#'you're too weak to save anyone. not even yourself'

[motthe]

there's no death here | robert "bob" reynolds [part ii]

warnings: childhood trauma, bit of blood, secondhand embarrassment maybe???

《masterlist》

Bob didn't know what to expect when Bucky mentioned a friend of his being able to help with his “weird mind power stuff.”

Said friend being a woman, Bob wasn’t sure if that made things easier or not. Opening up to anyone felt forbidden these days. That and the team knew how to deal with his bad days. He would have to see someone react to him for the first time all over again.

One thing Bob was sure about was that he would feel a hell of a lot worse hurting a woman if this training didn't go well.

Then you walked off the elevator, and he quickly realized he couldn't save face around you. For one, you held yourself like every other hero in his life. If there was a weakness, he couldn’t pinpoint it, and you held more confidence in one finger than he’d ever had in his entire life.

And second, you were beautiful. It had been a fact even from a distance, but then you held his hand without fear, and you’d smiled bright enough it blinded him for a good second.

Training the psychic side meant you were going to see every molecule of shit that ever existed in his head. There was nothing he was going to be able to hide from you. But if you weren’t running for the hills after everything you’d heard in his head the first day, then maybe there was a chance.

Bucky also mentioned all the lowlives you’d had to needle your way through to get evidence for detectives. When you said you’d seen the worst of the worst, you had meant it, and while Bob never once thought of himself as a good or even useful person, he could at least feel a bit better about himself when compared to a serial killer.

He had done bad things, but he'd never wanted to do them intentionally.

‘“So, h-how is all of this going to work?”

It was his second day meeting with you and after the storm of introductions with the rest of the team, one too many comments from Walker, and a strange look of respect passing between you and Yelena, this was the first time he’d ever been alone with you. There was no Bucky to look to for second opinions, no one to step in if something went wrong—

“Nothing is going to go wrong.”

His attention zipped to you as you sipped from a to-go coffee cup. “Um, can you warn me when you’re going to…you know?”

“I’m not reading your mind,” you said, tongue catching a stray drop on the corner of your lips.

Thank God, he thought and you winced like someone had blasted music in your ears. You made some vague hand gesture before the line in your brow relaxed.

“You’re projecting,” you said. “I told you, you're loud. But I can block you out. It just takes some fine tuning I don’t usually have to do with others.”

“So I’m just shouting everything?” he whispered, horrified.

You shook your head. “Not always. It’s bits and pieces. When you’re worried or excited the volume builds. It's like if you were ranting about something, y’know?”

“Can we work on that first?” he begged.

“First,” you said, clearly amused, “we have to get comfortable with one another. When I skirt around your head, you’re guarded in some places and open in others. You have to get used to being completely open with me before I can teach you to close yourself off.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “You’re going to have to see a lot of messed up stuff. I know you already have but still.”

“I’ll apologize as well,” you laughed, “because it’s going to go both ways. You’re going to see as much of me as I will of you, but that’s part of the process of building mental shields.”

“But if I’m able to get in—”

“You've done a great job keeping it under control so far,” you told him. “From what I read, you only see glimpses before you or your target breaks away.”

“I don’t want to even do that, though.”

“Well, in order to learn how to not do that, I have to see how you even do it in the first place.” You lifted your hand, palm facing up as you twiddled your fingers at him. “Let’s see what you bring out.”

He shook his head, sinking further into his chair. What happened to building up to his despicable magic trick? This was only day two. “I don’t think that's a good idea. Aren't we supposed to meditate or build the whole mind barrier thing by imagining bricks?”

“We’ll get there,” you promised, sipping your drink again. “For now, let’s level the playing field. You’re embarrassed and scared of all the things I know already. This will let you learn about me a bit.”

“What I make you see—” he tried again.

“I know. Trust me, I can handle it,” you swore, eyes hardened with certitude. “Now, come on in, Bob. The door’s open.”

He wasn’t going to pretend he wasn’t curious about what shames you had floating around in your past, but baring yourself open as easily as you were… How were you okay with that? Would he learn where that came from while you were teaching him?

He closed his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek. He didn’t want to put you through the worst times of your life.

“Please, Bob. You trusted me to try yesterday. I need that again.”

“I know,” he whispered, straightening his shoulders as he looked you in the eye. “I just don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

There was that smile again. Radiant, he thought and you huffed on a laugh. Shit.

“I’m not afraid,” you promised.

He swallowed and reached out a hand. “You will be.”

A wall of darkness crashed over your mind. The ground fell out from under you, sending your heart off rhythm. Your first reaction was to ground yourself, but you fought it, allowing Bob’s presence to wash over you and drag you into whatever memory his power clung to.

Opening your eyes, you sucked your teeth at the sight of that old, wooden dining room table. You were four, doing your best to get around the food on your plate as your mother sat opposite of you. The dining room had that powdery smell of youth.

“Fuck,” you whispered, eyes watering as the grief claimed you. She was alive and breathing again and you were about to see the beginning of her spiral. But you had prepared for that.

“You don’t have to hide, Bob,” you called, sensing him nearby. “Come here.”

He stepped up on your right, eyes glued to the scene before looking at you. “You’re so young.”

“I was,” you agreed, frowning at the expressions flickering over your mother’s face. She looked a mess, clothes ragged on her frame and eyes darting around the room before settling on you, scowling at your plate.

“Baby, eat your food, please,” she called quietly.

“Don’t want to.”

You drowned the conversation out as you turned to Bob. “Your powers seem to pick shame from the beginning.”

“Never this young,” he whispered, eyes round as he looked at your toddler self.

“I was born with my powers. I couldn't control them back then,” you explained, wincing as your mother began to yell. You held a hand up, silencing the scene.

“How did you…?” He looked between your hand and the environment in awe.

“You can’t block my powers even when I’m in the midst of yours. That's interesting,” you hummed. Your heart squeezed in your chest as your mother threw herself to the floor, clawing at her head as your child self ran to her, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“What happened?” he asked, voice shaking.

“I projected a lot. Like you do now,” you explained, grabbing your upper arm as your mother’s hand found the butter knife on the floor and slashed. “She thought she was going insane and then she did.”

Bob turned away as your toddler self began to bleed, crawling away and screaming into silence. “I don’t want to see this.”

“Then don’t,” you told him. “Pull out of it.”

“I can’t just do things like you can!” he said, panic rising.

“Focus. Take a breath.” You eyed the scene as it started over from the top. Another thing to note. “You latched on to this memory. Let it go.”

“How?” His breath was picking up.

“Can I touch you?” you asked. The question seemed to confuse him for a second before he nodded. You grabbed his arms and turned him away from the dining room, getting his full attention on you. “Feel my hands?”

“Uh, yeah,” he murmured, bobbing his head.

“You’re feeling that with your mind. This isn’t real.”

“It was real," he breathed, watery.

“And now it’s done,” you stated gently. “Can’t be changed. I'll always regret what I did to my mother, but I was a kid. There was nothing I could do.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, hands folding back over yours as he took a slow breath. “Okay.”

“Feel the floor under your feet. You’ve grounded yourself to this memory. Now you just have unground.”

He looked down, expression pinching as he fought to focus. You couldn’t help but laugh as he jumped.

“With your mind,” you repeated.

“This is my mind!” he said, voice shrill and eyes wide as he met yours. “God, what if we’re stuck?”

“We’re not stuck,” you promised, squeezing his hands. “Here, I’ll do it. Maybe you’ll be able to feel it.”

Honing in on the sensations around you, you followed them back to your core, centering your focus on yourself and Bob. With a slow breath, you let that shield snap over the two of you, forcing the darkness back.

There was a split second as you trailed out of Bob's mental snare. You couldn't be sure, but somewhere on the horizon of your consciousness melding with his there was a…mass. A dark blotch.

And when you noticed it, there was no way to hide when it noticed you back.

A gasp of air split your lips. Back to reality, you two were still at the table in the Watchtower. Bob blinked opposite of you, his fingers skimming your palm. The shield you'd propped over both of you was still intact—that mental bond pulsing.

“How did she do that?”

Lots and lots of practice, you answered him, making yourself known in his head. Feel this? That’s how you’ll know I’m in your head.

He made a distressed expression that had you snorting. His head turned from side to side, reminiscent of a cat with a medical cone on for the first time. He wasn't sure what to do with a second presence melded to his. “Oh, weird. Okay. That feels so weird. I don't know if I like this.”

Yeah, not very comfortable. You want me to leave?

“Yeah, just, well, lemme try to get used to it for a second. So weird, what the fuck?”

You covered your face with your hand to try to find a semblance of professionalism, but it was impossible with the faces he made and the stream of thoughts filtering through.

I'm sorry, I shouldn't be laughing.

“I'd rather you be laughing than running, screaming out of the room. It's embarrassing, but it's not the worst.”

If it makes you feel any better, I'm not a professional in any shape or form. Bob's head tilted as he stared through the table. There was a brush against your mind. I'll make mistakes trying to figure out the best way to teach you what I know—oh, hi. That's me.

“You’re warm,” he replied aloud, squinting as he zeroed in. You made a point to retreat back a bit in case you ended up back in a shame room. His eyes flickered up to yours. “I feel you moving around. Is this how you see stuff?”

You nodded, a bit flustered at the feeling of his consciousness circling yours. He learned fast. “I’m not actively looking right now, just making my presence known. Careful, you press any further and you'll get my subconscious thoughts again.”

He shuddered as you pulled away from his mind completely. Your mind barrier went up for both his privacy and yours.

"Sorry, I should’ve warned you.”

“No, its fine, just...so weird.” His nose wrinkled as he said it.

“Yeah, I've heard that before,” you scoffed, smiling into your drink. The way he grinned back, it weighed in one corner—the same side he turned into to avoid eye contact. “You have any questions for me after all that?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, that sweet smile dropping as he bit at his lip. “You…felt something when we left the shame room. How did I feel that? And what was it?”

“My shield connected us. I wanted to bring you out with me instead of pushing you out. Would've been a bit rude since I asked you to show me.” You fiddled with the cup sleeve, leaning back into your chair. “As for what I felt, I don't want to assume anything but seeing as I sensed it as much as it sensed me…”

“Did it scare you?” he asked.

“No, but I didn't expect to run into Void this soon. Does it always sit on the outer edges like that?”

Bob shrugged. “On good days, yeah. But he's always around. A voice in the back of my head.”

“Tell me about him,” you murmured. “I've read what others think of him, but I want your input.”

“He's just…bad.” Bob shook his head, hands rubbing over his jeans. “Everything messed up or wrong in me, he feeds on it. He spits it back out on the bad days and tries to overwhelm me? I guess?”

“Does he try to get out often?”

His hair swayed as his head shook again. “More like when I'm weakest.”

“Weakest mentally? What about physically?” Bob shrugged, looking put off by the questions. “I'm not trying to overstep, I just need to understand as much as possible. They say he's your alter ego, that he's separate from you.”

“I mean, that's not wrong but I don't know if that's right either.”

You made a mental note. “Would you call him a parasite?”

“No.”

You raised a brow, amazed at the certainty. “Why? You said he feeds on you.”

There was a twist in his face, a flash of molten something in his eyes as he shook his head. “Sorry. Um, I don't know. I, uh…”

You slowly reached back out to his mind, gentle as you weighed against him. It's okay. We can stop here for today.

“Sorry,” he breathed, shoulders sinking. “He's louder now. I think we pissed him off.”

“Yeah, that'll probably be happening a lot from now on,” you chuckled, standing to throw your empty cup away. There was no trash can in your immediate view. “If you ever need help, I'm good at blocking things out for a time. I don't know if that would make things worse, but it's worth a shot, right?”

He surprised you with a weak laugh, clearing his throat as you turned. “Sorry. I know you said you weren't a professional, I just didn't expect this to be casual.”

You weren't sure how else you could have been. The stuff you both would be dealing with, well, you'd be getting personal with a whole lot in a very short amount of time. That's why you and Wanda were so close as well as Nat. One wanted you to learn your powers on a spiritual level, and the other wanted you to be able to steel your mind when chaos came knocking.

Hopefully, with Bob you could be that anchor they had become for you.

“I'm definitely not the strict and unemotional type,” you agreed with him. “As dangerous as all this could be, it's a breath of fresh air compared to what I was doing, so. Thanks for wanting me to help.”

There was that shy little grin of his again. You hoped, maybe after a few weeks or less, it wouldn't be as rare to see.

[willosword]

it just hit me that they made you slowly crawl towards sephiroth in the nibelheim flashback to parallel cloud crawling towards zack at the end of crisis core and now i'm literally crying over it

[ridher]

thinking about s2 rafe & just want to comfort him so bad

you knew something had been off with your boyfriend. with the way he was constantly running around town and refusing to tell you anything about these 'errands', it was concerning.

it wasn't worrying because you thought he was doing anything disloyal, but you knew the immense amount of pressure he was constantly under thanks to his father and you just wanted rafe to be alright — even if that meant you weren't his number one priority for once.

not expecting much, you invited yourself over to tanneyhill when rafe had failed to respond to your string of texts. it felt stupid, but you just wanted to see the boy after being pretty much alone for a few days without his presence.

forgoing knocking, you step inside the familiar foyer leading into the mansion, shoes scuffing across the floor where your yoga pants flow over.

the sound of distant talking and footsteps echo through the house, but it doesn't deter you from continuing your path up the stairs to where you know rafe's bedroom is — admittedly the only place you've memorized how to get to.

looking up from your feet when you reach the second floor, you're met with the sight of ward who seems equally as surprised at the sight.

"hey, sweetheart. good to see you." keeping it brief, he gives your arm a squeeze before passing by and flashing what you infer to be a guilty smile.

soon, you're at rafe's door and suddenly don't feel so sure about the decision to come over — hesitating in the hallway.

when your hand reaches for the knob, your name is mumbled behind you. startled, your hand jerks away and you turn to look over your shoulder — now completely turning around and relaxing when you see your boyfriend.

his tired eyes and slouched posture along with the stressed ruffle of his sandy curtain bangs reveal his state of emotion, visibly breaking your heart as you step forward.

without hesitation, you lean up on your toes to wrap your arms behind his neck and pull him into a hug. as much as he hates to admit it, you know better than anyone how he craves physical touch.

rafe lets out a shaky exhale and practically melts into your body, arms snaking around your waist and combining the shape of your body with his own.

his head drops to your shoulder and buries in the crook of your neck, breath warm and uneven against your skin. bringing a hand to rest at the bottom of his scalp, you lightly drag your nails across it — acrylics grown out from how long it'd been since he took you out to get them done.

you're rarely the one initiating any kind of contact, but it comes naturally when he's right there, so vulnerable in front of you.

"i love you," you assure him, not expecting a response as you just wanted to let him know someone was on his side, no matter how fucked up he convinces himself he is.

"love you too, baby." it's deep and muffled against your body, sending a shiver from the contact all the way down your back.

you spend the rest of the day in his company, curled up in bed and occasionally wandering about the house. it's mostly silent since he still keeps all his troubles to himself, but being in one another's company is enough for both of you.

falling asleep in his arms and nothing's changed, he holds you as if you'll slip away with his face buried in your hair, hands ghosting over every part of your body — indulging in a softer show of affection he deems as weak.

but at this moment, he doesn't seem to care. all worries are saved for the following morning when you wake up once again in an empty bed.

[orphicsun]

˗ˏˋ BOTTOM BITCH ˎˊ˗

pairing: chatroom frequenter ellie williams + femdom!reader

warnings: 18+ content, chatroom depravity, brief interaction with a horny weirdo on a chatroom before reader meets ellie, voyeurism, sexting, video/phone sex, guided masturbation, mutual masturbation, use of a dildo, nipple play, use of names (ma'am + mommy + good girl + slut), both reader and ellie are at least 18 (ellie is described to be 21 but feel free to imagine her as any adult age), praise and slight degradation kink, reader is just bored at night and ellie is implied to be chronically online (as she is a chat room frequenter and, well...)

a/n: this is purely a work of fiction. i'm not encouraging anyone to go interact with people in sketchy chatrooms.

loose inspo creds from this vi artwork!

summary: you're a bit of an insomniac, not a desperate horn-dog on chatrooms. it's too late to talk to your fellow normal people, so you resort to sites you wish could be cleansed of the horniness. only, you fold the second a certain freckle-faced lesbian puts a forum post out for a new dom to talk to.

www.chitchat.gg. 

The link stares at you without much appeal. You haven’t touched Omegle in years, nor do you miss it. At least, you don’t miss the incels you’ve encountered in those horrific chatrooms. 

It’s safe to say you don’t miss the dicks, don’t miss the M42 horny, and you surely don’t miss the weird kinks the users hold shamefully behind doors, laptop screens bright with crickets’ ambience as a backdrop between the hours of 1-4am. You don’t miss the men, is probably what you’re really feeling. 

It’s too late and you have a busy day tomorrow–you promised yourself you wouldn’t need to take a shower tonight, that you’d make sure to tuck yourself in your bed with the sleep aid of scrolling through nostalgic minecraft youtuber content until you felt a content type of exhaustion, not the usual five-hours-of-sleep and so forth.

You would take a shower in the early hours of the day. You’re not a night owl; you enjoy the early, productive mornings. You don’t take desperate naps after a day shift and then fuck up your sleep schedule, but maybe all of those affirmations are deluded with your lack of self control. 

It’s late and you’ll regret it in the morning, but here you are for the first time in years, staring at your Google browser’s selection of links. Some are so obviously the darkest, the ones proudly advertising “share pics without registration!” or “connect with men and women for one-on-one fun!” 

No, you’re really just bored. It’s far too late to send the infamous “wanna call n play fortnite” text to everyone you talk to on a regular basis. You’re not desperate enough for social contact that you’d ever scrounge around discord servers, and you definitely wouldn’t join a server full of randoms. That is a disaster waiting to happen, not even a weak affirmation. 

It’s just your late-night logic telling you that clicking on this seemingly safer link would be any better, but here goes nothing. 

↵ enter

With a few forwarding clicks, you’re in. You could opt to find something with your interests, but you’d like to explore the entirety of people available to you first, and still, you stay hopeful that the days of horny chat room men dominating surface-level sites like these are in your bitterly nostalgic past. 

You are now chatting with untroubled porcelain. Say hi!

untroubled porcelain 

M

You can already tell where this is going, but you save an ounce of hope for humanity within you. You begin typing, soft keys clacking underneath your fingertips, hardly lit by your shitty laptop’s brightness. You make a few typos at first, oh well. 

cunteater reader

F. How are you? :) 

untroubled porcelain 

good. wyd? 

cunteater reader

just chilling in bed. hbu? 

untroubled porcelain

what are you wearing? 

You immediately groan and close the tab. You can’t say you’re surprised, but your hope isn’t completely dwindled. You instead open a new link within the browser: www.freechatnow.com

You hope to be able to weed out the sexual from the harmless bored, scrolling through forums and various selections of chatrooms. It’s already quite promising when the website requires age identification to actually talk to anyone through it. 

Live Cam Chat 

Adult Chat

Sex Chat

Singles Chat

Lesbian Chat

Gay Chat

Cam Chat 

Roleplay Chat

Video Chat

Intrigued by the lesbian chat option, you swiftly select it. After scrolling through what seems to be men dominating the chat, you sigh and exit out of the chat. You’re about to completely close the tab and your laptop and call it a night, but suddenly a forum stands out to you. It’s contradictory, but you click it.

21F lesbian. dm me please. 

That should make you close your laptop altogether, but something inside you feels a small pang of arousal. Maybe men are the problem, not sex chats. 

So, you send the first message; you’re a bit cautious at first. 

cunteater reader • 1:56 PM

hi. I saw your post on the forum. 

You hit send and stare at the screen. You feel a bit perverted, and a small bit of self shame bubbles up inside you. Is this really what you’ve resorted to to pass time?

You would never say you’re chronically online–you’ve got a part-time job at Taco Bell 15 minutes from your apartment, you frankly just don’t have the time to keep up with the revolving door that is the internet. So, you ask yourself: what type of person are you even reaching out to?

However, the moment your laptop audibly dings with a response, those feelings fade rather fast. 

subbydyke21 • 1:59 PM

hi<3 my pussy is so wet rn and i want 2 touch myself. tell me how? 

Your face feels hot now, and the slight tinge of arousal that was sparked when you saw the forum turns into wetness clinging to your underwear. This person can’t be anything but another desperate, horny person, and yet you find yourself suddenly in the same predicament. Maybe it’s the overtime, the lack of availability to simply download Tinder and find a normal person to have sex with. You mumble something about dignity as you type. 

cunteater reader • 2:00 AM

yeah. just start slow for me.

You cringe to yourself. You feel so out of your element with this, like a small sense of logic and shame is holding you back. 

subbydyke21 • 2:03 AM

wishing it were you. can i show you?

You panic for a moment–here you are, hair messy in nothing but a baggy t-shirt and underwear. Your mind runs through random what-ifs. What if this person is a level 10 weirdo? What if they doxx you? What if they stalk you?

You’re thinking with your cunt, though. 

cunteater reader • 2:07 AM

yeah 

(-)

Waiting for the call, even just the 10 second wait, is anxiety-filling. Your foot taps against your carpet until subbydyke21 finally answers. 

You hope your eyes don’t widen too much on camera, but you can’t stop yourself from slightly gawking. There she is, and she doesn’t at all look like a weirdo.

Her camera is a bit blurry, but her features make up the face of a woman who is actually quite attractive. Shaggy auburn hair pulled back in a messy bun, a soft nose covered in splotchy freckles as is the rest of her face, green eyes that you can barely make out the tone of in the dark of her room, and generously full lips. She is gorgeous, almost in an androgynous way. 

You take each other in for just a moment, and then she speaks. “Are you comfortable with, like, seeing me and stuff? You don’t mind?”

Her voice is rougher, raspier than you would’ve expected from the person you initially reached out to, but you also can’t help the heat it sends through your body, specifically down below. 

“Um, no. I mean, I don’t mind.” 

She nods. It’s a bit awkward, especially after what she had said to you, but neither of you comment on the previous desperation. It’ll build up once again. 

“Okay. Name’s Ellie, but I think we should call each other by names or somethin’ like that.” 

You spin a strand of your hair between your fingers, not exactly looking at the camera. “Like what?”

“Anything you want. You can call me a good girl, a whore, a slut, baby. I’m whatever you want me to be.” She clears her throat and you’d like to comment on the blush spreading all over her cheeks, but you’re too flustered yourself. “And I’ll call you something like.. mommy or ma’am.” 

“That’s fine.” You adjust in your seat, pulling your rolly chair close to your desk. 

“So, ma’am.. would you like me to touch myself?” 

“Go ahead,” you guide. You know you’re quiet, almost shy with it, but Ellie doesn’t mind. 

“Would you like to see me squeeze my tits for you, ma’am?” 

You nod. The general insides of your thighs rub together, craving friction; you’re glad Ellie can’t see anything below your torso. 

Ellie carries her laptop to her bed, giving you the entire view of her body. Clad in undergarments, she tosses the bra over her head, leaving her pert breasts on display for you. You don’t comment, but she can see the way you stare through the camera, watching her squeeze and roll her nipples between her fingers until they stiffen at the attention. You can only barely catch the way she pants as her actions intensify, and you’re completely mesmerized. 

“Call me a good girl, please.” She stares at you straight through the camera, and the awkward feeling you’ve been clinging to is tested. 

“You know you’re a good girl. Look at you, though. Do you show everyone on that chat site your tits, or am I just lucky?”

You hear the whines through the laptop audio, Ellie pulling at her nipples while squeezing her thighs together. “Only you, I promise. It’s only been you, ma’am.” 

“Good girl,” you repeat softly, your voice still a tad shaky with nerves. “I wanna see you rub your pussy now.” 

She quickly nods and lays down on the bed in front of the laptop, hastily shedding her boxers. You can’t see the amount of arousal that was pooling in the crotch of the fabric, but there is a visible shine of slick all over her pussy. And fuck, if that isn’t the prettiest pussy you’ve seen in a while. 

You don’t even see where the last piece of clothing lands nor do you care. You can’t take your eyes off of the exposed slice of heaven between her parted thighs. Her head rests against her bed as she begins to touch herself, just hesitantly, as if waiting for your guidance. 

“Atta girl, just like that.. keep your fingers on your clit and just rub it for me, baby. Slowly.” 

“Fuck, mommy,” she moans, trying her hardest not to just rub her pussy raw. It already feels overbearing for the poor girl, but she wants more. 

“You like getting yourself on camera? Makes you feel good, huh?” You coo, eyes not leaving her body. 

“It’s not enough..” she whines. “Please, I wanna use my dildo. Can I fuck myself with my dildo for you?”

Just the thought of seeing her dripping pussy stuffed full with a dildo makes your clit throb with need. You’re quick to shove your own hand down your underwear. “Yeah, baby. Be a good girl for mommy and fuck yourself.” 

You miss her body the second she stands up, but soon, she is laid back on her bed, a bright purple dildo in her hold. It’s pleasantly large, with much more girth than you expected it to have.

“Just tease yourself for a little bit, baby. Rub your clit with it for me.” 

Ellie eagerly rubs all over her swollen, reddish-pink clit with the flared tip, and your own fingers slide between your lips and into your cunt. You groan, nearly closing your eyes at the feeling. 

