#HE'S NOT ALONE ANYMORE HE HAS SO MANY PEOPLE WHO LOVE HIM NOW AND HE DESERVES ALL OF IT 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[eldritch-spouse]

Someone who gets locked up by Stitches and is delighted… until they realise what a sop Patches is and bully him when they realise he’s not like his other side

[Going from Headless Horseman to Premature E-Jack-O'-Lantern. 😔]

TW: Ball busting; Mild humiliation

He was convinced it was something Stitches did.

It must be, right?

You seemed... Vaguely excited when Patches scurried over to tend to you. After all, it was your first day in his care, he knows Stitches wasn't caring enough to put the blankets in your cage before he shoved you inside. You must be sore! Hungry! Thirsty! All those things he hardly feels anymore.

And yet, the more he tried to interact with you, tend to you with all the love you deserve, the more your frown deepened. You looked at him like he was some sort of gross abomination.

Which... Fair, he supposes. He's far from pretty.

What in the Hell did you do to her?!

He inwardly asked, receiving the mental equivalent of a disinterested shrug from his faraway other.

Patches shakes slightly, deciding he should prod now that he's ordered something for you to eat.

It's not even that you look particularly afraid. That's not what's causing you to reject him. You seem confused and disappointed by something. By him, possibly. And that's eating a hole into his rotted heart.

The dullahan sits in front of your cage, plate on one hand, while the other unlocks the door with a key that he pulls out of his own socket. You make no real movements, only continuing to gaze at him quizzically.

The plate, containing a sandwich, natural juice, and some variety of cracker, is slid towards you almost fearfully. It's as if he's the one terrorized, undead heart jumpstarting in a green chest only to return to its atrophied slouch.

" ... What happened to you? "

Probably the longest thing you've said to the monster thus far, he perks up, even with the sneer wrinkling your face.

" W- What do you mean? " He's been scratching his arm for a while. The skin would have rashed if he was alive.

You squint, leaning in. " Last night you swooped me onto a horse by the ass, brought me to this shithole to torment and- and... " He notes the way you gulp. " Fuck with me, toss me in this ratty cage! But today you can barely look me in the eyes?! "

" I- That... That wasn't exactly me. "

Patches nearly wrings his fingers apart from the way you drop your head into your hands and mutter some type of obscenity. This isn't easy to explain, but deep down, it's not you knowing about it that he's truly afraid of.

" Shut the f- "

" I'm being serious. " Patches attempts to get your attention with your name. " Ever since I died, I have shared this body with him. The moon beckons him out, and I have no control over what happens until daylight breaks. We're different people, I'm sure you've noticed that. "

A moment of silence unfurls where he assumes you're processing the information, taking a bite out of the rather generous sandwich. Surely, you must believe him. Him and Stitches are fundamentally different in the way they act, let alone their physical mannerisms. His head shifts, Stitches has no eye-lights, let alone the ability to speak normally!

The silence is suffocating.

" I didn't plan our first meeting like this. He got impatient. But you don't have to be scared, I'm here now and things will be better- "

" So, I'm stuck with you now? "

Patches can't read your face anymore. It instills a dread in him that might have stolen a living person's breath.

" Am I not better than him? "

Nothing could convince him you actually want Stitches around you for more than five minutes.

You swallow another mouthful of bread, cheese and ham. " You're pathetic. "

Maybe another monster in his place would have lost their cool. They might have snapped at you, rattled you out of your cage and ripped away the food you've just been offered. If nothing else, they'd feel offended and hurt.

Patches has heard those words one too many times to feel anything but a mild sense of shame. It figures you'd say them too. The undead still hates the part of himself that makes magic settle on his cheeks, pooling there in a buzz of disgusting approval. He is pathetic.

" Don't... Say that. " The smallest whisper there ever was.

Something like a huff of irritation leaves you. The monster watches you slide away the plate, coming closer to the cage's entrance.

" Let me out. "

Alarm bells chime through the undead's timidity, causing him to further crowd you in. " I can't do that yet, firefly, you're not in the right mind. "

" I don't care, move. "

He never expected you to be this confrontational. Patches had seen much of your behavior when he stalked around the places you frequently visit, even your home. He'd catalog you and your attitudes, drawing patterns between them and assembling what he thought was a mostly accurate portrait of your person, the faces you put on throughout life. None of it made him infer that you'd be this brave in such a situation, but then again, you never truly know until you corner someone.

Some part of his higher thought process shuts off when your arms land on his chest. He registers you pushing, trying to get him out of your way. A pointless effort. Not because you can't force him back, but rather because you're trapped in a bigger trap- The entirety of The Clergy's Eye. Patches can't seem to care in the moment however, suddenly taken by the smell of you this close, the way your hair looks so soft. He relishes the warmth of such simple contact and pretends, for just a second, that you're reaching out, instead of shoving.

" You- You really should finish your meal, you're disoriented- "

" Fucking move! "

There's a harsher shove, he's now holding onto the cage's bars, panic written all over that gourd face.

" Please just eat- "

" No! "

" Please... "

Finally, with a harsh pound of fists against his chest, you manage to make the dullahan tumble onto his back. The impact does not cause Patches any pain, he simply offers a wide-eyed gawk when you loom. Disheveled, you're a sight of wonders for the monster, irritation and something mischievous brewing on that pretty pretty face.

" Or what? " You mock. " Will you just cry 'please' like a baby? Please don't, please eat- How annoying. "

The undead sputters, newfound sparks of arousal not allowing him to keep up.

" Man, this is just sad. At least the other guy had a spine. "

That does get him slightly agitated. " ... Stitches will hurt you. "

" Stitches? " There's a pause. " What is that, like a clown name? "

The undead blinks, stupefied when you merely move to stand atop him, feet to either side of his midsection. Although you're clothed in the same pants and shirt with which you were taken last night, the fabrics themselves have sustained all manner of scrapes and tears, revealing strips of bare skin that Patches studies with far too much attention. He longs for nothing more than your contact right now. You're so close too, between a hug and a kick, does it truly differ?

The door is right there, to a dark hall which would take you to an elevator. Sure, it's warded shut, but you'd never know that. The fact that you haven't made a break for it yet is fascinating to Patches. In this moment, you are as much the love of his undeath as you a most interesting specimen.

" Matter of fact, what even is your name?! "

" Patches. " He murmurs, more focused on the swell of your thighs, how they slope and climb to the mounds on your chest, before reaching your complexion.

" Are you fucking serious right now? " Barely contained hysteria settles on your features, to which he really has no response.

Patches knows he had a name at some point, a real name. A name not uncommon in the country he hails from, with a meaning that he understood. The years blend together however, decades upon decades of his tired brain ruminating, neither him nor the other remember his name. Stitches never had a name to begin with. He doesn't even remember why he called himself Patches, why he called Stitches Stitches. Not that he ever felt his identity matters that much. If he spent his living years ridiculed and unrecognized, why should he care for that same recognition now that he's well past death? He could have called himself Peaches, for all he cares.

" N-No. "

A bark of laughter erupts from you. He'd call it jolly, if not for the fact that you're clearly caving to the stresses of your current predicament. Nevertheless, it's a melodic, entrancing sound that has him nearly melting further into the floor. Even your cruelty is so beautiful.

" I love you. " He babbles.

The words must have been hard to capture over your little episode, but you hear them well enough, freezing. The look of suspicion you cast down at him is as mildly offending as it is justified, really. He finds your demeaning smirk wobbling into something a little more genuine and bashful, for the shortest of moments, before you force it back on.

" Alright, get me out. This is ridiculous. "

" I can't, firefly. " He repeats, starting to get a bit comfortable under you. Enough to swoon. " You'll be by my side now. "

Silence.

" I- I promise it's not so bad in here. I'll give you everything you want, I just need you to know how much I love you. Th- "

He couldn't possibly have expected your next quip.

" Let me out or I'll grind your balls into a fine dust. "

From the intense challenge in your eyes to the sudden lift of a scuffed boot between his legs, there's no indication that you're bluffing. Nor is there any reflexive move from Patches to so much as shield his genitals, let alone scoot away.

In fact, the only thing the dullahan does is flush furiously, silently, expectantly almost, regarding you.

The meaning isn't lost on you, eyes widening. " Are- Oh my God, you fucking pervert, you actually want that?! "

" N- No no, I don't... " Even he recognizes that sounded pathetically weak.

The sole of your footwear applies the slightest amount of pressure to his pants, where he'd already began stiffening to attention. He whimpers, but much to your shock, only hastens his breath.

" What is actually wrong with you? "

Don't ask him questions you don't want the answer to.

" You know I'll still do it right? I'll make sure they never work again if you don't get me out of here right now. "

He allows the chuckle that had been tickling his throat to escape, giving you nothing short of a lovelorn lunatic's gaze.

You couldn't, even if you wanted, realistically damage him permanently. Patches has been mutilated and torn apart so often and so diversely, yet he'll always somehow end up back together. Never in your wildest dreams would you be able to conceive of genital trauma that would achieve such.

" Oh firefly, the things I've already gone through, you can try- "

Must have hit a nerve there, because you stomp his nuts hard enough to rip a throatful of a scream from the monster.

" -HHRRNG- "

He has to gasp, something typically useless to an undead, to help the pain pass through his body. The dullahan's legs tremble as he curls on himself like a dying bug, feeling his balls writhe in agony even as his cock swells to a full mast.

You're actually a tad stronger than he predicted, honestly.

" I'm sorry, you were saying? "

" Nothing- N-Nothing! "

A lazy foot nudges Patches onto his back again, and there's truly no concealing the pool of precum staining his pants. He's not just hard, he's pulsing. Then again, the way these encounters are so uncommon for Patches, he's surprised he hasn't come yet.

" Ew, really? Huh. "

You seem to be appraising what he has to offer, which makes the undead sweat magic down his forehead. Is he good enough for you?

" Pull it out. " The monster blinks. " Go on, I want to see how much you can take. "

He's not sure if it's the promise of further 'experimenting' from your part, or the half-amused look on your face, but he feels sick sort of happiness to be holding your attention thus far. You're not thinking about Stitches or leaving when you're hurting him, and that's good enough.

Patches does as told, pulling his clothes down to his knees. While his undead skin takes a lot longer to bruise, there's certainly an irritated tint to the area you just mercilessly smashed. His own somewhat veined cock twitches uselessly on his belly.

" P- Please go easy- "

" No. "

The next crash downward is so intense that he feels shudders of hot and cold race through his form, limbs spasming and head conking against the stone floor when you deliberately grind his balls to what he presumes must be a paste by now. In the throes of pain surge crests of pleasure he can't hope to contain, pulling an agonized moan from deep in the dullahan's chest. His vision falters and he rolls his hips into the oppressing force of your foot, a tremulous inhale following.

" Ssstop- Stop, I'll... "

" Come? " You snort. " Figures you're a little quickshot. I wonder if he's also into this. "

Stitches? No, Patches wouldn't bet on it.

He's not sure what compelled you, probably morbid curiosity, but you don't heed his warning. When the undead expected another stomp, he surprisingly feels a kick, the force of which having him spit dryly.

He twists on the floor, body tensing and contracting with a mixture of horribly intense stimulus that, embarrassingly, sends him over the edge. Patches orgasms hard, this cry somewhere between desperate sobbing and choked whimpering ringing across the walls while his poor cock pulses uselessly, making a mess of his own skin and clothes. He knows he was pent up, but he doesn't register that some of his release coated your boot.

In fact, Patches is too busy deflating on the floor to focus on much of anything, all but nearly purring when you casually wipe the shoe on his pants.

The dullahan melts into a one-sided afterglow, and although mortifying shame is slowly creeping up to him, he can't help but think this is an okay start. In spite of your rather vicious actions, he swears he spotted just the faintest hints of fond amusement in you. And if things continue this way, the undead is sure he can inspire love for him within you. He just needs to be persistent.

" Hey. "

You start, already a decent distance away from him. The dullahan shakes his head, and the fog of post-orgasmic painful bliss, finding you crouched in front of a large tube containing a half-formed bobble submerged by its growth solution.

You poke the glass.

" What's this weird thing? Come on, get up, show me around this dump. "

He may be lying on the cold floor, stained with his own cumshot and with sore balls, but he can't help the little smile on his face.

" Hhhn, in a minute. "

Yes, things might just end up fine.

