#nails in cushion and hyperventilating

[remarcely]

Batmanfic Prompt: WHAT IF Superman heard Jason come back to life?

The coffin, unfortunately, was so comfortable that when Jason woke up inside it he’d been tempted to roll over and go back to sleep. It was only when he knocked his elbow onto something hard and way too close that he opened his eyes. He didn’t see anything, they hadn’t exactly put a nightlight in for him, but he could still feel and his hands scrambled to touch everything inside the box. He knew that he was wearing a suit buttoned all the way up, which was weird because he never did the top button, and there was a slab of something solid laying flat above his face.

He had to bend his arms to press his palms against it, not having enough space to do much else, and shoved. It didn’t move so he shoved again and then again, the third attempt using his knees to try and force it open. No matter what Jason did, it wouldn’t budge.

It was as he laid there, panting, and growing dizzy for some reason, that he began to remember. He had no memory of crawling in a box or getting stuck under his bed, but he could recall a warehouse. There had been laughter, blood, and a steady beep as the countdown of a bomb grew ever closer. Jason swallowed hard as panic started to take hold. He hit the lid again, frantically this time, and thrashed his entire body in his desperate bid to escape because he knew where he was. He was packed underneath six feet of dirt and trapped in a box that no one had thought about putting air holes in.

Somewhere in his lashing out he’d begun to cry and plead to closed in air. He shouted for Bruce, begging to be let out and that he was sorry, and screamed for Alfred to find him. Jason even called out for Dick, even though they’d barely gotten on for the last few months after years of nothing but bitterness from the older boy.

His chest heaved as he hyperventilated with little oxygen to take in and, with his list of potential saviours running low, he recalled something Bruce had told him. If he was ever in trouble and Batman or Nightwing were too far away, then he should always shout for-

“SUPERMAN!” Jason wailed, slamming his head into the coffins lid and clawing at the wood. His nails ached and bled, but he continued to scratch away “PLEASE, SUPERMAN! BRUCE! HELP ME!”

His movements grew weaker and his head pounded. Jason slumped against the cushioning and, with his limbs too heavy to lift, sobbed. His tears rolled down his face, trailing over his cheeks and past his ears, to soak into the pillow beneath his head. He was dead. He was dead and no one was coming for him.

At least when he’d been half-beaten to death and inhaling smoke, he’d held onto hope that Batman would find him in time.

As Jasons eyes slowly closed and his inhales and exhales felt as if they were minutes apart, he heard something. It was muffled and hard to make out but, for a moment, Jason was sure he could hear someone calling his name.

-

It was midday in Metropolis and Clark Kent was on his lunch break. He was three bites into a disappointing BLT sandwich with far too much mayonnaise when he heard a voice, far outside the bounds of his city, call for Superman. That wasn’t rare in itself, neither was how young and distressed they sounded unfortunately, it was after the second time they called for Superman that Clark flinched.

“SUPERMAN! BRUCE! HELP ME!”

By the time his sandwich landed on the breakroom table, he was gone.

The voice had stopped screaming for help but Clark could hear them crying uncontrollably and that was enough to track down the source. He broke the sound barrier as he flew into Gotham and the ground was dug a few inches deep as he landed. Clark whirled around for the crying child, drowning out every other noise in the world to focus on them, and looked down with dread. They were underground. In a graveyard.

Clark raised his eyesight to the headstone planted above the child and stumbled. In expensive marble, carved in swirling font, was a familiar name and all of a sudden, the person screaming out for a ‘Bruce’ made alarming sense.

‘Here Lies Jason Todd’

Before he knew what he was doing, Clark was tearing away at the earth in chunks, throwing it behind him without care (and hopefully avoiding the surrounding headstones). As he moved deeper into the ground he lost the need for his enhanced hearing. While it was faint, Clark could make out the sound of Jason weakly crying out. He reached the coffin in a matter of seconds and didn’t hesitate to tear the lid away, breaking through its seal with ease.

Laid out on white satin lining, stained by red where his hands rested at his sides, was Jason Todd- oxygen deprived and passed out, but alive nonetheless.

“It’s going to be alright.” Clark whispered to the boy as he knelt down and carefully lifted him into his arms “I’ve got you, kiddo, you’re going to be just fine.”

As soon as Jason was securely tucked to his chest, Clark launched upwards and in the direction of Gotham’s nearest hospital.

[yanderambling]

Ohh my goodness, can we get more of crimelord and puppy-like reader, with time jump when the reader is receptive and soaking willingly in crimelord' love and loving them back? 🥰🥰🥰 (A huge time jump i suppose haha) Maybe reader even licks/kisses the once-wounded hand? Wagging their tail? Cuddling crimelord to sleep? Nuzzling? Omg now I have hyperfixation

ahh i’m so glad you enjoyed!! thanks for this prompt, i had so much fun with it! i hope you like this one too <3 (it kinda got away from me a bit lol)

pairing: Crimelord!Yan(gn) x Puppy Hybrid!Reader(gn)

words: ~1.4k

if you'd like to read the original post, you can find it here!

CW: 18+, yandere behavior, referenced past abuse, implied ptsd

As soon as you start warming up to them in any given area, Monty pushes a little more. They always move at your pace, but they just want to get as close to you as possible- they’re gentle but damn persistent.

Earning your trust instantly became their top priority, all their ill business delegated to their inner circle, and they don’t regret it a bit. They revel in watching you relax into your new life, and they take every setback in stride, meeting you with nothing but gentleness and endless praise. It’s infinitely gratifying to see you accept comfort and affection, and they give it to you in abundance.

You can be sure that they'll be petting you whenever they have a free hand, nothing calms yet excites them like the slide of your fur through their fingers, and they can’t get over the domesticity of simply sitting down and running their hands over you like it’s the most natural thing in the world (it is, for them at least). If you start getting closer, cuddling, crawling into their lap, they won’t be functional for the next few hours at least- the proximity alone is enough to make them fear hyperventilation, but the thought that you’re seeking them out for comfort (or even just some kind of entertainment in this giant, empty house) makes them dig their nails into their skin to make sure they don't float outside of their body. Sometimes you feel their grip tighten the slightest bit around the back your neck, their arms pull you a little closer, but when you look up they only meet you with a barely stifled manic grin.

Monty would also love to feed you by hand, they’ll do it for every meal if you let them. Once you’re more comfortable, they’d get a little less careful, letting their fingers slip into your mouth from time to time. The feeling of your teeth and tongue against their skin, so gentle now from when they first felt it, leaves them weak-kneed and lightheaded (if you suck on them even a little, they might just faint).

If you were to express remorse over their scarred hand, it would melt their heart, but they would discourage any guilt you might feel. They actually delight in bearing your mark (if you hurt any of their staff while you were still adjusting, they're lucky if all they left their service with was a scar- they weren’t worthy of even the illusion of your claim). Still, they would never stop you from licking them, they'll always take your “kisses” however you’ll give them (your tongue against their skin feels like the caress of an angel, a pureness they can feel cleansing them within, each motion a sacrament).

The first time you wagged your tail when they entered a room, Monty had to check their camera feeds to be sure it even happened. They had walked downstairs in the morning and greeted you in the living room, where you were most mornings you woke early, when they heard the soft, telltale thud thud of a tail against the couch. Sure enough, when they rounded the corner, there you were- a hesitantly friendly grin on your face as the end of you tail tapped a steady rhythm on the cushion. They nearly choked on the emotions that clenched their chest in that moment, and they felt newly rejuvenated in their quest to earn your love trust. Every time you show that same excitement at their presence from then on, it's all they can do not to melt into a puddle at your feet- and it only gets harder as you grow more comfortable.

They would love to give you a collar. They’d give you options, endless varieties of materials and colors and styles for you to try on- you’d probably have to make a whole day of it. They still feel their pulse pick up whenever they look at the proof of your bond, which you so proudly display (to their staff and the few shopkeeps in their pocket that have been sworn to secrecy to provide essential services, and to let you leave the estate on occasion). They often like to just hook their fingers through it and let their knuckles rest against your neck, a sort of subtle claim that settles some primal part of them, if only slightly.

Monty is a pretty big person, and remarkably strong, so you can bet they’ll be picking you up and carrying you around whenever you’ll let them (once they can stop their arms from going weak and shaky every time they feel your body against their chest). They take immense pleasure in scooping you up from wherever you may be- lounging on the sofa, standing in their garden, sleeping in their bay windows- and just carrying you about with them, or sitting you on their lap and stroking you until you settle into a doze (you’ve spent many evenings splayed across their legs or cuddled tot heir chest while they reviewed reports and receipts). They feel their heart soar every time your weight settles into their arms, so completely at their mercy, so hardened to everyone else yet allowing them your complete vulnerability; they could cry. (They have.)

This would probably take the longest, but Monty would never give up hope of getting you to share a bed with them. They might start by letting you sleep in their bed while they sleep on and watch you sleep from a surprisingly luxurious pullout. The sound of your deep, even breaths is almost enough to calm their racing heart- or maybe it’s actually making it go faster. They can't focus on anything else enough to tell, just knowing that you trust them enough to sleep in their room sends them into a flustered, shivering tizzy. They spend most of those nights obsessively memorizing the outline of your silhouette, struggling to convince themself that it wasn’t a dream (maybe they’ve snuck a few pets in when they just couldn’t hold back any longer, the feeling of your fur against their fingers always making their chest clench so wonderfully they've definitely taken closeup photos of your captivatingly peaceful face in the moonlight).

Once you two make it into the same bed for a night, they can hardly contain themself. You actually get a little worried, watching your sweet master shake and shudder in place beside you, their body sweaty and hot to the touch oh sweet lord you’re touching them but when you ask if they’re okay, they just nod fervently (their mouth is too dry to speak, and they’re fairly certain they wouldn’t be able to formulate words anyhow). They don’t really sleep that night either, and it would probably take them a couple nights to make any more moves forward unless you initiate (and that still would be so delightfully overwhelming).

They would try to hold you, ideally you two would cuddle up as close as you could be without being under each other’s skin (though they might actually prefer that). They would be happy with being the big or little spoon, too. Being curled around you makes them feel like they’re protecting you, like you want them to protect you, and they love feeling every line and curve of your body under theirs. But they would also delight in being wrapped in your arms, feeling your comforting weight around them, your breath against their back, letting themself be vulnerable to you.

It would probably take a couple nights before they get any actual rest in that bed. They’ll relish every second.

Waking up to you feels like a dream, and they always have breakfast delivered to the room so they can watch you lounge about, all rumpled and sleepy as you lazily nibble at the bites they hold to your mouth (so different from the frenzied way you used to gorge yourself, like you thought it might be taken from you and you weren’t sure when you’d get more. Monty intends to hunt down every last person that made you feel that way, and they’ve already made good progress).

They can, and do, spend hours upon hours just watching you- basking in a sunbeam on their sofa, napping in bed, exploring their vast estate- they’re basically always with you even when you don’t know it. The only time you two are apart is when they have to take care of business in person, which is pretty rare but still crushes their soul each time it happens.

But it’s necessary, in their mind, to keep you removed from all the sickness and violence in the world; they’re well-versed in dealing with violence, as they know you are too, and the thought of exposing you to anything of the sort is nauseating. They have a need to protect you from that darkness, to ensure that you never feel even a fraction of the way you’ve felt your whole life. And they do just that.

And, as long as you’ll let them (even if you won’t), they always will.

thanks so much for reading! feel free to send a request <3

check my pinned post~

[sophiesephy]

( This is my first attempt at a Twisted Wonderland oneshot, please be kind. I am very attached to the Octavinelle boys and out of them I just want to protect Azul so much UwU. He is such a bb. He is such a vocal character who weaponizes words so much so its interesting if he is a mess when flustered )

Twisted Wonderland Headcannons/Scenarios One-Shot )

The Silver Tongued Azul

Azul Ashengrotto x Reader

Azul is quite aware his reputation is known around campus. But his feelings towards you had not been made known.

He would speak to you with full courteousness as if you were a client or customer to the Mostro Lounge.

When he would do something nicer to you than he would to any regular customer, he'd brush up on you being a valued patron. Everything should be according to plan. You should have no suspicions of his feelings. He gave his invitations to the Mostro Lounge under the guise of free drinks and food for being a good Prefect to the Octavinelle students.

For every slip of his tongue when said anything sweet, he'd have Floyd and Jade backing him to talk.

Until one day, he decided to give you an offer you could never refuse.

He will order Jade and Floyd to go retrieve you. Of course to you it looked more like kidnapping but let us not fuss too much details.

As extra Azul is with himself and his standards, he ascertained that he will be a little bit more extra with you tonight.

The finest silverwares and the best dishes Floyd could cook.

Mostro Lounge was already an underwater grotto of opulence but tonight was far different.

Floyd and Jade promised the housewarden their support but not their best behavior, not making any promises they won't tease.

—-

Azul sat across you and asked you if the decorations were to your liking and some chatter.

From a distance behind you, he'd secretly have Jade and Floyd have cue cards to aid him with the script he so painstakingly wrote weeks beforehand. He made countermeasures to never miss a word.

"It is a pleasure that you could accompany me in this beautiful evening. I, Azul Ashengrotto, have something to proclaim to you as a frequent visitor of our Mostro Lounge today. "

Every inflection of his speech was perfect. His attention towards you never left. And he made a move to change where he sat, moving confidently to sit next you.

" I, Azul Ashegrotto, would like to say that I… "

Subtly eyeing Jade's cue card, it read out those final three words 'I love you' but it proved much different for Azul to say it.

".... I… I…"

In the middle of his perfectly woven speech, his mind stopped at the sight of your eyes on him. In front of you, he was confused and in awe of your beauty at the same time.

But now his insecurities are flaring up and resurfacing once more. It was that utter fear of being rejected once more.