“Are you touching yourself, ma’am?” She asks, voice already ragged. 

“Couldn’t help myself,” you admit. That confession only turns her on more. 

“Can I please fuck myself? I need it right now. I need to cum with you.” 

All you can do is nod, but Ellie is already lining the toy up with her hole and shoving it deep inside her hole. She hardly takes a moment to adjust to the sudden stretch before she begins fucking herself with it, making sure to open her legs wide enough for your viewing pleasure. 

“Oh my god,” you moan at the sight. “You’re so fucking hot, you know that? Taking it in your pussy so easily. You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

Ellie laughs shakily. “Of course I have. I’m a whore.” 

“That you are,” you easily agree. You fuck yourself hard with two fingers as you watch her slide the dildo in and out of her hole, always leaving just the tip nestled inside before ramming it until the base is flush to her skin. 

All you can hear are the wet sounds of her wet pussy as she pounds it shamelessly and her noisy moans, and you’re sure she can hear your own wet sounds through her laptop. 

“Touch your clit, baby. I wanna see you rub your clit while you fuck yourself,” you tell her, working your own with your thumb. 

She uses her free hand to frantically rub at the beating nub, fucking herself so fast the camera nearly blurs her movements. “Fuck, feels so good. I need to cum, please. Please let me cum,” she desperately begs you. 

“Yeah, you wanna be a good slut for me and cum? Go on, let go. I wanna see your pussy cum on camera.” 

Your words easily have her hole squeezing the dildo, cum seeping out of it and visibly coating the toy. The sight, paired with her slutty moans sends you barreling towards your own orgasm. You throw your head back against your chair and moan as you practically hump your hand, trying to milk your peak for all its worth.

After a bit, you and Ellie both calm down, breathless and satisfied. Ellie throws the dildo on her bed and sits up, sheepishly looking at you. 

“Umm, that was..” 

“Yeah.”

“Wanna do it again sometime?”

“Yeah.”

taglist: @femme-tobe, @sulliefimmie, @klallx, @mytaping, @pryncess123, @therealhexstrap, @piercedome, @violetszn, @saturnhas82moons, @tombstonergirl, @sawaagyapong, @lucyaries, @caitlynthighs, @prettyinpink69, @usuck, @s7nburn, @hellokittyfeenie, @ssijht, @starberr1, @ruevu, @ruelezz, @littlefallenangel111, @prwttiestbunny, @eriiwaiii2, @starrycherie, @tphmnv, @raindroprose23, @liztreez, @hotpinkskitties, @mars4hellokitty, @jhyoos, @elliesngirl, @moonfloweredprincess, @morticeras, @l0veylace, @abbysmeatrider, @ferxanda, @vahnilla, @plasticl0v3r, @g4ys0n, @bewareofmyglock, @witzs, @mysexy-anxiety want to be tagged? click here!

[mm-lurking]

Emperor Blade AU brainrot

I'm struggling to finish my Blade wips so have this for today. Inspired by my interest in historical Chinese dramas (forgive me for my limited knowledge), Im writing this at 12am please don't mind me with the grammar mistakes etc thank you WC: 1000 ish Warnings: blade x fem! reader, NOT proofread! --- Emperor Blade who picks you during the wife selection stage. You, a middle-class woman with a clan that is neither too powerful nor weak, just ok. You, who compared to the many beauties with influence and high political power, are just average. But that doesn't matter to him as he calmly picks you from the list of candidates, dumbfounding his advisors and court members. Emperor Blade who only picked a wife because of the pressure his court was putting on him. In his thundering dominant reign of purging corruption and enemies, he had never considered being married even once. Marriage to him was an inconvenience and an unnecessary contract to sign.

Emperor Blade who keeps you at an arm's length, treating you just right so it's not controversial yet keeping you so distant that your only companion is your right handmaid. He doesn't speak much to you, and your conversations are short and out of formality. You barely see much of him as he spends most of his day running the nation and the times he is free he rarely visits you.

Emperor Blade who frankly doesn't care what you do or say, as long as you let him be and don't cause trouble. You're merely a pawn in his eyes, a pawn to get everyone to shut up and let him reign however he wants without interfering, that is -until you're pulled into the games of politics.

Emperor Blade whose eyes are raging with a fire his court members have never seen when a faction decides to take advantage of the awkwardness of your marriage and hurt you. He has never liked innocent people being involved in the deception and web of lies of politics. The anger in his voice followed by the withdrawal of his sword makes everyone present cower with fear as they rush to cease his anger so they can save their own heads.

Emperor Blade who works tirelessly at night to figure out who had dared to poison you so shamelessly without any consequences, his jawline clenched and knuckles white as he looks through all his reports to find the mole within the palace walls. Despite saying he doesn't have time for you before, he finds a way to visit you when you're unconscious in your bed, holding your hand as he looks over your peaceful face. Your touch is comforting yet foreign and despite his initial reservations, he finds himself wanting more.

Emperor Blade who rushes over to your chambers when he's informed that you're awake so he can see you for himself and breathe a sigh of relief. There is a twinkle in his eyes that you have never seen before but in your weak state, you shrug it off as your imagination. He swears to find the ones who have hurt you and promises to keep you safe. The tiny smile he shows you has you flabbergasted for the rest of the day.

Emperor Blade who does not hesitate to execute the perpetrators publicly as a warning for everyone to see, to fear the consequences of what would happen if anyone even thought about hurting his wife, his empress. He makes sure you're not watching so he doesn't subject you to the brutality of his role as the emperor. To him, he does not find the need to scare you with his powers. He does not want you to fear him.

Emperor Blade who is slowly but surely falling in love with you. You find yourself welcoming him into your chambers more and more as he drinks tea and chit chats about his interests with you, something you were confused by at first but now have become accustomed to. He loves how you eagerly listen to him and offer your opinions if asked while making sure he's comfortable in your space.

Emperor Blade, who swore to never fall in love, has his heart beating faster and faster whenever he sees you, his breath hitching in his throat when you pass by him in the halls wearing your beautiful gowns. Your scent is intoxicating and he finds himself addicted to you, unable to get enough of you.

Emperor Blade who asks you to accompany him to the pavilion to admire the moon one day. He asks you to wear your favourite gown and says nothing more, leaving you confused but curious. You comply as you meet him in front of your palace, shyly smiling as he admires you.

Emperor Blade who takes your hand into his own, causing you to gasp as the public display of affection. His grip is firm and unwavering, a sign that he doesn't plan to let go. He dismisses his guards and your maids, leaving only you two alone as you both walk to the pavilion and stare at the night sky. The moon is bright and beautiful today with stars that twinkle in the sky like jewels.

Emperor Blade who pulls you into his arms, lifting ur chin with one hand as he looks into your eyes. "You're beautiful", he murmurs causing you to blush. The faint redness of your cheek makes him chuckle as he draws closer. Your noses are touching and your hearts thumping.

Emperor Blade who before only viewed you as a pawn, an inconvenience and a waste of time, now looks at you endlessly as he flicks his gaze back and forth between your lips and your eyes, asking for silent permission as his grip on your waist tightens and the gap between you two closes.

Emperor Blade who asked you to keep your distance from him now closes the distance between you both with a kiss, a kiss that washes away every painful thing he had said to you before. The winds of the night embrace the both of you at this moment as if it were a sign of acceptance from nature itself, a thumbs up almost.

Emperor Blade, a man of fear, blood and formidable reign had now become a man of affection, love and security. A man who swore to never love and never be married is now a man who is deeply in love with you. As the night continues and the moon illuminates your figures, he promises to cherish you and be your man for the rest of your life. A man whose tenderness, warmth and devotion are reserved for you and only you to see. ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ©mm-lurking 2024 do not copy, steal or reuse my work.

[twizzie-lairs]

My Darling, My Honey

Alastor X Fem!Reader (Part 10)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 |

Part 9 | Part 10

Part 10:

Your head felt like it was splitting, you could feel your brain pounding against the outside of your skull.

"Ah shit... everything fucking hurts...." you can barely whisper out loud due to your dried-up throat.

You clear your throat and open your eyes, to your surprise, you weren't left for dead on the street.

Instead, you see two girls hovering over you. One held your hand clasped in theirs, and the other had a spear pointed at your throat.

"Oh my gosh, you're awake! Finally!" The girl holding your hand said, leaning closer to your face. The girl with the spear and an 'X' over one of her eyes squinted at you and nudged the blonde girl back with her spear, "Who are you, and why shouldn't I kill you?"

You try to sit up, but the spear gets shoved closer to your throat before you can move. You sigh, "My name is (y/n). I don't want to hurt anyone. I just... I need help..."

Your answer earns a glare from the girl with the spear, but the blonde girl just nudges her with her elbow, "See, Vaggie? I told you!"

The blonde takes both of your hands in hers, "Hi (y/n), I'm Charlie! Charlie Morningstar and you're at the Hazbin Hotel! We aim to help rehabilitate sinners and offer them a chance at redemption to go to Heaven!"

The girl you now know whose name is Vaggie glares at you, "Are you even interested in redemption?"

You look at both of the girls, "I... I don't know. I'm not so sure but... I don't have anywhere to go and I need help finding someone.." You trail off as you start getting teary-eyed thinking about your love, Alastor.

Seeing you near tears clearly startled Chalie and Vaggie, it wasn't a response they were used to when asking sinners to stay at the hotel.

Vaggie set down the spear, deciding that you clearly weren't a threat. She could see the look in your eyes, one she knew very well- love. Meanwhile, Charlie is sniffling and getting teary-eyed right along with you, "Oh my gosh, we will do everything we can to help you find that person! Who are they, how can we help?"

You look up at the ceiling and then look at Charlie with a weak smile, "The love of my life... I miss him so dearly... I know he has to be here in Hell too." You chuckle lovingly, knowing he'd forgive you if he ever found out you said that out loud.

The floodgates were blown wide open and Charlie started sobbing and wailing, "Vaggieeeee, VAAAGGIEEEEEEE, th-they! They're looking for their LOOOOVEEEEEEEE. IT'S SO BEAUTIFULLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!"

Vaggie walked over to Charlie and scooped her up, giving you a gentle smile, "Hey... (y/n), sorry about threatening you earlier... I gotta take Miss Princess and calm her down, and then inform the other residents of a new arrival. But if you need anything, just give us a holler, okay? You're still healing so... take it easy."

You nod as a smile tugs at the corners of your lips, "It's okay... No offense taken... Thank you Vaggie, and thank you Charlie, for agreeing to help me.."

All you hear as Charlie is carried away is the sounds of wailing and crying muffled sounds over the words, "SHE'S HERE FOR LOVE... WAAAHHHHHH, IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL VAGGIEEE!!!!"

You try to sit up again, this time, no spear to bar you from trying to move this time. Your body groans in protest, though it doesn't hurt nearly as much as before, but as you assess the condition of your body, you notice you have bandages all over you. They must have been treating you while you were unconscious.

"Such sweet girls... they didn't even know me, yet they saved my life.... I need to remember to thank them again later.."

Very slowly, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and with a bit of effort, bring yourself to your feet. Hands holding yourself against the wall, you make your way over to what you assumed would become your bathroom during your stay here.

Your hands grip the sink as you look in the mirror when a small doubt enters your brain. You didn't look completely the same as you did when you were alive, which meant you had no idea if Alastor was even going to recognize you. Perhaps he even forgot about you... since it's been so many decades since you've been in Hell. Hell, you weren't sure you were even going to be able to recognize him...

"Enough of this... I'm sure he'll remember me.. he has to..." you whisper to yourself in the mirror as a crooked but tear-stained smile graces your hell-altered face.

After washing up your reddened face from all the tears, you made your way back to your bed. A deep sigh left your body as you plopped down gently on the bed.

Though you can't help but feel restless, as you sit there, just thoughts consuming your head.

In as bad of a shape as you might be, walking around even just a little bit helped you regain a little bit of strength, so you decided to make yourself decent after you had discovered that there was a change of clean clothes for you in dresser in the corner of the room.

Looking at yourself in the full body mirror on the back of the bathroom door, you smiled because it felt good to not look like a hot garbage fire- even though you could still see most of the bandages, at least you weren't all tattered and visibly bloody anymore!

Another deep sigh left your lips yet again, though this one was filled with determination. You turn the handle on the door and exit your room.

In your head, you thanked whoever built this hotel because you were so thankful that there were railings or some type of furnishing to hold onto whenever you felt yourself getting wobbly.

You didn't know where Charlie or Vaggie, or where any of the staff or other residents could be, hell, you didn't even know where the lobby was!

But on that last note, as you wandered around and regained some strength in your legs, you started to have an idea of where the lobby was located because you started to see more light and heard some voices talking.

Might as well go introduce yourself, right? No time better than the present to start making introductions, even if you still felt a little bit like shit still. You felt even shittier just laying around, you felt like if you weren't on the go constantly- you'd never make any headway on finding Alastor.

So there you were, slowly descending the stairs to the lobby when you heard Charlie call out your name, " (y/n)! Oh my gosh, you shouldn't even be up right now! Are you feeling okay??"

A weak smile creeps up on your face as you start to feel embarrassed that Charlie is fawning all over you in front of what seems to be her friends.

You chuckle, "Yeah, haha, just feeling kinda restless and thought i'd introduce myself is all!"

Charlie gently takes your hand and pulls you over to the rest of the group that had been chatting while seated on various sofas and armchairs that were centered around a coffee table- no TV's in sight, just a single radio perched on top of the mantle in this living room/lobby hybrid space.

"Guys! I am honored to introduce you to the newest guest to the Hazbin Hotel, this is (y/n)!!"

"Nice to meet cha, the name's Husk, the bartender."

"Hey there toots, bet ya look mighty fine underneath those bandages. Better not give me a run for my money as most gorgeous resident! Oh yeah, the name's Angel Dust, by the way."

"Hi, i'm Nifty! Nice to- BLEGH, you're a woman! Ew!" Nifty said before cackling as she scuttled away to stab some bugs nearby.

"Well, you already know me and Charlie," Vaggie said as she patted you on the shoulder gently.

"It looks like the only one who isn't here is Alastor. Shouldn't he be back soon?" Charlie said as she pulled out her phone to check the time.

To her, that seemed like such a mundane and normal sentence. But to you, it felt like time stopped and you froze upon hearing his name.

Alastor.

Alastor... here?

-> Part 11

[woso-dreamzzz]

Natalia VI

Hardersson x Daughter!Reader

Natalia Guijarro (OC) x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adeventures Universe

Summary: An opponent gets angry at you

If you weren't so massively pissed at yourself, you could accept that the goal was beautiful.

Playing Manchester City wasn't for the weak, at least for a goalkeeper, and a pass to one of your defenders was intercepted and the shot came in quicker than you could move.

The City player came celebrating straight in your face, really rubbing it in.

That was the first straw.

The second straw came during injury time of the first half.

Another ball slotted neatly past your outstretched gloves.

She celebrates in your face again.

The final straw happens nearer the end of the match.

You save the goal on the line.

It's a near miss for you but you get it.

The City girl, the one that's been pressing you all match, doesn't think you saved it on the line. She thinks it went in.

She gets up into your face about it.

She's yelling something, hands waving around wildly.

Pernille watches anxiously.

You don't like being yelled at. You used to cry as a child whenever she and Magda so much as raised their voices. You used to keep your head down, folding your body in on itself and lowering your head. You used to sniffle for a few moments before bursting into uncontrollable sobs.

Even as Pernille yelled, her heart would break just because you seemed so broken up by it.

Not many people can match your height. You usually tower over everyone but this time you can't.

This girl seems even taller than you as she yells right in your face, jabbing you in your chest.

She's taller but you're stronger.

You square your shoulders, not even moving as her jabs get a bit more aggressive.

Pernille would be annoyed too, she thinks, if she'd already scored two goals, potentially a third and her team was still nowhere near Barcelona's six shiny goals.

Pernille would be angry too if her third shot was saved on the line.

But she'd never try to instigate anything. She would never start yelling at the keeper, trying to get needlessly aggressive.

Emotions run high on those first leg Champion's League semi-finals.

No one wants to go into the second leg with such a large deficit.

But aggression has no place on the pitch.

The girl shoves you back but you still stay strong, simply rocking back on your feet for a moment before righting yourself again.

There's a reason people call you a brick wall.

"Just shove her back," Pernille hears Magda mutter next to her.

"Magda!"

"What? That girl's gone crazy! She won't listen to reason. Fight fire with fire."

Pernille raises a brow. "Our daughter? You think our daughter will be shoving anyone?"

"Our daughter won't," Magda says confidently," But her girlfriend will."

The ref is coming towards the group from the halfway line.

So is Talia.

Talia gets there first.

She wiggles her way between the two of you and you give her the space to do so.

The City player is yelling.

Talia is yelling.

The City player shoves.

Talia shoves back.

They're up in each other's faces and it's like this referee is the slowest ref in the world.

"Go on," Magda murmurs," Get her! Get her!"

"Magda!" Pernille says again," Stop supporting violence!"

"I'm not! Just making sure she gets a taste of her own medicine! It was on the line! It didn't go in! She's just wasting time now."

Thankfully, it doesn't get any more violent than a few shoves and finger jabs but both Talia and the City girl get yellow cards.

The City girl walks off in an angry storm.

Talia takes it on the chin, a devilish smirk on her face and another goal slotted into City's net before the game is up.

"She looked a tad angry," Pernille notes as you amble towards her at the end of the match.

"Emotions are high, I guess," You say with a shrug, eyes darting to the side," Spot in the final up for grabs and all that."

"She was yelling. I know you don't like yelling. How are you feeling?"

You glance at her, shrugging again. "Sometimes, when people yell, I wonder what they'll do if I start crying at them. Like, if they continue to yell then they're an asshole but if they don't...What are they meant to do? Hug me?"

"An apology would be nice," Pernille teases," But, seriously? Are you okay?"

"I'd probably be worse if we'd lost but we didn't. We're in a good position for the second leg. Yeah, it was a good game. I'm okay."

Pernille holds your face in her hands for a moment, staring into your eyes to see if you're lying.

She can see no deceit in them so just pulls you into a hug.

"Yeah," She hears Magda say next to her," She's lucky I'm not playing anymore. Squaring up to my kid like that? I'd have swung at her."

Talia laughs. "I nearly did."

[kangaracha]

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 31

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

a/n massive, massive shoutout to @rainfallingfromthesky and @kokinu09 who proof read this chapter and the next one at least four times, cheerled, encouraged, and came along to writing battles until it was done (and of course, another shoutout to them for helping with every single chapter of this fic, they're the real ones <3)

previous | masterlist | next

---

"I'm fine," you insist in the face of Chan's concern, even though he hasn't said anything yet. "We really have to go, you know."

Chan doesn't move. Neither do his eyes, not even to track the staff that file past and out the door, the managers glancing back at the two of you. You nearly think that they’ll intervene and save you; but they only look at you without catching your eye and then depart, leaving you alone with him as he guides you back to the couches in the corner of the room, the arm around your shoulders just stiff enough that it is impossible to escape.

Not that you have the strength to pull away from him, your knees shaking just from the effort of lowering yourself onto the couch. Weak, as usual, as stupid as everything else you're doing. 

"We really don't," Chan insists. "We're not getting any awards - it's not like anyone's going to miss us."

"There are cameras," you point out stubbornly. "And Stay watching. And it's rude to just disappear in the middle of a show-"

"And you don't look like you want to go out there at all." His voice cuts across you smoothly, his mouth quirking in a half smile despite the grave set of his eyes and the pinch of his brow between them. 

A sigh escapes your lips, heavier than you'd expected when it feels like you can't draw a proper breath in. "I don't," you say slowly, trying to wrest control over the way that your voice trembles, the near slip of those tears that keep on threatening to fall no matter how angrily you choke them back. "But I have to at some point, so we might as well just go."

"Or we could just stop for a minute," he suggests. 

"Or we could just go, because if I sit here for too long I'm going to cry and then it’ll be even harder when I do."

The words escape all in one breath, emptying your chest out as fast as you can fill it. You hope that they might take some of the tension that twists there away with them and relieve the pounding of your heart in your head - but the feeling of horror in your gut only grows as you say it, threatening to overwhelm you. Too late, then, to escape it. You should have slipped out the door when you had the chance, instead of hanging back long enough for him to catch you.

The thought breaks the dam you've been so carefully building in your mind, plunging you into the depths of the anxiety that gropes for you with both hands. The tears fall with the first small sob that hiccups from your throat, your lip bitten against it. A moment later, Chan's arms draw you into his chest, his body a warmth you can cling to in the storm. 

"You can cry if you want," he tells you over your head. "You don't have to worry about what anyone will think."

"I do have to worry about what they think," you mumble into his shoulder, your eyes closed against the truth and the bright lights of the room. "My whole life depends on what they think. That's what sucks." Another sob shudders out on your breath, tears dripping into the fabric of his shirt. 

"It's only one performance," he begins, a hand rubbing comforting circles into your back. "There'll be more, and your dance will be just as perfect as it usually is-"

"That's not what-" You cut yourself off just as quickly as you'd stopped him, pushing away from him as you gather the right words in your mind. "The mistake was - was fine. Not fine, but not...there was a fan sign on the barricade that was...directed at me. And it's really stupid, and I don't know why it made me so..."

The rest of the words stick in your throat, your voice trailing off mid-sentence. You fill the space it leaves by slashing furiously at the tears that track down your cheeks even as more fall to replace them. "You're not stupid," he says, when he's sure you're done talking yourself into a corner. "You're a person who's been going through something really hard lately, and you're allowed to cry about it if you want to." His hands reach out, squeezing yours. "You didn't even cry on stage. How's anyone going to know what their favourite idol does backstage?"

"I'm nobody's favourite idol," you sniff. 

"You're my favourite," Chan says, so earnestly that you almost believe him. You manage a smile at the skip your heart takes anyway, and reach up to wipe away your tears.

"Am I?" you ask, sniffing again. "I feel like I'm so annoying sometimes."

"Well, you're not." He pauses, fondness crinkling the corners of his eyes as he looks at you. "Neurotic, maybe. But not annoying."

The words do what they're supposed to do - startle you right out of your tears and the choke of your breath for a moment, your mouth falling open in disbelief. "Neurotic?" you repeat incredulously, and you don't even fight when he laughs and folds you into his arms again.

"You think that's more unbelievable than me enjoying spending time with you?" he asks as he pulls you close, his arms a security you hadn't realised you'd been missing.

“Maybe you should get on your knees and profess your undying love for me more often,” you answer in a droll voice, the sarcasm stinging like acid on the back of your tongue even as you say it. You don’t know where it wells up from; you don’t feel very funny right now, or even satisfied at the noise he makes when you say it.

“Answer the question,” he says instead of answering you.

A sigh exits your mouth instead of a laugh; you try to let some of the tension in your chest shudder out with it, try to find your centre of balance and a calmer trail of thoughts in your mind. "I never know what to believe," you mumble to him; not a truth that you've intentionally hidden from him, but one that you've been ignoring for yourself as well, in case acknowledgement of it made your life unbearable. "So many people say so many things about me every day...and I know I should just ignore it and listen to you, but…there’s so much. I can’t look at anything without seeing it. And some of it must be true."

Over your head, Chan's breath exhales long and slow, like he's trying to hold something in. You wish you could see his face - but his arms won't let you go, not for something as silly as that. "I think you're overcomplicating it a bit," he says, and sighs again. "Just because someone makes up a hundred nasty facts about you, it doesn’t mean any of them are true."

"And you're not biased at all?" you question, because it is easier than taking what he says to heart.

His answer is firm. "The people on the internet that hate you aren't biased?"

"I don't know." Your breath is ragged, in and out of your chest through lungs wound up too tight to do their job. Even here in his arms there is no escape from the writhing darkness in your gut, the thoughts that storm the walls of your mind. 

"I'm sorry," you spit out when you have the strength to do it, another sob welling up in its wake. "I don’t know. I just...it makes me so angry sometimes. That's all. I just need to calm down - and think about it-"

"You know, if you need a break..."

"No!" Your answer is so sudden, it breaks the close of his arms around you, your hands slipping from the flat of his back as you sit up straight, staring at him with that fire from your chest burning in your eyes. "Stopping won't fix anything. I don't want to stop."

Chan's gaze never wavers, compassion writing itself into the crease of his brow. "You can't go on like this though."

"What else am I supposed to do?" you ask. "It's like you said when I debuted; it'll get better eventually. I just have to keep waiting."

"You shouldn't have to wait," he answers. "We just have to change something. We should have done it a long time ago."

"But what?" The frustration burns at you like a knife in your hand, past the maelstrom of sorrow and self-indulgent grief that had you in its claws before. "I don't know what they want. I don't know who to be for them."

Chan blinks at you. "You don't be anyone. You just be yourself."

"But they don't like me."

"Then you be yourself for yourself, and you stop caring what other people think."

A derisive snort escapes your throat before you can stop it, your eyes turning away before he can catch the sharp edge of your gaze, the anger that's not really directed at him. "I can't do that."

"Yes, you can," he says, too soft. Too encouraging. 