[oneforthemunny]

i’m back and feeling better. not great but better.

i’m going on a rant and i’m sorry in advanced. i can’t get into a therapy appointment, so you guys will have to hear it lol.

i’m just going through a lot and need to get it out. i’ve tried to keep it in bc i don’t want to burden my friends bc i feel annoying and they don’t understand.

this one really effected me but let me just say this, and i know this will shock a lot of you:

i didn’t dog cuss this man. or berate him, like old evie would have done. and maybe that’s me being too forgiving, but i’m proud of myself. i stood up for myself when he was being weird and showing red flags and put a stop to it in a mature way.

he didn’t react well, which i’m not shocked, because he has his own healing. and i know deep down, i did the best thing for both of us. i was kind to him throughout our interactions, and maybe i shouldn’t have been, but for me, i’m glad i was.

i’ve been working very hard on being kinder and no one talks about how fucking hard it is. how there’s a fine line between being kind and being walked all over. and people have no problem stomping all over that line.

but for me, i had a friend, who unfairly isn’t here anymore, who showed me kindness when i really fucking needed it. and i didn’t deserve her, or anyone’s, kindness at the time, but yet she gave it to me. so freely and effortlessly and it changed my life. my whole fucking life. i would not be here if it wasn’t for that.

when she passed, it was so easy for me to be bitter and to be angry. i could have easily been vile and mean to everyone i met, a lot of them i could have rationalized that they deserved it. because she was so kind and wasn’t here, and there were so many who should have, myself at the top of that list, been taken instead.

but i was stuck with the haunting thought that if she can’t be here, and she loved life so fucking much, that i owed her the effort to try and love it as much as she did. to treat others the way she did, the way she treated me. her impact on me, i can’t put into words. i just hope she knows.

i’m saying all of this, putting it out here into the void or universe or whatever, because her death anniversary is fastly approaching. it’s a big one, and though i feel i should be used to it by now, i can’t help but feel every emotions more severely than it’s been before.

i miss her everyday. and when i started talking to this guy, i was excited. and that excitement brought me small, temporary happiness that masked emotions that were hidden underneath.

i think what hurts me most of all is i wanted to talk to her about it. about anything and everything. and i can’t.

but i feel in my heart, in my soul, that she was looking out for me. that she’d be proud of my growth, of my confidence, and most of all that i’m fighting every fucking day to be kinder.

i know it wasn’t him. he was just a fucking guy, and one, quite honestly, i know wouldn’t be good for me. i’ve taken up using the phrase “my future husband would never” and i stand by it (we know my hubby mafia!eddie would fucking never and he’s the standard).

all of this stupid fucking rant to say, i’m just hurting right now. and all of you have shown me such kindness, and i really can’t thank you enough because i am at a low i haven’t been at in a while.

i have no idea what i’m doing with my life. I’m just trying to be kind, and be and do better in every way.

i’m being really vulnerable, because i know many of you think i’m a confident cunt (and i usually am) but even confident cunts have really bad spells too. i’m actually very sensitive under all of this, and i know someone out there feels the same way and i hope you know you’re not alone. and i want to thank you all for making me feel like i’m not alone.

[stormyoceans]

I HOPE HE GETS TO SMILE LIKE THIS FOR THE REST OF HIS LIFE SURROUNDED BY THE PEOPLE HE LOVES AND WHO LOVE HIM IN RETURN

[crowofmidnightsworld]

In your dreams | Caleb

Caleb x female reader Type: Smut, almost no plot Synopsis: You and Caleb had fallen asleep in your bed, watching movies. In the middle of the night you wake up by something, or rather someone, rubbing against you. Warnings: MDNI, needy/desperate m, cursing, possessive m, finishing inside, love confession

Word Count: 2.4k

He couldn't take it anymore. It had started off so innocently. You and Caleb decided to spend the night in, watching movies, since it had been raining all day and there had been nothing else to do.

It had been a fun night, especially because you had recently started to trust Caleb more again. You're slowly letting him back in, but sometimes it truly felt like you couldn't live with or without him. He made your mind go crazy, because he wasn't your brother anymore and you were starting to doubt if he ever really was, confused about your feelings for him.

And now you're lying in front of him. His arms wrapped around your middle and you had felt so safe, that you dozed off. Unlike Caleb. He has been awake the entire time and relished the feeling of you lying in his arms. Pressed against him as tight as humanly possible and his mind couldn't stop going into overdrive. He had realised years ago that he had never seen you as his sister. At first it had scared him, because the thoughts he had had about you were something no brother would ever dare to think of his sister.

When those thoughts first entered his mind, he tried to distance himself from you but as soon as he noticed how much that had hurt you, he stopped, even if it had been torture for himself. Over time he started to justify his thoughts. His cravings. And he realised that he hadn't seen you as his sister, even when he was a young boy. You were like sunlight that had to be protected, and that's what he did. Especially when he realised how many people wanted to hurt you. He was content with killing anyone who dared lay their hands on you or even look in your direction. You were his. His obsession. His sunlight.

For the hundredth time tonight the smell of your coconut shampoo enters Caleb's nose and he can't stop himself from burying his face in your hair again. He hates that he feels like this about you, his mind and his feelings contradicting in every possible way, but as long as you don't know about it, he's content with how things currently are. Until you start talking and moving in your sleep.

At first a chuckle bubbled out of Caleb, trying to be as quiet as possible to not wake you up, but your words start to become more clear. An incoherent string of words like "Yes", "Right there" and even quiet moans coming out of your mouth fill the room, and Caleb immediately goes rigid. He can't believe what he's hearing right now, not sure how to deal with this situation, but then you push your hips against his. And you say his name. His name.

Every colour in Caleb's face drains, his mind going a thousand miles an hour, when he notices that familiar feeling of his pants tightening around him. Fuck. His first thought is to pull away from you a little bit, but the second he moves even an inch away from you, he hears you whining in protest and he immediately stops. Caleb's heart is about to burst out of his chest, because that's what he had been imaginging almost every night. Every night he was alone at Skyhaven with his cock fucking into his fist, or even back when he was training to become a pilot.

Only a few seconds later he realises that he has started grinding his hardness against you, needing to feel that friction. Needing to feel you. Does he feel bad about it? Yes. But you're making all these pretty sounds and you're saying his name, so he tries to justify his actions with that. He nuzzles his face into your shoulder, slowly moving one of his hands under your shirt. The need to feel your skin, to feel you, overpowering his rational thoughts.

And that's when you start to wake up. At first you think you're still dreaming and you feel this pang of guilt. You always felt it when you had these dreams about Caleb, but they just wouldn't stop. Too afraid to deal with those feelings, you never really tried to think about what you truly felt for him. And you are so scared of losing Caleb, if he ever found out about this.

The grogginess of sleep slowly lifts from your brain and that's when you feel it. Strangely the feeling of someone grinding against you, touching you, doesn't leave and you're completely confused. Until you hear the shaky breaths of Caleb so close to your ear. Your face instantly feels like it's on fire, considering how good his movements make you feel. And you hate yourself for a second for wanting him to keep touching you. Feeling the need to let him know that you're awake, that you know what he's doing, you finally speak up. "Caleb?".

Caleb hears you but he's already too far gone. His grip on your stomach only tightens and his mind is at war. He should stop, he knows that, but then again, he has been waiting for this for so long. "Please...Please...Just this once, Pipsqueak". The sound of his whiny voice, begging you to let him continue, almost makes you dizzy and now your entire body feels like it's on fire. Caleb is still grinding against you and from that alone you just know he's packing. He just makes you feel good and you honestly don't want him to stop. That's why you gently grab his hand that has been under your shirt for a while now and you guide it up to your chest. That's your answer.

As soon as Caleb realises that you're allowing him to keep going, that you actually want this, he feels like his brain is about to explode. The soft and warm skin under his hand feels so right and he immediately notices the hard nipple, brushing against it. "Fuck, you really want this, huh?". Now his lips are brushing over your shoulder and the slight growl in his voice makes something deep inside you tighten. If he only knew for how long you've been cravingthis.

Caleb's lips feel so soft on your shoulder and you move your head a bit to the side, just to give him more room to play with, which he immediateyl takes advantage of. His lips trail over your shoulder to your neck and he gently starts to suck on that sweet spot, drawing more of those sweet sounds out of you. The sound of rain pattering against your bedroom window disappears, drowned out by your quiet gasps and by Caleb's erratic breathing.

Everything about this situation is overwhelming you, but you need even more. You need to feel him. That's why you grab his hand again, with which he's currently gently flicking his fingers against your hard nipple. "Don't make me stop... I can't...". He sounds even more desperate than before, biting into your shoulder to make you stop, as his hips start to grind against you even harder, but you have other plans. "I won't. I just need you to...". Not being able to finish your sentence, a small part of you still feeling like what you're doing with Caleb is wrong, you wordlessly guide Caleb's hand down to the hem of your shorts.

For a second Caleb stops everything. With a tight grip on the hem of your shorts, he's now just breathing against your neck and you can feel his heart hammering against your back. He won't stop. He knows that, but he also knows that once you two cross that line, it'll never be as it was. Your heart also feels like it's about to jump out of your chest, the mixture of anticipation and need making your own breath speed up. And that's when Caleb slowly pulls down your shorts. His fingers are grabbing your shorts and panties at the same time and suddenly you find yourself lying in your bed with Caleb behind you, completely bare. Never in a million years did you think inviting Caleb to a movie night would end up like this, but you're so glad that you did it.

Moving his hand away from you, you can hear Caleb pulling down his own pants and before you can even feel his cock anywhere near you, that intense feeling in your middle grows stronger. Before you can think about what you two are about to do, Caleb pushes his hard cock in between your thighs and he can only growl, when he feels how wet you are. How your slickness is already covering him and his hand quickly moves to your hip, holding on tight. "Tell me, Pipsqueak. What were you dreaming of?". That question alone makes your face heat up again, but at the same time only whiny sounds leave your lips. He feels so good against you, rubbing his tip against your pussy at such a fast pace, hitting your clit with it every time. How could you tell him that you had been dreaming of that one night a few years ago, when you two kissed. That you wished he would've done more that night?

"How long have you been dreaming of me like that? For how long have you wanted to be mine?". He just won't stop. Caleb had always loved teasing you but now is not the time for this. All you want is for him to take you. To finally still that hunger you've felt for him for years now. You simply start to grind against his hard cock, willing him to accidentally slip inside, but Caleb's hold on your hip just tightens. Holding you in place. Another whine escapes your lips, but Caleb doesn't chuckle. He is just as much of a needy mess as you are right now, but that doesn't stop him from teasing you. His breath feels hot against your ear, making a shiver go down your spine and it's the most infuriating yet delicious feeling you've ever felt.

"Because I've been wanting to do this for years.". Without any other warning, Caleb finally pushes the tip of his cock into you, not entering you completely yet. A loud groan rumbles through Caleb's chest and all you can do is throw your head back a little bit, moaning. He only has his tip in you and yet you already know that he's big. Just like you knew he would be from the beginning. After a few seconds of letting you adjust, Caleb continues pushing into you in the most agonizing, slow way, as his teeth sink into your shoulder again. Rolling back your eyes at that sensation, feeling Caleb inside you to the hilt, you take in a deep breath.

After a few seconds of letting you adjust and kissing your neck again, Caleb starts to move. His thrusts are slow at first and it feels so good. Way better than it has ever been in your dreams. "Imagine how many times I had to fuck myself in the past years because of you.". Caleb knows exactly what he's doing with his words and you know he's saying it now to get a reaction out of you. Despite not wanting to give in so easily, you start to clench around Caleb's cock, earning a haughty chuckle from him. He's filling you out completely, drawing more moans out of you but it's not enough for him. "You really had no idea how much I wanted to fuck you, make you mine, all these years...".

His thrusts become faster after this. In this moment Caleb can't be the sweet boy for you. He need you to know that you're his and only his. That you always have been his, even though you didn't know it. The sound of your skin slapping against his, satisfying something primal in Caleb and he's just pistoning in and out of you. Your moaning and whining gets louder in response to that, since Caleb is also hitting that sweet spot over and over again. You definitely can't think straight anymore. All you know is that this is right. This is where you're supposed to be.

With how fast and rough Caleb is pounding you, you feel that familiar sensation of your impending orgasm, and from how Caleb is groaning and breathing against your ear, you know that he must be close too. "Caleb, please... Finish inside". For a second Caleb has to force himself to keep moving, even though his brain is short circuiting right now. He has been wanting to fill you up with his seed from the beginning, but he never would've thought that you'd allow it or even beg him to do this. Something snaps inside him and somehow he manages to pound into you even harder. His grip on your hip tightens even more, sure to leave marks on you, but you don't mind.

After a few more thrusts, you finally feel that tight knot deep inside you breaking, and you cum like you've never done before. Starting to see white spots in front of your eyes out of pure pleasure, you throw your head back even more, your eyes rolling back. Your entire body is shaking, as you scream out his name and your pussy starts to clench around Caleb's cock. And that's it for him. "Oh fuck, I love you.". Groaning out those words, Caleb spills his seed inside you and he repeats those three words over and over again. You can feel him twitching inside you, as he fills you up and you feel like you could come again, just because of his confession.

Ever so slowly Caleb's thrusts slow down until he isn't moving anymore, but he stays buried inside you. His sweat covered forehead rests against your shoulder and you're both trying to catch your breaths. You have never felt like this for someone before and you realise that you don't want to anyways. If you could you would stay here with Caleb forever. Never letting him go again. "Did you just say you love me?". Your question is exactly what Caleb expected but he doesn't mind. His breath is still heavy as he gently kisses your shoulder again. "Mhmm, I've loved you for years, Pipsqueak.".

[stealingyourbones]

Danny, being a halfa, falls under the strange category of people who can converse with the dead and act in their names. Most mediums simply convey messages. It was rare for someone to be able to fulfill a ghost’s dying request and have that act tied to the ghost’s core.

Honestly it’s annoying.

He doesn’t get any alone time anymore for homework or hobbies. The dead are constantly pestering Danny to help with their desires - which, sure, it helps them move on which means they’re out of Danny’s hair, but come on!! Give a guy a break! Just because he doesn’t need as much sleep as a fully living person doesn’t mean he can go without entirely!