'What if I become that fat crybaby octopus again and she leaves me…? '

What if all these planning just falls to nothing" his nails dug on the cushion of the leather sofa.

The Azul, who was ever so eloquent and always silver tongued to persuade anyone into anything, is now wordless and internally hyperventilating in your presence.

He was always one who wants to impress you with the grandiosity of his preparation but he is becoming his awkward self once more.

"Didn't he memorize everything he is going to say, he's totally blowing it and turning into baby Azul." Floyd felt tears burning his eyes from stifling his laughter while Jade did the same but tried to cover his mouth primly with a gloved hand,yet losing it too.

Even Jade was interrupted by his attempt of hiding his laugh "Floyd, it is– (laugh) " "impolite of us to laugh at Azul's– (laugh) – blunder. "

You, a magicless and mortal human, have rendered Azul tongue-tied. His face was an interesting red hue, profusely blushing. If he could just crawl into an octopus pot right now he would. Actually thats what he thought. 'SOMEBODY HELP ME! I WANT TO CRAW INSIDE AN OCTOPUS POT RIGHT NOW AND CRY'

He did think everything through but never accounted his sudden flustered feelings with you this close.

Lucky he had drank his potion and in human form right now but if he was in octopus form, he would be spewing ink already. He could imagine it in his head.

"Yuu… I.. I.. I.. " each word was said in

jitters.

Normally it would be him referring to others as a poor unfortunate thing but right now, its what you would call him as you mentally facepalmed.

It ended with you speaking first to help him. The most merciful thing you could do to ease his mental torture.

"I… Already knew what you felt about me, Azul. " Your hand felt on top of his to stop his shaking.

'But how could you know… ? I took every measure for you not to know only up to this day'.

One touch sufficed to return him to the surface when he thought he was sinking back to the sea.

"You did?" His baby blue eyes blinked in confusion.

"Hm-mm. " You nodded in affirmation. You gave him the simplest answer with no explanation needed. "I always knew"

"But what do you feel about me?

Do you… Like me..?"

Slightly breathy was his voice as if one about to cry when he gave your hand a squeeze . Your answer being the thing he would hold on whether he'd have to feel rejected again just like his entire childhood.

You did not admit, you were nervous as he was but your answer was what he needed right now.

It gave you strength to reply with the softest voice to make the scared inner Azul come out of the octopus pot.

"I do. I really like you… For such a long time now"

Your words even caught the attention of the twins who watched, who stopped laughing. Honestly they had already mentally planned a pity party in the scenario Azul does get rejected. But they trusted Azul.

If anything, they trusted you more with Azul.

The jitterniess inside Azul disappeared and made the silver haired man clear his throat. "How embarrassing of you to see that but allow me to ask you, properly. Can I start from the beginning?"

You chortled. "Of course. "

—

Though impeccable he is with his words most of the time, to you, he is suddenly a bumbling mess who needs more time before he would return to his eloquent self.

But now, there it was.

Words were flowing out of his mouth like calm waters.

You two spoke for hours and felt relieved as Azul is himself again. You still had to admit, you loved his nervous awkward self too.

—

Repoising himself, Azul began again. There was a little quiver in his voice yet he recovered it immediately

"I, Azul Ashengrotto, would like to ask you

a proposition" In his effort to impress you, It was funny he spoke like it was one of his deals with a student. "I cordially invite you to the Mostro Lounge anytime. And more than just a guest but…

Dramatically he took in a breath.

Bringing your hand closer to his lips, he bowed his head and looked over at you from his lashes. "Would you give me the honor of being your date again the next time you visit?"

"I would love that" quietly you were in gratitude the dim lighting hid how pink your face were.

" If ever you need help in anything.

You know where to find me. I am more than willing to help you get your dreams. "

"Is this another one of your shady deals?" You raise your brow at him jokingly, remembering this was the case with the Anemone incident.

"I promise it won't be. "

Azul teased back, his gloved hand moving over to stroke your cheek. When he realized his action, he faked a cough and withdrew his hand.

With a snap of his finger, he summoned his vice housewarden who appeared as if he wasn't just laughing earlier. "You made quite an entertainment earlier but I'd say you did quite a performance in the end. " He spoke in lower volume to whisper.

"Awww I surely thought you'll turn into baby Azul again. " Floyd suddenly appeared behind Jade.

You were not in any way startled by the twins and just chuckled.

"Oh shut up. " Covering his mouth with a fist, Azul coughed to redirect their attention

"Jade, Floyd, can you please make a record to have Yuu exempted from the point card system. If she ever enters the Mostro Lounge, redirect her to my office and notify me. "

"Yes, sir" Floyd and Jade both had sly smiles.

Azul from the corner of his eye, sighed and shooed them away. "Can you two please allow me some privacy 'this time'?"

He gritted his teeth a bit and verbally emphasized the last part.

"Oh we'll allow you some privacy alright~~"

"Just summon us if you both need our help and some 'protection' "

Azul thought he couldn't get any redder so he chided them away. You admitted it took you a while to get Jade's joke before it hit you and had you blushing as well.

The two scurried off from the dating area to no longer spy at him there. But probably from the security cameras.

" Those two are unsufferable. " An exasperated Azul massaged his temples.

"I think they are lovely for supporting you. " You said.

"Anyways, where were we?"

"A date. "

—

[bookwormscififan]

Shopping

Read on AO3!

A/N: I had this visual of Mad just clinging to Mare's arm while they're out shopping and... this happened.

Mad frowned, clinging tightly to Mare’s arm as he led him through the store, hesitantly pointing out certain items that caught his attention and pressing his face into Mare’s shoulder when he put them in the cart.

“You don’t have to buy everything I point out,” Mad mumbled, face red and holding Mare’s arm tighter as he placed a small potted plant into the cart. “I just think they’re pretty, not that we should buy them.”

“We can fit these in the house, dear,” Mare replied with a laugh, adjusting so Mad wasn’t cutting off circulation in his arm. “I’ll be more worried when we actually get to the furniture.” As he spoke, he tossed a couple packets of paper towels into the cart, then turned his head to kiss the top of Mad’s head before heading for the registers.

--

“Mare, I really don’t think we need anymore furniture,” Mad protested as they walked into the shop, still holding Mare’s arm tightly and staying close to his side.

“Mad, our couch feels like a wooden bench. That is not comfortable for either of us.” Mad relented with a pout, blushing furiously when Mare turned around and kissed him, frown disappearing as he hid his face in Mare’s shirt.

He stood with his mouth agape as Mare looked at a blue sofa, taking in the suede covering and the width of the item, lifting a hand to bite his nail as Mare checked the measurements. When Mare took his free hand, Mad allowed himself to be led to the sofa, stiffly sitting on it and watching with wide eyes as Mare sat beside him.

“This seems comfortable,” Mare commented, standing and moving to sit on the lounge part of the chair, facing Mad and running his hand over the fabric. “Soft, too.”

“I like this,” Mad agreed, freezing when Mare leaned closer, running his fingers along Mad’s jaw before pulling him forward by his chin to kiss him. Mad’s eyes fluttered closed, losing himself in the feel of Mare’s mouth on his, humming when Mare slipped his tongue in to deepen the kiss.

“W-Wait,” he let out in a rush, pulling away from Mare and shaking his head. “We’re in a public place.” He furrowed his brow when Mare smiled, hand still on his chin.

“We’re just kissing, love,” he whispered, then leaned forward, free hand supporting himself on the cushion beside Mad as he smirked against Mad’s lips. “There aren’t any rules against making out on a sofa we’re looking to buy.” With that comment, he kissed Mad again, smiling when Mad allowed him to slip his tongue in this time.

“Excuse me, sirs,” They parted at the sound of the flustered worker’s voice, Mare rolling his eyes and Mad ducking down to hide his red face in Mare’s shirt. “We have… rules against sitting on the furniture too long. Unless you’re going to buy—”

“We are buying it,” Mare interrupted, climbing off the sofa and gently guiding the worker to the orders desk. “How soon can you deliver it to this address?”

--

“Stop hyperventilating, Mad, nothing bad happened!” Mare laughed as he drove them home, glancing at Mad before patting his knee. “But as soon as we’ve put away our shopping, I’d love to continue that make out session,” he teased, laughing again when Mad grabbed his hand and entwined their fingers.

------

@iamvegorott @brokentimewatch

[nightmarebeforechtistmas]

“I’ll take care of you, Alex.”

“It’s rotten work.” Here they pause as silence engulfs the two of them. Their heart thud thudding in their ears as they wait. For Aiden to agree and finally leave as they’ve been predicting for months now, or for the flippant dismissal of how it’s no work at all. A statement that will sit, hallow and ringing in their head for the next week, but won’t settle solid in their bones ever. Looking up they catch Aiden’s gaze, gentle and focused on them.

“You’re right,” He says. A lump forms in their throat and they’re chewing on their cheek to keep tears at bay. Finally, finally he has agreed and now he’s going to leave. “It’s no fun getting up at 2 am to drive you to an emergency room and wait there for four hours before getting told to go home. I don’t enjoy cleaning a massive pile of dishes in the sink because you’re struggling to get out of bed, much less do dishes. There’s nothing enjoyable in talking you through an anxiety spell that’s got you barfing in the toilet and trying to not do the same at all the sounds. I can’t say it’s exactly fun.”

They look to their hands then. Chapped with bloody cuticles, nails chewed to the quick. They clench them white knuckle tight, to hide the trembling as they await the final goodbye.

Instead, the couch cushions sink under them as Aiden scoots closer, the foam redistributing its upward force for the new weight distribution. An elbow playfully nudges them.

“But I’m still here. And I will be still here the next time you expect me to leave as well. Because if I’m not who’s going to ask the nurse to switch the tv channel to fake Jeapordy or know that the easiest way to get you to stop spiraling is to debate 90s grunge song lyrics.”

“So, pity.” The word tastes bitter and sterile, a mouthful of disinfectant.

“Like Hell. Pity is giving you the last Poptart because you’ve been whining about not having any sugar all day. Pity does not cause me to stop work in the middle of the day to talk you down when you’re hyperventilating and sobbing.”

“Then why are you here? I’m just a burden!”

“Sure, but so is everyone else, Flibgibet.” They stared at Aiden then, their face scrunching in incredulity at the nonsense word. Their friend fought back a smile, eyes gleaming and body leaning in like he’d just told the best inside joke. Laughter broke the silence this time. “Everyone is a burden and everyone is work. Socializing is hard. We don’t choose friends cause they’re easy, but cause it’d suck to live without them.”

“But I have to be harder than everyone else.”

“Ah, shooting for first place. Just like usual.” They glared then. Aiden shrugged and leaned back into the couch. “Sure, if that’s what you want me to say, then sure. You’re more work than everyone else. Happy?”

“Why do you stay?”

“Because it would suck not to have you around and I’m not looking for someone else who is you that is not you. No one else has the same way of rambling on about video games like you. And no one else has the same love for 3 legged cats that you do or is able bring such creepy scifi monsters to life with some bolts and rods and raspberry pies. Because I’d rather be sitting with you, crusty eyed from lack of sleep, getting sent home by the doctor with a handful of pills rather than sitting alone wondering if this time it’ll be something more serious. Because you’re my friend and I love you.”

“Really?”

“Really. Yours is the work I want to do, it doesn’t always have to be fun, but I would rather be here. I choose your work, not someone else’s.”

[yandere-mha]

Mommy kink dabi with a lactating motherly darling pls

I... got carried away with this lmao. 

TW: KIDNAPPING, PREGNANCY KINK, SMUT, MOMMY KINK, LACTATION, MASTURBATION AHEAD.

MAJOR MANGA SPOILERS AHEAD.

READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.

As you laid with your back on the luxurious couch cushions, one hand on your swollen belly and the other splayed to the side, you were deep in thought of how this could have possibly happened. Being only 16 weeks pregnant, your belly was not very large yet, but you were beginning to take notice of some of the more common side effects of pregnancy. Not only had you become extremely moody within the past week, but it seemed like you were constantly horny. Unfortunately, you couldn’t ask for assistance with this kind of thing in the fear of Dabi leaving red marks and bruises all over your body again. He hadn’t done anything like this since he first found out that you were pregnant, in fact he hadn’t even touched anything besides your belly, but you needed to protect your baby at all costs and you didn’t know what he was capable of.

Since he found out the news, he had become a whole other level of unhinged that frightened you to the core. His mother complex was at an all-time high, constantly referring to you as “mommy” and he seemed to hail the baby inside of you as some upcoming messiah. You would constantly awaken in the middle of the night to find him laying in between your thighs with both hands on your stomach, pressing his mouth on to your now exposed belly button and mumbling about all of the things “his creation” will accomplish. That was the main name he’d call his child and it left a bad taste in your mouth. a few days ago, he had felt the baby moving around in your stomach and now it seemed that his hands always had to be glued to you. It drove you nuts but you could never say that to him in fear of him hurting you and the baby.

Moments like these alone were few and far in between and you drank in every second of it. You hadn’t touched yourself in so long you felt like you’d burst from the tension. Coyly, you slowly push your stretched sweatpants out of the way and poke your finger through your underwear to your swollen clit and start to rub in small, slow circles. You close your eyes and try to imagine you’re somewhere else when you hear the door slam so hard that the walls of your shared room trembled. 

With a gasp, you rip your hand away from your underwear and hold them both up to your face with exposed palms as if it was a police officer who’d just knocked down the door Kool-Aid Man style. Dabi’s eyes are locked on to your form in a menacing scowl, the corners of his mouth slightly pulled down on his staples with a furrowed brow and eyes wide with insanity.

You both stare at each other without moving as if he were a T-Rex that could sense any motion. After a few very long seconds of deafening silence, you whisper “To-” 

“Don’t you fucking call me that” He snarls.

Slience.

