#same goes for content and trigger warnings

[lazy-sushi]

Addicted to the devil (Ronin x Reader)

Author's Note: I was forced to upload this by @6feathered6siren6, (who also helps me doing this post rn thank youuuuuuuu, bro literally gave me title and banner) help me, save me.

Trigger warning: Ronin's route (his last name), death, gore, insanity

Word count: 2335

You hear his breath, slow and steady as it hits your hair, swirling your loose hair strands up and down. His heartbeat pumping in rhythm, hitting your ear each second. He laid there, eyes closed, arm around your back, holding you tightly. One of his arms loosened and leaned over the bed, the exposed skin pale. To you, this creature looked beautiful, peaceful even. It was a force of nature, having you in its hands, pulling the strings when it wanted too. Your personal devil, your butcher, your everything.

You described it as a bliss and when he slept like this, so content and so…. peaceful. You almost wondered if you were the crazy one.

You love him. The devil. The butcher. Ronin Beaufort.

But he's a psychopath. A killer. Ronin Beaufort. 

He's that type of guy that goes out in the middle of the night, crowbar clutched in hand, heavy steps halling through the streets. He'd wait for his victim, slowly stalking behind them and smashing the crowbar across their head. One blow, two blows, maybe a third. The victims would fall, blood pooling from their heads. Then the devil would proceed to do his work. It would vary, but everything ended in a grotesque scene. Slit throats, ripped guts, cut of limbs, carved symbols. He's a picture book serial killer. Whoever you'd ask to describe a serial killer, Ronin’s imagery would be the answer. A psycho that kills for pure pleasure, for the thrill, for his own sense of happiness. 

Yet, was he really the bad guy? Of course he was! He had corrupted you, had threatened you, controlled you. He was the killer.

You were the saint, he was the sinner.

A saint. The same saint that played along. The same saint that has done as he pleased. You were an angel. The angel that shot the next person if the devil would ask too. The same angel that has awaited every single command. The story wasn’t over there, wasn’t it?

You didn’t want to admit it, but Ronin didn’t do a thing towards you.

No, he didn’t tell you to join the server, he didn’t tell you to make your proof real, he didn’t tell you to meet him, not ever and not in HIS alley. It was you who wanted it. You desired it.

Life had been tough, surely that was the fault. Friends had ignored you. You were lonely and that loneliness Ronin fulfilled fully. He gave you all that you needed. The attention, the love, the advice. Fuck he was what you had been longing for so long, something you desperately searched for. So what if he was a supposed killer? How can HE be yet more understanding than anyone you knew? You don’t need to fix him; He fixed you. He cured what you despised in your body. Saved you from your own feelings. Pulled you up when no one else could. Only he could do it. Only the devil.

Ronin Beaufort

Maybe you were insane, but wasn’t that worth it?

The thoughts you just clung onto like a lifeline disappeared as you heard a grunt. Eyes meeting one another and you saw almost a concerned expression on Ronin. His arm clutched you closer, the other that had been hanging down, now pulled up as his hand touched your cheek. The soft texture of his fingers swiped over your eyes. Had you been…crying? You feel the wet spots on your face. Not just tears, but sweat. For once you saw the devil, THE Ronin beaufort losing his smirk. For once you saw him wondering what may have gotten into your head. It was almost overwhelming. Everything felt overwhelming. 

You couldn’t remember what happened. Suddenly everything crashed. Shots, blood, screaming, laughing, death. Everything spinned in your head. Everything was so loud in your head. The images of what you read, of what you knew Ronin committed. You laid there with him, saw everything, witnessed it all. Yet you weren’t concerned about that. You were concerned about what HE thinks of you. Pathetic, alone, you barely meant a thing in the world. He was known. Hated, yes. But known. He meant something, even if that was for all the bad reasons. But you? What did you offer to him? Nothing. You could’ve been swapped out with anyone else. It wouldn’t have changed anything. 

And once again, the thoughts, gone. You felt his lips. Felt his touch. The overwhelming feeling, gone. You held him close, if not the other way around being enough. His lips tasted like iron, you knew why, you simply couldn’t care less though. Arm so tight on your back, squeezing those thoughts away as if he knew what they were. Everything burned in your body, clothes clutched against you. Yet, him being there? It made these feelings lessen. Once again you ask yourself, why you? What was it within you that made him cling to you? Was it just a game to him? Maybe it was to humiliate you? 

And there it was again. That feeling. That feeling that clutched into you, ripping your skin apart. That feeling that burns your insides, making them feel heavy. That feeling that made you twist and turn mentally. The feeling that made you breath heavy. 

You held your body close, tears streaming freely now. You simply couldn't take it anymore. It was all so loud in your head. As if something was banging your head from the inside, slowly scratching your brain until it was bleeding, and now that noise was incarnated in you. His touch wouldn't do it anymore. It didn’t get you out of that space. It didn’t satisfy that lonely heart anymore. It desired more than that. It desired his love, his attention, his devotion to you and you only. If you could you would rip out your aorta by yourself and hand it to him, just so he could kiss it better. You needed him. You wanted him. You desired him and him only.

Ronin spoke up. It didn’t make the feeling stop like before, but it made you share your attention to him. 

“What’s the matter, darling?” His voice was rough, raspy and filled with sleep. The slightest hint of worry and curiosity mixed within his words. You didn't believe him. His sudden kindness, his humain posture, his gentle smile. 

This isn't Ronin Beaufort.

Not the Ronin Beaufort. 

No, it was just some stranger. An imposer to what you didn't need. The pity. What pity do you want from the devil? Truly spoken sarcasm you could call it. And you hated yourself for it. The fact you couldn't trust him being nice. Like you needed his attitude. Like you needed his….hate? No, it wasn't hate. The word you searched for just didn't find itself. It was his…his control you need. When he breaks you so deeply. When he tells you to watch out, to be aware, to be….

“Darling?” The voice snapped you back, this time it wasn't as calm anymore, a sweet sound of impatience ran across it. That is what you wanted to hear. 

Ronin Beaufort.

Your eyes fixated on his. They were small, looking sharply at you like the knife's he cut his victims open with. His smile turned slowly into a frown. He couldn't keep up his nice side for much longer than a small timespan and you already overstepped it. But you didn't mind. You wanted him, not them. Those who laugh in your face, cheer you up just to spit on it in the end. It made you realize something.

Shots, blood, screaming, laughing, death. You didn't think of him here. No. Your mind got it all wrong once again. You think of their words, how they shot you directly in your heart, letting it bleed out. Your screams at night for anything. For hope, for love, for a better life. Their laughter as they stare at you, judge you, hate you. You wished them to be dead. Dead in your head, dead in your life. Oh how much you would sacrifice to the devil for it. 

But you didn't need to.

You gave him his proof already. You ended it on your own. You did it. You and you alone killed them. 

It wasn't for you. It was for him. For him and him only. The devil, The butcher.

Ronin Beaufort.

You felt his hand tightly in between your neck and your back, scruffing you up like a vet with a cat to paralyze it. It worked a charm on you because there was no movement in your body any longer. Your body was stiff, hanging there like dead meat, your breathing temporarily stopped as he pressed tighter before releasing your skin ever so slightly again. His impatience ran out and you couldn't be happier. Yet, the thought crossed your mind. The thought that made you stand still. The thought that terrorizes you every day since you're the devil's helper. Your mouth was dry, burning even, unable to let out real words. But you needed to share it. Your ideas, your visuals. It's what he asked, no, what he demanded from you. It took a deep breath and all your strength to hit out a single tone. Soon it was followed by a letter, then a word.

“Why?”

It wasn't much. Three letters. One word. But the question was heavy. For Ronin it didn't take long to understand the context of his long awaited response. He remembered when you two got together right in his favorite alley. Him pinning you down, having expected to get stabbed the minute he started getting explicit. Instead you followed the dare, kissing him like the world dependent on it. It's been a week since then and you stayed with him. Stayed in his room, stayed in his clothes, stayed in his mind. Yet it appears to be that even the most messed up ‘normal’ human still gets damaged by the initial thought of staying together and especially close to a psychotic killer. The full question his favorite little helper wanted to ask was ‘Why did you pick me? Why not everyone else?’. He would remain silent every single time. There was nothing to say for him. The most obvious reason already laid there, pouty face, small eyes. But after an entire week all he could let out was a chuckle. It sounded so cocky, sarcastic even, as if you had answered with ‘3’ when he asked you what 1+1 equals to. Humiliation, that’s what it felt like, but you didn’t even know for what. You tried to leave his grasp only for him to tighten it back up, giving you no space to react. Like a dog he chewed tightly onto your body, teeth sinking in. The metaphor worked greatly since you can feel his fingernails practically poking into you, making you almost tear up from the pain. He stared at you with such an intense stare you’d swear he was gonna eat you alive here and now.

"Why not, Darling? You were given an apple, but it was you to bite it. Tasting the forbidden fruit.” (This came from @6feathered6siren6 btw)

His voice was low, filled with an undefined tone. Was it rage or was it reassurance? Love or despise? You were never sure but that’s what you loved in him, needed in him, wanted from him. Your devil, your butcher.

Ronin Beaufort

“I gave you a fucking place, gave you all the love and took you in, you took the devil's hand without any hesitation.”

He wasn't entirely wrong and you get what he was trying to say. Although you were just another human, you still were far from being the same. Who would willingly date a serial killer? Who would willingly stay in his house? Willingly shared his clothes, the same that he had covered in his victims blood? Who willingly ate the devil's meals without a care in the world about what it contained? No one but you. No one but his darling. No one but the devil's little helper. No one but someone as psychotic as you. 

He wanted you, because you desired him like no other ever could. You and you only let yourself drop into his arms. Only someone like you trusted him fully. Only you sacrificed everything for him. 

It made you feel comfortable, safe even. Every problem you had, just gone, as the devil pulled you back down, holding you against his body. He was warm, reassuring. It was something you missed out the entire time. His behaviour, his reactions, his breath. They were for you. Everything was for you, just like you were everything for him.

After all, he was your devil, your butcher.

Your Ronin Beaufort

Tears clinged onto your face as you held him back, the same way he used to do earlier. He was right, as always. Your hands grabbed his hair, feeling the soft texture. It always surprised you how this man kept his hair so soft with how much blood he tangled in it. Arms shaking so badly as you let yourself drop, practically naked right in front of the devil's eyes. You hated looking weak, it made you look pathetic, but he loved it. He loved when you let go, even if he’d never tell you the truth. It wasn’t the power he loved, it was the trust he had truly desired. His hands caressed your back slowly. No words were needed, he had you right here. Times passed by slowly for him, but he would wait. Wait till the thoughts disappear, wait till you can finally rest. He could feel your breath slowing down, your body slumbing as you started to drift off to sleep. Once he was sure you were fully asleep he leaned his head over, giving you a kiss on your forehead before laying back down, closing his own eyes again.

He loved you. Forever and always.

Ronin Beaufort

[hawkdisaster]

No plot, just a very horny Bucky and a possessive Sentry !

Characters : Bucky Barnes & Robert "Bob" Reynolds Triggers warnings : Sexual content / Not protected sex Words count : 995 words

(Credit goes to saradika-graphics)

You can be the Sun and still be jealous of the Winter

The kiss is abrupt, almost violent. But Bucky accepts it gladly. After all, he had it coming. The sound of fabric being torn reaches his ears, and his suit jacket is soon a memory, followed very soon by his trousers, pants and the rest of his clothes. Powerful hands grip his hips. This is going to leave marks. The thought crosses his mind briefly, but he doesn't care. He wants this. A groan escapes his lips as he feels teeth sinking into his shoulder, piercing the skin. When he feels a tongue lapping the blood from his wound, soothing the pain. His hips move of their own accord, like a silent plea. He wants this, he wants it so badly. He opens his mouth as fingers come to his lips, licking and sucking each one, well aware that this is all he's going to get tonight. He can manage, everything's fine. Soon on all fours on his bed, those same fingers thrusting into him to open him up, a preparation as brief as it was hasty before his companion's fingers are replaced by his cock.

— You're mine, his voice rumbles as Bucky struggles to catch his breath, so full of his boyfriend's cock. So full of Bob's cock. Bob's hips begin to grind against his, back and forth so fast he struggles to get air into his lungs. You're mine. Bucky had felt Bob's gaze on him all evening, a charity event the New Avengers had been invited to attend. Forced was a much better word. All of you, Valentina had decreed them all to attend, nipping Bob's protests in the bud as he was the least comfortable of them all in society. And while the latter certainly couldn't be considered one of his brightest ideas, Bucky had decided that turning one of his boyfriend's worst flaws against him was probably the best way to make him forget his discomfort.

— You're mine, Bob repeated behind his back, speeding up his thrusts. Say it.

— Jealous..., was all Bucky managed to say with a hiccup, unable to stop himself from smiling. Jealousy was Bob's worst flaw. And all Bucky had had to do to make him crack was to be slightly more charming than usual towards the participants in this bloody charity gala. A smile here and there, a joke that could be interpreted in a certain way... The former Winter Soldier hadn't had the chance to enjoy his little game for long, dragged out of the party and back to the Tower by a boyfriend who was not only extremely jealous but also capable of stealing. And while Bob was fairly mild in his displays of jealousy, Sentry was the possessive type. Very possessive. The older of the two clung with all his might to the sheets as Sentry accelerated his thrusts, banging ever harder against his prostate. He was so close.

— No... Please, I'm so close..., Bucky moaned as Sentry stopped his movements, even as the Winter Soldier was on the verge of cumming. Please... please...

— Say it.

— I'm yours, only yours ! I'm sorry, I just like to see you jealous...

Bucky shivered from head to toe as Sentry forced him to turn his head towards him, his lips taking hold of his. Gently, as if his near-divine cock wasn't buried up in him to his balls, practically splitting him in two. But Bucky loved it, he'd spent the evening acting like a teaser for this. One of his companion's hands wrapped around his sex, stroking it up and down. Slowly, very slowly. Too slowly.

— Faster, please... (He wiggled his hips, but his pleas went unanswered.) Only to you... Please !

— Why should I listen to you ? It was you who took pleasure in seducing all those people.

— I didn't want to seduce them, I wanted to make you jealous, that's totally different. But if you don't want to fuck me, I can go and ask...

He didn't even manage to finish his sentence, Sentry's hand wrapping around his throat : certainly not enough to strangle him and make him suffocate, just enough to make him see stars and tighten a little more on the member thrust inside him. Too easy. The thought crossed his mind very briefly as Sentry resumed his movements with force. Oh god yes. For Bucky, it's as if his brain is melting like snow in his skull with each stroke and his mind, numb, is incapable of the slightest coherent thought. All he can think about, all he wants to think about, is how full he is. How good his boyfriend makes him feel !

— Sen... Bob, please, I'm so close... ! I'm yours, only yours !

He's the first to climax, closely followed by his partner. Oh my god...

— You can call me Sentry, whispers Sentry's voice in his ear. Bucky laughs. Did he just speak out loud ? A low moan escapes his lips as he feels his boyfriend's divine cock withdraw, leaving him empty. Empty but so wet. His boyfriend's lips settle on the back of his neck, kissing every bit of available skin. Mine... ?

— Only yours..., Bucky assures him, his voice no higher than a whisper, as he moves to get on his back and brushes a lock of blonde hair out of his love's face with the flat of his hand, the irises of his eyes looking like molten gold. A faint smile stretched the super soldier's lips. He was well aware that he had overstepped the mark, but he had no intention of apologizing. And it didn't matter to him that he wouldn't be able to walk properly for days to come, he accepted the consequences of his actions. I regret nothing.

Sentry rolled his eyes:

— Of course you don't.

Three hours later, having lost count of his orgasms and his super-soldier stamina, which was nowhere to be found, unlike his boyfriend who seemed to be able to carry on all day, he began to regret it. Just a little.

[bunnygirllover45]

— CREATURES OF HABIT. ♱ TRIGGER WARNING(S): This one is about psychological training, pet play undertones (they're not undertones they're very on the nose but oh well.), slightly suggestive. dark content. Johann itself is a warning. WORD COUNT: 1k words. ADDITIONAL NOTES: First time writing something for this guy in a while, sorry if it sucks. I just enjoy writing psych yandere stuff.

The first months in Johann’s basement were grueling. The sudden change of pace, the claustrophobic sensation of always being surrounded by the same walls, you swore multiple times you were about to break, but each time you felt like that, Johann was always there to put you back in place like a beautiful —and fucked up— puzzle.

Then, one day, out of nowhere, Johann introduced some ‘mental exercises’ for you. He told you they were so your brain didn’t stagnate over time due to the confinement, but you couldn’t help but feel like there were some ulterior motives behind it.  Most of the exercises were simple, from just sitting at a table and drawing shapes on paper to following basic instructions, no matter what was going on, Johann never skipped the routine.

Today’s exercise was simple enough: sit down and obey. Johann was really patient with you, so despite your early nervousness, you always found yourself quickly getting accustomed to the session, trying your best not to overthink how utterly weird the whole setting was. Being mentally trained by your kidnapper—no. Scratch that; lover.

“You know about Pavlov’s experiments?” Johann asked softly, tilting his head to look at you. His brown hair fell over his stare, obscuring his expression under the dim light of the basement. His legs were stretched under the table, brushing against yours. “Pavlov discovered that dogs were prone to begin to salivate once they saw the trainers that often brought them food, it was an unconscious action they made.”

“They associate ‘this person’ with ‘food’. The same goes with sounds.” He explained carefully, playing with the chain of the collar attached to your neck, tugging it lightly in an almost mindless manner. “Notice how sometimes when you make sounds in the kitchen your pet always comes? It’s because they relate that sound with food.” 

A smile tugged on Johann’s features as he focused his dark eyes back on you, the intensity in his eyes made you shiver—you knew that look all too well, some wicked idea just sparked inside his twisted head. “I thought it would be interesting to try that with you.” 

The way he whispered those words with that tone of his that was equally aloof as it hid some of his excitement made you tremble, but a part of you felt curious about the idea too. Lately, you found yourself associating the sound of the chain of your collar with going outside, Johann always kept the collar inside the house but not the chain, which was saved for when you two went outside for short walks —for your legs sake, as he says—.

“What… did you have in mind?” You managed to ask softly, staring at him with expectating eyes. Johann almost shrugged nonchalantly at your question, his fingers caressing the length of the chain around your neck before settling on top of your hand, intertwining his long fingers with yours, his thumb now tracing circles on your knuckles.

“I don’t really know, why don’t we start with something simple?” his free hand reached to cup your cheek, tenderly caressing your skin, you almost leaned into it before he surprised you by suddenly snapping his fingers against your ear. The sound left you confused for a second not because of its loudness but because of how close it felt, you self-consciously reached to cup your ear, staring at him with a frown. “Why did you do that…?” 

“Sorry.” He chuckled, pulling your hand away from your ear to replace it with his own. “You know I don’t like screaming at you, so each time I want you to be quiet I’ll do that, okay?” 

“Each time I snap my fingers, you’ll be quiet.” 

A part of you wanted to protest, but at least you gave him the benefit that he hadn’t ever screamed to you before when you tried to escape or do something that slightly annoyed him, he was gentle, in his own twisted way, but Johann also had to establish some limits if he wanted to keep peace inside the little paradise he made only for you. “Snap equals quiet. Repeat that to yourself mentally until it becomes like second nature.”

As you got lost in your thoughts for a few seconds, you suddenly felt Johann’s hand tracing your thigh, up and down, his nails scratching your skin in a way that didn’t make it hurt but tingle, it was suddenly so overstimulating, the feeling of him tracing maddeningly slow circles on your skin out of nowhere.

Your eyes snapped back to him, but Johann didn’t seem to have any expression at all, he only looked at you with those empty black voids of his eyes, completely still in his seat. Your legs began to tremble as he traced closer and closer to the skin of your thighs, scratching softly, caressing in his own, tenderly violent way. “What are you…?"

Snap.

You jolted suddenly, your mouth closing shut at the sudden sound. Johann’s chuckle followed your reaction, and as you slowly opened your eyes again you found him smiling at you, pupils swallowing his already dark irises. “I’m glad to see it’s already working.”

“But-” Snap. “Quiet.” 

You furrowed your eyebrows at his sudden abuse of power, but Johann only smiled at you. “Don’t pout… I’m just having fun with you.” He tugged at your lower lip playfully. “You’re a quick learner, I’m proud of you.” 

A sudden rush of heat reached your cheeks at his words, and you found yourself looking away from him, but suddenly Johann caught your chin between his fingers, clicking his tongue. “C’mon… don’t look away. I need to know if the training is working or not.” 

“And don’t tense your jaw either, you’ll make your face hurt.” His big hand now cupped your face, pressing at the sides of your cheeks to unclench your jaw, you sighed in a defeated manner. 