“No Scott,” Danny repeated for the fifth time, “I am not flying to California tonight. Do you know how far that is? Literally the other coast of this massive continent. Meet me there in August like everyone else on the list.”

Spending the first spring break of college creating a map and calendar for Last Rites was not something Danny expected when he moved to Gotham.

Why did this city have so many ghosts?! It was ridiculous. And he thought Amity Park was bad? At least the ghosts here were mostly Shades. Not visible to anyone unless they were also dead-adjacent or had The Sight or a bloodline curse or a magical amulet… you know what? There were enough of those in this curse ridden city, why couldn’t these ghosts go find one of those people instead? Danny was exhausted.

So exhausted he didn’t notice the vigilante dropping down from the rooftop.

“Hey there kid, you alri-”

“Yeah yeah,” Danny waved a hand dismissively at the voice without looking up. “Wait in line like everyone else. But honestly you’d be better off coming back tomorrow when I’ve had some sleep.”

“Think maybe you outta get started on that sleep now, bud?” the voice behind him spoke in a calm careful tone.

One Danny had heard all too often since dying.

His head jerked sideways to stare wide-eyed at Nightwing, who tensed just a little as if expecting Danny to run or fight. Instead he let out a groan and slumped onto the park bench, rubbing his eyes to ease the burn of fatigue. He’d been coming out to this park at the corner of campus each night to keep the Shades from mobbing him all day long in classes, but they’d spread the word around Gotham that he was here and his precious spring break had become a non-stop line of requests and arguments. Made sense he’d caught the attention of one of the Bats. Should have expected it sooner.

Danny ignored all the voices around him and looked at Nightwing directly as he prattled off his usual list when someone caught him talking to thin air.

“No, I’m not hallucinating. I got all my Rogue Gallery immunizations the day I checked onto campus. I’m not schizophrenic. The only meds I take are for adhd and the occasional Tylenol. I’m not a danger to myself or others. Unless they attack me first.”

Nightwing nodded along, but tilted his head at the end.

“I’m talking to the dead,” Danny answered the unspoken question in a tired monotone, waiting for the usual skepticism or plea for help with lost loved ones.

“Oh. Okay then.”

“What?” That wasn’t expected.

“No yeah, that makes sense.”

Danny was sure his jaw was on the ground. “You… you believe me?”

“Well sure,” the hero shrugged and chuckled. “I can’t see ghosts myself but I know a couple magicians who work with one, and my little brother Robin has a ghost on his team - she’s actually visible most of the time so I don’t know if that’s a special skill or something else going on. But I’m glad you’re okay and don’t need any emergency medication. I know a couple 24 hour pharmacies that would help but it’s nice when they’re not needed. We don’t get a lot of mediums around Gotham holding court at night so you really can’t fault me for checking in.”

Danny was still floating in the relief of not being questioned or doubted. That hadn’t happened since Jazz found out his secret. She’d had plenty of questions about his halfa status, of course, but never called him crazy for talking to things others couldn’t see. Even Sam and Tucker would forget sometimes and give him strange looks before realizing he was dealing with a Shade, Wisp, or Memory.

He didn’t realize he was wobbling until Nightwing’s arms shot out to stabilize him.

Danny blinked up at the pretty face that was trying not to chuckle, held by strong arms, and so far past tired he might be getting delirious after all because his brain seemed to have lost its filter and he said out loud,

“You actually believe me. I think I love you.”

Then the horrifying embarrassment hit at the same time as Nightwing’s laughter. Which… sounded delighted rather than mean spirited?

“Well now it’s your turn to wait in line, cuz that’s the fourth confession I’ve had this week!” They both devolved into snorts and giggles, Danny still relying on those arms for balance, but when they’d caught their breath the vigilante said, “Come on, you’ve really got to get some sleep. I’ll walk you back to your dorm.”

Ignoring the whispers and grumbles of the Shades was easier with someone walking beside him.

This is so incredibly cute oml. It’s so rare to see the bats actually go with the flow and god it isn’t done enough. 12/10 immaculate, glorious.

The entire plot I can see so clearly in my mind dude:

Danny chatting to Nightwing as they walk to his dorm

Nightwing asking some casual questions about ghosts and Danny asking about vigilante work.

Nightwing informs the Bats of Danny as he might be a valuable asset in the future.

Nightwing helps free shades with Danny and he realizes why Danny is so incredibly tired all the time.

Nightwing managing to stumble into Danny every day of his break, slowly getting to know each other more and more and becoming really good friends (perhaps lovers 👀).

Wonderful stuff man ty for the ask!

[ozzgin]

Yandere! CEO Headcanons

Just a little idea I had some time ago of a rather bizarre dynamic: a CEO with no time to spare, introduced to a young student his wife befriended. Perhaps he does have a moment, after all. (I need to dump my preference for a cultured older man somewhere)

Content: female reader, age gap, older yandere, NSFW, dating the wife is optional

[Original works masterlist]

Yandere! CEO who is in his mid 40s and terribly invested in his job. So much, that he and his wife agreed on an open relationship many years ago and barely interact anymore. Not a gloomy business by any means: she gets to meet new people and he can enjoy his work and hobbies in peace and without guilt.

Yandere! CEO who doesn't think much of it when his wife brings home a young student she befriended at a convention. He nods dismissively, returning to his papers and phone calls. At dinner, he just hums in acknowledgement and fiddles with the cutlery while the woman talks about you excitedly. "You know, (Y/N) reminds me a little of you." Nonsense.

Yandere! CEO with whom you scarcely interact: he's a borderline workaholic, and your relationship is cordial at best. That is until you're asked by the wife to retrieve some important documents from their ridiculously luxurious apartment. You quietly tiptoe past the office, but can't help glancing at the imposing library, stacked with books. The man's sudden arrival startles and you begin to mumble apologies, but he seems more interested in your curiosity than anything else.

Yandere! CEO who can't believe you both like the same authors. He discreetly removes the folder from your hands, tasking one of the assistants to deliver it to his wife instead. There are more important matters at hand. Have you had your coffee yet? Oh, you must stay longer. What's the hurry?

Yandere! CEO who has become awfully perceptive whenever your name is mentioned in conversations, innocently probing for more details. Naturally, he wouldn't mind meeting you again, but it's not...a need, per se. He was just pleasantly surprised to find someone he could so easily engage in conversation with. Hell, you're old enough to be his daughter. Don't be ridiculous, he'll scold himself sternly whenever his mind wanders too far.

Yandere! CEO who begins to feel like each encounter is a flirty tease. Is it just wishful thinking, or are you becoming cheekier by day? The way you bat your eyelashes, the way you cast your eyes down whenever he looks at you. The next time you're alone in the apartment, he's too far gone in his delusions to act rationally. How unusual for him to act so nonchalant. Unbuttoning your shirt with haste, trailing your neck with hot kisses, lifting your leg and pressing you against the wall. He never considered himself the type to fuck a much younger woman out of raw lust.

Yandere! CEO who loves taking you on dates despite his busy schedule. Art museums, theatres, the Opera. He is eager to introduce you to his interests and will answer any question or curiosity you have. Who would've thought everything is better in two? Of course, there could be other factors involved. Like the added bonus of watching you squirm in your seat and biting your lips to be quiet while he fingers you at the peak of Act 3. Then smirking to himself when everyone stands up for applause, and you have to rearrange your dress to hide the wet mess underneath.

Yandere! CEO who worries about you when he's on work trips, so he tasks his right-hand man to look after you and keep you company. If you ever get lonely, you can rely on his assistant to take care of all your needs. Now, he's not one to share, despite his marital arrangement. As bizarre as it sounds, he just sees the employee as a mere toy, an idle occupation who can temporarily entertain you in his absence. What he does perceive as a threat is swiftly taken care of. It's enough for you to mention another student flirted with you, and you'll never see that person again. You have to understand that he doesn't play around with his assets. One he has something, he holds onto it with ironclad strength. And he's never been more desperate to keep something in his possession.

Yandere! CEO who makes sure to remind you why dating him is your best (and only) choice. You would've wasted your time with boys your age. He can offer you the world and more, all you need to do is ask for it.

[lemonsdietcoke]

Get Gone - Player 230

Dark!Thanos/Choi Su-bong x Fem!Reader

This is part 3 of my mini series love ridden

Warnings: physical abuse, DV, implied NONCON, toxic relationship, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, and intense depictions of psychological distress. Reader discretion is advised.

Summary: “How many times do I have to say To get away, get gone?” A late-night confrontation unearths buried truths, forcing you to confront the cost of her own survival. loosely inspired by Get Gone-Fiona Apple

MINORS DNI!

A/n: yall I’m sorry this took so long, I have work & school during the week and low-key got lazy lol but it’s finally here!!! Lmk if yall fw it. I love feedback. Lmk what you think!! <3

…………………….

The room feels smaller now, the air pressing down on you like it’s alive, like it’s conspiring with him. Every second ticks by painfully, loud and sharp in your ears. You swear you can feel the weight of his gaze on you, heavy and unrelenting.

“If you walk out that door,” Su-bong says again, his voice low, deliberate, “you’ll never see me again.”

There’s no anger in his tone, no malice. Just a quiet certainty that chills you to your core. It should feel like a relief—like a clean break. But instead, it feels like a threat wrapped in a promise.

Your hands tighten around your phone. Ji-hye’s name still flashes on the screen like a lifeline you’re too afraid to grab.

“Why would you say that?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“Because it’s the truth,” he says, tilting his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he watches you. “I don’t want to play games anymore, Y/N. I can’t do this halfway. Either you stay, and we figure this out together, or you leave… and that’s it.”

The simplicity of his words makes them hit harder. They slice through you like glass, leaving behind wounds you can’t see but can feel.

“You don’t mean that,” you say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

His lips curl into a faint, humorless smile. “Don’t I?”

You feel like the floor is shifting beneath you, like the ground you’ve been standing on has suddenly turned to quicksand. “You’re just saying that to scare me,” you accuse.

“Am I?” His voice is calm, measured, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it. “You think I don’t mean it, but deep down, you know I do. You know I’ve always meant it when it comes to you.”

“Stop,” you say, your voice cracking.

“Why?” he presses, taking a slow step toward you. He’s close now, too close, his presence overwhelming. “Because you don’t want to hear it? Because you don’t want to admit that it scares you?”

“I’m not scared of you,” you shoot back, even though your heart is hammering in your chest.

“No,” he says softly, almost thoughtfully. “You’re not scared of me. You’re scared of what happens if you leave. You’re scared because you don’t know who you are without me.”

Your stomach twists violently. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” His voice softens, but that only makes it worse. “You don’t want to leave, Y/N. You’re just trying to convince yourself that you do. But we both know the truth. You’ve always been afraid of being alone.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” His words are quiet, but they land with the force of a wrecking ball. “You stayed with me for two years, even when you knew you should’ve left. You forgave me for things most people wouldn’t. And why? Because you didn’t want to be alone. Because you don’t know how to be alone.”

Tears sting at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. “You don’t get to do this,” you say, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. “You don’t get to make this about me. You’re the one who—”

“I’m not making this about you,” he interrupts, his tone sharpening. “I’m just telling you the truth. You don’t want to hear it, fine. But don’t act like I’m the bad guy for saying it.”

You let out a shaky breath, your chest heaving as you struggle to hold yourself together. “You don’t know anything about me anymore.”

He scoffs, the sound low and bitter. “I know everything about you, Y/N. I know how you think, how you feel. I know you better than anyone, including Ji-hye.”

The mention of her name sends a jolt through you, sharp and electric.

“that’s who you’ve been talking to, right?” he asks, his voice dropping into something quieter, more dangerous. “Ji-hye?”

Your throat tightens. “She’s my friend. Of course I’ve been talking to her.”

“About me?” His question is calm, but there’s something venomous just beneath the surface.

“She’s my best friend,” you say, lifting your chin even though your hands are shaking. “I tell her everything.”

His jaw tightens, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I thought what we had was private. I guess I was wrong.”

“Private?” you repeat, your voice rising. “You’ve been calling me nonstop for weeks, leaving voicemails threatening to kill yourself, and now you want to talk about privacy?”

“That’s different,” he snaps, his control slipping for the first time.

“Is it?” you shoot back, your voice cracking. “Because it feels a hell of a lot like you’re just mad that I told someone the truth about you.”

He steps closer, and you instinctively take a step back. “You’re the one dragging her into this,” he says, his voice low but cutting. “You’re the one making this worse.”

“She’s worried about me!” you shout, your emotions spilling over, raw and unfiltered. “She’s worried because she knows what you’re like!”

His expression darkens, his gaze boring into yours. “She doesn’t know you like I do. She doesn’t know what you’re like when you’re falling apart. When you’re scared. When you don’t know what you want.”

“I know what I want!” you yell, your voice breaking. “I want to leave!”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“Then go,” he says, his tone soft but razor-sharp. “But don’t come back. Because if you walk out that door, Y/N…” He pauses, his gaze steady and unrelenting. “I promise you’ll never see me again.”

Your chest tightens, panic clawing at your insides. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m done,” he says simply. “I’m done chasing you, done begging you to talk to me, done waiting for you to figure out what you want.”

You stare at him, your mind racing, your pulse pounding in your ears. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do.”