"No," you say again, the force of the word propelling you to your feet. "I can't. I have a company, and a contract, and all those people watching. I can't even pick what clothes I wear, or where I go, or who I get to film with. I can't say anything without a script because I'll say the wrong thing. I can't."

"You can't live like that either."

"You think it's better if every message Felix gets is about whether we're dating? That I just let them call me easy and - and a slut, because I want to wear a dress? Or shorts? Or they keep boycotting our albums until JYP decides we're more trouble than they're worth?"

"Yes." You don't miss the way Chan's eyes harden as you speak, his jaw clenched as if there's something he doesn't want to say held between his teeth. Your voice trails off at the sight of it, fear running up your spine at the thought that he might be angry at you - but when he turns, there is only the same patience there in his eyes that has been waiting for you this entire time. 

"I don't care how ugly it is," he says, slow enough that every word burns itself individually into your brain. "I don't care, and you shouldn't either; and if we have no fans that can love you and we all end up going home, I won't care about that either."

It takes a moment for the sentiment to fully settle in your brain, working around the horror and the shock of the determination on his face, the way that your heart stutters and squeezes in your chest at the thought of a future where Stray Kids doesn't exist at all - where he gives it away just for you. It makes no sense, when you look at it from that angle. What mind would he have to be in for that trade to seem fair; you, for the entire group? You, for his career, his dream, everything he'd ever spent his life on?

"Y/N," he says, watching you with eyes that say far more than his mouth will. "I want you to be happy. That's all. I don't care about the rest."

"I'm not going to hurt the group just for my own happiness," you tell him. "I'd rather be miserable forever with all of you than out alone or in some other group."

"You think that you being miserable doesn't hurt us too?"

He catches you off-guard again, your mouth agape and your balance unsettled, your feet shifting to catch you. Slowly, you sink back down onto the sofa next to him, your head in your hands. "You make it sound so easy."

You can hear him shift in his seat, and then the warm press of his palm on your back. "It's not easy," he says. "But it can't be any harder than the torture you're already putting yourself through."

You hum in response, all of the fight you'd had before draining out of your limbs at once. Fatigue fills the space that it leaves; not just the ache of your body from months and months of endless dancing, but the ache of your head too, your thoughts sluggish and slow and reluctant to believe that any alternative option he's offering you could be a viable solution, even if, in your own common sense, you know what he's saying is true.

"What if I say I hate dancing?” you ask in a moment of weakness, the words a whisper on the edge of your breath that slips from your tongue before you can swallow it again. “Not - not hate it. But…right now…”

"Then stop spending every waking hour dancing," he says, suspiciously calm. “Pick the setlist for K-Con. Don’t dance again until we start practicing for Kingdom.” When you lift your head to look at him, you find him struggling to smother a triumphant smile, the urge to say I told you so writhing under his skin. "As long as you're not doing it to please a bunch of people who have decided they hate you."

The intensity of his gaze, the absolute sureness in the way he speaks, is uncomfortable, a heat that you can't bear. “Think about it,” he says when your mouth remains closed, speaking the promise for you.

"Don’t we have to go?" you ask, your mouth dry and your voice as weak as your body feels. You’re not sure how you’ll even rally the strength to walk all the way back to your seat, or if you’ll be able to feign attentiveness for the rest of the time you sit there.

"Probably," Chan admits - and then pauses, his eyes searching your face. "Once your makeup is fixed."

You blanche, dabbing at your cheek with one hand as if you can fix it yourself. "Is it bad?" you ask.

Chan shrugs, his hand moving in a so-so gesture. "If there weren't cameras, you'd be okay."

Cameras. Of course - they waited out there, along with the people, and the fans that would be wondering where the two of you were when the rest of the group had returned so long ago. A little of the old dread creeps in at the imminancy of that walk. You're surprised to find that it isn't the same all-compassing fear that you'd felt before; just a small gasp of the breath in comparison, a squeeze of your chest that is soon overruled by the squeeze of his hand in yours as he stands and crosses the room to the door, to find the team that are dutifully waiting outside. 

The thought stays with you as they fix your face, along with all the others he's given you to dwell on in the time since; the fear, and his devotion, and the way that small squeeze of your hand sets your heart to fluttering instead of pounding heavily against your ribcage. In the moments you have before you walk out the door, you wonder at what it is he's thinking that you are missing, but you cannot figure it out, not on too little sleep and such high emotions.  

Later, you promise yourself as you walk out of the room, his hand squeezing yours again when the manager that leads you turns his back. You don't have the heart to pull away from his grip until you reach the edge of the darkness that lines the passage from side-stage to the seating that you and other idols inhabit, clinging onto him like a lifeline in a raging storm even though you know it is dangerous. Just be yourself, he'd said; and you want to hold his hand, and so you do, and you don't think on why that is, or what other implications it might have. 

---

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@keepswingin

[fatecantstopme]

What I'd Give

Pairing: Dean Winchester x plus size!reader

Summary: When Dean is gravely injured on a hunt, (Y/N) makes a deal to save him--a deal that might just cost her everything.

Warnings: canon violence, swearing, mentions of death/dying. SMUT, dom/sub vibes, choking kink, overstimulation, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V)

You screamed helplessly as you watched your best friend and fellow hunter be thrown from the window across the room. You'd just managed to stab the demon you were fighting a mere second before you heard the breaking of glass.

You yanked the angel blade out of the demon's chest and ran straight towards the demon who'd just tossed your friend out the window. You stabbed the demon in the back, bringing an end to the fight.

You looked out the window and saw the horrific scene three stories down. Your heart clenched in your chest as you raced to the stairs, making it outside in record time.

"Dean!" you cried as you reached his broken body. "No, no, no, no..."

You were almost afraid to touch him--afraid to search for a pulse and not find one. You exhaled sharply and pulled yourself together, placing a firm hand against his neck. You could feel a very weak pulse beneath your fingertips and you knew he was in trouble.

The fall had certainly broken some bones and he likely had internal injuries of some kind. The glass from the window had sliced his skin in a million places, and you were worried he would have severe head trauma as well.

Normally, you would call out to Castiel and he would come running to save Dean, but this wasn't a normal day. Cas had been missing in action for weeks, and neither you nor the Winchesters knew where he was.

Dean's safety--his survival--depended solely on you. The two of you had been hunting alone, while Sam was out helping Garth on a different hunt. You'd hunted together countless times, but neither of you had ever been this seriously injured.

You knew he was dying--as surely as if there was a neon sign screaming "death!" above his head. You couldn't stand the thought of losing him, so you made a decision that would change your life.

"Anyone who's listening, I need your help," you called out. "Please...I will do anything...just save him."

You waited in silence for a few moments, hoping against hope someone would hear your call and take pity on you. You weren't exactly on good terms with most angels, but you couldn't help but hope at least one of them would care.

You heard the soft flap of wings that always signaled the arrival of an angel and you looked up hopefully. You inhaled sharply when your eyes met the glowing red eyes of the man who had come to rescue you--or should you say, archangel.

"Well hello, (Y/N). It's nice to see you again."

"Lucifer," you hissed lowly.

"In the flesh!"

"What are you doing here?"

"I heard your call," he said simply. "And well, let's be honest, no one else is coming to help you."

"Did you come here to gloat?"

"Of course not. Even I'm not cruel enough to find joy in the death of Dean Winchester."

"Then why did you come?"

"To save him, obviously."

Surprise lit up your face. Out of all the responses you'd expected, that hadn't been on the list. "Pardon?"

Lucifer smiled darkly. "For a small fee, of course."

"Ahh," you acknowledged. "That sounds more like it. What do you want?"

"Nothing too extravagant."

"Lucifer..." you growled.

"As you can see, this vessel isn't doing so well." He gestured to himself and you had to admit, he looked like absolute shit. "In fact, it's dying...which means I'm in need of a new one."

"Absolutely not," you said instantly. "He would never say yes to you."

Lucifer smirked. "I wasn't referring to him."

Your eyes widened. "I'm not an archangel vessel," you whispered.

"No, but you are a vessel. And I think you're strong enough to contain me long enough to find me a better one."

You swallowed thickly. There was no way you were going to agree to this...you knew what being an archangel's vessel would do to you and you weren't exactly interested in being strapped to a nuclear bomb.

"No," you said firmly.

"Suit yourself," he said with a shrug. "But just remember, Dean's death will be on your hands now."

You exhaled in defeat as you looked down at the man in your arms. You knew he was close to death--no hospital would be able to save him. Lucifer was your only option.

"Save him first," you whispered.

Lucifer smirked, knowing he'd won. "I would, (Y/N), but this vessel is simply too weak. I would need your body in order to save him."

You looked up into his dark eyes and considered his words. "I don't trust you."

"You would be a fool to trust me after all we've been through. However, I need you...and I need Dean alive and well to help me find an archangel vessel. Possessing you is a good motivator for him."

You clenched your jaw as you thought about your options. It took you mere moments to realize you didn't have any. You would rather die than allow Dean to...so your decision was made in an instant.

"Fine," you murmured softly. You looked up at the monster standing before you and exhaled slowly. "Yes," you breathed.

Lucifer wasted no time--immediately exiting his vessel and entering your body, taking over in an instant.

It was painful, feeling his energy within you, and you knew with absolute certainty you wouldn't be surviving this--no way in hell.

To your surprise, you were fully aware of everything happening around you. You could still see and hear--but you had no control over your body in any way.

Lucifer--you--reached out to Dean and touched him. Your palms began to glow and you watched the various wounds on his body heal quickly. His bright green eyes slowly blinked open and he looked up at you in surprise and confusion.

"What happened?" he groaned.

"You got tossed out a window," your voice said, though it was not you speaking.

Dean sat up and rubbed at his head. He looked down at himself, clearly surprised by his lack of serious injuries. "I fell three stories down..."

You nodded.

"How am I not dead?"

You felt your lips curl into a smile--a slightly cruel smile you knew was not your own. "You're welcome."

Dean's eyes narrowed in confusion. "What?"

Unbeknownst to you, your eyes began to glow red, alerting Dean to the presence of someone else in your body--and there was only one creature you knew whose eyes glowed red.

"Lucifer?" Dean yelled angrily.

"The one and only," he replied.

"How the hell...why are you...where's (Y/N)?"

"Oh she's right here," he said with a smile, tapping the side of your head. "Watching and listening like a little creep."

"Well it is my head, you asshole," you mumbled.

"Doesn't mean it's not creepy," Lucifer's voice hissed inside your mind.

You didn't like the idea that Lucifer could hear your thoughts and speak to you like that...and it made you wonder what else he could see within your mind.

"Everything," he teased darkly.

"Fuck."

"Get the hell out of her body," Dean growled.

"Not a chance, buck-o. (Y/N) was kind enough to invite me in, so I think I'll stay a while."

Dean pulled an angel blade out of his back pocket and pointed it at you. You knew he would never use it if it meant killing you too. It was an idle threat and Lucifer knew it.

Lucifer simply laughed. "You're not going to use that, so put it away."

"Get out of her and I won't have to."

"Oh please, you won't kill her."

Dean's expression remained impassive, but you could see his resolve waning. You knew him too well to miss the small tells. Unfortunately, that meant Lucifer knew him just as well.

"Let's make this easy on ourselves," he began. "Everything (Y/N) knows, I know. Every memory, every thought, every feeling, everything. So put the damn blade down before I have to break your arm."

You could see the anger on Dean's face, but he lowered the blade and slipped it back inside his jacket. "Why the hell did she invite you in?"

"You were about 5 minutes from death and she couldn't save you."

"So what, she called out to you?" Dean asked in disbelief.

"She called out to everyone...I'm just the only one who responded." You felt your eyes glance around in slight concern. "Speaking of, we should probably get out of here, just in case."

Dean nodded and lead the way to the Impala, which was parked a short distance away. You got into the passenger seat like usual and you saw Dean tense up at your proximity. He clearly didn't like the idea of the Devil riding shotgun.

"So why did you heal me?"

"I need your help," Lucifer admitted.

"What makes you think I'd ever help you?"

"I knew you wouldn't, which is why I convinced (Y/N) to let me have her body for a little while."

"Convinced?"

"I may have told her a little white lie--that my old vessel was too weak for me to save you. She didn't exactly offer herself up, but she didn't fight very hard when she realized I was her only option."

"You slimy son of a bitch," you growled.

"I'm the devil, (Y/N). What did you expect?"

"You son of a bitch," Dean mumbled, echoing your sentiments. "What exactly do you want from me?"

"I need to find an actual archangel vessel. I'm getting tired of jumping from vessel to vessel...they keep burning out. It's rather tiresome."

"Well you're not touching Sam, or me for that matter."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he insisted. "I know there are others out there, but I need someone with your connections to help me locate one."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "My connections?"

"Well, Bobby Singer's connections, really...but the best way to him is through you, and the best way to you is through her."

Dean exhaled angrily. You knew he was mad at you just as much as he was mad at Lucifer. You were surprised he hadn't given you an earful yet, even with Lucifer listening in.

"Fine," Dean grumbled. "But the moment we find you a vessel, I want you out of her body. Do you understand me?"

"Perfectly," Lucifer answered.

"Now just sit there quietly until we get to Bobby's, understand? I want absolute silence."

"Well that's boring--"

"I can't stand hearing you speak with her voice, okay? So shut up."

Lucifer smirked, but fell silent, deciding instead to annoy you.

"He's mad at you, isn't he?"

"I said yes to you...of course he's mad."

"Does he know?"

"Know what?"

"How you feel about him?"

"I would really like you to shut the hell up now, Lucifer," you hissed.

"But I'm so bored," he whined.

"I don't give a damn and neither does Dean. It's about 2 hours to Bobby's place...can you be silent for 2 hours?"

"Fine," he grumbled. "It'll give me more time to dig around in your brain anyway..."

"Shit--no!"

You tried to shut him out of your mind as best as you could, but you could still feel him rooting around in your head...making himself at home and digging into memories and thoughts and feelings that were never meant to be shared with another soul.

**********

"What an unsightly place," Lucifer grumbled as he--you--followed Dean up the stairs to Bobby's door.

Dean shot an annoyed glare in your direction, but didn't comment.

"Bobby!" he called as he entered the house.

Bobby came into view and offered you both a tired smile. "Hey you two. What brings you to Sioux Falls?"

"We were close by on a hunt and now we need your help," Dean answered.

"Sure. Come on in."

Neither you, nor Lucifer, had said a word of greeting to Bobby, which struck the older man as odd.

"You alright, (Y/N)?"

"Oh I'm just peachy," your voice answered.

Bobby's eyes narrowed at you, immediately noticing your voice was off. Besides, you didn't tend to talk to Bobby like that.

Before Bobby could question you, Dean spoke up. "We need to find an archangel vessel...as fast as possible."

Bobby stared at him for a moment. "Dean, you are an archangel vessel."

"Yeah, well I need one to house the devil--and it ain't gonna be me or Sam."

"Why the hell do you need a vessel for Lucifer?"

Your hand reached out and tapped Bobby on the shoulder. Judging by Bobby's shocked expression, you assumed your eyes were once again glowing red. Bobby quickly took a step back, looking between you and Dean in confusion.

"It's a long story," Dean muttered. "But I don't want him riding shotgun in (Y/N)'s head any longer than necessary, so we need to find him another vessel."

"Preferably before this current one starts to rot from the inside out," Lucifer added.

"Seriously, Lucifer?"

"Well that is essentially what happens, you know. I wouldn't want to damage such a pretty face."

"Oh fuck off," you grumbled.

"Why in god's name would she say yes to you?" Bobby asked angrily.

"To save my life, okay?" Dean snapped. "Look--we don't have time for this. I need your help to find another vessel. Please."

Bobby sighed and crossed the room to his desk, which was covered in books and papers--an organizational system only Bobby understood. He eyed you warily, but he didn't comment on the situation further.

"I assume you know how to find an archangel vessel," Lucifer commented.

"Perhaps you could enlighten me," Bobby responded.

Lucifer sighed and began to tell Bobby what he needed to look for. You ignored the words coming from our own mouth, instead focusing on Dean. You could see how upset he was and it made you feel incredibly foolish. You hated seeing him like this, but you didn't regret your decision. The mere fact he was alive to be angry made this whole thing worth it.

"How long do you think it'll take?" Dean asked, interrupting your thoughts.

"A week or two--maybe a little more," Bobby answered.

Dean looked in your direction, eyeing you with concern. "Will (Y/N) last that long?"

"Might wanna keep it closer to two weeks," Lucifer replied.

"You're lying, aren't you?" you asked quietly.

"Do you want me to tell them the truth?"

You sighed internally. "I think Dean deserves to know."

"A week would be even better," Lucifer said aloud.

Dean stared at you, worry deepening the lines on his face. His gaze traced your face, searching for any signs of deception--or maybe signs of damage.

"Well then," Bobby muttered. "Better get started."

**********

You sat in the corner, feet up on another chair as you watched Dean and Bobby. You could tell both of them were extremely worried, but their focus was on finding another vessel. They didn't have time to dive into their fears for your life.

Lucifer, on the other hand, seemed to think he had all the time in the world. He was quite happy to torture you instead of providing the two hunters with any assistance.

"Why haven't you told Dean?" he asked for what had to be the 1,000th time.

"There's nothing to tell, Lucifer. Would you just back off?"

"You're really no fun, you know that?"

"Good. This isn't supposed to be fun for you."

"I can make it fun."

"I'd really rather you not."

"Too late!" he said gleefully.

You could feel him poking around inside your head again, searching for something he could use to hurt you with--or hurt Dean with. You tried to keep him away from your darkest secrets, from the things you'd never shared with another soul, not even Dean. But you noticed it was getting harder and harder to resist him. You weren't sure if it was because he was so strong or if you were becoming weaker. Either way, it was only a matter of time before Lucifer found something he shouldn't.

Unfortunately for you, that moment came much sooner than you'd anticipated.

"(Y/N)--fuck, I mean Lucifer...can I talk to you outside for a moment?" Dean asked suddenly, rising from his chair and heading outside without waiting for a reply.

"Well this should be fun," you mumbled internally.

"I assure you," Lucifer mocked. "It will be."

You felt your body moving, feet heading after Dean whether you wanted to or not.

Once outside, Dean turned to face you, eyes filled with a multitude of emotions you couldn't stand to see. "I want to talk to (Y/N)."

"Oh come now," Lucifer said. "You know that's not how it works."

"I know you can shut up and take a backseat. So that's what I want."

"Hmm..." Lucifer hummed thoughtfully. "You know, I'd rather not. Besides, (Y/N) doesn't really feel like talking to you right now."

"Fuck you, Lucifer. Let me talk to him!"

"Sorry, sweetheart. Ain't happening."

"Somehow I doubt that," Dean grumbled angrily.

"You can doubt it all you want, but I'm the one physically inside her head. I know what she's thinking and let me tell you, it's not very complimentary of you."

"What?" Dean asked in surprised confusion.

"You have no idea what she really thinks of you, do you?"

"Lucifer, what the hell are you doing?" you growled.

He ignored you, instead focusing on his conversation with Dean.

"She's my best friend," Dean responded. "What more do I need to know?"

Lucifer laughed cruelly. "I'm sorry, that's just too funny. You think she's your best friend?"

You could see the look of hurt cross Dean's face for a moment, but he quickly covered it up.

"Sorry," Lucifer said, laughter subsiding. "It's just hilarious that you think she cares about you that much."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"She's tired of you, Dean. She's tired of your stubbornness, your self-loathing, your reckless behavior. She's tired of everything to do with you. She doesn't care about you--not really, anyway. You annoy the shit out of her, but she puts up with you because she feels like she has to."

You fought with everything you had to overpower Lucifer and take control of your mind and body. Not a single word Lucifer was uttering was true and you desperately wanted to tell Dean the truth.

"Stop fighting, (Y/N). You can't win," Lucifer whispered.

"Stop lying to him and I'll stop fighting," you insisted.

"No. I'm simply having too much fun."

Dean's face was impassive to the average person, but you saw through the mask on his face, and so did Lucifer. "I don't believe you," Dean said softly.

"You don't have to believe me. They're not my words. I'm simply relaying (Y/N)'s thoughts," Lucifer said with a shrug. "Haven't you ever wondered how she puts up with all your shit? You're not exactly walking sunshine, Dean. You're one of the most damaged humans I've ever met."

Dean inhaled deeply. "If she hates me so much, why does she stay?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Neither you nor Dean knew what Lucifer was going to say next...and his words cut deeper than you'd expected them to.

"She's in love with your brother," Lucifer sneered.

"Lucifer, no!" you screamed.

Dean's eyes widened and shock settled onto his face. He turned around, his back to you in an attempt to collect himself.

You fought even harder...you needed to get this son of a bitch out of your body. It felt like you were locked inside your own mind with no way out. Lucifer was too strong and the harder you fought, the weaker you became. You quickly realized the more energy you expended, the stronger he became...there was no use in fighting him.

"You're a monster," you whispered.

"They call me the devil for a reason.'"

You didn't bother responding to him. Your heart was aching for Dean and all you wanted was to comfort him. You knew exactly where his head would be at right now and it was killing you.

He'd always compared himself to Sam--at least as long as you'd known him. He seemed to think Sam was better than him in a lot of ways and certainly more lovable. The mere idea that you agreed with that sentiment...that you loved Sam...it would break him and you knew it.

"Sam is better than you in every way," Lucifer added, stoking the fire. "Why would anyone love you when they could have Sam? He's everything you're not...sure of himself, confident, open and honest. Sam is better for (Y/N) than you could ever be."

Dean turned back around, face a mask of impassiveness once again. "Let's find you a vessel so you can get the hell out of our lives," he said in a low voice. "Besides, I wouldn't want to get in the way of Sam and (Y/N)'s love."

If you'd been capable of crying, you knew the tears would be streaming down your face in that moment. Your heart ached in a way you were unfamiliar with and you hoped Lucifer could feel the pain the same way you did.

"Why?" you whispered.

"Why what?"

"Why'd you say that to him?"

Lucifer laughed. "Simple...I knew it would hurt both of you. You're in love with him and if his reaction was anything to go by, it looks like he feels the same."

"We're both helping you right now. Why can't you just be grateful for 10 fucking minutes?" you hissed.

"Where's the fun in that?"

You knew the question was rhetorical, so you didn't bother responding. Instead, you quietly watched Dean walk away and you knew he was going to lose his shit. You could feel it as clearly as your own emotions.

"Let's follow him," Lucifer said happily.

"Let him take his anger out without an audience," you snapped.

Lucifer ignored you and quietly followed after Dean, keeping a distance to avoid being noticed.

Once Dean was farther away from the house and seemingly alone, he grabbed a crowbar from a nearby bench and began to beat the ever-loving-shit out of a junker car.

If you'd wondered about Dean's feelings for you before (and you had), you didn't wonder anymore. It was clear he cared about you in the same way you cared about him and you hated seeing him in such pain.

You wanted nothing more than to go to him, but Lucifer was much happier standing to the side and watching Dean suffer alone.

"Please," you whispered.

"You can tell him I'm a lying bastard if you manage to survive this."

"You and I both know that's not likely," you sighed quietly. "I don't want him to suffer and I don't want to die with him thinking I hate him."

"Pity. Guess you should have told him sooner..."

"Oh fuck off, Lucifer," you growled.

Lucifer's laughter echoed in your head and you hated him in that moment more than you could even begin to express.

**********

"You alright kid?" Bobby asked Dean when he returned to the house an hour or so later.

Lucifer, and therefore you, had returned shortly after watching Dean fall apart. When he'd dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his face, Lucifer had gotten bored and left.

"I'm fine," Dean lied. "Do you have any leads?"

"I've put out my feelers to every person I could think of. I'm sure someone will have something for me soon."

"Did you call Sam?"

Bobby shook his head. "I assumed you did."

"Call him and let him know what's going on. I'm going out."

"Where are you going?"

"Yeah, Dean," Lucifer chimed in, "where are you going?"

"The nearest bar. Don't wait up."

You tried to say his name, but your mouth refused to form the word.

As soon as Dean was out of earshot, Bobby turned his attention to you. "What the hell did you say to him?"

"Me?" Lucifer asked, feigning innocence. "Why would you think I did something?"

"Maybe because you're the devil?" Bobby answered sarcastically.

Lucifer smirked darkly. "I may have poked at all of his insecurities."

Bobby groaned. "You're a son of a bitch, you know that?"

"That's not a nice thing to say about my Father."

Bobby just glared at you and rolled his eyes. He got up and left the room and you assumed he was going to call Sam.

"I second Bobby's comment."

"I wear it like a badge of honor."

You knew exactly what Dean was going to do and it was killing you. He was going to drink until he couldn't feel a thing, pick up some random girl, and fuck her senseless--anything to feel something other than the ache in his chest. You knew him better than he knew himself...but in this moment, you desperately wished you didn't. You would give anything to not know what he was going to do.

**********

Three days later, one of Bobby's sources had a lead on a potential archangel vessel.

Dean hadn't spoken to you or Lucifer unless he absolutely had to. It was too hard to even look at your face and hearing your voice was a thousand times worse.

Sam was still out on a hunt with Garth, but he promised to be there to help as soon as he could.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Bobby asked Dean as the two of you were preparing to leave.

"The less people involved, the better. Stay here in case we need more intel," Dean responded.

