#//and he saved the day with them in the end

[lazysoulwriter]

until the end. - pedro pascal.

requested! thank you so much for sending.

---

Pedro hadn't wanted you there at first.

"It’s gonna be ugly," he'd said, tugging you close in bed the night before. "Brutal. You don’t need to see it."

But the moment his voice cracked — the smallest tremor — you knew he needed you far more than he realized. So you went.

The set was colder than you expected — not just physically, but emotionally, too. Everyone was professional, respectful, quiet. There was a certain heaviness in the air, a collective understanding: this was the scene.

Joel's end.

You found a corner near the monitors, out of the way but within Pedro's line of sight. He spotted you instantly, his shoulders relaxing just a little.

You offered him a small smile, your fingers curling into a heart across your chest. Pedro smirked — a soft, private thing — before disappearing into character.

Watching him die was harder than you thought it would be.

Even though you knew the script. Even though you knew it was fake. Even though you knew Pedro was right there, breathing, alive. It didn’t matter.

The first take, you had to clamp your hand over your mouth to keep from making a sound. The second, you had tears streaming down your face.

By the third, you were practically vibrating with the need to just hold him.

Pedro was too good — too real — and seeing him broken, bloodied, gasping for air... it shattered something inside you. And it broke him, too.

Between takes, he'd shuffle off the set, still half in character, his face caked in horrifying makeup — bruises, cuts, blood. You could see it: the way his shoulders curled inward, the way he struggled to shake off the sadness clinging to him.

Without thinking, you rushed to him.

Someone must've snapped a picture right then — you wrapping your arms around Pedro, burying your face in his chest like you could protect him from the script itself. Pedro clinging back just as tightly, his hands trembling slightly against your spine.

In full dead-Joel makeup, he looked terrifying. But to you, he was just Pedro. Your Pedro.

You kissed his jaw, whispered, "I'm here, I'm here, I'm here," like a mantra only he was meant to hear.

He breathed out a shaky laugh, squeezing you harder. "You shouldn’t have come," he rasped, voice thick with emotion. "You needed me," you murmured back, pulling away just enough to cup his battered-looking face in your hands.

Another picture captured the moment his forehead pressed to yours, his fake blood smearing across your skin, neither of you caring.

You stayed like that for a long time — just holding each other, grounding each other — until the director gently called him back.

Pedro kissed your forehead once, lingering. "Stay where I can see you," he whispered.

You nodded, your heart in pieces.

The rest of the day blurred into a series of heartbreaking takes, whispered reassurances, and moments where Pedro would glance over, find your eyes, and remember he wasn't really alone in all this.

At one point, between scenes, you climbed into his lap in a quiet corner, wrapping yourself around him like armor. He buried his face in your neck, breathing you in.

Someone took a picture of that too.

And another, later, when it was all over — when Pedro, still painted like a corpse, cradled you as you cried silently into his shoulder, overwhelmed by everything you'd seen. He rocked you gently, whispering soothing nonsense into your hair.

"I'm okay, cariño. It's just pretend. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

The BTS pictures dropped a week later.

The fandom imploded.

There you were, in shot after shot — holding Pedro like your life depended on it, him holding you back, both of you wearing your hearts on your sleeves.

#protectpedropascal trended within minutes. #protecthisgirl wasn't far behind.

Tweets poured in:

"They’re literally saving each other." "How am I supposed to survive knowing Pedro Pascal cuddled his wife through fake death?" "Someone write fanfic about THEM, they’re the real love story." "This is the most devastating and healing thing I’ve ever seen."

Pedro reposted one of the pictures on his Instagram story — the one where you were cradling his battered face, forehead to forehead. No caption. Just a heart.

You, watching from the couch, sniffled pathetically.

Pedro grinned, pulling you into his arms.

"You saved me that day," he said softly.

"You saved me too," you whispered back.

And you would — over and over again, for the rest of your lives.

Until the end. And beyond.

-----

[ilovolderman]

The Secret Notes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Bucky leaves little notes for you.

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, cute doodles

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". It doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5. thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

It all started one afternoon when you fell asleep on the couch, a book slipping from your hand. Bucky passed by and found you there, peaceful and unaware. Smiling to himself, he gently picked up the book and noticed the page you’d been reading.

With a quiet laugh, he scribbled a note on a scrap of paper:

“You stopped here. Heroine’s rule: naps first, saving the world later. - B”

He slid the note inside the book, marking the page, and placed it on the table beside you. As he left, he couldn’t help but smile at the idea of you finding it when you woke up.

The next day, you found the note in your book, and you couldn’t help but smile. It was silly, but it made your heart warm. You had to reply, of course.

Taking a fresh piece of paper, you wrote:

“A nap is a hero’s secret weapon, Bucky. Thanks for the reminder. If I do end up saving the world today, I’ll be sure to credit you. - Y/N”

You tucked the note inside his jacket pocket, hoping he’d get a good laugh when he found it. It felt so simple, so small, but the thought of sharing little moments like this with him made everything else seem a little brighter.

It wasn’t long before the notes became a daily exchange. They started off funny—sometimes quoting ridiculous lines from movies, or making playful jokes about the Avengers’ absurdly weird missions. You would find them in your locker, under your coffee mug, or tucked inside your boots. They never failed to make you smile.

Even now, after months together, he still took the time to leave you notes and little reminders.

After a particularly brutal mission, you found another note tucked into the pocket of your jacket. You nearly missed it in the rush to get ready for a debriefing. But when you unfolded it, you found it written on a torn piece of notebook paper, and a doodle of a sleeping cat at the bottom.

“You’re allowed to rest, you know. I’ll guard your coffee while you nap.”

You smiled before you could stop yourself, warmth blooming in your chest. It had been a rough couple of days—bruised ribs, no sleep. The note felt like a soft exhale in the middle of chaos.

Unfortunately, you weren’t the only one in the hallway.

“Whatcha got there?”

You spun around to see Sam squinting at the piece of paper now very obviously in your hand. And before you could shove it back into your pocket, the man had already snatched it like he was intercepting a rogue football.

“Sam, come on—”

He blinked and read it once. Then again. Then a third time.

 ““You’re allowed to rest, you know. I’ll guard your coffee while you nap”...and there’s a little cat at the bottom. Why is there a cat?! WHO DRAWS CATS?!”

You stared at him, trying very hard not to look like someone caught hiding a secret. “You done?”

“Oh, I’m so not done,” Sam said, holding the note like it was radioactive. “This is a nap-themed love letter, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s just a...friendly reminder.”

“With a doodle,” he said, as if that was damning evidence in a court of law. “Who writes you sweet notes about coffee and naps after a mission? That’s like—domestic.”

“Maybe I wrote it to myself,” you tried.

“You’re not a cat doodler. I know your vibe. You don’t doodle.”

You grabbed for the note. He dodged you.

“Sam—give it.”

“I will not. I’m onto something here.”

Just then, Bucky strolled around the corner with a cup of coffee in hand and a granola bar between his teeth, looking way too casual.

Sam froze.

You froze.

Bucky stopped mid-chew, immediately sensing the chaos in the air. “…Did I miss something?”

Sam, eyes narrowed like a detective in a sitcom, turned slowly toward him.

“Barnes.”

Bucky blinked. “Wilson.”

Sam raised the note like it was a badge. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?”

Bucky looked at the paper. Then at you. Then back to Sam.

There was a half-second pause.

And then Bucky shrugged. “Cute cat.”

You choked on a laugh and immediately turned it into a cough.

Sam squinted. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got? ‘Cute cat’?”

Bucky popped the last of the granola bar into his mouth, completely unfazed. “You’re getting worked up over a doodle.”

Sam pointed at both of you, eyes wide with dramatic betrayal. “Okay, I don’t know what is going on, but something is going on. I feel it in my soul.”

You patted him on the shoulder. “Maybe you just need a nap.”

“I—NO! No, you don’t get to use the nap line on me! That’s part of the conspiracy!”

Sam was already walking away. “I’ll guard your coffee, Wilson,” Bucky called over his shoulder, deadpan.

The hallway finally settled into silence after Sam’s echoing footsteps disappeared around the corner. You let out a small laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

Bucky lingered beside you, coffee in hand. His eyes flicked toward you, and the smallest smile curved at the corner of his lips.

“So… cat doodles are suspicious now?”

You laughed under your breath. “Apparently. Next time, maybe draw a dragon or something. Keep him guessing.”

“Well,” he said, voice low and amused. “That could’ve gone worse.”

You glanced down at the note in your hand, then back at him. “I mean... he didn’t accuse you of writing love sonnets. So, yeah—definitely could’ve been worse.”

Bucky huffed a laugh, leaning casually against the wall. “Should I stop? The notes, I mean. I didn’t mean to... cause a scene.”

You looked up at him, warmth already blooming in your chest. “No. Don’t stop.”

His brow quirked slightly, curious. “No?”

“They’re one of the best parts of my day,” you said honestly, your voice soft. “They make the hard days easier, and the quiet ones feel full. I’d rather risk a hundred Sam-level interrogations than miss even one of them.”

A grin pulled at Bucky’s mouth, slow and sweet. “Yeah?”

You gave him a playful nudge. “Even if Sam tries to launch a full-scale investigation.”

Bucky let out a quiet laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Let him. He doesn’t scare me.”

Then, softer, with that familiar gentleness he always saved just for you, he added, “I’ll keep leaving them, then. Every note, every doodle... they’re little pieces of me. And you’re the only one I want finding them.”

Your smile widened, heart fluttering in that helpless, happy kind of way.

“I guess that makes you my favorite mystery author,” you said lightly.

Bucky leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours. “Only for you, doll.”

You reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out a folded note—you’d planned to tuck it under his pillow later, but something made you decide to give it to him right now. You held it out to him, your smile a little shy.

He opened it slowly. Inside, your handwriting was a little messier than usual, but still clearly yours.

“You’ve got a way of making everything seem a little brighter, even when it’s a rough day. I’m lucky for it.”

Bucky looked up at you, lips parted just slightly. For a long second, he said nothing.

And then he stepped closer, closing the small space between you. His hand brushed yours, slow and warm, and he laced your fingers together.

“You’re gonna destroy me with these notes,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

You leaned into him, heart full and beating a little too fast. “Guess we’re even.”

Bucky pressed a kiss to your forehead—gentle, lingering, like a promise he never needed to say out loud. Then he tucked your note carefully into the inside pocket of his jacket, where all the best ones lived.

“Don’t tell Sam,” you whispered with a smile.

Meanwhile in the kitchen...

Sam sat at the table, muttering to himself with a pen tucked behind his ear and a spiral notebook open in front of him. On the top of the page in large, underlined letters:

Case #109: WHO THE HELL IS Y/N DATING???

Underneath it were four bullet points:

suspicious nap note

Bucky is too chill

cat doodle = code??

is Steve somehow involved???

This was war now.

And you and Bucky? You were winning.

taglist: @svtbpbts @cupids-mf-arrow @whitewolfluvr @cece2608 @yehfitoormera @yesiamthatwierd @poodleofstardust @poodleofstardust

[erwinsvow]

unintentionally falling asleep on jack abbot's arms GOD i need him so bad..

it would happen on one of those nights—a really long, never-ending night. since the moment you had stepped into the hospital, it had been back-to-back car accidents and gunshot victims. one of those nights where you can't seem to recall how many people you've helped save, because it seems like that number is lower than the ones you lost.

you usually have a routine during your night shifts. it's supposed to be less chaotic than the day, you're supposed to have time for your coffee at nine-thirty, your tea at one in the morning. it's nearing three, and you haven't had time to stop for either, just sips of water and half a can of an energy drink that you keep in the snack drawer that you share with dr. abbot, in case of emergencies.

and even the fact that you'd reached for it so early in the shift should have been a sign to you, that this was going to be one of those nights. but even as hard as it is, when you look up and meet reassuring hazel eyes, you know that you'll be okay. that you've done for your best for this patient, that you'll continue doing the most you can for all the rest that come into the trauma room tonight.

and around three-thirty, there's a lull. jack always says that five to seven is the hardest part of the shift, that the two hours at the end dictate how you go home feeling. those two hours are make or break, but right before them, that's when there's a lull. it's when the patients waiting for beds upstairs finally doze off. it's when the chairs are finally a little emptier. when notes are finished, when a fresh pot of coffee is made, when food is eaten.

four am might be your favorite hour in the emergency department. it's just quiet enough that you can hear jack's steady breathing from the computer next to you. he has to sign off on all of your notes—all the resident notes, all the nurses orders, and this is the best time to do it.

and it's hard, because he's really attuned to you. all you've been wanting to do recently is make jack feel the same way he makes you feel. heard, seen, recognized. you bring him a cup of coffee once it's been fifteen minutes without an incoming, your personal way of telling that you should have at least another ten without one. that's about how long it'll take him to finish the cup, so you bring it to him, in your yellow mug, and take a seat next to him.

you take one sip—but it's black, and you prefer yours with enough cream and sugar to make your teeth hurt. he laughs when you make a face, and then he takes the cup back into his hands, fingers brushing for a second. jack takes a big sip and sets it down, his hand lingering on the handle near where your hand is resting. he's reading notes and clicking a button on the keyboard.

"do you want a cup, sweetheart?" he asks quietly, making sure no one can hear him.

he doesn't care, but he knows that you do. but when he turns to get an answer, your eyes are drooping. somewhere between the repetitive clicks of the keys and your boyfriend's steady breathing, you momentarily drifted off.

"sweetheart?" jack repeats, and you sit up a little straighter, jolting out of it at his voice.

"yeah?" you blink quickly, like that'll wake you up. "what is it? incoming?" you almost get up, but jack brings his warm hand to your knee. you sink back down into the chair.