“You think I’m ugly?” He grunts.

“... wha’?” 

“Don’t play dumb, y/n, or I’ll burn you.”

You swear you could never figure this guy out no matter how long you lived with him. He would always do this kind of thing and sometimes you thought he was looking for things to be angry about.

He slowly walks over to you in slow, menacing steps and looks down at you, eyes squinted and searching your dumbfounded expression. He luckily seemed to relax a bit.

“Maybe you are just dumb.” He said with a sneer.

He watched as you curled into yourself and scrunch your eyebrows, obviously insulted by his harsh tone.

“Don’t give me the puppy dog eyes, babe, I prefer you nice and stupid. It’s cute.”

More silence. His brows furrow again.

“If you keep rejecting me like this you’re gonna hurt my feelings. You wouldn’t want that, right? You’re so sweet.”

You have no idea what he’s talking about. Never once had you rejected him, he just never asked to touch you. In all honesty you would clearly be able to tell when he was in the mood by the way that he’d stare at you. You just pretended not to notice. It was annoying how he expected you to be a mind reader.

Suddenly Dabi roughly grasps your ankle that’s propped up on the sofa handle and yanks your body so that you’re forced to sit up and face him. For someone who usually treats you like glass, he sure is rough with you once he gets excited.

He then gently places both of his hands on your belly and begins to briskly rub circles under your shirt, sloppily kissing your exposed skin. He wastes no time in tugging you shirt up with one hand while he begins to pull down your pants with the other. After struggling with your pant legs while kissing your chest, he pulls his face away from your cleavage to notice a small darkened splotch on your bra. He pauses his frenzied movements and apprehensively unhooks your bra to reveal a white fluid seeping out of your nipple.

“Is something wrong?” You inquire.

He doesn’t respond as he squints his eyes and experimentally swipes the pad of his pointer finger over the liquid and places that finger into his mouth. There’s a visible, adoring light that turns on in his eyes as he registers what it must be. A soft smile stretches on his split lips.

“You’re leaking, mommy.” he croaks. He adores you. You’re really a mom now.

“Let me help.” There’s almost no warning as he roughly squeezes your breast, causing more milk to flow out, latching his leather-like lips onto your areola, suckling your nipple between his tongue and top row of his teeth as if he hadn’t drank anything for weeks. 

Your sharp gasps only encourage him to continue with more desperation as he starts to slip out of reality. His breathing is comparable to that of an enraged bull as he pushes your chest down further into the cushion.

You are at a loss for words as your fully clothed captor ravages your partially nude body. You feel yourself get slick with arousal as you wrap your legs around his hips in an attempt to wordlessly let him know of your neglected state. Luckily for you, he takes notice of this and eagerly shoves a hand down your soaked panties while the other continues its death-clench on your abused tit and rapidly moves his hand up and down your slit, forcing a whimper out of your gaping mouth and causing your body to spasm each time he hits your clit.

As he finally comes up for air, he takes a deep inhale of air and starts the same assault on your other breast, gripping your skin so tightly that you were sure you’d be left with finger-sized bruises.

Without warning, he shoves two long fingers up your pussy as far as possible. A gasp comes deep from within your rib cage and out of your mouth as tears of pain drip down your flushed cheek from the corner of your eye. Dabi interprets your shock as pleasure, egging him on to briskly move his finger up and down your hole.

“s-s...st-...Dabi... please stop!” you’re hyperventilating, fat tears pouring down your cheeks.

Dabi halts immediately, slowly releasing his mouth from your now swollen nipple as a string of saliva connects his mouth to your bud until it breaks off as he looks up at you with twinkling, adoring eyes.

“You okay, mommy?” he whispers.

You can’t find it within yourself to respond as he raises his hands above your bare shoulders to dig his nails into the cushion beside both sides of your head, threatening to rip the material. His eyes go wide with mania as he licks your tears off of your face.

He gently releases his nails from the sofa, unbuttons his pants, slips them off of each of his legs, and tenderly wraps his arms around your torso, pulling your bloated midsection against his body, and shifting you back down to a side-laying position on the cushions to share the space with him. He wraps one of his bare, scarred legs over one of your thighs and he pushes the other in between your legs as he continues to cling to your back. You can feel his erection stabbing into your belly as he presses little kisses all over your neck.

“Tell me you love me.” he says, rocking his hips back and forth.

[amethystpath-writes]

A Lesson Learned

(NOT A PROMPT)

Hello :) Could you write a piece where the extremely flirtatious villain notices that the hero isn’t taking care of themselves and tries to get them to and promises not to do anything (capture them, etc), but (surprise!) then they do? Haha sorry if it’s a bit specific, adore your writing!

******

“Why, doll,” Villain cooed from behind the bench which Hero sat upon. The bench was old, wood in the process of rotting. Speaking of rot- Villain rounded the park bench, coming face to face with that once-handsome, now-perished face. “Don’t you just look like you sprang from Hell? Yeesh.”

Hero shrugged, not even caring that Villain was here to taunt him yet again- to pick at him with compliments. Usually, anyways. Now, she was insulting him. Did he really look that out of it? Hero felt like it, so it shouldn’t have been so surprising to him. “Don’t feel great- get out of here.”

“And do what? I’d miss the grumble in your voice too much. Come now, my dear, tell me what has that pretty hair of yours so tangled.” Villain’s hand grazed the locks atop Hero’s head, fingers skimming his scalp. She hummed her delight. “How pretty,” Villain whispered into Hero’s ear. “Even if it is greasy.”

“Look, I’m really not in the mood for this.”

Good God, what is that stench? Villain could gag- not could; Villain did gag on the smell. “When was the last time you showered, sugar?” Hero certainly didn’t smell like sugar, but it was in Villain’s nature to shoot a flirt at him anyways.

“Don’t know. Would you get your hand out of my hair?”

“You don’t know?” Villain sighed, dropping her hand and rounding the bench until she came to the front, facing Hero and his abnormally large eye sacks. “Oh, darling…” you have jellyfish beneath your eyes. “You should take better care of yourself. I could help you, you know?”

Hero’s eyes grew as wide as they could with eyelids made of lead. “Help me do what? Bathe?”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind helping you do that- think of how close we would be, my sweet doll.” She sat beside the broken-beyond-repair hero, dragging a fingertip along his dirtied pants. Villain sighed, slightly bored of this game of chess. Her flirtations were slipping away like a wet bar of soap. What an ironic comparison.

Villain said, “What I meant is this; I’ll give your handsomeness a break- or your ugliness, rather. You need to regain your looks, hence the break.”

Ignoring the insult, Hero said, dead-panned, “And I’m supposed to believe you.” A soft tut.

“Have I given you any reason not to? On this pretty night?”

“Beyond the not-so-subtle insults,” Hero thought aloud, and finished with, “I guess not.”

With a scoff, Villain said, “I wouldn’t call those insults. I could have said much worse- and anyways, you know I’m a tease. I feel even more concerned that you’ve forgotten such a vital detail about me. More reason to leave you alone. Right, my love?”

“I still don’t know if I believe you.”

“Why would it matter what I did or didn’t do when you don’t even care to look after yourself?”

She makes a good point. Still… “What would you do then?” Hero didn’t particularly care to have this conversation right now, but- well, he was a hero. Even if he were too exhausted to take care of himself, it was still his responsibility to protect the people. Just because Villain was saying she’d leave Hero alone didn’t mean she’d leave the citizens alone.

“What would I do? Sulk, mostly. I’d miss your pretty little face while I sat alone on my couch.”

“Right. Because I always sit on a couch with you.”

“There’s a taste of that precious fire. You’re beautiful when you’re sarcastic- and healthy.”

Hero sighed. It didn’t matter what he said, did it? He could tell Villain she looked like a horse’s rear-end mixed with a jackal’s paw and she’d continue sticking around. “You said you’d give me a break.” Of course, Hero still didn’t believe Villain’s words. It was her one and only nature to torment him with pointless compliments- and harmful insults apparently.

As if I didn’t already know I look like crap. I’m tired; that’s all. No motivation to do anything but sit on the park bench. He didn’t even feel like getting up to stretch his legs, despite knowing it needed to be done. Hero would rather deal with the aches of standing than to be forced into using so much energy while sitting. How draining it was- standing up from his position now. That’s why he stayed put, even with Villain’s hand circling in his hair once again.

This time, the hand in Hero’s hair was actually soothing. The tender scrape of Villain’s nails against his scalp. The gentle pull through the hair as her fingers caught on tangles, though the larger knots were a tad painful. Hero hummed his delight at the two former feelings, finding himself leaning into the arm which offered such relief.

On a regular day, one not so adorned with absent motivation and sourness, Hero would have slapped Villain’s hand away- would have told her to go find a dog in the park to pet. Naturally, he would have regretted saying it, thinking that Villain might claw its eyes out instead of petting it. Okay, maybe she wouldn’t do something that serious, but she might have stepped on a puppy’s tail, making it screech- if only to horrify the owner.

“Isn’t this a nice break, sugar?” Villain asked, but, of course, there was more to it than this scalp massage. When Hero fell asleep, with his head on Villain’s shoulder, she would give herself a break- not him.

******

Eyes still closed from having just woken up, Hero pulled his shoulder back against the hard- hard? I thought I was in- His eyes cracked open.

White ceiling. Or, mostly white, at least. There was some water damage that Hero could see even through his blurry and freshly woken eyes. The yellow and orange stains did not belong on his ceiling.

He shifted slightly, body still stiff, but he wasn’t willing to stretch yet- just in case there was…a certain someone…paying attention. Damn Villain, Hero thought, because who else’s home could he be in if it weren’t his own?

It was with this thought in mind that Hero sat up. No use in lounging around. Better off to find a way out before Villain-

“Nice to see those starlit eyes of yours.”

Great. Turning his head, he saw Villain casually sprawled across a couch.

Well, one thing was for certain; Hero had the motivation to get up and run again. At least he could thank Villain for something, even if it were simply the desire to escape.

Sitting up, slowly and stiffly, Hero said, “A break. You were supposed to give me a break. It’s what you said, what you told me you’d do. You would give me a break to take care of myself and you would sulk.”

He could almost imagine Villain’s voice answering with an easy lull, ‘I didn’t say what the break would entail, love.’ Love. Darling. Doll. My dear. Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting.

“I gave you a break. Two of them, if we’re being technical. The massage and the shelter. Actually,” Villain smiled at him from her couch cushion, eyes closing just slightly as her cheeks gathered higher and higher. “I might call it liberation- instead of a break. Infinite freedom versus periods of mass depression and showerless nights.”

Hero felt his jaw tick. “What are you talking about?” he asked, voice low- just the way Villain liked.

He wasn’t helping his case any, now, was he? Being all cutesy. It only allowed Villain to enjoy this whole situation more.

“You wake up in your stalker’s home and don’t even think to check your body for modifications? What a pity you are sometimes,” Villain giggled. She meant it as a compliment; it was her way of calling the hero cute and favourable.

Stalker. Well, Villain might as well have been considered as such. She showed up just about everywhere Hero was, only to hold hostages for no other reason than to have control over someone, to hear the fear in their high whines- and to see the fear glistening low in their eyes. Villain was wicked, and she was wicked always in Hero’s presence. Stalker- maybe that’s what the news would start calling her if they, or Hero, ever managed to stop Villain.

Villain grew impatient with Hero’s procrastination of observation. “Explore yourself, won’t you?”

And Hero did now. He looked down his arms, torso, legs, anything that was in his perspective, but there was nothing out of the ordinary, except- “Do not tell me you actually washed me.” His arms were speck and dead-skin cleaned.

“A wet rag against your arms and legs, nothing else.”

Hero simply took her word for it, trying not to imagine how he’d feel if she were lying. How horrendous.

Then what is it? Nothing- absolutely nothing- was irregular, so why was Villain going on about…Hero’s fingers skimmed something along his neck- one of the few things he couldn’t see with his own eyes.

No…no. Not just along his neck. There was something inside of Hero’s neck. “What did you do to me?” His voice came out as a horrifyingly quiet whisper, one that squeaked in the back of his throat.

“You wouldn’t take care of yourself, Hero. I had to step in.”

“I don’t- no. No. Whatever you’re doing, you- you need to- I need to go home. I need you to stay away from me and I need- I need-” Oh no. Was he hyperventilating? He couldn’t- God, he couldn’t breathe. Hero was panicking, scratching at his neck, at the irregular shaped lumps. Get out. Get. Out. Getout. Getout. Getoutgetoutgetoutgetout.

A gasp sounded in the room as Hero’s head hit the ground, trying to dodge the zap that occurred at the front of his throat, right where he was scratching so madly.

“Well, I guess that’s a lesson learned rather quickly. Darling, you didn’t even know what those were, and yet you were trying to rip them out. It might have killed you.”

“Uhah.”

Villain quirked her head to the side. “Didn’t get that, sorry. Must have fried your vocal cords- better that than you build up a bunch of infectious bacteria.” Truth be told, the zap wasn’t so bad that it would permanently damage Hero- only give him little tics and make him fret.

“You’ll be so very happy that I took that rag over your skin- otherwise you’d have woken up to your own stench while I was injecting the little stun rods. That would have been difficult,” Villain laughed, legs extending until they laid on the arm of the couch.

“Now,” Villain piped, “there is an outfit laid out in the bathroom- down this hall here”- she pointed- “and second door to the right. Get a shower, bath, whatever you want, and get dressed. I have plans and I’m not leaving you here alone.”

Swerving her legs over the arm- despite having just put them there- Villain planted her feet on the ground and placed her elbows near her knees, leaning forward, all amount of humour aside. “I’m the only one who gets to torment you, you hear me? Not even you have my permission to do harm to yourself or otherwise slack in personal healthcare. If you are in any kind of bad condition, it will be because I allowed it. M’kay?”