"I don't like the idea of you traveling alone with Lucifer."

"I'll be fine."

Bobby didn't believe him anymore than you did, but neither of you commented on it--not that you could have if you'd wanted to.

As you/Lucifer and Dean climbed into the Impala, Dean didn't spare a glance in your direction.

"Isn't this fun?" Lucifer asked. "I've always wanted to go on a roadtrip."

Dean groaned. "What are the chances you'll be quiet during this drive?"

"Slim to none," Lucifer said with a smirk.

The response almost made Dean smile. It sounded like something you would say and technically it was your voice. He had to remind himself you weren't really talking to him--every word out of your mouth was Lucifer.

Dean took off without another word and you silently prayed this lead would pan out. You were extremely tired and it had only been about four days since Lucifer had possessed you.

By this point, you were having a hard time focusing on what was happening in the real world. You were in pain and you could feel your body weakening...you were dying and you knew it. You just hoped Dean didn't notice.

**********

By the time the three of you arrived at your destination, you were feeling terrible. You weren't even sure how much time had passed since you'd left Bobby's. In fact, you were pretty sure you'd fallen asleep very early on.

"It's been about 12 hours," Lucifer told you.

"I slept for 12 hours?"

"You're dying," he said nonchalantly. "So you're going to have a harder time staying awake."

"Great," you whispered sarcastically.

"Lucifer!" Dean growled. "You coming?"

"Of course."

Lucifer followed Dean into a building you assumed was an apartment complex. Sometime during the elevator ride, you must have fallen unconscious again, because when you opened your eyes again, you found yourself standing in a nice apartment.

Dean was talking calmly to a young man who looked moderately terrified.

"Is he the vessel?" you mumbled.

"Yes. I can feel it," Lucifer responded.

"Thank god..."

"I'm sorry, you want me to allow the literal devil to possess me?" the young man practically yelled at Dean. "That's assuming I even believe in the devil."

"Look man," Dean said with surprising calmness. "I know I sound insane, but it's all real. We need an archangel vessel and like it or not, that's you."

"What if I don't want to say yes?"

Dean grabbed him by his collar. "Then the woman he's currently wearing will die...and I will do anything to prevent that." His voice was low, barely above a growl.

The young man looked terrified, eyes wide with fear. "Are you threatening me?" he whispered.

Dean straightened out the guy's shirt and gave him a dark smile. "Of course not."

"So I have a choice?"

Lucifer chuckled. "Don't think for a moment he'll give you an option, kid."

The guy looked at you and you felt terrible for him. You understood his fear and apprehension...and it felt wrong to force Lucifer onto him. This kid didn't deserve it.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you mumbled.

"Too late, (Y/N). Dean knows he's an archangel vessel. There's no way he's going to leave without getting him to say yes."

You wanted to respond--to fight, but you couldn't. You were too weak...too tired. Everything hurt too much.

"What's it like?" the guy asked softly.

"Like being strapped to a rocket," Lucifer said snidely.

Dean shot him an annoyed glance. "You'll be fine. You were meant for this."

The guy's gaze remained fixated on you. "She looks like shit...am I going to look like that?"

Dean finally focused his gaze on your face and you saw the fear flash in his eyes. He could see you were dying. Your skin was pale, your eyes bloodshot, dark circles adorning them...your lips were cracked and there were slight lacerations appearing around your forehead and jawline.

"She wasn't meant to house the power of an archangel," Lucifer responded. "She's dying, but the same won't happen to you."

"Will she be okay if I say yes?"

"Yes," Lucifer lied smoothly.

The guy looked like he was contemplating what to do, so Dean spoke up again.

"Look, kid. She's important to me...more important to me than pretty much anyone else in this fucked up world. I would do anything to save her...she's--she's my brother's girl."

You wanted to tell him that wasn't true, but you knew it was fruitless to even try. Even still, your heart ached at his words.

"How long?" the guy asked, directing his question at Lucifer.

"As long as I want. You'll never age, never die, as long as I'm with you."

The guy nodded. "Alright. I'll do it." He stood up. "What do I need to do?"

"Just say 'yes'," Lucifer answered.

"Yes."

A bright white light filled the room and Dean had to shield his eyes. When the light faded, you were lying on the floor and Lucifer was now clearly possessing the young man they'd come to find.

"(Y/N)!" Dean yelled as he raced to your side.

Your pulse was faint and you looked even worse than you had moments before.

"Heal her," Dean demanded.

Lucifer's lips curled up in a cruel smile. "No."

"Excuse me?"

"I said no," he repeated. "I'm not interested in saving her."

"You wouldn't have a vessel without us. You owe her!"

"I'm the devil, Dean. What makes you think I give a damn about debts?"

Dean stared at him, anger and terror fighting for control in equal measure. He stood up and went to lunge at Lucifer, but the archangel simply disappeared, leaving you and Dean completely helpless and alone.

**********

Dean had rushed you to the hospital and was currently sitting in the waiting room, hoping to hear something about your condition.

Sam rushed into the room, eyes scanning for his brother. When he saw him, Sam crossed the distance and wrapped Dean in a tight hug.

"How is she?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," Dean said quietly. "But it doesn't look good."

"She's strong, Dean."

"I don't think that matters...her body was never meant to house an archangel and she managed to do it for almost a week. She's dying, Sammy."

Sam's eyes filled with tears, but he blinked rapidly to keep them from falling.

Dean's heart ached, seeing his brother look so upset. He would be lying if he said he didn't feel a broken emptiness in his soul--a space you used to occupy. But he needed to push past his own pain for his brother's sake. After all...you weren't his.

"For (Y/N)?" a doctor called into the waiting room.

Dean and Sam practically ran in her direction. Dean's heart clenched in his chest as he took in the doctor's sad expression.

"Are you (Y/N)'s family?"

Both men nodded.

"Come with me, please," the doctor said quietly.

They followed her to a private waiting area and Dean's dread increased significantly. "What's going on?" he asked worriedly.

"Please have a seat," the doctor asked, gesturing toward the chairs against the wall. She closed the door before taking her seat across from them.

"My name's Dr. Murphy. I'm (Y/N)'s treating physician."

"I'm Sam and this is my brother Dean."

"There's no easy way to say this," Dr. Murphy said gently. "(Y/N)'s injuries are quite severe and she's in critical condition."

"But she's going to be okay, right?" Dean asked hopefully.

Dr. Murphy frowned and shook her head. "Her organs have begun to shut down...it's only a matter of time now. The best I can do is try to keep her comfortable."

"No," Dean whispered. "No, she can't--"

Sam placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, trying to comfort his brother.

"I'm very sorry," Dr. Murphy murmured.

Dean suddenly stood up. "I can't do this. I need--I need air."

He practically ran from the room and Sam got up to follow him, but Dr. Murphy placed a gentle hand on his arm. "I think it's best to give him a moment."

Sam nodded as he desperately tried to push his own emotions away. He adored you, but he knew exactly how much Dean loved you...so he knew how much pain his brother was in right now. It hurt him almost as much as losing you.

***********

Once Dean was outside, he ran around to the side of the building, desperate to be alone for a moment. He collapsed onto the ground, back against the hard stone of the hospital exterior. All of the tears he'd been pushing back for days finally poured out.

He found himself falling apart in public--something he couldn't recall doing before. He couldn't bring himself to care. You were dying and it was killing him. It was all his fault. If he hadn't been so careless, he wouldn't have gotten injured and you never would have had to beg Lucifer to save him.

He knew it wasn't a rational way of thinking, but in that moment, it didn't matter. You were about to become just another name on a never ending list of people who died because of him. He couldn't take it--it was too much.

"I know I'm not exactly on good terms with any of you and I probably don't deserve your help, but I'm not asking for myself. (Y/N) is dying and I can't save her. I'm not normally the kind of man to beg, but I'm on my knees right now...begging for just one of you to find it in yourself to give a damn. She doesn't deserve this. She's the best person I've ever known...so please. Please someone answer me. Please..." His voice was broken by the end of his short speech.

He was desperate and there was nothing he wouldn't do to save her. If no angel would help him...he wasn't above making a deal with a demon. He'd been to hell once before, and he'd do it again in a heartbeat if it meant you could live.

"Hello, Dean Winchester," a soft female voice said from beside him.

He jumped up quickly, ready to fight if need be. He hadn't even heard the woman arrive, which meant she likely wasn't human.

"Don't worry," she said gently. "I'm not here to hurt you. My name is Aliraphael."

"Aliraphael?" Dean repeated. "I've never heard of you."

She smiled. "You don't need to know my name to know what I am."

Dean swallowed thickly. "Why did you come?"

"You prayed for help. I answered."

"But why? We don't know you...what would make you wanna help us?"

Aliraphael smiled. "You, your brother, and (Y/N) have sacrificed much for this world and all of the people in it. I think you deserve a miracle."

Normally Dean wouldn't believe her, but there was something in her eyes that made him feel safe. He was inclined to trust her, but he had to be sure. "What do you want in return?"

"Nothing. This is my gift to you."

"Nothing is free."

"I understand why you may be jaded, but sometimes a gift is simply a gift. This is one of those times."

Dean nodded. "I'm choosing to trust you, but just know if you betray me, I will kill you."

She smiled. "I would expect nothing less of the great Dean Winchester."

Dean led Aliraphael into the hospital and his eyes scanned the waiting area for Sam. He wasn't there, so Dean assumed he'd gone to your room.

"Excuse me. Can you tell me what room (Y/N) (Y/L/N) is in?" Dean asked the receptionist.

The woman typed on her computer without looking up and muttered, "Room 212."

"Thanks," Dean replied. He tried to walk slowly--normally--to room 212, but every instinct in his body was screaming for him to get to you as quickly as possible.

When Dean entered the room, he saw Sam standing beside your bed, his hand wrapped tightly around yours. He was speaking softly to you and Dean felt that ache in his chest intensify.

"Sam," Dean said softly.

Sam turned towards the door, eyes red from his tears. He looked between Dean and Aliraphael in confusion. "Who's she?"

"I am Aliraphael," the angel responded. "I am here to heal (Y/N)."

Sam cut Dean a look. "What did you do?"

Dean shrugged. "I prayed. She came."

"Okay, but what did you promise her in exchange?"

"Your brother has promised me nothing. I am doing this because I wish to. I have no ulterior motive."

Sam still looked worried, but he stepped back to allow Aliraphael access to your bed. Aliraphael gently placed her hand against your forehead and closed her eyes. A soft white glow began to envelop your body and your skin began to return to normal.

After several moments, Aliraphael dropped her hand from your head and turned to Sam and Dean. "It is finished."

You started to stir in the bed and Dean's heart beat faster.

"She will awaken in a moment," Aliraphael assured them.

"Thank you," Dean whispered, unable to take his eyes off your face.

Sam echoed his brother's statement and Aliraphael smiled.

"You are all very welcome." With that, the angel disappeared as if she had never been there.

You groaned softly and your eyes slowly opened. You blinked rapidly trying to clear them and focus on the room around you.

"I have to go," Dean muttered.

"What?" Sam asked in surprise, but Dean had already exited the room.

"Sam?" you asked softly, hearing the younger Winchester's voice.

"Hey, (Y/N/N)," he murmured. "I'm here."

Your bright (y/e/c) eyes focused on his face. "What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

You thought about it for a moment and the memories of the past few days came flooding back. "Lucifer..." you whispered.

Sam sighed and nodded. "Yeah."

"I was dying, Sam--I felt it. Why am I not dead?"

"Dean prayed...and some angel we'd never met before came to save you."

Your eyes widened. "Dean...where is he? I need to talk to him."

"He was just here, but when you started to wake up, he bolted."

"Shit," you murmured. "We need to go after him."

You started to sit up and tug at the IV in your arm, but Sam stopped you.

"Woah! Woah! Slow down, (Y/N). You were almost dead not even five minutes ago."

"And now I'm not, so we need to get the hell out of here Sam," you insisted.

Sam sighed. He knew better than to fight you, so he simply helped you remove your IV and untangle you from the web of other tubes and wires. He handed you your clothes and turned around so you could get dressed in privacy.

"Alright, let's go," you said as soon as you were dressed.

*********

When Dean left the hospital, he'd taken the Impala and started the long drive back to Lawrence. He just wanted to get home before you and figure out what his next move was. If you and Sam were going to be together...he didn't want to be there to witness it. He couldn't.

Dean's phone had rang several times, but he hadn't answered. Most of the calls were from you and a few were from Sam, but he couldn't handle hearing your voice right now. Especially if you were going to tell him everything Lucifer had said was true.

"He's still not answering his damn phone," you muttered, throwing the phone onto the dash angrily.

"I just don't get why he'd leave like that," Sam said for the fifth time.

You sighed and ran your fingers through your hair. "Lucifer said some things to him, Sam...things that hurt him deeply. None of it was true, but Dean doesn't know that."

"What kind of things?"

"Things about me...about how I feel. And about you," you admitted quietly.

"(Y/N), just tell me."

"Lucifer told Dean I couldn't stand him and the only reason I hung around was because I'm in love with you."

Sam scoffed. "And Dean believed him?"

"You didn't see his face, Sam...he believed every word. I wanted to tell him the truth, but I couldn't overpower Lucifer."

"Shit," Sam mumbled. "He's a goddamn idiot if he thinks you love me more than him."

You laughed dryly. "Lucifer played on Dean's insecurities and unfortunately, it worked."

Sam sighed. "Where do you think he'd go?"

"I have to hope he went home."

"Then let's get there before he does." Sam sped up, flooring the stolen car like he'd--well, like he'd stolen it.

You were about five hours from Lawrence and Dean had a head start. You knew it was unlikely you'd get there first, but you had to hope you could get there before he left.

**********

When Sam pulled into the Bunker's garage four and a half hours later, you were relieved to see the Impala parked where it should be. Dean would never leave without his beloved car, which meant he was still there.

Both you and Sam practically ran into the Bunker, calling Dean's name.

The green eyed hunter heard your voices, but he ignored both you and Sam. He couldn't face you...he just couldn't.

"Dean? Where are you?" you called again.

"Come on, Dean. We know you're here," Sam said in annoyance.

You headed into the kitchen and Sam went down towards Dean's bedroom. Both of you hoped to find him before he managed to sneak his way out.

Sam entered his brother's room without knocking and sighed in relief. "Dean. There you are."

"Sam," he said curtly.

"Why the hell did you leave? And why didn't you answer our calls?"

"I just needed to get out of there."

"What, before (Y/N) woke up?" Sam's tone made it clear exactly how stupid he thought his brother's actions were.

"Look man, I'm glad she's okay, but I can't face her. I don't want to have that conversation."

Sam decided to play dumb. "What conversation, Dean? The one where she thanks you for saving her life? Or where you yell at her for saying yes to Lucifer in the first place? Cuz trust me, we had that conversation already."

"That's not what I'm talking about, Sam," Dean said quietly as he started to pack his duffle. "But it doesn't matter. I'm leaving."

"Why the hell are you leaving?"

"I can't stay here. I can't--I can't see the two of you together," he whispered.

"Together?" Sam asked incredulously. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"It's fine, Sam. I know."

"There's nothing to know!"

Dean glared at his brother and shook his head. "I saw you at the hospital...you clearly feel the same as she does."

"Yeah I do!" Sam yelled. "She's my friend--she's family!"

Dean was about to snap back another retort, but Sam cut him off.

"Just talk to (Y/N), Dean. Let her explain...you owe her that much."

"I don't want to talk to her."

"I'm not going to give you a choice," you said from the bedroom doorway.

Both men turned to look at you in surprise. You crossed your arms and stood firm.

"I don't want to talk," Dean said quietly.

"Good. I don't want you to talk, Dean. I want you to listen." You turned your gaze to Sam and gestured with your head for him to leave the room.

He gladly exited, not wanting to be a part of this particular conversation.

You closed the door behind him and continued to stand in front of it, afraid Dean would try to leave if you moved.

"Lucifer is a liar, Dean. I shouldn't even have to say that. He's the devil, for crying out loud. He's kinda known for his lies."

"But he's also been honest with us before," Dean countered.

"Only when it benefited him. Just like he lies when it benefits him. Hurting you? Hurting me? That shit brought him joy."

"Really? Did it hurt you to hear him tell me how you really feel about me?"

"No," you said angrily. "It hurt me to hear him lie to you about how I feel! The things he said were cruel and terrible, but more importantly, they weren't true!"

Dean stared at you silently, clearly not believing a word you said.

"Do you really think I'm capable of lying to you for years? Think of every moment we've spent together, Dean...do you really think I pretended to care about you? Pretended to enjoy spending time with you? Think about all the times we've laughed together, the times we've had each other's backs, the small glances, the whispers in the dark when one of us had a nightmare. Think about all of those moments and then look me in the eye and tell me it was all a lie."

Tears filled his beautiful green eyes and you knew the same expression was reflected in your own. You took a step towards him, desperately wanting to touch him, but afraid it be unwelcome.

"You're my favorite person in the world, Dean Winchester. You. Not Sam, not Bobby, not Jodi...you. You hold my whole heart in your hands...you always have. If you don't want it, then I understand, but don't for a second think I love anyone but you."

His lips parted in surprise. "But what about Sam?" he whispered.

You sighed loudly. "Weren't you listening? Sam is my friend, Dean, but nothing more than that. I love him like a brother." You took another step towards him. "He doesn't compare to you--he couldn't compare to you. I love you, Dean...and I don't mean like a brother."

Dean inhaled deeply. "I want to believe you, (Y/N/N)..."

"Then believe me," you begged him. "I love you."

Dean thought about what Lucifer had said and he realized why he'd believed it so easily. They were all things Dean was afraid of...he knew he wasn't good enough for you and he was terrified you knew it too.

"Talk to me, Dean," you whispered, taking a final step towards him.

He looked deep into your eyes and found nothing but love there. The same love he held in his soul for you. "I've always been afraid to tell you how I feel because I know I'm not good enough for you," he admitted. "That's why it was so easy for me to believe Lucifer's lies...it was almost like a self-fulfilling prophecy. I couldn't believe you'd ever want me, so it was easier to believe you wanted Sam. He's better for you in every way."

"Stop," you whispered, pressing a finger to his lips. "I decide who is best for me and I choose you. I will always choose you."

"(Y/N)," he whispered.

You pressed your lips against his, trying to infuse it with all of the love in your soul. Dean's arms wrapped around your thick waist, pulling you closer to him. He deepened the kiss, lips hungrily devouring yours.

You stayed locked in each other's embrace for what felt like an eternity. Your tongues fought for dominance and your hands caressed any part of each other they could reach.

When the kiss inevitably broke so the two of you could breathe, Dean laid his forehead against yours. "This might go without saying, but I love you too, (Y/N). So goddamn much."

You chuckled breathlessly. "After a kiss like that, I'd sure as hell hope so."

He grinned and tugged you even closer to him. His lips pressed against yours again and he found himself wanting to feel every part of your soft body. He needed it, just as much as needed air to breathe.

"Let me show you how much, baby," he whispered against your lips.

"Please," you moaned softly.

“Strip for me, pretty girl,” he commanded.

You gently pushed against his chest, forcing him back against the bed. He dropped down onto the mattress, eyes never leaving your body.

You slowly began to remove your clothing, taking much longer than you needed to. You were teasing him and he was eating it up.

You finally got down to just your bra and panties, nothing fancy as you obviously weren’t planning on this happening, but Dean didn’t seem to care. In fact, you were about to be very glad you didn’t wear anything nice.

“You are so damn beautiful, baby,” he whispered.

You offered him a warm smile, appreciative of the affection in his gaze. He thought you were a goddess among humans, a treasure to behold.

“I think you’re a bit overdressed, Dean,” you teased softly.

“You know, babe, I think you’re right.” He stood up and shed his layers significantly faster than you had. He was extremely impatient, as he was dying to get his hands on you.

You admired his broad chest, thick arms, and sculpted form. He looked incredible, scars and all. You felt the strong urge to kiss every single one of them, if he would allow you.

He now stood before you in nothing but his boxers, his large erection straining against the thin fabric.

“Let’s get this off you,” he muttered, reaching behind your back to unhook your bra.

The moment your breasts were exposed to his gaze, he let out a low groan. “Fuck, baby. These are even better than I’d imagined.”

“You imagined my—“ your question was cut off by the feeling of his lips wrapped around your nipple and his hands caressing your breasts gently.

The gentle movements quickly turned more intense, and he began to truly knead and nip at your flesh. You moaned softly and gently ran your fingers through his soft hair.

You pressed yourself even closer to him, feeling his bulge press against your abdomen. He lifted his head with a small smirk.

“Impatient, are we?”

You nodded quickly.

“Oh come on now, sweetheart. Use those words for me. Tell me what you want.”

“You,” you whimpered. “I want you.”

His smirk widened. “I figured that much out on my own, darlin'. I want you to tell me what you need.”

You weren’t exactly accustomed to expressing yourself verbally in the bedroom. To be honest, a lot of your past experiences weren’t that great anyway. A lot of one night stands with men who only cared about their own pleasure.

You found yourself feeling kind of excited at the prospect of a man listening to you and what you wanted…even more so because that man was Dean.

“I want you on your knees, handsome,” you said firmly.

Dean’s eyes widened slightly, but he dropped to his knees obediently. His normally bright green eyes were dark with lust as he locked eyes with you.

You loved the powerful feeling you had as you stood over him. The great Dean Winchester, on his knees for you.

You touched his face sweetly and he leaned into your palm, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “Do you wanna eat my pussy, Dean?” you whispered.

His eyes shot back open, a hungry expression on his face. “Yes,” he breathed lowly.

“Then get to work,” you commanded softly.

Dean was used to being in charge in the bedroom and it wasn’t often he found himself submitting to a woman. You were different than any woman he’d ever been with before—after all, he loved you. If you told him to do a damn handstand naked, lick your feet, and call you “your majesty”, he would have done it in a heartbeat.

His calloused hands slowly slid up your thighs, squeezing the supple flesh. His mouth followed, leaving sloppy kisses as he worked his way closer to your core.

“Baby?” he asked softly, glancing up at you.

“Hmm?”

“Do you have any particular attachment to these panties?”

“No, why—Dean!” you gasped as he ripped your underwear in half, tossing the remains to the floor.

He grinned and made a happy little noise deep in his throat before kissing your mound. He grabbed your right leg and tugged it up over his shoulder, giving him better access to you.

“Lean on me for support, beautiful. I got you.”

The moment you laid a hand on his shoulder and he was sure you were stable, he dove into your pussy with a deep growl.

Your head fell back in ecstasy and a series of moans left your lips. The hand not holding onto his shoulder immediately wound itself in his hair, holding on for dear life.

“Dean—feels so good,” you moaned.

His hands dug into your ass cheeks in response, tugging you even closer to him. He never wanted to stop—hearing those sweet sounds you made mixed with the heady taste of your sweetness was more intoxicating than any drink he’d ever had.

Your legs had begun to tremble and Dean’s grip on you tightened. He wasn’t willing to stop his ministrations, but he wouldn’t let you fall either.

Your nails scraped against his scalp and his shoulder as you clung to him. The pleasure was almost too much and not enough all at once, and you felt your orgasm approaching.

“Dean,” you gasped. “I’m so close.”

He smiled against your core and shifted his focus more heavily to your clit. You cried out and cursed softly, and he knew he’d made the right move.

“I—oh god,” you cried as your orgasm washed over you.

Dean lapped up everything you had to offer, his grip on your body never loosening. As you began to come down from your high, he slipped his hands up to your hips to ensure he didn’t drop you.

He gave your pussy one last lick before allowing you to pull him up by his hair. To his surprise, you mashed your lips against his hungrily, not giving a damn that he tasted like you.

One hand tangled into your hair and the other held you tightly. “What do you want me to do now, sweetheart?” He murmured against your skin.

“Take control, Dean,” you begged. “Make my legs shake. Make me scream. I don’t wanna be able to move for hours.”

“Holy fuck,” he groaned. “Who taught you to talk like that, baby?”

You smirked. “It comes naturally with you.”

"Well it's the sexiest thing I've ever heard," he murmured.

His strong arms wrapped around your waist and gripped you tightly. He spun you both around so your back was to the bed. He pulled you up into his arms and tossed you onto the bed.

You gasped in surprise, not used to being manhandled in such a manner. You sat up slightly, resting on your elbows as you looked at the gorgeous man in front of you. You curled one finger and beckoned him towards you with a smirk.

He quickly discarded his boxers and dropped onto the bed, crawling slowly up your body. He dropped kisses onto your skin as he moved, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

When he reached your mouth, you reached up and grabbed the hair at the base of his neck, tugging him down to you. Your kiss was hungry and needy, leaving no question as to what you wanted.

As the kiss deepened, Dean shifted his body to touch your soft curves. In doing so, the tip of his cock brushed against your pussy, eliciting soft moans from both of you.

Dean's hands traced softly up and down your sides, relishing the feeling of your skin against his. "I love touching you," he murmured in your ear. "You're so damn soft."

You smiled and turned your head to nip at his jaw. He groaned and turned his attention back to your soft lips, sucking the bottom one between his teeth and biting down gently.