Johann slowly stood up, walking around the table until he was leaning behind you, his brown hair making your neck tickle and your skin prickle with goosebumps at the feeling of his breathing against your ear. “I should test it in other settings, don’t you think?” 

His voice was heavy with suggestive undertones, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the idea, nodding slowly you looked at Johann, he gave you a small smile before pressing his lips against your temple. “That’s my darling.” 

Until each one of my actions seeps into your brain matter— until you cannot breathe without copying the movements of my own chest. Until your very existence intertwines with mine.

[fellominaarcher]

you belong to me — stripper!Karina x fem!reader

⤷ stripper!karina x g!p fem!reader

⤷ m.list | next

⤷ trigger warning: smut (minors dni) adult content, p in v (unprotected), violence, strip club (?).

⤷ note: this shit is terrible and this is my first gp smut :/

That’s the problem. Y/N is a frequent visitor at this elite strip club. What started as an innocent getaway out of curiosity about the whole concept of a strip club had led her to meeting Yoo Jimin or as she goes by on stage, Karina.

Her stage name.

If she were to count, this would be her ninth visit in two months. That’s quite frequent, even for a regular customer at this club. In fact, she had spent the most money here recently. Entrance fees. Drinks. Snacks. Strippers.

But that’s not a problem for the current vice president of a certain corporation.

Until a certain dark-eyed dancer with a mean expression — a well-known performer here who attracts the most customers — entered the picture. Also the co-owner of Hellfire Club, she had successfully seduced and captivated the usually quiet Y/N.

“Hey!” a man, more specifically, a male waiter at the club — called out. “You again! Eyeing Karina again?” he teased as he took a seat next to her at the bar.

Y/N shot him a side glare, letting out a soft groan, a little infuriated by the sudden interruption of her little moment. She continued sipping her cold whiskey.

The waiter’s eyes followed Y/N’s gaze to where it was glued, Karina. His boss. One of the highest-ranking dancers at Hellfire. He hummed knowingly. “Just ask her out. You drive her home sometimes, and sometimes she even takes you into her room,” he chirped, offering his slightly unwanted opinion.

“My boss is gorgeous. I don’t blame you,” he added.

Still no response from Y/N.

Yes, there are rooms above the strip club. Private rooms for the highest-ranking strippers to entertain customers they’re interested in — for private performances and more.

“I’m just a customer. It’s delusional to think that a stripper might be into you just because of how often you come here,” Y/N finally spoke, taking another sip of whiskey. Good thing she’s a strong drinker.

Rarely drunk. Always in control. But when it comes to her nights with Karina, she’s drunk and weak, knees wobbling at the touch of her hands. The feeling of Jimin’s body.

It’s addictive, really. In fact, Y/N and Karina are almost like friends now, sharing bits of their personal lives and daily routines. They’ve even had lunch together twice after unexpectedly bumping into each other on the street. Y/N found it entertaining and surprisingly easy to talk to Karina.

Sometimes, she hoped Karina felt the same, that their conversations were more than just casual small talk, that Karina found it just as comforting and effortless as she did.

Most of Y/N’s nights at Hellfire were filled with sinful whispers and breathless moans shared with Karina, indulging in carnal needs that translated into physical desires neither of them could resist.

The male waiter scoffed at Y/N’s earlier words. “I’m just saying. It’s not like I’m asking you to marry her right away,” he teased. Y/N fell silent because, as irritating as he was, he wasn’t wrong.

Her gaze drifted back to Karina, and her jaw clenched, brows knitting together. It was a sight she wasn’t expecting and certainly not one she wanted to see.

Karina was sitting at another table with another regular, Juyeon, the chaebol guy. The waiter, noticing Y/N’s change in expression, leaned closer. “Oh, that’s Juyeon. He’s been coming in a lot these past few weeks,” he informed her as she leaned against the bar, eyes locked on the scene before her.

Karina hadn’t noticed Y/N had arrived to pick her up for the night. She was too busy leaning in to hear Juyeon’s words over the heavy bass pounding against the club’s walls and Y/N’s heart.

Juyeon said something funny, making Karina chuckle softly, the kind of laugh that wasn’t forced. The kind that made her eyes sparkle. The kind that made Y/N’s chest tighten.

“Why not? I like dad jokes too,” Juyeon grinned, earning a small smile from Karina.

She nodded slightly, scooting a bit away from him. It was midnight, and all Karina wanted was to leave the club, go home, and rest. But Juyeon’s presence made that harder. He had shown interest in her recently, and tonight was no different.

A few older men, the usual types with gold bands around their fingers and families waiting for them at home—beckoned for Karina to continue dancing for them. She was too exhausted to entertain their sleazy smiles and wandering eyes tonight.

Juyeon, however, wasn’t giving up. He wanted to see Karina on the pole, to have her undivided attention even if it meant outspending everyone else just to get her alone in a private room.

“This is hard to watch,” Y/N muttered, downing the rest of her whiskey in one swift gulp.

Karina, on the other hand, felt suffocated. She needed to escape, even if this was her own club. The co-owner, barely sincere in her performances anymore, was growing weary of showing herself off to men who didn’t really see her.

“Please, Karina, just for a ni—” Juyeon reached out, grasping her wrist.

A loud crash shattered the tension in the room.

Gasps echoed through the club, the DJ immediately cutting the music, leaving behind an awkward silence punctuated by the faint scratch of the halted track.

Karina’s eyes widened, both hands covering her mouth in shock.

Juyeon dropped to his knees with a heavy thud, clutching his head tightly as blood trickled down his face.

Y/N stood over him, her hand still clenched from smashing her whiskey glass against his head. Thin beads of sweat lined her hairline as she gritted her teeth, glaring down at him.

This was her territory.

Karina stared at Y/N, utterly stunned. Relief flickered within her, someone had come to her rescue. But she wasn’t expecting this. Not here. Not in her club.

“Don’t you ever dare look at her again,” Y/N stated coldly, her voice laced with quiet fury. She wanted to blame it on the whiskey, maybe it was the Laphroaig clouding her judgment but deep down, she knew better.

This wasn’t the alcohol talking.

This was possession.

Juyeon swayed, his vision blurring as he groaned in pain. Blood dripped sluggishly down his face, and he gritted his teeth, trying to regain his balance. Karina's eyes flickered between him and Y/N before she finally exhaled the breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding.

She didn't care about Juyeon. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Without hesitation, she grabbed Y/N’s wrist and pulled her away. The murmuring crowd had already begun to close in, eager to watch the chaos unfold, but Karina had no intention of cleaning up Y/N’s mess. Let someone else deal with it.

Y/N let herself be dragged, though Karina’s grip was tighter than necessary—possessive, almost. They weaved through the dimly lit hallways of Hellfire Club, the heavy bass of the music still thudding in the distance. The scent of whiskey, sweat, and expensive perfume clung to the air, but all Y/N could focus on was the heat of Karina’s hand on her skin.

The moment they reached the private room, Karina shoved the door open and slammed it shut behind them. The muffled echoes of the club faded into silence.

Then she yanked Y/N’s hand from her own grasp.

“That was uncalled for! Why’d you do that?” Karina’s voice was sharp, a mix of frustration and something else, something raw, something shaken.

Y/N stood tall, but her gaze stayed on the floor. Her heart was still hammering against her ribs, her breathing uneven. What the hell had she just done?

She hadn’t planned to smash that glass against Juyeon’s head. It wasn’t premeditated. It wasn’t logical. It was instinct.

Because the moment she saw Karina laughing with someone else, leaning in close, touching someone who wasn’t her, something inside her snapped.

"I hope you're not expecting me to apologize," Y/N finally said, lifting her head to meet Karina’s eyes. Her voice was low, rough, laced with something dangerous. "I don’t think I did anything wrong at all."

Karina’s breath hitched.

The way Y/N was looking at her, it wasn’t just anger. It wasn’t just jealousy. It was darker than that, deeper than that. Possession. A claim, unspoken yet impossible to ignore.

And the worst part?

Karina wasn’t sure if she hated it.

Her own gaze softened, but the conflict still lingered in her chest. Y/N had come to her defense. Protected her. But the violence—it wasn’t necessary. It wasn’t supposed to be like that.

Letting out a quiet sigh, she took a step forward, closing the space between them.

“Are you… okay?” Karina murmured, her voice gentler now.

Her fingers ghosted toward the back of Y/N’s head, hesitant, searching.

Y/N didn’t move. She didn’t flinch.

But her dark eyes never left Karina’s.

"I fucking hate anyone who touches what's mine." It's a matter of statement, stated by Y/N.

The tension between them crackled like fire in the dimly lit room, burning too hot, too fast, and neither of them could stop it now.

She just stood there, letting Karina’s fingertips barely ghost over her scalp, her body thrumming with something electric.

Without thinking properly, Y/N tugged Karina's closer into her by her arm and her gaze drifted down on Karina's eyes then kissable pinkish lips. Y/N gulped at the closeness between them and she took a deep breath as she grew needy for the beautiful woman.

Y/N leaned in and capturing Karina's lips in a deep yet gentle kiss. She could taste the lingering sweetness from Karina's pinkish gloss on her tongue and she pulled back carefully, her eyes opening again as she bored into Karina's eyes.

Karina melted into the kiss, she didn't hate that and she was kinda looking forward to fuck Y/N again whenever Y/N decided to be a customer again in Hellfire Club.

"Oh baby, you're in a big trouble," Karina whispered and she was fighting the smile that was threatening to form, "Seeing you like that was hot, though." She placed her hands on Y/N's chest and pushed Y/N to the bed.

Karina crawled in the bed right after pushing the taller woman, she got on top of Y/N and straddled her hips then looping her arms around Y/N's neck and her lips immediately pointed their way towards Y/N's lips.

Kissing again and invading Y/N's mouth as her wet tongue pushed into so she could make the kiss all better. More steamy.

Y/N was happy to be here and she had been looking forward to spend the night with Karina whether it is driving the co-owner of Hellfire Club to home or spending the night between Karina's legs. The latter is so much better.

Y/N broke the kiss because she can't no longer hold the grin and she gazed into Jimin's half lidded eyes and her hands roaming over Karina's curves, "I don't like saying sorry but if I have to this is how I'll say 'sorry', Karina," Y/N spoke, her voice is almost a whisper.

Karina smirked as she listened to Y/N's and she let out a soft chuckle, "Sounds toxic. If you fight with your girlfriend and you'll say sorry through intimacy?" Karina questioned Y/N in a teasing manner and leaned in again to give a quick peck.

"Manipulative." Karina added.

Y/N captured Karina's mouth again, kissing her deeply as she began to strip off her skimpy outfit. Y/N tossed the pieces aside carelessly, her hands eager to explore every inch of Karina's silky skin. She cupped Karina's breasts, thumbing her nipples until they pebbled under her touch.

Karina gasped into the kiss, arching into Y/N's hands. "Mmm, that feels good. But you're wearing too many clothes."

Y/N chuckled, nipping at Karina's bottom lip. "Let me take care of that for you, gorgeous."

She reached for the buttons of her own shirt, fumbling slightly in her haste to be naked with Karina. Once she had shed her shirt, she tugged off her pants and underwear, baring herself fully to Karina's heated gaze.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," Karina breathed, her eyes roaming over Y/N's body.

Y/N's cock twitched at the praise, already hard and aching for Karina's touch. She stepped closer, pressing her body against Karina's as she kissed a trail down her neck and chest. She lavished attention on Karina's breasts, suckling and licking until Karina was writhing with need.

Karina tangled her fingers in Y/N's hair, holding her close as she moaned her pleasure. "Please, Y/N. I need you."

Y/N knew exactly what Karina needed. She slid her hand between Karina's thighs, stroking her wet folds and teasing her clit. Karina spread her legs wider, giving Y/N better access.

"Yes, just like that," Karina panted, her hips rolling into Y/N's touch. "Make me come, baby. I want to feel good for you."

Y/N obliged, curling her fingers inside Karina's tight channel as she sucked hard on her nipple. Karina cried out, her body tensing and shaking as she came hard around Y/N's fingers.

As Karina came down from her high, Y/N gentled her touches, stroking and petting her soft skin. She peppered kisses along Karina's body as she murmured words of possessiveness.

Karina looked up at her with hazy eyes, a lazy smile on her face. "That was amazing. But I think it's time for round two."

Y/N grinned, feeling her cock throb in anticipation. "Whatever you want, baby. I'm all yours." said Y/N and this woman made her feel weak already.

Karina reached down, wrapping her hand around Y/N's shaft and giving it a firm stroke. Y/N groaned, pushing into her grip. "Fuck, that feels so good." It feels so good and she threw her head back.

Karina pumped her hand along Y/N's length, teasing the tip with her thumb. "I love your cock, Y/N. I want you to cum for me." Karina teased Y/N seductively.

Y/N thrust into Karina's hand, desperate for more friction. "It's all for you, baby. I only get hard for you."

Karina guided Y/N to the bed, pushing her down onto the mattress. She straddled Y/N's hips, rubbing her wet folds along Y/N's thick cock. "I need you inside me, Y/N. I need to feel you fill me up." Karina's voice is softer and quivering now.

Y/N reached between them, positioning her cock at Karina's entrance. She rubbed the tip along Karina's slick folds, teasing them both. "Are you ready for me, baby? I'm going to make you feel so good." There's a bit of push and pull dynamic between them.

Karina nodded, sinking down onto Y/N's cock with a low moan. "Oh fuck, yes. You feel so good inside me." She moaned out and Y/N thought it was one of the sexiest sound to hear.

Y/N gripped Karina's hips, thrusting up into her tight heat as Karina rode her. They moved together in a steady rhythm, bodies glistening with sweat as they lost themselves in the pleasure.

"Fuck, that feel so good," Y/N panted, her hands roaming over Karina's body. "You're mine, Karina. Only mine."

Karina leaned down, capturing Y/N's lips in a searing kiss. "Yes, all yours," she breathed against Y/N's mouth. "Now make me come on your big, beautiful cock."

Y/N did as she was told, pounding into Karina with renewed vigor. She changed the angle of her hips, hitting that special spot inside Karina that made her see stars.

"Yes, right there," Karina cried out, her walls clenching around Y/N's shaft. "Fuck, I'm going to come!" Y/N exclaimed in pleasure.

Y/N felt her own release building, her body tensing as Karina rode her harder and faster. They came together, bodies shaking and crying out each other's names as they found their pleasure.

Afterwards, they lay tangled together on the bed, basking in the afterglow of their intense sex. Y/N held Karina close, pressing soft kisses to her hair.

Karina smiled against Y/N's chest, snuggling closer. "I think I need to have more taste of you. I don't even allow my regular customers to be around me this often, you know." Karina stated as a matter of fact.

Y/N chuckled and both of them are taking a few minutes to recuperate before they have to leave this place. Y/N and Karina both knew that this is never going to be the last time for them to meetup like this.

m.list | next

[rkivefae]

(DIE)TS ── AARON HOTCHNER

Pairing ── Plus Size/Chubby Fem!Reader x Aaron Hotchner

Summary ── Hotchner hates nothing more than when you go on unhealthy diets. (Or: You were mocked by a woman and her words stuck to you like glue. You internalized it so much that you began restricting and over-exercising but Aaron comes back and talks to you.)

Rating ── Mature

Content Warnings ── Disordered Eating & behaviors, fatphobia, let me know if I need to say something else.

Word Count ── 3.8k+

Note ── I wrote this in like 2 and a half hours and didn't edit it. I pulled this from some dark corner of my brain that's struggling with wanting to relapse and need this comfort. I suggest anyone struggling with an ED or disordered eating to not read if easily triggered. It goes in detail and should not be consumed by just anyone but I'm sure there's someone out there who needs this just as much as me. AND IF ANYONE IS WONDERING ABOUT HIS KID, just assume he's staying the night at family houses and other peoples and at school thx.

Hotchner hates nothing more than when you go on unhealthy diets.

But you can’t help how it’s drilled in your head. You’ve always been a chunky kid and as you got older, your size never really changed. You were always bigger and people had their things to say about it.

You’ve been called many names in the book, there wasn’t anything you haven’t heard of. They used to make you cry, you wouldn’t go out with your friends, you wouldn’t eat out, you wouldn’t wear sexy or tight clothing. You trained yourself to cover yourself, to not show yourself in front of people - including the basic need of eating.

It felt wrong, forbidden of sorts and although you dropped many of those habits now in your early 30s, it still lingered. You’d occasionally forget meals, pull at your clothes when you thought your stomach was showing and on your worst days, you didn’t dare go out.

But then you met Aaron, the sweetest man you’ve ever met. You were out clubbing with your friends, in a tight green dress with a back cut out. And you never felt prettier, dancing under the lights in the club with your friends. You felt the cold air on your heated skin and it was a thrill as your body mingled with your girlfriends. They grabbed on your hips occasionally, your bodies in sync.

You could feel eyes on you, and you knew it was you because your friends giggled it in your ear. Their hands left your body, though they still were near like a precaution, you opened your eyes and your breath was caught in your throat. His jet black hair was pulled back, save a few strands in front of his face but god did it work. He was sculpted by a god who took pride in their work, you were sure of it. 

You smiled, the plump of your lips covered in the gloss you put on, eyes lined with your favorite black eyeliner and thick mascara. It all made your eyes more piercing when the light shined just right - or so you’ve been told. Then before you knew it, you were in his hands that night. And it felt more than right. His hands never left your body that whole night it felt like. He said your name on his tongue like a prayer, chanting over and over again with a rasp, a moan and a raw need that ignited a fire within you.

You both met that night by chance, his friends finally breaking his hard cover and pressuring him to give in and you, god you were looking for a break and boy did you get one. The best night of your life.

You haven’t left each other's side since that night, he worshipped you and you did the same, in your own ways.

And you knew he found you attractive, he told you that every night. And not just in sexual moments. He’d come behind you, wrap his arms around you, lean over to kiss your neck to your ear as you cooked his favorite meal (considering he cooked yours the night before) and he’d tell you how beautiful you are. To which you’d giggle and thank him. Sometimes giving him sass, “compliments will not give you sneaky bites of dinner before it’s done.”

But something got beneath your hard exterior. He was gone for the week on a case (as he is a lot, but you didn’t mind. You’d rather him out there saving lives like he does best) and you were at home. Your girlfriends asked if you wanted to go out, you pondered it for a bit but it’s been a minute since you’ve all gone out, let alone get a drink together.

So you agreed, dressing up in the green dress you met Aaron in. You decided you’d tease him with pictures, especially considering you wanted to wear your green lace set beneath it. It wasn’t to make him jealous, no one could touch him besides you, but to rile him up a little. You weren’t going to send it while he was in the middle of a case but when he was on his way home, just a little treat to show him what he’s coming home to.

You were all having fun, dancing on the floor like the time before but you got achy sooner than you thought you would, you pardoned yourself with a giggle as your friends hands chased after you but didn’t pull you back, respecting your decision to rest for a minute.

But on your way back, you weren’t watching where you were going and before you knew it, you were completely cold. A drink was spilled from your exposed chest down the silk of your dress.

“Fucking fat bitch,” you heard a girl growl out before you were pushed backwards. You went with the motion, too shocked to fight against it. You didn’t register it all at first until your eyes came to hers, the blue pierced your skull as her face twisted into what could only be described as disgust by the scrunch of her nose and snarl of her lips. “Watch where you’re fucking going. That was like fifty bucks of drinks, you lard.”

And just like that, apologies rushed out your lips. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” you say as you bend to pick the glass that dropped. You muttered more apologies and you didn’t even notice when your fingers were pricked by the glass, you fumbled as you tried to put it on the tray. “I’ll pay for a new one, I’m sorry-“

The girl scoffed, “I don’t need your money. Just stay out of the way or better yet, lose some fucking weight.” And you backed into yourself. You’ve been clumsy before but you’ve never had a reaction like this. And it didn’t help that you found out you gained a few more pounds while having been with Aaron.

“Yo, watch who the fuck you’re talking to.” One of your friends came up behind you, her eyes squinting at the girl before you and this time, the girl stepped back, scoffing again, muttering a whatever and walking off.

Sasha was your best friend and always has been, but when her comforting hands made their way to your body, you shrugged them off and turned to her with the best smile you had, it was small and you knew she could see past it.

“It’s okay, I think- I think I’ll just go home.” You muttered before taking off, pushing through the crowd until you made it out.

You wanted nothing more than the world to swallow you up. You hadn’t given it much thought to lose weight, not in a while. But she could barely fit the green dress she was wearing and it was perfect a few months ago.

But you didn’t know how to lose weight. You already ate healthy (with a few occasions of not) and you worked out occasionally but maybe you needed to eat less, way less and work out more.