"no. it's nothing." he wants to offer you a cup but if you drink it now, you won't go back to sleep. "go back to your notes."

wordlessly, you comply, staring back at the screen. back to your own personal sound machine—calm heart monitors in the distance, jack typing something. you try to focus on the screen but your attention goes to how the veins and muscles in his forearm move everytime he brings the cup to his mouth for a sip. that's enough to get your eyes to shut again.

his arm rests next to you yours. and without even trying to, you end up slouched over, head resting on his arm. even at home, you sleep like this sometimes. you think that jack's arm must hurt, but if it does, he's never complained or told you to stop.

it's good that you're sleeping while you can. it's one of those times his favoritism can actually make an appearance—there's not a single other resident that gets to fall asleep in front of their attending, much less on their attending. and you need it—he can tell. you're still adjusting to the demands of night shift and this has probably been one of the worst nights since you started.

it's the kind of shift that would usually end with him up on the roof, but surprisingly, while watching your shoulders rise and fall with each breath, he hasn't thought about the roof once tonight. instead he thinks about what he'll make for breakfast when he takes you home. he'll have you shower first if you two go to your apartment—it's too small, not comfortable enough for you both. but if it's his place, then together it is. maybe he'll wash your hair for you, or let you cry against his chest under hot water.

you bought this sleeping spray stuff when you started, but when you come over to sleep in his bed, you haven't needed it once. hopefully this little nap and the cup of coffee he'll make for you at five-thirty won't ruin your sleep schedule more than it already is. he's remembering something about a pilates class you were talking about and an episode of that trashy reality show you love so much when he hears it—the almost silent yet completely recognizable laugh of his other residents.

shen and ellis look at your sleeping form, and then move their gaze to him.

"not a word," he says quietly. he's lost use of one hand but it doesn't really seem to matter, not as long as you get to close your eyes for thirty minutes.

"just one question-"

"-yeah, when's my turn?"

[coniferouspines]

Stanley Pines is dying.

A good samaritan on the street found his unconscious body and decided to call an ambulance for him. Stan doesn’t remember everything that happened. He just knows that a few days and a multitude of tests later, he was unceremoniously diagnosed with a terminal illness in a random hospital in the middle of Oklahoma. Emphasis on terminal. The doctors tell him that without treatment, he has maybe two weeks to live.

Stan can’t afford treatment, nor the hospital bill he’s sure to be slapped with from his current stay. He sneaks out during the night shift and disappears. It’s one more debt added to the list but it’s not like it’s going to matter once he’s dead anyway. He finds the last place he left his car and spends the rest of the night awake in the backseat, wondering what he should do.

In the end, the conclusion is obvious: he wants to see his family. To say his final goodbyes to them in person. However, this brings a new dilemma. Stan’s family are all in different places. His parents in New Jersey, Shermie in California, and Stanford in Oregon. Stan, currently in Oklahoma, is stuck in the middle and with a decision to make.

He can’t visit them all. As much as he’d like to, Stan has neither the money, the gas, or the time to do so. He’d probably die before he could see all of them. He only has enough energy and resources to make it to one of them; he’ll have to be content with phone calls to the others to say his goodbyes.

When the morning comes, Stan gets into the driver’s seat and starts the engine of the car. He sits there for a moment, just breathing deeply. He has to pick a family member to see in person before he dies, and he doesn’t have a lot time, so he has to choose quickly.

It was never really a question.

He chooses Ford.

AKA a terminally ill Stanley makes his way up to Gravity Falls, Oregon to reunite with his brother. He wants to say his goodbyes and apologies in person before he dies. He’s not happy about dying, but he doesn’t think he has much to live for anyway, so he accepts it. He just wants to make things right between himself and Ford before it happens so he can go without regrets.

Stanford is not expecting his estranged twin to randomly show up looking like he’s literally on death’s door. Nor is he approving of Stanley’s plan to seemingly just lay down and die. Good thing Stan came to him. Now he’s given Ford a chance to do something about it.

All current research and projects get shoved aside as Ford focuses everything he has on a new, single task: take care of Stanley and save his life.

(Amazing addition by tinfoil-jones here)

[jinwoosungs]

04/27/25; 01:00am

{ drabbles / headcanons }

[ spring kisses with them ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel, caleb

{ one smile, one kiss, two lonely hearts is all that i need now, baby | you’re on my mind every night, every day… }

you became drunk off the scent of flowers, giggling each time sylus teases you with their soft petals.

his gaze remain soft; rufescent eyes gazing down at your figure as they fill with adoration for you. holding the flower gingerly by its stem, he places the pink petals against your lips. a tickling sensation was felt on your skin, causing your lips to tilt up in a sweet smile that captivates your beloved.

the flower’s petals shift in response to the wind, the petals breaking from its stem before landing against your parted lips. letting out an amused chuckle, sylus removes the single petal from your lips. he takes a moment to admire it before pressing a kiss against it.

warmth courses through your veins at the sight as you lean up to frame at his face. with the single petal now floating away, he captures your lips in a sweet kiss before landing with you against the pile of flowers-

a sudden memory resurfaces, of dragon wings and the scent of datura flowers filling at the air as the crimson petals danced in the wind.

caught in a sweet dance, zayne takes your hand and guides you around the gazebo. with your dress flowing around you, you felt as though you were living in a fairytale.

surrounding you were the dizzying scent of flowers coupled along with the cheerful chirping of the birds. unbidden joy courses through you, with your arms wrapped around zayne’s neck (like it was the most natural thing in the world.)

his hands wraps themselves behind the small of your back, bringing you achingly close to him. his eyes were brimming with an unspoken devotion to you as zayne leans forward to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. the faint taste of macarons fills at your senses each time zayne moves his lips oh so lovingly against yours-

making all of your dreams come true within that single moment.

you swore that you lived to see xavier’s pouting face each time you pressed a kiss against your favorite plushie’s face, holding the bunny so close to your chest even as xavier tackles you back against the cushions.

he hovers over you, half-lidded gaze taking in your playful expression while looking at your slightly parted lips. with a gentle sigh of your name, your beloved leans in closer to you, ready to share a sweet kiss-

only to let out a grunt of disapproval when his lips met with the toy bunny’s face.

feigning a look of annoyance, xavier takes the plushie in his hand and embraces it for a few seconds before playfully punching it. his actions earn a gasp from you, and when you reach out to save your precious baby-

only to have xavier interlock your fingertips together with his, bringing you closer as your lips met with his. he kept you locked in a passionate kiss, with him silently begging you to open up to him. feeling the tip of his tongue pushing against your lips, you slowly open up to him-

the plush long forgotten now, you delve your fingers into his hair, pulling him closer to you as you lay back whilst surrounded by the scent of him and spring flowers in full bloom.

the scent of wisterias were thick in the air as the petals blew over rafayel’s open sketchbook. his sketch was forgotten the moment you lay down with him on the grass, your fingertips gently tracing at his features.

the lemurian finds himself leaning into your touch, eyes taking in the beautiful sight of your smiling face. turning away from you for a brief moment, he sees a tiny wildflower with white petals and picks it. holding up the gentle bloom to you, you half expected rafayel to fasten it above your ear-

yet was left pleasantly surprised when he ends up placing it on your lips. only catching a glimpse of his playful expression, you gasp upon feeling him kiss you, moving the soft flower against your lips to cause a gentle friction you had never felt before.

and you quickly became addicted to it.

with your eyes clenched shut, you bask in the sensation of his kisses, never wanting this moment to end.

caleb had never looked so happy-

so free before this very moment-

and you wanted to burn this memory into your mind, never wishing to forget.

the boat sways within the lake, yet you found it comforting to lay in it with your beloved colonel. you had no idea how many hours he spent making sure your spring date was perfect-

ensuring your happiness above all else.

your whispered promises of forever lingers within the air when caleb takes you within his embrace, placing a kiss against your hair while softly calling you by name. you meet his gaze, feeling your heart racing at the sight of his crooked grin.

moments pass, and when you kept looking at him with such a soft expression, something shifted within him,

with his gaze narrowed, caleb leans closer to you, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss while under the canopy of the moss and trees.

{ you can say that i’m a fool and i don't know very much | but i think they call this love | oh, i think they call this love. }

end notes: this looks like a very cute banner, but i think i’ll skip this one for now if i can’t get sylus’s card with my free pulls (;﹏;) but have this unedited drabble in celebration for the new spring banner ♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[jeannahas]

The day was cold. It was one of those dead, dry kinds of days, when the clouds just kind of... sit there, while wind stiffly crossed the grasslands with barely a care in the world. Stripping away heat. Stripping away moisture.

And the whole time, the entire world sat the same color as an old leather boot left out in the rain far too many times before the sun has had its way with it.

None of that mattered, as I broke through the last wall, as I set alight on the roof of the warehouse.

"Our intel assures us that Obsidian has taken position at the top of the warehouse, hostiles are suspected to have taken most of the town, you should be coming up from his underground network somewhere in Kansas, Starhold."

I grunted, then shoved my way to the rubble, fixing my eyes on the rooftop before me.

He stood there, of course. Imperious. Confident as ever in his crystaline black armor. Smug.

Standing over a body.

My heart ran cold.

"You're too late, Hero. The great Starhold, brought low, delayed. I told you I would do it, if you did not comply. If you resisted my efforts. You hid her well, you fought well, you resisted my ever attempt to waylay you - but you still did not accept my terms. And in the end, your defenses were insufficient. Each turret, each wall, each barrier you put in my way, but a trivial roadblock on the path to delivering you the consequences of your resistance."

I stood still as a statue; eyes locked on her face. Eyes blank, staring up at an uncaring sky. The wind pulled at those auburn curls, I thought of how long she took each morning making sure they sat exactly how she wanted them, how she pouted when I teased her.

She was still wearing her work-clothes. The simple grey suit and white blouse. Her office clothes. She'd been taken from her office. How long had she been tormented, before he killed her? Blood still trickled onto the roof. Minutes, it had been just minutes.

"I had to sacrifice a great deal to take her from you, to prove my superiority, but in the end well... we see how that turned out. Your star-born grace was not nearly enough to save her."

The villain snapped his fingers. Hovercraft lifted up from the grassy knolls surrounding the town, armored henchmen carrying some kind of advanced rifle began to pour out of the buildings, their weapons whining as they prepared to fire.

I reached up numbly, and pulled the earpiece out of my ear, pocketing it.

I didn't see any of my nemesis's prepararions, as my pulse roared in my ears, as my fingers twitched - once. Obsidian lifted his hand, ready to signal his men to fire.

"Congratulations." I whispered into the wind.

My erstwhile nemesis blinked in shock.

"What?"

"You did it, you finally broke me."

The villain before me sneered, comically crooked teeth twisted in triumph as the whisper reached his ears, he even opened his mouth to monologue - at least until I continued speaking.

"No more Hero. No more Mercy. No more sparing wanton criminals. I've had... enough."

His eyes widened for a moment, and I snapped my fingers as the muscles in my jaw twitched. The effect was immediate. Everyone knew that my abilities were in some way connected to the stars. Hence my name. What I had never done though was exert myself completely. Tap into the loosest interpretation of those abilities. They had seen the blinding light. They had seen the searing heat, they had seen the radiation, the vitality. The speed at which I flew through the air.

Stars, however, do something extremely important, they keep planets reigned in check, through sheer mass.

With that snap of my fingers, a perfect circle of space around the tower suddenly crushed in on itself. The three hovercraft slammed into the ground with enough force they flattened into oblong disks. Each minion, guard, soldier, or whatever the fuck they were on the ground flattened into a red paste as gravity multiplied in an instant. Each building around us except for the one we stood on flattened to dust in the blink of an eye. Every tree, every plant, every bush, car, trash can, rock, or pebble instantly sank into the ground, as the rock beneath our feet itself gave way, crushing in on itself, sinking under the obliterating weight I forced upon the world.

My nemesis' eyes widened. I took my eyes off of my finance's body for the first time since i had made it to the roof. I could see in his expression that he realized just how badly he had fucked up. That he realized how few of my cards I had actually revealed.

He tried to take a step back, and I cocked my head sideways. His boot- and just his boot, experience the same crushing gravity, sinking an eighth of an inch into the concrete roofing, pinning him in place.

"What is it?" I asked softly. "Did you think that I was fighting you with everything I had? Did you think you knew me because we fight so often?"

I took a step forward, barely touching the ground as arcs of plasma began to snap off of me, echoes of the rage and agony I forced out of my voice.

"I've avoided casualties for so long... I've stuck to the rules for so long... I've trusted those who make the prisons they shove your lot in to do their fucking jobs for so long... no longer. How many lives have you taken? How many lives have I LET YOU TAKE?"

I glanced down at her. Her perfection. Now lifeless. Ash on the winds of death.

"No. You won't hurt anyone ever again. None of you will."

The supervillain brought his hands together, and a beam of violet light lanced through the air, slamming against my skin, corroding it, corrupting it, cells falling away even as new ones healed into place.

I didn't care.

I snapped my fingers again. The light sputtered, and stopped.

He fell to the ground clutching his chest in pain. He resisted for a moment. I didn't have the energy to be impressed. I just pushed harder.

He screamed in agony, as his clothing began to pull in towards his chest, as his supernaturally strong body fought to maintain its shape. A few pebbles around him began to drift his way.

"You broke my heart, Obsidian. Enjoy meeting yours up close and personal. Goodbye."

He screamed one last time, then folded with a crunch, as his limbs, head, and extremities crushed inwards with a series of excruciatingly brief but extremely sickening snaps.

The fist sized chunk of matter that remained dropped to the ground.

I said nothing. I did nothing. For a long time. I pulled the earpiece from my pocket, and inserted it back into my ear.

Static fizzled for amoment, then I heard the voice of my handler, Seargent Lewis.

"Can you hear me now? Starhold, are you alright? We lost all signatures but yours in the target area, what happened? Do you copy?"

I said nothing, as I removed my earpiece, crushed it to dust in my fist, and scooped up the love of my life, cradling her as tears fell from my eyes.

I would bury her, in that field she liked, with all the trees.

Then.

Oh...THEN.

They would pay.

They would ALL pay.

Seargent Lewis Brand stared at the scene. He didn't have any words. General Handolfer stood at his side.

Devastation.

A single building remained, in the town that Starhold had been sent to in order to stop Obsidian. A warehouse. A perfect circle exactly two meters out from the edge of the west side of the building still stood, miraculously. Everything else...

"Was obsidian found?" Seargent Brand asked the superhero who floated towards him, covered head to toe in mechanical devices and equipment he could never begin to understand.

The man winced.

"It's not pretty."

"Show me."

The superhero paused, then gestured to his companion, a lower ranked superhero with some degree of super-strength. He lifted a ball, about the size of a softball or so.

"What's this?"

"Obsidian."

"What's left of him?"

The floating superhero, Tech, shook his head.