Much like Dean, you loved touching his body, but you reveled in the firmness of his body beneath your hands. Every time he moved, you could feel his muscles tense and shift. His body was powerful and beautiful--a vessel carrying the most incredible soul you'd ever known.

Dean shifted again, nudging your head to the side so he could suck at your neck, leaving love marks on the sensitive skin. You lifted your hips up slightly, seeking some kind of friction to relieve the ache between your legs. Once again, his cock brushed against your core and you gasped lightly. Dean, on the other hand, bit gently into your neck to suppress a loud moan.

"I can't wait any longer, baby," he groaned.

"Take me. I'm yours," you whispered.

He sighed softly, kissing you sweetly before pulling away. "Roll over for me, sweetness. Hands and knees."

Your eyes widened in surprise, but you rolled over immediately. You lowered your upper body to lay flat against the mattress, ass high in the air.

"Holy shit," Dean murmured as his hands grasped your large, round ass. "Who said you could have an ass this incredible? I can't wait to watch it jiggle while I fuck you senseless."

Before you could respond, he smacked your ass with an open palm, causing you to gasp slightly.

He seemed to realize belatedly that he should have asked if you were okay with that before doing it, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't imagined smacking your ass for years. "Is that okay, baby?"

"More, please," you begged softly.

He smacked your ass again with a grin. "You like that?"

"Harder, Dean," you moaned. "Like you mean it."

"Fuck," he groaned, hand coming down against your cheek again.

Each time you moaned loudly, reaffirming your enjoyment of the action. Your pussy clenched around nothing and you were beyond desperate for him to just fuck you already.

"Dean, I need you--please," you cried desperately.

"Where do you need me, baby?"

"Inside me," you whimpered.

Without warning, you felt one of Dean's thick fingers enter your pussy. "Like this?"

You shook your head rapidly.

"Words, babe," he said firmly.

"I want your cock, Dean."

"Yeah? Tell me where."

You turned your head to look at him as best as you could from your current position. "I want you to fuck my pussy with your big, thick cock...please," you pleaded softly.

Dean blinked rapidly and licked his lips. He pulled his finger out from inside of you and sucked your juices from it. "Yes ma'am," he murmured.

He leaned forward and kissed your cheek where he'd left a red mark from his slaps. You turned your head back around, forehead against the mattress, preparing yourself for what would come next.

Dean gripped his cock tightly, stroking it a few times before lining himself up with your entrance. He started to enter you and you gasped at the stretch. It was painful given his larger than average size.

"I've got you, baby," he whispered, running his hands up and down your back in a soothing manner. "Just relax for me."

You took a deep breath and tried to relax your body as much as you could. When he felt the tension leave you, he continued to push forward.

You'd never felt so full before and the pain had begun to subside into pleasure. "You're so big," you mumbled.

Dean smirked and chuckled softly. "I'm not all the way in yet, sweetheart."

"What?!" you gasped in surprise.

He pushed the rest of the way in, bottoming out so deep inside you, you swore you could feel him against your cervix. "Fuck!" you yelped.

Dean continued his soothing hand motions on your hips as he allowed you the time you needed to adjust to his size.

While you appreciated his gentleness, you desperately needed him to fuck you. Instead of telling him what you wanted, you moved your hips forward slightly before slamming back against him so your ass pressed firmly against his lower abdomen.

Dean's blunt nails dug into your hips and he growled lowly. "Fuck, baby."

His hips snapped forward and he held you in place by your hips. He set a brutal pace, unable to move slowly--it felt way too damn good.

Dean was completely mesmerized by your ass, watching it jiggle as he fucked into you forcefully. He slapped the opposite cheek from the one he'd hit earlier and you cried out in pleasure, pussy clenching around him.

"You feel so fuckin' good, sweetness," he moaned. "Tightest pussy I've ever had."

You couldn't formulate a good response to his words as you were already too far gone. His cock slammed into your g-spot with each thrust, making your legs shake and your head fog up.

"Made for me, weren't you baby?"

"Mhmm," you hummed.

Dean smiled, knowing you were overwhelmed with pleasure and unable to respond properly. He leaned forward and grabbed a handful of your hair at the base of your neck. He tugged back slightly--just enough to cause a little pain without truly hurting you.

His thrusts were almost violent, they were so fast and hard. He wanted to feel you come apart on his cock and he knew you were close.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?" he whispered.

You simply whined desperately.

"What do you need, sweetheart? Tell me what you need."

"More," you begged.

"Hmm," Dean hummed. He slipped an arm around your waist and tugged you back against him so you were sitting up as he continued to thrust into you.

One hand slid up to your neck, wrapping around your throat and applying just a tiny bit of pressure to gauge your reaction. His other hand moved slowly towards your core, seeking your clit for added stimulation.

"Dean!" you cried.

He bit into your shoulder. "I'm here, baby. I want you to fall apart for me."

He rubbed at your clit quickly, thrusts slower due to the new position, but nevertheless pleasurable.

You needed just a little more to push yourself over the edge, so you gripped his hand around your neck and put more pressure on it, indicating what you needed.

Dean got the hint and tightened his grip on your throat, just enough to push you over the edge. He didn't want to hurt you--he would never hurt you.

"Cum for me, sweet girl," he murmured in your ear.

You cried out as your second orgasm crashed against you and your pussy tightened almost painfully around Dean's cock. He helped you ride out your high before lowering you back to the bed and rolling you over onto your back.

He was immediately on top of you, thrusting into you more slowly. He put one arm on either side of your head to support himself, effectively trapping you beneath him.

He rolled his hips against you, the motion pressing his pelvis against your clit, causing you to whimper in pained pleasure. Your hands found purchase in his upper back, nails digging in as he repeated the action.

"I love your body, baby," he whispered. "So fucking perfect."

You smiled up at him, pulling him down for a heated kiss. "I like it too," you mumbled. "Yours isn't bad either."

He chuckled lightly, kissing you lovingly. "I wanna see you come apart for me, (Y/N). Can you give me one more?"

Your eyes widened. "I don't think I can..."

"I bet you can, sweetness." He grabbed your hips and pulled your legs up so your legs were wrapped around his waist. He began to thrust in earnest again and your head fell back, a moan escaping your lips.

Dean closed his eyes, focusing on pulling at least one more orgasm from you and keeping his own at bay. The way you were squeezing him made it a hell of a lot harder than he would like.

The harder his thrusts, the tighter you seemed to grip him, and the deeper your nails dug into his back. He knew he was going to have some serious gashes on his back, but he intended to wear them with pride.

"Come apart for me, baby. Let me feel you soak my cock," he begged.

"Dean," you groaned.

"Come on, my love--let go."

Your eyes fluttered closed and your body began to shake as waves of pleasure threatened to overwhelm you. You came for the third time that night, cries of pleasure mixing with Dean's moans of encouragement.

You started to come down from your high, body overly sensitive from the onslaught of pleasure that continued. "Dean, too much!" you gasped.

"Just one more," he begged.

"I can't!" you whimpered.

"Please baby--one more. Need it," he continued to beg.

You didn't think it was possible for you to cum again, but you began to feel a new sensation in your abdomen. It felt similar to the familiar tightening coil that signified an oncoming orgasm, but it was infinitely more intense. You weren't even sure if it was pleasure or pain--the feeling was simply too overwhelming to comprehend.

"Dean--I can't--" you gasped in confusion.

His hand slid between your bodies to gently massage your clit and you suddenly couldn't breathe. You began to writhe beneath him, hands gripping at the sheets to try and ground yourself.

Dean knew you were about to come undone again, so he didn't slow any of his motions. "Look at me, baby."

Your eyes met his for no more than a moment before your vision became blurry. You screamed his name as you came for a fourth and final time. The feeling was so incredible, you couldn't even begin to describe it.

Your vision began to return to normal as you desperately tried to catch your breath. You were practically limp beneath him as Dean began to chase his own orgasm.

He tucked his head into the crook of your neck and murmured soft words of praise against your skin. "Feels so good--squeezing me perfectly."

He kissed your neck as his thrusts became more erratic. "I'm gonna fill up this pretty little pussy, sweetness. Gonna cum for you."

You managed to press a kiss into his shoulder and wrap your arms around him, hands clutching his back. "Fill me up, Dean," you whispered encouragingly.

Dean groaned lowly. "This pussy is mine, baby. You hear me? Mine."

"Yours, Dean. Only yours."

"Oh--fuck--" he groaned. "(Y/N)!"

His hips began to stutter, thrusts faltering as he filled you up with his seed. He whispered your name like a prayer as his movements began to slow to a halt. You clung to him tightly as he came down from his high.

He finally collapsed on top of you, completely spent and breathless.

You rubbed his back soothingly, lips pressing gentle kisses to his shoulder and neck. As the two of you laid there quietly, you began to notice the bedding beneath you was particularly wet--more so than you had expected it to be.

"I love you so much," Dean whispered, lips pressed softly against your jaw.

"I love you too, baby," you said sweetly.

Dean began to lift himself up, each movement making you gasp--body too overstimulated to handle any motion.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he murmured softly.

"I'm not complaining," you assured him.

He grinned slightly as he pulled himself up completely, softened member sliding out of your excessively wet pussy.

He looked down at the bed and his grin widened. "We made quite the mess, baby."

"Yeah, it feels a little...wetter than normal."

He chuckled softly. "That's probably because you squirted, (Y/N/N)."

You gasped, cheeks reddening in embarrassment. You realized that must have been the result of the most intense orgasm of your life. "I did?!"

Dean noticed your discomfort and immediately reassured you. "Yeah, sweetness--and it was the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen."

You bit your lip and looked up at him. "Really?"

He grinned. "Really."

"I've--uh--well...I've never squirted before," you admitted.

His chest puffed up with pride. "I'm honored to have been the first--and the last." He added a wink for emphasis.

You smiled softly. "Maybe don't make it a regular thing...I literally can't move."

Dean laughed. "Don't worry, babe. I'll take care of you."

You watched the handsome man cross the room and go into the bathroom, emerging several minutes later with two washcloths. He gently picked you up, moving you to the other side of the bed where it was dry. From there, he very gently began to clean you up with the warm washcloths.

You were moved by the loving way he took care of you, making sure you were clean and comfortable before leaving the room in search of another set of sheets.

When he returned, you found you still couldn't move, but Dean didn't seem to mind. "I can change the sheets with you in them, (Y/N)."

"But--"

"Hush," he insisted as he pressed a kiss to your lips.

He made quick work of removing the sheets on the other half of the bed and putting the clean sheets on that side. He then scooped you up again and moved you to the clean, crisp sheets. He removed the rest of the soiled sheets and finished making the bed.

As soon as he was finished, he crawled into the bed beside you. He reached out to grab your soft body and tugged you against his warm chest.

You nuzzled into him and sighed softly. "I could get used to this."

He smiled and kissed the top of your head. "I'll always take care of you, baby...so you might as well get used to it. I'm not going anywhere."

You smiled and pressed a soft kiss onto his chest. "I love you, Dean."

Dean tightened his grip on you and smiled. "I love you more, (Y/N/N). Always."

[kenzdolls]

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

𖤐 synopsis: when intrusive voices from you quirk return with new threats in the middle of the night, you seek comfort from katsuki.

𖤐 trigger warnings: intrusive thoughts, self-doubt, fear of loss of control, and mild sleep disturbances.

𖤐 pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

𖤐 side note: this is a part two of ‘whispers in the dark’ because of the owner of this idea asking for a part two, so, tysm @montybooks

sleep had evaded you for hours. you'd tossed and turned in your bed at the u.a. dorms, trying every technique you knew to quiet your mind. counting sheep. deep breathing. focusing on happy memories from earlier that day—bakugou's hand in yours as you walked back from afternoon classes, the subtle way he'd positioned himself between you and mineta when the shorter boy had tried to approach you.

but as midnight approached, the whispers had returned with a vengeance.

you'll never be strong enough…

he only pities you…

what if you lost control during training?

what if you hurt someone?

what if you hurt him?

the last thought made you bolt upright, cold sweat beading on your forehead. that was new. the voices had never specifically targeted bakugou before.

he thinks he can save you. how cute.

but we've been with you so much longer…

you pressed your palms against your ears, knowing it wouldn't help but desperate to try anything. the darkness in your room seemed to shift and undulate, responding to your distress. a side effect of your quirk—shadows naturally bent toward you, especially when your emotions ran high.

"stop it," you whispered into the darkness. "leave me alone."

never alone. we are part of you. we are you.

your phone glowed on the nightstand. 12:03 am. too late to be bothering anyone, but…

"next time they start talking, come find me."

bakugou's words from earlier that day echoed in your memory, temporarily drowning out the malicious whispers. he'd been so certain, so unafraid. so different from everyone else who'd learned about your condition.

before you could talk yourself out of it, you grabbed your phone and a hoodie, slipping it over your sleep shorts and tank top. you padded barefoot to your door and peeked out into the hallway. the girls' floor was quiet, everyone sensibly asleep.

you made your way to the stairwell, avoiding the elevator that would announce your movements to the entire building. the boys' floor was on the one above yours. you'd never been to bakugou's room, but you knew which one it was—third door on the right. you'd noticed it during dorm tours at the beginning of the year.

he'll be angry. he'll reject you.

you're bothering him. weak. needy.

your hand hesitated, poised to knock. maybe this was a mistake. maybe he hadn't really meant it when he said to come find him.

he was just saying that. no one wants to deal with your problems in the middle of the night.

before the voices could convince you to turn back, you forced yourself to knock—three soft taps that sounded thunderous in the silent hallway.

no response.

see? he's ignoring you. or sleeping peacefully without a care about your suffering.

you were about to retreat when you heard movement from within the room. a thud, a muffled curse, then footsteps approaching the door.

it swung open to reveal a sleep-rumpled bakugou, hair even wilder than usual, wearing only a black tank top and gray sweatpants. his eyes were narrowed with irritation until they focused on you—then they widened slightly, the annoyance instantly replaced with concern.

"they're back?" he asked without preamble, voice rough with sleep.

you nodded, suddenly embarrassed. "i'm sorry. i shouldn't have—"

before you could finish, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his room, closing the door quietly behind you.

"sit," he ordered, pointing to his bed.

his room was surprisingly neat, you noticed. the walls were lined with hero posters, mostly of all might, with a few books about quirk theory stacked on his desk. a weight set sat in one corner, and the faint scent of nitroglycerin—bakugou's natural scent—permeated the space.

"i really am sorry," you said, perching awkwardly on the edge of his bed. "i just… they were saying things. new things. worse things."

he doesn't care. look how annoyed he is.

but bakugou didn't look annoyed as he sat beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed. despite the hour and being woken up, his eyes were alert, focused entirely on you.

"what kind of things?" he asked.

you stared at your hands. "that i might hurt someone with my quirk. that i might… hurt you."

you felt him stiffen slightly beside you.

"as if you could," he scoffed, but his tone lacked its usual bite.

we could show him. we could show him how powerful we could be.

"that's the thing," you whispered. "sometimes i think they might be right. what if i lost control? my quirk… it feeds on negative emotions. fear. anger. what if one day i can't stop it?"

bakugou was quiet for a moment, considering. then he did something that surprised you—he took your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.

"you know what i think?" he finally said. "i think your quirk isn't the problem. it's the fear."

you looked at him, confused. "what do you mean?"

"you're afraid of your power," he explained, his thumb absently stroking the back of your hand. "always have been, probably. so you hold back. you keep it all bottled up until it finds other ways out. like these voices."

he's wrong. we are your true power. let us show you.

you shook your head, trying to clear it. "the doctor said—"

"doctors don't know shit about quirks like ours," bakugou interrupted. "they have their theories, but they're not the ones living with it."

he thinks he knows better than professionals? arrogant boy.

"what would you suggest, then?" you asked, genuinely curious. no one had ever approached your condition from this angle before.

bakugou's free hand reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with unexpected gentleness. "you need to stop being afraid of yourself."

"that's easier said than done," you murmured, leaning slightly into his touch.

"i know," he acknowledged. "but think about it. when are the voices loudest?"

you considered the question. "when i'm stressed. when i've used a lot of my quirk. when i'm tired or afraid."

"and when are they quietest?"

the answer came immediately. "when i'm with you." it was true, even now—though still present, the whispers had faded to background noise the moment bakugou had pulled you into his room.

something like satisfaction flashed across his face. "and why do you think that is?"

don't listen to him. he's trying to take us away from you.

you frowned, ignoring the voice. "i don't know. maybe because… because you make me feel safe?" the admission made heat rise to your cheeks.

bakugou nodded. "and when you feel safe, you're not afraid of losing control."

there was wisdom in his words that surprised you. for someone so explosive, bakugou had remarkable insight into the nature of fear and control.

"so what do i do?" you asked softly. "i can't be with you every second of every day."

no, but we can. we're always here.

the corners of bakugou's mouth quirked up slightly. "wouldn't be the worst thing."

your heart skipped a beat at the implication, but you tried to stay focused. "i'm serious, katsuki."

"so am i," he said, shifting to face you more directly. "look, i'm not saying it'll be easy. but you need to start trusting yourself. your power isn't evil just because it's dark."

we could be so much more if you'd just listen…

"the voices disagree," you said wryly.

bakugou's eyes narrowed. "what are they saying right now?"

you hesitated, then decided on honesty. "that they could make me more powerful if i'd listen to them."

"and what do you want?"

the question caught you off guard. "what?"

"what. do. you. want?" he repeated, emphasizing each word. "not what the voices want. not what your parents want. not what the doctors say you should want. what do you want?"

no one had ever asked you that before. you'd spent so long trying to suppress your quirk, to be normal, to not succumb to the whispers, that you'd never considered what you might actually want.

"i want…" you began slowly, "i want to understand my quirk better. i want to use it without being afraid. i want to be a hero without worrying that i'll turn into a villain."

bakugou nodded approvingly. "good start."

empty dreams. we know what you really want.

you swallowed hard before adding, "and right now, i want the voices to shut up so i can sleep."

his expression softened almost imperceptibly. "lay down."

"what?"

"you heard me. lay down." he shifted to make room on his bed.

your eyes widened. "bakugou, i can't stay here—"

"why the hell not?" he challenged. "you need sleep. the voices are quieter around me. simple solution."

put that way, it did sound logical. but still…

"what if someone finds out?"

he rolled his eyes. "who's going to find out? and who gives a damn if they do?"

he just wants to take advantage of you.

the voice was weaker now, less convincing. you knew bakugou better than that.

"the voices think you have ulterior motives," you said with a small smile.

bakugou snorted. "tell the voices i have some fucking honor." but there was a hint of pink across his cheekbones that told you the thought had crossed his mind.

after another moment's hesitation, you gave in to exhaustion and lay down on his bed. bakugou stretched out beside you, far enough away to be respectful but close enough that you could feel his warmth.

"better?" he asked, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it.

you nodded, already feeling the whispers receding further. "much."

"good. now sleep." it wasn't a suggestion but a command.

a comfortable silence fell between you, broken only by the sound of your breathing gradually synchronizing with his. the voices had faded to barely audible murmurs, unable to penetrate the sense of safety bakugou's presence provided.

just as you were drifting off, you felt his hand find yours again in the darkness.

"hey," he said quietly.

"hmm?" you mumbled, already half-asleep.

"tomorrow after class. training grounds. you and me."

you forced your eyes open to look at him questioningly.

"we're going to work on your quirk," he explained. "no holding back. full power. i can take it."

alarm shot through you, momentarily banishing sleep. "katsuki, i don't think—"

"that's the problem," he interrupted. "you think too much. you're afraid of what might happen, so you never let yourself find out what will happen."

he doesn't know what he's asking for.

for once, you were inclined to agree with the voice. "it's dangerous."

bakugou's laugh was soft but genuine. "everything about being a hero is dangerous. but we train to control it, not avoid it."

his confidence was infectious, and you found yourself nodding despite your fears. "okay. tomorrow."

"good," he said, satisfied. then, more hesitantly, "and after that… maybe dinner? off campus."

your heart stuttered. "like… a date?"

even in the darkness, you could sense his discomfort with the explicit labeling. "call it whatever you want. just say yes."

a smile spread across your face. "yes."

he gave your hand a squeeze before releasing it. "now seriously, go to sleep. i need my rest if i'm going to deal with your darkness tomorrow."

the way he said it—not with fear or pity but with determination and maybe even a hint of excitement—made something warm bloom in your chest. as if your quirk was a challenge he was eager to face, not a burden he was reluctantly accepting.

this won't last. nothing good ever does.

but for once, the voice seemed distant and unconvincing. bakugou's steady breathing beside you was far more real, more immediate.

"katsuki?" you whispered, not sure if he was still awake.

"mm?" came the sleepy response.

"thank you."

he shifted slightly closer, his arm brushing against yours. "don't thank me yet. wait till after i kick your ass in training tomorrow."

you laughed softly, knowing his bravado was his way of saying "you're welcome." as sleep finally claimed you, the last thing you were aware of was the complete silence in your mind and the comforting warmth of bakugou beside you—a beacon in the darkness, keeping the whispers at bay.

for the first time in as long as you could remember, you slept through the night without a single nightmare, your shadows calm and still around you both.

taglist: [open]

mutuals: @https-bakugo @haikyuubby @va-3 @lotusstarr @tulippanes @gh0st-g1rll @luvseraphh

© property of kenzdolls

[fyuyushia]

Ruler!reader and Shadow monarch Sung Jinwoo guys....

In a last ditch attempt to save earth, one of the fragments of light(you) officially comes down to earth, hoping to save it from the calamities the monarchs caused. This was the second to the last attempt—there was no playing safe anymore. You had to take matters into your own hands because clearly what you and the other rulers have been doing all failed.

Sung Jinwoo just so happens to be standing at the right place at the right time and sees you falling from the sky. Ever the concerned citizen he is, he of course catches you. He doesn't even get the chance to think, only that oh no, this person's gonna die if they keep falling at this rate! So he catches you by instinct.

Did it hurt when you fell from heaven taken literally

You blink, surprised to see that you didn't just crash on the ground like you expected. How pleasant, you squirm, suddenly feeling the hands on you—one on your shoulder, the other below your knees. Keeping you up in a princess carry, you tilt your gaze up, surprised to meet concerned grey eyes meeting your stare.

However, it's not the fact that the man who caught you was conventionally attractive, or the fact that he was able to catch you with ease that piques your interest. It's the fragments of the fallen ruler you feel lurking beneath his shadows.

Before you even know it, you lean closer, welcoming the position. Your fingers trail from his neck to his chest, right where his heart is and rests there. You don't notice the way his body stiffens, the way his eyes narrow into slits as you continue with your motions, too focused on sensing the weak presence.

It's faint, barely noticeable. If it was anyone else they might've missed it, but it was you, so of course you didn't.

This man definitely had the remains of Ashborn within him.

You grin, chuckling to yourself. Perhaps this run through will prove different. With you on the ground, and this man with unbridled potential, if you could just unlock and help him become as strong as possible before the monarchs struck, then there might be hope for this ever so weak planet.

"uhm, can I help you?"

Sung Jinwoo with ruler!reader who now lives with him and his family because this ruler doesn't have anywhere to go and they get scammed every step they take, unaware of the way things go on Earth.

You're powerful, that's a relief—but that's expected because you were a ruler. Scraping money by dungeon raiding, he can't help but just sigh when he sees so many packages lined up in his house because you spend your money(which you earned from dungeon raiding) on practically everything.

Whilst he's helping you understand the way earth works, Jinah's there whenever you buy something, stopping you from splurging all your money in one day, acting as your financial consultant. His mother teaches you virtues, the beauty of humanity, and empathy. She's calm and level headed, inviting you to cook with her or simply indulge in peaceful moments with her.

You're clueless, fish out of water as you go by the days. Lucky for you, you have Ashborn's vessel and his family to help you adjust, lecturing you one scam at a time.

[whoopsyeahokay]

Wreck It Like A Rumor

summary: prompt fill. Wally saves you from a joke gone terribly wrong the night of the Homecoming dance. what unfolds after is a friendship you desperately cling to as you try to survive the rest of term... what you don't know is that Wally Clark is deader than a doornail until you learn it the hard way. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut lite. AU - canon divergence. CWC (canon what canon). single mention of a mental health slur. attempted assault. protective behavior. angsty themes. hurt/comfort. bullying. HEA.

note: author hasn't watched S2. all knowledge of new content comes exclusively from GIFs on this platform. (i got tired of filtering Wally content. he's my babe. i am weak.)

bon reading, frens

___________________________🐦‍🔥

Wreck It Like A Rumor

They disguised themselves as friends.

You should've known when the one person out of the group you considered a sister—the girl you'd glommed onto in elementary, who'd been by your side through every shitty thing that'd unraveled your life at the time. You know, your real friend—started acting shifty.

Eyes down, nervous laugh, not giving you a straight answer when you asked her if she was okay.

"Help! Anyone, please! Let me out of here!"

You pound your fist against the door, tears streaming down your face. Mascara smudged, nail polish chipped, kicking and banging and screaming until your skin is red and blotchy.

It's Homecoming. You never went to the dances, tend to avoid a lot of high school social events like the plague since everyone in your grade (and others) treats you as if you're contagious.

But it's junior year, and your best friend begged you to join her as her ride or die since she wasn't super comfortable with her new group of friends yet.