Your walk home was cold and you were non-stop sniffling. You’ve done this to yourself, you said. You should fix it.

Aaron said they made a break in the case and might be home in a few days. Maybe you could surprise him by losing a few pounds. Maybe he’d like you more. 

These thoughts snowballed. Every thought you’ve had since you were 7 was rushing back and ten times worse.

Over the course of the next few days, you rejected your friends' invitations to eat out and tried to eat only one meal a day and spend the rest of the time working out and being busy.

You tried to eat just a salad most nights and others you were too tired, so you ordered takeout. Work was an absolute pain, you moved on your feet like a zombie. God you looked like one, there were bags under your eyes. You couldn't sleep well, you stayed up most nights because you just couldn't sleep. You had to take melatonin most nights and you tried not to do it every night considering their health concerns but sleep was becoming something that was a treat. You were rarely getting it.

Aaron called you sometimes, he said that the case is taking longer than expected and that he'd be gone for even longer. You tried not to let it get to you but maybe it was your lack of sleep (and probably proper nutrition) but you were getting more emotional. Your period had already passed so you knew it wasn't that, but you were eating yourself up from the inside out. You were getting messages from your friends, you responded as positively as you could but you could tell they were getting concerned for your health and safety as days went by and you didn't accept any of their brunch plans nor hang outs. 

It was unusual of you, it's been 2 weeks since that night and this never ending routine you've been doing was catching up to you. But you needed to continue it. You had to. You don't even understand why anymore, you loved yourself - you thought you did at least and now you weren't so sure. That night destroyed all that you built and you couldn't explain why.

You thought you were pretty before going out, maybe a little upset that you probably wouldn't be able to wear the dress again soon because you gained a few pounds and you didn't want to rip it. It was your favorite dress for multiple reasons and it being the dress that you met Aaron in was definitely the number one reason. It was the dress you were in, shamelessly flaunting yourself and he picked you. Out of everyone there. It was already not his scene, he didn't want to be there and he was dreading the whole night.

Sometimes you think late at night, what is the point of doing this? He loves you, doesn't he? Why would you have to lose weight for that love to be more? But then your other side fights that maybe he wants what every other man in his life has, a skinny girlfriend. It wasn't fair to him. What if he got mocked for dating someone like you just like you received for being yourself?

Being alone consumed you, all you had was yourself (and everything anyone has ever told you in your life). 

Aaron said it was extended another week probably due to new findings of a group. You didn't understand, you weren't allowed to consider that it was confidential business and you weren't upset about not knowing. Just that you missed him, more than anything else right now.

Around week three or four, the days began to blur more. You didn't feel like yourself anymore and you were forgetting things more. Your brain was fogging up compared to the first week, you still had pizazz in your movement. But maybe this is what beauty costs?

"Hey baby," 

Your heart ached at his voice, rough and tired through the phone.

"Hey handsome," You gave out, with a light giggle. In bed yourself. You hoped he was too. He had the tendency to stay up and overwork himself when a case was getting to him. "I miss you." you whispered into the phone after a few beats of silence.

You heard his sigh, like the world was weighing on him - and to him, it probably did feel like this. "I miss you most, angel." he muttered into the phone.

"You're not staying up working, are you?" you chided, a softness to your phone. But there was only silence to your question. You shook your head, he couldn't see it but you knew he could feel your disapproval. "Oh you totally are! You need to go to bed." You reprimanded him through the phone. 

"But I feel so close, I just need to focus on it."

"No, what you need is sleep." You countered. And you heard his groan. You knew it wasn't of annoyance towards you, just everything that's on him.

"But I'm leading this case and I just, I feel like I need to do more."

"Mhm, you may be the leader boss man of the FBI but listen here, mister, I'm the boss now. You need to get your butt into bed and rest. Anything you're missing won't be found through a tired mind and overworked body. It'll still be there when you wake up and you'll be better than right now to be able to find it. I know you will, but you need to nourish your mind." You spoke softly to him. Maybe a few words of yours was childish but this was the one place and way where he didn't have to act so cold. When you're running the FBI and hunting down criminals, you can't act like the true warm teddy bear you are.

"I know baby, I know." He sighed softly. "Sleep on Skype with me?" He asked and you smiled into the phone. You granted him the request, both of you opening your computers (he now carried one regularly for you) and your smile brightened at him but you knew he couldn't see you, you were in a dark room with no light - and thank god for that but he could hear you and maybe that's what he needed, to hear you in the night. 

It definitely helped you, hearing him next to you even though he wasn't truly there. His breathing was all you needed, you recognized it like no other and a big part of you was soothed by it. You slept a little better that night- just a little.

Your days were still rough, you ached in places you never ached before. But when you woke in the morning, you were startled by loud banging on your door. You peeked through the hole and saw the only face those loud knocks could belong to. Sasha.

You purse your lips, knowing if you opened the door, it would be a world of butt whooping and you weren't ready for it. You knew better than to get away with - not ignoring, just not talking to her as much. 

But as soon as you undid the locks, the door swung open as you had the handle in your hand and you were met with a face of fury. Her eyes set on you and they narrowed. 

"Y/n-"

And before you could finish, you took off as her body lurched forward to get you. But she was always faster, her hands catching you and she pulled you along with her to the couch before she threw you down on it. "Now, I'm giving you five seconds to explain why in the world you're ignoring your most amazing and best friend," she paused for only a second before pointing back at herself, "me before I open a can of whoop-ass on you."

You stared for a second and you couldn't think of anything, mind wiped clean.

"One."

And you squeaked.

"Two."

"Idon'tknowI'vejustbeensadwithoutAaron-" You rushed out before she could say 'three' and that was enough for her, she registered it and she lifted a brow to you.

"That's all it is? You're not lying to me, right?"

"I'm not lying to you." You told her, not confirming the first part but it seemed like she took it as an answer to the first question.

And her solution to this very dire problem was a movie marathon. 

A part of you was more than grateful for this break of thinking, just binge watching movies with your best friends was a cleansing you never knew you needed before. It was the best thing to ever have happened to you. You had an excuse for why you didn't sleep last night, having stayed up most of it with her. But she had to leave somewhere around 2 a.m. 

And the following day, Aaron messaged you that he was finally coming home. And small parts of your world was crashing because you only lost so much weight with his absence, you didn't know how you'd be able to hide what you've been doing-

Hide?

Yes, you needed to hide it.

But not all plans follow through, you learned.

As soon as he made it home, you were in his arms, he wrapped around you as tight as he could and breathed you in like you were a drug he was addicted to and truthfully, you probably were. You swore you saw him going through withdrawals - or perhaps that was the delusion of it all. Maybe you were the one addicted. It didn't matter in the end, you both were obsessed and in love with each other.

You both pulled back on for him to press his lips against yours, his hands on your hips - keeping you as close as possible. "I never want to be away that long from you, ever again." He mumbled against your lips and to that you let out a soft giggle.

"I'll just have to keep you all to myself, handsome."

He pulled back and you saw it - for the split second it appeared - his confused gaze, eyebrows pinched. His hand went to your face - and his hand was the perfect size, cupping your face like you were a doll and truly, to him, you were. His thumb lightly traced the bags beneath your eyes and you felt your stomach drop.

"Have you been sleeping?"

And you were never much of a liar, not like you could get away with it while dating a behavioral analysis.

"Uhm, not too well." You muttered. You felt bad, his return should be about him, not you. It was stupid. He looked tired, he should be resting.

"What's been keeping you up?" He asked, eyes now on yours and not the bag beneath them. You sucked in a breath and shrugged because you knew speaking would only make you give it away and you were scared of what he'd say or think.

Would he be happy? Would he think that you were finally doing something about your body? Would he say he was proud because he wanted you thin like other girls?

Or would he cradle you? Would he tell you to eat more, that it was stupid to base your worth off of something like that? That you're more than a plate of pasta that you forbid yourself from and ate only a plate of salad?

You hoped for that but it would probably be the former. Aaron was a fit man, he could already pick you up now and maybe he would want a smaller girl.

"Have you been eating well?"

Your heart sunk deeper into your stomach and you shrugged again. 

"It's okay-" You began but his firm look on you told you otherwise.

"Baby, be honest with me because I can tell by one look the answer to my question already. I just want you to be honest with me."

A part of you was happy and another - was destroyed? You felt like it was blown up and chopped up and put through a shredder. You couldn't explain why, not really.

"I just- I wanted to lose some weight."

"Why?"

And it made you scoff a little, not an exaggerated one, just a small one. He should know this answer, shouldn't he?

"Come on, Aaron, take one look at me. I'm fat and not just phat, the big F. Capital even. And I just want to look better for you, I know what people think when they see us together and I guess I just realized how much better you deserve- which is just so shitty of me- and I'm just trying to give you that. I could look so much better if I was skinny, you can't tell me I wouldn't." You huffed out, your words were to distance him but your grip on his suit kept him close because even with this tough act, you were falling apart. Tears were in your eyes and you sniffed at him.

"You wouldn't."

"Don't lie to me, Aaron."

"You wouldn't." 

You huffed out a laugh, hands letting go of his suit and you moved to turn but his hands stopped you, cradling you by your waist and bringing you closer.

"You wouldn't look "so much better" if you were skinny, you look beautiful to me now. You'll look just as beautiful to me if you gained fifty pounds or lost fifty pounds. Your weight is a number that is out of my mind because I love you, Y/n. And that's not something conditioned by your weight." He began, taking in a breath while his eyes searched yours. Tears that formed before, were finally falling. "You're beautiful to me, Y/n. Your body is beautiful, your personality is beautiful, you are beautiful. If you want to lose weight, that's fine by me but I won't watch you wither away before me. Losing weight shouldn't be about being 'skinny'. It's about loving yourself and changing for health. You're healthy as you are now and if you want to change something to be better, then so be it but it will be in a healthy way. There's nothing about you I want to change, but I'll support any change you want to have. And if you don't want to change, then don't. Because I'm in love with the beautiful woman in front of me. Not an idea of how others may want her to be."

You sniffled by the time he was finished, face completely soaked by tears and you couldn't help a laugh that came from your mouth. "Do you know it's rude to make a girl cry?" And he smiled at that. And you caught your breath a second later, sniffling again. "I love you, I love you- God, I love you, Aaron. I'm sorry for what I said and acted like." You took a long breath. "It's just, something happened when I was out with my friends and it just, it affected me. Those few words she said affected me and I couldn't let it go."

And ever the understanding and loving boyfriend he was, he took the apology and ordered take out (both too tired to cook) and cuddled up to watch a show.

And as the movie began, you peered up at him from your position against his chest and said, in the most quiet voice. "I don't want to lose weight, maybe build muscle a bit but I don't want to be like that, not right now at least." You confided.

And to that he smiled, "Then that's how it'll be. I love you no less." He pressed a kiss against your lips and it truly felt like he didn't love you any less.

Things will get better, you'll get better. And with him by your side, that's more than possible.

please leave thoughts and comments <3 requests are open if you'd like to see more of him or anyone else (esp with plus size reader or buff)

[machveil]

Simon “Ghost” Riley Fic Recommendations Pt 2🎀✨

this post will contain sfw and nsfw content - nsfw below the cut! please support the writers!! they deserve a lot of love for sharing their fics with us<3 comment, reblog, and like their posts - gonna be real, I’d just binge their blogs because let’s be honest… everything they write goes incredibly hard

SFW:

starting strong with @tojisun! hugs and kisses, have coming home to… Simon? and some subspace

can’t not include @gremlinmodetweeker and their Ghost Icks post

@simonsrileyhusband is up next with Teen!Simon helping Teen!Reader come out to their parents

a fan favourite, @khioneee’s fic about Simon’s instinct to protect

the start to a series that has ruined me, @majinbangus’s fic about Johnny getting you a ‘dog’

from @themotherofhorses, holding Simon while he cries

@simonbrain gave us Simon being good with kids

@chaosandmarigolds was fantastic and wrote Traditional!Simon Riley

@midnight-shadow-cafe, and their big, beautiful brain, served up Closer Than You Think

our lovely @xoxunhinged wrote about Simon taking you out and Simon being clumsy

aah!! @dante-mightdie is serving up some angst with Simon and BlueCollar!Simon Riley

@puff0o0 was so, so sweet and gave us kissing Simon’s gun and Simon with a cold partner

@fishsinsareacknowledged wrote about Simon destressing with you and hugging Simon

love this from @i-love-you-just-the-same, telling Simon “we’re getting married”

hi, dmitriene actually posted this as I was finishing up the masterlist so… it’s fresh!! Simon letting himself rest

and, from @leafavleo’s wonderful blog, push ups with Simon

please make sure to read content warnings (CW) and/or trigger warnings (TW)! your comfort comes first, check the fic before you read it<3

NSFW:

is it really a masterlist if I don’t include @codnasties? thought so, we’re indulging in a little Dom!Ghost taking care of his princess and CNC with Simon

@k6tzie gave us some CoD 🌽!links and Sub!Virgin!Ghost

we’re going to round back to tojisun! I might have a bias for their fics… maybe. listing them off in no particular order: DadBod!Simon Riley, Biker!Simon Riley, Simon bullying into you, Simon Riley’s breeding kink, loving sex, oral fixation, practicing for Simon and a follow up post - toji!!! love you, pookie<3

a GN! and Male!Reader writer, our beloved simonsrileyhusband again! Loser!Simon Riley x Older!Reader, Loser!Virgin!Simon, Loser!Simon Riley, Older!Simon, size kink, and sucking off Simon

hello, hello @simonrillleyyysss, we love Ghost on your period and (tbf it can be read as sfw, but it’s in nsfw just to cover my bases) sucking on Simon’s nipples

@simonriley09, smooches, Inexperienced!Simon Riley x Virgin!Reader and (specifically held off on reblogging just to put it in here first) public sex with Simon

back to simonbrain, Simon’s depraved and Simon and his harmless bird

OKAY. dante-mightdie popped off with Butcher!Simon Riley - can we make that clear? okay, Butcher!Simon Riley being a little gross, Butcher!Simon Riley taking you in the break room, camping with Butcher!Simon Riley, and Butcher!Simon Riley needs a hand

@yawnderu wrote a wonderful sex pollen fic

guess what… another sex pollen fic from @shotmrmiller

@lxvvie made my brain blue screen with grey sweatpants, little Lieutenant Riley, and it’s yours

we all clap and cheer, it’s @evilgwrl with Simon’s too big

@ghouljams… thanking you every day for Cerberus!Ghost

b-b-b- @bi-writes! mwah, Ghost doesn’t take his mask off

another one from @navybrat817 where Simon fucks you with the mask on

did someone say @dmitriene? I did! collaring Simon, Simon being gentle, and rough sex with Simon

big brain moment from @theorist-fox, Simon’s not a stallion in bed and I’m unwell for this

speaking of unwell, @lovelyghst wrote about his Jacob’s ladder

@lvrsrequ3st gave us Simon edges you

@girlyteengirlcore’s overstim with Simon fic, wonderful

Subtle Thirst by @blingblong55, tasty, yummy, scrumptious

@maskedbyghost’s fic where Simon recites his vows is so very good

so, we’re back to majinbangus… oh boy. Simon gets a bath and pulling Simon’s collar, but like, read through the series, I’m begging you

@nighttimealone wrote some humping with Simon, love to see it

“do you think you'll kill for me one day?” from @cherie-doll

@thedivinetexts gave us Simon sharing you with the 141

@khioneee wrote about Simon being too big and Simon’s voice

@beloveds-embrace wrote a little something, too heavy? never

@musouie wrote about how Simon begs

@konigsblog served up some Bull!Simon x Cow!Reader oh my god

and, last but certainly not least, an oral fixation from @fictionismyreality3

[szarina]

Hii. Could I please request Geto (or gojo) who bullies insecure chubby reader but then gets stunned and almost offended when she starts to get close to another guy. And it's even worse that she's recently been trying to give the silent treatment since she's wants to be all strong and stand her ground and stuff. (maybe goes as far as smacking his hand away and all if ykwim)

❝ BITE BACK! ❞

FEATURING. GOJO SATORU AND GETO SUGURU

CONTENT WARNINGS. implied bullying + jealousy + hints of sabotaging.

SYNOPSIS. it takes a new guy for you to fight your bullies.

recently, you've been smiling a lot.

the kind of smile that reaches your eyes. the corners crinkling and there's the unmistakable twinkle in those round eyes of yours. a dimple showing in your cherubic cheeks. you think they wouldn't notice but they did. not with their prying eyes following your every movement and quirk of your face.

suguru noticed it first. there's the whispers and chatters of every student body passing by in the courtyard. he sees you in the midst of the crowd, alternating between running and walking like you were in a rush before disappearing in the next building. he paid it no mind, you may be running late and all the other reasons except meeting with someone.

it happened one afternoon, suguru and satoru was walking towards your class and then a familiar figure casually walks towards someone. a man. they didn't pay it no mind believing that you're off to talk to that guy about things relating to your classes and then a scene unfolds in front of them. one they thought wouldn't expect seeing.

they watched — transfixed. the cold hard stare being sent to both of you and then without a beat, the man raises his arm to pat your head and you — clearly taken aback — bloomed a shy smile. your head lowering to avert his gaze and from the looks of it, you were feeling bashful.

it didn't stop there, the hand that was patting your head descended down to cup your round cheek before pinching it. the action made their irritation trigger over something so simple. you didn't act that way when they do the same to you. (it always brought you to tears. gojo's pinches leaves bruises and geto squishing your round cheeks made you cry.) they didn't thought of it and that made them seething in anger.

fear not, they didn't confront you about it. waiting for you to crack under their scrutinizing gazes while you continue forced to be with them. thriving on the way you squirmed but nothing happened not the way they expected it to be that you'll go vulnerable at them for the pressure they're putting you on.

why does it bother to see you with that lowlife so much? they were much better than that trash. looks and popularity wise and they give you the same affection that guy does to you. (although the guy was much gentler to you, not the same way they've been treating you.) it gotten worst that your undivided attention is being stolen in broad daylight from them and they don't like to share.

you have gotten clever to. the excuses were so convincing and real. avoiding them was like the easiest task for you to do so and it left them no choice but to confront you about your behavior towards them. they can't have you hanging out with that guy.

the expressions on their face was something you were prepared for. their jaws clench, face hardening on what just occured.

did you just slapped gojo's hand away from you? with your big girl talks about not taking a shit for them and won't tolerate anything of the their stupid actions towards you. it cut deep to their unwavering assertion of their pride towards you. their little mouse is being hostile and brace towards them. that son of a bitch was really putting an influence with you. they ought to be taught a lesson and they just have the perfect thing on their mind but first they have to deal with their little mouse in front of them. staring daggers at them and aren't you just the cutest thing ever.

they will let it slide — just this time after they took care of that scum taking their little mousey from them and after that — there would be no more rambunctious attitude and you will be only left with your pliant attitude towards them. you will only be their mouse for them to play.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Death Wish 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Bucky Barnes

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you're desperate for a way out of your life and you ask a powerful man for help (plus!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Photo Inspo

Adrenaline buzzes in your ears and sears through your veins. You shouldn’t be here. Yet this place is no more treacherous than your home. Thing’s can’t get much worse so you may as well try to make them better. 

Or maybe you’re so desperate for it to end, that you don’t care how. 

You stand before the two men in their dark suits. They mutter as if you can’t hear them, “Warren’s girl.” 

“One of them,” the other intones. 

“Boss said not to bother.” 

You sway, your hands twined up behind your back. You expect to be turned away but you’re not ready for it. You chew the tip of your tongue. 

“I can wait,” you say. 

The don’t acknowledge you. They turn to block you out with their shoulders and lower their voices. One glances over his shoulder at you, Walker? Or something. 

“Your daddy send you?” He asks. 

You shake your head. You should probably lie but you’re no good at that. The throbbing in your swollen lip assures you of that. 

“So why should we let you in to see the boss? You out here at midnight looking like a tramp,” he challenges as he faces you again. 

“Hey, she looks like she’s had it bad enough. Don’t be a dick,” the other man reproaches. “Look, sweetheart,” he steps forward. “Man’s busy. With important business. Whatever you’re looking for, ask your daddy.” 

You could sob. Your father has no idea you’re there. If he did... if he knew why... 

Your shoulders slump and you hang your head in defeat. Why did you think this would work? It’s a fantasy. That same escapist wish you make every night when you cry yourself to sleep. 

You close your eyes and see Adrienne’s teary-eyes and Kitty’s helpless expression. You can’t let your sisters down. You can’t stand to see them suffer any longer. You can take it all, but it’s seeing him raise his hand to them that guts you. 

“I need to see him,” you raise your head. “I can wait.” 

You say you can but if your father realises you’re gone, if he finds out where you’ve gone, or even manages to guess why... 