Your phone buzzes again in your hand, the sound startling you. You glance down at the screen, Ji-hye’s name flashing like a lifeline.

“She’s outside,” you say, your voice trembling. “She’s waiting for me.”

He doesn’t react at first. And then—

“Of course she is.” His lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smile. “You always need someone to save you, don’t you?”

The words hit you like a slap, the sting radiating through your chest.

“Fuck you,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

“Go ahead,” he says, stepping aside and gesturing toward the door. “Run to her. But don’t pretend you’re doing this for you. We both know you don’t have the guts to face this on your own.”

Your legs feel like lead, your heart pounding as you take a shaky step toward the door.

And as you reach for the handle, his voice cuts through the silence one last time.

“When you realize I’m right,” he says softly, “don’t bother coming back.”

You don’t look at him as you open the door.

But you feel his eyes on you the whole way out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The car door shuts behind you with a heavy, final thud.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of your own ragged breathing, loud and uneven in the stillness of the cabin. The air inside feels thick, stagnant. You reach for your seatbelt with trembling hands, but the buckle slips from your fingers twice before you manage to click it into place.

Ji-hye doesn’t start the car. She doesn’t even move.

Her knuckles are wrapped tight around the steering wheel, her nails biting into the leather. The dim glow of the dashboard casts her face in sharp relief — her set jaw, the hard line of her mouth, the slight tremble in her lips she’s fighting to keep still.

Her eyes flicker toward you, then away, like she can’t bear to look too long. “You okay?” she asks, her voice low, strained. The question sounds more like an accusation than concern.

You nod — a jerky, unconvincing motion that does nothing to quiet the storm inside you. “I’m fine,” you lie, your voice breaking on the last syllable.

Her fingers tighten on the wheel, the tendons standing out in sharp relief. “You don’t look fine.”

“I just…” You press your hands to your lap, flattening them against the fabric of your dress to keep them from shaking. “I just want to go home.”

She exhales sharply, the sound cutting through the silence like a knife. But she doesn’t start the car.

“What happened, Y/N?” Her voice is still low, but there’s an edge to it now — a tremor beneath the surface, like she’s holding herself back from grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking the truth out of you.

“Nothing happened,” you say too quickly, too defensively.

Ji-hye’s head snaps toward you, her eyes narrowing. “Don’t bullshit me.”

You flinch at the sharpness in her tone, the anger laced through it, though you know it’s not directed at you.

“I…” You shake your head, your breath hitching. “I don’t know.”

Her jaw tightens. She turns back to the steering wheel, but her fingers twitch against it, like she’s holding herself back from punching something. “What the fuck does that mean, you don’t know?”

“I mean I don’t remember!” The words explode out of you before you can stop them, loud and jagged and filled with panic. Your chest heaves, and your eyes sting as the tears start to well up again. “I don’t fucking remember, Ji-hye! I blacked out, okay? I don’t know what happened!”

She goes still, completely still, her hands frozen on the wheel. Slowly, she turns to look at you again. “You don’t remember anything?”

Your breath hitches, and you shake your head.

Her gaze sharpens, her eyes scanning your face like she’s searching for the pieces of a puzzle you can’t see. “But you woke up there,” she says finally, her voice quieter now but no less intense. “At his place.”

You nod, and the weight of the admission makes your chest tighten, makes the shame press down harder.

Ji-hye leans back in her seat, dragging a hand through her hair. “Fuck,” she mutters under her breath.

Her reaction makes your stomach churn. “I—” Your voice cracks, and you have to swallow hard before you can speak again. “I don’t know if anything happened.”

Her head snaps toward you again, her eyes widening. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I don’t know,” you whisper, the tears spilling over now, hot and relentless. You clutch at your dress, twisting the fabric in your fists as the words come tumbling out. “I don’t remember getting there. I don’t remember going to bed. But when I woke up—” Your voice falters, your breath hitching painfully. “There were bruises, Ji-hye. On my thighs. And my underwear was—” You choke on the words, unable to finish the sentence.

The silence in the car is suffocating.

Ji-hye doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and when you finally glance at her, her expression makes your chest tighten even more. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, and her eyes are dark, her gaze fixed on the dashboard like she’s barely holding herself together.

“You think he—” She can’t even finish the question.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, the words barely audible. “I don’t know, Ji-hye. But what if he didn’t? What if I’m just overthinking it? What if I’m—”

“Stop.” Her voice cuts through your rambling, sharp and commanding. She turns to you fully now, her gaze locking onto yours. “Stop right there. Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. Don’t you fucking dare.”

“But—”

“There is no ‘but,’” she snaps, her voice rising. “You were drunk, Y/N. If he did anything — anything — that you didn’t consent to, it’s not your fault. Do you understand me?”

You can’t answer. Your throat is too tight, your chest heaving as you fight to keep yourself together.

Ji-hye exhales sharply, dragging her hands through her hair again. “Fuck,” she mutters under her breath, her voice trembling now. “That fucking piece of shit.”

Her words make your stomach twist, the nausea bubbling up again. “What if I—”

“You didn’t do anything,” she cuts you off again, her voice softening but no less firm. “Do you hear me? You didn’t do anything wrong. He’s the one—” She stops herself, her voice breaking on the last word. She clenches her fists, her nails digging into her palms.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and unbearable.

Finally, Ji-hye starts the car, but she doesn’t drive. The engine hums beneath you, the only sound in the suffocating quiet.

“What do I do?” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Ji-hye’s hands tighten on the wheel. She stares straight ahead, her gaze burning with quiet fury. “You don’t go back to him,” she says, her voice steady now. “Not ever. I don’t care what it takes, Y/N. He doesn’t get to be a part of your life anymore.”

You swallow hard, her words cutting through the fog in your mind like a lifeline.

“We’ll figure it out,” Ji-hye says, her voice softening. She reaches over, her hand resting on yours. Her grip is warm and steady, grounding you. “I promise. Whatever you need, I’ll be here.”

The weight of her words sinks into you, anchoring you to the moment. You don’t know what comes next. You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to put the pieces of last night together.

But for now, you let her words steady you. For now, you let yourself believe her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The air smells like caramelized sugar and charred meat. Smoke curls from food stalls, the sizzle of grilling pork belly mingling with the faintly sweet aroma of tteokbokki simmering in spicy sauce. Somewhere in the distance, someone’s laughing, the sound light and bright, cutting through the low hum of the crowd.

Ji-hye’s arm loops through yours, her grip warm and grounding as she steers you through the maze of vendors. It’s loud here, chaotic in the way only street markets can be, but you’ve missed it—this pulsing rhythm of life, the neon lights reflecting off puddles of rainwater on the pavement, the voices overlapping as vendors shout over one another to hawk their food.

“Y/N,” Ji-hye says, tilting her head toward a stall where skewers of fish cake glisten in the warm glow of a heat lamp. “You want one?”

You start to shake your head, but the look on her face stops you. She’s been trying so hard to pull you out of your own head, to make you laugh, to make you eat.

“Sure,” you say. Your voice feels foreign, stiff and distant, but Ji-hye beams anyway.

She orders two skewers, handing one to you before taking a bite of her own. “This is the best part about winter,” she says, her words muffled around a mouthful of food. “I swear I could eat eomuk every single day.”

You take a bite, the broth-soaked fish cake warm and savory on your tongue. It’s good—comforting, even—but it doesn’t reach the hollow ache in your chest.

Ji-hye is still talking, something about the new club opening next weekend, but her voice fades into the background as your gaze snags on something across the street.

Purple hair.

Your breath catches in your throat, the skewer trembling slightly in your hand. It’s not him—it’s a girl, her hair cropped short and spiked, her face unfamiliar—but your body doesn’t know the difference.

Your heart is racing, the world around you narrowing to a pinpoint. The noise of the market fades, replaced by the pounding of your pulse in your ears.

“Y/N?” Ji-hye’s voice cuts through the haze, her hand on your arm.

You blink, your chest heaving as you drag your gaze away from the girl. “What?”

“Are you okay?” Her brow furrows, concern etched into every line of her face.

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, forcing a shaky smile. “I just—thought I saw someone I knew.”

Her lips press together, like she doesn’t believe you, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she squeezes your arm and changes the subject, dragging you to the next stall.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. You smile when Ji-hye laughs, nod when she talks, but your mind is elsewhere. Your skin feels too tight, your senses stretched thin. Every shout from a vendor, every gust of cigarette smoke, every glimpse of purple in the crowd sends your heart skittering in your chest.

When you finally part ways with Ji-hye, your cheeks ache from forcing smiles, and your stomach churns with the weight of pretending.

The walk home is quiet. The market’s noise fades into the background as you leave it behind, replaced by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bark of a stray dog.

Your apartment building looms ahead, its shadow stretching long and dark across the street.

You reach the door, your fingers trembling slightly as you punch in the code. The lock beeps, the door clicking open, and you step inside, the familiar scent of your apartment wrapping around you like a blanket.

Safe.

You kick off your shoes, leaving them by the door. The silence is heavy, pressing, but it’s better than the noise. Better than the chaos.

You make your way to the bathroom, the tiles cold under your bare feet. The fluorescent light flickers to life, casting your reflection in sharp relief.

You look… tired.

But not the same kind of tired you were before. It’s different now—less hollow, less fragile. Still frayed around the edges, but stitched together enough to pass.

You wash your face, the cool water shocking against your skin. Your movements are slow, methodical, each step of your routine grounding you just a little more.

The week since you left Su-bong’s apartment has been a blur.

You’ve thrown yourself into small, safe routines: going to work, meeting Ji-hye for meals, scrolling aimlessly through your phone until sleep overtakes you. Anything to fill the silence. Anything to drown out the questions.

For the first time in years, you feel like you’re breathing again. Slowly. Unevenly. But breathing.

Ji-hye says you look better. Healthier.

You believe her, mostly. Even though you still jump at sudden noises. Even though crowds make your chest feel tight. Even though you sometimes find yourself scanning unfamiliar faces for someone who isn’t there.

The clock reads 12:03 AM when you finally collapse onto the couch, a mug of tea cooling in your hands.

You’ve only just started to relax when the knock comes.

At first, you think you imagined it.

You weren’t expecting anyone this late.

Then it comes again. Louder this time.

You freeze.

Another knock.

“Y/N.”

Your heart drops into your stomach.

It’s him.

No. No, this isn’t possible. He doesn’t even know where you live.

You moved after the breakup. You didn’t tell anyone except Ji-hye.

So how the fuck does he know?

Your chest tightens, your breaths coming in shallow gasps as you stare at the door.

Another knock.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there.”

His voice is slurred, thick with alcohol or something stronger.

“I just want to talk. Please.”

Your fingers dig into the couch cushion, your nails scraping against the fabric.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he says, the words cracking in his throat. “I shouldn’t have said those things. You know I didn’t mean them.”

The lump in your throat grows heavier, your stomach twisting violently.

“Don’t ignore me.” His tone shifts, harder now. “I can see the lights are on.”

Your pulse roars in your ears. You grab your phone from the coffee table, your hands trembling as you scroll to Ji-hye’s name.

The knocking stops, but his voice cuts through the silence like a blade.

“Y/N.”

Your fingers freeze.

“Just open the door, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

The weight of his words settles over you like a lead blanket.

“I need to see you.”

No.

“You’re not being fair, you know that? After everything we’ve been through…”

You press the phone to your chest, your other hand gripping the armrest so tightly your knuckles ache.

“Do you really want me to cause a scene?” His voice is softer now, coaxing, but the threat is clear beneath it. “Your neighbors don’t need to hear this, do they?”

The knot in your chest tightens, fear and anger twisting together into something sharp and unbearable.

“Come on,” he says again, his voice breaking slightly. “Please. I just… I just need to talk to you.”

The silence stretches, your own breathing ragged in the quiet.

Then, a softer knock.

“I’ll leave if you just talk to me,” he says. “I swear.”

You close your eyes, your stomach churning violently.

You don’t want to open the door.

You don’t want to see him.

But you know Su-bong.

You know how loud he can get when he doesn’t get his way.

And it’s late. Your neighbors are probably asleep.

You take a shaky breath, your body trembling as you rise to your feet.

The floor feels unsteady beneath you as you make your way to the door, every step heavier than the last.

Your fingers tremble as you unlock the deadbolt, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness.

You open the door just a crack, your body blocking the gap.

And there he is.

His hair is a mess, his shirt wrinkled and half-untucked. His eyes are bloodshot, his pupils blown wide. The faint smell of alcohol wafts off him, mixing with the cloying scent of his cheap cologne.

But it’s his expression that makes your stomach drop.

The desperation in his eyes.

The anger lurking just beneath it.

“Y/N.”

Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, soft and broken.

You grip the doorframe, your nails digging into the wood. “What do you want, Su-bong?”

“I want to talk.” He shifts his weight, his hands twitching at his sides. “That’s all. Just… just talk to me.”

The second you crack the door an inch more, you regret it.

It’s instinctive, the way you step back as he pushes forward, brushing past you into the apartment like it’s his. Like there aren’t layers of pain, distance, and boundaries between you now.

“Su-bong, wait—”

“I’m not waiting,” he says, his voice low, a slur of alcohol softening the edges. “Not after you’ve been ignoring me for a week.”