You threw caution to the wind and said yes.

For Oli. Olivia Hazelwood. The awkward daughter of Split River's old-money elite couple, Henry and Marion Hazelwood. You and Oli were awkward together. Outsiders who found a home in each other. You shared everything with her and thought she did the same, but now you question how true that was.

Because, along with her new friends—who she insisted were your new friends, too—she'd locked you in the secret fallout shelter in the school basement.

Cruelty packaged as a practical joke.

You heard Travis cackle to the others before calling through the door, "Get comfortable, it'll be a while 'til the janitor comes to get you!"

It's fucking Friday. You don't know Mr. South's schedule—hell, you don't know if he even knows about the fallout shelter—but you assume he won't be back until Monday like the rest of the staff.

Someone will do a walk-through, you tell yourself, gasping for air as you pace around the space. It's dark, the only light coming from the weird dashboard on the clunky equipment lining one wall.

How Travis and the others found out about the fallout shelter isn't a mystery. You told them, stupidly, when you were trying to bond with Elitzia and Marybelle. Split River trivia you'd collected through hyperfixation research. Hours spent diving down rabbit holes after binging Fallout with Oli over a weekend.

Nuclear winter. Chernobyl. Bunkers. The Cold War.

God, why'd you say anything? Should've kept your mouth shut. Should've known that Travis and his friends weren't actually trying to buddy up, because you're still the school pariah.

After all, you gave Jake Tremblay crabs after you rejected him in 9th. You were a homewrecker and forced yourself on Matt Wilson when his girlfriend caught him shoving his unwanted hand up your skirt. You told Claire Zomer last year that you liked to wear diapers and be bottle-fed like a baby as a result of neglectful parents after you refused to do her English homework.

The mill churned out rumor after rumor, and though you tried to fight it at first, it became too much. Like squashing an ant hill. You stopped, people lost interest when you didn't react, but those rumors still circulate.

Sometimes, new ones join the rotation depending on who you piss off just trying to make it to the last bell.

Oli was the only person who stood by you until Elitzia extended her friendship.

Now you're alone. Stuck in the creepy fallout shelter in the dark. Suffocating on shadows as you double back to the door and start banging your palms against it again. Oli knows you're claustrophobic. She was there when you trusted Sarah Thompson in 5th Grade and climbed into her toy chest.

What is so other about you that makes people hate you so much?

You gulp in harsh breaths, sobbing out exhales, losing energy quickly as you smack and bang the door. You can't hear the music, but you know it's still loud, the dance in full swing two floors above.

"Please," You cough, shaking, "Please, let me out..."

‗•‗

Wally sighs. Tonight's been one giant letdown. He doesn't know why he got his hopes up, especially since it's been obvious from the get-go that Maddie isn't ready for the things Wally wants to try with her. Romance. Dates. Hand-holding and affection and inside jokes.

He understands. Of course he does. Maddie's new-dead. She was murdered. She and her best (and very alive) friend are trying to solve the case, to help her remember so she can find closure or whatever.

Why would she want to take a break from that and hang out at a dumb dance with Wally? Who's been trapped in limbo for the last forty years; same four walls, same seven faces to interact with. Same. Same. Same. Same. Fuck.

It's fine. It's totally fine.

As he lies on the grass, staring up at the stars, the quiet outside giving him space to sulk, he hears it. Bang. Help! Bang bang bang. Please!

It's faint, no louder than a breeze, but consistent. Wally gets to his feet and tries to follow the sound. Back into the school, down the steps, along the first-floor hallway to the basement door. It muffles for a moment when he goes the wrong way, toward the janitor's office, so he backtracks and hurries deeper into the bowels of the school.

Despite having the run of the place, no holds barred, he hasn't been this way before. Never saw a reason to go to the boiler room, not even after Maddie took a seat at the Afterlife Support Group.

The sound loudens, banging and muted pleading, someone clearly in distress. Wally slows his steps as he nears a door he's never seen before. It's old, white paint peeling, made of metal. It shakes when whoever's behind it starts slamming their fists again. Renewed vigor, higher-pitched agony, "Please!! Anyone!!?"

Wally scans the outside of the door for a latch or handle and notices the deadbolts attached to the top and bottom of the doorframe. Quickly, he undoes them and yanks the door open, stumbling back when a figure slumps out.

Small. Trembling. A girl whose makeup is stained with tearstreaks and whose eyes are bloodshot, her skin pale from fright. She's breathing heavy, sniffling, rubbing the back of her wrist under her nose as she gradually calms.

"Uh..."

And that's as much as Wally gets out before she's on her feet, arms around her middle, shoulders up. She takes one look at Wally, mumbles a wet thanks, and then charges through the boiler room, down the corridor, and out of the basement.

Wally's stunned. Because he knows for a fact that that girl is alive.

Not only did she look right at Wally, she spoke to him. Like, to his face. Eyeballs met eyeballs. For the first time in a long time, Wally was part of the living world again.

"No freaken way..."

‗•‗

You keep your head down as you walk toward your locker. Headphones on, blaring angry music to quell the crash and surge of emotion inside you. You're embarrassed, humiliated, hateful. Rightfully so, you think, because the last person in the world you trusted betrayed you in the worst way you can imagine.

Oli tried to apologize over the weekend. A novel of a text that repeated several times how sorry she is about what happened. How she didn't know that was the plan. I swear, I thought they were just going to close the door for a minute.

So why didn't you come back?

She never answered. Either ashamed of her non-actions or annoyed that you won't forgive her as easily as you used to, you don't care.

The guy who saved you—tall, handsome, dressed like a silverscreen leading man—looked just like someone that group kept in the middle of their circle-jerk. Which was why you didn't stick around to thank him properly. He was probably just a little less bad; has what amounts to a conscience for those assholes, and decided to cut the joke short out of guilt.

Definitely a senior, you figured, since you didn't recognize him from your class.

Makes things easier. You intend to steer clear of him just like you will the others. You've got enough on your plate, the newest rumor sticky-tacked to your locker when you finally arrive.

Crybaby got herself locked in a room and couldn't get out! Accentuated with photoshopped baby bottles and crying emojis.

It's stupid. Juvenile. But it burns. You tear the paper off your locker, crumple it up, and march to the trash to shove it through the lid. Even through your music, you can hear the chorus of laughter. Some of it nervous, as if going along with it to avoid the same attention Travis and his cronies give you. Some of it hearty and genuine.

You swallow your discomfort and go back to your locker, wrench the lock open, and almost violently swing the door right into someone's face. Thankfully, that someone catches it before it does any damage.

"Whoa there, Helen Sharp, I'm not here to steal your man." The guy chuckles, giving you what you assume is his most charming smile.

It rubs you the wrong way. You glare back, ignoring the comment as you begin to rifle through your things, exchanging last night's homework for the textbook and notes you need for first period. He clears his throat, keeps standing there awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck and watching you.

"So, you can't hear me," He mutters, and, weirdly, it doesn't sound like a snide question. Rather, his voice is heavily laced with disappointment.

You stop and straighten, staring right at him when you cock your head and say, "I can hear you just fine." Then, "You come to make me thank you again?" Just like Mike Bower earlier this semester, who pinned you to the vending machine after the cafeteria emptied, demanding you show him your gratitude for lending you a pencil during the History test.

The guy swallows and shakes his head, eyes wide and mouth agape. As if you speaking to him is the most astonishing thing that's ever happened to him.

Your glare intensifies.

‗•‗

Wally can't believe it. You can see him. You're talking to him.

Kind of.

You're mostly scowling at him, but that doesn't matter. He'll take what he can get. He knows you're likely still upset about Friday, how you got locked in the fallout shelter somehow. Which, the fallout shelter was a whole discovery on its own that helped unlock some of Maddie's memories over the weekend, so if anyone should be grateful, really, it's Wally.

"N-no," He stutters.

His shock swiftly melts into excitement, big grin sweeping his face, and he giddily follows you toward your first class after you slam your locker closed and start walking.

"So...are you okay? You didn't look so good, last time I saw you."

You heave a sigh, "I'm fine." And it sounds an awful lot like something you've been repeating to yourself until you believe it. Clearly, it isn't working.

"Right. Yeah. Of course you are." Wally nods sagely. "...What's your name?"

You come to an abrupt halt in the hallway and turn to face him, brows furrowed, giving him a slow once-over that makes his heart skip a beat. Now that he can see your face better, he swallows thickly. Jesus, you're beautiful. Even scowly and off-put. Pretty as a peace lily.

"Why?" You ask, and, wow, okay, has no one ever asked you for your name before?

Wally hesitates, not quite understanding why you're being so hostile until he hears it. A couple of students behind him, snickering to each other, commenting on how, the fucking weirdo's lost her mind. She's so fucked up.

Spinning on his heel, Wally faces the students, ready to put them in their place before he remembers that they can't see him...can they? No. They can't. They look right through him at you, snorting and shaking their heads in pity like you're some kind of headcase.

When he turns around again, you're gone.

‗•‗

It takes Wally a few days before he finds you again. Outside, sitting in a patch of sun, eating your bagged lunch alone as you lean against the side of the school. Without preamble, he plops down beside you.

He spent his time doing a little research. Between helping Maddie and Simon investigate, obviously, he's a good person who has his priorities straight. Still, you were always on his mind. The gorgeous living girl who can see him.

You ignore him, bite into your PB&J, and stare into the middle distance as if Wally doesn't exist. That's fine. He understands now. And, holy shit, the things he'd do if he had a body to do them in. He'd fuck every last one of your tormentors up. Break egos before breaking bones. Guy, girl, he doesn't discriminate; he hates what he's heard.

Can't be sure none of it is real, but from the way you shrink when he keeps his attention on you, he doesn't think any of it is.

"You okay?" He ventures again, voice low and kind.

You shrug. No snarky comment, no anger. Just...resignation.

"I, uh, heard what they say about you..."

You snort, "Great. You come to give me words of wisdom, oh wise one? It's just high school, it won't matter when you get out of here," You mock, clearly some bullshit you've been spoon fed before.

Wally shakes his head, "Nah. Nothing like that." He gives you a smile. Cheeky, "High school's all there is. It really does shape your whole life."

You choke on your next bite and then give him a look of horror. When you catch his impish smirk, your eyes narrow.

"You're an asshole."

"You're kind of a grump." Wally shoots back good-naturedly.

"I think I've earned it."

Wally's smile falters slightly, but he makes an effort to remain upbeat. Softly, sincerely, he says, "I'm sorry you have to go through all that."

"It is what it is." You respond, equally as soft, gaze on the ground.

You and Wally sit in silence for a moment. It doesn't feel awkward or tense the way Wally expected it to. Instead, it's peaceful. A welcome change from the mounting drama he's experiencing on Split River High's metaphysical side.

Eventually, you seem to relax. You and he exchange names. He doesn't give you his last name, not quite ready for that conversation, though he's sure you'll figure it out sooner rather than later. His letterman is a dead give away (no pun intended).

"Do you...have any friends?" He asks bluntly after talking around the point for a few minutes.

Tensing, you stop chewing the last bite of your sandwich, gaze distant as your face slackens in what Wally can only describe as hurt.

"I did. But then she helped her new friends lock me in a fallout shelter even though she knows I'm claustrophobic."

"Fuck..." Wally exhales sharply, "I'm sorry."

"You say that a lot," You accuse, slanting him another suspicious look. "Why are you sorry? Did you know that was the plan? Are you friends with Travis and Marybell and Elitzia?"

Wally tries to keep up with your questions. You must've been thinking those things based on how rapidly you asked them, and it takes Wally aback.

"No," He replies, "I don't know any of those people."

You relax again once you've stared into Wally's fucking skull to see if he's lying. Apparently, you can do that since you give a small nod and settle back against the wall.

"Thank you," You say after another minute of silence. "Really. For...getting me out of there."

"Yeah, of course," Wally says. "I might look like an asshole, but I'm not actually one."

You peek at him, a tiny smile forming on your lips that makes Wally's heart soar, "I'm starting to get that."

‗•‗

Your unconventional friendship with Wally grows from there.

When Wally isn't busy saving the day with Maddie and Charley and Rhonda, he spends his time haunting you. His own little joke, because it appears you haven't figured out how dead he is, and as more days pass, he's more reluctant to reveal that spooky truth.

In the span of weeks, you blossom like a flower for him. He learns how giggly you are when you aren't shielding yourself from the disgusting things your classmates sling at you. It's not often, but it's often enough that Wally never sees you as anything but reserved and quiet when you're between classes.

At this point, he's heard the slew of rumors about you. Gross and inflated, a game of broken telephone that chips away at you a little more every day.

Except when you're with Wally. It's as if his presence is helping you heal, and he can't keep the warm, fuzzy feelings from growing in his chest. Bigger and bigger with every encounter.

You've taken to studying in the library until the very last second you're allowed to stay. Tucked in the back, muffling laughter when Wally tells you about things that happened to him when he was alive. He omits details that might give away the era, but shares everything he can.

God, he loves the sound of your laughter. How your eyes sparkle when you're happy. How your cheeks flush when he sneaks in something flirtatious. How you bite your lip after you say something suggestive in return.

You're not exactly tactile, probably scarred from things that've happened in your past, things that've been said to you, or things that've been done to you. (Wally wants to punch everyone, teachers included.) It makes it easier to hide his deadness. However, it's getting to a point where Wally has a hard time remembering not to reach out and fail at tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear when you stare up at him with those sweet, joyful eyes.

There's always, at the very least, an inch of space between you and Wally. An inch he so desperately wishes he could eradicate. Either way, he can't break that barrier, the energy emitted from a living body preventing him from touching you, even if you did finally welcome it.

You bring him homemade cookies the day you reveal that your parents are rarely around. Break his heart, then heal it with chocolate chip, his favorite. He has to wait for you to turn away before he picks one up, so you don't see how the cookie never actually leaves the container.

When he bites into it, he moans, filthy, sexual, not even exaggerated because, "God damn girl, these are delicious."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Wally takes another bite, moans again, eyes closed as he savors the taste, "Best I've ever had."

You blush, duck your head shyly, "Thanks, Wally." And, fuck, he wants to kiss you. All over your face. Cheeks, nose, forehead. Lips. Deep and slow as he cups your jaw, angles your head just right, pulls you into his lap and—

"Earth to Wally," Your voice breaks through the mist, "You still in there?" Then, to yourself, "What the hell did I put in these?"

Wally blinks himself back to the present, "Sorry, what'd you say?"

"I asked you if you wanted to try the oatmeal-peanut butter ones."

Very seriously, "Yes. And everything else you've made ever, if you don't mind."

He wants to offer to make you banana pancakes or a burrito or anything to show off his skills in the kitchen, but he isn't sure how the food he makes would translate in the living world. His stomach clenches, eyes sad, as he begins to think about all the things he can't do with you. All the things you don't know he can't do with you because he doesn't want to lose you when you learn the truth.

Maddie didn't lose Simon, a part of him thinks, but while that's true, Maddie and Simon are best friends. Have been best friends since fuck knows when. Simon was willing to throw himself behind Maddie being a ghost because of how close they are.

Wally isn't certain you'd react the same way.

‗•‗

Things between you and Wally are...amazing? No, that's too simple a word to describe how his friendship has basically turned your whole high school experience on its head.

He's quickly become the best part of your day. He makes you laugh, helps you with homework when he isn't distracting you from it. He's sweet and compassionate and thoughtful. He remembers everything you tell him, even the mundane, silly shit.

You've never experienced that before. Not even with Oli, who had a knack of steering every conversation back to herself. It wasn't in a rude or self-righteous way, honestly, it stemmed more from insecurity and external processing.

But, yeah, it got old sometimes, especially when you just needed someone to hear you. See you. Know you.

Things with Wally are so incredible that you're even able to ignore the newest rumor about you making the rounds. How you're crazy, talking to yourself like schizo, you need meds, why do they let her near us? Dude, she could be dangerous.

None of it matters anymore. Oli's been fully indoctrinated by her new friends, ignores or avoids you, unable to look you in the eye anymore since dying her hair to look like Chloe's and dressing herself like Kirsten.

Wally has your back. Comforts you with humor or listens when you need to vent. Mostly, it's just bliss. And it's alarming because you've never felt so close to someone like this. You've exposed yourself to him in ways you never let yourself before. Not with Oli, not with your parents, not with anyone.

But he draws it out of you, bit by bit, your personality slowly reestablishing itself after years of being smothered behind the walls you had to build to protect yourself.

He's safe.

And he's hot like burning. Like putting your hand over a lit element.

Another new feeling unlocked; you want to feel his hands on you, even for a moment. Want to feel his lips on yours. Want all of him so wholly and greedily it makes your head spin.

Yes. Everything with Wally is perfect.

Until, one day, he simply...disappears.

‗•‗

It's not Wally's fault. He doesn't mean to do it. He wouldn't have, he promises. Especially not to you. But, Wally has his turn getting stuck in the fallout shelter; Mr. Martin unmasks himself as a bad guy; and Maddie's body is alive out there being used by Janet.

Things go from moderately unhinged to fucking hectic overnight.

He stays away only to help Maddie. Finds out, shit, Yuri Vyarheychyk isn't actually a looper. Discovers a lot of things he never wanted to discover. Wally's lost and despondent, and can't seem to get his head above water long enough to seek you out and apologize for abandoning you for two weeks.

He's relieved when he finally catches sight of you again, a smile on his face as he watches you help put the gym together for his high school reunion.

Just as he's about to approach, he notices you go eerily still, staring at something he can't see from this angle. He steps a little closer, cautious, heart in his throat when he finally gets a glimpse.

"Oh, no."

‗•‗

You were roped into helping set up the space for the class of '84 reunion. You'd reacted vehemently when Travis made a joke at your expense during Math and Mr. Davis immediately issued you detention.

This is how you earn back his respect. Carrying stacks of chairs and fussing over an easel that's to support a picture of that guy the stadium is named after. You're feeling bitter, neglected, alone all over again since Wally hasn't surfaced, and the rumors are starting to pick at vulnerable flesh.

Then, Ms. Monroe clucks at you, hands you the blown-up photo to fit onto the easel. You don't notice at first, and then the shock swoops in and leaves you breathless. Gaping wide-eyed at the face staring back at you.

Wally's smile is exactly how it looks when you say something he calls 'cute'. Charming. Cheerful.

The world fades away, time stands still, and you almost buckle under the realization that you made up a whole person to keep you company. You really are fucking crazy, just like everyone said.

"Hey..." You hear Wally's voice, but it can't be real, pulled from some broken part of your brain that shattered after the fallout shelter.

Slowly, you pan to your right, Wally towering over you, as solid as he was the last time you saw him. You glance back at the photo, then to Wally, rinse, repeat until you have whiplash. A tiny, wrecked sound escapes you and your body shivers, the weight of what this means bubbling inside you like acid.

"Hey, no, it's okay," The figment of Wally Clark, class of '84, dead dead dead, tries to reassure you. "You're not crazy, babe, I'm right here. You can see me."

His words do nothing to calm you down. You need help. Professional help, hard meds, a straitjacket, and a padded room.

Another trembling whimper and you wheeze, "They were right... I'm... I'm insane."

"No!" Wally insists, stumbling after you as you force your feet to move and head for the door.

Ms. Monroe calls out, but you ignore her, not bothering to think up an excuse as you leave.

"Leave me alone," You beg the figment of Wally, covering your ears with your hands to block out his voice as he urges you to believe him, that he's real, he's a ghost, he's been here for forty years, babe, please, stop!

You don't stop. You start running. Out the door, into the parking lot, off school grounds. You run until you get home, where you lock yourself in—parents still in Dubai for one of your dad's conferences, the house empty and cold.

Sliding to the ground, back against the door, you tuck your knees to your chest and cry.

Alone. Again. Always.

‗•‗

Wally's heartbroken after you leave. Never had he ever thought you'd become that important to him until you made it abundantly clear you want nothing to do with him. Because you think he's a figment of your imagination. Some trauma response.

He tries twice to convince you he's real, but it doesn't work. You shrink further into yourself, pale and placid, not even challenging the remarks made behind your back like you'd started doing again.

Unfortunately, shit hits the fan and Wally can't make time, plowing through scars, saving Maddie from herself, encouraging her to run back into her body.

All throughout, he longs for you. Wishes he'd been upfront from the beginning. He'd just wanted to be selfish for a while. To keep you. His own little secret, beautiful and bold, his to indulge in and cherish and...love.

Fuck.

Now, he stands in front of a door, a thick, bright light burning on the other side of it as he holds his key. He stares at the door, feels the warmth beckoning him. There's nothing left for him here. He's done his time, languished within the school for too many years.

Wally takes a step forward.

‗•‗

Without Wally's presence to ground you, you start to unravel. Piece by piece, whittled away to nothing but anger and fear. Right now it's predominantly fear, in large extent due to the empty halls and lack of teachers. There's a commotion outside that drew everyone with any authority out there.

It's well past the last bell, and Travis was leaving the locker rooms when you were headed to the theater to grab a notebook you forgot on one of the seats during Drama. Apparently, despite being fucked in the head, you've been a lot more appealing lately.

"You got a great smile when you aren't being a bitch," Travis leers, crowding you against a wall.

He's big. Huge. Built like a brick shithouse even at seventeen. He's got more muscle on him than you could ever hope for, and the strength of the linebacker he is behind him.

"Get away from me," You demand through clenched teeth, hands shoving uselessly at his chest. He doesn't budge an inch.

"Nah, don't think so, freak." He smirks, massive hand around your throat. Not too tight, just enough to hold you there with the promise of pain if you try to struggle.

That's when you start screaming.

‗•‗

Wally's head shoots up, and he drops the football, takes several long strides toward the exit door. The sound gets louder, clearer, as he nears. It's coming from behind the door. And it's familiar. He knows that scream, heard it weeks ago. The night he rescued you from the fallout shelter.

Without a second thought, Wally kicks the exit door open and barrels through, tripping when gravity hits him for the first time in decades. He gulps in a gasp of air, the taste sharp and bleachy, filling his lungs. Chest expanding, bones and blood and flesh heavy in a way he doesn't remember his living body being.

"Help!" You scream again, the tail-end of the word muffled by the hand of who Wally recognizes as one of your antagonizers.

Travis has you on the floor, his knees on either side of your waist as he grapples to control your arms. Wally fights against gravity, skids forward and then, Stop! Stop it! he charges. Tackles Travis' weight off of you and to the ground.

His knuckles burn as he punches Travis' face in, his lungs burn as he sucks in more air than is probably necessary, his body no longer familiar with the function but quickly getting with the program.

Wally falls back when he's sure Travis isn't getting up. Alive. The guy's alive. Just wrecked and bloodied, groaning as he rolls onto his side and clutches his jaw.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," Wally pants, wiping the sweat from his upper lip.

"W-Wally?"

Your voice is so small, so uncertain, and it gets Wally's attention immediately. He's with you in a flash, hands on your face, holy fuck, he can touch you, and you're so warm, so solid, skin so soft, he doesn't know what sensation to focus on first.

"Y-you're real." You murmur, as shocked as Wally is. "You're..." You lift your hand and place it over his, the touch smarting the cuts he opened on Travis' nose.

"I was always real, baby." He says, chest still rising and falling rapidly, God, he can't take his hands off you.

It happens in the blink of an eye. He can't tell who moves first, who initiates, only that it's pure fucking bliss when he feels your lips against his for the first time. Soft and pillowy and yielding. You taste like Sprite and those chewy watermelons you like to snack on during study sessions.

Wally moans into the kiss, can't help himself, pulls you into him as much as he can just to revel in the feeling of your body against his. Your real, living body against his.

A groan behind you and him reminds Wally that Travis is still there, will likely be found soon, and whoever does the finding will have questions Wally can't answer right now. Possibly not ever.

"Come on, baby, we've gotta go," He says, intending to hide you somewhere else in the school so you and he can talk.

You apparently have other ideas, because you drag him behind you all the way to the bus stop. He tries to tell you, tries to get you to stop before—

"I can't leave school property!" He shouts.

You slow, letting go of his hand to walk a few steps backwards, eyebrow lifting as you stare at his feet.

"But...you are off school property."

When Wally looks down, his jaw drops. He scrambles in a half-circle to measure the distance between himself and the curb. Thoughts flood his brain: He has to tell Rhonda, to tell Charley and Yuri and Quinn. He has to find his friends and tell them about his...what? His aliveness? Is he alive?

"Come on," You urge, grabbing him by the hand again and hauling him away from the school. "We can't be here right now."

You're right, he knows that, but, holy shit! He's off school property. He's breathing oxygen. His heart is pumping, his muscles ache from the exertion of beating Travis to a pulp, his tongue feels too big for his mouth, and his eyes sting from lack of blinking.

Whatever Wally is, he's not a ghost anymore.

‗•‗

You take him back to your place. You don't exactly know where else to stash a forty-year-old ghost, which Wally insists he is and is basically proof of that himself. You looked him up after the reunion. When you weren't so overwhelmed, that is.

Number 57, Walter Clark, beloved son and friend. If he is a fake, the likeness is uncanny.

As soon as you and he are through the door, he surges, lifts you into his arms, laughing, unable to believe the changes he's already taken stock of. He twirls you around, holds you like something precious, and gazes at you with sweet, soulful eyes.