She stood, walked several paces to where Hero still sat on the floor and patted his cheek. “I’m making myself food before we leave and while you take a shower. Don’t disappoint me by trying to escape, my dove. You’re in my cage now.” Villain gave Hero a tap on the head as she pulled a remote control out of her pocket with her other hand. For extra measure, she held one of the buttons for three seconds, sending Hero onto his back once again, writhing on the floor- though avoiding scratching his neck.

A lesson learned indeed.

“Believe it or not, I do intend to be kind to you. I just wanted to show you what happens if you decide you’re not worth taking care of again.”

One last click of the button and she was gone, leaving a panting hero behind in the dust.

[bellakitse]

The one I can’t live without

“Am I okay?” he hisses like a rattlesnake. “My boyfriend just took a swan dive off a four-story building with an asshole with a gun. What do you think, Carlos? Does that sound okay?”

Carlos does something reckless at work upsetting TK.

Written for @911lonestarangstweek - Day 1: Emotional whump + “How do we fix this?”

In hindsight, Carlos probably shouldn’t have been so flippant in the sight of TK’s worry.

He’s running on adrenaline. They’re in the middle of a standoff on the roof of a four-story apartment building with him between an erratic gunman on the ledge and his girlfriend. He’s trying to talk the man into lowering his gun when his radio goes live, letting him know the rescue cushion has been inflated below them, and he cringes as it causes the man before him to lose the last bit of grip he has on the situation. He doesn’t stop to think; he sees the man’s trigger finger start to pull back, and Carlos rushes forward, his arms going around the guy’s waist. Next thing Carlos knows, they’re in the air freefalling before landing on the giant cushion.

Screaming and orders are being shouted as he rolls off the cushion with his arms still around the man. He lets him go to grab his cuffs before standing him up and passing him over to his partner, finding a look of exasperation on her face.

“You’re either the bravest or dumbest son of a bitch I know, Reyes,” she says with a shake of her head before tilting it in the direction of a series of first responder vehicles. “Get your ass over there to make sure you still have your brains in the right place, though after this stunt, I have to wonder.”

Carlos rolls his eyes but does what she says, starting to make his way over to the paramedics.

“By the way,” she calls out, causing him to look back at her. “Your man is over there spitting nails.”

Carlos winces, just now noticing the number on one of the rigs. He continues walking over, feeling dread as he spots Paul and Judd and sees the pitying looks on their faces as he passes them. He sees Tommy and Nancy first. They seem to be forming a barrier with their bodies, and he quickly realizes it’s because TK is behind them, sitting on the edge of their rig with his head between his knees, taking in deep breaths.

“Baby, are you okay?” he asks, concerned, stepping around them only to step back when TK snaps his head up to look at him, his green eyes flashing.

“Am I okay?” he hisses like a rattlesnake. “My boyfriend just took a swan dive off a four-story building with an asshole with a gun. What do you think, Carlos? Does that sound okay?”

“TK – “ he starts to say with what he hopes is a calming voice. It seems to do the exact opposite as TK turns redder, his face twisting into a nasty scowl.

“Of all the reckless, stupid, boneheaded things to do,” he rants. “What were you thinking? Were you even thinking  at all – “

Carlos scoffs, and even though his brain is screaming at him not to continue, he can’t help himself when TK gives him a challenging look at the sound. “That’s a little hypocritical coming from you, don’t you think? Reckless is kind of your trademark.”

He knows it’s the wrong thing to say the second the words are out of his mouth. He expects TK to curse him out if he’s honest. What he isn’t expecting is the flash of hurt he sees cross TK’s face or the way his hand trembles. He feels his stomach drop unpleasantly as TK’s eyes shine wet, and he’s more than ready to apologize when TK turns towards his Captain.

“Captain Vega,” he starts, his voice shaking slightly. “If you would please check Officer Reyes over. I’ll go check on the girlfriend and make sure she’s okay.”

He notices Tommy look over at him, but his focus is on TK and how he won’t look at him anymore.

“Sure, TK,” Tommy answers kindly, her voice motherly the way he’s heard it at times with both her people. “Nancy, go with him.”

“You got it, Cap,” Nancy answers, putting herself on the side of TK to act as a barrier once again when they pass him. He thinks of reaching for TK anyway, but the glare Nancy gives him as she walks by stops him in his place. Instead, he watches them walk away, his dread growing with every step TK takes away from him.

Tommy clears her throat, forcing Carlos to turn back to her. He feels his face go hot at the judging look he finds on her face.

“Well,” she starts to say, letting out a loud breath. “That was an idiotic thing to say, wasn’t it?” she questions bluntly, and Carlos can’t help but cringe before nodding.

Tommy’s expression softens a bit at that. She rolls her eyes at him before waving him forward. “Well, come on, let’s get you checked out,” she motions to where TK had been sitting, probably hyperventilating because Carlos dove off a damn building – fuck he’s an idiot.

“TK might be pissed at you right now, but I guarantee the first thing he’s going to ask when he comes back is if you’re okay. It will go a long way to get you out of the doghouse if I tell him you’re fine. Then you can apologize for the stupid thing you just said when the man that loves you was on the verge of a panic attack over your safety,” she finishes pointedly, making him feel worse if possible.

 ֎֎֎

 He doesn’t get to apologize.

Mitchell comes over to tell him they’re wanted back at the station before TK and Nancy come back to the rig. He goes reluctantly; he knows he has a job to do, but he hates the idea of leaving things unsettled with TK.

Tommy sees his hesitation, her expression softening once more as she gives him a slight shove and lets him know that she’ll tell TK he’s okay. He nods, grateful, and asks her to tell TK if he can please text him, getting a nod back from the medical Captain.

He gets that text he’s waiting for hours later when he’s gotten home. Only it’s not with the message he’s hoping for, whatever that might be. Instead, it reads: ‘Spending the night at my dad’s. I’ll call you.’

Nine simple words that make his stomach clench with unease. He wants to call TK, but his eyes keep falling on the last three words of the text.

‘I’ll call you.’

The message is clear for Carlos to understand. TK doesn’t want him to reach out before he’s ready to talk to him.

He looks at his kitchen, prepped for an apology dinner he had planned of coconut curry ramen, and sighs as he starts putting things away. He loves cooking for TK, having him sit on his counters with a smile on his face as he watches him work, stealing kisses from him after he lets him taste a sauce. It’s not the same as cooking for one anymore.

As a matter of fact, he quickly realizes through the rest of the evening that his apartment isn’t the same without TK. He’s known for a while that his boyfriend spends a lot of time at his place, but Carlos hadn’t realized how much he’d gotten used to it until now that they’re fighting and he’s not there.

He eats cold cereal half-heartedly and then heads upstairs. Usually, he and TK would cuddle on the couch after dinner, only half paying attention to whatever was on tv as they exchange kisses and touches. Not having that tonight, knowing that it’s by his own doing, leaves him feeling despondent. He gets ready for bed, already knowing that it’s going to be a restless night. The only times he sleeps alone these days is when TK has an overnight at work.

He lays in bed feeling agitated and miserable as he turns to face TK’s side of the bed, hating how it’s cold to the touch when he extends his hand to touch the space. He wants to reach out and have his fingertips find his boyfriend’s warm body there.

He falls into a fitful sleep, startling awake when he hears movement in his bedroom. Sitting up, he inhales a sharp breath as he spots a tense TK by the door, the light of the hallway illuminating him. Turning on the bedside lamp, he plays with the covers as they stare at each other, nervous energy crackling between them.

“I’m still pissed at you,” TK finally speaks, his brow pinched. “But I can’t sleep without your arms around me anymore,” he whispers, obviously more upset than angry.

Carlos swallows hard, hating to see TK like this and knowing he’s the cause. “How do I fix this?”

TK lets out a sigh, and pushing his shoes off, comes over to the bed, sitting down on it. “I think the real question is how do we fix this,” he corrects him, giving him a sad smile. “And unfortunately, the answer is there is no real way to fix it. I was so scared for you today because I’m so in love with you, so unless I decide to stop loving you, I’m always going to be scared when you’re in a dangerous situation,” he finishes with a wry chuckle that sounds accepting of his fate. It makes Carlos’ heart break and fills with hope simultaneously.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier,” Carlos whispers. He slowly reaches out, touching his fingertips to the hand TK has resting on the bed, letting out a sigh when TK turns it, taking a firmer hold.

“Yeah, that was dumb,” TK answers dryly, his eyebrow raised in challenge for a moment before he lets out a sigh of his own. “But you weren’t wrong. I have made you worry about me more than once on the job.”

“Yeah,” Carlos breathes out, thinking of TK getting shot, of the minefield and his abduction. Each time Carlos had his heart in his throat, but never did TK dismiss it the way he did today. “I’m sorry,” he says again, letting out a breath when TK’s expression softens.

“I know you are,” TK says softly. He moves, laying back on the bed, his arms open to Carlos.

Carlos doesn’t waste a second. He sinks into TK’s frame, relieved to be back in his embrace, closing his eyes when TK presses a kiss to his forehead.

“We have to be more careful out there,” TK says against his brow. “The both of us.”

Carlos nods in agreement. He thinks back to how lonely his place felt all evening without TK and lets himself voice the thought that has been echoing in his mind all night. “We have someone important waiting for us to come back home in one piece to.”

TK touches his chin, tipping his head up to look him in the eye. “The most important person in my life,” he tells him with a gentle smile, and Carlos knows he’s been forgiven completely.

“The one I can’t live without,” Carlos whispers back, swallowing around the lump in his throat as he takes in the shine in TK’s eyes at his words.

“Yeah, the one I can’t live without,” he whispers back before covering his mouth with his, kissing him gently.

Carlos returns it, deepening it as he grows desperate for more, his hands reaching out under TK’s shirt to touch the warm skin he was yearning for earlier.

TK answers his touch by pulling back long enough to pull the shirt over his head, turning as he rolls Carlos over, covering him with his body, and kissing him thoroughly and deeply. Carlos lets out a whine when TK breaks the kiss, pressing smaller, softer ones over his cheeks and nose as Carlos makes another sound.

“We should sleep,” he says quietly, shaking his head when Carlos protests. “It’s been a long day, it’s late, and you jumped off a building. You can’t tell me you’re not tired.”

Carlos tries to argue only to let out a yawn that makes TK laugh.

“Thought so,” he continues smugly. “Sleep, sweetheart. We can pick this up in the morning.”

“Fine,” Carlos pouts, his eyes already growing heavy, causing TK to chuckle again.

He watches as TK stands to remove his pants before getting back in bed.

“Can I hold you?” he questions nervously.

“Yes, please,” TK breathes out, turning his back to him, letting out a sigh when Carlos throws an arm around him, tucking his face into his neck, breathing in that uniquely TK scent.

“I love you,” he mumbles into the skin, exhaling as TK squeezes his arm.

“I love you too, baby,” he answers, sounding just as tired as Carlos. After their emotional day, it makes sense he’s so worn out.

Carlos closes his eyes, finally relaxing for the first time all day with TK back in his arms.

[maplecornia]

chapter 27

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 1.39K

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: romance | slice of life | fluff | angst | bts x female!reader | ot7

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: so the continuous posting every day has now officially ended now that we have caught up in the story ^^ so be expecting updates every Saturday instead of every day lmao

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: cliffhangers | angst | fluff | slight mentions of self hatred | depression | mental health illness | self harm | occurs in the year 2024 | set in a timeline where BTS went to the military together | slight language

tags: @kookaine | @fangirl125reader | @kookiebbyxx | @taradevonne | @rae-bear |@mangminnie | @pixiekooo

The door opens before you have a chance to turn away.

You don't know why you're so scared, but you do know that being called in to meet the chairman of HYBE entertainment isn't necessarily a good thing. Especially when you haven't even started your first day yet.

Swallowing hard, you step forward, almost wanting to reach out and take Namjoon's hand. If you do, maybe then you have someone to lean on. Someone to help you not feel so afraid. However, his presence behind you offers you more than enough comfort and you take a breath, grateful that you have his moral support.

The door shutting tightly behind the two of you, you raise your eyes to find BangPD sitting at the head of the room, his chin resting on his hands. You pause in the doorway, waiting for his invitation to sit as he regards you with those small thoughtful eyes. Unable to stand the uncomfortable tension, you clear your throat.

"What's going on?" you murmur, your voice weak despite the attempt to strengthen it. BangPD smiles at your question and leans back in his chair, nodding slightly to Namjoon.

"Mrs. Lin, please take a seat." He requests, and Namjoon obliges, placing his hand on the small of your back to lead you to a small sofa set amid the massive office. As he sits you down, he takes your hand in his own before resting on the cushion next to you. Inwardly, you smile, feeling a bit of the fear ebbing away.

"Did I do something wrong?" You inquire, peering up at him as BangPD rests on the cool gray couch opposite of you.

"Of course not." He chuckles at your innocent question before leaning back in the chair and resting his face on his hand. As though he were measuring you up, making sure you fit his standards. You squirm a bit under his gaze, and Namjoon glares at him, his hold on your hand growing subconsciously tighter. "I simply wanted to ask you a question, a proposal if you will."

You bite your lip in nervous anticipation, regarding him with wary eyes. At your silence, his smile grows, and it makes you uncomfortable. Somehow, you know that you are not in control of the situation. Feeling that slip away, you don't know if you'll be able to conduct yourself properly.

After a moment, he leans forward and picks up a remote. He presses a button and a small speaker on the table crackles to life. There's a few moments of static before a voice fills the voice, and your heart pummels to your stomach.

Your voice.

Your blood turning cold, you look up at BangPD with wide eyes.

What is he going to do? Am I fired? Will Jaejin lose his job?

Turning to Namjoon, you try to read his expression, but he's focused solely on the chairman, his expression unreadable.