He’s already halfway to the couch. The door is still open, the cold night air seeping in as you stand frozen, your fingers gripping the edge of the doorframe like it might ground you.

He turns back to glance at you, his expression unreadable in the dim light of your apartment. “You’re going to leave it open?”

You blink, your heart hammering in your chest. Slowly, reluctantly, you close the door.

The sound of the lock clicking into place feels like a nail in your coffin.

When you turn back, he’s sitting on your couch, slouched like he’s settling in for a long stay. His elbows rest on his knees, his hands clasped together loosely, but there’s nothing casual about the way his gaze locks onto you.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.” His voice carries a hint of something sharp, but his eyes stay soft, almost sad. “I didn’t even know where to find you, Y/N. Do you have any idea what that felt like?”

You stay near the door, keeping as much distance as you can, your pulse roaring in your ears. “How did you even—”

“How did I find you?” He cuts you off, leaning back into the couch like he owns it, like it’s still the one you used to share. “I have my ways.”

Your stomach churns. The vagueness in his tone makes your skin crawl. “What do you want, Su-bong?”

He lets out a soft, bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “What do I want? I want to know why you blocked me.”

His words hit like a slap, the audacity of them stealing the breath from your lungs. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” His gaze sharpens, the softness in his eyes hardening. “You didn’t even let me explain, Y/N. You just—what? Cut me out? Pretend I don’t exist?”

“I had to,” you say, your voice trembling. “You wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Because I needed you!” The words burst out of him, loud and raw, echoing in the quiet apartment. “I didn’t know where else to go! I didn’t know what else to do!”

Your throat tightens, your chest heaving as you fight to keep your composure. “That’s not my problem anymore, Su-bong.”

He flinches, just slightly, but the hurt in his eyes is quickly replaced by something sharper. “You really think you can just shut me out like that? Like I don’t matter?”

“I never said you don’t matter,” you whisper. “I just… I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Couldn’t do what?” he demands, standing suddenly. The movement makes you instinctively take a step back, your fingers brushing against the wall behind you.

“This.” You gesture between the two of you, your voice cracking. “You calling me nonstop. Showing up here. Saying things you can’t take back. I couldn’t—” Your voice falters, breaking on the words. “I couldn’t keep letting you drag me down with you.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Drag you down?” he repeats, his tone quiet but venomous.

You press yourself harder against the wall, your palms flat against the cool surface. “You know what I mean.”

He takes a slow step toward you, and your stomach twists violently. “No,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “I don’t think I do.”

“Su-bong, please,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just leave.”

He stops, just a few feet away from you now. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Your breath hitches, your chest tightening painfully. “Get what?”

He tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle. “You’re scared,” he says finally, his tone softening. “You’re scared because you don’t know what you’re doing without me.”

The words land like a punch to the gut. “That’s not true,” you say, your voice trembling.

“Yes, it is.” He steps closer, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. “You’ve always been scared of being alone, Y/N. That’s why you stayed with me for so long, even when you knew you shouldn’t.”

Your nails dig into the wall behind you, the sharp pain grounding you. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” His voice softens, but it only makes the words hit harder. “You blocked me because you couldn’t handle it. Not because you’re over me. Not because you’re moving on. But because you’re scared of facing me.”

Your vision blurs with tears, your chest heaving. “That’s not true.”

“It’s not?” His voice drops to a whisper, his eyes searching yours. “If it’s not true, why’d you let me in?”

The question cuts deeper than you want to admit.

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice breaking. “I don’t know why I let you in.”

His lips curl into something that’s not quite a smile, something that makes your stomach twist. “I do,” he says softly.

“What do you mean?”

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to brush against your arm. You flinch, but he doesn’t pull back.

“You let me in,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, “because you still love me.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. “That’s not—”

“You do,” he says, his tone almost gentle. “And that’s okay. I’m not mad about it. I’m not mad at you.”

His hand lingers on your arm, and you feel like you’re drowning, like the walls are closing in on you.

“Su-bong, please,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face now. “I can’t do this.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” he says, his voice soft and coaxing. “Just… let me stay. Just for a little while.”

You shake your head, your breath hitching. “I don’t want you here.”

“Yes, you do,” he says quietly, his hand moving to cup your cheek. “You don’t have to say it, but I know you do.”

The weight of his hand on your face is unbearable.

And in that moment, you realize—

You’re trapped.

His hand lingers on your cheek, warm and steady, but the weight of it feels crushing. Your breath catches in your throat, your vision blurring as his thumb brushes gently over your skin. It’s too much — the closeness, the intimacy he’s trying to pull you back into.

“Stop,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

He doesn’t.

“You don’t have to fight this,” Su-bong says softly, his voice slurring at the edges. “I’m not your enemy, Y/N.”

The words twist in your chest, sharp and suffocating. You push his hand away, your fingers trembling as you take a step back.

“You need to leave.” Your voice is quiet, but there’s an edge of panic creeping into it.

He doesn’t move. Instead, he watches you, his gaze heavy and unreadable. “Why are you doing this?” he asks, his voice low and raw. “Why are you pushing me away when you know—”

“Know what?” you snap, cutting him off. “What the fuck do I know, Su-bong? Because right now, I don’t know anything.”

His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“I don’t know why you’re here,” you continue, your voice rising, breaking under the weight of your emotions. “I don’t know why you can’t just leave me alone. And I don’t know what the fuck happened that night.”

The room goes still.

For a moment, all you can hear is your own ragged breathing.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, his voice carefully neutral.

Your chest tightens, your stomach twisting violently. “Don’t do that,” you say, your voice cracking. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

He shakes his head, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Y/N.”

“Stop lying!” The words burst out of you, loud and jagged, echoing in the suffocating silence. Tears spill down your cheeks, hot and relentless, as you take a shaky step forward. “Stop fucking lying to me, Su-bong!”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are!” Your voice breaks, the weight of your anger and fear crashing over you all at once. “You’ve been lying this whole fucking time, haven’t you? About everything.”

His gaze flickers, something dark and frantic flashing in his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“Tell me what happened that night,” you demand, your voice trembling but unrelenting. “Tell me what you did.”

He flinches, just slightly, but it’s enough.

Your heart pounds in your chest, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. “I woke up in your bed, Su-bong. I had bruises on my thighs. My underwear was backward.” Your voice falters, cracking under the weight of the words. “And I don’t remember anything.”

His face goes pale, his eyes widening ever so slightly before he quickly looks away.

“Say something,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Fucking say something.”

He drags a hand through his hair, his movements jerky and unsteady. “I didn’t—” He stops, his jaw clenching so tightly you think it might shatter. “I didn’t mean for it to—”

Your stomach drops. “For it to what?”

His gaze snaps back to you, wild and panicked. “I wasn’t thinking, okay?” His voice rises, cracking at the edges. “You were just—”

He stops himself again, his words hanging in the air like a noose tightening around your throat.

“I was just what?” you demand, your voice trembling. “Say it, Su-bong. Finish your fucking sentence.”

He doesn’t.

He looks at you, his chest heaving, his lips parted as if he’s searching for the right words. But none come.

And that’s worse than anything he could have said.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. Your mind spins, piecing together fragments of the truth you’ve been trying to avoid.

“Did you…” The words catch in your throat, your stomach churning violently. “Did you touch me?”

“No,” he says quickly, too quickly.

You flinch, the sharpness of his denial cutting through you like a blade. “Then why can’t you just tell me what happened?”

His hands shake at his sides, his knuckles white as he clenches them into fists. “Because it doesn’t fucking matter, Y/N!”

The words hit like a slap, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“It doesn’t matter?” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

He exhales sharply, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s not what you think, okay? I didn’t—” He stops himself again, his voice breaking. “I didn’t mean for it to go that far.”

The room tilts, the weight of his words crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

“That far?” you whisper, your chest tightening painfully. “What the fuck does that mean, Su-bong?”

He doesn’t answer.

The silence is deafening, your pulse roaring in your ears as you stare at him, waiting, hoping for something—anything—that makes sense.

But all you get is the look on his face.

The guilt.

The shame.

The fear.

And you know.

You know.

Your legs give out, and you sink to the floor, your back pressing against the wall as your breath comes in short, shallow gasps.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice soft now, pleading. He takes a step toward you, but you hold up a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“Don’t,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “Don’t come near me.”

“Please,” he says, his tone desperate. “Just let me explain—”

“There’s nothing to explain,” you say, your voice cracking. “You did it, didn’t you?”

His silence is all the confirmation you need.

You press your hands to your face, your tears spilling over, hot and relentless.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says, his voice breaking. “I swear, I didn’t—”

“Get out.”

The words are quiet but firm, cutting through the suffocating tension like a knife.

“Y/N, please—”

“Just fucking go!” you scream, your voice raw and jagged, echoing through the apartment.

He doesn’t.

“Get the fuck out!” you scream again, your voice raw and jagged, slicing through the suffocating tension.

But Su-bong doesn’t move.

Instead, he stares at you, his chest heaving, his face twisting into something you can’t quite recognize. Something darker. “I’m not leaving,” he says, his voice low, dangerous.

Your stomach twists violently. “You need to leave, Su-bong. Now.”

“Why?” he snaps, his voice rising. “So you can sit here and hate me? So you can keep twisting this into something it’s not?”

“Something it’s not?” Your voice cracks, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “You just admitted it! You just fucking said—”

“I said I didn’t mean for it to go that far!” he shouts, cutting you off. His face is flushed now, his eyes wild, the faint slur in his voice sharper. “That’s not the same thing!”

“It’s exactly the same thing!” you scream back, the words ripping out of you like a knife. “You knew I was drunk! You knew I couldn’t—”

“You didn’t say no,” he interrupts, his voice low and venomous.

The room falls silent.

Your breath catches in your throat, the weight of his words hitting you like a punch to the gut.

And then, quietly, trembling—

“That never stopped you before.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Su-bong’s face twists, something dark and ugly flashing across it. His jaw clenches, his fists tightening at his sides. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means,” you say, your voice shaking but firm. “You’ve always pushed, always taken. And I—” Your voice falters, cracking under the weight of your emotions. “I let you, because I loved you. Because I thought you loved me.”

“I do love you!�� he shouts, his voice breaking. He takes a step closer, his movements unsteady, uncoordinated. “I’ve always fucking loved you!”

“Love?” you laugh bitterly, the sound harsh and cutting. “This isn’t love, Su-bong. This is control. This is you trying to fucking own me.”

“I don’t want to own you!” he yells, his voice cracking. “I just—” He stops, dragging a hand through his hair, his movements erratic. “I just want you to stay. I just want us to be okay again.”

“There is no ‘us,’” you say, your voice trembling but resolute. “Not anymore.”

The words hit him like a physical blow. He staggers back slightly, his eyes wide, his chest heaving. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

And that’s when it happens.

He lunges forward, grabbing your wrist—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you flinch. “Don’t do this,” he says, his voice desperate, pleading. “Please, Y/N. Don’t fucking do this.”

“Let me go.” Your voice is sharp, but your heart is racing, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“Not until you listen to me!” he shouts, his grip tightening slightly.

“Let me go!” you scream, jerking your arm back. The force of it sends you both stumbling, and for a moment, everything is chaos.

Your hand connects with his chest—an instinctive push to get him away from you. He stumbles again, his back hitting the edge of the couch.

And then he snaps.

“Fuck!” he yells, slamming his fist into the wall beside him. The sound is loud, jarring, the plaster cracking under the force. “Why the fuck do you always have to make everything so goddamn hard?”

Tears stream down your face, hot and relentless, as you back away from him. “Get out,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Get the fuck out of my apartment, Su-bong.”

“I’m not leaving,” he says, his voice low, dangerous. “Not until you stop lying to yourself. Not until you admit you still love me.”

You laugh. Bitter. Sharp. The sound scrapes its way out of your throat, raw and venomous.

“Love you?” you say, the words trembling on the edge of rage. “I fucking hate you.”

The air in the room shifts.

His expression changes — a flicker of something unrecognizable crossing his face before it hardens into something darker. He steps toward you, his chest heaving, his fists still clenching at his sides.

“What did you just say?” he asks, his voice dangerously quiet.

“You heard me,” you snap, your voice rising, shaking. “I hate you. I hate everything about you. I hate what you’ve done to me, what you’ve made me. I fucking hate you, Su-bong.”

For a second, you think he’s going to hit you.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he reaches for the mug sitting on the table beside him.

“You hate me?” he says, his voice shaking with barely-contained rage. “After everything I’ve done for you? After everything I’ve put up with?”

The mug is in his hand now, his knuckles white as he grips it.

“You could barely last a week without me,” he spits, his voice rising. “You think you’re so fucking strong now? You’re nothing without me, Y/N. Nothing.”

And then he throws it.

It happens so fast, you barely have time to react.

The mug shatters against the wall behind you, fragments raining down around your feet. You flinch, your heart slamming against your ribs, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Are you fucking insane?” you scream, your voice cracking.

“You’re the one who made me like this!” he yells, his voice raw, ragged. He takes a step toward you, and you instinctively step back, your shoulders hitting the wall behind you.

“Get out,” you say, your voice trembling. “Get the fuck out of my apartment, Su-bong.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

“Yes, you are!” you scream, your voice breaking. “You don’t get to do this to me anymore! You don’t get to keep fucking breaking me and acting like it’s my fault!”