"We scanned the area. This... contains every atom that once comprised the supervillain formerly known as Obsidian. Plastics, metallics, organics, and a few inorganic minerals, all...." Tech pointed to the object. "Right there. Two hundred and thirty pounds, The estimated weight of obsidian in his standard equipment."

"What else was found?" General Handolfer asked, face pale.

"Seventy-three others. In the disc of compressed land around us. Not nearly as compressed, it was more like they had suffered about, fifty G's, all at once."

Handolfer turned to Seargeant Lewis.

"Has Starhold ever displayed gravitational abilities?"

Seargent Lewis looked out at the devastation.

"No."

The cold wind blew.

A radio sputtered to life somewhere among the group who stood at the edge of a three meter drop to the ground below, where the ground of the old region had been compressed to. A soldier ran up to the general and his subordinate.

"It's the prison!"

"What about it?"

"It's been destroyed!"

Both men turned to look at the man.

"What?"

"How?"

The soldier shook his head.

"I don't know - we only got a brief message, six words."

"And?"

The man swallowed.

"The full message was : Prison Destroyed: Starhold Killed them ALL."

Silence ruled amid oppressive grey skies.

General Handolfer turned to the fist-sized chunk of matter that used to be a supervillain with a sigh.

"Congratulations Obsidian.

"You finally broke him."

Congratulations: You did it. You finally broke me. No more Hero. No more sparing criminals. I’ve had enough." With a snap of your fingers, the army of goons just... vanishes. Leaving you alone with your Nemesis and the dead body of your fiancé.

[abbotjack]

At first glance, Jack Abbot’s handwriting looks almost unremarkable — neat, steady, deliberate. The words don’t crowd each other, but they don’t drift apart either. There’s a structure to it, like someone who’s spent a lifetime forcing order onto chaos. Each word stands upright, solid in its own space, but never so stiff that it spills into the next. That control — that quiet refusal to unravel — mirrors the discipline Jack holds in his chest every day, pressing his grief, guilt, and rage into something survivable.

You can see it in the letter he writes to Raymond Orser’s family. Jack’s words aren’t clinical, but they’re contained. He doesn’t stumble into sentimentality or dress up the pain. He offers the truth plainly: I am sorry I could not save Ray’s life. He takes responsibility without dramatizing himself — the way a man who’s seen real battle understands that sometimes, even when you do everything right, it still isn’t enough. His handwriting reflects that same quiet acceptance. It’s not decorative or desperate. It’s functional, clear, pressed so firmly into the page that even if the ink wore away, the shape of his words would remain, cut into the surface.

Physically, Jack writes with a firm hand and a slight forward tilt — always moving, never wasting time. His script is quick but not sloppy, urgent but never panicked. There’s a soldier’s efficiency to it, a medic’s precision: fast because it has to be, careful because it matters. His letters stay mostly upright, bowing just enough to show you something essential — that Jack is always leaning toward action, toward duty, toward other people’s emergencies, never his own. Even the structure of the letter mirrors him: no unnecessary paragraphs, no wandering sentences. Jack writes the way he lives. He makes the unbearable survivable, the unspeakable speakable, using whatever small space he's given. His life has been a constant act of bearing witness — to violence, to love, to failure, to sacrifice. His handwriting doesn’t beg for attention. It stands steady. It says: I was here. I saw him. I tried.

And even though he couldn’t save Ray, he refuses to let him be forgotten.

If you look closer, you’ll catch it — the way Jack’s baseline wavers, just slightly, like a breath he’s trying not to show. His words don’t fall apart. They don’t lose control. But they tremble, almost imperceptibly, under the weight he’s forcing them to carry. In handwriting analysis, that kind of subtle shift says everything. It belongs to someone who’s weathered real storms — who has carried grief, fear, and failure — and still wills his hands to stay steady. Jack’s handwriting doesn’t cry out. It absorbs the cost quietly, the way he carries everything else. It’s the signature of a man who can talk someone back from the edge even when he’s still catching his own breath from standing there.

In a world where Jack has had to document more death, injury, and loss than anyone should, the fact that he still writes with this much care — that he refuses to let his words collapse into detached scrawls — tells you the most important thing about him: Jack Abbot still believes people deserve to be seen. To be understood. To be honored.

Even the way he writes "MD" at the end of his signature tells a story. It’s not a title he lifts up to be admired; it’s tucked into the rhythm of his name, almost thrown on like a quiet fact — not a decoration, but a duty. The same way you can imagine him still wearing his dog tags. The same way he still wears his wedding ring. Jack doesn’t use "MD" to separate himself from the people he treats. He wears it the way he wears everything: quietly, permanently, without performance. That fast, clipped way he writes it says more than a thousand words about him. Jack Abbot didn’t become a doctor for prestige. He doesn’t measure his worth in accolades. To him, "MD" isn’t a crown. It’s a promise. A vow to every person he couldn’t save: that he would show up again tomorrow. That he would keep trying. That no one would go unseen.

[killishin]

— ♡ right person at the right time.

PART 03.

pairing: jason todd x reader

category: lots of fluff, angst, he fell first she fell harder kinda trope, sfw, thinking of making this a slow burn but we'll see.

content warning: afab, mention of death (reader's mother), violence here and there, mention of blood, inaccurate medical talk, not proofread

summary: reader's just a normal citizen of Gotham, scrambling to making ends meet. after a fateful encounter, when he saw the reader kick ass and save a life- he can't get them off his mind. and fate just keeps pulling them together forcing him to do something about it.

a/n: i finally got the time to finish this, once exams are over I'll make the necessary edits. enjoy :)

wc: 5.3k

fic masterlist. previous. next

dividers by @cafekitsune

"that is not a wound."

"its a cut."

"not deep enough to come to me!"

"i thought you said we were friends— is that how you treat your friends hm?" red mused, though his modulated voice is supposed to be monotonous and blank, you've learned to really listen. and you could hear the amusement rolling off of him just like the easy sarcasm that trickles from his tongue.

its been more than a month since red hood came stumbling down your balcony, literally, and from then he's been coming too often. well too often for someone like him. you had thought that would have been the end of your interactions with the infamous vigilante— but life has a need to always prove you wrong.

sometimes he comes twice a week, sometimes he doesn't come a whole week— it was never steady. he came whenever he felt like it. about now you're certain that instead of 'help' , that he could basically get from his other vigilante... colleagues, he simply uses his injuries as an excuse. sometimes his wounds aren't even that bad! just a scratch or a graze, something he could so easily fix himself.

but, in the past days you've gotten to know him, he'd rather die than admit he enjoys your company.

"now you wanna admit we're friends huh?" you scoffed as your rolled your eyes and grumbled under your breath as you walked to the bathroom to get the kit. you were in a particularly ruined mood since you were just about to head to sleep when he rudely and loudly jumped into your apartment through your balcony.

he's more relaxed on your couch now, one arm on the arm rest while the other rested on the back of the couch, his legs spread. you paused infront of him then scoffed before glaring, kicking his feet lightly.

"is a wounded man supposed to sit that relaxed? at least pretend it hurts." you sit beside him and wait with an impatient frown as he rolls off his jacket. the cut is on his bicep, which he deliberately flexes when you look at the cut.

"it doesn't hurt, i have a good tolerance for pain, sunshine." he utters the pet name mockingly and your glare deepens, "it just needs medical attention. you're the one who always says to 'take care'."

you're almost baffled at how teasing and sarcastic he's gotten, he was guarded in the beginning, still sarcastic but more short and reserved. though you'll admit, it feels nice that he feels comfortable enough around you now.

the same goes for you too, you were cautious around him. mindful of your words and tone, barely commenting on the daily shit that goes in gotham, scared that you'd somehow offend the vigilante with a wrong opinion.

now you glared outright, you scolded more— but you even smiled more, treated him normal enough... like an old friend. it felt refreshing, this sense of normalcy with you. maybe because you weren't a vigilante which most people were in his life, or maybe because you were still untainted from the worst horrors of gotham— he doesn't know. all he knows is that he intends to hide this little something he's found, he cannot leave it he knows, far too selfish for that. so he'll keep you hidden from the people from his world, keep you safe from the claws of the crimes.

"right." you rolled your eyes before cleaning the wound, being more firmer than you should and he simply smiles under the helmet. his lack of response, not even a flinch irriates you further so you dress the wound tight, trying to be aggressive.

"you do know its morally wrong to torment a patient." he murmured and you gave him a pointed look, acting like you're done with him. "it is about to be 3 in the morning red. i have work." you remind him, hoping he catches the hint to not irk you further.

"you never told me about your job. what do you do?" he skirts right past your thinly veiled threat and you sigh before tucking in his bandage properly.

"neither have you." you said pointedly before sighing, "animations. its an entry level position right now. but i also do personal projects on the side." you reply still as you clean up, moving around the apartment.

he leans ahead, intrigued to get to know more about you finally, "and you like it? your job i mean."

"well... its hectic yeah, sometimes too much to make me wonder if its all worth it." you shrug as you head to the kitchen and opened your fridge, "but i think everyone with a job thinks that at one point. so its normal. animation is something i loved so it evens out the frustration of work."

you put the tub of ice cream on the counter before fetching a spoon. as he watches from the couch he realises he never steps in your apartment further than the living room, only till the couch and then out. at first he was... simply keeping distance, the rational self in him telling him to keep himself as untangled as possible.

but now he wants to delve deep, to see your life, to see when you're happy— or sad, what you do when you have nothing better to do. its a curiosity he convinces himself, just that.

and even though he knows it dangerous to keep crossing the boundaries he set for himself, he can't help but say why not just this once? blind leap of faith, something that has always disappointed him, something he never does yet he still wants to try.

he gets up and walks in your kitchen and you gulp down the ice cream quickly before waving your hands to stop him and he immediately freezes, wondering if he made a mistake.

"red! your boots!" you pointed out with a grimace, that were caked with dust and mud, "i didn't say anything about them before because you're always hurt and in a hurry— but not in the kitchen please." you plead as politely as possible, you hoped you didn't come off as too nitpicky or high maintenance but you just can't stand shoes in your apartment.

for a minute he just stares, and you try to discern what he's feeling from those slits in his helmet. then he barks out a laugh, leaning a hand against the wall and doubling over.

"shit– my bad." he does not sound apologetic at all though, and your brows furrow as you fail to see how its so funny, "what?"

"nothing. you just—" he paused as he stifles another laugh, taking off his boots carefully before walking to the balcony and keeping them there. he walked back in the kitchen and leaned against the counter beside you, "i wouldn't have been offended even if you said that when i first came here."

he saw how bothered you looked to see him walking with his dirty boots in your apartment, like literally appalled and he just wonders how had you kept in that request for so long?

"it felt a bit wrong to ask a bleeding man to take off his shoes first." you shrugged before digging in the tub, licking the ice cream right off the spoon and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to not follow that action.

"if you don't mind me asking-" you began as you paused, pushing a stool towards him before sitting on one yourself, "you might. since this might be encroaching all that secret vigilante thing." you said hesitantly, giving him an unsure smile before looking away as you carefully worded the question.

"so do you know all the vigilantes? like personally?" you questioned and he released a breath because he honestly thought you'd ask about his identity and he'd have to leave, "like i do see the news time to time, hear things but you're the source so....?"

you looked genuinly curious, no ill intent. just someone who's curious about his life like that of a friend's.

he shuffled on his seat, clearing his throat and you feared you asked wrong, "its not necessary to answer of course."

"i know." he reassured quietly before shrugging, "yeah i do. our interests, kicking gotham's criminal's ass and keeping citizen safe aligns so yes i do know them." he explains as vaguely as possible, carefully wording it and you know it.

"so who's better?" you ask and he blinks.

"what? in who?"

"you and nightwing."

now he's the one who's appalled. the simple question makes him spiral to a whole world of overthinking. his ego might not be able to handle the unfavorable answer.

"wha— the hell is that question?" he scoffed and you shrugged, taking another spoon of ice cream, unbothered. "of course im better!"

"are you sure?"

he knows he doesn't need to take off the mask to get the glare through, you know he's glaring by the way you cheekily laugh, "geez what a fragile ego."

"what, you his fangirl or something?" he scowls and you heartily laugh at that, shaking your head.

"im no vigilante's fan, red. but you can't blame me for wondering you know?" you teasingly nudged his leg with your foot, "alright another question."

"since when did this become a one sided 20 questions?" he grumbled as he folded his arms, wishing for once he did not have the helmet on so he could actually glare at that innocently charming face.

"since you decided to be a little wuss." you cheekily retorted before leaning in towards him, taking the sleeve of your tshirt in your fingers, you rubbed the grime off his helmet. you don't know why but you liked to see it spotless.

while you went back to being unbothered, eating your ice cream like a fucking brat, his heart damn near exploded. did you just do that? it felt more on his skin than it was on the metallic helmet. he forgot to even breathe for a second, still processing— and then getting mildly irritated at the fact that somewhere in his heart he yearns for you to do it again. its stupid, he tells himself, someone he's known for a just a month— someone innocent.

again, painting himself as the darkness that would snuff out the light in you.

"don't do that." he said, sharper than intended, letting his own overthinking get him. you freeze, your hand suspended in air before you awkwardly yet quickly drop the spoon in the almost empty bucket and tuck your hair behind your ear.

"ah my bad."you said, and suddenly it was harder to smile. and he realised he did it again, pushed someone away again. its for the better he tells himself, this would have happened anyway.

"im sorry—"

"its fine." he cuts you off before getting up, "i should probably leave— city doesn't save itself now does it?"

you were a bit stunned, he hadn't acted like this yet in the times he's visited. it was unnerving to not know how to act, how to tackle this side of him because you didn't quite like the distance that suddenly found its way between you both. you know he is a vigilante, has enemies— tons of 'em, and there's always a good chance that prolonged association with him could get you wind up in all that. it could get messy, it could get dangerous. you wanted nothing to do with danger. you just wanted to lead a simple life which was already too much to ask from gotham.