Walker sighs. He elbows the other man. “Go tell him so can come back and tell her to scram on his orders.” 

The other man returns a dark look but goes inside. You hug yourself and shiver in the night air. You have only your quarter-zip sweater and a pair of silky pajama pants. You’re not surprised the men can barely keep from laughing at you. 

You wait. It takes longer than you expect. If anything, you would think they would only pretend to tell the boss. That’s what they all do. They lie. They ignore you. They just don’t care. So why are you here? Why would this go any other way? 

Before you can wave the white flag, the door opens. 

“In,” the man holds the door as he steps out.  

You flinch and Walker sneers at his partner in confusion. You’re just as surprised. The other man huffs. 

“Well, he said you got five minutes, so get.” 

You waver on your feet then scurry forward. You step inside the dark brick building, another man waiting just inside. He’s silent as he points you down the hall. He directs you with the terse gestures; upstairs, to the left, around another corner.  

You stop before a door with another duo standing vigil by the door posts. The left one knocks, tilts his head to listen, the opens it. You’re pointed inside.  

Your nerves flurry and wrap you up in a billowing storm. What are you doing? That question doesn’t matter. It’s too late. 

You drag your feet inside. The door slams at your back. The room is dim, lit only by a lamp with a glass shade on the large desk across from you. Behind that, sit a man. The man. Bucky Barnes. The boss. The king. 

He sits with his elbow bent over the armrest of his chair. He watches you calmly. You stand in silence by the door. He beckons you closer with two fingers. 

“Can’t see you back there, doll.” He says. 

You hold your breath and come forward. You gulp as you stop within a foot of the carved desk. Your eyes scour the vintage print of the wallpaper and the wooden paneling. This place is steeped in history. 

He raises his hand, cradling his face as he brings to fingers to his lips. He watches you patiently. Waiting. You stare back at him. You’ve never seen him this close. You don’t even know if your father has. 

“Why are you here?” He asks at last. 

Your eyes narrow on the gold sheen on his pinky. It’s the only safe place to look. You feel like you’ll melt in the blaze of his oceanic irises. You exhale. 

“I need someone dead.” 

He doesn’t answer. Your words dangle in the air as he mulls them. You purse your lips and wince at the pain in the split along the swollen flesh. 

“A man. The one who did that to you?” He sits up straight and points at you. You follow the glint of his ring. You nod. “Low life. Let me guess, daddy doesn’t know you been sneaking around.” 

You shake your head, “he doesn’t know I’m here. Or that I’m asking.” You take another breath as your eyes water. You bring your hand up to your cheek as it pulses. Your father’s knuckles left a nasty welt. “Because it’s him. He’s the one who did this. And I want him dead.” 

He scoffs, more amused than disbelieving. 

“Warren’s a soldier of mine. You're asking me to off him?” 

“I’m begging,” you finally make yourself look him in the eye. His is formidable man. Dark hair, dark beard, a touch of grey here and there. Even at this hour, he wears a nice suit and sits with authority. “Please, my sisters--” 

“And how are you and your sisters going to make up for his cut. He brings in money. What can you give me?” 

“You can take everything. We just want to be free,” you say. 

He clucks, “what he has now is nothing compared to a lifetime of what he can get.” 

You lower your lashes. That’s it. At least he didn’t laugh because you almost did when you said it out loud. Your father isn’t going to die. He’s so rancid, even death doesn’t want him. He’s not human, he’s a curse. And this man you’re asking for mercy, he’s the same kind. 

“Sorry for the bother,” you eke out. “I was mistaken.” 

“So you were,” he agrees. “Go home. Put some ice on it.” 

It’s like another punch in the face. You nod, “thank you, sir.” 

“You can go,” he dismisses. 

“Yes, sir.” You put your head down and drag your foot back. 

“Ah,” he tuts. 

Your eyes flick up. He extends his hand across the desk. Right. He is still who he is. You step closer as he holds his hand steady. You bow down and kiss the sigil on his ring. An outdated and demeaning gesture. 

Before you can stand straight, his large hand frames your chin. He pushes your head up as your eyes round. You stare at him as his gaze drifts down to your neck. The bruises by the zipper of your sweater tingle. 

“You were never here,” he lets you go. 

“Understood,” you retreat, “sorry again for wasting your time.” 

[dontshootmespence]

Tell Me I'm Not Second Best

Pairing: Non-enhanced Bob x Reader

Summary: After losing your husband, Henry, your first love, due to unforeseen circumstances, you start dating Bob. It’s only been eight months, but you’ve fallen fast and so has he. One night, while packing for a trip, you say your late husband’s name, which triggers Bob.

Author’s Note: I feel like Bob is always in need of some degree of reassurance.

Warnings: Mentions of death, grief, relationship trauma, unprotected p in v, sad, grief-laden sex.

Word Count: 2334

----

When you walk into the bedroom, you see Bob hunched over the suitcase, examining its contents to ensure you have everything for your short stay house-sitting for your parents. “Everything okay?” You ask.

“Yea,” he says, proudly showing you what he’s packed. “I think I’ve got everything, but you might want to make sure.”

As you pad over to the side of the bed, you can already tell that he’s forgotten something. “Socks. You need socks.”

“That’s right, I think most of mine are in the laundry. I’ll go get them.” 

When he comes back, you’re checking things for what feels like the fiftieth time to make sure you don’t forget anything. “You want me to bring that cucumber body wash you like?” he asks as he comes back down the hallway to your bedroom. 

“My mom has some, Henry,” you reply. “So no worries.”

Turning to face him, you can see that something is wrong, his face drawn in surprise and then it clicks. “Oh my god, I just called you Henry, didn’t I?”

Bob tried to mask his feelings, but the hurt was written all over his face. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “I know you didn’t mean to.”

“Baby, I’m sorry,” you said again. 

“It’s okay, sometimes the wrong name just spills out. I know that,” he says, turning toward the staircase. “I’m just gonna go downstairs and take care of the carry-ons, because we have to get going within the hour.” 

You reached out to get him to stop. Repeating over and over again how sorry you were.

“It’s fine, d-don’t worry about it,” Bob said curtly. When your hand touched his shoulder, he shook it off. It’s fine!” The room fell silent and thick with uncertainty.

When he turned to face you, he saw the tears in your eyes. “Baby, I’m sorry,” he said, frustrated with himself. “I shouldn’t have snapped.”

Your lips quivered and a tear ran down your cheek. “I’m really sorry,” you breathed.

Bob shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. Why I’m all touchy. I think it’s just the stress of packing and making sure everything goes according to plan, but that doesn’t excuse me snapping. I’m sorry.”

Just days ago, you’d visited his grave alone. “He’s on your mind. I understand. It’s my own issues. Not anything to do with you.”

You reached out and grabbed his forearm. “You can talk to me, you know?”

“I know,” he responded, lips quivering with the restraint of holding everything inside. “I just…Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“I just don’t want you to get upset, when I ask it.” Bob glanced down at his twiddling thumbs, a nervous tick he’d had ever since he was a kid. You rubbed small circles into the flesh of his forearm, encouraging him to say what was on his mind. He steadied himself, swallowing hard. “Do you…do you love me…the same way you love him?” His voice tapered off, ashamed that he allowed himself to voice his concerns. “I won’t call him your ex. He’s not. And that’s a disservice to him, but-”

Bob took a deep steadying breath in through his nose. “I didn’t want to ask. Because it’s an unfair question. I’m just tired and being stupid.” 

Immediately, you reassured him. “You’re not being stupid. I want you to get it out. To talk to me. Trust me.”

A tear fell from his eye and onto the collar of his gray t-shirt. “I just feel insecure sometimes, you know? I know it’s not fair to you. I just see how you talk about him and I know you’re still going through the grieving process. I know you loved him so much.” He wiped at his nose and continued. “S-so much. And I don’t wanna take that away from you. But I see it sometimes and it just makes me feel less than. It’s such a selfish thing to think, I know, but-”

“It’s not selfish, baby.”

The pitch of his voice rises as the floodgates let loose, tears streaming down his face. “I know it comes from my own relationship trauma and not feeling good enough and it’s so unfair to put that on you, but I can’t help it sometimes.” He bit his bottom lip to stop the quivering. “I just keep thinking that if that drunk driver hadn’t been drunk that night that you’d still be together.”

He began crying so hard his nose began to run. Covering his face in shame, he said, “You’re everything to me. You’re my world, and I’m so afraid that I can’t do what he could. That I can’t make you feel how he felt. And it kills me inside.” He sniffed hard, attempting to stop the tide of emotions that threatened to overtake him. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to get upset.” His voice shook with unbridled sadness. “I feel like I can’t compete with him.”

“You don’t need to,” you cried, tears falling to the floor.

Nodding, Bob said. “I know logically that I don’t, but my brain…my stupid brain.”

He crouched down to the floor with his head in his hands. “You have this perfect memory of him and I feel like I’m never gonna measure up. Because he was your soulmate, and I’m just the guy that fills the gaps.”

You fell to your knees beside him and grabbed his face, forcing him to look at you. “You do not fill the gaps. I wouldn’t be where I am today without you having helped me through it. You’re everything to me, Bob.”

He couldn’t maintain your gaze. “I hear how everyone talks about him. I understand it, but sometimes I feel like your friends and family look at me like I’m an imposter trying to take his place. Like I did something wrong. Just because I love you.” He let out another steady breath.

Crawling closer to him, you spoke, “You did nothing wrong. And no one thinks that, I promise.” You swept a strand of messy brown hair out of his eyes. “Henry and I were best friends, and if you believe in soulmates, maybe we were that too, but we had our problems. Our relationship wasn’t perfect.”

Bob sniffled. “I know. I just feel like I don’t want to say anything negative or let you know how I feel because it would be minimizing your grief and I don’t want to do that. I don’t know what to do. Sometimes,” he said, a sob catching in his throat, “I feel like I just want to be held and reassured that you feel the way you do, but I feel like that’s taking away from you keeping his memory alive and that’s what’s important. So I pretend like it’s fine when it’s not. I’m really hurting lately.”

As his head fell against your shoulder, he cried, “I need you to reassure me that I’m not second best. That I’m not a placeholder. That you love me the same way you love him.”

Swallowing against the lump in your throat, you grabbed his hands and pulled him up with you. You cradled him in your arms and let him sob for moment, but now that he’d let his feelings be known, he couldn’t stop. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, clutching your shoulder, his head nuzzled into the side of your neck. “I’m just being pathetic and dumping all of this on you. I’m gonna clean myself up and we can just forget-”

“No,” you insisted. “Will you sit down with me? I need you to listen to me.”

Nodding, he followed you to the couch. “I won’t lie to you. It still hurts on occasion. He was a big part of my life, but now you are. I don’t want you to be like him, I want you to be you. Because I love you, for all that you are, here and now.”

Bob’s eyes found yours. “I know. I think I just put him on a pedestal - compared myself.”

“I understand,” you said softly, grabbing his hand in yours. “But I need you to understand that I love you. Not because you’re him, but because you’re you. You’re my Bob. The man who helped me grieve. The man who held me while I cried. The man who brought me groceries when I physically couldn’t get out of bed to take care of myself. I love you.”

Bob collapsed against your shoulder in relief. “I love you too,” he whispered. “I love you so much. I’m sorry for dropping everything on you all of a sudden.”

“It’s okay.”

As the tears subsided, he talked himself through his feelings. “I know love isn’t this ethereal thing that just happens. You make it work. And we’ve worked at it together. My brain just doesn’t want to cooperate sometimes. Thank you for reminding me.” The last of his tears cascaded down his cheeks. “If it’s not too much trouble, can you keep reminding me?” He asked earnestly.

“Every day,” you said softly, bringing your tear-stained lips to his.

He sighed into your mouth as you kissed him. Chuckling softly, he grasped your chin in his thumb and forefinger. “Don’t kiss me right now, I’m a mess. My face is gross.”

“I don’t care,” you said, peppering his face with kiss after kiss.

Bob reached out to the table near the couch. “Can you hand me that box of tissues?” He blew his nose and placed the tissue on the wooden surface. “Thank you again for letting me get it out. I think I need to make more appointments with my therapist.”

“That’s okay,” you replied, a sad smile ghosting your lips. “We’ll work on it together. And you’ll work on it with her.”

Scooting yourself closer to him, you pulled his face to yours and kissed him like he was home. Slowly, languidly, you showed him just how much you loved him. When you climbed into his lap, he stopped you. “What are you doing?”

“I’m showing you how much I love you,” you sighed into his mouth.

Bob swallowed. “You don’t have to prove anything. Not like this. That’s not what I was after.”

You slid your hand around the back of his neck. “I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

As your mouth found his again, he moaned, hands flying to your sides in an attempt to anchor himself. His fingertips brushed the skin at the small of your back and you arched into him before reaching down to the hem of his pants. “This okay?” You asked.

“Yea,” he sighed. “ I just want to make sure this isn’t because you feel like you need to, or that it’s out of pity. I know that sounds stupid.”

You assured him that wasn’t the case. “Just wanna be close, quiet, with you.”

Your hand palmed over his cock as you bent down to kiss his shoulder, his collarbone, the side of his neck. “I love you,” you said, your breath hitting the shell of his ear and making his breath hitch. You sucked at the pulse point just below his ear that drove him crazy.

“Make the hickeys obvious,” he laughed softly. “So people know that I’m yours.”

“You are mine. Forever.”

Bob sniffled. “You’re gonna make me cry again.”

Resting your head against his, you reveled in each other’s breath, just allowing yourselves to be in the moment. As your hand rested above his heart, you felt it slow and steady into normalcy before grinding your hips against his, lazily pulling your core over his clothed erection. With clumsy hands, you pulled his zipper down and released him from his boxers and jeans. “Mine,” you breathed. 

Kissing him, you maneuvered his cock to your entrance, slowly pulling it back and forth across the wetness that gathered there. As he slipped inside you, you both groaned, hands flying to each other’s bodies, needing the feel of each other. Bob mumbled “I love yous” against your skin as you began moving up and down on his cock, slowly at first but then with increasing vigor. “I love you, baby,” you whined.

You felt a tear slip onto your chest. 

“You crying?”

“Happy tears this time,” Bob replied. “I promise.”

The room quickly filled with hitched breaths and strangled groans. His hands flattened against your spine, pulling you in close so you were skin to skin. “Fffuck, baby,” he sighed. “Need you.”

“You have me,” you said as you swallowed his moan. 

His hand found the dip between your shoulder blades, where he traced slow circles while his mouth found your chest. “Are you close?” He asked.

“Almost, baby, just hold out a little longer.”

You picked up the pace, wanting to feel him come with you, needing that connection. “I never want you to forget how much I love you.” 

Bob groaned, his lips sliding over your skin. “I won’t forget again. I promise.”

The coil in your stomach tightened and you could see in his eyes that he was right there, at the precipice, just waiting for you. “Come with me, baby,” he said, his voice muffled by your neck. “Come with me.”

As you fell over the edge, you both cried out, grasping onto each other as if your lives depended on it. You slowed your pace, milking him dry as his lips found yours. Unable to hold yourselves up any longer, you collapsed back into the couch. “Thank you,” he said, kissing the underside of your chin. 

For a moment, you laid there in each other’s arms, heavy breaths subsiding into steady ones. “D-Do you think next time you go to visit his grave, I could come with you?” 

You nodded, removing yourself from him and coming to rest at his side. 

“I feel like it’s something I’ve been putting off, but I don’t want to anymore. He’s a part of you and a part of us.”

[multi-fandom-imagine]

[Key]

-💕means it has sexual content/Implied sexual content..

-💔means it is an angst fic

-😍means it is a family fic

-💘means it is an angst fic with a happy ending.

-🚫means it contains a Trigger Warning.

-🌻means its a HC / Imagine

-➤

─ ★

•𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬•

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

-➤ Fucking Stanley in El Diablo

-➤ Face sitting with Stan

-➤ Sub Stan

-➤ Wearing something sexy for Ford & Stan.

-➤NSFW Imagine with Stan

-➤Slipping Stan your panties

-➤Stanley Gleeful fingering you { Reverse!Falls Au }

-➤Stan loving your tits and ass.

-➤I don't want anyone else

-➤Dom!Stan imagine

-➤ Taking tasteful nudes for Stan

-➤ Distracting Stan from his work.

-➤ Wearing Stan's jacket

-➤ Stan fucking you against the El Diablo

-➤ Making a porno with Stan

-➤ Stan fucking you against the counter.

-➤ Stan fucking you while smoking a cigar.

-➤ Giving Stan a hand job.

-➤ Cockwarming Stan

-➤ Period sex with Stan. || even more ||

-➤ Stan marking / biting hc

-➤ Stan's reaction to you crying during sex hc

-➤

-➤ Stan's scent in the Omegaverse.

-➤ Little Crush

-➤ You deserve love

-➤ Knitted Scarves

-➤ There goes my life. { dad!Stan }

-➤ Stan complimenting you.

-➤ Getting the twins to say daddy-🌻

-➤ Ford helps Stan stop aging faster-🌻

-➤ Stan taking the his twin girls trick or treating-{Summerween}😍

-➤ Everything Changes-😍

-➤ Kissing Stan's cheek.

-➤ Last Kiss-💔 | -🚫

-➤Stan taken care of you while sick

-➤Stan standing up for his kids-😍

-➤Gargoyle!Stan playfully chasing you. {monster!falls}

-➤Helping Young!Stan fix the portal

-➤Stan falls for a Selkie

-➤Stan takes care of you while you're on your period.

-➤Contractions

-➤Stan defending you from his father.

-➤

•𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬•

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

-➤ Face sitting with Ford

-➤ Sub Ford

-➤ Wearing something sexy for Ford and Stan.

-➤ NSFW Ford imagine.

-➤ It's just a flower { GN smut }

-➤ Ford loving your ass.

-➤ Ford fingering you

-➤ Distracting Ford from his work

-➤ Wearing Ford's sweater

-➤ Ford leaves out his journal

-➤ Ford marking / biting hc

-➤Ford's reaction to you crying during sex hc

-➤

-➤ Cuddles

-➤ Imagine Ford having a crush on you.

-➤ Holding Hand's

-➤ Naked Cuddles

-➤ Ford being nervous to hold your hand.

-➤ Waited for Ford.

-➤ First kiss and a confession.

-➤ Ford's scent in the Omegaverse.

-➤ Stanford Gleeful { Reverse!Falls Au }

-➤ Your love

-➤ Finding a kitten that's just like Ford

-➤Ford taken care of you while sick

-➤holding Ford's hand while cuddling.

-➤Ford standing up for his children.

-➤ Proposing to Ford at the same time he proposes to you.

-➤Ford taken care of you while you're on your period.

-➤Ford helps you through the birth of your children

-➤Ford defending you from his father.

[usersanon]

Please be aware of the user @/saintsugu also known as Ezra.

Past pseudonyms include (but are not limited to: @/aces_high

I never thought that I would have to create a post like this. In my near 12 years on the internet, I never thought I would have to write down the words I am about to type, especially about a fellow fanfic creator, one I used to enjoy before I found out about the type of person he really is. I apologise for the long post, however I want to make sure I am as thorough as possible so I can bring this person to justice.

Before opening the read more/ continuing with this post, please read the trigger warnings. This will deal with heavy topics, ones that make me sick to my stomach. I apologise for all of the censoring in this post as well.

TW: P*DOPHILIA, UNDER*GE, SEXUALIZATION OF EDS AND SH

I would just like to start off by saying how difficult this post is for me to write. I have had to take multiple breaks while typing this out. I have felt disgusted since I first saw the posts on his twitter. Like I need to take a shower and scrub myself clean, however, at the same time I feel like I cannot sit idly by while Ezra still has a platform.

The posts I have seen on his twitter, what he actively endorses is just disgusting and predatory in nature. I have done my best to censor them so as to not continue the spread of such material. As of the time of this post, his twitter is still public.

HIS TWITTER (X) IS CURRENTLY UNDER THE NAME @/ezr_ace

First, I’ll give evidence I have to prove that the twitter account stated above is in fact his. I was wary at first as well, however, I believe this evidence in fact proves that beyond reasonable doubt that the account is his.

The obvious reasoning is as follows: Ezra goes by the pseudonym Ezra currently, and has gone by the pseudonym Ace in the past. Both the twitter account and his tumblr state that he is 21. Both twitter and tumblr themes are the same in nature, featuring manga panels of Suguru edited in the same way.

If you’re familiar with Ezra at all, you would know that they are very close with another user, Flora, also known as @/fyogasm. Previously known as @/pussydrunkfyodor on tumblr. When going through the followers of this twitter account, I noticed someone by the name of Flora following him (one of about 34 followers), with the user @/floratumblr. This account had their tumblr linked in the bio of the profile, and it led straight to Flora’s tumblr. Screen recording is posted below:

UPDATE: since Ezra has been called out, Flora has unfollowed Ezra’s Twitter as well as deleted her account. I can only assume it is to try and dodge the backlash of being associated with him. Here are screenshots proving they are moots/ interacting with each other.