What does he think? Is he upset with me?

It's not even your first day, and already you're in deeper water than you signed up for.

"I--" you begin, but BangPD pauses the track and leans forward towards you, cutting you off.

"Is this you?" he murmurs. You wonder why he's asking a question, he already knows the answer to. Stunned, you don't answer him, and he smiles once more, leaning back. There's a moment of silence, as the two of you regard each other. One in confusion, the other in amusement.

Biting your bottom lip, you can't help but feel a bit indignant. Why is he playing with you? Is this some kind of game? You don't want to be a piece on his little chessboard.

Before you can open your mouth to respond, Namjoon brushes your cheek, gathering your attention. You flinch before turning to him, but he doesn't look fazed. Instead, his hand tightens around yours, and those solemn eyes bore into yours, calming you without so much as a second glance.

"Yen, you're talented. BangPD thinks so as well."

When he says those words, you can't help but feel a taste of bile rising in your throat. You bite your bottom lip, trying to keep yourself from hyperventilating, but when you see his face pass over Namjoon's kind eyes, it's hard not to. Your hand tightens, nails digging into your palm, as you try to calm yourself down, erase toxic memories that refuse to let you free.

"What?" you murmur, your voice hoarse and terrified.

"Ms. Lin, what I'm about to offer you is something that could drastically affect your life and the future of our company." Turning to the renowned chairman, you can hear the pounding of your heartbeat reverberating in your ears. You don’t notice the flash of remorse across Namjoon’s eyes, nor the way he tightens his jaw as soon as BangPD speaks. "So I want you to seriously consider before responding."

"What are you talking about?" you nearly snap, but he doesn't say anything more, just places a file on the table. He pushes it towards you, and though reluctantly, you draw your hand out of Namjoon's grip, pulling the file into your lap.

You regard BangPD with wary eyes before opening the file.

"What is this?" you murmur, squinting at the neatly printed Korean.

"A contract."

You balk, nearly dropping the papers in your lap as you look up at him. You can feel the fear growing tighter in the pit of your stomach, his voice coming back to haunt you once more. BangPD smiles at your silence, his eyes softening.

"Ms. Lin, I would like to sign you as a trainee. Underneath BigHit entertainment."

Your hand tightening around the document, you swallow hard.

"What?"

Not again, oh God please don't let it happen again.

"Yen, this is your dream isn't it?" Namjoon asks from beside you, his hand resting on your knee, an attempt to calm you down. Namjoon doesn’t know why he’s saying this, shouldn’t he be stopping you? Shouldn’t he be finding reasons so you could say no? But inwardly, he cannot stand to see your face change that way. He can’t stand to see you afraid. His heart aches every time he sees that look in your eyes.

BangPD catches the exchange, his eyes calculating and silent.

Interesting.

"You don't have to make a decision right now." He sighs resting his head on his hand once more. You look up at him, your eyes bare and vulnerable and he squints, intrigued. You may seem like an open book, but Bang Sihyuk can tell that there is more behind your innocence. He wonders if he wants to know what secrets they keep. "I'll give you a week to think it over."

Your mouth turning dry, you try not to show your relief. Maybe after a week, he'll forget. Maybe after a week, you won't be so interesting.

After all, it's not that hard to forget about me.

You try not to be bitter about the thought, but you can't help it. After all, Namjoon was right.

This is your dream.

Looking down at the contract, you grit your teeth as though that would make the lump in your throat disappear.

This was your dream.

So why did he have to ruin it?

After a moment, BangPD nods to Namjoon, and he stands. Tapping you softly on the shoulder, he pulls you up with him, your hands clinging onto the contract as though it were a lifeline. Concerned about your current condition, RM peers into your face. You look up at him with a blank gaze, as though something inside you had been fractured.

His eyes are expectant, waiting for a sign that you won't break down. Smiling weakly, you nod to him, and he grins back before taking you by the arm and guiding you out of the office.

"I want you to know," BangPD calls after you just as Namjoon's hand rests on the doorknob. You turn back to him, confused. He looks up at you from his chair, his hand massaging his temple as he regards you with those small cold calculating eyes. "I believe you have a gift."

You swallow at the words, somehow feeling small and insignificant. At your demeanor, Sihyuk narrows his eyes before sighing and turning away, dismissing you with a final farewell.

"It would be a shame to waste it."

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: what do you think she should do?

chapter 28 here

check the Infinite Stars masterlist for more chapters

check my BTS masterlist for other BTS content

check out my masterlist for other kpop fanfics

[sanders-sides-shit-posts]

Snow Day

TW: Falling off a roof?

Word Count: 745

DRLAMP, platonic/familial

Summary: Snow fell overnight, coating the ground. What are the Sides planning to do?

A/N: This is a Secret Santa for someone (I don't know their Tumblr or I would tag them ;-;). It's short but sweet. Few days late, hopefully y'all like it?

"Virgil! Wake up wake up wake UP!"

Virgil opened his eyes to see an excited Roman bouncing on his bed.

He threw an arm across his face. "What's up, Princey?"

"There's snow on the ground! Like, a lot! Come see out the window!"

Roman dragged him to the window, pointing. Indeed, there was snow. It looked like a fluffy blanket covering the ground.

"Yeah, there's snow. It's pretty, I'll admit that. So what?" Virgil said, turning to head back to bed.

Roman put a hand over his heart. "So what?! We can go out and play in it! Make snow angels, build an igloo,,, We could even ambush Logan with ice down his back!"

Virgil laughed at that. "I suppose we can do that. Just let me wake up first. Are Patton and Logan out there already?" He started making his way to the kitchen.

Roman nodded. "Janus and Remus too! Everyone's all geared up! Just get out there fast, Logan and Remus were plotting something, I think."

Coffee was brewed, snow gear was put on. Virgil and Roman made their way outside, treading through the knee-deep snow.

Virgil looked around, seeing Remus making snow angels with Patton. Roman ran to go join them, flopping down on the snow and laughing. 

"Hey Patton," he shouted, "Where are Janus and Logan?"

Patton shook snow off of his hat and pointed to the roof, where Logan and Janus were stringing up lights.

Virgil smirked, getting an idea.

~~~~~~~~

Janus glanced down, keeping his feet light so he didn't fall. He set down the hammer and nails, peering closer. He noticed Virgil way in the back, doing,,, something. He shook his head, going back to the task at hand.

"Hey, Janus?"

"Yes?"

He turned, just in time to see a snowball promptly hit Logan in the face.

Time seemed to slow as he did a 180 and met Virgil's eyes, another snowball aiming his way.

He screeched as it hit him in the chest, falling backwards off of the roof, snow cushioning his landing.

He lay mostly still, only moving his hands.

~~~~~~~~

Everyone stared in horror as Janus fell off the roof, not moving.

Virgil rushed over, nearly hyperventilating.

"Oh my God! Janus, are you-"

Two hunks of snow hit him on the head.

He looked up, seeing Logan smirking from the roof.

"Payback time."

"SNOWBALL FIGHT!!!"

Remus and Roman came charging through the snow at Patton and Virgil, throwing snowballs every which way.

Remus tackled Virgil, pummeling him in the face with snow, while Roman attacked Patton.

Roman suddenly felt snow shoved down the back of his coat, screeching at the cold. He turned and saw Janus cackling, tears in his eyes, holding his stomach. Roman watched as Logan sneaked up behind him, two hands full of packed snow.

Logan made a "Shh" motion with a hand and Roman nodded, eyes trained on Janus' face.

~~~~~~~

Janus was having the time of his life. He had tears running down his face, treasuring the reaction he got. His face!!

Snow was slammed on his head, getting in his eyes. He turned and saw Logan bolting away.

"You'll pay for this! You owe me Crofters for the next month!" He yelled.

He turned just in time to see Patton sneak-attack Virgil, hitting him with what looked like seven snowballs.

Virgil turned and hissed, shaking the snow off of his body. Patton simply smiled, hiding his hands behind his back. "What's up, Virgil?" he giggled.

Virgil playfully glared at him, slowly backing up. "You know what's up, Dad guy. You know what's up,,," 

~~~~~~~~

Nearly two hours later, the boys tumbled inside, yeeting off their snow gear. Janus and Patton made their way to the kitchen.

The rest all got blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals and piled into the living room. Roman instantly popped Frozen into the DVD player.

As the movie started, Patton came in with a tray of hot cocoa, handing everyone their cup.

"Virgil with whipped cream, Logan with marshmallow fluff, Remus with extra chocolate and mini marshmallows, Roman with peppermint and whipped cream, Janus with cinnamon sticks, and me with a giant marshmallow!"

Janus trailed behind, carefully carrying a big bowl of popcorn, buttered and salted to perfection.

Everyone got fully situated with the popcorn in the middle, cuddling, watching, snacking, and talking to their heart's content.

The snow softly fell outside, covering the tracks of the boys. 

It was a fine snow day indeed.

[starryevermore]

✍🏼 sam + "Whoa. Easy, easy. I've got you."

just breathe

warnings: reader having panic attack (symptoms based on my own experiences with panic attacks)

It felt like all of your nerves were on fire in the worst way possible. Everything was pushing you over the edge, telling you that you weren't safe, that you'd never be safe, that you couldn't just have a nice day. You chest was tight, impossibly tight, and you were so sure that your heart would explode out of it at any moment. It took everything in you to stumble out of your car and into your home, to collapse on your couch and just ride through the panic, through the anxiety.

You weren't sure if you were sobbing or hyperventilating. You couldn't hear anything over the blood pumping in your ears. You curled yourself into a ball, tucking your knees into your chest, burying your face in the cushion. Why did this always happen when things started going right in your life?

"Hey, angel, what do you want for dinner?"

Sam. Oh, Sam. You forgot he was home today, didn't have to go look after his nephews, wasn't on a mission, just home. You tried to quiet yourself, but it only made things worse.

As you gasped for breath, he wandered into the living room. You screwed your eyes shut, trying to will yourself to stop crying, but once you started, it was impossible to stop.

You felt a slight dip in the couch cushion as he knelt down in front of you. "Hey, do you need—"

You jerked away as you felt his hand touch your arm. "Don't touch me!"

God, you felt like a bitch for it. You knew he was just trying to help. But being touched, it made you feel like the flame was engulfing you, like someone was sticking your head under water, like someone was dragging their sharp nails down—you couldn't be touched. Not like this. Not even by the man you loved most.

"What's wrong?" he asked, pulling his hand away.

"Everything, nothing. I-I don't know," you sobbed. "Can't even fucking think."

"That's okay, you don't need to explain. It's okay, I'm here for you."

Slowly, your sobs began to quiet as the panic left you, and you started to sit up, toppling over as you began to feel light-headed.

"Whoa," he said, his voice calm, reaching out to steady you. "Easy, easy. I got you."

"I'm sorry you had to see this," you mumbled as he rose to get onto the couch, enveloping you in his arms.

"Don't you ever feel sorry about feelin' like this, angel. You know I'm always gonna be here for you."

come celebrate with me!

[stevesharrlngtons]

wherever i’m going -- i’m taking you with me.

roman godfrey x reader

summary: you run through roman’s dreams nightly, but this time it’s different. this time it’s an omen where you dawn a white dress with blood pouring for your mouth, your body ripped to shred. and this time peter sees it too.

word count: 3.5k

a/n: kinda short for me, i hope that’s ok! got a couple of other stories in the works tho. but, i really hope you enjoy! 

“I gotta run,” You said as you stood from the couch in the Godfrey’s sitting room. 

Roman let out a childish groan as he deflated into the stiff cushions, lanky limbs melting across the furniture like a Dali clock. 

“No, you don’t. At least stay for one more episode?” 

“I promised I’d have dinner with my mom before she has to go in to work graveyard tonight.” You reply, gathering your discarded sweater and shoes and redressing in them. 

“Come on,” Roman practically whines, reaching out with his foot to hook you around the back of your knee, “One more episode.” 

You turn to give him a reprimanding look, a look that was utterly ineffective as a smile threatened to form on your lips. 

“Shelley, can you please call him off?” You look over your shoulder toward the younger Godfrey, holed up in an armchair with a grin. 

“He’s not used to hearing no.” She typed out and you snort. 

“Some help you are!” Shelley just giggled. 

“Yeah,” Roman pushed himself up with a grunt, quickly snaking his arms around your waist, “I’m not used to hearing no. Let’s not start today, yeah?” 

You looked down at him, his chin resting against your abdomen while he gazed up at you with his most convincing puppy eyes. 

You move your hands to hold his cheeks, squeezing them together causing his lips to pout, “Everyone’s right, you are a brat.” 

You lean down and peck his pursed mouth, “Walk me to my car?”

Roman gives a heavy sigh in defeat, collapsing back into the couch for a moment before begrudgingly getting up, making the movement seem like a great effort. 

“You owe me,” He responds in a grumble. 

“Oh, of course,” You reply dramatically as you walk over and give Shelley a chaste kiss to the forehead in goodbye. 

Roman waits for you by the door for you to finish your farewells with his sister, then leads you outside. 

At your car, you toss your bag through the open window into the passenger seat, then lean against the door to look up at Roman. 

“I think you should just move in here, you’re over enough.” He comments, placing his hands on your hips. 

“I’m sure our mother’s would love that,” You counter swiftly. 

“Fuck my mom,” Roman says, “And yours, well she could finally travel like she’s always wanted.” 

“So what? I’m just the dead weight holding her back?” 

“Oh c’mon, you know I didn’t mean it like that.” Roman sighs, moving closer to you. 

You stay quiet, letting him squirm a bit. You knew he meant nothing by his comment, nothing more than a desperate search for you to agree to his offer. 

“I would, but I’d only be giving into your spoiled-rich-boy complex. I can’t do that. I have to be the one to teach you hard work and perseverance. I want you to turn out to be a well rounded young man.” 