"take care." and yet you called out behind him, even though he already disappeared. the idea that you somehow offended this new friend of yours, someone you had steadily grown to like— didn't sit quite well with you. you suppose he doesn't like to be touched, of course. that was a bit creepy maybe.

you sighed as you went back to kitchen, putting away everything. you push red to the back of your mind, convincing yourself with that shitty saying that— everything happens for the best.

its a pitiful attempt at consolation, but life moves on.

you sigh as you open the door to your apartment, taking off your heels before walking in. blind dates really don't work for you anymore, not that it ever did actually. you never click with the other person, and somehow they always turn out to be somewhat of an asshole.

today was yet another failed date, boring one. the man chipped away at your braincells one by one as he literally chattered away about his 'big shot position at that big shot firm'— you don't know what it was, you stopped paying attention twenty minutes in.

sometimes you blame yourself, that maybe your standards are too high, you're being the one who's too reserved or shallow— but then your father's voice rings in your ears, 'never ever in your life settle for someone who doesn't make you feel seen and heard from day one.' your parents really had set the bar high for you.

you went into your room and threw your purse on the bed before taking off your coat, it drizzled a bit. your hair's a bit damp but somehow it makes you look more pretty.

sigh, all that effort down the drain.

oh wait! you remembered you were supposed to call your friend, fill her in about about this disaster. you quickly dialed her number in, tapping your foot as you waited, your eyes mindlessly checking your nails.

"it didn't go well did it?" she groaned lightly into the phone and you huffed out a smile, she was so quick to catch on. not that it was hard to, you ended the date pretty quickly.

"yeah.. im sorry but god he was just— not it." you explained with a scrunch of your nose as you press the phone in between your ear and shoulder while taking off your bracelet.

"there's nothing to apologise for, if he ain't it, he ain't it. there's always more to choose from. endless fishes, pretty." she tries to weasel a joke and your lips quirk up fondly, of course she's trying to make her feel better.

"im not sad so you can drop it. he wasn't an eye candy either that I'd feel bad."

"he was loaded."

"i'd be too one day." you retort with a chuckle pretending to be offended when she snorts. you get to your earrings, unclasping one and you gather it in your hand, about to keep it on your vanity—

CRASH!

you jolted, almost dropping your earring and unfortunately dropping your phone too. you cursed loudly, that phone is really gonna die on you at this point.

suddenly two sharp knocks rattled through your house, and they sounded less woody. they came from the balcony you realised. you hurriedly pick up your phone before running to your living room.

that sounded hurried. he never even knocks! but why was he literally banging on the glass?! its not even past midnight—

"hey are you okay?!"

"uh- i— yeah im—"

your breath catches in your throat as you stop dead in your tracks to see the glass sliding doors of your balcony with a bloody handprint, really selling the horror element right now. red hood was knelt down and you could see how hard he was heaving— his body was literally shaking with each breath he took.

your voice closed up in your throat for a second, all the air vanishing into the black hole that suddenly appeared in your lungs.

blood. blood. blood. blood—

you blink your eyes to tear yourself out of it, taking an inaudible deep breath. small wounds and trickle of blood do not unsettle you, not anymore. but anything beyond a cut, beyond mere drops of blood— it brings back the broken little girl in you.

"i— i'll call back yeah?" you hurriedly whispered before hanging up your phone, throwing it on the couch before rushing to slide open the door.

"red? red— fuck are you—" you bite your tongue as you physicslly stop the stupid question from getting blurted out as you knelt down, your hands immediately on his shoulder as you tilted your head down.

christ— even his helmet has a fucking crack.

"red? red say something please." all you got was his haggered breathing and a lousy gesture to the couch, you heard him mumble something but it sounded more like a grunt.

you pull back and your gaze scrutinize him, well as best as it can in the minimum light provided. he is bruised black and blue, you don't see it over all that armour and jacket, which by the way, is ripped, he is also losing blood. way too much.

blood. blood. blood. blood—

"alright no pressure at all." you whispered, voice tight with anxiety as you hawl him up on his feet, his arm over your shoulder while your hand held his waist.

"ugh— easy!" he scolded in his haggard voice and both of you almost stumble due to his overpowering weight on you.

"im trying!" you hiss back, taking a deep breath as you drag him inside. you were gentler, but really the situation had you freaked out, you were almost blanked out and mostly working on autopilot. "don't you die in my apartment. i can't handle the fucking gcpd and batman on my ass." that was your attempt at some humour. to lessen the burden of your anxiety or his, you weren't really sure at the moment.

he had noticed your attire, even in the moment of haze and fatigue, he noticed the singular earring hanging from your ear, dressed up with make up on rather than the oversized he's used to see. it doesn't take a genius to guess it was for a date. maybe that put him in an even more foul mood.

but then he realises the time, its early to be back home from a dinner date. he visits at ungodly hours but today, due to unsavory altercation, he had to turn up so early and unexpected. so he summarizes, all on his own, the date didn't go quite well.

and despite the pain he is in, it puts a fucking smirk on his face. he even leans more on you, he knows he would need to unpack whatever he's feeling, but thats a tomorrow problem.

you slowly put him down on the sofa and stagger back, panting heavily as you put a hand on your hip. that took out a lot of energy from you and you realised just how inactive you are, which is concerning considering you're a citizen of Gotham. you need to be prepared to run for the hills at the slightest hint for danger.

hearing him cough snaps you out of your reverie and you immediately get about your apartment, closing the draps, turning on the light before dashing to the bathroom. you really, really hope its not something out of your limited experience. you don't even care that he ghosted you for two weeks— you just want him alive, probably intact. you honestly do not have the stomach— or the mental state for something bloodier than a graze right now.

but surprise, surprise— its a wound on the shoulder. stab or bullet— you don't wanna know.

"jesus fucking christ red.." you whisper, your skin going a little pale and green as you look at his blood seeping under his hand that he has kept pressed on the wound. "is that— oh shit—"

"yes it is. now come here with that." he sounded more firm and annoyed than he ever did in the frequent interactions you've had with him, and that is understandable. he sounds like he's on his last breath with all the panting and huffing.

"right. sorry." you immediately walk and stand beside him, running your mind through whatever red told you about it. luckily, red had filled you in about different wounds, since you were currently playing nurse. he had mentioned shoulder wounds, hurts like hell and bleeds a lot but it can be patched rather easily, his words.

he lays himself down and you drag the coffee table closer to sit on it, your hands rummaging through the kit which had expanded. you may have had restocked and bought more— obviously for this certain vigilante.

"okay so uh— clean?" you repeat the steps to yourself as you watch him remove the small cloth from his shoulder— you almost puke from how messy it looks. its one thing taking care of cuts and bruises and its another thing to take a damn bullet out of a bleeding, ugly wound. "then remove the—" your brows raise as realisation dawns on you.

for fucks sake you can't fucking take the bullet out—

"you can. you can." he was facing you, and somehow you could feel the resolute stare through the helmet, "i know it'll be hard— but you can—" seeing him wince makes you gulp down whatever doubts you have down to your gut. let it worsen.

you let the adrenaline take over, push the tremors away that threaten to wreck your body. hide. hide. hide.

"if i kill you accidentally don't you fucking dare haunt me." you murmur to yourself as you look for a pair of tweezers, the jab makes him crack a laugh enough to hurt and he instantly winces again.

you clean the blood off first before grabbing the tweezers, taking your sweet time to drag it out— but then he grabs your wrist and pulls it slowly towards his shoulder. "eyes on here. focus, you can do it sweetheart." he murmured, and for a second he even sounded okay. you almost believed this all to be a facade.

"oh god—" you grimace as your fingers shook around the tweezers, you wished he went to some legal doctor who had actual forceps and all those medical instruments, instead of tweezers, but vigilantes are nuts. you have come to understand and accept that. "i will kill you if you die i swear— im so mad at you—" your quivering grumbles simply amuse him more, knowing its a way to distract you enough to dig in and take the bullet out.

and you did, after all the gagging and hurling a myriad of insults at him— you finally did. you slouched back as if you were the one that endured that pain.

"sweets you still need to stich, ya' know."

"no im not doing that." you snap as you sit up again, "i dont even know how to— do you honestly want to die??" you gape at him in utter exasperation, wanting to smash the remaining of his helmet.

"honestly? it sounds better than hearing all that noise from your mouth." he retorts with a scoff and you scoff back at his audacity, "i fucking helped you— and that's how it is huh? when the hell are you going to get proper care from someone who knows their shit?" you scold, your eyes momentarily shifting to the open wound.

seriously what the hell are you doing with your life?

"for that I'd need to go to someone i trust wouldn't yap away about me to my enemies or worse, tattle to the media 'bout me." he stated as he tried to shift, probably uncomfortable in the small couch where his legs fell off the other side. "and you haven't yet done that. so, you're the better choice here."

your lips simply pull into an annoyed frown, looking him up and down with clear exasperation. "should have left the damn bullet in..." you muttered to yourself, annoyed at the fact that his words got to you again. he may sound rational and logical right now as he wants to, you know the underlying meaning. he has come to trust you a bit— and his emotionally constipated self wouldn't accept that.

the stitching was done.

you looked far more exhausted than the poor guy who had to help you navigate through the steps and endure the pain.

you leaned forward with your arms resting on your knees, head dipped forward as you tried to calm yourself down. you've never been good at processing things, your mind has a habit of shoving everything in a box and let it rot in the depths of your mind.

"you okay?" he asked quietly, poking your arm with his gloved finger to get your attention and you blinked before nodding. "yeah. yeah of course."

you took a deep breath as you began gathering everything, while he simply stared at you. he knew for a normal person, seeing blood— a lot of it, can be overwhelming. he lets the guilt wash over him, lets his mind question his heart.

was he ruining you in his selfishness to see you? how long would you tolerate it till you break? how long till you kick him out of your life?

"red?"

"hm?"

"you'll pay for my new couch right?" though you weren't looking, he could see the tug in your lips that you were trying to hide. and just like that, he let himself be selfish.

"why do i have a feeling you'll buy one of those ugly couches that cost a fortune?"

"great idea, red." you smirked dryly and he scoffed, his eyes travelling down that red dress of yours and he poked the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowing as he debated whether to thrust himself in your personal life or not.

the glint of the earring caught his eye, like a glare straight to his heart.

fuck it.

"so how was the date?" cool, calm, nonchalant.

your brows furrowed for a moment and that was when you registered the weight on your ear, and looked down at yourself with a soft huff, "right. nothing escapes your eye, detective, even when you're dying." you take a tissue and cover your hands with it before taking off the earring.

"it isn't late yet. so i guess it was some boring prick hm?" he teased smugly and you raised a brow at him, turning your body slightly.

"maybe i just like to stay safe and return home before gotham's street turns rabid. it doesn't necessarily have anything to do with my date."

"but it is."

"it wasn't."

"that so?"

the illuminated slits of his helmet stared at you, and you could feel the amusement and challenge oozing off of him. you maintained the stare, but something about his confidence made your skin tingle and warm.

"kay fine! he was just like any other arrogant corporate asshole." you relented as you broke the stare, brows furrowing as you got up, his lips pulling into a triumphant, cheshire smile. again, this was something to be unpacked tomorrow.

"why'd you even go?" you rounded the table as you threw the bloodied cottons and clothes, walking to the bathroom and turned the tap on to scrub your hands clean. you angled your face away so he doesn't see the momentary quiver of your lips at the sight of blood pooling in the basin as water sloughed it off.

"why does anyone go on dates, red?" you quipped with a sigh, "besides it was a blind date. i was just trying my luck." you unknowingly dug your nails too hard while scratching the blood away, "which, like always, sucks."

you wrung your hands dry before patting it dry on the towel, clenching your hands under the cloth to calm the tremors. you cannot possibly let him see that, you won't. your weakness is your own secret, like his identity is his, and the mere possibility that someone knows even a peek about it... it rattles you deeply.

you maintain the facade. thats all you've ever done.

but in a way, him and you were alike, and he recognised the eyes that didn't seem as bright, the subtle signs of putting up a front. he noticed it, the signs transparent to him.

"do you do this?" you questioned, diverting the attention back to him, which he noticed but let it slide. "dates i mean."

"sure." he shrugged, "i mean i do have all the time in the world to prance around gotham with a beauty in my arms." he added, his tone turning sarcastic and you rolled your eyes, the corner of your lips twitching up.

"come on don't be shy. you must have dated a ton of people in your circle. superheroes and vigilantes." you tacked with a grin as you walked in the kitchen, rummaging around cabinets and fridge. you let out an exaggerated dreamy sigh, "i wish i could date them. just once. way better than those asshole i get."

his gaze narrowed while his lips pulled into a thin line. them? who's them? he is one of them too. you could date him too, he thought quite pettily before freezing up. where the fuck is his mind going?

"what the hell are you even doing there?" he called out, he couldn't hide the irate in his voice but you brushed it off. "to feed your dying ass. you might be built like a truck but even you would need something in you after all that blood."

he couldn't see much except your back and hear the sound of knife cutting against the board. he knows he shouldn't, but he can't help his eyes lingering on your back, how the dress fits your body.

"a sandwich will work right?"

"mhm."

to add fuel, the domesticity of this sudden situation has him by the throat. his mind lost, voiceless in his daydream and admiration. he may be a tough guy with walls no one could ever break, even land a scratch— but deep in the pitt lays his heart that is soft and craving. he may never tell a soul, but the thoughts of loving and being loved, no matter how far fetched it sounds, it always tugged at his soul. the idea of sharing a life, the idea of simply caring, of giving— he has a soft spot for the niceties of life that he knows he doesn't deserve.

"red?" you're holding the sandwich infront of him and he snaps out of his haze, looking at the plate on the table and then at you. he simply looked back and forth, and you sighed at the point he was getting at.