“I never broke you!” he yells, his voice rising to a roar. “You were already broken, Y/N! You’ve been broken since the day I met you!”

The words hit like a slap, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Fuck you,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face.

“Go ahead,” he snaps, his voice venomous. “Blame me for everything. That’s all you’ve ever been good at.”

“Blame you?” you shout, your chest heaving with rage. “You ruined my life, Su-bong! You fucking destroyed me, and you don’t even care!”

“I cared more than anyone else ever did!” he shouts back, his voice cracking. “No one else gave a shit about you, Y/N! No one else stayed!”

“I wish you hadn’t!” you scream, your voice breaking. “I wish I’d never met you!”

The room goes silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air like a guillotine.

He stares at you, his chest heaving, his hands shaking at his sides.

“Say it again,” he says, his voice dangerously quiet.

“I wish I never fucking met you,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

The air in the room shifts, heavy and suffocating.

His chest heaves with every labored breath, his fists trembling at his sides. And then he moves.

It’s a blur—the way he closes the distance between you, the way his hand shoots out and tangles in your hair. Pain flares at your scalp, sharp and instant, as he yanks you closer with a force that steals the breath from your lungs.

“Su-bong!” you cry, your hands flying up to claw at his wrist. “You’re hurting me!”

“No,” he snarls, his face inches from yours, his voice cracking with rage and desperation. “No, you’re hurting me, Y/N! You’re hurting me!”

His words are guttural, raw, as though they’ve been ripped from the deepest, ugliest part of him. His grip tightens, pulling harder, and you stumble, your knees buckling as you try to twist away.

“Let me go!” you scream, panic lacing every word. Your nails dig into his arm, leaving crescent-shaped marks against his skin, but it only seems to fuel him further.

“You don’t get to do this to me!” he yells, dragging you closer until you can feel the heat of his breath on your face, the wildness in his eyes swallowing you whole. “You don’t get to walk away like none of it mattered!”

“I didn’t—” Your voice cracks, tears spilling over, hot and relentless. “I didn’t do anything to you!”

“Liar,” he spits, his grip jerking you violently. “You’ve done everything, Y/N. You’ve ruined me, and you don’t even fucking care.”

Your heart pounds, a frantic, desperate rhythm that drowns out everything else. “Please,” you choke out, your voice trembling. “Please stop.”

But there’s no stopping him.

You twist sharply, pulling against his hold with every ounce of strength you have. He lets out a snarl of frustration as you manage to free yourself, stumbling back against the wall. For a moment, you think it’s over, that maybe he’s come to his senses.

But then his gaze drops to the lamp on the side table.

“Don’t,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

He doesn’t hesitate.

The lamp is in his hand before you can react, his fingers curling around its base like it’s an extension of his rage.

“You want me to stop?” he spits, his voice rising. “Fine. I’ll fucking stop.”

And then he throws it.

The lamp sails through the air, and for a split second, time seems to slow. You see it coming, but there’s no time to move. It smashes into your shoulder with a sickening thud, the force of it sending you sprawling to the floor.

Pain blooms instantly, sharp and white-hot, radiating from your shoulder down to your fingertips. You cry out, clutching the spot where it hit, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.

“Does it hurt?” he taunts, his voice dripping with venom. “Good. Maybe now you’ll fucking listen to me.”

Your vision blurs with tears, the pain and fear twisting together into something unbearable. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” you scream, your voice breaking.

“What’s wrong with me?” he snaps, his voice cracking. “You, Y/N. You’re what’s wrong with me. You made me like this!”

“You’re insane,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

His laughter is low and bitter, a sound that sends chills down your spine. “You drove me to this. You, with your lies, your fucking games—”

“I didn’t play any games!” you shout, your chest heaving. “I just wanted to get away from you!”

“You don’t get to run!” he roars, his face twisting into something unrecognizable. “Not after everything I’ve done for you! Not after—”

He stops abruptly, his gaze flickering to you, then to your throat.

And before you can move, before you can scream, he’s on you.

His hands wrap around your neck, his grip cold and unrelenting.

At first, it doesn’t feel real—the pressure, the way your breath catches in your throat, the way his face looms above you, wild and furious. But then the reality slams into you all at once, and the panic sets in.

You claw at his hands, your nails scraping against his skin as you gasp for air. The world narrows to the sound of your strangled breaths, the pounding of your pulse in your ears, the fire spreading through your lungs as you fight to inhale.

“Why do you always make me do this?” he growls, his voice shaking with anger. “Why do you always push me, Y/N? Why?”

Your vision blurs, black spots creeping in at the edges.

He’s saying something else, his voice a low, guttural snarl, but you can’t make out the words. All you can focus on is the pressure, the way it feels like your throat is collapsing under his grip.

And then—

A loud, sharp knock cuts through the haze.

“Police! Open the door!”

The sound barely registers at first, muffled and distant, like it’s coming from another world.

But it’s enough.

The knocking grows louder, more insistent. Voices shout from the other side, commanding, urgent.

“Police! We’re coming in!”

Su-bong’s grip falters, just slightly, as the realization dawns on him.

His gaze snaps to the door, then back to you.

“You called the fucking cops?” he snarls, his grip tightening again, his face contorting with rage. “You think they can save you? You think anyone can fucking save you from me?”

The sound of the door bursting open cuts him off.

In an instant, the room is flooded with voices—sharp, commanding, barking orders that you can’t quite process.

“Get off her!”

“Hands up!”

Su-bong freezes, his hands still around your throat, his body trembling with barely-contained fury.

“Let her go now!”

For a moment, he doesn’t move. The tension in the room is suffocating, the weight of his anger pressing down on you like a vice.

And then, finally, he lets go.

You collapse to the floor, gasping for air, your body trembling violently as you clutch your throat.

The officers swarm him, grabbing his arms and pulling him away from you. He struggles against their hold, shouting obscenities, his voice wild and broken.

“She fucking lied!” he screams, his voice cracking. “She lied about everything!”

You don’t respond. You can’t.

All you can do is lie there, your chest heaving, your vision blurred with tears, as the reality of what just happened crashes over you.

The officers’ voices blur together, a cacophony of sound that you can’t quite make out. One of them kneels beside you, their hand on your shoulder, their voice soft and steady.

“Miss, are you okay?”

You don’t answer.

Your gaze drifts to Su-bong as they drag him toward the door, his screams echoing in the apartment.

And for the first time in years, you feel something you haven’t felt in so long—

Relief.

You know what’s good for you.

You’ve done what you could for him.

And he was finally gone.

[sailornymph]

Uchiha with pregnant s/o please?

oh my love; uchiha men

synopsis — the uchiha men with a pregnant s/o

♡ madara uchiha

— you were in an arranged marriage with madara, who didn’t care too much to even be married because he had other matters to worry about. however, one night you cooked dinner, the both of you had too many drinks, and you woke up in bed with him

— you find out you’re pregnant when you are too sick to leave your room, so madara calls for a doctor to visit, who immediately tells you both, you are pregnant

— surprising to you, madara is very happy, hugging you, before going to tell the clan you were carrying his heir

— he is very protective of you and in a way, your pregnancy brings the two of you closer. he gets jealous when other men speak to you and annoyed when the women stop you. he just wants to keep you to himself to watch in amazement as your child grows. he also notices a glow on your face he has never seen before

— he tries to be very involved, but misses some events due to missions, but for the most part, he is very much present in every milestone of the pregnancy

— if your pregnancy happens during izuna’s passing, he will have you surrounded by security. everywhere you go, you will always have the best of the best uchiha shinobi accompanying you, if he is too busy

— he speaks to your belly every day, it is a part of his routine, as if the child is already here, he talks to them, telling them what he did, is doing, plans to do, and so on, and he doesn’t feel an ounce of embarrassment

— going into labor during your morning stroll, you give birth to a baby boy, naming him hiroshi

approaching his large home, he could see you sitting outside. his heart fluttered at the sight, he never thought he would see the day he felt so weak for you. your skin glowing, womb swollen with his heir, you were fragile, but he found himself accepting your weakness, especially in this current state.

“what are you doing out here so early?” he asked, as you ate the apple slices, sitting on the porch.

“i couldn't sleep, and the weather is nice,” you shrugged, as he approached, helping you stand.

“then i came at a perfect time, come, your rest is vital,” he said.

“your son won't allow me to rest,” you told him, as he walked you into the house. he couldn't help but smirk, he had been over the moon at the new that you were having a son.

“he’s ready to come out, aren't you son? you have a clan of people waiting for you specifically to be born,” he spoke rubbing your stomach.

“i can’t wait until you’re here either, so we can have our talks, without your mother’s ears, but she can stay for now since she helps you so much,” he shrugged, as you sat down together, still speaking to your tummy.

“excuse m-

“don't worry about what we’re talking about, get your rest,” he told you, laying your head on his shoulder, and rubbing your belly.

♡ itachi uchiha

♡ indra ōtsutsuki

— having indra’s first child and hagoromo’s first grandchild will be a very big deal

— unlike the rest of the women his father brought to him, for an arranged marriage, he found you tolerable. you didn’t chase after him and you weren’t completely weak and defenseless. he somehow found himself actively pursuing you

— you find out during a large feast amongst the clan when you go to reach for the sake bottle, and hagoromo stops you, saying how you shouldn’t drink for the next nine months, making indra choke on his food

— announcing to the clan, while the fetus was still in its very early stages, you were pregnant with his first grandchild

— you and indra hardly have alone time anymore, as your days are constantly filled with different clan members coming in and out of your home, treating you, offering decorations, gifts, congratulations

— indra prefers solidarity over being around his clan too much, but there are times when you both are alone, he will rub your tummy, speaking to the baby growing inside

— as your due date draws near, he puts his foot down and doesn’t allow any more visitors, other than his father or the doctor. you needed your rest and he would make sure you had it

— going into labor in the middle of the night, you welcome a baby girl, naming her sana

entering his home, indra furrowed his eyebrows, seeing the guest bowing at your feet, asura standing beside you. you were exhausted, hiding it behind a smile, as you told the clan members they didn’t have to bow to you.

“out, all of you, out” he said, activating his eyes.

“no need to be aggressive brother, they only wanted to congratulate you both,” asura said, as the clan members hurriedly left.

“didn't i say no guests, look at her, she's exhausted, but that doesn't matter to you, as long as you can please the people, get out,” indra said.

“that's not true, i didn't realize how tired she was-

“stay away from her, you're not welcome back until the baby is born,” indra said harshly.

“indra, honey, he didn't mean any harm-

“it doesn't matter what he meant, you can hardly sit up straight,” he told you.

“he's right y/n, i apologize for overstepping brother and i am sorry y/n, i should've been more conscious of your current condition,” he said, leaving the house.

“you didn't have to be so mean to him, you clearly hurt his feelings”

“his feelings aren't important, but yours and the baby’s health are,” he said, picking you up, and carrying you to your bedroom, laying you on your fluffy futon.

“he's your brother and your daughter's uncle”

“daughter?” he repeated.

“surprise, are you happy?”

“i would be satisfied with either, as long as they are well,” he kissed your belly, the baby immediately kicking.

“ugh, she's starting since she knows you're home,” you groaned, making him grin.

“hi princess, your mother and i can't wait until you're here. i can't wait to hold you. you will always be loved and protected as long as you have me. you and your mother,” he said, interlocking his fingers with yours.

“apologize to asura, she should have a bond with you and her uncle, i agreed to let the clansmen inside,” you told him.

“fine, tomorrow, i am busy, i have many things i'd like to say to my princess,” he said, as you felt another kick.

“see, asura has to wait, and princess, be kind to your mother’s body,” he said. smiling, you were happy he was enjoying this, acting like his old self, before asura was chosen over him by his father.

♡ obito uchiha

— you find out about the pregnancy about five months before the fourth ninja war

— he is ecstatic, he didn’t have anyone growing up, but now that he had a child of his own, he planned to love them with every breath in his body

— while he isn’t able to be present during doctor visits, he likes to hear every detail about what happened

— will have long conversations with your tummy, as if the baby is responding to him

— leading up to the war, he becomes much more protective, he tries to keep his life as a criminal hidden from you, but it is becoming impossible

— he makes sure to have plenty of resources put away for you and his child if he were to not return. hugging you tightly, he kissed your tummy a million times, before he left

— kakashi, his former friend he told you about, is the one to show up at your doorstep. his eyes widening at your huge belly, to give you the news that he passed, and how in the end, he chose what was right

— kakashi takes on the role of godfather, helping out whenever he can, when you finally give birth to a baby boy who looks like the spitting image of his father, and so he is named obito

“what’s the matter?” obito asked, as he entered your bedroom. you were stretching, an uncomfortable expression on your face.

“the baby is very active and won’t give me a break,” you whined, as he climbed in bed with you, his large hand rubbing your belly.

“what are you doing, little guy?”

“how do you know it’s a boy, it could be a girl,” you smiled.

“it’s like i can sense him, he reminds me of me, when i was a boy, and i was a handful,” he said, making you laugh.