The scowl that overtook Roman’s face made you burst into giggles. 

“Fuck that, and you for saying it.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” You say, giggles dying down as you lean up to give him a kiss. A longer one to appease him, “I’ll call you later, OK?” 

“OK,” Roman says breathlessly to your lips, “Love you.” 

“Love you, too.” And you pulled away from him. 

Parting from Roman was always a five minute process, or longer. Because he would kiss you deeper, and beg for one more, and whisper sweet words and begs for you to stay, trying your resolve each and every time. Tonight was no different. You finally left the Godfrey grounds seven minutes later with swollen lips and the beginning of a love bite on your neck. 

You ran through a field of grass and wildflowers. Looking over your shoulder with a wide smile and echoing giggles. 

“Catch me! Faster! Before I fall! Catch me, Roman!” Your voice carried far and wide. 

The dress you adorned was white, gauzy, and thin. Roman could see the hazy outline of your body beneath the fabric, your soft curves shining through as the sun basked you in it’s buttery glow. The world was saturated in warm tones and smelled like fresh laundry on his skin.

“Please, Ro! Catch me! I’m going to trip!” Your melodic voice begged, as you remained just out of arm's length.

Roman ran as fast as he could, panting and heaving as he tried to keep up with your light feet. His fingers would dust the fabric of your dress, feel the fibers and loose threads on his nails, but he could never get close enough to wrap you his grasp and capture you. He tumbled through the tall grass and felt a distinct tightness in his chest of yearning and fear. He just wanted to reach you. 

As he continued the chase, Roman’s legs began to feel utterly heavy and stiff. A smattering of pins and needles danced under his skin and began to numb his extremities. It felt like he was pushing through water and running through sand. When he looked down to his feet, suddenly he was. He was encased in thick slimy sand and he could barely move. 

“Roman?” Your voice was far away and trembling. 

Roman snapped his head back up to look at you, still in your field of wildflowers and fragile gown. 

“Roman, please, it’s going to happen…” You were suddenly crying, your face streaked with tears that left unforgiving wet trails over your delicate skin. 

“I won’t! I won’t!” Roman calls, trying to dig himself from the swallowing sand. 

“Baby… it hurts,” You whimper and groan and Roman watches as you reach down to clutch your stomach. Your crisp white dress now swathed with red. 

A long, jagged cut marred your abdomen, blood pouring out of you like rushing water. 

“No!” Roman screams, chanting the word until his throat was thick and hoarse.

You hiccup, and heavy currents of dark crimson drip past your lips. Your sputtering as the blood splatters your once spotless face, freckling your draining cheeks as a new outpour of blood furthers to ruin your dress. 

Roman claws at the sand sucking him under, the little particles cutting into his fingers like shards of glass as he continues his tireless efforts to escape. 

He watches as you stare at the blood in question, trying to push it back into your jutting abdomen wound fruitlessly, only managing to push more out. 

“Stay right there, I’m coming! I’m coming!” Roman shouts, but the sand has sucked him down despite his best efforts and is up to his chin. The sun was so bright now, it was beginning to blinding him. 

“No, you’re not.” You say with blood painted lips, teeth slimy with cardinal colors and sickly browns. 

Roman tries to shout again, only for the sand to begin to enter his mouth and fill his lungs, before it engulfs him completely. 

Roman shot awake, slick with sweat and an intense weighing heat covering every inch of his body. 

His eyes stung with unshed tears as he scrambled to reach his phone on his nightstand. It told him it was just after two in the morning before he dials your number. 

With his trembling hand to his ear, he listens to the incessant ring and waits for you to answer. 

But the phone just rings, and rings and rings. And Roman swallows down the bile that raises in his throat as he gets your voicemail. 

He calls back immediately, listening to the endless tone with shallow breaths. Once more, he gets your voicemail. 

“Fuck!” Roman shouts, his voice carrying in the silent bedroom. 

He starts to kick away his blankets and press your contact once more, when his phone buzzes. He doesn’t hesitate to answer. 

“Hello? Baby?” Roman gasps. 

“No, it’s uh, it’s me.” The voice on the other end isn’t yours, but Peter’s. 

“Peter, dear fucking -- did you have it? Did you see her?” Roman asks, his voice frenzied. 

“Yeah, I… I needed to call and see if she was with you. But I guess not.” 

And Roman starts to hyperventilate. He tries to gulp in as much air as he can, but his lungs are tight and constricted with tears and terror. 

“Peter, she’s next. No, no, no, no, no! Fuck! This isn’t happening, this can’t be happening!” Sobs wracked his body as Peter did his best to calm him. 

“Hey, hey! Calm down, alright? She’s probably just fine.” 

Probably, probably, probably. 

But not definitely. 

Roman’s mind began to churn out pictures of your pretty little face on the news next to Brooke Bluebell and Lisa Willoughby. A newscaster reciting your name mournfully and telling the world that you were the latest victim of this horrific animal prowling after young girls in a sleepy Pennsylvania town. 

“She’s not answering, Peter! She’s not fucking answering her phone. She’s not -- fuck!” Roman could barely get the words out. 

Your face in print, the ink smudging and transferring to the pads of Roman’s fingers from the amount of times he strokes your still features. Perfect and frozen in time. The headline saying something about another teen dead. Another beautiful girl with so much potential… torn from the world and limb from limb.

“Calm down, Roman! We need to find her, OK? I’m sure she’s just asleep and didn’t hear her phone. Let’s find her before we have a fuckin’ melt down, yeah?” 

“Yeah, yeah, Ok, yeah.” Roman nods, running a tense hand through his hair. 

“So, why don’t you sit tight and I’ll go over to her house and bring her to you?” 

“No!” Roman shouts, “No! I’m going, she needs me.” 

Roman stands from his bed and rushes around his room to gather any discarded clothing he could find crumpled on the ground or splayed over the back of a chair. 

“Roman, let’s just think about this for a minute. You’re worried, stressed out of your mind, you’re not thinking straight. You’re gonna fuckin’ crash your car if you drive like this.” Peter tries to reason. 

Roman scoffs, “I’m fine.” 

“No, you’re really not,” Peter lets out a humorless chuckle. 

“Yeah, y’know what? You’re right, I’m fucking not,” Roman spits. 

He’s running down the stairs in a mismatched outfit in a search for his car keys, “I’ll be fine when I see she’s OK.” 

Roman hangs up his phone before Peter can argue anymore.

When Roman gets to your house, he doesn't waste time knocking. He just picks up the trick rock in the front flowerpot to retrieve the spar key from inside it, and storms into your house. He barely remembers to shut the door behind him. 

“(Y/N)! Baby!” Roman calls, searching around for any signs of disturbance or foul play. 

He bounds up your staircase, frantically calling for you all the while. When he reaches your bedroom, he plows his way through the door without ceremony. His grip warping the thin gold plated knob, fingers molding into the cheap tin with worried fury.

You shot up from your mattress when Roman burst in with a shriek, clutching your chest as Roman stood dumbfounded in your doorway. 

“Jesus Christ, Roman! What the hell? You just about gave me a heart attack! Fuck,” You let out a loud breath and fell against your pillows, sucking in calming breaths, “What is wrong with you?” 

Overwhelming relief rushed through Roman’s viens as he watched you, annoyed and disgruntled in a sea of sheets and blankets from his entrance.

“Oh my God,” Tears sprang back to his eyes as Roman quickly closed the short distance between himself and your bed and vined his arms around you. 

He blanketed you in his body, crushing you to the mattress as he sobbed into your neck. 

“Whoa, hey, Ro? Baby? What happened? What’s going on?” You asked, anger turning quickly to worry as you moved to wrap your arms around his shaking shoulders. 

His forearms press into the base of your neck and the hollow of your back uncomfortably, arching you into him in an awkward position. But the pain only served as a reminder to Roman that you were real. You’re here and you’re breathing and your bones clash with his and your breath fogs his brain. He couldn’t speak, all he could do was inhale your clean scent and the pattern of your heartbeat. 

“Roman, you’re scaring me. What the hell is going on?” You tried again. 

“Just stay right here. Be safe,” He hushed, nuzzling closer to you, pressing his cold nose to your clavicle. 

A distinct prick of worry and fear made itself known in your gut, but you tried your best to subdue it.

For now.

“Alright, but please just tell me you’re OK?” You whisper, gripping the back of his shoulders tightly. 

“Yeah. And so are you.” 

You woke the next morning with a stabbing pain in your side and with stiff limbs. The sun had peeked over Roman’s head and cast onto your tired lids. Your hands were still tangled in his hair, resting loosely on the nape of his neck, having stopped combing through brunet strands sometime around dawn when sleep finally took you back under. 

You tried to shift your weight around to alleviate the discomfort, but a small voice stopped you. 

“Don’t get up,” Came Roman’s throaty plea. 

“I wasn’t, just getting comfortable. M’back hurts.” 

Roman doesn’t reply, just moves his arm from where it had been digging into your muscles and moves onto his side so you can too. His other arm stays firmly coiled around your shoulders. 

You sigh in relaxed pleasure as you stretch out the kink in your back and are able to snuggle back into Roman with no pain. 

“Thank you,” You mutter and kiss the hollow of his throat before you begin to drift off again. 

His warmth, his soft pine cologne, the weight of his arms around you, the safety he offered, it was hard to stay awake all while under the thick cloud of blankets and early morning heat. Roman began to drag his fingers gently up and down your spine, helping to lull you back into sleep. That was until you remembered that Roman hadn’t just snuck in the night before to sleep next to you. You two hadn’t fucked and smoked and passed out in each other’s arms. He had come storming into your bedroom last night with crazed glazed eyes, looking like he’d seen a ghost, or something worse. So, you blink away any residual urge for slumber. 

“What happened last night?” You asked, running your nose along his thrumming pulse. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Roman moves his palm up to cup the back of your skull, “We’ll talk about it when you wake up.” 

You wiggle away from his embrace far enough to see his face. He looked pensive and worried. His sweet lips chapped and gnawed raw. 

“I don’t want to wait, Ro. You really freaked me out last night.” You lean further back, “Was it Olivia? Did she do something?” 

“No, no,” Roman sighs, “Not this time. It wasn’t her.” 

“Then what was it?”

Roman ran the tip of his tongue over his cracked lips and sniffs loudly. He makes a scene to look anywhere but your eyes. He looked scared, and Roman never looked scared. Angry? Interested? Annoyed? Curious? Yes, but never scared. 

“Ro? What is it? You're freaking me.” You reach for his hand that is resting on your hip and wrap it in your own.

His jaw flexes and swivels, his bottom teeth jutting out before he finally sighs, “You were in my dream last night…” 

“And?” 

“Peter had the dream, too.” 

It felt like the wind had been knocked from your lungs. You knew Roman could feel your hand tighten around his own, because he pushed your face back to press into his chest. 

“But it’s OK. It’s going to be alright. I have you, I have you, I have you,” He chants, slipping his long calf around your legs to further his point. 

“Peter saw me, too?” You asked, voice quivering with uncertainty. 

“Yeah, baby. He did.” 

“And it was the same dream?” 

Roman took a long pause that told you more than his words ever could. 

“Did you see it, too? Did it get me?” 

You can feel Roman shutter against you. Like someone had poured ice water down his back. 

“No, we didn’t. It wasn’t there. It was just… it wasn’t pretty, I’ll spare you the details but it wasn’t fucking pretty. It freaked us out.” 

“Oh God,” You muttered, your mind moving a mile a minute, “Oh my God. I’m next.” 

“No.” Roman says, an animalistic roar from deep in his chest, his arms working to pull you even closer, “No. Nothing is going to happen to you. I won’t let it.” 

“What if something happens that you can’t stop? Or you’re not there? Or I’m alone? Or, or, fuck! I don’t know!” You gasp, your heart palpating in your chest. 

You had never been faced with your own mortality before. You had never had a near death experience or even anything close to one. You sometimes felt embarrassed when your peers would talk about terrifying advantentures they had embarked on that almost ended fatally but they triphumpanlty survived. Or activities they foolishly starred in and swore they saw their lives flash before their eyes. The stories were likely embellished, but you still felt square. You weren’t an adrenaline junkie, you didn’t even like carnival rides. You liked knowing you’d wake the next day, safe and sound with two feet planted firmly on the ground. This feeling of possible and even probable death by crazed werewolf made your vision blur and bile coat your tongue.

There wasn’t enough air in the world to satisfy your thirsty lungs.

“Hey, hey, stop!” Roman said sternly, his voice working to break through your wave of panic, “Nothing is going to happen, OK? Nothing. I will do whatever possible to keep you safe. I don’t care what it takes.” 

“Ro --” Tears had begun to fall from your eyes without your knowledge, and his name came from your lips weak and whimpered. 

“I have you, I’ve got you. I am going to be with you 24-fucking-7 until we kill this thing. I am not going to leave your side until I have a fucking Vargulf head in the trophy room.” He reassures. 

“How can you be with me when you are going off to kill it?”

“Then I’m gonna lock you in Shelley’s room and make you stay put until I’m back. We aren’t taking any chances with this.”  

You pull back once more to look at him with glazed eyes; his face pink from sleep and tears. 

“You’ll stay at the house until we kill this thing, alright? I don’t care what Olivia or anyone else says, you’ll stay with me.” 

“What if it comes here anyway? What if it hurts my mom? Oh my God, Roman, my mom!” Your blubbering again. 

“Fuck it, she can come, too. We’ll make something up, have Peter forge some documents from the city that say you guys have to get out of this house, then I’ll offer up guest bedrooms. We’ll figure it out.” He replies, smoothing your hair against your head. 

“Do you really think it’ll work?” 

Roman sighs, “I mean if it doesn’t I could, y’know, persuade her.”

“Roman, no.”