"i'll be in my room so you can have the privacy to eat." you murmured before putting down a glass of water with a pair of wet wipes and walking away to your room, closing the door.

for a moment he simply stared at the plate, not sure if he should eat it. things are getting too familiar between them, too easy— too nice. and he has a bad habit of getting attached. he has an even worse habit of getting his heart broken.

he looks back at your door, the quiet shuffling audible to his ears.

but reasons unknown to him, he takes off his helmet.

he doesn't let his lips smile, doesn't let his eyes soften. doesn't let his heart get smothered when he bites into the sandwich. doesn't let his eyes linger on the silver earring. doesn't let his eyes imagine how you'd have looked with both of them on, all pretty and mesmerizing.

he doesn't.

by the time you walk out, he's gone.

the following night comes and you don't wait for him.

morning comes and your eyes are barely working, but your sight isn't that blurry to not see the small red box on your coffee table. you paused and froze, hands slowly taking it and pulling the satin ribbon off.

a pair of dark ruby earrings stared back at you, intricately designed like it was made for the royals. and a tiny note with a quite neat handwriting.

this is an apology for all the inconvenience caused. and a thank you for the sandwich.

red.

p.s you looked beautiful.

and just like that he sweeped the ground right off your feet.

reblogs are appreciation! :D

taglist : @bmyva1entine @itzmeme

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

still think there's a good chance that mrs flood is supposed to be a god of stories or SOMETHING along those lines. with the whovians living past the credits but also the way so much of the show is just rehashing old episodes?? like, maybe she's running out of ideas lmfao. maybe the 'I saw it leaked online, #RIPDoctorWho' wasn't meant to be a throw away joke. maybe mrs flood is like, ACTUALLY worried the show is gonna get cancelled for bad reviews and low ratings. like, oooh okay what's an old fan favorite? midnight? sure lets do a sequel. oooh okay everyone LOVED the toxic by brittany spears needle drop from season one, let's play that again. people miss martha and donna? okay new companion is a self-assured adult instead of a starry-eyed teenager. oooh let's bring murray gold back and play everyone's old favorites.

stick with me cause I know this is ridiculous and probably not the case- but what if the reason they can't get back to earth, may 24th- the day the first part of the finale airs- is because the show gets cancelled on that date lmfao. maybe mrs flood is pulling strings, not controlling them but controlling their circumstances, trying to get a banger season out of them so the show doesn't get cancelled, but so far it hasn't been enough. but since the doctor doesn't fully realize he's trapped in a show that manifests as the earth being destroyed. (fans saying "this is the end of the world" when their favorite show gets cancelled?). they can't get home without saving it, and they have to save it by bouncing around to different times and places- the vindicator is basically a satellite antenna, for crying out loud.

basically. what if mrs flood is just rtd's self-insert character lmfao

[notapradagurl7]

Good Ol’ Lovin’.

Black Fem! Plus Size Reader x Elijah “Smoke” Moore.

Summary: Besides working early mornings and late nights in your mother’s store with your sister, Asia. You decided to enjoy your day off with Smoke.

A/N: I’ve finally write about Sinners, and finally saw the movie! It's amazing, Hope you enjoy. 😌 don’t forget to reblog, comment and like to support, remember don’t be afraid to send in a request they’re always open.

Warnings: sensual dancing, jealousy, life in 1932, fluff, kissing, mention of violence, a pinch mention of racism, spanking, mention of hoodoo, dirty talk, filth, fingering, mention of vampires, use of the n-word, cursing, use of AAVE, doesn't follow the flim’s timeline, possessive!Smoke, consensual intimacy.

Taglist: @megamindsecretlair @satoruya @planetblaque

@playgurlxoxo @dabratzchronicles

@becauseimswagman1

@araybiaaa @beenathembo @brattyfics

@hxneyclouds @yassbishimvintage

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @nayaesworld @ovohanna24

@novahreign @writingsbytee @avoidthings @kimuzostar @slippinninque @keyera-jackson @theblacklewinsky

@euphorichappiness10 @life-in-the-slut-house @blkgirlsneedlove2 @ranikyani

@uniqueoutlierblog @mama-2001

@fakxmbj @kaylalb @theereinawrites @uzumaki-rebellion @blyffe @kumkaniudaku @luckydaye777 @that-one-anxious-mango @rose-bliss @kindofaintrovert

—————-

In the deep South, where the air is rich with the earthy scent of damp soil and the distant sound of tractors rumbling over vast fields fills the space, a wave of life and labor unfolded before you.

Your gaze was drawn irresistibly to the twins, moving in perfect synchrony as they walked side by side, each lifting heavy wooden boxes with their bare hands.

Their muscles glistened with sweat, rippling beneath their sun-kissed brown skin, while subtle grunts escaped their lips, echoing the effort of their work.

A small church painted in snow-white was nestled in the land, you could hear the choir singing psalms of worship.

There wasn't a time when the pastor always called those to come to join hands in prayer and asked those to be saved, forming a circle under the ancient oak tree that shaded half the gathering.

You only focused on your work in your mom’s store, and her greenhouse, it kept the house afloat, and bills paid, yet worry settled in her that she was going to work herself into the ground.

She whispered prayers on quiet nights, confessing fears of someday not being able to lift her hands or stand for hours on end to God. She brought you and your sister to work alongside her.

Sunlight spewed through the clean windows, and casted warm golden rays that hovered across the wooden floors. Biting your lip, distraction and admiration swelling within you, as you slowly reached into the box, pulling out a book.

The simple task of organizing your mother’s store became an afterthought, your mind drifting away from the mundane and onto the twin brothers who worked their toward their farm.

The identical twins Smoke and Stack caught your attention as soon as they arrived back in Mississippi. You could hardly believe they were back after years spent working for Al Capone. They purchased a sawmill from a bigoted landowner and chose to open their own farm.

It hasn't been a popular topic ever since; you've known them for so long that the exact time escapes you. You were a close friend of both, and occasionally, others questioned why they picked you. when trouble seemed to follow them sometimes.

The twins knew that you were a working woman, trying to keep the boat afloat. But you had your eyes on Smoke, not Stack.

Stack wanted to get an exorcism on him after what happened with Mary, once it was, he felt free of her venom, her evil spell.

A hoodoo from Annie helps Smoke in ways only whispered about—dark, uncanny ways. He was able to sleep at night.

The juke joint was no longer in business ever since that night. It became nothing more than a forgotten memory, a chapter in the town's history shrouded in mystery.

All you knew of them was that weren't married, no kids. It was only business, and money.

Your sister Asia, wasn’t the one to catch you slipping from doing the simple tasks at work but this time she got lucky.

“Y/N! What is wrong with’chu? Mama doesn’t want us foolin’ around in the store!” Asia yelled, her hand on her hip.

You almost flinched from her voice, but didn’t move an inch. You sighed lowly before placing the books inside the empty spaces in the bookshelf.

“I’m just gettin’ a lil’ distracted, that’s all Asia,” You shot back, your tone filled with annoyance, you grabbed another box of books and ripped it open.

You spent your early mornings and late nights alongside your sister Asia in your mother's shop, selling books, agricultural products, and various essential items for farm life.

Aisa scoffed at you, clearly unimpressed by your words. She definitely knew about your feelings for Smoke.

“Please tell me that you ain’t lookin’ Smoke’s way, he’s trouble.”

“I would be lyin” if I said I wasn’t sista.” You chuckled lightly, placing your

You fixed the hem of your black dress with red roses plastered on them, until you spotted Smoke toward the store.

You hurried your way to the counter, and pushed your sister to the side, while she gave you a skeptical glare.

Smoke sauntered in, his charm unmistakable even in the dim afternoon light filtering through the window.

"Good afternoon, ladies," Smoke drawled, tipping his hat with a sly smile.

Asia crossed her arms, arching an eyebrow, clearly waiting for you to speak first. You cleared your throat and finally spoke up, “Good afternoon Smoke,”

“What would you like to buy today?” You brought up, holding your hand behind your back to stop them from shaking.

His eyes deep brown eyes gleamed with mischief as they settled on yours. "I'm hoping to trade for some new seeds," he said, leaning casually on the counter.

“Oh! I know just what you need! Here are some of the best tomato seeds we have.” You replied back, You reached under the counter, producing a small burlap sack with a flourish.

You passed the sack to him, while he passed a bundle of dollar bills back to you, his fingers brushing yours. “Thank you, but it’s too much money,” you stammered, trying to return some of the cash.

Smoke shook his head, his smile widening. "Nah, keep the change. Ya'll already work yo’ tails off in this sto’, you deserve it. Besides the fact that this is my favorite place,” he added, taking in the surroundings as if he were seeing them anew.

Heat raised in your cheeks once you pulled your hand away, feeling a wave of nervousness. It wasn't every day that a customer, especially someone like Smoke, made you feel so noticed.

“Thank you, Elijah,”

You watched him walk out of the store and give you a wink, and you've finally looked back at your sister, “Don't give me that look, I know that you're fond of him, I'm sure he feels the same,” she spoke up.

“I'm gonna take a day off, tell mama that I'll be back in time for supper.” You said, grabbing your bag from under the counter.

Asia watched you with a knowing grin while shaking her head, she was happy for you but you left to do all the work, she was gonna have to make up a good excuse for this one. But you needed a break from that store, running a business was already stressful enough.

“Hey, Elijah!”

The twin brothers turned around you, giving that devious smirk and Smoke spoke up first. “Yeah?”

“I was hopin’ that we could spend some time together?”

He couldn't help but smile wider, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “Of course, I would love to court you this afternoon. Just tell me where you'd like to go, and I'll make it happen.”

Stack eyed you up and down, the curve of your ass, the dress hugging your body perfectly, Smoke’s eyes lingered after his brother's. “I understand why you want to hang back at the store,” Stack teased, catching your eye.

“Back off, nigga she's mine, you were just freed of the white devil,” Smoke shot back in a whisper.

Stack rolled his eyes, sighing after what he said, “That don't mean I lost sight of this beauty right here,”

“Back up and I mean that shit,” Smoke shot back, his tone laced with anger.

“A’ight, a nigga will back off,”

You walked up toward Smoke with a smile, feeling the tension between the brothers dissipate as you focused on him. “Let’s just go somewhere fun. I’ve been cooped up in that store for too long.”

Smoke’s expression softened, and he nodded. “I know just the place. The old riverbank is quiet this time of day. We can sit, talk, and maybe even dance a little if the mood strikes.”

“Dance? You think you can keep up with me?” you teased, your heart racing at the thought of being alone with him.

“Oh, I know I can,” he replied, his voice frim and confident.

You both made your way to the riverbank, the sun casting a golden hue over everything. The sound of water lapping against the shore mixed with the chirping of cicadas, the two of you sat down underneath a big oak tree.

As he pulled a thick soft woolen blanket, you settled down on it, you felt the weight of the world lift off your shoulders. “This is nice,” you said, looking out over the water.

“Yeah, it is, But it’s even nicer with you here.” Smoke agreed, his gaze fixed on you.

You felt your cheeks heat up again, and you looked away, trying to hide your smile. “You’re just saying that.”

“Nah, I mean it. You’re special to me, Y/N. Always have been,” he said, moving closer.

His honesty caught you off guard. “I…I feel the same way, Smoke. But it’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?” he pressed, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin.

You hesitated, your heart racing. “You know how people talk. About you and Stack. About the trouble that follows you.”

Smoke chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Let them talk. They don’t know us. They don’t know what we’ve been through. I’m not that man anymore. I’m here for you, not for the past.”

You looked into his deep brown eyes, searching for any hint of insincerity, but all you found was warmth and sincerity. “You really mean that?”

“More than anything, I came back for you,” he said, his voice firm.

You felt a rush of emotions as you leaned in closer, your lips almost touching. “Then why don't you show me?”

Smoke wasted no time, closing the distance and crashing his lips into yours.

The kiss was soft at first, but it quickly deepened, igniting a fire within you that had long been dormant. Your lips sliding across his, feeling his soft hands cradle your face as he pulled you closer.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless. “Wow,” you whispered, your heart racing.

“Yeah, wow,” Smoke echoed, a playful grin spreading across his face. “I could get used to this.”

“Me too, but what about Stack?” you admitted, feeling bold.

“Stack can handle himself. This is about us,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll always protect what’s mine.”

You smiled, feeling a sense of belonging wash over you. “And what if I’m not ready for all that?”

“Then we take it slow,” he replied, brushing your box braids behind your ear.

You laughed softly, the sound echoing in the quiet space. “Slow is good too.”

He kissed you again before peppering kissing along the crook of your neck, with his hands on the small of your back, you squirmed in your seat and your breathing became hollow. “E-Elijah, I...I want you so much,”

He kissed the shell of your ear, feeling the warmth flow through you causing your clit to throb. His cupped your ass roughly, the soft flesh made him groan lowly, and his length hardened in his pants. “I want you more than you ever know darlin’, fuck,”

“W-wait, we're outside, someone might see us,” You whispered, your eyes darting through the small riverback.

“Would you like to go somewhere private, baby?”

“Yes, You really are trouble?”

Maybe a little trouble from him wasn't so bad, but the two of you standing up from the blanket, he picked it up and folded it in his hands. You and Elijah walked onto the small bridge that led to his house.

The cool night breeze carried the scent of fresh earth and blooming wildflowers, and grabbed your hand. He led you toward the front door of brown lumber, he fished out the keys and unlocked the door with a swift flick.

He opened the front door for you as you stepped inside the cozy living room, closing the door behind you. He twisted the lock, and followed behind

“My room is on the left, sweetheart.” He guided you, his voice raised an octave with a hint of rasp in it.

As you walked the hallways, seeing pictures of Smoke and Stack when they were younger, their mom between them hugging them tighter. You heard the story of their father

Whew, that's southern twang with that voice of his made your pussy throb. Carefully fanning yourself with a shaky exhale, his arms wrapped around your waist and peppered kisses along your neck. You sighed blissfully before kissing him back, a wave of heat washed over you.

Both of your clothes littered across the bedroom floor, the sound of lips coliiding filling the room, soft moans from you were music to his ears.

Smoke dragged his dick toward you, halting at your wet pussy, and he slid hismself into you, as you moaned at the size of him. “fuck..” you dragged out in a moan, pushing your hips with him.

He started off with deep, long thrusts, focusing on that sweet spot that you squirm underneath him. The sound of skin-to-skin slapping together echoed in the room and your arm wrapped around him. “So fucking goodd..” you whimpered, legs shaking.

You kept him close to you, This moment was perfect and you were with him, “That pussy is still tight, and wet huh?” he teased, lifting you onto his lap.

You rode him with such skill, as his hand smacked your ass once more, “Answer me,” You were unable to respond, your moans sounded like gibberish. Everything in you was telling you to release already, but you wanted more.

Blinking away tears from the pleasure, “Yess..” you trailed off, kissing his shoulder. He made sure you felt the love through every thrust, eliciting moans. His dick kissing that sweet spot of yours, eyes rolling back. Giving you everything all at once.

The way he fucked you so good made you see the heavens, hands clenching the sheets. “You drive me wild, baby, don't you feel the love I'm givin’ you?” He said, thrusting deeper. You did feel it, every single time, you were a wet babbling mess, he smirked at the mess that was made in his lap, biting his lip.