Note: I do not know what this means for the content of Flora’s character. All I can say for certain is that she is close friends with him (to the point they have each others numbers), and that she follows his Twitter. I did not dive deep into her Twitter before she deleted it. But I can say that I do believe she knew the content he was posting about, otherwise she wouldn’t have deleted her Twitter the second he was called out while remaining mutuals with him on tumblr.

UPDATE 1/19/24 1:50 pm: Since creating this post, Flora has reached out and stated that they have broken all contact with Ezra. They state that they are not frequently on twitter, and was completely unaware of the type of content he was posting on the account. They state that the content found on the account has made them feel sick and that they are no longer friends anymore.

Back to the main point, this only adds to the similarities listed above. A close mutual that he has been seen actively talking to on his tumblr also follows him on twitter, endorsing his behavior. This alone was too much for me to ignore. However, one final factor came into play that solidifies that user ezr_ace and user saintsugu are the same Ezra.

He not only posted to his tumblr about hateful anon messages, but also his twitter at the same time. Right after the messages were sent, he tweeted the following, as well as posted the following messages on his tumblr. Screenshots with time stamps posted below:

This for me, confirms that the two accounts are the same. There are simply too many coincidences for me to ignore. I feel that there is no argument about the validity of the accounts, as there are just too many similarities to ignore. Now, I can delve into what the post is really about. The content of the Twitter account.

P*DOPHILLIC ACTIONS AND UNDRE*GE CONTENT.

To put it simply, I was horrified when I first opened the profile to be greeted with Shotacon artwork. Full on artwork of an adult Toji a*saulting a child Gojo. In this artwork, Gojo looks as if he can be no older than 10. Most of the image is censored for obvious reasons, however, part of the screenshot appears in the video above as well. Proving that it cannot have been doctored in any way.

As you can see, the post is tagged with tw sh*ta. For anyone unaware, the definition of Sh*ta is as follows: “Sh*ta is a term used in manga and anime fandoms to indicate sex involving an under*ge boy.” (Fanlore.org) Aka, CP.

It is disgusting to see someone who I once enjoyed, once trusted, interact with literal cp. Drawing or not, the effect of it is still massive. Viewing children (ANYONE UNDER*GE) in a sexual nature is harmful to everyone. It breaches past dark content into something horrible. Something dangerous.

I felt sick seeing someone be as brazen as to repost a picture of a child being a*saulted. To get off on it. It is p*dophilic. That is the only way it can be put.

Further on this, he has written smut of, in his words, “not necessarily under*ge” Suguru in highschool. There is a whole thread on it on his profile, however, I will not be showing it here. The screenshot below describes the nature of the whole post from his own words.

When I first read “not necessarily under*ge”, my first and only question was literally, what the fuck does that mean? Either he is under*ge or not. There is not some fuzzy grey area coating the world between adults and children.

But sure, give him the benefit of the doubt. That does not excuse him liking multiple posts tagged with under*ge content. The most recent being less than an hour ago. Posts censored to the best of my ability below.

These posts all point to the same thing. The disgusting, undeniable truth that this man is attracted to under*ge content. Content depicting minors in sexual scenarios. Content that no member of society should ever consume. He is a p*dophile. For viewing this content of his own accord. For liking it, for reblogging it. For creating it on his own. He is a disgusting person.

FOLLOWING MINORS.

Him interacting with content like that above, consuming it in any capacity at all makes him unsafe to be around. For anyone. Especially minors.

Even though his blog is 18+, even though he preaches that minors should stay away from his blog. He still found himself following a 16 year old. Becoming mutuals with them. The fact this person is 16 is clearly displayed on their blog as well (in their pinned post).

Screenshots shown below. The individual’s user is censored out as, once again, they are a minor and I don’t feel they should have to be wrapped up in this mess.

Once again, Ezra is someone who preaches about minors staying out of adult spaces. Multiple times he has complained on his blog about minors following him and having to block them. You would think he does the same and would be more careful about curating his online spaces, however it he fails to do that.

I don’t believe this can be boiled down to a simple case of missing the age in their bio— this user has their age in their pinned post, as well as their about me. Along with the sexualisation of minors prevalent on his Twitter, it makes me extremely uncomfortable to know that he is following a minor in any capacity. I’m sure it would make anyone.

SEXUALIZING EDS AND SH.

To end the laundry list of posts on his twitter, we have him writing smut glorifying eds, as well as liking posts depicting sh in a sexual light. As always, screenshots are shown below, censored to the best of my ability.

In the post listed above, Suguru is described in a way that is hard to stomach. While it is not nearly as bad as everything else stated above, I feel it is still necessary to include, especially because in this pairing he has often described and implied Suguru to be a minor. There is a line and he has crossed it several times, this is just another example of such. Serving as the cherry on top to further demonstrate his mindset.

Dark content and discussion of these subjects in fiction are not the problem. The disturbing part of this is that Ezra often uses these tropes within his min*r/adult sexual fantasies, and when paired with the sh*ta and under*ge content, leaves a very poor taste in the mouth. It comes across as not only a gross f*tishization, but a gross f*tishization of taking advantage of a minor that way.

A DISCUSSION ON THE LIMITS OF DARK CONTENT.

In this section, I feel that it is important to touch on how dark content plays into all of this. I’d like to expressly state that this is NOT a condemnation of dark content or its consumption.

Dark fiction and dark content are a fine line. It’s a fantastic tool for exploring taboos and emotions or experiences that aren’t often talked about openly. DC creates what is essentially a safe space for exploring things that are not typically done or seen in the real world, with the knowledge that writing or engaging with it does not necessarily mean condoning it. That being said, this callout post is NOT about being anti-dc. Dark content is a literary or artistic tool. Keeping all of this in mind, to actively engage with sh*ta content in which a character is depicted sexually not only as a minor, but as a child, and to be sexually aroused by that image is the definition of p*dophilia. Writing or drawing children and engaging with that content in a sexual capacity is p*dophilia and at the very least, has p*dophilic tendencies. This is not dark content, this is p*dophilia.

It is one thing to write or create dark fiction between adults for the purpose of gratification or exploration of social dynamics and it is entirely another to engage with art of a child engaging in sexual acts with an adult for (seemingly) the intent purpose of sexual gratification. Everyone draws their own line, but it is also important to acknowledge that there are some depictions of taboo subjects that border (if not fully step-into) harmful, p*dophilic content that perpetuates behavior and mental tendencies that truly are dangerous.

To engage with a drawing of a child and a full grown adult in sexual acts for the purpose of sexual gratification is incredibly fucked up. And the fact that minor and adult p*rnography are not just common, but dominating Ezra's twitter page, should be an absolute red flag. It’s okay to acknowledge that dark content is a medium for fiction while also acknowledging that there are some ways of engaging with it that are harmful, especially when it is so glaringly obvious that the content is between a child and an adult (the art I am talking about specifically really is a child. I don’t urge anyone to look at it, but it is gojo depicted as a child of maybe 8 - 10 years old. I’m not using the term child as an umbrella term for minors here).

The problem, stated very plainly, is that the post/s he is engaging with are sexual depictions of a child with the purpose of sexual gratification. That’s the point here. It’s not the dark content, but rather that he is retweeting posts depicting a child of about 8-10 engaged in sexual acts and created for the purpose of sexual gratification.

Once again, this is not a condemnation of dark content. Dark content can be used in so many valuable ways— facing trauma, dealing with taboo subjects, exploring the literary world in a safe and healthy way. As someone who actively consumes dark content, I will be the first to tell you this. However there should always be limits to the types of content produced. Gaining any kind of gratification from looking at a child being a*saulted is disgusting. It is p*dophillic. Especially when he actively engages with minors on his platform.

This is not a conversation of morals— which side is right and wrong. But rather a conversation about the safety of children. This is not a conversation about ageing up as that is not what he is doing. The characters being depicted here are not being aged up, rather are being depicted as minors, or literal children being used for the sexual gratification of adults.

The issue here is a p*dophile. Not dark content. Not anything else.

CONCLUSION.

I’ll be honest, post was extremely hard for me to create. Discovering that someone I once thought was close to me is this kind of person feels disgusting and abhorrent. I honestly wish I never had the displeasure of meeting them in the first place.

Hopefully, by the end of this post you are able to see the kind of person Ezra really is. I could not be silent about this. I knew that the moment all I found all of this out. This post has been very difficult for me to write, but I hope by the end of it some good will come. Some people will be able to avoid interacting with this man.

I believe Ezra needs professional help, and truly hope that he is able to get it some day soon.

Please be careful with who you interact with on the Internet. Adults and minors alike, there are predators everywhere. Please try your best to stay safe in your own online spaces. All of the love in my heart goes out to anyone who has survived child expl*itation. I hope for nothing but the best for you in the future.

Thank you all for taking the time to read this post. I know it is long and triggering for most people. I hope you all have wonderful days and try your best to take care of yourself.

Listed below are some important numbers I would like to bring awareness to before this post is over.

National Child Ab*se Hotline (USA): 1-800-422-4453

National Center for Missing and Exploited Children (USA): 1-800-843-5678

The National Sexual A*sault Hotline (USA): 1-800-656-4673

Childline (UK): 0800-1111

International Child Helpline: 116-111

TLDR: Ezra has a Twitter account where he retweeted artwork of a child gojo being a*saulted by an adult toji. He liked as well as created posts depicting under*ge characters (literally tagged with ‘under*ge’). All while being mutuals with a 16 year old on tumblr.

Tags used to try and spread awareness. I tried to mostly include fandoms that he is in.

UPDATE: lmfao, he has since deleted the retweet of sh*ta gojo after he was called out. Literally proving that it was him.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Blood singer, part 5

Summary: Alice makes it clear what the next steps should be, while Jasper and Paul fight their inner demons.

Warnings (be mindful of your triggers): injury, blood and death, angst, fluff, grief, swearing, sexual content, mentions of mental health struggles, alcohol, detailed descriptions including physical harm

Pairing: Jasper Hale x human!reader (blood singer), Paul Lahote x human!reader

Word count: 8.1k

Blood singer - Series Masterlist

Jasper’s pleading gaze is difficult to ignore, but Alice stands her ground, her voice soft but unyielding.

“No one’s going to be erasing any memories,” she says firmly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Jasper stiffens, his jaw clenched so tightly the bone would crack if he was just a human. His eyes, burning with anguish, remain fixed on the unconscious girl in his arms. His hands tighten instinctively around her delicate frame, as if he could shield her from every cruel twist of fate just by holding her closer.

“You can’t possibly be saying she’s safer with us,” he croaks out, broken.

Alice steps forward, voice calm and somewhat gentler now. “If her memories are erased today, she will never be within your reach again. Your story would end right here, Jasper. She would return to New York, marry that shitty ex of hers, and die young.” She frowns, her gaze heavy with the burden of truth he can’t possibly understand, but she must make him understand. “I see two possible ways she would die there: one by her husband’s hand, and the other...” Alice hesitates. “Something she'll tell you herself, if you make the right choice.”

Jasper’s entire body stills while his mind reels, caught between despair and desperate hope, between his instinct to run from the pain and his aching need to stay by her side.

“It’s not my place to say more,” Alice finishes quietly. “But it’s inevitable.”

Clearing her throat, she pushes on, keeping her voice steady. “If your memories are erased instead... she dies by your hand. Or the same way I just mentioned. Those are the only outcomes I see. She needs you, Jasper. More than she knows…And you need her more than you know. You’re meant to be together, if you can get your head out of your ass long enough to remember it.”

The words hit him like bullets. Jasper’s throat is painful as he tries to swallow, his mouth dry. He clutches Y/N closer to his chest, as if someone might rip her away at any second.

“You’re saying... she dies if she’s not with me?” His voice is ragged, almost boyish in its disbelief.

Alice’s gaze softens. “Her death is inevitable,” she repeats, slower this time. “The difference is, if she stays with you... she lives long enough to become one of us. Long enough to have a real future.”

Jasper goes perfectly still like a statue, the weight of her words sinking into his bones. “You’re telling me she dies no matter what we do?”

“That’s kind of fucked up,” Emmett mutters under his breath, crossing his arms tightly. “You didn’t tell us that part before.”

“I said we needed to keep her alive,” Alice snaps. “I didn’t say she was going to grow old.”

He doesn’t need to breath, the need has long been erased from his body, but Jasper is trembling. Just a whiff of her is enough to bring him to his knees, the pain it inflicts is by far the worst pain he’s ever had, yet in a way in comforts him. And he needs comfort, almost as much as he needs answers. Swallowing thickly, Jasper dares to draw a breath, inhaling her deeply, the scent of her hitting him like a sucker punch; soft, sweet, heartbreakingly mortal. His throat burns in protest, but his heart, or whatever is left of it, feels infinitely worse. “She doesn’t smell sick. I don’t sense anything wrong.”

Alice places a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Trust me. The goal is to keep her alive long enough, to let her adjust… To give her a choice.” She glances toward the backyard, her face tightening. “Ideally, we would have shown her what we are on your terms, not Paul's.” Her lips press together. “But it’s done. We’ll work with it.”

For a moment, Jasper sways slightly, like a man struggling to find his footing on a crumbling ledge. His eyes never leave Y/N’s face. Every fiber of his being screams to protect her, to know her, to cherish her, to earn her love and the thought of losing her before he even gets the chance guts him.

Rosalie clears her throat, drawing his attention. “Take her to your room,” she says gently. “Emmett can move the bed from Edward’s old room. You stay with her. Wait for her to wake up. Explain everything. Step by step.”

Jasper nods numbly, the plan anchoring him. Giving him purpose. She enjoyed his presence last night. He’ll soothe her nerves and open up, entirely this time.

“Since when are you willing to help?” Alice raises a brow at Rosalie, suspicion clear in her voice.

“Since I realized her story doesn’t have a happy ending without Jasper,” Rosalie mutters. Her gaze flickers to Paul, who is still in wolf form, snarling and straining against Jacob, Embry, and Seth. “Go. Before Paul loses it completely.”

Jasper doesn’t waste another second. With infinite care, he lifts Y/N fully into his arms. He cradles her against his chest with a tenderness that seems almost impossible for someone built of marble with control issues, but he’s holding her close as if she’s the most precious thing he’s ever held, and she is. His hands are impossibly gentle, arms forming a protective cocoon around her unconscious body. Every move he makes is slow, as if she’s made of glass and a single wrong step might shatter her completely.

His boots barely make a sound against the floor as he carries her inside, crossing the threshold of the Cullen home with reverence usually reserved for sacred places. His face, so often a rigid mask is open now, raw with emotion. Fear, guilt, and a fierce, aching need now battle for dominance in his darkened eyes, the gold suppressed entirely.

When he reaches the room prepared for them, he hesitates for a moment, simply holding her close, as if letting go might make this fragile moment slip away forever. Then, gently, Jasper lowers her onto the bed. His hands never leave her until the very last second, smoothing the hair away from her face, brushing against her cheek as if anchoring himself to the living proof that she is still here. Still breathing. Still his, for now.

He ceases breathing again, forcing the instinct out of his body like an exorcism once more, desperate to keep her safe, to keep himself in control. The pressure around his heart seems to tighten, and he draws back slightly, as if distance alone could erase the bloodlust clawing under his skin. Yet despite every rational thought, despite every disciplined instinct he had sharpened over decades, he can't help himself.

Leaning down, Jasper presses his lips against her forehead. The kiss is feather light, his body is trembling with emotions he can’t hold back any longer. Her skin is warm beneath his frozen lips, and the contrast shatters something inside him, forming a cut too deep to ever fully mend. It feels like she will never forgive him and it’s forgiveness he doesn't deserve.

I’ll protect you. A silent promise he has no right to make. He lingers there for a heartbeat longer than he should, imprinting the sensation into memory, before he finally pulls away.

Hovering near the bed, he murmurs to her softly, the words barely audible to anyone but her.

“I’m scared, darlin’. All of it terrifies me.” His voice cracks at the edges. “You aren’t the only one.”

His thumb traces along her wrist, feeling the steady, fragile flutter of her pulse. Proof of life. Proof that she’s not beyond saving yet.

“I’ve seen more death than a man ought to," he says, voice low and rough with feeling. "Fought for things I didn't believe in. Killed for those who never deserved loyalty. Spent a century wishin' for peace I never thought I'd find." He bows his head, his blond curls shadowing his haunted expression. "Then you showed up."

He exhales shakily, even though he’s not breathing in the traditional sense, and drapes the blanket over her body with care. His fingers brush her arms where she shivers, tucking the warmth around her like a shield. As if it might protect her from nightmares. From him.

Jasper lingers, unwilling to move even though every moment he stays close tempts fate.

Eventually, he forces himself to step away, muscles rigid with the effort it takes. He moves to the window, resting one hand against the frame as he stares out into the endless forest. His reflection in the glass looks hollow. A ghost of the man he once was and the man he aches to become for her.

His mind spins relentlessly.

What death is inevitable for her if I leave? What fate is written in stone, no matter how hard I fight? Am I truly her salvation... or just another reason she dies?

The questions carve into him with surgical precision, slicing through hope and fear alike. He presses his forehead against the cool glass, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I would give you my life a thousand times over if it meant you'd live,” he whispers to her sleeping form. “But God help me, I’m selfish. I want to stay. I want to know you... love you... and be loved by you.”

The sunlight casts a bright glow across the room, bathing Y/N’s unmoving body in golden light. Jasper watches her chest rise and fall, every breath a tiny miracle he refuses to take for granted. He doesn’t know how the future will unfold. He doesn’t know how much pain waits around the corner. But he knows one thing with absolute certainty.

He won’t let her die alone. She will know everything and make her own choice. If she chooses her mortality by his side, he will respect her choice. He will be there with her until the end. If she chooses a life with him, Jasper will ensure he holds her hand through it all. And if she doesn’t choose him at all, he will protect her from the man who might kill her, allow her to go in whatever way Alice saw.

But he sure as hell won’t let her go without a fight.

--

Paul paces in front of the Cullen house, claws digging into the softened earth with each heavy step. His massive paws ache with the repeated motion, joints burning under the strain. It’s a common misconception that they’re invincible, mythical, untouchable beasts, but the truth is far more sobering. They tire. They feel. And right now, Paul is in pain, not just physically, but down to the marrow of his soul.

He’s stuck in his wolf form, unable, or unwilling to phase back. Not when Jasper has her in his arms. Not when the only thing keeping Paul from tearing the bloodsucker’s throat out is his pack, and the Alpha’s order.

The ache in his limbs is nothing compared to the ache in his chest.

Every tick of the clock feels like a blade against his skin. She hasn’t woken up. Y/N’s eyes haven’t opened. She hasn’t spoken. And it’s his fault. Of course it is. He told himself he could control his temper, that he wouldn’t scare her, but he failed. Miserably.

He’d promised himself, after Rachel, that he’d be better. Be more. And then he meets Y/N…this magnetic, radiant, complicated woman who pulled him in without even trying, and what does he do? He shifts right in front of her, shatters her world without a second thought, and watches her collapse into another man’s arms.

A fucking vampire’s arms.

Paul lets out a low, guttural growl, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. His massive frame quivers with suppressed rage and despair he cannot contain for much longer. His fur bristles along his spine, shoulders hunched, tail stiff, breath heaving as his lungs are threatening to explode.

Inside, the wolf screams with fury. But the man underneath? He’s breaking. Because part of him always knew, deep down, that he’d find a way to hurt her. It was inevitable. No matter how good his intentions were, no matter how hard he tried to hold it together... he fucked up.

But God, if she only knew how fucking sorry he is. He’d do anything to fix this. Anything to go back in time and show her what he really is, not just a shifter with a hair trigger temper, but a man who wanted to protect her from this madness, who wanted to ease her into his world with tenderness, not terror.

He’ll try harder from now on. He’ll do anything she wants him to.

Now that the truth is out, he could finally explain. Finally tell her the mess from the other night wasn’t what she thought. He’ll tell her just how miserable he is being tethered to his imprint and how he wishes it was her instead. That he wasn’t hooking up with Rachel, that he hates being tethered to someone who isn’t her. That imprinting isn’t love, but a cage, a cruel joke. Because when he saw Y/N, he felt it. Something real. Undeniable. It’s what he expected to feel when he imprinted, and he understands now. He never believed in love at first sight, but with her? Hell, he probably fell for her in the most cliché way possible, and he couldn’t fight it. Paul knew it from the first moment she smirked at him like she wasn’t afraid of anything, not even him. He knew it would be more than a one night stand and he wished to God she felt the same way.