You knew Roman would never do anything to hurt your beloved mother, but the thought of him using his eye-thing on her made your stomach twist. 

“I would and I will if I have to. I’ll do what I have to to keep you safe. That’s just how it is.” 

He was your protector. Your warrior. Fuck Peter, fuck his mother and Destiny. Fuck anyone who told him this wasn’t his fight, that he should bow out and let the Rumanecks handle this. Because now it definitely was. Now, he was to be the one who saved the town and you and Peter and Letha and Shelley. He was to be the one who cut off the head of this wolf or ripped it apart with his bare hands to keep his loved ones safe. He was strong, he was the warrior. 

“OK.” You surrendered to his declarations of safety and tried to let his presence lull you. 

You’d have to pack some things in a few hours, help come up with a lie to convince your mother, then move into the Godfrey mansion and hope it’s walls were enough to shuck this black omen from your soul. 

“I got you, I promise I do.” Roman hushes, placing a delicate kiss to your forehead. 

Your burrow deeper into his embrace and refuse to tell him about the dream you’d had the night before. The dream about spitting your teeth into his hands and running your tongue over your coppery gums. You needed to call Destiny or Peter’s mom to get the prognosis on if it meant anything. If it was just unsettling or apart of whatever Roman and Peter were seeing at night. For now, all you could hope was that it was the former, and Roman’s energy was enough to heal your fearful heart.

hi (-: i hope you enjoyed! if you did, i’d love to hear from you <3 

[spellcasterlight]

@flashfictionfridayofficial Prompt: #FFF120 A Greater Horror

@myaekingheart's OC-tober Day 1 Prompts: Civilian & Ninja

This actually goes really well with a one-shot I have in mind for these two meeting! 😁

Warnings: Feelings of Mild Terror. Mild Blood Mention. Mild Minor Character Death. Mild Feelings of Hopelessness.

This was a nightmare.

All Zoka knew about this man was his name, and he was now her husband. She hadn't even had the time to talk to him the night before because she had passed out as soon as the vows were said.

Now she had to leave the only home she knew to travel Zoka didn't even know how long to live in; she didn't even know what type of place.

The Aburame clan; Zoka didn't know anything about them. Her family had gone out of their way to tell her nothing about them before she had taken their name in the arranged marriage she was told about only the day before.

Zoka supposed she should be grateful it was better than what her father and brothers initially planned on doing to her; weakness was not appreciated in the Fuma clan after all.

So there she was, all her stuff packed and trying not to pass out, the carriage doing nothing to stop her from feeling every bump in the uneven road sitting beside the head of the Aburame who seemed to ooze silence and respect and authority; it was practically tangible in the air.

Maybe this wasn't a nightmare at all. So far, Shibi had been nothing but courteous to her. Catching her when Zoka passed out in the wedding hall being the first interaction they ever had after saying their vows, after all, she hadn't been forced to do or say anything she didn't want to he had even sent a medical ninja in to look after her when she woke up from her fall.

The coach suddenly jolted sideways, nearly tipping over entirely before slamming back down. When the Amegakure native curled into herself, Shibi pulled her to his side only when they rolled to a complete stop did he release her feeling the danger was over.

This man, her new husband's immediate reaction to danger, was to try and keep her safe; the Fuma's wouldn't have cared.

Perhaps this was the start of a fantastic new life for her, not as a failed shinobi but as the civilian wife and representative in a serene, normal, loving and protective envir-

"Stay here."

With that, Shibi was out of the coach, leaving her alone.

She had barely taken a cleansing breath. It was easier to breathe now that they were stationary before the sounds of in agony screaming and the clashes of metal flooded the air.

Curling up on the seat, Zoka did her best to hide she hated fighting, she didn't have the strength for it even if she didn't hate everything that came with it; the reason she was tossed out of her home, to begin with.

Trying to regulate her breathing, Zoka slammed her hands over her ears and took in as much air as she could before slowly breathing out through her mouth; she couldn't pass out, not now, she needed to stay awake no matter how cold and scared she felt.

When the noise around her stopped, the yells and the in pain cries ceasing completely, only chilling her more; the carriage door opened again, and she raised her head to ask Shibi if he was hurt, but her arctic blue eyes went wide at what she saw. Zoka couldn't stop herself from scrambling as far back into her seat as the Amegakure native physically could.

Bugs Shibi had bugs coming out of him, crawling in and out of his face and neck like it was ground dirt. He didn't flinch, didn't even react. It was horrifying.

"Are you hurt?"

The Amegakure native could feel herself hyperventilating. She couldn't rip her eyes away from watching the tiny black insects crawl over him and eating the blood that was splattered over his coat.

"Zoka."

When she died, would it be like maggots on a corpse? Would they feed her to their human eating insects and watch on uncaring?

"Are you injured?"

A terrifying thought occurred to her. Did her family pick these-these monsters because they were just as bad as the Fuma's were? Just as battle-hungry and ruthless and cutthroat and outright disturbed? Could they possibly be worse?

Digging her nails into the cushions below her, Zoka shook her head so hard she thought she might faint. "N-No."

He took that moment to tug his tall collar back into place, hiding the insects from view that were still burying in his flesh, but she still knew they were there, her mind tricking her into hearing their movements, and somehow that was even worse.

"We will see if there are; anymore," Shibi stated in that same calm, cool tone she had only heard him speak in. Her family would be yelling and screaming their delight at the fresh kills. The Aburame did the opposite, remained as silent as the grave at the moment the Amegakure native didn't know what disturbed her more. "I will send Kana; to look after you."

With that, Shibi walked away, several of his clanmates, Zoka assumed, speaking his name to get his attention.

The carriage door being left open, she could see what remained of one of her attackers, and it made her stomach squirm those disgusting flesh-eating black beasts crawling in and out their enemies insides as if they buried inside him only to burst out while he was still alive so they could-

She bent in half, and dry heaved.

Her old family had decided selling her like a slave was more beneficial to them than killing her and her new family were something out of a horror story insects feeding on them and their opponents as if they were already dead.

Zoka's small glimmer of hope at a normal life crumbled to dust as quickly as it appeared.

Slamming her wildly shaking hands over her lips didn't quite manage to hold in her sob.

This was a nightmare.

[megthemewlingquim]

Darling, You’ll Be Fine

Summary: You receive a letter that tells you the date of a surgery you have to get, and you hyperventilate. Loki is there to ground you.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: anxiety, descriptions of surgery and hospitals, borderline anxiety attack, hurt/comfort, fluff

A/N: I am not ashamed to say that this is entirely written for myself. This is one that I will need in about a week or so, so I’m writing it now to help myself. And, hopefully, anyone else who needs this.

You shuffle through the mail, seeing bill after bill. A letter from a college that somehow still thinks you’re applying. Then, a plain white envelope, with your doctor’s office on the top left hand corner.

Your stomach sinks. This is the confirmation letter, you think, your hands beginning to tremble. You open the letter, practically tearing the envelope open with two fingers, and take out the paper. 

We have sent this confirmation that you will be having your operation done next week, Friday September 18th.

As you read, you feel more and more sick to your stomach. You really shouldn’t, because this is a normal procedure, one you have done every three years, but you do. You feel like you’re going to vomit, especially when you think of the procedure itself.

There won’t be any pain, save for the tiny, baby-sized needle going into your arm. The doctors are going to do their job, then wake you up. You’ll have to spend an hour or so in the recovery room, then you’ll go home. 

So... why are you so nervous?

You think of the hospital room, the gown that can never fully cover your backside, the forever cold floors. The anesthesia.

Your breathing is shuddered, spasmodic. Tears form very quickly, and threaten to spill over, though you don’t feel any sobs coming up. Your eyes shut very, very tight, your hands setting the letter down and coming up to grasp at your face and your nails practically digging into your skin.

You hear a pleasant whistling coming from the hallway behind you. Loki’s singing voice is deeper but more melodic than you’d think, and his whistling is no different. 

It stops, abruptly.

“What — what’s the matter?” Loki sounds pained, worried.

You offer him no answer. You don’t even think you’ll be able to stand up in a few minutes. All you do is sniff, cough once, and inhale shakily.

He all but rushes to you, but stops when he gets close. 

“Can I touch you?”

You nod, clenching your fists and gritting your teeth. Wordlessly, he turns you around, and takes one of your hands in his. He brings it up to his lips, kisses it slowly, and draws you into his arms.

He's warm. Warm and alive and you can feel his heartbeat from where your head rests. You bury your face into his chest, still breathing hard.

"Oh, little one..." he whispers. He's leaning forward a little, probably reading the letter. His hand moves to glide across your back in smooth up and down motions. His other arm is wrapped around your waist with a slightly firmer grip than normal — he must sense how weak your knees are.

He shushes you, his voice a whisper. "You're not going to worry about this. Not here, not now. I hate to see you upset like this. It pains me... We're going to the living room. You need to lie down.

"Hold onto me, okay?" he asks in your ear, and you nod. He hoists you up, carrying you as if you're a little child. Your head is now nestled into the crook of his neck.

It doesn't last for long, though, not in the air. Loki takes you to is what you don't know to be the living room, sets you down gently onto the couch, and gets a blanket for you. He's back almost immediately, draping it over you and sitting down himself.

"You're still shaking... and your eyes are still closed... Would you like to lay down with me? Would that help?"

One small, shaky breath. "Yes."

"There's a love. Okay. Here we go."

He takes you, moving you to lay on the inside of the couch, so you're in between the back cushions and Loki himself. It's your favorite spot to be, because you're surrounded by softness and warmth and comfort on either side.

His arms go around you once again, and a kiss lingers on your temple.

"I'm here," he whispers. "I'm here and you don't have to worry about what's going to happen. Just relax your entire being, darling. Can you do that?

"Breathe in and out, deeply and slowly. Let your mind stop its racing, let your heart quit its pounding. Just be. Be here with me."

It takes you a long while, but Loki is patient with you. Your breathing eventually becomes more balanced, and your hands relax as well.

Lastly, you open your eyes.

"There's my dove, good girl. Hello, sweetheart." Loki sounds sad, but a little happy, too. "You're coming back to me.

"You needn't worry about anything right now." The air is heavy, but so are your eyelids. "I've got you. I'm going to keep you safe, okay? You're with me... and I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here, holding you to me."

He hums something, but you don't recognize the tune. It does calm your nerves, though, and helps you breathe easier.

"I love you, my dearest. We're going to take this one day at a time until Friday. It'll be alright."

This — being still with your beloved — is enough.

[king-finnigan]

Mr. Lonely

What a Wonderful World Masterlist. Also on AO3!