A knot tightening in your stomach letting you know that your climax was here, bodies quaking. Without saying a word, you came undone, your essence pouring out on his dick, while squirting on his abdomen. “Damn, girl.” he groaned lowly.

Bodies collapsed beside each other, panting heavily replaced with laughter. He turned his face to you while you looked his way, “You good, sweetheart?” he asked in concern, his thumb swiping over your cheek.

“Yeah, I'm good, let’s clean up,” you panted heavily, smirking at him. Feeling a wave of happiness wash over you.

After that, the two of you took showers, getting dressed and he drove you back home. As he kissed you goodnight, you knew that this was the beginning of you and him, something magical.

————-

[sluttyminghao]

♡ pairing: jeonghan x fem!reader ♡ word count: approx 4k ♡ genre: smut, tiny bit of fluff at the end ♡ includes: dom!jeonghan, sub!reader, jeonghan is possessive af, slight bdsm themes (being tied), mentions of choking, corruption kink, praise + degradation ♡ warnings: mention of alcohol/drinking at the beginning ♡ a/n: damn I hope u guys like this it's been a WHILE since I put anything out! huge thanks to @lovetaroandtaemin, @mylovesstuffs, and @supi-wupi for beta-ing this for me! i appreciate u guys!

The click of the penthouse door behind you was quiet, but the silence that followed was thunderous.

Your heart beats too loudly in your chest, your heels echoing faintly on the polished floor as you step inside. The lights were dim, just enough to see the burnished gold fixtures, the curve of the leather couch. The silhouette of him.

Jeonghan.

He stood by the window, framed in city light—dark slacks, shirt sleeves rolled just below the elbow, a tumbler in one hand. The skyline glittered behind him, but he barely seemed to notice it. His attention, as always, was entirely focused on you.

“You’re late.”

Not a question. Not angry. Just… a fact. It cut through the air like the crack of a whip and sent shivers down your spine.

Your breath caught. “I-”

“No excuses.”

Your lips pressed shut. He hadn’t raised his voice; he didn’t need to. You felt small in the best possible way, stripped of any possible control before he even touched you. He didn’t have to shout. All it took was a glance, a single word, to make your knees twitch with the need to bend.

Jeonghan turned to face you, finally. The glass he had been holding met the bar top with a quiet clink. His eyes dragged over you, slow and unashamed. How typical of him. 

“Shoes off.”

You obeyed instantly. The moment your bare feet touched the soft rug, you felt grounded and exposed all at once. Your pulse skipped as he crossed the room, his steps lazy but deliberate.

“Hands behind your back.”

You clasped them there, feeling your breath go shallow.

“On your knees.”

You sank immediately, your knees cushioned by the rug, your back straight. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of jazz in the background, something low and sultry, like him.

He moved closer. The scent of his cologne was warm, heady, and woodsy, with a sharp bite beneath—sin dressed in silk.

Jeonghan knelt before you, one hand lifting to cup your chin. His thumb brushed your lower lip, and you instinctively opened your mouth. But he only smiled, his gaze dark.

“Good girl.”

Two words. That’s all it took. Your thighs clenched without permission.

“You know what I like,” he said, thumb still resting lightly on your lip. “Obedience. Stillness. Eyes on me.”

You nodded slowly. He hadn’t told you to speak, and you wouldn’t dare now. His approval was a drug, and you’d do anything to earn more of it.

Jeonghan reached into his pocket and pulled out a length of deep red silk, folded neatly. You felt your breath catch.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he murmured. “How you looked yesterday in that tight little skirt. How you smirked when you walked away, like you wanted me to lose my patience.”

He stepped behind you, slow and controlled, and you felt the brush of silk against your wrists. He looped it around your wrists carefully, and tied it tight so as to not be painful, but just snug enough to make your pulse jump.

“And now,” he said in your ear, his voice like smoke, “I think it’s time you lost yours.”

You shivered, hands bound neatly behind your back, your breathing shallow. You couldn’t touch him, steady yourself, or stop what was coming. Not that you wanted to.

He walked in front of you again and took his time undoing the first few buttons of his shirt. Not all the way, but just enough to show off the smooth skin of his chest, the hint of a vein running down his neck. The sight made your mouth go dry.

He sat back on the leather couch, legs spread, elbows on his thighs. Watching you.

“Well?” he asked, lifting a brow. “Come here.”

You shuffled forward on your knees, awkward with your arms behind you, but eager. His gaze flickered down your body; hungry, possessive.

When you reached him, he leaned forward, fingers threading through your hair, tilting your head back so you had no choice but to look up.

“You’re so easy to ruin,” he whispered. “I just have to say one word, and you fall apart.”

His other hand moved to his belt, slow and purposeful, the metallic sound of the buckle unfastening sending a fresh wave of heat to your core.

You licked your lips without thinking. His grip in your hair tightened just slightly; not enough to hurt, just enough to make sure you knew who was in charge.

“You don’t touch,” he murmured. “You don’t move. You take everything I give you.”

You nodded, trembling under his gaze, your bound hands twitching behind your back.

He released himself from his pants, thick and already hard, the head flushed and glistening. Your mouth watered.

“You want this,” he said—again, not a question.

“Of course I do,” you breathed.

His fingers slid down your cheek, thumb resting against your lower lip again.

“Then show me.”

His voice was low, almost a rumble, the words leaving his lips like a promise. His thumb slid across your bottom lip, teasing, before he gently pushed it inside, pressing it against your tongue. You instinctively sucked it, just a little, and heard him groan low in his throat.

"Good," he murmured, his hand sliding down to tug at your hair, pulling you closer. "That's it. You’ll do exactly what I say."

You shivered as your body betrayed you. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, hungry, patient. He wasn’t rushing. He wanted this to last. And as much as you felt like you were losing control, you couldn’t deny how much you craved it—this surrender, this submission.

He pulled back, eyes darkening as he scanned your bound wrists. He took the silk away quickly, releasing your hands briefly and, without any warning, wrapped it around your neck. Not tight enough to choke, but enough to make you aware of the pressure. Enough to make your heartbeat race.

"Keep your eyes on me," he commanded, his voice steady and controlled.

You obeyed, your gaze locked on his, watching as he slowly undid the remaining buttons of his shirt, revealing more of his chest, the soft light casting shadows across his body. Every inch of him was perfect; muscle and skin, toned but not too much. Just enough to make your mouth water, to make your thoughts scatter mindlessly until he was the only thought in your mind.

He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead before lifting his gaze to yours again. He smiled—small, knowing, making your breath hitch. He removed the silk from around your neck, only to retie your hands behind your back again.

“Are you ready?” he asked, but it wasn’t a question.

You nodded, your body tingling with anticipation.

His hand moved to your neck, fingers wrapping around gently but firmly, guiding you closer. The tension between you grew, thick and charged, as he placed a kiss on your forehead, a soft contrast to the hard edge of his grip.

"Don't move. Don't make a sound until I say," he said, his voice now more than just an instruction—it was a command.

You felt a rush of heat pool in your core, your body was desperate for release, but you knew better than to break his rules.

He stood, towering over you, and you felt his presence like a storm ready to break. He reached for his belt again, this time more deliberate, more confident. You could hear the sharp sound of leather against metal as he loosened it, the slow rasp of it filling the space between your ears.

His voice came again, low and commanding. “Look at me. Watch me. Don’t take your eyes off me, or there will be consequences.”

Your entire body trembled with the weight of his words. The silk around your wrists was the only thing holding you together, the pressure making you feel both confined and helpless. And you loved it. You loved the way he controlled every single movement and every breath you took.

He removed his pants in one fluid motion, stepping out of them and standing before you, fully exposed. Your gaze dropped to him, as much as you tried to keep control of it. His skin was smooth, his muscles defined in all the right places, and the way he stood—self-assured, commanding—only heightened your need.

"Look at me," he repeated, his voice a low growl.

You forced your gaze back to his eyes, the fire burning in them making you dizzy. The weight of his attention was almost unbearable, and yet you couldn’t look away. You didn’t want to.

With one swift motion, Jeonghan closed the distance between you again, his hand gripping your chin and forcing your head back slightly. You could feel his breath against your lips, his presence all around you, filling your senses.

“Tell me you want this,” he demanded, his voice laced with a darkness that made your chest tighten. He pulled yet another piece of silk out from his pants pocket, and tied it the same way he had previously; just enough to have your pulses quicken.

“I want this,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. “Please, Jeonghan.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, his thumb brushing across your lips once more.

His hands moved again, pulling the silk tight around your neck for just a moment longer. You gasped, your pulse racing, before he released it. The air hit you sharply, and you realized just how much you needed him.

Jeonghan moved behind you, his hands settling on your shoulders. The sensation of his touch was like fire on your skin, leaving trails of heat wherever he placed his hands. He was so close, his body practically brushing against you, and the tension in the room made it impossible to focus on anything but him.

“You’re mine tonight,” he said softly, but the weight of his words felt like a claim. “And you will do exactly what I say.”

He stepped back just enough to give himself room, his hand grazing your back as he moved. The silk around your wrists was the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely. The way he held you, controlled you, had your body aching for more.

“On your hands and knees,” he ordered.

You obeyed instantly, shifting into position, your body trembling in anticipation. You could feel the heat between your legs, the need to be touched growing unbearable. But you didn’t dare move without permission.

Jeonghan’s voice dropped lower, a command more so than a suggestion. “Now show me just how much you want this. Show me how you can take it like the good girl you are.”

You felt the weight of his gaze on your back, the anticipation thick in the air. The muscles in your legs were tensed, your body hovering on the edge of the abyss, desperate to follow his every command.

Jeonghan didn’t rush, though. He was taking his time, letting the tension build as he circled behind you. You could hear the soft shuffle of his footsteps, feel the warmth of his breath as he drew closer. His hands eventually landed on your hips, gripping them tightly enough to leave a mark, but not enough to hurt. He tilted his head, admiring the way you looked on all fours, bound and vulnerable.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he murmured. “So willing. So eager to please.”

You shivered at the praise, your body reacting against your will. You didn’t want to admit how much you craved the control he held over you, how much you needed to hear him tell you what to do.

The sound of his breath quickened slightly, and you felt the heat of his body shift behind you. His fingers brushed over your skin lightly, making you jump. The teasing sensation only made you more desperate, more needy. You wanted him to touch you, to claim you fully, but you stayed still, waiting for his next command.

Jeonghan’s hands moved to your waist, gently tracing your skin as if he was memorizing every curve, every inch. His touch was possessive, but it sent a shiver of excitement through you. You knew that if you moved even an inch, he would punish you—wouldn’t let you get what you so desperately wanted. His control over you was absolute.

He leaned over your back, his chest brushing against your spine, his lips just grazing your ear. “Do you know what I want from you right now?” he whispered, his voice a dark promise.

You nodded, unable to speak, your mouth suddenly too dry to form words. His hands were everywhere—on your skin, your hair, your body—claiming you, marking you as his. You could feel the power in him, the way he molded you to his will with nothing more than his touch.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice low, commanding.

“I’m yours,” you whispered, the words slipping out of you without thought. “I’ll do anything and everything for you.”

Jeonghan chuckled softly, a sound full of approval that had your thighs clenching together. He stood back for a moment, admiring you again. His hands ran down your back, fingers brushing over your spine, and then he bent low to press a kiss to your shoulder.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice rich with satisfaction.

You could feel his body shift behind you, and then you heard the rustle of the carpet beneath his feet as he positioned himself. Your breath caught as you felt the heat of his body pressing closer, his hands moving to your hips once more, pulling you back toward him.

Slowly, deliberately, he guided you to your hands and knees, his grip firm and insistent. The pressure of his body against yours sent waves of heat crashing through you. You were drowning in the sensations, your body alive with the electricity of his touch.

“I hope you’re ready, my sweet little slut,” Jeonghan said, his voice steady, almost casual—but there was something dangerous in his tone that made your heart race. “You’re going to take all of me like the good girl I know you are.”

His words sent a jolt of desire straight to your core. You didn’t need any more prompting. You were ready. Ready for whatever he had planned.

His hands shifted lower, tracing the curve of your hips, before finally settling on your thighs. The heat of his touch spread through you as he positioned you just how he wanted you. You knew the moment you were vulnerable to him, your body positioned for his pleasure.

You could hear the rustle of his breath, the sound of his movements, and then you felt the weight of him pressing against you, the sensation sharp and intense.

His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, and you felt the heat of his body against yours. There was no space between you now, no distance. He was inside your mind, inside your body, taking control in every way possible.

“Stay still,” he commanded again, his voice firm, unwavering. “Do not move.”

You held your breath, your body trembling with anticipation. The need to move, to react, was almost overwhelming. But you stayed still, just as he had ordered.

Jeonghan’s hands tightened around your hips, pulling you even closer, and then you felt him—a slow, deliberate push, the thickness of him stretching you as he slid into you. The sensation was intense, almost too much, but it felt perfect in the way only he could.

You gasped, your body arching instinctively, trying to adjust to the sensation of him inside you. The tension in your body was unbearable, the need to move was stronger than ever, but you didn’t. 

His grip on your hips tightened further as he began to move, his strokes slow but deliberate. Each thrust was deep, filling you, driving you to the edge of madness. You felt every inch of him, each thrust deliberate and controlled.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice full of approval. “Taking it so well.”

You couldn’t stop the low moan that escaped your lips, the pleasure becoming too much to contain. Your body was on fire, every nerve alive, every part of you desperate for more.

Jeonghan’s pace increased slightly, his hands now gripping your shoulders as he pushed deeper into you. The rhythm was steady, controlled, but there was a desperation to it now—a hunger that was now beginning to mirror your own.

“Do you want more?” he asked, his voice low and commanding. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” you gasped, the word slipping from your lips without thought. “I want more, Jeonghan. Please.”

The sound of his name on your lips seemed to spur him on even more. His movements became more urgent, more forceful, as he took you, claiming you in the way only he could. You could feel his cum fill you up, seeping from your soaking cunt as he pulled out with a sharp breath. Your body collapsed onto the floor, as Jeonghan stood and made his way to the bathroom to get you a towel to clean yourself up.

The air between you and Jeonghan seemed to hum with an intensity that made every breath feel too loud. His hands rested on your shoulders, warm and steady, grounding you as you absorbed the weight of his gaze. There was something deeper than mere desire in the way he looked at you—something primal that made your pulse quicken.