Finding out she was his morning meeting was proof their night together wasn’t a mistake and she was meant to be his. She seemed to believe he was unhappy she would join him on the trip back home when the truth is, Paul was afraid. It would have been easier to maintain some semblance of a relationship long distance at first, so she falls in love with his heart before he introduces her to all his problems. Being a shifter, having an imprint, his temper issues…all of that made him less than a suitable candidate for a woman as rare as Y/N. She’s meant to be wooed and adored, to find herself adorned with crown jewels and expensive champagne. Paul can’t afford much of that, but he can show her his heart and hope she accepts him as he is.

And now it’s too late.

Jasper fucking Cullen has her. The pale, perfect vampire with his southern charm and bottomless pockets. He can give her everything Paul can’t; diamonds, mansions, safety behind glass walls. But can he touch her? Can he kiss her properly without losing control? Can he love her without hurting her?

Paul doubts it.

He can offer her warmth, a real home, a future with laughter and babies and skin against skin. He can show her passion. He already has. Her body betrayed her so sweetly that night, melting under his touch, and God, he reveled in it. She may not have said the words, but her body knew him. Craved him.

And still… she looked at Jasper like she could fall in love with him.

Paul’s growl grows louder, deeper. It shakes his entire frame. The wolves near him tense, Jacob and Embry glancing warily his way. His rage is no longer silent. It’s feral, burning just beneath the surface like magma in the cracks of his ribs. He throws his head back and snarls, his lips curling over bared fangs, claws gouging deep ruts into the soil. His body vibrates with the need to attack, to reclaim, to fix everything that went wrong.

But there’s no fight that can undo this. Because if Jasper’s hooks are already in her, Paul knows exactly what comes next. He’ll lose her. Just like Jacob lost Bella.

And the terrifying thing is, he might not even deserve to keep her. Still, he stays. Pacing. Watching the window of the room she’s asleep in. Every time Jasper passes in front of it, Paul’s heart splinters a little more.

She was supposed to be his fresh start. His peace. She was supposed to be his. Now all he can do is wait, and pray that fate hasn’t already made up it’s mind.

“You need to calm down,” Jared hisses under his breath, his voice low but urgent as he approaches. His usual easygoing demeanor is replaced by caution, wariness evident in his dark eyes as he nears his best friend. “You’re making them, and us, nervous. Everyone’s already shifted back.”

Paul doesn’t respond. He just paces. Back and forth, back and forth, the muscles in his massive wolf body twitching with every movement. His paws dig deeper into the ground with each frustrated step. Dirt clings to his fur, and flecks of dried blood from fresh scrapes mark his legs. His tail lashes once, sharply, betraying just how close to the edge he is.

When he finally stops, it’s because something pulls his gaze upward, an invisible tether that yanks his head toward the second story window. There, behind the glass, stands Jasper, pale and still like a ghost guarding Y/N. It’s like he’s teasing him, making a show out of it just to provoke him to violence and Paul wishes it didn’t work, but it does.

His breath is caught in his throat, a rumble deep in his chest trembling to life again. His ears pin back. His stance tightens. The sight of that bloodsucker hovering near her, so close makes Paul’s vision blur with rage.

Jared follows his line of sight, then exhales slowly and shakes his head. “I’m pretty sure he’s not gonna kill her, okay?” he says softly, trying to placate. “But if you want a fighting chance with her, you need to shift back before she wakes up. You still have paws instead of hands, man.”

Paul slumps down, letting his body hit the earth with a thud. His massive body trembles slightly, though whether from exhaustion or restrained fury is anyone’s guess. His brown eyes lock onto Jared, sharp and unblinking.

If it were that easy, he would have shifted already.

If it were up to him, Paul would shed this side of himself and never look back. He’d peel off the beast like an old skin, cast it into the woods, and go to her as a man, someone worthy of her love and attention. But it’s never that simple. It never has been. His temper rules him, consumes him, rises like a wildfire without warning. And though he wants to blame the wolf, deep down, he knows better. He was this way long before the gene activated. Long before the transformation. Long before the supernatural cracked his world wide open.

He’s been angry since he was seven years old, when his parents split and tore his childhood apart. He remembers the screaming, the slammed doors, the nights he punched walls because he didn’t know what else to do. The rage has always lived inside him like a second soul.

And now? That second soul might cost him the only good thing he’s ever had. He doesn’t want to lose Y/N. Not after everything. Not now.

“He crossed to our land!” A familiar voice echoes.

A sigh cuts through the tension. Jared closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, already hearing the beginnings of an argument behind the house. “Shit,” he mutters, glancing toward the backyard. “Embry’s starting.”

Paul’s ears twitch. He turns his head toward the sound, unwilling to move but alert.

“If he didn’t, she’d be dead!” Rosalie’s voice slices through the air. Paul’s head snaps toward her direction, surprise flaring behind his eyes. He expected Emmett to speak up, not the Ice Queen herself.

He remembers the last time he went toe to toe with Emmett. It was stupid and messy and a blur with broken trees. He’d knocked the vampire clean into the river without hesitation, high on adrenaline and righteous fury. No one had appreciated his lack of diplomacy, but Paul didn’t care. Someone had to draw the damn line.

Someone always has to.

But now, it seems like even the enemies are shifting. The blonde leech is defending her family and the bloodsucker in the window. What the hell is going on? Rosalie hated Bella when it was her time to join the family. Paul fully expected her to take his side and let him take Y/N home with him.

“Jasper saved her life!” Rosalie argues, fierce and unyielding. “He protected her when you couldn’t!”

The words hit Paul like a slap across the face. His growl falters, caught in his throat. When he couldn’t.

Alice speaks next, her voice calmer but no less firm. “There was a reason for his transgression. It wasn’t on a whim.”

And how many times has he imagined sinking his teeth into her? Paul’s thoughts are venomous, wild, spiraling. The image alone, Jasper losing control, blood staining Y/N’s skin, is enough to make Paul’s claws gouge trenches into the earth again. He snarls low in his throat, the sound bubbling up like lava.

He doesn’t trust Jasper. He doesn’t trust any of them. But worst of all? He doesn’t trust himself.

And every minute that ticks by with Y/N unconscious and far from his reach is one more second he thinks about what he could lose. And if he loses her, if she wakes up and looks at him with fear instead of care….He doesn’t know if he’ll come back from that. Not as a wolf. Not as a man. Not at all.

He blames himself for all of it and the guilt is razor sharp, but he can’t let it tear him apart. Not now. He has to stay grounded. Focused. Controlled.

If only he had listened to her that night. She told him, begged him, that she didn’t want space. That she hated being left alone. But he let his own stupidity get the better of him the very next night. He told himself space would be good, that it would help her think, help her cool off after everything that went down before seeing him. Instead, she wandered toward the beach, alone, and that’s when Jasper made his move.

The image sears into his mind again: her small body leaning into Jasper’s, trusting him, following him. That one simple act of faith she showed the vampire feels like a knife to Paul’s chest.

Was that the start of it?

He’s heard the stories. The allure of vampires. The inexplicable way humans gravitate toward them. And now she’s been close to Jasper, felt his presence, heard his voice. Her infatuation might already be blooming. Paul knows what that looks like. Hell, he’s seen it. And it guts him to admit that the fear worming through his chest isn’t just about her safety anymore.

It’s about losing her.

He gambled with her trust, and he lost. It’s no wonder she didn’t want to speak to him. No wonder she followed the first person who made her feel safe again. He can’t bring himself to blame her. Not when he knows it’s his mistake that pushed her into someone else’s arms.

But Jasper? He blames him.

If that leech had any good intentions, he would’ve saved her and left. Nothing more. Nothing less. But instead, he brought her into his home and into his world, determined to keep her there. Paul doesn’t know what happened inside that house, but the uncertainty gnaws at him. Maybe they didn’t share a bed, but even the possibility curls bile into the back of his throat.

She told him she’s not a one night stand kind of girl. That night with Paul, their night, meant something to her. He has to believe that. But belief doesn’t erase jealousy. And it doesn’t erase doubt. He doesn’t trust Jasper. Not even a little.

“Does it matter when she’s unharmed?” Edward’s voice cuts sharply through the tension, clearly responding to Paul’s spiraling thoughts. The vampire’s tone is too calm, too composed, and it sets Paul’s fur on edge.

Bella frowns, glancing between them. “Why does he even care?” she asks, confusion slipping into her tone. “He has an imprint.”

Paul’s body stiffens. The word lands like a slap.

Jacob runs a hand through his hair and mutters under his breath, “Yeah, uhhh… that didn’t quite work out.”

Bella’s brows lift. “How? Aren’t they soulmates or something?”

A deep, guttural growl rips from Paul’s chest, vibrating through his ribcage and into the air. He turns his head sharply away from them, jaw clenched tight enough to splinter bone if he weren’t in his wolf form. He hates talking about Rachel.

“Not always,” Jacob says quickly, trying to defuse the rising tension. “Imprints aren’t necessarily romantic. Like Quill and Claire, remember?”

Bella frowns, unconvinced. Her eyes flicker to Paul again, curious, unsure, maybe even a little sympathetic as he stands there breathing like he’s trying not to explode.

“Yeah,” she says quietly, “but he was romantically involved with Rachel. That’s not the same.”

Jacob shrugs. “I suppose. But she’s not interested in a relationship right now, so Paul’s free to… y’know… make his own choices.”

“To an extent,” Edward interjects, his voice low but pointed. His golden eyes shift to Paul. “I’ve heard everyone’s thoughts. The emotions are mixed, sure, but it all goes back to the same moment.”

Everyone stills. The silence that follows is heavy, dense.

“The moment Rachel had Paul leave with her,” Edward finishes, eyes narrowing slightly. “And Y/N saw.”

Paul shuts his eyes. It’s true.

That was the moment everything fell apart. The moment she slipped away from him. He wants to scream, to shift back and demand the chance to explain, to beg her to understand. That night wasn’t what she thought. He wasn’t running toward Rachel. He was trying to get away. But Y/N wouldn’t have known that. All she saw was him choosing someone else.

And now Jasper has her.

“Oh,” Bella murmurs, her frown deepening into something conflicted. Her gaze flickers toward Paul, who remains unmoving but visibly tense, the weight of a thousand unspoken things radiating off his still form like heat from sunbaked stone. “If she doesn’t want to be with him… why would she abuse the imprint bond like that?”

There’s a moment of silence, filled with unasked questions and unsaid names.

Jacob sighs heavily and shrugs, the weight of being both brother and spectator dragging down his shoulders. “My sister loves drama,” he mutters, bitterness creeping into his voice. “Always has. And I’m guessing she was jealous. The news that Paul brought a rich girl home from New York? That spread like wildfire through the pack. Rachel probably saw red.”

Bella’s mouth falls slightly open in surprise. Her gaze flits toward Edward before she lowers her shield, unspoken questions pressing at her lips like rising water. “Does Jasper know about her and Paul?” she asks, voice barely a whisper.

Edward’s jaw tightens ever so slightly, the line between his brows deepening. “Some of it,” he replies just as softly. “He’s not entirely clueless. He’s felt the tension. Sensed the emotions. But I don’t think he knows the full extent of their involvement…” He pauses, glancing down as if searching the floor for restraint. “Although it’s easy enough to guess.”

Bella lifts an eyebrow, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “Did they… kiss?”

She tilts her head toward Paul’s direction, brows lifting suggestively.

Edward doesn’t speak right away. Instead, he gives a slow, nearly imperceptible nod. The kind that says Yes…yes, and it was more than just that.

“And more,” he adds in a whisper that feels like a blade unsheathed.

Bella draws in a sharp breath. “Wow. That has to hurt,” she says, eyes darting toward the house, toward the second-floor window where Jasper’s silhouette remains shadowed behind glass. “Poor Jasper.”

Edward’s expression softens, but his voice holds quiet conviction. “He’s handling it better than I would.”

Bella smiles faintly, teasing despite the tension around them. “You wanted to kill Mike just for thinking about me.”

Edward smirks at the memory, the edge of his mouth curling. “Ah, yes. The good old days of homicidal jealousy.”

She chuckles, leaning into him with familiarity that feels normal now, almost surreal compared to the storm raging around Paul. Her gaze moves toward Paul, still in wolf form, muscles tight, breath low and even but clearly measured. His massive shoulders are tense, his body is ready to inflict damage, barely suppressing the impulse to run or rip something apart.

He heard everythingthey spoke of, the reminders of what he had and what he’s losing.

His ears twitch once. Just once. But it’s enough.

Bella swallows hard, suddenly aware of the sheer weight of grief and rage simmering beneath that thick fur coat. And in Paul’s stillness, there’s something more dangerous than movement. He’s silent not because he’s calm, but because his fury has nowhere to go. He’s locked inside it. And she realizes then that wolves don’t have to snarl to be terrifying.

Some just stand perfectly still and burn.

When Paul is triggered, control becomes a myth, something distant and unreachable, like trying to grab smoke with bare hands. His actions are his own, yes, but it never feels like it. It’s like the gas pedal gets jammed to the floor, his body thrown forward into motion he can’t stop, and the steering wheel locks up right when he needs to turn the most. There’s no thought, no pause. Just fight or flight, and with Paul, it’s almost always fight. The rush of adrenaline is too loud, too hot. It’s so bitterly primitive, so deeply wired into his bones that overriding it feels impossible. Not without help. Not without someone…a friend, a brother, a tether to guide him back and bleed off the pressure building inside until he can breathe again.

Without someone to love, without someone who loves him, Paul unravels. He loses himself. And in that chaos, there is no peace. Just the roaring wolf beneath his skin, tearing through every good intention he ever had.

But Y/N… She was different.

In those few stolen moments, when he held her in his arms, it was like the storm stilled. Her body nestled against his felt like gravity, for the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t floating off the edge. She grounded him. She calmed him. She felt like safety and promise and a kind of peace he thought someone like him could never deserve. She was a sliver of control, that one thing his soul could cling to when everything else slipped through his fingers.

And in that fragile hope, Paul begins to believe there might finally be a way out. A way to silence the wolf. Maybe, with her, he could stop shifting. Maybe he could grow old with his friends instead of watching them age from the sidelines. Maybe he could have dinner with his mom again without worrying if his pulse would spike and he’d phase mid conversation. Maybe… just maybe, he could live a normal life.

But losing her before he even has the right to say she was his to hold? That destroys something in him.

It’s worse than when Rachel pulled away. So much worse. Because with Rachel, the imprinting was never love. It was duty. It was confusion. With Y/N, it’s a want. It’s longing and instinct and emotion that doesn’t make sense but feels so painfully real.

And now… now she’s slipping through his fingers, just like everything else he’s ever cared about. And Paul has never been more afraid.

Jasper stands at the window, his hands folded behind his back, his posture stiff with tension. His gaze is fixed on the wolf below, pacing the ground like a caged storm. Paul is a mess of fury and guilt, each emotion crashing into the other, neither softening. Jasper watches him quietly, the weight of the moment settling in his chest like a stone. There’s no comfort he can offer, no words that would matter. Some pain has to be carried to be understood. Maybe, in time, Paul will grow from it. Maybe he won’t. But the pain is his to feel.

Jasper doesn't envy him, but he understands.

There’s a storm inside Jasper too, but it churns differently. Where Paul is fire, Jasper is ice, still on the outside, but trembling underneath. His fear is quiet, hollowing him out slowly, piece by piece. Not for himself. Never for himself.

It’s her.

He’s terrified of what loving Y/N means. What keeping her close means. There’s a version of this where she walks away from him, alive, whole and untouched by his world. That version tears him apart. She’d be safe, yes, but far from him, where he can never touch her again. And yet… maybe that’s what she deserves. Someone human. Someone without the hunger crawling beneath the surface. Without a family built on restraint and blood and rules too easy to break. He’d make sure she’s safe from whoever Alice saw become her husband, and he’d have to stomach her dying from whatever force that’s meant to take her and he could live knowing it wasn’t him who cut her life short.

But then there’s the other future, the one where she stays. Where she lets him love her, where she accepts the way his world shifts and bends around her. That’s the one he longs for… and the one he dreads most. Because danger clings to his family like shadows. One misstep. One wrong moment. It wouldn’t take much. A sharp inhale. A cracked façade. The sound of her heartbeat in the quiet. And she would be gone. Just like that.

He’d turn her into his equal if she wished, but if he loses control before that…His own death doesn’t scare him. Not even a little. But hers? The thought of her body limp, her light gone, her smile a memory? It’s unbearable. That kind of fear never leaves.

He turns from the window, back toward her. His eyes soften as they land on her sleeping form. She looks fragile, tucked beneath the blankets, her breathing even but faint. Bruised, exhausted, yet still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Something in his chest tightens. He didn’t know it could still ache like this, so deeply, so desperately.

Last night was the longest night of his existence. The most terrifying, the most meaningful. He’s lived through wars, seen horror in its rawest form, but nothing compares to being near her. And still, he wouldn’t trade it. Not the fear. Not the struggle. That night gave him something he’s never had: hope.

He saw her mind. Her fears, her thoughts, her heart. And he touched it, not physically, but truly. She let him in. Even if only for a moment. That moment is enough to change him forever.

He steps closer, watching her chest rise and fall.

It starts subtly, like a tremor beneath his skin. A shift in the air, a scent so familiar now it haunts his every breath. The moment Y/N exhales, the moment her heartbeat stirs just a little faster in her sleep, he feels all of it.

Her blood calls to him.

Not just as prey. Not anymore. It's something deeper now. Something layered in love and madness. It’s the most exquisite form of agony he’s ever known, every pulse from her veins is a song, and he’s both the audience and the monster who shouldn’t be listening. The scent isn’t just sweet. It’s hellish. Intoxicating. Like she was crafted specifically for him to crave. It curls in his nose and tightens his throat, like breathing in fire while dying of thirst.

His mouth goes dry instantly. Venom floods his tongue, the familiar sting of it almost comforting in its predictability, yet cruel in its timing. His jaw clenches. His fists do too. He doesn’t need to feed, he knows that. He’s fed recently. He’s strong enough.

But it doesn’t matter. Logic doesn’t reach him here.

When her blood sings to him, something monstrous stirs. Something monstrous and beautiful, shaped by evolution and hunger and centuries of silence. His senses sharpen. The world falls away until it’s only her. Every heartbeat is thunder in his ears. Every breath she takes is poetry and temptation wrapped in one. There’s no greater thrill than proximity to her life force, and no greater torture than knowing it could be his with the flick of a wrist.

And then comes the guilt. The shame of it. Because while one part of him is cataloging every vulnerable inch of her, her neck, her pulse, the curve of her wrist where her veins flutter, the rest of him is screaming to stop. Screaming that he’s not a predator. Not anymore.

He closes his eyes, focusing on it. On the way her lips parted slightly as she dreamed. On the way she reached for him, without fear, when she was too weak to stand. On the softness in her voice when she whispered his name. These memories anchor him, humanize him, quiet the screaming instinct long enough to remind him: She is not his to take. She is his to protect.

Still, the craving lingers. It always will. But alongside it now… is something just as powerful.

Devotion.

And that is what saves her. That is what saves him.

He doesn’t know how long he can do this, resist the call of her blood, the whisper of temptation in every breath she takes. But he will. For her. Every second he’s near her is a second of pain, but she’s worth it. She’s worth the fire in his throat, the ache in his limbs and the war in his soul.

He will suffer for her. Gladly. Because being with her is the only thing that feels right.

There are as many kinds of beauty as there are leaves scattered across a blazing autumn forest, but none strike Jasper like hers. Not even now, as pain etches itself into the delicate curve of her brow and the trembling line of her mouth. Her lips are pressed together, her jaw taut with something unspoken, but it’s her eyes that undo him.

Her eyes burn. Fierce, with unrelenting passion. Pure and soul deep. The kind of passion that refuses to fade, refuses to kneel. The kind that fights tooth and nail for life, for dignity, for herself. And whenever Jasper meets her gaze, he realizes something with harrowing clarity, the beauty of galaxies, the music of stars, the art of centuries, none of it holds a candle to that defiant flame in her eyes. That passion makes her her, and he craves it.

She’s confidence carved in flesh, sensual and bold, but Jasper sees beyond it; he sees the fractures beneath the polished surface, the shadow of doubt behind her smirk, the sharp edges of her guarded heart. And somehow, she has brought him to a full stop in a world that never slows. For once, time stands still even for a vampire… because of her.

The door creaks, reminding him he is strong and he will not hurt her, ever.

Jacob leans on the frame, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“Paul’s agreed to keep his cool,” he says, his voice flat but eyes sharp as they land on Jasper. “As long as she’s not missing a single hair from her head.”

Jasper doesn’t hesitate. “She’ll never come to harm by my hand, Jacob.” His tone is low, solemn. A vow born not of pride but of something much heavier…love. “I’d rather be ripped apart by Paul himself than hurt her.”

