t hold back anymore. He unleashed a flurry of punches, raining blow after blow down on Henley. Henley’s already-battered body convulsed with each hit - he twisted and flailed in a desperate bid to shield himself from the onslaught. It was no use. Darkness cornered his vision, and ringing screeched in his ears. His entire body was slowly growing limp.

Henley squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the sweet relief of unconsciousness. He waited for the next punch. And waited. But it never came. Confused, Henley cracked open a swollen and purpling eye.

Izaak was no longer looking at him, and a flicker of raw terror replaced the unhinged rage that had plagued his eyes before. Henley groaned as he lifted his pounding head, and turned to follow Izaak’s petrified stare.

A shadow shifted at the top of the stairs, a tutting sound emanating from the darkness.

“What are you doing to my boy?” Ronan asked, cool as a cucumber on the surface, but fury bubbled below. The calm facade didn’t last. Ronan flew down the stairs, and pulled that oh so familiar remote from his pocket. In the blink of an eye, Izaak was a quivering, jittering wreck as his shock collar lit up and shocked him stiff. He collapsed from Henley’s body like a tonne of bricks. His screams pierced the sound barrier - his fingers scrabbled and ripped at the collar, kicking his legs and bucking his entire body. Ronan punched the button again, and again until the screaming stopped. It’s just silent gargles, with drool dribbling down the edge of Izaak’s blue lips. 

Ronan threw Henley a single, and quick look as he bolted past. It wasn't a look of reassurance, but a quick flicker up and down to acknowledge him. Reaching his locked cabinet, Ronan fumbled with the combination and finally, the cabinet swung open, and he snatched a vial and syringe, and a length of rope.

He wastes no time in racing over to where Izaak is heaving and panting on the floor, and stabbing the syringe in his neck. Izaak roared, a sound that curdled the blood, but it was cut short by a weak gasp as the muscle relaxant began to take hold.

“There, there. That should settle you down, big-un,” Ronan chuckled, patting Izaak on the chest.

“F-ffuc- fuckk y-yoou,” Izaak slurred, his eyes rolled like pinball machines in their sockets. Henley watches as all the tone in Izaak’s muscle depleted and he flopped lifelessly. Izaak lay sprawled on the floor, a pathetic mew escaping his lips as the muscle relaxant coursed through his veins. His previously violent thrashing had dissolved into a pathetic trembling, his limbs heavy and unresponsive.

Henley's cry echoed through the basement. Now that the threat was neutralised. "You didn't tie him tight enough, sir! He almost—!" His voice choked on the rising panic, his gaze locked on Izaak's slack form. “He was going to kill me.”

Ronan paid no mind to Henley, the shivering wreck that he was. Instead, he focused on yanking Izaak’s arms behind his back. With rough rope, he bound Izaak's wrists together with a vengeance, the knots pulled tight, drawing a choked gasp that did little to faze Ronan. Next, he secured Izaak's ankles with another length of rope, the slack yanked out until Izaak's legs were splayed uncomfortably wide. Finally, with a cruel twist, Ronan bound Izaak's ankles to his secured wrists, hog-tying him in a position that screamed discomfort. Izaak's gasps faded to choked moans as his body contorted in a way it wasn't meant to, forced into an arched bow.

Ronan left Izaak on the ground and approached Henley slowly. With a touch that could have been gentle or cruel, he cupped Henley's bruised and bloodied cheek. Henley flinched at the contact, a hiss escaping his lips. Ronan’s eyes flickered over the damage and he tsked, disappointed. Then his eyes met Henley’s and locked in. “Do you really think I’d let him break one of my favourite toys?”

“He - He got pretty close, master.” Henley snivelled. He flinched as Ronan’s arms moved, expecting another blow, but instead, his arms wrapped around Henley’s tiny frame in a sudden and suffocating embrace. Ronan’s grip was tight, possessive, leaving no wiggle room. Defeated, Henley sagged into the hug and rested his head on Ronan’s chest, letting his eyes flutter shut. It was always easier to give into this than brave the pain. Ronan began to stroke Henley’s hair, twirling it in his fingers. It wasn’t a gesture of genuine affection and Henley was never under the impression that it was. It was Ronan’s sense of ownership. Like Izaak’s claim was the bruises and scars. Ronan’s was more inside than out. For Henley, at least.

“Shh Shh. Come with me. I’ll get you patched up, little one”. Grunting with effort, Ronan hoisted Henley to his feet, a hand wrapped under his armpit to guide him up the creaking stairs.

Ronan turned at the very last step, leering at the sight of Izaak, bound and subdued. "That little temper tantrum of yours was cute, pet" he called down, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "But playtime's over. Now, you get to lie there, nice and quiet, and contemplate all the fun things I have planned for you when your little cocktail wears off. I want you to feel every second.”

----

Taglists!:

Henley taglist: @livelaughwhump @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @sorrowful-hyacinth

Ronan taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast

Izaak taglist: @emmettland @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @sorrowful-hyacinth @whumpsoda

Drabble taglist (which I forgot existed and have recently rediscovered assdfghjkl so will be using from now on unless you would like off it <3 ): @whatwasmyprevioususername @whumpsday @sparrowsage @whumperfully @wolves-and-winters @canislycaon24 @happy-little-sadist @darkthingshappen @whumping-in-the-dark @vagabouund @turn-the-tables-on-them