Day 4 of Whumptober! On the menu today is: buried alive.

~~~

He startles awake in the dark. Not an unusual occurrence, really – it’s not uncommon that he wakes up in the middle of the night; he’s always been a light sleeper. That had changed when he’d started travelling by Geralt’s side, his subconscious feeling safe enough around the Witcher to delve into the lands of dreams further than it previously dared to.

He lets out a soft, content sigh at the thought of Geralt. It’s nearly spring, now, and soon enough, Geralt will come down from the mountains, from Kaer Morhen, and he and Jaskier will start travelling together again. It’s a pleasant thought that makes something warm settle in his chest, though that has to take a backseat for now, when he feels his own breath wafting back into his face.

Strange. He shifts a little, suddenly noticing that he’s not on his usually so soft mattress in his family’s estate. Sure, he’s lying on cushions, but there’s something underneath it that hurts his back. It almost feels like he’s lying on wood, even.

He frowns. Why would he be lying on wood? That makes no sense. He shifts again, trying to turn around, ready to stretch his hand out in search of a nightstand or something of the like that can at least give him some idea as to where he is.

But his movement is stopped short when his shoulder hits something soft right above him, mere inches in front of his face. He reaches out, touching the cushions tentatively. He presses into the velvet and goose feathers, and feels something hard and unyielding underneath them. Almost like a plank of wood.

He closes his eyes, trying not to hyperventilate, as an image is conjured in his mind. A terrible, horrible image.

Don’t panic, he tells himself, as he lowers his hand, carefully moving them to the sides, only to be stopped after a few inches by more wood covered in cushions. He stretches out, the tips of his toes and the top of his head touching… once again, cushions and wood.

It’s then that he hyperventilates, when he realizes that he’s in a coffin.

He tightens his hands into fists, desperately trying not to scream out his panic. He’s got a limited supply of air left – who knows how long he’s even been in here before he woke up – he can’t use it on something as wasteful as screaming if no one can hear him.

But maybe they can. Maybe he’s not buried yet, maybe he’s still in the grand hall at the Lettenhove estate, where people say their goodbyes to him, or maybe he’s still in the funeral home, awaiting his own burial. Maybe it’s not too late yet.

He feels his fingers with his thumbs, and blesses all his lucky stars for the large, bejewelled rings his parents put on him before they put him in the coffin. They’re sharp enough that, when he pushes his fist against the cushions, he can hear the tell-tale pop of a jewel breaking through the fabric. A swift, jaggy movement of his arm, and goose feathers are spilling all over him, hand reaching into the newly created hole to touch the wood of the coffin.

He balls his hand into a fist, pulling it back as far as it can go, before slamming it against the lid. A dull thud resounds through the coffin, and it might as well be a death sentence. The sound tells him that there is something heavy lying on top of the lid – something like six feet of dirt, perhaps.

He’s going to die in here. He’s going to die a slow, horrible death. He’s going to suffocate in this coffin as air slowly runs out, each breath he takes now another step closer to his demise.

He closes his eyes. If he’s going to die like this, might as well try to figure out why all this happened in the first place.

He remembers this winter, remembers the freezing cold, remembers sitting in front of the hearth with a mug of tea and a nice book, remembers snowball fights with his younger cousins, always ending with him getting tackled into the snow by five kids and two toddlers, before finally managing to usher them inside in their soaking clothes, lest they catch something out in the cold.

Except he did – catch something in the cold, that is. He remembers feeling worse and worse each passing day, fever developing, his mother sitting by his side and dabbing at his sweaty forehead with a cold, wet cloth, a worried crease in her brow.

And then he remembers nothing.

He frowns into the darkness. That must’ve been it, then. His sickness must’ve become so bad that his parents thought he was dead, so they buried him. It wouldn’t be the first time this has happened – he’s heard the terrible stories of people unearthing bodies to make place for newly deceased, only to find scratch marks on the inside of the coffin lids.

He just never thought he’d become one of those people.

So now what? He can’t just lie here and do nothing and wait for the end. There must be some way to escape. He can’t push the lid open, since it’s probably nailed shut and there’s six feet of dirt lying on top of it. So, he’ll have to make his own path through.

He reaches up again, making the hole in the cushions above him bigger, spluttering a bit as he gets goose feathers in his mouth. When he’s sure it’s big enough, he puts his fists against the wood, bejewelled rings digging into his skin. He reaches down, before punching up against the lid with one hand. And he does it again, and again, and again, and again, trying to keep his breathing as even as possible, as to not waste any air.

When his right arm grows tired, he continues with his left. And so on and so forth.

It must be hours when he finally feels something crack under his fingers, though unfortunately, the sharp, throbbing pain in his hand tells him he may have actually broken a bone instead of the coffin lid. Fuck. It hurts like hell, but he doesn’t feel like he’s got much choice but to continue.

So he does, trying to do most of the work with his right hand instead of his left, only resorting to the left one when his right hand is screaming in agony, muscles quivering with exertion. Every punch is like someone’s poked a knife into his hand and is twisting it around, and he can’t hold back the whimper he lets out every time his left fist makes contact with the wood.

He tries not to cry as the hours pass by fruitlessly, he really does, but he can’t stop the salty tears from leaking out of his eyes and down his cheeks, as hope dwindles with each passing hour, minute, second, breath.

He’s going to die in here.

He can feel the oxygen running out. His heart is beating faster, breathing coming quicker and quicker as his body fails to pull in the air he needs time after time, head slowly spinning as his eyelids begin to droop. He doesn’t have long left. Not long at all.

And, when he finally resigns himself to his terrible fate, when he drops his hands and feels all hope leaving him, he hears a soft thud above him.

He frowns. Could it be? He’s got nothing to lose, except the last few minutes of his life, though he’ll surely spend those in misery anyways.

He takes a deep breath, gasping in whatever oxygen is left in the coffin, and screams. He doesn’t have the energy to form words or sentences, doesn’t bother with those – he just screams like his life depends on it. Because it does.

He screams and screams, until he can barely breathe anymore, until his throat is raw and his head is spinning, and he feels the last few moments of his life slipping through his fingers, eyes falling shut. His breaths are shallow and fast. He coughs, choking on the empty air in the coffin, body trying everything in its might to keep him alive, to breathe in fresh air, but its attempts are fruitless.

He feels his eyes slipping closed one last time, descending into the darkness, as he hears a distant thwack above him.

---

He gasps in lungfuls of air, eyes slamming open before squeezing shut against the sudden onslaught of light. He distantly registers someone holding him and saying his name in his ear, telling him they’re here and he’s safe and thank the gods I heard you scream, Jask – but his entire mind is filled with the utter ecstasy of getting to breathe fresh air again, head spinning as he sucks in breath after breath.

Slowly, his mind comes back to him, and bit by bit, he pries his eyes open again. The sky is a pale blue above him, the first pollen of spring dancing through the air, though his field of vision is almost completely blocked by a head of white hair.

“Geralt,” he gasps, voice raw and ruined from screaming, and he barely manages to lift his arms to weakly return the crushing hug.

“Are you alright?” Geralt asks against his hair, and when Jaskier looks to the side, he notices the open lid of the coffin, purple, velvet pillows torn open, goose feathers spilling out, the inside of the wood covered in notches and scratches and blood, a single jewel sticking from it.

“Yes,” he whispers. But tears well in his eyes when he realizes what fate would have befallen him if he’d been in there a little longer, if he hadn’t heard Geralt walking towards his premature grave, if he hadn’t screamed for help. He sobs quietly, burying his face in Geralt’s shoulder, curling in on himself as the adrenaline and panic return, chasing away the numbness he’d been floating in for the past hours.

Geralt holds him more tightly, soothingly rubbing little circles into his back. “You’re safe, Jask. You’re safe, it’s alright, you’re going to be alright.”

And though his mind won’t let him believe that just yet, he nods, quietly grateful for every breath of fresh air the gods have granted him.

[mimzyizme]

Tasteful

Eyeless Jack x Reader

Word count: 2,014

WARNING: Graphic depictions of violence 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Part 5: Resolutions

"Now, I'm not criticizing you. I'm actually quite impressed (Y/N)." Jack chuckled behind his mask, vining his fingers through the contents of the file. He had brought his chair closer to you now, almost touching your knees as he reveled at the photographs of bloodlet victims. Contorted in pain, beaten beyond recognition, murdered.

You couldn't even glance at them, you tried with all your will to twist away from the sight of them. You couldn't do this... you couldn't see them again...

Not again. He took note of your squirming and yanked the chain, pulling your head back to face his direction. Choking a sob you could now only squeeze your eyes shut.

When you did, you felt a hand crash on the side of your face as he hit you. You gasped and cried out letting the tears that had been pooling into your eyes spill.

"Why so shaken up?" He dug his nails into your numb scalp, holding onto a handful of your hair. Jack got in your face, his voice a low rumble. "You won't even look at what you've done?!"

You did your best to kept your eyes shut tightly, praying this could be over. You couldn't stop the waves of sobs that ripped through your throat. Bringing a searing heat of guilt through every cell of your body.

With his other hand, he gripped your face, digging into your cheekbones painfully with his black claws. To this you gripped his wrist, trying to pry him away.

"Open your FUCKING EYES!!" He roared through gritted teeth then brought his hand down on you again. You took his hit with another gasp and a desperate plea, "Stop!!"

When he pulled your scalp again you cried louder expecting him to strike you again. But instead, you felt the smooth surface of Jack's mask against your ear. "You killed eight people (Y/N)(L/N)... That's why you're here." He said in one long breath.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME!?!" You screamed, pounding fists uselessly against his chest. Finally looking into the holes of his mask. There could be nothing seen in them, no show of emotion, expression. No twinkle of the eye behind them. Demon

He snickered, not flinching at the shrill sound of your screams. "Sweetheart, it's not what I want from you. It's what the boss wants. I'm just here to make sure the job gets done." He stood back up quickly, this time yanking the chain down so hard it brought your body forward onto the table. Your collarbone bruising over the hard wooden surface. Jack brought his hand onto the back of your neck, holding your face against the surface, your line of sight forcibly fixed the photographs. Displays of black and red upon paled flesh, blurred through a wall of tears.

"We want to know why (Y/N). Why you killed this many people in one night."

You still struggled to gain composure over your sobs, over your slamming heartbeat. Your tears spilled out and formed a pool underneath your face. Falling apart, your legs shaking violently, uncontrollably. You didn't even know most of their names. Trying to shake your head, you blinked away more droplets from your eyes. "I don't know..." You barely rasped out. Minded overflowing with murky thoughts, it all became too fragmented. You felt like your heart would rupture, hyperventilating, choking on your own pitiful weeping.

"What was that?" Jack spat, his body looming too close to your back. "You don't know??" Releasing his hand from your neck he threw back his arm, holding the chain using all of his force to pull you over. So strong the joints in your necks popped and stretched painfully at the pulling. With a swift movement of his boot, he kicked the chair from underneath your body. Forcing you to fall back, the chain leading by your throat. Headfirst, he made your body collapse to the kitchen tiles. Suddenly the wind was knocked from your lungs by this, and you let out a silent wail of pain. Your muscles freezing from its hot bite through your core. This danced with the agony of your skull taking yet another uncountable blow from the ceramic floor.

Then he was on top of you, throwing his leg over your side, straddling your stomach as he leaned over you. Suffocating and violating. Every joint through your spine ached from the pressure of his large, heavy body. It only exasperated the panic need for a steady flow of oxygen in your lungs.

"That answer wasn't good enough." He shook his head in mock, laughing lowly at your distress.

His black claws traced down your cheeks, to your lips, and down your chin. "Now you're going to listen closely to me. This is what is going to happen." He composed his voice again. Almost like he was trying to come off reasonably. Through heavy lids you gave in, looking up at him. Waiting for his directions, pleading in your eyes. Not like he cared.

"How you make it out of this house is up to you. But I was put in charge to put you through this, I was chosen to break you down, and peel away your walls piece by piece. Whatever it takes." He inched his blue face closer to you, sighing harshly. Tilting your chin up to him with his claw, your throat bobbed against it as you gulped down some more air you thirst for. "You can either let whatever happens to you happen. Or you can show me what you're fucking made of."

You couldn't stop your body from shuddering at the threats in his monstrous voice. His vocals changing into something violent, dark. Then drifting back to his normal tone, then a gravelly whisper,

"Either way, I'm going to break you down. That's the goal."

Jack's claws now drawn over the soft pounding pulse in your throat. Prodding it temptingly, feeling that delicious warm blood hidden behind a shield of skin against his finger. Lifting his head up and taking another long, proud sigh. "I'm going to make you as cold as the rest of us, little thing~"

Finally, he got off of you, still not taking his hand off the chain as he came back to his feet looking over your exhausted form. Desperate to catch your breath and to ease the screams throughout your body. You just lied there, trying to think of all the ways this just couldn't be happening.  Praying for mercy, praying he would just lock you up in the closet again. Let you starve to death if it meant he would leave you alone.

He tilted his head, his hair falling over his masked face. "Don't worry though," He spoke again in a softer voice, watching you as your tears spilled endlessly over your face. "I've been strictly forbidden to kill you. I'll at least make an effort of it."

This brought no comfort, being unable to fathom the amount of torture your in for. Days? Months? Years? Was this now your life?

Jack pulled again on the chain, your body dragging toward him on the slick tiles. You groaned in pain, gripping the collar to help alleviate some of the tension. You curled into the fetal position, trying to protect your head.

While your eyes were closed he reached down with his free hand to slip under your arm. You flinched at his touch again but fell limp as his other arm snaked around your torso, lifting it off the ground to drag your sore body from the kitchen into the living room. He never faltered in his actions, like the dead weight was nothing to him.

When he had you pulled over the victorian carpet he dug his claws into your soft flesh, lifting your shoulders up to the couch. You cried in a distressed squeal, trying to keep your head covered still. Your body wanting to curl into a tight ball and disappear from him.

He tried to bring you to your feet but the muscles in your calves and knees felt like liquid.

Jack growled loudly behind his mask, bringing his fist down on the back of your exposed neck then throwing you back onto the couch. You quickly curled into the canvas in a futile attempt to protect yourself. He Brough down his fist again on your side, agony fired through your ribs. Again on your back. Your abdomen. Your head. His loud, angry grunts and growls in between each clobber against your small helpless body.

You couldn't find a way to keep all your weak spots covered from his relentless hitting. But to him, you knew you were just one big weak spot.

"Stop!! please!!" You cried again in your broken screams, muffled by the cushion.

He moved your wrists away from your head and smacked your face hard. You felt something warm spill down from your nose into your lips. Blood sour as copper.

"Then tell me." Jack said flatly, bringing his hand up to batter it down on your face again before you had a chance to take another breath.

"I told you I-" He cut you off. "Oh, you don't know?! So you just happened to kill eight people on a whim? You just beat them to death in their sleep? You don't know?!?!"

You could feel the heat of his disgusting, bloodied breath through his mask as you fought to keep his hands off you. Pulling your clothes and your hair to hold you still while he beat his fist into everywhere he could.

Your screams and cries falling on deaf ears within the walls of the cabin.

At this state, you could hardly even think of an excuse to tell him. You really just don't know... You never think about it. You couldn't explain in words. How could you get him to stop? You could hardly think past just surviving this now. Thrashing about, kicking your feet uncalculated against his body, causing nothing to slow his hammering fists. You knew your flesh turning swollen and bloody in each hit. Numbing and quivering.

"IdontknowIdontknowIdontknowIdon't-" Was all you could manage to screech.

He threw his back upright, his fist raised again, one hand clasped over his other. The rage wafted from him like a stench soaked through the skin. Monster

"I TOLD YOU I DON'T KNOW!!!" A final scream in broken breaths, your voice hardly maintaining the last sound of the word. He stopped, his fist frozen in the air. Claws clenching and unclenching around his palm.

Then it happened again, that strange stream of fluid pooled from the holes in his mask. Noticing this Jack's shoulders rose. He brought his arms down, stepping away from you with his head tilt. Watching inky droplets of black fall to the carpet.

He sighed deep and covered his mask as the black seeped through his fingers profusely.

Using your legs you pushed yourself further into the couch, choking on your strangled breath. Every inch of you burned.  

"You don't know." He said again, this time in more of a repeated statement than an accusation. Why did he switch like this suddenly? Slowly Jack realized that the ink was soaking into his clothes. He turned to walk towards the staircase, probably planning to go to his room to fix... whatever was happening to him. Before his boots landed at the bottom of the staircase he spoke over his shoulder to you. His claws gripped the railing, black dripping from his knuckles. "I guess I'll give you some time to think about it."

Now with both his hands trying to wipe away the black, he stepped heavily upward, making his way to the second level. The wood creaked loudly under him, then slamming shut what you assumed was the bathroom door behind him.

With an explosion of relief, you turned your face to the cushion and screamed into it. As much as your already stinging lungs could allow. Just to let everything out. Everything he couldn't beat out of you.

You knew he would torture you every day until he got the answer he wanted.