“you can’t hurt your mother’s body, she is helping you grow, so that you can become strong. when you are out, you can bother me as much as you want, okay? i can take it, but your mother, she is fragile”

“we love you, and can’t wait to meet you, but you have to promise me that you won’t hurt your mother. you are already so strong and i know that you’re ready to be here, however, be patient, i’ve learned that good things come to those who wait. true strength comes with time, not overnight son, you will have your chance,” he continued, kissing your belly.

much to your surprise, the pressure lessened, as you stared at him with shocked eyes.

“they stopped,” you said, becoming emotional.

“i told you, he loves his father and i love him,” he told you, going to hold your belly once again.

♡ sasuke uchiha

— you become pregnant during your first mission together, since he came back to konoha. you began dating as genin, but he dumped you, leaving to join orochimaru. you tried to fight for him, alongside naruto and sakura, but he seemed like a lost cause. since he has been back, naruto and even lord sixth, kakashi, have been forcing the two of you to work together

— after awkwardly traveling for hours, you finally opened up to each other and he apologized for hurting you. the last thing you expected to happen was to end up in bed with him, as he held you close, asking you if you would be his girlfriend again

— however, when you are back in konoha, he is sent away on another mission, leaving you to find out the news on your own, after you pass out during your training

— returning home to visit you, the last thing he excepted was to see kakashi leaving from visiting you, and you tell him that you were two months pregnant. he immediately asks you to marry him and before the end of the week is over, the two of you have a very small wedding, with only the closest people to you invited.

— he is not home the entire pregnancy, he is picking up mission after mission, especially knowing that he now has a wife and child to take care of

— he finally returns about two or three weeks before you go into labor, completely stunned by how swollen your belly was

— he is very shy when it comes to interacting with your bump. he doesn't want to hurt you, what could he say to the baby? will they end up like him? will they even like him?

— he stays home until you finally give birth to your daughter sarada

making his way to the small house he shared with you, he gulped. you were probably angry with him, the fact that he hadn't reached out in over four months. he regretted taking the mission, not realizing how far and how long it would take. looking for the spare key, he opened the door, surprised by how nicely the house was decorated.

“stupid instructions,” you groaned, making him follow your voice. you sat on the floor in the nursery, the instructions to build the crib on the floor, alongside all of the needed tools.

“i can take care of this,” he spoke, making you look over, gasping. struggling to stand, he rushed over, quickly assisting you. as you stood tall, his eyes went to your bump. it wasn't nearly as developed the last time he had seen you. had he really missed so much?

taking his hand, you placed it onto your belly, he could feel their chakra, the movements of their small body.

“we’re having a girl,” you told him.

“a…daughter,” he said, completely shocked. feeling himself becoming lightheaded, he looked around the nursery, going to sit in the rocking chair, as you followed behind.

pulling you into his lap, he continued to hold your belly, staring in amazement.

“how is she growing?”

“she is healthy and very active,” you laughed.

“talk to her,” you encouraged, smiling as he looked nervous.

“hi,” his voice slightly cracked, as he glanced at you, when suddenly you felt a kick.

“she likes your voice, keep going,” you said, as he rubbed your belly, before exhaling.

“hi peanut, i’m your father and i can’t wait to meet you. i apologize for not coming to you sooner,” he said, furrowing his eyebrows as he struggled to form his thoughts into words.

[rose24207]

Just a salesman pt.2

Summary: Your perfect world shatters when a furious stranger bursts into your home, accusing your loving, devoted husband of being a monster responsible for countless deaths.

Genre: angst, dark

TW: mention of death, little gaslighting, reader is a little twisted about the situation, the games in general

A/N: Wow I didn’t expect for pt. 1 to blow up like that and for so many requests about a second part. But here we go! I take requests about squid game btw. English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Pt.1

Masterlist

The room fell into an unbearable silence as you stood there, trembling, your tears streaking your face. Gi-hun’s words echoed in your ears like a bell you couldn’t unring. Your husband, your safe harbor, was a killer. A manipulative, calculating man who had built a world of lies around you.

And yet...

As much as your heart screamed in betrayal, it also whispered something darker. A small, insidious part of you—a part you didn’t even recognize—wanted to protect him. Wanted to believe that somehow, some way, this could still make sense.

“Leave,” your husband said, his voice low and commanding. It wasn’t directed at you, but at Gi-hun.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Gi-hun spat. “She deserves to know the full truth.”

“I said, leave.” Your husband’s tone grew colder, sharper. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand flexed at his side as though itching to act.

Gi-hun took a step forward, his jaw set. “You think you can scare me? After everything I’ve been through because of you? I’m not afraid of you anymore. I’m not—”

“Stop,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the tension like a blade. Both men turned to look at you, surprised. You wiped your face, straightened your back, and forced yourself to meet Gi-hun’s eyes. “Please. Just… go.”

“What?” he said, incredulous. “You can’t be serious.”

“I need to talk to him,” you said firmly, though your voice wavered. “Alone.”

“You can’t trust him,” Gi-hun argued, gesturing toward your husband. “He’s a monster. He’ll manipulate you, just like he’s done to everyone else.”

You shook your head. “I don’t care what you think. This is my marriage. My life. And right now, you’re not helping.”

Your words were harsh, but your heart felt like it was being ripped apart. Gi-hun looked at you, his face contorted with disbelief, before letting out a bitter laugh.

“Fine,” he said, throwing his hands up. “Do what you want. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He shot your husband one last glare before storming out, slamming the door behind him.

Silence settled over the room once more. Your husband stood there, watching you cautiously, as though waiting for you to lash out or collapse. But you did neither. Instead, you walked to the table, picking up the strange card Gi-hun had left. You turned it over in your hands, the cryptic design doing little to ease your growing unease.

“Is it true?” you asked finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “What he said about the games? About you?”

Your husband hesitated, his jaw tightening. Then, to your surprise, he nodded. “Yes.”

The word hit you like a physical blow, but you didn’t falter. You set the card down and looked at him, your tears drying as a strange calm settled over you. “Why?”

“For you,” he said simply, stepping closer. “For us.”

“That’s not an answer,” you said, your voice cold. “Why would you do something so… horrific? Why would you—”

“Because it’s the only world I know,” he interrupted, his voice rising slightly. “And it’s the only way I could give you the life you deserve. Don’t you see? Everything I’ve done has been for you.”

“For me?” you repeated, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and something darker. “You think I wanted this? That I’d ever want you to hurt people—kill people—for me?”

He stepped closer still, his eyes locking onto yours. “You don’t understand,” he said softly. “The world isn’t kind to people like us. I’ve seen what happens to people who don’t take control, who don’t make the hard choices. I made those choices so you wouldn’t have to.”

You stared at him, your mind spinning. Every instinct told you to run, to call the police, to do anything but stand there and listen to him. And yet… you didn’t move.

“Do you love me?” you asked suddenly, your voice raw.

His expression softened, and for a moment, you saw the man you’d fallen in love with. “More than anything,” he said. “You’re the only good thing in my life.”

Something inside you twisted at his words, at the sincerity in his voice. He was a monster, yes—but he was your monster. The thought made your stomach churn, but it also filled you with a strange, horrifying sense of power. He had done terrible things, but he had done them for you.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you said, your voice trembling. “I don’t know if I can ever look at you the same way.”

“I don’t expect you to,” he said quietly. “But I need you to understand that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. To keep you with me.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding as you took a shaky breath. “You’re going to tell me everything,” you said finally, your voice steady despite the chaos inside you. “No more lies. No more secrets. If you want me to stay, I need to know exactly who you are.”

A flicker of relief crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by something darker. He nodded. “I’ll tell you everything.”

As he began to speak, unraveling the web of lies and horrors he’d kept hidden, you felt yourself sinking deeper into a world you didn’t understand—a world you weren’t sure you wanted to understand. But one thing was certain: you weren’t ready to let go. Not yet.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @blueyesuguru, @annimoony, @jasmineee05, @astrophe0, @riri53, @putrescentpoet

[twstowo]

Hello!! Idk if ur doing requests but ahem cld i maybe request like a clingy yuu/reader with the second years and malleus?? like the reader is constantly following them around, and stuff,, like a small Floyd typa reader ^_^ i really love ur writing and i wld rlly love to see this dbsnsn if it's not a problem ofc!! :D

♡︎For context, Bestie Anon sent this ask on 20th of february and I’m only answering now, I would like to apologize for this, no like fr, ANON I will buy you cake if you want, LIKE FR what I did is criminal

⋆⋅☆Malleus:

Who gave you permission to be this adorable? Malleus loves you so much. He loves the attention you give him, the fact that you want to spend YOUR TIME WITH HIM AND THAT YOU CLINGE TO HIM?! He is in love. No, you don’t understand, he is IN LOVE. You make him feel so soft, and he will fight anyone for you. He wants nothing more than to spend the whole day with you and talk for hours and he isn’t ashamed to show it. He will literally teleport next to you as soon as he remotely starts missing you.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Riddle:

He is flustered with your clinginess. You are always way too close for his own liking but he doesn’t have the guts to tell you anything you make his heart go BUM. The type of guy that when you two are alone he will also be clingy, not right away in the beginning of the relationship, but if he sees that you are clingy and that you are fine with being close to him he will start thinking that maybe it’s also fine fro him to open up and be like that with you too.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Ruggie:

He is also into it, he is the type of guy that if you hug him he will joke about you being so clingy but then he is the last person to let go of the hug, if you don’t let go of him he will just stay there in your arms for the rest of the day. Enjoys your company so much to the point he will feel weird if he doesn’t see you for a whole day. Show up at your dorm with food, that he buyed with Leona’s money, and spends the rest of the day cuddling with you.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Azul:

I’m a firm believer that he is also really clingy BUT he has this image that he must maintain for his business. Politely pats your back if you too are in front of people and tells you to meet him back at the VIP room later, when he arrives to the VIP room he literally won’t leave you, he would stay the whole day attached to you if it wasn’t for his work. Floyd once took a picture of Azul laying on your lap while you patted his head on the VIP sofa, up to this day Floyd keeps on blackmailing Azul with it.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Jade:

He will just do that “Oya?” and laugh at your antics. Maybe he plays around with your hair while finding your clinginess endearing. I do see Jade as someone who tends to feel lonely since he doesn’t have many people to talk to or join him in his hobbies. So if you give him all that attention that he never had, he will probably want to return it by giving you his full attention whenever you speak about your interests. He is still a bit of a tease, but he can’t deny that he enjoys all the attention you give him.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Floyd:

If this guy is in a good mood, he will be so annoying, with annoying I mean you two are going to be clingy with each other, and if you want to leave him, because you need to go to class, you won’t. He won’t allow it, you aren’t going anywhere anymore. His arms are your new home, you don’t need anything else. Type of guy that will spot you and just hugs you and just lift you up and takes you whenever he feels like going at the moment, you two will now be going on a date.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Kalim:

You guys legit made Jamil throw up. The two of you are so clingy, when Kalim sees you he literally never lets go of you, as soon as he spots you you will be spending the rest of the day with him, and he keeps on hugging you, giving you little check kisses or hold your hand and YOU you just retrieve all of his affection tenfold.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Jamil:

Oh no. He isn’t found of public displays of affection as I have stated before, but once you two are behind closed doors he is fine with it, he doesn’t mind you dotting on him that much, the hugs and kisses and all the attention that you give him, quite the oposite he actually really craves all of that. He will have a hard time retrieving the affection through, but give him some time and he will slowly start open up about all of those sappy interactions.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Silver:

I’m a firm believer that Silver is an extreme soft boy that loves affection and YOU CAN’T CHANGE MY MIND. Of course that his image of affection was different than yours, type of guy that does lots of acts of service, whatever you need, call him and he will be there, so when you start being clingy with him that open a door that he had never really though about and he loves it. He won’t be as clingy as you are but he will always try to retrive you affection even if in small gestures, you hug him? He gives you a small kiss on top of your head. You hold his hand? He kisses your wrist.

[writeriguess]

Having a super hard time right now so could you do a single dad kirishma or bakugo or shinsou and they’re struggling trying to juggle parenthood and being a pro then they meet y/n she’s new to their agency and she just so happens to catch their eye, just a simple receptionist but she has so many ideas. They’re so busy that they don’t even get the chance to actually meet her until one day she comes up to their office with an idea for a daycare in the agency since she’s getting so many call outs about people who don’t have child care. She offers to run/teach the daycare as well since she was a teacher back in the states before she moved and it turns out this is the key to their own problems and they slowly fall in love with her.

author's note: Hey, I just wanted to clarify something. I’ve noticed that “comfort fics” sometimes get published quickly after being requested, which might give the impression that I prioritize them. However, that’s not the case—every fic is written and published in the order it was requested.

If you requested this piece, you might have noticed that I didn’t publish it immediately after seeing it. Please know that I don’t rush requests out of order. The only time I made an exception was for an emergency request, but I now realize that was a mistake, as some people overlooked my author’s note explaining it was a one-time thing. I’m sorry for any confusion, and I appreciate your patience!

Safe in Your Hands

The constant buzzing of his phone was a persistent, grating reminder that life didn’t slow down for anyone. Not even for Katsuki Bakugo.

“Goddamnit,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples as he read yet another text from the daycare. His son, Ryo, had caught a cold and needed to be picked up early—again. He wasn’t mad at the kid, never at him, but the frustration of trying to juggle being a top pro hero and a single father was wearing him thin.

His office was a mess of paperwork, mission reports, and unfinished emails. He was barely keeping his head above water, and his agency, while thriving, was in dire need of some structure. Or a miracle.