Jeonghan took a step closer, his chest brushing against your back. His presence was overwhelming, and yet, there was a gentleness in his touch that contrasted with the power he exuded. You could feel his warmth, the way his body seemed to fill the space around you.

“You did so well,” he murmured, his voice low and rich with approval. He slid his hand down your arm, his fingers trailing over your skin like a whisper. “But I want you to understand something more than just this…”

The words were soft, but they carried a weight that made your heart race. His lips brushed against your ear as he continued, voice dark and commanding. “This isn’t just about what we do in these moments, or how you make me feel. It’s about the way you give yourself to me. Trust. Control. The way you let me control you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and your breath hitched as his lips pressed just above your collarbone, soft yet firm. Every touch seemed to spark something inside you, igniting a fire you couldn’t extinguish.

He pulled back slightly, but only enough to look you in the eyes, his fingers lingering on your jawline. “You trust me, don’t you?” The question wasn’t an invitation to answer, but a challenge, a test of everything you had surrendered to him.

You swallowed hard, your body aching to respond with something more than just words. The intensity of the moment pushed you to the edge, your emotions tangled with the raw desire that flowed between you.

“I do,” you finally whispered, your voice thick with the weight of everything that had been building between you. “I trust you.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Good,” he said, his fingers tightening slightly—not painfully, but enough to remind you who was in control. “Because I’m going to take you—slowly—every inch of you. You’ve earned this.”

His hands moved then, a perfect blend of discipline and restraint as they slid to your waist. The tension in the room was unbearable, thickening the air, but Jeonghan moved with careful precision. You could feel his heat behind you as he guided your body in the direction he wanted. Every movement was deliberate, every touch, a reminder of how much he knew you—how well he could make you bend to his will.

“I want you to remember this moment,” he murmured, his lips just grazing your neck, his breath warm and tantalizing. “You’re mine now. And you’ll take everything I give you.”

His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you back toward him with an intensity that made you gasp. You were caught between the heat of his touch and the unrelenting force of his presence. Every inch of your body was alive with anticipation, the air thick with the promise of more.

“I need you to understand something, though,” he continued, his voice dark, full of intent. “You’re not allowed to move unless I tell you. You’re going to feel everything I give you, and you’ll take it without hesitation.”

The way he spoke was like a command, and yet, the control he held over you was somehow freeing. It was the type of surrender that made you ache for more, made your body burn with the need to obey him.

You nodded, unable to form words, your body trembling with the desire to be touched, to be held, to be claimed completely.

Jeonghan’s hands slid over your back, firm and possessive, before his fingertips brushed the curve of your spine. He leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was deep, hungry, and full of everything unsaid between you. The world around you seemed to disappear in that kiss, leaving nothing but the fire that burned between the two of you.

“Let me lead you,” he whispered against your lips, his voice rough, almost desperate in its intensity. “Trust me.”

With one final gentle push, Jeonghan led you back to the couch, the place where it all began. He guided you with careful precision, his hands never leaving your body, always in control. But even in his dominance, there was a tenderness that made everything feel just right—like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

His lips were at your ear again, his voice low and commanding. “Tonight is mine, and you’re going to give me everything. All your trust and all of your desire. Everything.”

And as his lips brushed the soft skin of your neck, you realized just how far you were willing to go for him—just how much you were ready to surrender to the moment.

[britcision]

Okay no one asked for this but you activated my brain and now we all suffer for it (I love you OP you’re so right yesyesyes)

Because for a lot of fairy tales, this is 10000% correct and a very interesting take and lots of fun

However… “fairy tale” is an extremely widely spanning genre, and tends to involve pretty much all of what I tend to call “Stories To Children”

Note: not “children’s stories”. There’s a lot of children’s stories for all sorts of reasons

But “Stories To Children” are the ones that get told to specifically instil cultural values, like obedience, kindness to others, respect for authority

Or they’re the gentle warnings to scare children away from dangerous spaces - don’t go into the woods alone, or the big bad wolf will eat you up

And the fairy tales OP is talking about are usually the cultural values ones, because they’re right - the whole point is that Even Unremarkable You Can Do Great Things If You Behave Well

They’re about people without very special talents who succeed because they practice their cultural values, like listening to their elders instead of forging ahead to do their own thing, or being kind when there is no obvious benefit

And the really interesting thing there is that the various people that help them on their way and do most of the work are often barely mentioned in the story! Despite being so much more potentially interesting!

The magic fish that grants three wishes to the fisherman who throws it back; how did it get that power? How often is this fish being scooped?

They rarely even get names within the story… and this is especially true of archetypes like The Handsome Prince. We call them Prince Charming, because none of them usually have an actual name

They’re very clearly barely relevant to the story at all, and are essentially there to do a deus ex machina and tidy things up neatly for our main characters at the end

We see a LOT of modern media where a female character is reduced to little more than a reward for our male protagonist at the end; enough to be sick of it

But that’s exactly what Prince Charming is. He’s not the hero of the story, even if the hero also doesn’t have a name

(Stories following the Third Son trope, or that are about the prince themself, are usually not Handsome Prince archetypes: they have at least a little personality)

Prince Charming is the hero’s reward for being an ideal woman (usually); she gets the “good ending”, being taken away by a respected and powerful man to become his beloved queen and live a (presumed) life of luxury

That is how the story appreciates her good qualities - she gets a husband who respects her deeply and often verbally admires her, because single women have historically not been considered successful

(“Who will take care of you when you are old” is another solid refrain)

BUT. Here’s the thing. You can usually look at the protagonist to determine what children are the intended audience

Stories about the handsome prince are to teach little boys how to behave. Stories about the beautiful princess are to teach little girls how to behave

And sure, everyone can learn from every story, and in quite a lot of them the gender of the protagonist is as irrelevant as their name (most of them don’t have names in older versions)

But the stories people tend to target for these kinds of feminist retellings do tend to have the same cultural message for good behaviour that a woman should fall into:

1) be kind (usually standard)

2) be pretty

3) be unconscious/trapped

Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Rapunzel, etc. all follow the model; our titular characters are indisputably the heroes. The story is about them. Does the prince even have a name?

And we can all agree, those last two messages ain’t shit

(No one ever seems to do the “feminist retelling” for stories like the Seven Dancing Princesses, where the youngest princess saves the day with her cunning and quick wits, despite the ending still being “and they all got married and lived happily ever after”)

So if you wanted to do a feminist retelling, but keep to the structure of the fairy tale, the thing to change isn’t the prince! It isn’t even to just flip it so that the princess rescues him

The thing to change is our assumed values for a good woman

Sleeping Beauty can still fall under the curse from a spinning wheel! But maybe instead of her father hiding all spinning wheels in the kingdom, he and her mother tell her the prophecy

And then we can go interesting places like “what does the bad fairy do when she feels her curse is being thwarted?”

Perhaps Sleeping Beauty is wise and has her parents seek out a potential “saviour” early on; perhaps the love of a sibling will count as a true love, and a younger or older sibling is sent to another land so they won’t be caught in the curse and can save the day

Perhaps Sleeping Beauty is prudent, and realizes that the bad fairy’s wrath is too dangerous for her future subjects to face, and instead asks to be sequestered away where her “whole kingdom” is a clearing in the woods, and her curse will not harm them (and they can come save her right away)

Perhaps Sleeping Beauty is mischievous, and sneaks into the bad fairy’s lair so that when she pricks her finger, the bad fairy also falls asleep

Perhaps Sleeping Beauty is cunning, and runs away to live with the bad fairy and work for her, because “what you wanted was for my parents to be sad about losing me, so this seems more sensible”

Perhaps Sleeping Beauty is kind, and goes to warn each and every creature and person in her land of the danger, and asks if they know a way to protect themselves (not her) from such a curse

Perhaps at the end of her journey she meets a lonely and crabby old hermit in the woods, who is impressed that she has no fear for herself; her only concern is what effects the curse will have on those around her

Perhaps that crabby old hermit is the bad fairy in disguise, perhaps another powerful being, who can help to mitigate the curse

Perhaps the kiss that wakes her comes not from a lover, or a sibling, but from a foster parent, a bad fairy that has realized their folly in cursing an innocent child they have come to know, and sincerely regret having cursed at all

And, y’know, we drop the obligatory marriage bit at the end, but if you want a love story you can still have one! From a true love who admires her bravery, her wisdom, her compassion, not her pretty face

Sleeping Beauty can still be put to sleep (because the story is about Sometimes Bad Things Happen Beyond Our Control And If You Worry Too Much It Only Gets Worse)

But when she wakes up, she is woken because of who she is and the actions she took that persuaded others to help her and care for her

Because she is loved by someone, or by many someones, who don’t want to marry her

Because she put others first, because she was kind, because she was wise, because she was cunning

She doesn’t need to save herself to be worth saving

Those "modern fairy tales where the princess saves herself" types of books not only misrepresent the gender roles in fairy tales (there are tons of stories where girls get to save the day), but they fundamentally misunderstand the entire genre.

Fairy tales aren't about saving yourself.

These aren't epic myths or heroic legends about the great warriors who slay every monster in their path because they're so awesome. Fairy tales are almost always about ordinary, even incompetent, people who get thrown into strange situations where they only succeed because of the help of others.

It's not a gendered thing. The boy who goes off to seek his fortune is usually the dim-witted third son whose older brothers are the strong, smart ones. The third son succeeds because he is kind to the magical helpers who then complete the tasks for him--and the exact same thing happens when a girl is the main character.

The characters in a fairy tale rarely succeed because they embrace their own strength and take their own path. Much more often, they are told step-by-step what to do, and they succeed because they obey--respecting the wisdom of others.

The core virtue of a fairy tale is not pride, but humility. It's not a story about the strong, but those who are weak, small, helpless. The people who can't do it all on their own, but can recognize the worth and wisdom of others.

Turning this story into a "girl power" (or even a "boy power") story warps it into something that is fundamentally the opposite of a fairy tale, and it has nothing to do with the gender of the main character.

[ds-angel1]

cw: vaginal sex, fear play, dubcon, choking, crying, near-death experience during sex, lots of mentions of dying, cocaine use, blood and bruises, lowkey angst at the end

🪷🪷🪷

Nothings Gonna Hurt You Baby

1:05 ──〇──── 4:46

⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹↻

You dangled over the balcony railing, your back arched in a brutal curve, toes barely brushing the cold floor beneath you. You weren’t even sure if your eyes were open anymore, vision blurred, brain stuttering between blank terror and dizzy confusion.

The only thing grounding you was the hand cinched tight around your throat and the knowledge that a mere twitch from your boyfriend could send you plummeting the twenty meters to the pavement below.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, leaving hot, stinging trails as you clung to the slick metal rail, your body trembling with every rough thrust that jolted you forward. Each ragged sob tore from your chest and blended into Rafe’s low, venomous muttering.

"Gotta learn your fucking lesson."

"Mouthin' off all goddamn day."

"Such a fucking brat."

His voice was a growl against your ear, the words punctuated by the brutal snap of his hips. Every time he slammed into you, the railing creaked ominously, and your body lurched further over the edge, the only thing saving you was his bruising grip on your hip and throat.

You tried, god, you tried, to lift your head, to find your voice, to beg him to stop, to plead for mercy. But every time, the weight of it all, the fear, the lack of air, the overload of sensation, crushed you back down.

Your head lolled against the railing, your tear-blurred gaze locking on the neon-lit windows of the hotel across the street as if salvation could be found there, in the mundane glow of someone else’s normal night.

Rafe's mind raced out of control, a thousand thoughts crashing into each other, none of them coherent. The coke he’d snorted earlier had left him wild-eyed and volatile, adrenaline flooding his system faster than the engines of the racecars he pretended to care about.

His grip tightened again, nails biting into your skin, and all you could do was hold onto the railing, onto your breath, onto the thin, fraying thread of your life.

His mind flickered with vicious snapshots, your tear-soaked face twisted in terror, your throat crushed beneath the iron clamp of his hand, your desperate, clenching heat trying uselessly to expel him. But he only drove himself back in, harder, rougher, savoring the way you broke around him.

He knew he was playing with fire, that this hunger was something vile and unforgivable, but fuck, he thrived on it. The control he had. The power. He loved you like this, helpless, broken, his, loved the way your life dangled between his hands, how you trusted him even now, how your body still sought his even through terror.

The orgasm hit him without warning, a brutal punch of pleasure that tore a ragged groan from his chest. His body seized against yours as he spilled into you, his fingers digging harder into your skin as he could somehow hold you in place, anchor you to him forever.

For a terrible second, he lost himself entirely, and when he came back, blinking through the high, he realized you were gasping for air, your hands clawing weakly at his wrist.

"Fuck."

"Baby— fuck— hold on—"

He forced his trembling fingers to move, shifting his hand from your throat to the back of your neck with as much care as his shaking body could manage. Slowly, agonizingly, he hauled you back over the railing, your limp form sliding into his arms. The moment your feet hit the ground, you collapsed, clutching at his legs with frantic, broken sobs that shredded through the night air.

"Got you, baby. Got you. I got you," he muttered over and over again, the words a frantic prayer against your hair.

Somehow, through the chaos still roaring in his veins, he got you inside. He noticed the blood in passing, the way your knees were raw and scraped from where you’d kicked and scrambled against the unforgiving concrete, the torn, reddened skin along your inner thighs from the brutal stretch of him forcing his way in too fast, too rough.

Dark half-moons bruised your throat where his fingers had dug in, crushing delicate vessels just beneath the skin. But none of it stirred horror in him. Not guilt. Not regret.

Only a strange, sharp affection, a possessive tenderness curling in his chest. Each mark was proof: of how hard you fought, of how completely he had won. You were his, through and through, inside and out, body and soul, whether you wanted it or not.

He bathed you with trembling hands, wiping the blood and tears away with shaking gentleness, dressing you in your pajamas like you were something fragile, sacred. His heart ached with a love so fierce it felt like it might kill him.

He carried you to bed, tucking you against him, wrapping his body around yours as if he could shield you from the very damage he'd inflicted. You pressed into him instinctively, needing warmth, needing safety, even though safety had long since slipped away.

All night, you cried against his chest, your voice breaking into hoarse, incoherent babble about how scared you’d been, how you thought you were going to die.