The quiet doesn’t last.

“You can’t swear by that,” Paul growls from behind Jacob, his voice dark, edged like a blade dragged across bone. “If she bleeds, you’ll lose control.”

Jasper turns his head slowly, eyes narrowing. “Not when it’s her,” he says, steady as stone, the truth rooted deep in his chest. “She means everything.”

Paul’s snarls. “You don’t even know her.” His voice is rising now, hot with rage and wounded pride. He steps forward, shoving Jacob aside, slamming his palm against his own chest. “I do. I’ve held her. I’ve felt her skin beneath my hands. I’ve kissed every inch of her and she,” he smirks, teeth bared, “She melted for me. You think you’re something? You’re just a phase she’ll snap out of. So you can hop off whatever fantasy you have about being with her, because she is mine.”

Jasper's jaw tightens. The words dig under his skin like barbs, each syllable twisting something inside him. Paul speaks of her like a possession, like a toy or a prize. Like she doesn’t have a mind or a will or a soul of her own. Jasper’s fingers twitch, his whole body strung tight like a pulled wire, fury boiling beneath the surface. But he doesn’t explode.

He steps forward, slowly, gaze locked on Paul’s.

“Do tell her that,” Jasper says coolly, though his voice vibrates with tension. “Tell her she belongs to you. Say it to her face. And let me watch what she does to you.”

A grin cuts across his face, not mocking, not cruel. Challenging. Then, he lowers his voice to a whisper. “She’s not yours. She’s not mine. She is her own person. And if you think you can cage her, bend her, claim her like she’s some trophy… then you’ve already lost.”

Paul growls again, shaking as if he will shift again, but Jasper doesn’t flinch.

“I don’t need to cage her,” Paul shoots back, turning to her. “She’ll choose me. I’ll show her why she should.”

Jasper doesn’t look away from him as he fires back, “She may be important to you. But she’s my mate. That trumps whatever misogynistic fantasy you’re stuck in.”

The tension between them grows, reaching critical levels even Jacob worried about. But then…

A gasp.

Jasper’s head whips around. She’s awake. Y/N. The silence shatters with the frantic rhythm of her heart. Loud. Unmistakable. Thunderous. Everyone hears it.

Y/N’s heart is hammering inside her chest like it’s trying to claw its way out, a terrified drumbeat echoing through the room. All eyes snap toward her. Her breathing is shallow, uneven. Panic flickers in her gaze, exposed and fragile in the space between sleep and waking.

Her lashes flutter as she forces her eyes open. Disoriented. Disbelieving. Her limbs feel foreign, her skin too tight over trembling muscles. What she just heard, what she witnessed, still rings in her ears. Paul. Jasper. Possession. Mates. Every word, every tone, soaked in tension, laced with declarations that were never meant for her to hear.

She sucks in a ragged breath, blinking rapidly as the chaos around her sharpens. Her eyes scan the room, finding unfamiliar surroundings and a few familiar faces. She can’t breathe.

Slowly, her hands press against the mattress, pushing herself upright. Her palms are clammy. Her arms shake beneath her own weight as she slides her back against the headboard, the cold wood biting into her spine. Her knees draw up instinctively, a shield. Her mouth parts slightly, but no sound escapes. Only the wild rise and fall of her chest betrays the panic within.

She feels violated, watched. Like a spectacle.

Jacob is the first to move.

“It’s alright,” he says softly, stepping forward with both hands up, palms out in a gesture of surrender. His voice is calm, measured, but she doesn’t miss the tension just beneath the surface. He’s worried. For her. Because of her. But it’s not enough.

In the backyard, Rosalie smirks. “The show’s starting,” she drawls, folding one leg over the other as if she’s watching a soap opera instead of a hearing a woman unraveling.

“That’s not okay,” Seth interjects sharply, his tone cutting through the room. His eyes narrow at Rosalie with barely veiled disgust before looking to Carlisle, searching for support.

Carlisle, ever the calm center, nods. “Seth is right. Either support Jasper or don’t say anything at all.”

Seth beams at the backing, smug satisfaction tugging at the corners of his mouth. Rosalie shoots him a glare that could sear skin.

“I’m actually rooting for them,” Emmett offers with a lopsided grin, attempting to lighten the air.

Bella huffs a small laugh. “You always had a weak spot for humans.”

“Just the cool ones,” Emmett winks, reaching over to high five her. The two share a look and, without another word, slip upstairs, an unspoken agreement to help tensions settle without further sparks.

Y/N stares at the door wishing she could run. Her skin itches with the weight of their gazes, and her head pounds with the pressure of knowledge she never asked for. What are they? What does Jasper mean by mates? It’s too much. Too real.

Jacob crouches at the side of her bed, gentle now, voice low. “We won’t harm you,” he promises, reaching for her hand with the careful slowness of someone who knows fear up close. But the moment his fingers brush her skin, she recoils like she’s been burned.

“No,” she whispers, breath catching in her throat. She pulls her hand to her chest, cradling it like a wounded bird. Her eyes are wide, glassy, locked onto him, pleading, but also warning.

Don’t touch me. Not yet.

The sting in Jacob’s expression is instant, but he swallows it down. Doesn’t push. He simply nods and steps back, giving her space even as it clearly hurts him.

She grips the blanket tighter around herself, knuckles white. Her voice finally breaks through, quiet, raw. “I heard everything.”

The room stills. Even the air holds its breath.

And in that fragile silence, Y/N sits in the eye of the storm, heart racing, mind spiraling, and soul trembling under the weight of two impossible truths.

Two men. Two worlds. One impossible choice. And she’s not ready.

Pure terror floods her veins, liquid ice, sharp as shattered glass and just as unforgiving. It’s not like fear in the ocean, that desperate panic that clings to you like saltwater in your lungs. This is worse. This feels like being dragged under, held beneath the surface by invisible hands. Her chest tightens, throat closing, and there's no air, no escape. Just pressure. Cold, crushing pressure. And she can’t help the horrible thought that maybe it would be easier if she just... let it take her. If she stopped fighting, maybe the panic would stop too. Maybe drowning would feel like peace compared to this.

Because this, whatever this nightmare is…it’s real.

And the people around her? They’re not really people at all. Creatures of myth now breathing, blinking, speaking around her. They’re too still. Too quiet. Too aware of her. It's like being caged in a den of wolves and lions that remember how human she is, how fragile. Every instinct screams run.

“It’s going to be alright,” Jasper says, his voice the one warm thread in a sea of cold unraveling around her.

She looks to him, holding her breath. His lips move slowly, purposefully, becoming an anchor in the storm. She doesn’t know what it is about them, the soft curve of his mouth or the quiet reassurance of the words he crafts with them. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s neither. Maybe it’s just him, Jasper. He makes her feel like she’s not about to shatter.

But that fragile calm cracks the moment Paul growls, low and full of fury, like thunder rolling through the mountains.

“Don’t fucking control her!” Paul’s eyes burn, focused on Jasper with lethal intent, barely restrained, like he’s seconds away from shifting. From snapping.

Jacob’s body slides between them in a flash, arms raised, but not before a space opens, an unguarded path.

Y/N sees it.

Instinct takes over.

She bolts.

Her body launches forward before she even thinks, before fear can catch up to her again. The door is there, right there, and freedom with it. Her shoulder brushes past Emmett at the door, solid like a wall of stone and she hears Bella’s gasp as she narrowly misses them both.

“Umm… is she supposed to be running away?” Bella asks, eyebrows raised in confusion as she watches Y/N disappear through the doorway, hair flying behind her like the tail of a comet.

All three, Jasper, Paul, and Jacob turn in unison, expressions stunned, eyes wide with dawning horror.

Behind them, Emmett erupts with laughter. Loud. Delighted. Like this is the best entertainment he’s had in decades. He grins, folding his arms like he's proud.

“I knew I liked her for a reason.”

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

Tags: @moonmark98 @formulas-bitch @ronniesreverie @anongirl007 @foxycrafterofgreenwood @lamelover @sl4t4darkling @megaprincesscakes @aj3684 @xnarixkimx

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[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Yandere AIB Boys - Restraining Order

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female reader

Summary: (Normal world AU) Filing a restraining order against him was supposed to solve your problems, but it only makes it worse. [Arisu, Karube, Niragi]

WARNINGS: Stalking; Manipulation; Violence. 

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback 😊

Hope you like this @ccaarro (idea credit goes to her)

--

Arisu

“Please, just– just listen to me… All I want is to talk.” 

Your face heats up, exasperation and frustration building up inside you like a volcano. You’re tired from work and being ambushed by Arisu right after the restraining order only adds up to your annoyance.

The parking lot is practically empty, only a few cars left. You would be scared if you didn’t know that Arisu is physically incapable of hurting you. 

 You fish inside the purse, searching for your keys with the shiny moonlight as the only source of light and Arisu stares at you with big desperate eyes. His hair is all messy, clothes wrinkled.

He looks so miserable and distressed that you almost feel bad about him …

... almost. 

“This is all a big misunderstanding, please, you have to understand!” he tries, “I’m not a creep, I swear I’m not.”

You look back, glaring at him for a moment before diving your face back into your purse. Those damn keys. 

“Arisu, just… go home.” you say, finally getting a hold of your car keys. “And leave me alone.”

You turn towards him, a few more prepared words ready for him. A yelp escapes from your lips at the sudden collision against his body. 

“What-”

Arisu backs out immediately, hands in the air to placate you. 

“I… you’re not understanding me. Please, just let me explain, okay?” he rushes to say, before you can stop him. 

“I love you. I love you so much.” you glare at him, and Arisu gulps but doesn’t falter. “And I know that you don’t feel the same for me, but if you just give me one chance…. I’ll give you so much love, I’ll always keep you happy - no matter what."

"And please… I’ll do whatever I have to do to make you understand that.” 

Karube

There’s a commotion rising near the entrance of your office, you can hear it from the street as you approach the building. That’s unusual. You strut forward, getting your company ID card, ready to clock in.  

“I’m not leaving without talking to her, damnit!” the shouting voice is awfully familiar, the sight of the bleached blonde hair even more so. Oh no!

You stare as the scene unfolds in front of you. Karube curses, hand rubbing his hair in a frustrated motion as the doorman doesn’t allow him to enter.

It feels like a slow motion scene when his eyes meet yours, his face lightening up with recognition. Your legs move too slow, only making it to the corner of the street before you’re caught. 

You yelp right before Karube grabs you, dragging you by the wrist to the nearest empty alley.

It happens too fast, your mind swirling with emotions and thoughts, your voice swallowed down by your helplessness. You’ve never been good at confrontation. 

“Have you lost your mind?!” Karube is on you the moment your back is against the cement wall. His hands grab your face, strong and determined, forcing you to look at him.

“Huh?! What were you thinking? A restraining order? From my own girlfriend? Fuck no.” 

“Karube, just… just calm down–”

“Why are you being so melodramatic, hein? We’re in love, we love each other.” he vehemently declares, and you shiver at the flurry of emotions that paint his face.

This isn’t the Karube you fell in love with.

No, this new Karube is someone that scares you to the core. Someone that tries to control you down to the smallest things, someone that despises your own freedom. 

“Listen, okay, just listen to me.” his hands dig deeper into the soft skin of your face, immobilizing you.

His breath rages on your face and the slight hint of whiskey makes you nauseous. “That restraining order… that damn thing doesn’t change anything for us. Okay?”

“I’m not letting that come between us. I’m not letting anything come between us.”

Niragi

The banging on the bedroom door grows in volume. More insistent, more aggressive. You’re scared it won’t hold out for much longer and your heart races wildly at the thought. 

You should call the police. Call your parents. Call anyone that might help you. Except your phone is currently sitting in the kitchen while you’re barricaded in the small pantry of the apartment. Damn it. 

“Oi, open up the door.” a nasty punch is delivered on cue, the door shaking on its hinges. “Do you really want me to break it down? Cause I will, damnit.” 

Terror swells inside you, pushing on your chest like heavy stones. He’s angry - of course he’s angry.

Why wouldn’t he be after being delivered with a restraining order? 

A pathetic attempt at a threat. Practically an insult thrown his way. Now that you think about it, it was never a good idea. But fear makes you do stupid things. 

The banging increases in power, Niragi’s laughter filling your ears. 

“If you open this door, I’ll go nicer on you. Don’t you want that?” he yells. “Open this door and I might not break your entire face, doll. Just a punch or two as a punishment.”

You scrunch your face, hand curling on your chest as if to keep you grounded. 

You stare at the door, helpless. The lock shakes and rattles, growing weaker by the moment.  

There’s a moment of silence that marks the nail in the coffin, your heart thumping in your ears. The lock finally gives up, breaking apart as it reveals an euphoric Niragi.

He kicks the door to the side, with a victorious chuckle. 

“You look scared. Trembling like a leaf.” he remarks, cracking his head to the side. “Looks like that restraining order of yours didn’t work, huh.” 

[nebulaafterdark]

Exile (Part 8)

Summary: Y/N Undersee thought the games were over after becoming a victor. Unfortunately, life outside the arena has become just as dangerous. Prequel to Moves & Countermoves. SOTR SPOILERS

Trigger warning: forced prostitution, explicit sexual content, alcohol abuse and other mentions of trauma. 18+ ONLY

Part 7

“I’m tellin’ you somethin’s goin’ on with Y/N. The way she’s actin’.” The footage they’re showing of that little girl mentoring the games, makes it look like she’s having the time of her life. “That ain’t her.”

“You need to leave now.” Y/N’s father insists, attempting to close the front door between them.

“Valor, please.” Cherry presses her hand against it. “She’s your daughter.”

The mayor’s eyes narrow, full of rage. “Do you think I’ve forgotten that? Don’t you think I’ve tried to buy her way out? Barter and plead her way out? She’s my daughter, for god’s sake!”

“So what then? You just give up?” Tucker places his boot between the door and its frame.

“My daughter will be home from the Capitol any minute.” Valor reminds them. “After which time, I have one year to come up with a solution that doesn’t end with my entire family dead. I advise you to do the same.”

Tucker yanks his boot free of the slamming door. “Prick.”

“What do we do now?” Haymitch doesn’t have any family left. No real friends. Just that girl and him, exiled in Victors’ Village.

“There is someone who might know something, but it’s a long shot.” Burdock hasn’t spoken to Haymitch in years. Not since Haymitch started pelting him and his girl with rocks.

Doesn’t matter who it is. “It’s the only shot we’ve got.”

————————————————————————

Burdock and Asterid are not expecting visitors. So when there is a knock at the door after supper, Burdock answers, warily.

Waiting at the stoop is their neighbors from a few blocks down. Cherry and Tucker Carell, lost their oldest in the games a few years back.

“We need to speak with you about Haymitch Abernathy.”

Burdock steps out onto his porch, floorboards creaking beneath him. “What about him?”

“I remember you were close as kids.”

“We’re not kids anymore.”

“Please,” Cherry cuts in. “It’s Y/N. I know you don’t know her, but we do…we did.”

“The laryngitis girl?” Haymitch’s wife.

“Yes,” Cherry snaps her fingers. “She said she lost her voice because she didn’t want them usin’ her words to glorify somethin’ she didn’t believe in.”

Burdock sighs, “I am very sorry for your loss.”

Their loss. They’ve lost that girl.

“We want to get her back.” Tucker explains.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you can’t. Once a person belongs to them, there’s no turning back. Whatever is happening to her…cannot be undone.”

“That’s not true.” It can’t be.

“Haymitch was my best friend.” Burdock presses on. “He changed, and I don’t blame him. For all he lost…the things he’s seen…”

“Did it happen all at once? The change in em?” Cherry asks.

“No.” Burdock admits, “it took time.” The drinking didn’t help.

“This happened in a week.” Tucker points out.

“Are you sure it is her?” Burdock mutters.

“Who else would it be?”

“I don’t know how true this is,” Burdock clenches his jaw, “the person who told me was…indisposed at the time. But there was a tribute from twelve, reaped for the Quarter Quell who was killed in the parade. They replaced her with a girl who looked enough like her…”

“A body double?” Cherry’s brows pull together.

“She had something in her ear to control her. They could speak into it and even pump some kind of medicine through it.”

“Some kind of bug.”

“Must’ve been.” Burdock nods. “Haymitch said it would bleed.”

“Haymitch told you this?”

“Like I said, I don’t know how true it is. He wasn’t well. But Wyatt Callow died before her,” or so the story goes. “Louella’s casket smelled a lot worse than his when we buried them.”

The silence hangs heavy between them. 

“You seem like good people,” Burdock says, “and I am truly sorry you’re wrapped up in all this. Please be careful, or people are gonna start dropping like flies again.”

Tucker tosses an arm around his wife, leading her away. “Thank you for your time.”

Burdock watches them go, with a heavy heart. To the victor go the spoils.

Cherry and Tucker make their way back home, leaning into each other as they walk.

“We gotta do it.” Run. This could be their last chance.

“We can’t take her.” Not like they wanted to. Not the way they planned it before.

Tucker hangs his head, staring down at the ground. “I know.”

Can’t even tell her goodbye.

“This is what she would want.” He reminds his wife. “The little girl who showed up on our doorstep with flowers for our boy and a gift for each of his siblings. She would’ve wanted us to go.”

“We could leave her somethin’ at least.” Cherry suggests, “a letter.”

————————————————————————

“We’re packin’ just a couple things, like we talked about.” Cherry reminds her children.

“When are we leaving?” Micah, her second oldest son, asks.

“After dinner.” Tucker tells him.

“Can I take my bear?” Peach, their youngest, newly six, holds up her favorite stuffed animal.

“Of course,” Cherry taps her nose. They’ve already packed up everything the little ones would need.

Interdistrict travel is strictly prohibited, but Cherry’s mother was always telling stories about when she was a girl. ‘Free as birds, we were. There’s life outside these districts, Cherry. Don’t let them tell you otherwise.’

District thirteen was said to be destroyed by the Capitol, turns out that isn’t true. A couple of their friends have trickled out to test the waters, sending signs that the coast is clear. They were only waiting for Y/N to get home.

Cherry sits down at the table, paper and pen in hand.

‘My dearest, Y/N.

I’m afraid there’s been a change of plans. I once suffered from some delusion that Tyson’s memories are tied to the walls of this house. That some part of him resides in the bones, buried outback. But I was wrong. My son is not trapped in a place, or a body or even this earth. We are.

Trapped in a district the president has no love for. Where children are starved and slaughtered for entertainment. There’s got to be more than this. We’re going to find it, for our boy, for all of our children, for you.

We tried waiting for you, couldn’t bear leaving you behind. I can hardly bring myself to do it now, but you belong to them. And they will never let you leave.

I know, in my heart, that if the girl we opened our home to and love like our own is still inside you; she’ll understand. I hope we find each other again, somehow, someway, in a new, free world. But for now we’ve gotta go and you’ve gotta stay. We’re still rooting for you, little girl.

Love always,

Ma, Pa, Tyson, Micah, Hudson, Rixi, Adelaide, Hoytt, Valley, Iverson, Olivette, Harvest, Fauna, Wells and Peach.’

When she is finished, Tucker raises the letter to eye level. Resting a hand on her shoulder as he reads it over, then folds it in eighths. Taking the pen in his own hand to jot down, ‘burn after reading.’

“I’m going to sit with Ty for a while before we go.” Cherry tells him, leaving the note and their simmering stew, in his care.

“Alright, baby.” Tucker presses a kiss to her cheek as she passes.

Cherry treks through the house and out the back door. Tyson’s headstone is decorated by a beautiful arrangement of wild flowers. Each picked by hand. She all but collapses onto the ground beside him.

“Tyson, I need a sign.” She murmurs into the evening breeze. “Tell me I’m doing the right thing.”

Nothing.

Even the electric fence beyond the yard is silent. Silent because it’s off.

Knocking from the front door carries through the house. Cherry rises, brushing dried grass and dirt from her dress. “Tucker, who is that?” She closes the back door behind her, watching her husband peer through the peek hole.

“It’s Y/N.”

————————————————————————

When Y/N is finally permitted to leave, Cherry and Tucker are left with a truth much more devastating than any hypothetical they’d considered.

Y/N is still herself.

Fully aware; in her own body.

What controls her now is the fear of losing people she loves.

“We can’t leave her. Not now, not like this.” Cherry whispers.

Tucker covers his mouth. “Cherry, I put the note in her pocket.”

“What? Why?”

“Because nothing changed,” he takes her face in hand. “All we’re doing by staying here is giving Snow more leverage against her. Are you willing to put the blood of every name you signed in that letter on Y/N’s hands?”

“No,” Cherry shakes her head.