"I can touch you," He murmurs, as if that's the most important development. "I can actually feel you. God, baby, I can't stop smiling. And it hurts!" The last part makes you giggle because he says it with so much joy, it tickles the giddiness right out of you.

You sober, soften like butter in his arms as he holds you. "You can...touch me some more, if you want..."

There it is, the bravest thing you've ever done. Hanging in the air between you and Wally as he viscerally registers your offer.

When he finally gets it, his smile turns into a smirk. A cocky thing that makes your belly warm.

"Yeah?" He glances around, sees the couch, then looks back at you.

Wally carries you to the couch like you weigh nothing, easy, muscles bunching and releasing as he sits down and settles you in his lap. His hands roam under your shirt, his hot touch like a brand wherever he holds you, and, slowly, giving you time to reconsider, he leans in and captures your lips in a gentle, sweet kiss.

‗•‗

Wally doesn't have the capacity to process anything outside of this moment, outside of you, right now. He should probably take a minute to figure out what happened to him when he fell through the exit door, should strategize a game plan for his friends to follow, should do a lot of things, but he can't find it in him to stop.

Your weight in his lap is so much more intense now that he can feel it in a real, human body. Your little whimpers and soft mewls as his hands wander under your shirt—fuck, the feeling of your skin beneath his fingers, it's like a dream he never thought would come true.

He undresses you slowly, worshipping every piece of skin revealed with his mouth and hands. Little nips and flicks of tongue, tasting your skin, hearing your sounds, absorbing your warmth as you squirm against him.

"You like how I touch you, baby?" He asks, gazing up at you through his lashes as he gently, so gently, trails his fingertips down your side and to your ass where he grabs. "I wanna make you feel good." He grinds his hips up, cock harder than he's ever felt it, groaning when the friction sends shockwaves of pleasure through him. "You feel that, baby? You feel what you do to me?"

"Wally," You gasp, your head tipping back and eyes closing, savoring the sensation.

You help him out of his jacket, his shirt; grip his chain to draw him into another hot, hungry kiss that leaves him reeling and desperate for more. His fingers dig into your flesh as he bucks against you, can feel the heat of your pussy through his sweatpants and shorts.

Gone in seconds because he can't wait anymore. Has waited enough time to feel anything again, but this, with you, no. God help him, he doesn't have that kind of patience or resolve. He's not strong enough. Not with how you tremble in his arms when he smears two fingers through your folds, dips them in to tease you as he watches the expression of euphoria that twists your features into the most beautiful image he's ever seen.

"You're so wet for me, baby," He purrs, nipping that sensitive spot right below your ear. Fuck, you start to ride his fingers, greedy little thing, the slick squelch of your pussy fucking his index and middle finger echoing in his ears and fogging his brain.

"Wally, please," You beg so pretty, and that's it. Control gone.

He lines himself up and guides you down, Jesus, you take him so perfectly. Stuffed full, tight as a vise, gripping him inside you as he leads you up and down, up and down, getting him as deep as he can be inside you.

"That's it, baby, just like that. So good for me," He pants, feet planted, hips meeting yours, his hands tight on your ass as you move on him. A fucking goddess crafted by heaven just for him. "Fuck," He chokes, "Fuck, yeah," and bites your lower lip, soothes the sting with his tongue before delving it into your mouth.

It feels too quick, but he can't avoid it. It's been so long since anything felt like this. You're not any better, quivering under his hands, thighs spasming when he starts to fuck into you faster, harder, making you bounce on his cock to take what you need.

When you come, he cries out, eyes clenched shut, mouth open, stars exploding. His climax ripped from deep within his core. His cock pulses as he spills inside you, arms fastened around your body to pin you to his chest, kissing you with everything he has.

"God, baby, I love you," Maybe it's too soon to say it (definitely), but who the fuck cares? Give a no-longer-dead-guy a break. He doesn't know how long his earthliness will last. He can't afford to take chances.

And he hiccups an awed breath when you say, "I love you, too, Wally Clark."

You gaze at him in the afterglow, so soft and pliant and perfect he could burst. You and he stay on the couch for a while, basking in each other's presence, in the realness of it. Eventually, taking his hand, you lead him to your room, where he writes poems with his tongue in your pussy, where you spread yourself open and invite him in again and again and again until sunrise.

You give him the weekend.

He knows he has a responsibility to visit Maddie in the hospital and make sure she's where she should be. Must inform Rhonda and Charley and Yuri and Quinn and Janet (can he still see them?!) that he's somehow regained a pulse.

But that can wait until tomorrow.

It's Sunday night, and Wally has every intention of proving to you that you're not alone anymore. That you have him as long as you want to keep him. And that he'll stay, even if you don't.

"Not gonna happen, Wally, you're stuck with me," You tell him in no uncertain terms, snuggled into his chest.

Wally smiles so wide, his cheeks ache for days after.

🐦‍🔥___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

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if you liked this, you may also enjoy Best Friends Club.

smut. you've been Wally's best friend since elementary school. and he's had a thing for you the entire time. it would've stayed a secret if, after a shitty date with someone who wasn't him, things changed.

[theexaltedbride]

White Rabbit X Human Civilian Female Reader (Pt. 2) . Kidnapped!

(Also known as White Rabbit goes John Wick to save you.)

It had all started with an argument. It wasn't uncommon for you and Rabbit to argue over his methods and goals. Did he actually want to save his people or just cause trouble for DarkCom? Because he couldn't have his cake and eat it too. But he refused to hear it.

Sometimes the arguments were respectful and measured, other times they were bordering on screaming matches and you both needed to take a break from one another for a little bit.

This one was particularly nasty and even some of the Makaians who knew you were giving you space because they could see the both of you fuming, and you went on a walk to try and collect your thoughts. Thankfully you were in a lowlands where the air pressure and landscape actually kept the poison air away, and made it a suitable camp for the refugees before being moved to a different shelter Rabbit had found or one of the hideouts on Earth.

This was your life now. You either lived with Rabbit on Makai, or you visited him as often as you could take time off from work to help him run his camps, but you were a part of his life and doing what you could to help out. Be it helping move supplies, babysitting, teaching Makaians about Earth or running supply deliveries for Rabbit on Earth. You devoted yourself to helping out, and while it was good work it was tiring too...sometimes you had doubts, but all it took was a single look at all the people you were helping, and all of the hardships would be worth it. Even if you were getting uncomfortable with Rabbit sometimes sending you to buy guns for him with money that he just happened to 'find'. You wanted honesty from him and a greater focus on evacuating Makaians, less on violence.

You kept walking until you decided you'd calmed down enough to return and at least try to focus on that day's work with Rabbit.

That was when you spotted one of the Makaians in a robe just a little bit outside of the camp, whimpering and limping, even falling over as if injured. You came over to help them, and they complained about having slipped and twisted their ankle. As you got nearer though, you heard something from behind you and felt the sharp jab as a small thorn-like object had imbedded itself into your neck.

Then your body went numb and limp, as the creature hiding beneath the robe uncoiled itself to reveal that it was a kind of Serpent-Scorpion hybrid, and it coiled itself round you to begin pulling you away to a band of other waiting Demons, who cackled at your capture and spoke to one another about how the Rabbit was finally going to pay up, else his precious pet would be sent back to him in pieces.

For three days no one could find you, and Rabbit was in an utter state about it, throwing things about, interrogating any Makaians who had seen you last, demanding answers, and all they could say was that they'd seen you walking off past the camp, then you vanished.

That was all Rabbit had to go by until a stranger arrived at the camp. It was a messenger from one of the would-be lords of Makai, nothing but power-hungry demons pretending to be kings and demanding tribute and service from anyone weaker than them.

The demon had come in service of lord Machado. A bloated old demon who had the good fortune of building his Keep in a very defensible position long ago and getting plenty of sycophants around him to march around and pretend at being royalty, while bribing those he couldn't intimidate into obeying his orders.

The messenger came with the truth of what had happened, they'd heard that Rabbit was getting soft, he'd grown too weak to kill and actually allowed himself to be ordered around by a human.

"All of the lords near your little camp know that you're pussy whipped now Rabbit." The messenger laughed, even going so far as to knock over an array of teacups that had been left on the table, and listening to them smashing on the floor, as if it would prove Rabbit's weakness.

So, they had kidnapped you, and if he wanted his beloved back then Rabbit needed to understand that Lord Machado ran things now, and his entire operation was no longer about getting Refugees out, but about getting valuable goods and human slaves into Makai, making a monopoly only Lord Machado held.

"Or, you could play a fee to Lord Machado to get your human worm back. "

The Rabbit isn't fucking around. He demands the messenger tell him their price for your safe return.

But it was too much to pay.

They wanted every last bit of food, water, medicine, clothing and more that the Refugee camps under Rabbit's control have at their disposal. They want it all delivered to a specific location within a Fortnight (about two weeks). Failure to comply, would lead to them delivering your head back to Rabbit in a gift wrapped box.

It's one life for the lives of countless other innocents.

Rabbit would gladly pay it, but he knows you would never forgive him for it. Doing so would even risk the kidnappers (or others) trying it again to squeeze more out of Rabbit and put you in danger each and every time.

So, the kidnappers have really given him no choice at all.

He will take you back by force. No matter how many demons get in his way, Rabbit will kill them all, for the one thing that makes it worth suffering through all this hardship.

He starts by beating the messenger with the metal tray which had been previously holding the tea cups the Messenger so casually knocked to the ground. Rabbit is so furious he can't even scream obscenities, only pure, primal, shouts as he begins pummeling the messenger to a bloody pulp and threatening to use DarkCom's infamous anti-demon poison on the little demon messenger unless he told him exactly where to find you, and spilling everything he knows about Machado and those keeping you captive.

The Messenger broke and sang like a bird, telling the Rabbit everything he wanted to know, even things Rabbit didn't care about, all the while pleading with Rabbit not to use the poison on him.

"Relax. I keep my word. When I make a promise, I always follow through on it." Rabbit said with a smile as he kneeled down to the injured demon, and then leaned in closer.

"I won't use the poison on you...this is more fun." Rabbit grinned and began biting into their throat to tear it out. He then ordered for the messengers head to be put on a spike where you had been kidnapped.

It's not about just killing the rival demons, but about sending a message to all future threats. Sadly he doesn't have the time to indulge the malice he feels inside. He's running late for a very important date.

Rabbit has to move fast. There's no time for trickery, no room for elaborate plots. The longer you were held captive, the more likely it was that you'd suffer irreparable harm. His best hope is to strike fast, hard, and keep kicking the enemy while they're down.

It takes time to move across a world as dangerous as Makai, and so Rabbit has bought himself time to use his enhanced speed and knowledge of the portals from Earth to Makai and back, to be able to sneak into Machado's territory much faster than they could expect. He will scope out his target and plan out how best to rescue you.

He's going to have to do it alone.

He can't ask the refugees to help as it would just get them killed. He won't have it, even as some of them insist on coming with him. You've done a lot to help his people, and on hearing you were kidnapped several Makaians were willing to risk it to help bring you home, but out of all of them only Rabbit is an actual fighter, bringing them along would make them a liability, and slow Rabbit down.

He can't hire on another Demon for this, the very notion of it would have them laugh him out of their lairs or try to kill him for following the path of Sparda.

A demon...who fell in love with a human.

Damn it all...it would be worth becoming a pariah if it meant he could be sure it would save you. But the chance of betrayal is too great.

No, it has to be him.

So, Rabbit sets out and spends close to a full day and night watching Machado's keep, arriving far faster than they'd expected. All of the things he'd been having you get from Earth (coupled with things he's stolen or smuggled himself) were a big help.

From a small telescope to cheap night vision goggles, it helped him look for weaknesses in their defenses and the best time to strike, he even made use of some chalk to make some mental calculations for his initial strike.

Sure, their defenses are good against an army who hasn't made it past the industrial revolution, but its nothing against a pissed off rabbit with a Carl Gustave Recoilless Rifle, an AT-4 Anti-Tank launcher, and a whole backpack full of C-4.

He even has a handful of those special DarkCom bullets which he'd saved for a rainy day. Not to mention guns in the right caliber to fire them ("God Bless America!") Its monstrous to have to use it against his own kind. But you are worth it.

Rabbit made you a promise that he would protect you and love you. He will not break that promise.

=========

-Your kidnappers were cruel and callous, the exact kind of Demons who make DarkCom look like a reasonable response, the same kind of demons who the other Makaians are running from. The ones who would have a bone to pick with Rabbit for giving them a way out, and they are taking it out on you.

-Slaps, kicks, having your face dunked in ice water, are just the start of it, but you playfully tell them that Rabbit hits harder than that all the time. "You call that a hit? That's a lovetap." You say even as the next hit knocks the wind out of you.

But they aren't really out to maul you. Just in case Rabbit really does try to pay your ransom.

-They constantly ask to know where Rabbit keeps his supplies, where the refugee camps are, where he hides them and where the portals to Earth are. They ask how Refugees are able to escape from the demon lords who command them, who the informants are among the various local lord's servants.

But you refuse to talk, you bite your lip, you glare at them and you spit at them. They can hurt you all they like but you won't talk.

-You had been chained up in the darkest dungeon the demons could find in their hold. They had punched you, kicked you, pulled on your hair until some of it came out, and even pulled out one of your toenails when you kicked one of the guards square in the face. They didn't want to break you too badly (not yet at least), but there was no reason they couldn't rough you up. It was all play to them, not the true torture that could be unleashed, just a way to pass the time.

The pain was excruciating, blinding, and your brain screamed so loud to do anything to make the pain stop.

But you still held on. You knew you just needed to last long enough for Rabbit to come and rescue you. He would never leave you to rot, its just a matter of time.

It still doesn't help dull the pain as that serpent-scorpion demon drips venom into your open cuts, and it hurts worse than if salt were being rubbed into them. Your nerves scream and your muscles feel like they are on fire. Your vision is full of stars and your ears ring from the shock of it. Your blood is boiling inside your veins and they only cackle and laugh in response.

To them, this is the way of things. The weak are made to be entertainment to the strong, to serve them and be discarded of. This is why the Makaians flee to Earth in hopes of a better life. And that's why they hate Rabbit so much, because he proves them wrong.

Worst of them all was Lord Machado himself. From how the others around him behaved, you'd been expecting Machado to be as fearsome and intimidating as an Oni or a rampaging Minotaur. Instead, he was shorter than you by three inches and as round as a bowling ball, trotting about on stubby little legs ruined by him normally being carried about by slaves rather than actually using those muscles coupled with what looked like gout. His face was short and round and hairy, like a mole crossed with a frog ready to croak.

His hair (what was left of it poking out from under a golden crown) was greasy from a lifetime of unhealthy over eating, and his teeth were unclean to the point he was making your eyes water more from the smell than from fear (even if the demons interpreted it as you fearing for your life now). Everyone else was starving on Makai, and yet Lord Machado found a way to be obese even for how much demons burned through calories.

He spoke about how he could get the pain to stop, how all of this could be over, and all you had to do was answer his questions, spill Rabbit's secrets. He even offered to 'sweeten' the deal by allowing you the honor of becoming one of his harem slaves.

"Surely I can bring you more pleasure than a rabbit!" Machado declared before throwing his head back to laugh.

-In a moment of blind anger, you tried to actually strangle Machado with the shackles around your wrists. The chains on you were designed to hold demons, just a little bit too big your wrists, the chain links were too long, and you surprised everyone in the room (including yourself) when you finally made your move.

One moment was all it would take, he'd put his back to you and his underlings had all underestimated the human they considered Rabbit's weakness. You swung the chains out and around Machado's neck, suddenly yanking him back towards you, with so much force that golden crown fell from his head and you nearly lifted him up off his feet. He struggled and his supporters all looked to one another, unsure of what to do as you pulled Machado close enough to use him like a shield against them. Machado's eyes bulged and he struggled and gagged as you showed him the same fury you had as when you hit that spider demon with a fire extinguisher long ago.

But that one serpent bastard was too fast, as soon as you'd really started trying to strangle Machado, the serpent-scorpion had stung you with his tail and your body had gone limp again. Machado had you chained to the wall after that, and even took a few swings at you himself to save face before his servants. At least the Serpent's toxin numbed your body so it didn't hurt as bad now.

But the torture wasn't without reason. They were trying to weaken you for an interrogation. They demand to know everything about Rabbit, about the refugees, about Earth even. Anything that can be used to make them more powerful, to make them better able to lord their position over others, the pain makes it hard to resist.

"He'll come for me." You say through the gritted teeth.

"And if he's stupid enough to try that, then we'll gut him and serve him to you as Rabbit stew! How's that for a last meal?" The short and rotund form of Lord Machado declared as he backhanded you hard enough to leave you tasting blood on your tongue. Your teeth had bitten through your own lip. Instead of cowering you looked right back at Machado and met his eyes with the hardest glare you could manage, rabbit's lessons still on your mind.

'Never let them see you whimper, never let them see you sweat. It's like dealing with a wild dog, you lock eyes and you square your body. Showing fear only excites them. A third of everything I do on Makai is just a mindgame. I make myself look stronger than I am, and I intimidate my enemies into leaving the refugees alone, that way I only have to fight on occasion and not every single day.'

You remained strong, even if the fear was always there, even if the pain refused to leave, you knew rabbit wouldn't abandon you, and he proved this to you when the first explosions began rocking the entire Keep. Boom, boom, boom, they kept going as Rabbit knelt down outside and used rocket after rocket to start softening up his enemy. It had been a pain in the ass for Rabbit to get everything in place, but it would all pay off soon enough.

"I told you he'd come...a gentlemen doesn't leave a lady waiting." You smiled through the pain, as the sound of explosions continued, with a sudden crash as one part of the keep collapsed from the damage. And yet Rabbit kept on firing rockets at it to get the kidnapper's attention and force them to come to him. He only ever stopped to deliver a message to the kidnappers.

"Bring out your dead! Bring out your dead!" Rabbit called out into a megaphone he held before his mouth, even laughing into it as he goaded the underlings of Machado to come out and face him, or else he'd just keep pummeling them till he could go in and grab you himself. He even threw in a few insults at Machado, knowing he'd be too prideful to let it slide, and risk his own men to save face.

True to rabbit's analysis (and thanks to some goading from you) Machado did exactly that, ordering his canon fodder. They ran out in their metal armor, carrying swords and shields, charging uphill to where Rabbit was already loading another rocket, stopping only long enough to call out over the megaphone.

"If you obey his order, you'll all die. This is your once chance to save yourselves."

They continued charging up the hill, so Rabbit shrugged.

"Oh well, come on then!" He yelled at the underlings all running up the hill to try and get to him, firing off more rockets on the sides of the formation to force them all nice and close, into one big mob, where they wouldn't have much room to maneuver for what came next.

His position has been chosen specifically as it would be an uphill location to give him line of sight on the keep, and slow his opponents down. If any of them had been able to check the ground carefully, they would have found several square packages already buried into the ground in a path leading up to Rabbit, a path they'd followed thanks to Rabbit's shots.

"Thank you for being so obliging." Rabbit said as he flicked a switch on a small detonator, and the area before him was reduced to smoke, debris and red mist. The explosion felt even deep inside the Keep, where Machado was beginning to panic.

-Machado had you dragged with him to his saferoom, but you made yourself a problem by using your numbed state to your advantage. your chains kept conveniently being caught by any available piece of furniture and your legs were like jelly, forcing them to drag you along as Machado ordered his toughest men out to go and fight Rabbit, while only he and the Serpent pulled you along. Anything you could do (short of actually lashing out, lest the serpent actually paralyze you again).

-After Rabbit had made it into the Keep, he'd had to abandon the Carl Gustave, he'd used up every last shot for it, and most of the fighting was now down to Rabbit using his own sword and speed to slash his way through the other demons and their underlings. He wanted to conserve his toxin bullets for the big ones, and luckily his intimidation tactics had worked and most were fleeing the Keep. those that didn't were cut down, or buried under rubble as Rabbit used his remaining explosives to seal off certain passageways to keep himself from being surrounded.

A few times they'd gotten close to overwhelming him by weight of numbers, slammed the pommel of a sword into his chest, or swung a chain against his back, one even managed to cut through his suit and slice the skin along his side with their claws. But none of them lasted long against him.

-If Sparda exists as a spirit, then he was lending his strength to Rabbit this night, no injury could slow him down, and no foe could last against his fury. A trail of bodies was left in his wake, and Lord Machado only grew more panicked as the sound of fighting grew closer.

-Rabbit never liked thanking DarkCom for anything, but those special bullets of theirs's were mighty handy here. A few shots and the underling began running, terrified at the power Rabbit had at his disposal, but it only lasted until one of Machado's strongest men stepped out to face him.

-The three headed minotaur towered in the courtyard of the keep, standing over even a statue of Lord Machado himself. It called itself 'Throg' and it boasted that no sword could penetrate his hide. Spears were as toothpicks to him, and even mighty javelins were battered aside. Entire armies fell before him, and today would be the end of Rabbit's legacy at the hands of Throg the Terrible.

his boasting was so loud and so grand that Machado actually heard it and found a window to look out into the courtyard, forcing you to stand up so you could see the end of your savior.

Rabbit was unimpressed, and raised a brow at Throg, sparing a glance at the assembled underlings hiding behind the giant three headed minotaur, before unslinging the AT-4 rocket launcher (his last remaining heavy weapon) from his back and raising it up to his shoulder, just as a demon began sneaking up behind him (as if Rabbit didn't hear him coming a mile away).

"No sword can punch through you, eh? How about a Mark 4 Armor piercing Anti-Tank warhead?" Rabbit grinned as he pulled the trigger and heard the scream of another demon behind him as the backblast of the rocket launcher scorched their face, while the three headed minotaur watched in shock as a rocket soared through the air straight at his chest. It punctured right through his toughened hide and detonated within him. The explosion blew the demon's guts and spine out of his back, showering all the weaker ones behind him in viscera.

The mighty Throg, the main muscle of Lord Machado fell dead ontop of Machado's statue, crushing it into pebbles before the eyes of the White Rabbit, You, and Lord Machado. All that his men could do was watch in horror as the Rabbit looked to them next, and smile.

'Boo!' He said and pointed the (empty) rocket launcher at them, and laughed as the underlings dropped their weapons and fled before Rabbit. Once they were gone he tossed the empty launcher aside, all out of explosives now, and began to pull out the rifle loaded with Anti-Demon poison bullets, when you finally took your chance to get Rabbits attention.

-"RABBIT! I'M UP HERE!" You shouted as loud as you could, and Rabbit's ear twitched before he turned to look at you, just in time to see the Serpent sting you again and leave you numbed as they began to pull you away. At this point it looked like you were Machado's only insurance for Rabbit not to kill him.

-After seeing you in distress, Rabbit redoubled his efforts in trying to make it to you, and the injuries began piling up. Cuts, scrapes, slashes, his suit would need replacing, but none of the pain was enough to stop him. Anything which bled too much he patched up with medical supplies he'd brought for you, or with scraps torn off his very suit.

-Rabbit isn't the best combatant, he's not a martial arts master, and relies a good deal on his speed to make it through each encounter. But a good secret to fighting is that stamina in a hand-to-hand fight can win the day. Sometimes just outlasting your enemy is what matters. But each time you managed to fight off the Serpent's poison, you would shout for him, and that would give him another burst of strength.

-The sounds of you screaming his name were enough to help him find you. Those large ears weren't just for show, and the gunfire was becoming more common now as Rabbit conserved his strength by using the DarkCom bullets against any who tried to attack him. He was burning through them quickly, but closing the distance between you and him. The Serpent's tail stinger was proving less and less effective each time he used it, as if your body were growing used to it and fighting off the effects, until they shoved a rag in your mouth and dragged you into a room where Machado kept his chained up harem girls, Makaians and demons of various types (many with scars showing that they were familiar with the Serpent's toxins) all cowered and watched as you were pulled to a saferoom hidden behind a large mirror.

"Distract him! Seduce him! The girl who kills the Rabbit earns her freedom!" Machado ordered of his harem before he closed off his safe room.

-Rabbit arrived not soon after, pointing his weapon around the room and scanning for threats. He saw only the fearful harem slaves of Machado, and he asked them a single question.

"Where. Is. Machado?" He growled past slip lips and gritted teeth.

All as one the entire room pointed towards the door to the saferoom. Even if Rabbit killed them, they were happy to know that Machado would die too. Some even offered help.

"There's a switch hidden under the bookshelf." one of the girls said, and Rabbit responded by using his sword to cut their bindings and a few bullets to blow off the locks to their chains.

"Go. My camp is to the North-West if any of you want to go to the human realm, you should have a safe enough journey." Rabbit said as he checked his weapon and watched as the girls disappeared with some outright shouting with joy over their new freedom.

Rabbit was so close to victory now, he could almost taste it.

"Just a little longer, dearest. Just hold on."

-You had been drugged yet again, your limbs were like Jelly and your mouth gagged, as Machado stood behind you with a knife to your neck while the other held your hair. They were waiting for Rabbit. Machado made himself bait while the Serpent-Scorpion demon waited over the doorway to lung at Rabbit when he got close enough.