And all night, Rafe whispered into your hair, soft, desperate apologies, trembling promises that he'd never let you fall, that he'd never let anything hurt you. As if he wasn´t the one who hurt you.

And somehow, you believed him. Because when he held you like this, shaking, frantic, broken, it was almost possible to believe that this was love.

Almost.

[shysuccubusstuff]

Puppy! Caleb pt. 2

Content: Puppy! Caleb + non proof-reader; Clingy Caleb + Submissive then top + somnophilia + Cunnilingus + Manipulation + Obsessed! Caleb + Anxious! Caleb + dubcon (somnophilia) to consensual + Crying! Caleb + overstimulation + Size difference + dacryphilia + aftercare.

Word count: 1,982 words

Summary: With the beginning of your holidays, Caleb was already planning how the two of you would spend the days together, of course. So how will he react when you end up going out for the whole day most of the days?

Note: Just saw this cute video of a puppy in which his owner lets the leash fall and he looked so confused and cute... Uni is always so draining... Even when we have holidays in between, it seems I'm always tired :( It's funny that I tend to publish more when I'm busier, this is more dark in a sense, so make sure to read the tags before reading it please! Let me know if there are any tags missing cause I may have forgotten about it :(

Tag: @namjooningera

After several days working yourself to the bone, it was finally time for a well deserved rest, with them giving you over a week to rest completely before going back to work.

Of course you took the chance to rest, spending most of the days simply laying in bed with Puppy! Caleb by your side, his bigger body radiating warmth , making you nuzzle against him, even using his chest as a pillow to rest, allowing you to hear his rapid heartbeat, his hot breath hitting against your ear as the two of you rested together.

As for Caleb... ecstatic was an understatement. The second you told him that you were going to stay home for a whole week, Caleb's tail was already out of control, hitting against the door rapidly as he tried to keep himself under control. A whole week with you? Gosh, he could lick your whole face, that was the greatest new you had told him in quite a long time! He was already planning the many different activities the two of you could do... maybe going to that park the two of you used to go when you had more free time, even trying that new restaurant that you had saved on your phone... Oh, he had to keep himself in control, if not, he could accidentally lose his control over him... Yeah, he just had to keep himself calm... right?

Well, of course his plans would get messed up. The only day you spent the "whole" day at home was the day your holidays started, and well, not like it was the whole day as such, as you had to go to work in the morning. As soon as you had free time, your different friends started to ask you to hangout, not only those nice ladies that he had seen before, but also some unknown men that kept flooding your phone with messages and calls, sometimes even daring to appear at your doorstep, just who did they think they are? Still, Caleb tried to keep himself in check, busying himself by helping you around the house, making your food, laundry, cleaning the whole house as an attempt to regain your attention, his ears low, tail barely moving as put his whole focus on keeping you happy. But as the days went on and with you barely spending time with him, it finally got to him. Caleb started to become clingier, with him constantly following you around the house, tail wagging as he kept looking at everything you did, his arms wrapping around your leg each time he saw you starting to get ready, eyes watering as he begged you with those soft purple eyes.

And, how could you simply leave him like that? Of course this was soon taken advantage of by Caleb, with him always giving you that needy and helpless look every time he felt that you were even planning on leaving him alone. Then, as Caleb started to realise that you never got angry at him, even when he started to become even clingier, now even daring to wrap his whole body around your smaller frame each time you woke up, tail wrapped around your leg even as the two of you were sleeping. Then he even dared to leave subtle bite marks all over your neck, slowly making his way to the rest of your body, even in places that were definitely not supposed to be marked. And regardless of how much you told him to leave your poor body alone, as the marks that had been left by him started to look more like hickeys, rather than playful bites...

You should have known better than to try to sneak away from him... I mean, why would you even try to do that? Of course he had noticed that each time you went out to buy some groceries, you always forbid him from accompanying you, always using some old excuse such as "Oh, I don't want to bother you!" Did you think he was just some slightly bigger mut? He kept wondering, just when did you begin to try and hide stuff from him? You had always relied on him, ever since you found him close to dying in that park long time ago... Did you actually stop loving him? These type of thoughts began to flood his brain, nails digging anxiously on his pillow, sometimes even grabbing your pyjamas and pulling from them, always waking you up in the middle of the night as fat tears rolled down his cheeks.

This started to worry you, as Caleb always pretended to be fine, his lips always curving into a smile every single you looked at him, almost as if he hadn't spent the whole night whimpering and crying against the pillow, his arms holding you against his body as if he was afraid of you running away in the middle of the night. Instead of telling him that you knew, you chose to ignore it, after all, it wasn't the first time Caleb had been acting strange, with him always trying to mark you as his every single chance he got. Surely this was just one of those times, right?

You kept telling that to yourself, but this sweet dream of yours soon came crushing down the moment you woke up in the middle of the night. This time, instead of finding your sweet puppy crying in his sleep you found him somewhere else. Caleb was still crying, fat tears running down his cheeks as he licked your lower half, his warm tongue slowly running down your slit as he kept your legs open for him. "Caleb?... Just what are you doing?" Caleb ignored you, his eyes only focused on the way your pussy was glistening under the dim light that was entering through the window. You tried to stop him, already feeling how your pussy was starting to react to his soft lips sucking on your poor clit while his fingers started to press against your entrance, eyes still fixed on your entrance and how it kept pulsing against his fingertips. "Caleb, just-- wait a second... What are you even doing at this hour?" You grabbed him from his hair, pulling a bit to try and get him to leave your pussy alone so you could actually focus on reprimending him, all of your efforts were effortless, only making Caleb's grip get stronger around your thigs as he started to use his tongue to fuck your entrance.

"Don't leave me." Caleb's words barely reached your ears due to the constant flow of lewd sounds that kept escaping from your lips, small tears starting to form in your eyes as the feeling started to get a bit overwhelming. "Why can't you just let me stay with you?..." Caleb kept mumbling, his warm breath hitting against your entrance as he spoke making your whole body shiver from the sudden stop of stimulation. "Does he even treat you like I do?... Cooking for you, cleaning for you... I have been behaving for so long just so you wouldn't find me annoying... but if being clingy means I can have you all to myself, then I can bear having you hating me a bit..." Caleb suddenly moved his mouth back to your overstimulated cunt, using his tongue to suck on your clit as he used two of his fingers to prep you, slowly entering one of them as he kept using your slick to get the other finger wet.

"...What? I-- I wasn't planning on leaving you, Caleb! He... He was just a coworker, he just wanted to ask me something about-- fuck! About work-- I won't leave you ever!" You were barely able to form the full sentence, your whole head starting to feel extremely hot as Caleb kept increasing the rhythm each time he felt your walls pulse against his digits. Caleb abruptly stopped, eyes fixed on your reddened face as his tears stopped for a second.

"You promise? Promise you won't leave me, please." You nodded without hesitation, making Caleb smile brightly through his tears, almost as if he had planned everything since the beginning... Well, it's not like he gave you much time to analyse his expression, as he suddenly entered his other finger, pressing his fingertips against that spot, making your legs flinch, almost closing them if it wasn't for Caleb's arm keeping them in place. "No running, let me show you just a small fragment of just how much I cherish you." Caleb moved closer towards you, now resting on his arm as he used his right hand to properly fuck your entrance, his fingers causing you to shudder each time they moved inside you, kissing your lips with extreme passion as he kept preparing you, his tongue fucking your mouth, cooing at you each time he saw your eyes rolling to the back of your skull each time he made you wet his hand even more. "Just a bit more, be a good girl and let me take care of you..."

You kept cursing Caleb for more than five minutes, constantly calling out his name and whinning, nails digging on his chest as he kept forcing you to cum all over his hand, making a huge contrast between the soft kisses he was planting all over your face and neck while he used his rough hand to torture your already overstimulated pussy. "Caleb!... Can't-- can't cum anymore! Let me go~... Just a small break, can't think!" Caleb smiled at you, almost giving you an ominous grin as he suddenly stopped, taking out his fingers as he got up, moving in between your legs, the reddened tip of his knot now pressing against your tummy.

"Open wide for me, pips..." Caleb entered you little by little, the stretch making you mewl as you bit his shoulder. "Shh... So good for me... you're taking me so well." Caleb kept kissing your forehead, planting a few kisses all over your wet cheeks as he finally bottomed out, staying still for some time until he felt your walls getting used to him. As soon as he felt it, you knew it was over for you, his hips now setting a ruthless pace, making you cling to him as your nails digged on his back, leaving red marks all over it each time the tip of his cock hit against your cervix.

"Too much! You're too big Caleb-- wait... just a second!" But Caleb was too far gone by now, mindlessly moving his hips as he grapped you by your ankles, changing the position into one that forced you to see how his cock entered you each time, with Caleb suddenly slowing down, smiling at you as he saw almost in trance how his dick entered you, some of his precum getting out and making your cunt glow under the moonlight, then swiftly going back to plummeting your poor cunt until he had you creaming all around his dick, face completely stained by tears of pleasure.

By the time you felt Caleb finally letting you rest, it had been maybe over four rounds, with him not stopping even as you felt how his knot grew inside you, letting you rest for around fifteen minutes before going back to (what he felt was) his duty as your one and only protector. As you took a deep breath, you felt him lifting you up from the bed, kissing your forehead as he made his way into the bath, the warm water hitting your whole body and letting the tension and sweat drift away, making your eyelids feel even heavier as he started to pass a soft cloth all over your body. You could still hear the faint sound of the water dropplets falling to the bathtub as you let Caleb take care of you.

[jjanuaryrain]

"Shell smashed, juices flowing Wings twitch, legs are going Don't get sentimental It always ends up drivel One day I am gonna grow wings..."

This is actually Jason Todd's song I'm sorry. This line in the song in particular is about how bugs can be crushed and remain alive as they watch themselves come apart.

can you imagine dying a traumatic, torturous, hero's death after your father figure failed to save you. and going to Heaven and being reunited with your beloved mother whose death was essentially the beginning of the end for you. and starting to heal that wound.

just to wake up in your coffin and have to carve your way out with a belt buckle, brain damaged out of your mind.

and eventually having your brain damage cured, only to have it give you a thirst for violence that necessarily puts you at odds with everything your adoptive father stands for.

like... jason came back from heaven just to experience the loss of everything that ever mattered to him. for the second time in his life. and he just has to live with that.

"Shell smashed, juices flowing Wings twitch, legs are going Don't get sentimental It always ends up drivel"

that’s literally jason todd. beat and exploded to death, just to come back and have everyone he loved treat him like a fucked up monster.

he grew wings but they ripped them away from him every chance he got. no more robin, no more heaven, no more loving family. crushed like a bug in the ground fr.

“one day i am gonna grow wings”

Do you ever think about the fact that jason canonically went to heaven?

[gweelczz]

“A weight lifted”

Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore x Reader (Honey)

Genre: angst, hurt and comfort, happy ending

Warnings: None

Summary: Y/N finally breaks through Smoke’s walls

The rain hit the tin roof in heavy sheets, a steady drumming that filled the little house with the sound of a restless heart. Smoke sat at the kitchen table, sharpening his knife slow and steady, the old blade whispering across the whetstone. His broad shoulders were hunched, jaw locked tight, face shadowed under the low flicker of the oil lamp.

Honey watched him from across the room, her heart breaking a little more with every scrape of that blade.

He’d been like this for days — colder, quieter, like a storm building behind his ribs. She knew what it meant. Trouble was coming. Smoke always felt it before anybody else.

She pressed her hand to her stomach, barely beginning to swell, and took a breath so deep it hurt.

“Elijah,” she said, soft but firm.

His hand stilled, but he didn’t look up.

“You hear me talkin’ to you.”

Slowly, he set the blade down, still not meeting her eyes.

Honey crossed the room, every step heavy with the weight of what she had to say.

“I can’t do this no more,” she said, voice trembling. “I can’t keep watchin’ you carry all this hurt inside and pretend like it don’t tear me apart.”

Smoke’s jaw clenched tighter. His hands — strong enough to break a man in two — balled into fists on the table.

“You don’t understand, Honey,” he muttered.

She knelt beside him, hands wrapping around his fists, feeling the tension thrumming under his skin.

“Then make me understand,” she pleaded. “I’m your wife, Elijah. Your woman. Ain’t no part of you too dark for me to love.”

Finally, he looked at her — really looked at her — and it was like looking into the eye of a fire about to burn itself out.

Tears welled up in Honey’s eyes, but she held them back. She needed him to see her strong.

“I’m carryin’ your child,” she whispered.

Smoke flinched like she’d struck him.

She pressed his hand to her belly, over the tiny life growing inside her.

“I can’t raise no baby with a man who’s halfway here and halfway in the grave already,” she said. “I need you whole, Elijah. I need you here. Not just your body, but your soul too.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

And then something in him cracked.

A sound tore from his chest — not a sob, not a cry — but a low, broken thing, like a wounded animal too proud to scream.

He pulled her into his lap, burying his face in the crook of her neck, arms wrapped around her so tight it almost hurt. His body shook against hers — years of rage, fear, guilt, all pouring out at once.

“I ain’t never been nothin’ but broken, Honey,” he choked out. “Ain’t never been no good for nobody. All I know how to do is fight… hurt… kill.”

“You know how to love,” she said, running her fingers through his coils, soft and slow. “You love me better than anybody ever could.”

He held her like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, voice raw. “Scared I’m gon’ turn into my daddy… scared I ain’t gon’ live long enough to see my child’s face.”

Honey kissed the top of his head, rocking him like he was the one needing saving now.

“You ain’t your daddy,” she said fiercely. “You a good man, Elijah Moore. You hear me? You a good man. And you gon’ live long enough to teach our baby how to be good too.”

He pulled back, cupping her face in his rough hands, staring at her like she was the only pure thing left in the world.

“You my heart,” he whispered. “Ain’t nothin’ in this world mean more to me than you.”

“And you mine,” she said, tears finally spilling over. “So don’t you ever shut me out again. Not now. Not ever.”

He kissed her then — hard, desperate, like a man drowning pulling in his first breath of air.

Outside, the rain kept falling, but inside that little house, something new was being born — not just a child, but a hope Smoke never thought he deserved.

For the first time in his life, Elijah “Smoke” Moore wasn’t running from the fire.

He was walking straight through it — hand in hand with the woman who had always seen the man behind the smoke.