“Neither am I.” Tucker huffs, “we have to do this now. Like we planned, the fence is off. It’s now or never.” He doesn’t want to do this, he has to do this.

————————————————————————

Valor is still pacing in the foyer, after his unexpected visit from the Carells. Given their status, they’re not being watched by the Capitol very closely, if at all. They may be able to help Y/N in ways he can’t.

Donning his coat and shoes, Mayor Undersee sets out to visit the seam. The stares he receives from those who reside there are not the kindest. Still he waves and offers a quiet, “hello.”

There’s some commotion, near the far end, the very house he’s headed for. Smoke and screams greet him as he rounds the bend. The Carell house is on fire.

“Get up! Everyone, out of your houses. There’s an active fire. We need water.”

————————————————————————

Y/N is still holding the letter when Haymitch wakes the next afternoon. She’s so far gone that she doesn’t even realize he’s behind her, until a pair of arms encircle her waist.

“They’re gone.”

“I’m so sorry, angel.”

“They left,” Y/N waves the proof at him. “The fire was a distraction.”

Haymitch inspects it carefully, reading over the letter twice, before clearing his throat. “Gotta get rid of it.” Too damning all around.

“I know.” Her fingers clutch the corner.

“Come ‘ere.” Haymitch turns her away from the fireplace. Slowly working the parchment free from her hand. “Hold onto me instead.”

She does, desperately fisting his shirt in her hands.

Haymitch tosses the evidence into the fire, watching flames eat away at the words, until there is nothing left. He keeps her close, shuffling backwards toward the sofa.

“Don’t go anywhere, Haymitch.” Y/N says, softly.

Haymitch mulls it over for a moment. Hoping that some great words of comfort and encouragement will flood his brain. But there is no divine intervention, just the weight of her head against his shoulder. “I won’t.”

“Hold onto me instead.”

Taglist: @spideysimpossiblegirl @ancientbeing10 @1-800-styles @l3xi3luv @lam-ila @druby2011-blog @liballer @readinginthe-am @rae-11 @champomiel @mariechristine00 @solacestyles @inky-sun @dadbodfanatic-x @sandorcleganeslutt @indigoashh @mustainelove @darkened-writer @ch3rrybutterfly @boredomquest @theladyofmanyfandomsofficial @kisskittenn @kwllakka @feeblemindedfool @oopsieikilledan @that-one-fangirl69 @just-levyy @thisisthepartwhereishutup @alixxhere @quackitys-amor @pepelachanel @lurkingsparrow @faithalsip09 @cwallace02sblog @animaloversammy @peachiesnsilk @libbyaller @juiceboxfullofslime @libra-2409 @heidiland05 @evansorry @caraxes-syrax

[pluckyredhead]

What the heck is going on in Batman/Gotham War?

I know a lot of people in fandom are confused and/or upset about what's been going on in Gotham War - why is Bruce acting like this, what is Selina doing, why are the Batkids taking sides. So I figured I would fill you all in on what's been happening in Batman and Catwoman since Chip Zdarsky took over with Batman #125, because it has been BONKERS and I have been enjoying the hell out of it.

Below, the quickest summary I can manage while still being comprehensive:

[Content warning: mental illness, abuse, suicide (...ish), LOTS of violence.]

The first arc, "Failsafe," starts with Batman and Robin (Tim, in this case) in pursuit of the Penguin, who is on a killing spree. In the very first issue, Tim gets shot in the neck. Bruce has to take him to the hospital, but first he has to strip him out of his costume and put him in civilian clothes to preserve their secret identities, triggering memories of when he had to do the same to Jason's dead body. There is LITERALLY NO PURPOSE TO ANY OF THIS EXCEPT WHUMP (Tim is back in action with a fucking BAND-AID on his neck very quickly), which is how I knew this was going to be good. Beat Tim up! Make Bruce cry about Jason! I want these men to suffer! (There is also SO much to be said about Tim's own Poor Mental Health Decisions throughout the entirety of Zdarsky's run so far, but that's for a separate meta post.)

Anyway. Bruce leaves Tim in the hospital and goes to confront Penguin, who turns out to be dying of mercury poisoning. He kills himself and makes it look like Batman did it, forcing Bruce to flee. (Penguin actually faked his death and is alive elsewhere under an alias, but that's not important right now.)

In the Batcave, a massive robot called Failsafe emerges. Failsafe attacks Bruce, who usually eats killer robots for breakfast, but he can't seem to get the upper hand on this one. Duke, Cass, Steph, and Dick show up to help, but Failsafe beats them all too, while Tim gets an injured Bruce away and to the Batcave.

In the Batcave, Bruce puts on a weird purple and red Batman costume and a new personality takes over: the Batman of Zur-En-Arrh. Now, Zur has a very complicated history going back to 1958, but for the purposes of this story, all you need to know is that when he was younger, Bruce decided it would be good to hang out in a sensory deprivation chamber until his mind created a secondary personality, Zur, who is essentially Batman without Bruce. Zur is pure efficiency who does not care about anything but the mission. He created Failsafe, for one purpose: to kill Bruce if Bruce ever crossed the line and killed someone. And right now, Failsafe believes that Bruce killed Penguin.

Failsafe nearly kills Tim, which Zur is okay with writing off as an expendable soldier's death, but this causes Bruce to take control of the body back because "Tim isn't my soldier...HE'S MY SON!" (Tim Nation, why are you not ALL OVER this story? It's catnip.)

Babs calls in the JLA (SuperBat fans, you will also want to read Bruce's adoring description of Clark when he shows up), but of course Failsafe has kryptonite, which it stabs Clark with. The League dumps Clark and Bruce into the JLA jet and distracts Failsafe while Tim flies Clark and Bruce to the Fortress of Solitude. Bruce tells Tim he's a good boy and jumps out of the jet and into the ocean so that Tim and Clark will be safe from Failsafe. He's rescued by Arthur, who takes him to Atlantis to heal. THIS HAS ALL ONLY BEEN FOUR ISSUES SO FAR.

Two weeks later, Bruce wakes up to discover that Failsafe has taken over Gotham. He teleports up to the JLA Watchtower on the moon to lure Failsafe there, then blows the Watchtower up, hoping to catch a ride on one of the Javelins. But Failsafe has already destroyed them, so Bruce RIDES A BOOSTER ROCKET BACK TO EARTH, OXYGEN MASK CLAPPED OVER HIS FACE. The whole thing has some powerful Scooty-Puff Jr energy.

The only tricky part is reentry, when Bruce starts to burn up - his costume is fireproof, of course, but his chin is exposed. SO HE TAKES OFF HIS LITTLE BAT-PANTIES AND PUTS THEM OVER HIS HEAD. I swear to god this happened in a real comic book and the entire "Bruce falls off the moon and survives" sequence is utterly delectable goofy nonsense and I truly cannot recall a time I've had more fun reading a comic book.

Anyway, Bruce lands directly outside of the Fortress, BECAUSE OF COURSE HE DOES, and runs inside to find Clark and Tim. While Clark keeps Failsafe distracted, Bruce and Tim program nanobots to inject compassion into Failsafe. I SWEAR TO GOD. They zap him with the nanobots, but Failsafe pulls a high tech space gun out of the Fortress and shoots Bruce with it anyway, apparently disintegrating him. Tim falls to his knees in the snow, weeping. TIM NATION, WAKE UP, THIS RUN IS CANDY FOR YOU.

But of course Bruce isn't dead! That wasn't a killing gun, it was a "zap you into another dimension" gun!!! THAT was the compassion!

So Bruce finds himself in a dystopian alternate Gotham, and I'll be honest, I didn't love this arc ("The Bat-Man of Gotham") as much as I loved "Failsafe," but it has its moments. In this Gotham, Bruce Wayne is dead, so Regular Bruce is like "Oh boy, time to Batman this place up." Also he's plagued by hallucinations of a skeleton version of Jim Gordon who is still wearing a trench coat AND A MUSTACHE. Like I said, it has its moments.

This Gotham is controlled by Arkham, and anyone who is diagnosed as "crazy" is locked up. A new villain, Red Mask, is in charge, and Selina and a Venomed-up Harvey Dent work for him. Bruce teams up with an orphan kid (of course) named Jewel and goes after Red Mask, who turns out to be some guy named Darwin Halliday and ALSO...the Joker. Well, he's the Joker who hasn't been Jokerized yet. But one time he breathed in some chemicals that let him see into the main reality of the DCU (???) and glimpsed Regular Joker and now he wants to build an interdimensional machine to mentally connect with Regular Joker across universes which he assumes will make him insane, NATURALLY.

Bruce attacks Red Mask, who sics a Venomed-up Ghost Maker on him. Ghost Maker cuts off Bruce's right hand. Bruce cauterizes it with an electroshock machine and ties some spikes on it (SERIOUSLY) and goes after Red Mask again. Meanwhile Red Mask mentally connects with an alternate dimensional Joker...but instead of it driving Red Mask insane, he's what drives the Joker insane. Desperate to become the Joker somehow, anyhow, he jumps into the interdimensional portal, and Morally Dubious Alternate Universe Selina kicks Bruce in after him.

Meanwhile, Tim is in full "I KNOW I SAW HIM DIE BUT HE'S NOT DEAD" mode, which: bless. So he teams up with Jon Kent, which...gosh, what an astonishingly boring duo. I love Jon, I love Tim, they're perfectly nice and normal around each other, I'm falling asleep. Anyway Tim fights Toyman for a while and then makes a VERY stupid costume where the entire torso is a giant light-up R, because "I want him to see that Robin is coming to save him." GET A THERAPY, TIM.

Bruce finds himself first in the Michael Keaton Batman universe, then the Red Rain universe, BTAS, Batman Beyond (yes I know they're the same universe but I guess he goes there twice), Silver Age, Kingdom Come, Gotham by Gaslight, and more. Adam West gives him a utility belt. The Dark Knight Returns Bruce builds him a robot hand.

Finally Bruce and Red Mask reach the end of the multiverse, which is a Gotham asteroid floating in space, surrounded by giant Jokerized sharks. LUCKILY BRUCE HAS BAT-SHARK REPELLANT IN HIS ADAM WEST UTILITY BELT!!! Honestly this whole arc was worth it for that moment.

Bruce knocks Red Mask out, but now he's stuck. He has a device from Batman Beyond Bruce to get home, but it's only good for one person, and he can't leave Red Mask there to die. Of course, that's when Tim shows up in his stupid giant glowing R costume and they hug it out, thereby fulfilling but also compounding all of Tim's issues since 1989.

Anyway things are fine now, right? Sure, Bruce is hallucinating that his family is on fire, and the Zur personality is not going neatly back into the box where it's been all these years, and he still has a robot hand (Damian, hilariously, immediately announces that he wants one too), but he's FINE. He is a little bit mad at Selina, because she broke out of jail (she was in jail because she killed her fuckbuddy because he was trying to kill Bruce), and also because she didn't tell him Penguin was alive and that would have stopped Failsafe, and also because Other Selina kicked into another universe. Selina, very fairly, is like "Well I'm not responsible for Other Selinas and also maybe don't build robots to kill yourself with and not tell anyone about them???"

THEN we got Knight Terrors, the summer event in which a villain called Nightmare caused everyone to fall asleep and, uh, have nightmares. Bruce, specifically, had a nightmare that he met an eight-year-old version of himself that vomited up a man-sized bat with a gun for a head. I laughed SO HARD. Bruce also had his body borrowed by Deadman for the duration of the event, so while he endured the psychological toll of nightmares like everyone else, he also endured the physical toll of everything Deadman was doing PLUS the mental toll of being aware of what was happening in the waking world even though he couldn't control his body. As soon as the event was over, he lapsed into a coma so that his body could get some damn rest.

Okay. Now we're up to Gotham War.

(I know, I know. But for all of you who are like "How could Bruce do this???" about Gotham War...*points up* THAT'S HOW. HE IS NOT WELL.)

Bruce awakens from his coma and IMMEDIATELY decides to Fight A Crime even though Babs is like "Maybe don't?" But he can't find any crime, which is...weird. His kids confirm that Gotham's been super quiet since he's been out.

Selina hears that Bruce is awake and is like okay, time to pay the piper. She calls all of the Bats to a meeting and explains that she's the reason crime has been down. See, villains like Joker and Two-Face always have goons, right? But what if the goon supply dried up because the goons have better jobs? So Selina has trained All The Goons In Gotham to be...cat burglars. No violence, no stealing from anyone who can't afford it. More importantly, no helping Scarecrow or whoever commit mass murder.

All of the Batkids are like "Hmm...I feel uncertain about this, but it's working...I don't know what to think..." except for Jason, who thinks it's hilarious and is instantly Team Selina, and Damian, who is staunchly Team Bruce. Bruce, meanwhile, is like "No! NO! THIS IS CRIMES, AND CRIMES IS BAD!" and Selina's like "I mean, robbing from the rich is basically a victimless crime" and Bruce screams, I swear to god, "MY PARENTS WERE 'RICH'!" Inexplicable scare quotes and all. I laughed so hard.

Anyway this is the basis for Gotham War and it is endlessly hilarious to me because everyone in the Batfamily is supposed to be a genius and yet not one single character has pointed out that:

There are jobs the goons could be doing that AREN'T illegal. It's not just violent crime vs. nonviolent crime. There are in fact many other jobs! I am POSITIVE Gotham needs construction workers and hospital orderlies. (Yes, I know it's hard for people with records to get jobs. That isn't addressed.)

Being Batman is SUPER ILLEGAL.

They are all so stupid.

Selina's plan doesn't even work, because one of her thieves gets killed by a rich person defending their home, and Bruce is like "See? This is why crime is bad!" and like...pretty much snaps. He's particularly fixated on Jason, even (rhetorically) threatening to kill him, which is when the other kids jump into the fray on Jason's side, all except for Damian, who like I said is firmly Team Bruce. (This makes complete sense to me, Damian has been dealing with severe trauma and isolation pretty much nonstop since 2018 and he and Bruce have finally made a tenuous peace, so I can understand why he wouldn't want to lose that.)

Also, Vandal Savage buys Wayne Manor. It's so random and SO funny.

OKAY BATMAN #138. Bruce has kidnapped Jason and injected him with a variation on fear toxin which will be triggered whenever Jason's adrenaline spikes, the idea being that Jason is no longer capable of killing - but in practice, Jason is no longer capable of even getting up off the floor, he's so terrified. I want to be really, really clear here: Bruce is like 90% Zur here, and the only reason he goes this route and doesn't kill Jason is because the remaining 10% that's still Bruce loves Jason and is trying to help him. He's just incapable of good or humane help because Zur literally can't do feelings.

Dick knows something is up and is sneaking around Bruce's Secret Other House We've Never Heard Of to figure out what it is. Damian attacks him to protect Bruce. Tim attacks Damian so that Dick can do what he needs to do, and handcuffs Damian to a parking meter:

THERE IS SO MUCH TO UNPACK HERE!!! TIM GO TO THERAPY! DAMIAN GO TO THERAPY! EVERYONE GO TO THERAPY!!!!!

Dick figures out what Bruce did to Jason (it's on the computer, for...some reason?) and absolutely loses his shit on Bruce, beating the crap out of him, which tbh is the only thing that felt off to me in this run because frankly I don't think Dick likes Jason that much. BUT WHATEVER.

Tim pulls Dick off of Bruce. Bruce leaves them both tangled in a net and flees as the cops approach. Zur's like "Good, fuck 'em" in Bruce's head, because the cops will expose Dick, Tim, and Damian's secret identities and Bruce will be free of the dead weight of a family, but the little bit of Bruce still in there throws Dick a batarang so he can free them all in time.

Then Bruce leaves. Damian is devastated.

I WILL NEVER RECOVER FROM THIS PAGE. Damian really thought he could have Bruce's love and loyalty if he turned on everyone else! Tim is going to be a therapy dog to a Wayne even if he has to settle for the one he doesn't like! That unresisting, blank hug made me SCREAM when I turned the page. Incredible. (Also the art fucking S L A P S, god bless you Jorge Jimenez.)

ALSO it turns out that Selina's second in command has been Vandal Savage's daughter Scandal Savage the whole time and they are turning Selina's cat burglar army into their own personal army WHOOPS. (This also feels very OOC for Scandal but at this point I trust Zdarsky with my life so let's see where things go.)

SO THAT'S WHAT'S GOING ON IN GOTHAM WAR. TL;DR:

Bruce is unhinged because he nearly died like 19 times in a week and it unlocked the smaller, meaner purple Batman that lives inside him.

Selina is unaware that you can get money legally.

Tim is going to have a nervous breakdown if he can't fix someone, ANYONE.

Damian needs a hug but ideally from someone he actually likes this time.

Jason is so scared.

THE END.

[naomihatake]

I find comfort in your violence

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ pairing: sylus x fem!reader

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ tags: gory confession, some fluff

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ summary: In a mist of violence and exhaustion, he is her safety. Him and him alone can save her from both death and life, when tiredness makes her dizzy.

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ trigger warnings: explicit violence, mentions of alcohol (I promise it's overall happy if we don't take into account Sylus's violent actions and his Evol)

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ word count: a few hundred words, it's just a drabble

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ author's note: This piece has nothing to do with a canon card, but it's the same storyline and plot. MC has been on another solo mission of hers and she tries to find Ever or something like that and shit goes down — at least that's what I imagined but was too lazy to write about that in great detail. I feel like this kind of sudden, unplanned and vulnerable confession would fit MC and Sylus. Deep down, it is a very vulnerable moment for her. Think of it as the both of them being painfully aware of each other's feelings, but they just didn't dare say a word yet.

Sylus may be a monster for some. Deep down, maybe he really was a devil on earth. But isn't even the devil a little safe sometimes? 

People were screaming and screeching in pain, their limbs twisted in unnatural ways. Hearts stopped beating one by one, little by little — because Sylus intended to make it hurt. He didn't intend to be merciful, not that time around. Instead, he cracked their bones and burnt their limbs, he pierced their lungs and killed them from inside their very, very fragile bodies. 

She could barely make out the sounds and movements around her, if it wasn't for Sylus's demanding presence. Wounded and bruised by wanderers, astonished by the twisted strategies of human minds and crazy scientists, she walked to him. It felt like a bad migraine in the middle of a drinking contest — she felt drunk and dizzy, like a drug’s been nesting in her brain. 

The young hunter walked slowly, barely keeping herself on her feet, all until she was enveloped by his warmth. 

A safety so strong it sunk in her bones and glued her wounds back into flesh. So intense the Earth kept spinning, but they stopped, standing as still as the Sun. At that very moment, the world spun around her and she cared not — she didn't have rays to warm up the world and he was nothing more than a ball of darkness. 

Their purpose had nothing to do with the outside world; in such a strange manner, even. The massacre happening behind her was just background noise, a sound so dull she couldn't be bothered to care about it. Sylus's heart beating against her pounding temple was all she could focus on. The arm protectively wrapped around her shoulders, the red stained fingers pressing against her shirt and hunter gear. 

Their purpose and fate belonged to them alone — that's what she wholeheartedly believed at that moment. Not only has the world stopped, but Fate did as well, glaring at them with jealousy. An envy so strong, yet somehow not fiercer than them. 

She hoped that somewhere above the gray clouds was a God that looked down at them and desired to have what they did (to have what she had). 

Slumped against his tall figure, her arms had a weak grip around his waist, ghost-like. Tiredness didn't rush through her veins, but it rather slowed everything down. 

Long fingers curled into the hair at her nape and gently moved her head so he could take her in properly. Sylus was cautious as he analyzed her expression, surprised by the content written so clearly on her face. Once her, oh, so beautiful, eyes had opened, he softened his stance. Her tired gaze, their light dulled, but still so mesmerizing. 

“I love you.” 

Sylus didn't expect to hear her confession coming in such an unsettling situation. Not in a million years would've he thought she'd tell him that when their clothes are dirtied in mud and dried up blood. (When meters away a man was screaming out in pain from the dark red mist crawling up his throat, into his very lungs, scratching at his blood vessels, gnawing at his nerves like sharp venomous fangs.) 

His intimidating stance faltered for a second alone, his fingers gripping a little tighter onto her shoulder. The color in his crimson eyes didn't soften, however; they were like beautiful rubies, like a still red lake. 

Sylus could see her attention shifting to an unknown place as she squinted her eyes to focus on him. His arm fell down from around her shoulders and settled around her waist. 

“Relax, dear.”

Like magic, his words worked. She rested her forehead against his chest and took in a deep breath. 

“I feel safe,” came out her almost incoherent confession. 

“That's good, my love. I wouldn't want you to feel anything else other than that.”

A/N: This was very sudden, but I kinda like it. Maybe it didn't come out exactly the way I wanted or maybe it did, I'm not exactly sure. Thank you for reading and I'd appreciate any kind of support, including your opinions <333