As soon as you saw Rabbit entering, you began fighting to do something, anything, to warn him!

"Mister Rabbit! What a very unwelcome surprise. Now, put the weapon down." Machado instructed Rabbit, his knife always close to your neck.

Rabbit didn't respond, only stepping closer, gun trained on Machado's head and eyes occasionally flicking down to look into your own, to assure you everything would be alright. He hesitated on ending Machado there, because he feared your neck might be cut by Machado's death flails if he shot his head off.

You tried looking up at the Serpent to warn Rabbit but you couldn't be sure he'd seen it.

He stepped in slowly, each step like the countdown of a clock, a countdown for you to take action.

Just before Rabbit fully entered the room, you regained control over your own body and forced yourself to move through the numbness, reaching a hand up to grab the knife with one hand and slamming your head back up into the face of lord Machado. You heard his nose crunching from the impact, and your other hand pulled the gag from your mouth.

"Above you!" The shock of your attack caught the Serpent off guard, and gave Rabbit a moment to act before he struck. Rabbit knew the attack was coming, but he chose to fire a single shot at the arm of lord Machado, the anti-demon poison caused it to explode at the shoulder, freeing you and sending Machado falling back screaming.

But Rabbit and the Serpent were both fighting and struggling on the ground, rolling about as the Serpent coiled itself around him, trying to prevent Rabbit from either pulling his sword or pointing his rifle anywhere. Eventually the Rifle was flung away from Rabbit's hands and the Rabbit was left grabbing the Serpent's neck with one hand, and the stinger with the other to keep them from poisoning him.

Rabbit's strength was failing him, he wouldn't last forever, and even though you were still numb, you had the presence of mind to scramble for the rifle, picking it up and aiming for the two of them, your grip was shaky, and they were moving around too much. Until Rabbit saw you, and made a choice.

He allowed himself to be stung in the shoulder, while pushing back on the to give you a clear shot, and you made it count!

The Serpent's tail was blown off, along with his poison stinger, and in his agonized shouting, another shot found its way to the Serpent's head and brought an end to that horrible monster.

Only Lord Machado remained, flailing about with his blood spraying out, screaming a mix of obscenities against you and Rabbit, while also pleading for mercy and how he'd give you all his wealth.

Rabbit took the gun from you with his still working arm, and fired three more shots, depriving Machado of his remaining limbs. He'd die slow, agonized, and alone. A proper message to anyone else who tried this.

Once that was done, Rabbit looked to you, and came in for a soft embrace.

Rabbit doesn't blame you or chastise you for anything. The fault was entirely with the kidnappers. He's happy to see you alive, and rubs his furred cheek with your own.

"Let's get you home, dearest."

The two of you limp back to the entrance of the Keep, any survivors of Machado's staff instantly flee at the sight of Rabbit and you are safe to walk outside, even finding that some of the refugees from the camp came despite Rabbit's orders and they were able to help you get back to the camp for much needed rest and treatment.

You're both in for a long recovery period, but Rabbit refuses to leave your side the entire time, and insists on holding you, letting you know its alright, and shedding a few tears in private over how he'd feared that he'd lost you. If you need to cry, he will be there to comfort you.

Some of the harem girls actually did come to Rabbits camp and attended to you the same way they would to one of their own who had been given the serpent's toxins, helping you both to a speedy recovery.

In the coming weeks Rabbit would recover sooner than you, and set out to making sure Machado's lieutenants and confidants were all dealt with, even asking you for descriptions about them. They couldn't be allowed to get away to seek vengeance. But each time he went out to hunt them down, he took longer and longer to return.

It stopped being about retribution after he'd gotten you safely back to his camp. It became about sending a message, to every other would-be lord and demon who thought they could toy with the Rabbit.

Rabbit wasn't weak. He just chose not to engage in violence. But anyone who gave him reason to do so, would find just how cruel he could be. Rabbit is only peaceful because his beloved brings out the better angel within him. Without her, without you, he indulges in his inner demons, and lets them dance and sing in the slaughter.

The dark world of Makai has few lights in it, and you are the only light in Rabbit's life now.

======

Couple's soundtrack:

-"A Grave Mistake" Ice Nine Kills.

-"Falling Inside the Black" Skillet.

-"Carnival of Rust." Poets of the Fall.

-"War" Poets of the Fall.

-"Friction" Imagine Dragons.

-"Bury the Light", because Rabbit is a storm approaching that enemy keep with ill intent!

[writinginatree]

Paul x reader - Vampires Will Never Hurt You

Summary: Paul reveals his true nature to you when he has to save you from an attacker, and immediately panics about how you'll react.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, blood & murder

Santa Carla is not a safe place to walk alone at night, everyone knows that. You have never felt particularly unsafe being out late despite that, used to the night life thanks to your boyfriend and his brothers, who have the worst sleeping rhythm imaginable and a bad enough reputation to scare off any possible threats, but now, as you walk along the beach to where you're supposed to meet Paul, a chill creeps down your spine.

You fight the urge to look back over your shoulder again. The surf nazi that has been following you since the boardwalk will still be there if you look, you're sure, and you're not willing to let him see how much he's scaring you.

You've almost reached the meeting spot, and the sun is just disappearing into the ocean, which means you're right on time. Paul will be there any moment.

You cling to that thought, walking faster.

Only a small rise of the ground separates you from where you hope Paul is already waiting, when the sound of footsteps alerts you to the fact that the distance to your pursuer is growing ever smaller.

No amount of telling yourself you'll be safe with Paul in just a minute can help against the feeling that a hand will close around the back of your neck any moment. You try to just keep walking, but the tension becomes too much. You need to know what to expect, what your pursuer is up to, so you whirl around to face him, wishing you had some kind of weapon in case you have to defend yourself.

The shock of just how close he is has you staggering a step backwards, your own galloping heartbeat drowning out all other sounds as a glinting switchblade appears in his hand. In the falling darkness, you can just barely make out the surfer's cruel features, crazed hatred shining in his eyes. The conflict between Paul's group and these people is nothing new — anyone who spends enough time on the boardwalk can witness it — but now you realize with growing terror that you may have underestimated just how far it goes. This guy is fully prepared to kill you just to get to Paul.

He says as much, crossing the remaining distance between you with two huge steps as you stand frozen in fear.

Scream. You should scream. If Paul is already close-by — and he should be, if he's on time — he'll hear and come help you. But you can't seem to make a sound, or move at all.

Your eyes are glued to the knife. That's your mistake, because he doesn't use it yet. Instead his free hand grabs for your throat.

Finally breaking from your stupor, you jump back with a yelp.

Now he does lift the knife, and as you lift your arms in a weak attempt to protect yourself, you promise yourself to learn some self-defense techniques if you live to see the morning.

He's almost upon you when a blur of movement behind the attacker catches your eye. Looking over his shoulder, you recognize the blond mess of your boyfriend's hair, but his face is different — all glowing eyes and sharp teeth. He rips the surfer away from you, moving so fast your eyes can barely follow the movement. All you can see is flailing limbs and spurting blood, and the next thing you know, there's a body laying at your feet, the whole thing over before you can even begin to comprehend what happened.

When Paul turns around to you, his face looks just like always. If it wasn't for the blood smeared all over his face and the disfigured corpse sprawled on the sand, you might be inclined to think you had only imagined it.

Shock keeps you frozen in place, too stunned to say anything — not that you have to, what with Paul rushing to your side, his hands digging into your shoulders as his panicked gaze roams your form for any injuries. His voice trembles as he asks if you're alright, at which you manage a silent nod.

By the time Paul has assured himself you're unharmed, you have finally regained enough of your composure to ask him what the fuck just happened. He only now seems to realize what he just let you witness, that he revealed what you assume was supposed to remain a well-protected secret. Fresh panic flares in his eyes, and for a moment you wonder if he'll kill you now. Whatever just went on with him, can he risk letting you get away and potentially giving him away to others? Ha! As if anyone would believe you if you told them what you just saw. Besides, he went berserk to protect you.

That thought gives you the courage to touch Paul — who is staring at you with that look that you know means there's a hundred thoughts racing through his head at once — on his arm, and ask again. "Paul, what was that? You— You killed that guy. And your face—"

You're not sure what else to say.

Neither is Paul, it seems. He winces, opens his mouth to speak, closes it again. Twice he starts a sentence and breaks off after the first word, frustratedly shaking his head. "I'm a vampire," he finally blurts out, words coming out so fast he stumbles over them. "Me and the boys all are. This— this isn't how I wanted you to find out but I— that guy— I just had to protect you."

For a moment, you can only stare at him, wide-eyed and unmoving as your brain tries to process that information. Vampire. A fucking vampire?

"You... are a vampire," you repeat. It's not really a question — you understood his words perfectly well, and you know what you saw. After that, it's easy enough to believe, also explaining why you only ever get to see Paul and his brothers at night. Even so, the word gives you the unreasonable urge to laugh as you can't help but imagine Paul as one of the little bloodsuckers from a cartoon you used to watch. As you just witnessed, real vampires are nothing like the ones they show on the TV for children, and the lingering smell of blood in the air makes it easy to bite down the threatening laugh, but a feeling of unreality remains. The fact that vampires exist would have been enough of a shock on it's own, but that Paul of all people is one... You're not really sure how to cope with that.

How the hell is one supposed to react when finding out one's boyfriend is secretly a vampire?! Should you be scared? You suppose any sane person would be, when faced with such a bloodthirsty killer. But... bloodsucker or not, it's still Paul. Your sweet, dorky, chaotic and extremely loving Paulie. You just can't bring yourself to see him as a monster, even as you watch the blood continue to drip from his chin. He killed the surfer, sure, but he did that to save you. He wouldn't hurt you, right?

While all these thoughts race through your head, Paul nods and rushes to explain that he doesn't pose any danger to you. You barely listen. You aren't scared of him, you realize. A little disturbed, sure. The events of the last few minutes are too strange and horrifying to really think about without losing your mind, but you know in your bones that Paul would never harm you.

Coming to this realization, you take his bloodstained hand in yours and interrupt his rambling. "I know. I know you're not dangerous to me. I love you, even if you're a vampire — which I'll definitely need some time to wrap my head around, but—"

You're interrupted as Paul breathes a huge sigh of relief and pulls you into his arms, which you're pretty sure he's only held back from doing before because he was scared of scaring you. You hug back, bringing one hand up to pet his hair when you feel him trembling.

"It's okay, Paul. I'm okay. Everything's okay."

When he can finally bring himself to pull away from the hug, Paul tries to give you a kiss, but you quickly take a step back, immediately feeling bad about the hurt look on his face.

"Nuh-uh, I'm sorry, but I'm not kissing you when you have blood on your mouth," you say nonetheless, putting a hand on his chest to keep him at distance.

"Oh c'mon," he whines. "Please, babe!"

The little pout on his lips and the puppy-eyes he's giving you make it almost impossible to resist, and so with a sigh you pull your sleeve down over your hand and use it to wipe away the worst of the blood on his face. Then you allow him to kiss you — and almost immediately regret it, when the taste of blood still clinging to his lips hits you.

You suppose you'll have to get used to it. Now that you know about Paul's true nature, seeing — and kissing — him while he's covered in blood will probably become a common occurrence, whether you like it or not.

[namelessgakusei]

And you are...?

Mark Grayson x Reader

Warnings: Idiots who swapped their bodies, mentions of Invincible War, gender neutral use of "guy"

Notes: Gaku's been busy from uni in the past few days, but the itch to write kept me distracted lmao. Brought to you by Gaku who's having an indigestion and procrastinating an assignment.

Synopsis: You've always wanted to be a superhero.

"Some mornings, I wake up crying without knowing why. That sort of thing happens now and again."

You've always admired heroes.

Flying up in the sky, saving innocents, basking in the praise and glory, overall being a good person, it's something a powerless nobody like you can't have. Still, it's nice to dream. Who knows, maybe one day you'll wake up with powers, right?

In your half-delusional mind, you tried every wishing tactics to get you out of your mundane life: wishing on a wishing fountain, a well, 11:11, shooting stars, manifesting with the Shrek meme, praying for 100 days straight, folding a thousand paper cranes—

You can't help but yearn for a change, an excitement, adrenaline of high pressure situations where people depend on you.

—Obviously, it did not work, but you still kept your wish in the back of your mind. The daydreams about being the one seen on tv, a superhero that everyone can rely onto, kept you entertained during boring college classes. You're not fully romanticizing it, as you have an inkling about what heroes go through. If celebrities, who are powerless like you, get harassed 24/7, what's to say about the superpowered individuals?

A glance from the window of your classroom granted you the sight of Invincible. Damn, if you have flight, you won't have to commute all the way to your uni. In a way, he's like Seance Dog. The resemblance reminded you to buy the upcoming edition tomorrow.

...Ugh, will this day get any worse? First, the train back home was too cramped that you're forced to go on your tiptoes, barely balancing yourself whenever it comes to a stop. Then, you missed the bus after running out of the station. You nearly missed the last copy of Seance Dog if not for that one guy who pitied your despaired expression. Thanks, cute guy.

But, your bad luck hadn't stopped when you nearly got caught in the crossfire between a group of armed robbers and some superheroes. Seriously, why rob a rural bank?! You made a run for it, clutching the latest edition of Seance Dog like a lifeline as you rushed out of the fight.

"I HATE THIS LIFE!" You screamed as you stopped about a good distance away from the chaos. "I hate how mundane everything is! How weak I am! Please! Let me be born as a superhero in my next life!" You cried to the air as you heaved for breath, uncaring if anyone looked at you strangely. It was cathartic for a moment, until thunder boomed and you got soaked on your way back home.

At least you managed to get the comic safe and dry.

You took a short shower and changed to comfortable clothes before plopping to bed, too tired to even read Seance Dog. With how bad your day is, you don't want to risk doing anything more today. You just want to rest.

Yes... You'll reward yourself tomorrow by reading the comic first thing in the morning.

An alarm rang obnoxiously, with a tune of distant show theme. Mark woke up with a groan, body aching for some reason. Did he slept wrong? It's been so long since he woke up with body pains that he instinctively thought that he was attacked. No, he really slept in a wrong angle— has his bed always been this soft? There's more pillows that usual—

Wait. This is not his room.

Did he got kidnapped? No, this is too sloppy. Where is he? How did he got here? This looks like someone's bedroom...? Upon sitting up, he got a better look at his surroundings. There's a cluttered desk full of papers and notes, with a school bag by the floor. The window's nearby! Maybe he can slip out and go home—

Mark fell unceremoniously on the floor. ??? What? He... can't fly? Wait, what?! His arms look different! His clothes are too...! This isn't what he slept on yesterday! He wasn't drunk and clearly remembers retreating to his room after another day of helping out with the city clean up. Scrambling to his feet, towards the full body mirror by the wall, Mark's eyes widened at he saw.

Who is this?!??!

Who—

"Morning!" You waved at your friends just after you opened the door, with them greeting back. Ah, it was a shame that your alarm didn't ring this morning, you didn't got to have a grace period to read the comic you bought! Surprisingly, the plastic was removed and it was placed on your shelf? Did you tossed and turned on your sleep so much that you started sleepwalking? You don't remember cleaning up your desk though...

Huh? Today's Wednesday? But yesterday was just Monday, right?? Why can't you remember anything that happened yesterday?? Oh no, did they gave out homework? Did you do it? You still have time to cram, you can bullshit it out—

Oh, you did. But... this isn't your handwriting...? You write neater than this, the equations are right but there are too many erasures, and the order of writing is different from how you usually do it... You don't even remember this lesson! There are earlier notes, hastily scribbled unlike how you usually do it. The assignment for yesterday was also done and graded, though with the way it's barely recognizable made you raise your brow.

You were met with your peers chuckling about you returning to normal. What? Did something happened yesterday? They said that you were too awkward and jittery whenever someone talks to you. What??

It was when lunch came around that you noticed something in your phone. A note, pinned on top of your notes app.

"Who are you?"

Suddenly, yesterday's events seem to came back to you in a hazy recollection.

You woke up from falling to the ground, it's been a long time since you fell out of your bed, you were confident about your learned ability to sleep like a log after all. Did you really got stressed out from the events last night? Hopefully you didn't crease the Seance Dog comic, you didn't put it on your table and slept beside it after all.

Wait, why do you smell everything at once? Blanching at the mix of scents, you sit up and rubbed the back of your head. Your alarm might've not woken you up, but this sure did. Hopefully you weren't late, ugh, where's your phone...?

With groggy eyes, you squinted when you can't find it by blindly patting the bed, and well, you weren't sure why the sheets feel different too.

"Huh? Huh?!" You visibly flinched at the sound of your voice, instinctively clutching your throat. What? "What?" Huh? "Huh?!"

"Hello...?"

It wasn't just your voice. Your hands, your arms, your body, your skin! It's not yours! This isn't your room! Is this a dream? Wow, did your wish manifested to your dreams too. What the hell, sure.

Standing up, you slowly adjusted at the feeling of this foreign body, snooping around the room to find out more about your dream's direction. This room's bland. Like someone just sleep here and doesn't live. There are ghosts of posters and other memorabilia but it has faded over time. Yikes, this really is your dream if Seance Dog is the first poster you see lol.

"Mark?" A woman looking in her late thirties opened the door and peeked inside, looking confused as to why you're gawking to nothing. "Yes—?!"

"I heard a thump earlier, are you alright...?"

"Yes! Yeah, yeah, sorry 'bout that." Okay, so your name is Mark. Who's this diva? Gotta placate her to not rouse any suspicion. Smile, (Y/N). "I'm fine, just woke up on the wrong side of the bed." It's not entirely a lie, but apparently it's enough for her to retreat out, albeit with a worried and reluctant expression, before closing the door.

Mark? That's your name in this dream? You can name a number of Marks you know. Wait, what does this Mark look like?

Wow. Pretty privilege will surely work if you have this kind of face in real life. You look a bit like the lady from earlier, are you her son? Should you call her Mom, now? Mother? Surely there must be clues here and there.

You're a bit too excited and treated this more like a game than a dream. A mystery game where you have to navigate through clues to figure things out. You don't know the plot of this dream, but it's been so long that you had something so realistic that it had you giddy as you swung the door open, smiling from ear to ear.

You nearly screeched when you saw a purple boy floating, with an equally shocked expression as he stares at you.

You snapped back to reality when your friend called your name, completely forgetting about the events of yesterday.

Mark was panicking. Who is this?! Okay, don't panic. This is clearly a civilian. A civilian who's supposed to be going to school based on the readied uniform and how much the alarm has been blaring for the past few minutes. Okay. This could be a dream, or not. Regardless, he won't risk it, he'd done— he... had done so much damage in the past, he won't let this add up to the pile.

He considered calling Cecil for help, but quickly revoked the idea. Mark still has his aversions to the man, and he won't let an innocent person get involved into his mess. For now, he'll try to go through the day and try to contact his allies later.

An unopened Seance Dog volume caught his eye from the mirror. Is this guy also a fan? Upon closed inspection, this issue is months old! Are they a collector? If they're a student, then they should have an ID, right? Oh, there it is.

(L/N), (Y/N).

What a busy student they are. Why does their phone keep on ringing, damn it. Mark sighs and picks it up before tripping over his own feet to prepare for school. The alarm was for them to do their assignment and Mark just spent it having a crisis. What do they do first? Breakfast? Bath? He's so slow in this body, do you even exercise? Where even is your school?!

He would've laughed at the situation, saying that he's like an cliche anime school girl if he's not scurrying around your home like a headless chicken, trying desperately to keep your schedule on track. Your notes are neatly (shoved) inside your bag, as well as other essentials that he's gambling on being needed later. He'll do your assignment on the bus or something. Sorry (Y/N), it's been so long since he had to go to school without being interrupted by his duties.

Barely making it on time, and sweating buckets, Mark heaved for breath inside the bus, looking like a dying fawn as he practically begged for the driver to bring him to your school. He wonders about your social life, is it like his? Or are you on the popular side? God, are you a bully?! He hoped not.

What the, what's this homework?? He doesn't know this! He's sure he missed this part in class (if he even has this subject), due to how many times he has to ditch school to fight villains. Do you have notes? Did he even pick the right ones???

Mark spent the next 30 minutes cramming it, using your notes as a reference. It was messy, but he thinks it makes sense. He... actually had fun with those questions. It made him feel normal, even for a bit.

The final boss battle is how to act like you in your uni. He won't ditch class, the last thing he wants is to ruin your life, but he needs to find a way to get back to his own body. Is this... Upstate University? But, wasn't it burned down? So this is a dream, then?

Why would he dream of his university when he dropped out??

Was it guilt for what happened? For the lives lost during the war? Maybe. But this dream doesn't look like the usual nightmares. No, it's mundane. Like the everyday life of a student.

Your classes are different from his, and he had to adjust with how fast paced your lectures are. By the end of the day, his hand is numb from keeping up with note taking.

If this is a dream, why is he working so hard? Your friends kept looking at him weird, that's why. Subtle questions about your well-being are constantly asked of him almost every period; you are pretty well liked, (Y/N). Mark can't keep up with the social pressure, leading him to keep up the farce.

Mark plopped to your bed with a tired sigh. This dream is too stressful for him and he just wants to rest! Why does he have to relive being a college student in his sleep?? A crinkle of plastic made him open an eye as he noticed the brand new comic from earlier. At least he could read Seance Dog in peace.

The issue is nostalgic, he remembers looking at this particular one online due to the relinquishing the last physical copy over someone who looked too haggard upon arriving at the store. Mark smiles at the memory, though he can't remember their face anymore, their meeting left a funny feeling inside him.

While this dream is strange, it made Mark a bit happy to see everything like it was before. Back when things were still manageable despite being fucked up. Before people started dying left and right. Before being a hero is more of a burden than a mantle.

Mark sighs and closes his eyes, but not before reaching out for your phone and opening it with your fingerprint. He's thankful he figured it out before locking you out the device. Typing something in the notes app, Mark figured out that it won't hurt to leave something for you. Dream or not, he's a bit curious over this school mate he didn't knew, who shared the same interests as him and was too busy for their own good.

This time, he woke up in his bedroom. So, it was a dream after all. Not that it matters, the memories are slowly slipping out of him. Mark was about to get up when his fingers bumped with his phone, an unsent message to an unknown number flashing in the screen.

"Holy shit, I'm Invincible."

[starrihan]

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSMovrvKv/

girl i saw this tiktok and just IMAGINE HOW DOMINANT SUNOO/SUNGHOON would be in bed after finding out you admire idols other than them as their non-idol gf like 🤯

and the moment they find out through peeping the through your phone that you have other idols in your gallery they would call you greedy and will start to remind you how they can give you ANYTHING OUT OF THEIR JEALOUSY

no because him saying that on live was actually crazy but yes this SCREAMS sunsun!!! like they're both so sassy and i feel like Sunghoon is outwardly possessive but Sunoo is secretly possessive. like when he lets Jungwon use his skincare and he acts like its fine but he actually hates it he just doesn't wanna tell anyone. i used idols from other groups i hope thats okay! Sunoo would overcompensate while Sunghoon would punish you

-> Here's a link to all my other masterlists!

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Sunghoon:

He would have you face down, ass up, white-knuckling the sheets as he pounds into you, always stopping before you can actually cum.

"You think Soobin could make you feel this good huh? Would you let him see you like this, ass up in the air and pushing back on my dick like a needy whore? Such a greedy girl."

You frantically shake your head 'no', needing him to let you cum as soon as possible. But he's not buying it. Instead, he yanks your head back by your hair, whispering low in your ear as you wince at the sting radiating throughout the back of your head.

"Really? Then scream. Scream my name so loud that you never forget who you belong to, the only person that could ever make you feel this good. Maybe I'll let you cum then."

You muster up all the energy you have, screaming his name as loud as your vocal chords will allow you to. You needed this release, having been edged too many times for your foggy mind to keep up with.

"PLEASE SUNGHOON!!! I ONLY BELONG TO YOU!!!"

How he had so much control was beyond you. He's had you like this for at least an hour and hasn't cum once himself either. His patience has no bounds when it comes to you, it seems.

Your clenching walls indicate your approaching release to him, speeding up as he can tell you're on the brink— before pulling away from you for the nth time in a row.

"I know you can do much better than that, you dirty whore. Try again"

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Sunoo:

"Don't ever think about having a picture of another man in your phone again."

He'd say, harshly nipping at the fragile skin around your neck, hips making quick work of you, cum seeping out of your hole, both yours and his. You can only nod your head 'yes', the overstimulation catching up to you. Your lip was bitten raw trying to keep yourself from drooling all over, orgasm after orgasm the only thing on your mind.

"What? Too dumb to speak actual words? And not even an apology either? How greedy you truly are..."

You're panting at this point, unable to produce any sounds save for a couple of small whimpers here and there, even the ability to speak being taken away from you in this moment. As you prepare for what felt like your 100th release of the night, you manage to croak out a weak apology.

"Sunoo... I'm sorry please... I can't, t-take it..."

He snickers as a smirk draws onto his face, not buying it one bit.

"Tsk, shut up. Greedy whores don't get to beg for forgiveness, especially after I gave you so many chances before. Take what you so desperately deserve and remind yourself that no one else would ever make you feel as good as I can."

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-> Here's a link to all my other masterlists!