That’s when a soft knock at his door pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Come in,” he grumbled, expecting another stack of files or another meeting he didn’t have time for.

Instead, you stepped in.

“Good afternoon, Dynamight-san.”

He barely looked up at first, recognizing you as the new receptionist. You’d been here a couple of months, always polite, always handling things smoothly. He’d noticed, even if he never had the time to actually speak to you. You were a quiet force in the chaos, managing things from behind the front desk with a calm confidence.

“I, uh, hope I’m not interrupting,” you said, shifting slightly but holding your ground. “I have an idea I wanted to run by you.”

His gaze flickered up then, curiosity outweighing his exhaustion. “What kinda idea?”

You stepped forward, placing a neatly written proposal on his desk. “I’ve been getting a lot of call-outs from employees who are struggling with childcare. And I’ve noticed you’ve had to step out unexpectedly for similar reasons. I was a teacher back in the States before moving here, and I was thinking… what if we had an in-agency daycare?”

He blinked, stunned into silence for the first time in what felt like months.

“I’d be willing to help set it up, even run it,” you continued, your voice steady. “It’d give the staff some peace of mind, knowing their kids are safe while they work. And it might make things easier for you, too.”

He stared at you for a long moment, your words sinking in. No one had ever suggested something like this before. No one had ever looked at the chaos of his life and offered a solution so simple yet perfect.

“Tch,” he finally scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “You’re serious about this?”

You nodded. “Completely.”

And just like that, something in his chest loosened.

Maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t doing this alone anymore.

The next few weeks passed in a blur. Once Bakugo approved the daycare idea, you got straight to work. There were meetings to hold, rooms to convert, supplies to order, and staff to hire. Despite the long hours, you found yourself energized by the project. The employees were thrilled with the idea, and as word spread through the agency, more and more heroes began stopping by to offer assistance.

Bakugo was still a little wary, though. He wasn’t the type to trust easily, but he couldn’t deny that things were starting to feel a little less overwhelming.

One evening, as you were reviewing the final details before the daycare’s official opening, Bakugo showed up at the converted space. You looked up from your clipboard, surprised to see him standing in the doorway with Ryo in his arms. The little boy, looking sleepy and snuggled into his father’s shoulder, blinked at you drowsily.

“Figured we should do a test run,” Bakugo muttered, stepping inside. “See how the brat likes it.”

You smiled warmly. “Of course. Come on in.”

Setting Ryo down gently, Bakugo watched as the toddler hesitantly explored the room. His tiny hands ran over the soft mats, and he eyed the shelves of toys with curiosity. Slowly, he toddled toward a plush All Might figure, giving it an experimental squeeze.

You crouched down next to him. “You like that one, Ryo?”

The boy looked up at you, then at his father, before nodding shyly.

Bakugo exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Looks like it’s a hit.”

You grinned. “I think so.”

For the first time since you’d met him, you saw the tension in Bakugo’s shoulders ease slightly. Maybe this really was the answer to the problem he hadn’t been able to solve alone.

As the weeks went by, the daycare became an integral part of the agency. Parents were relieved, the kids were happy, and Bakugo—though he’d never say it outright—was grateful beyond words.

You and Bakugo started seeing more of each other, too. At first, it was just in passing—quick meetings to discuss logistics, brief encounters when he dropped Ryo off. But then, it turned into coffee breaks, conversations that stretched a little longer each day, small moments of laughter that neither of you had expected.

One evening, after a particularly long shift, Bakugo stopped by your office. You looked up, surprised to see him lingering in the doorway.

“Hey,” he said gruffly.

“Hey,” you replied, setting your pen down. “Everything okay?”

He hesitated, then sighed. “Yeah. Just… wanted to say thanks. For everything.”

A warm feeling spread through your chest. “You don’t have to thank me, Bakugo. I’m happy to help.”

His gaze softened, just a little. “Still. You’ve made shit easier for me. And for Ryo.”

You smiled. “Well, I’m glad. He’s a great kid.”

A rare smirk tugged at his lips. “Yeah, he is.”

Silence settled between you, comfortable and warm. And in that moment, you both knew—this was just the beginning.

As months passed, your presence in Bakugo’s life became more than just professional. He found himself looking forward to seeing you every day, whether it was during a hectic morning drop-off or a quiet evening chat after work. Ryo adored you, always running to you with excitement when he saw you at the daycare.

One night, after a late shift, you were locking up when Bakugo showed up with Ryo asleep in his arms. He was exhausted, but there was something softer in his expression than usual.

“Wanna grab a late dinner?” he asked, almost shyly.

You blinked in surprise before smiling. “I’d love to.”

And just like that, everything changed. The weight on Bakugo’s shoulders didn’t feel so heavy anymore. Because for the first time in years, he wasn’t carrying it alone.

[gojoidyll]

old dog, old tricks

chapter one | older

capitano wasn't getting any younger, and his coworkers were easily passing him by in terms of finding their own significant others. maybe it was time to get into the dating scene. however, as a crime lord... well, that it may be harder than it sounds.

table of contents | next

taglist

@squirrelboxer @funicidals @naviabestgiirl

Capitano let his eyes roam and scan over the documents – once, twice, three times – before setting them back onto the table. He was invited to yet another wedding. A wedding for one of the harbingers no less.

There were eleven mafia bosses that belonged to the Harbinger Family. Him, being the first and the one who sent him a wedding invitation, Childe, being the weakest and the least of the eleven. And he was already getting married?

Truthfully, Capitano could still remember when Childe first joined the family and how he rose up to become one of the leaders. Has it really been that long to where he was actually getting married? Capitano huffed at the thought as he leaned back into his cushioned chair. His whopping age of forty-nine years old ringing loud in his ears. He was going to be fifty this year. Damn.

To his subordinates and the other Harbingers, he was probably going to be seen as an old man once his birthday hits. Now, despite being as old as he is, he didn’t have a single grey hair on his head, his body was still fit, and he didn’t move around like some man who was ready to retire. In fact, many people who still want to fight say that it’s like he is still in his prime. However,… witnessing almost each of the Harbingers getting married was starting to weigh down on him. With Childe getting married in the next few months that would lead Capitano as the only one un-wedded.

Maybe he was getting a bit tired of it… and not tired in an old man way. Tired of being alone.

Now, he has dated women and gained some experience under his belt. He even had plenty of one-night stands to think back on. But that was the tiring part because the women were fun, but they were all the same. Each of them having ulterior motives. Those ulterior motives usually being (a) wanting his money, (b) wanting his dick and the bragging rights that came with being fucked by him, and (c) to just straight up try to assassinate him.

So yes, women were always fun. They brought a thrill within his line of work anytime he got bored. But, now? He didn’t just want a woman. He wanted a lady. Someone mature, someone who could fall in love in with him (however, hard that may be), someone who didn’t see him just for his money, and …, well, someone who didn’t get paid to kill him would be nice too.

Yet, with what he does for a living, finding a lady like that would prove to be difficult. It made him wonder how his fellow harbingers found the time and the energy.

“Lord Capitano?”

He heard his second in command call for him behind the heavy door, voice muffled as he knocked.

“What is it?”

The door opened as his second in command bowed to him, “will you be attending the wedding?”

Capitano glanced at the invitation again. The gold-colored words that glinted in the light of the room mocked him. He didn’t want to, but… Childe would throw a fit. A tantrum that the harbingers didn’t need to deal with right now.

“Yes, for now, at least.”

His second in command bowed before walking up to his desk and taking the invitation, “I will inform them for you.”

Capitano dismissed him as he got comfortable in his chair again. His thoughts once again circulating on his own problem.

Childe’s wedding isn’t until a few months from now… the least I could muster is actually bringing a date this time.

However, even that may prove difficult. He was getting older. The “dating” scene wasn’t for him anymore. That, and any of his future partners may be a bit… too expecting of him. He wasn’t as young anymore. Flitting about without a care in the world wasn’t something he could afford. What he needed was a woman to date that wasn’t dependent on him, could take care of herself, and wasn’t high maintenance. In other words, his past flings and one-night stands were … out of the question.

Shaking his head at his own thoughts he got up from his desk. He needed to get out of this office, and the moment he left anyone and everyone walking down the hall stood at attention. Their backs straight, eyes set forward and their lungs holding the breath that threatened to slip out.

And with each step he took, the soles of his shoes thudding against the floor, he could tell how their hearts thundered loud in their chests in unison with his steps. He could sense their fear ebbing into their nerves, everything.

This place was suffocating.

“Shall I pull the car around?”

“No need.”

Capitano’s was quick as his voice cut through the air as he exited the main HQ of the Harbingers. His feet soon meeting the concrete sidewalk instead of the smooth marble flooring of the expensive building. Though, the stale city air did little to improve his mood as he set out for no clear destination in mind.

There weren’t many places to go to simply relax, especially for a city like this one. Though, he did know of one place. A place with a scarce amount of people with the exception of small families and dog owners.

A park.

When he was younger, he would find himself frequenting a random park bench shielded by a few trees. It was the one place that his men and his enemies never thought to look. The only place he could think or bleed out in silence.

Though, after the short walk to the park, he found his bench occupied. A mother and her child were already there, chatting happily as both enjoyed their separate ice-creams they held close. No matter. The bench next to it was free anyway, and taking it was what he exactly did.

The kid was the first to look over. Eyes shining curiously at him much to his dismay.

“Hey, momma, that man’s suit looks super expensive!”

The kid did little to quiet his voice to a whisper as he turned back to his mother with a smile. And that was when you finally looked over at Capitano. Eyes scanning him quickly.

“It does, doesn’t it,” you said with a smile.

“Can I get a suit like that?!”

“Maybe when you’re older. You won’t be able to wear it if you get it now.”

The kid huffed, “then it can be a smaller version!”

“And what would you need a suit for?”

“To look super cool!”

You both laughed as Capitano tried his best to ignore you both, but your laughter was nice on the ears. It helped him relax, to just sit back and let any and all stress that was building up to fade away.

“Hey, mister!”

Capitano glanced over at the boy fully expecting him to ask about his suit.

“What’s up with the mask?”

You quickly shushed your child with a silent reprimand before looking towards Capitano again, “I’m sorry sir, he’s… he’s just a curious kid.”

“It’s alright… the mask is for,” Capitano debated on whether to tell the truth, but decided not to, “for fun.”

“For fun?”

Capitano nodded as the kid asked another question, and then another, and another. Before too long Capitano had found himself in a deep conversation with the kid as you would always jump in when needed, but didn’t stop the exchange nonetheless, well, until your phone went off.

“Alright time to-“

“Awww, already?!”

You reached for him and ruffled his hair, “you still need to do your homework and I need to get home to get ready for my night shift.”

He huffed but got up from the bench anyway, “can you still give me a piggyback ride?”

You nodded as you got up from the bench and knelt to the ground to which your kid had happily clambered up and onto your back. And then steadying yourself, you stood up and looked to Capitano while also adjusting your purse on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry if we bothered you today, but thank you for talking to us… may I get your name?”

He regarded you for a second before answering, “it was no trouble at all. The conversation was… relaxing and got my mind off of work. And- just call me Capitano.”

He saw the flash of recognition in your eyes, but you did well to hide your surprise as you nodded, “r- right, it was nice meeting you, Capitano.”

The shake in your voice was all he needed to hear to know that you knew who he was. Which was a good thing. If you knew who was “bad” then it would be easier for you to protect your child. Though, not immediately being able to recognize him from appearance alone was your first mistake.

And before you left, he stopped you, “and your name?”

You gave him your name. If it was a fake one or not, he didn’t comment on it, but simply let you be on your way. Your boy laughing and making small jokes as he was completely unaware of the tense exchange.

“Y/n, huh?”

[bucks-babe]

Slip Up

Pairing: Notsovirgin!Bucky x f!reader

Summary: While having fun with your boyfriend, an accident occurs, leading to another first for Bucky 

Warnings: Wrong hole, Bucky cums so much, squirting, Bucky is a sweet boy, unprotected p in v, anal, anal fingering, dirty talk, small mention of prostate cancer (Like one line), Bucky is an innocent baby, anal to vaginal fingering (DON’T DO THAT), Bucky calls reader a whore once, but it’s sexy, overstimulation?, daddy kink (I can’t help myself), Bucky is becoming a dom??, no crying during sex (I know, shocker) 

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Part of the Virgin!Bucky series. It can be read as a stand alone as well. But you shouldn't read it alone because it's filthy! And it's worth it to see Bucky becoming more and more a lover of Sex! Beta read and idea from the incredible @buckys-wintersoldier Blame her for the filth you are about to read. She’s the one who put this idea in my head. I can’t be held responsible for the feelings you experience. However, any and all mistakes are my own. But you wrote that!!!! A lot of filthy ideas which dropped my jaw and let my pasta almost fall out of my mouth!

You and Bucky have been fucking like rabbits ever since the day he lost his virginity to you. He was addicted to the feel of your tight cunt wrapped around his cock, never lasting more than a few minutes, but able to keep going thanks to the serum coursing through his body. He wonders if he will ever be able to last longer. You say you don’t mind that he can’t control how fast he cums, but it doesn’t make him feel any better that he can’t.

Even with that thought nagging at him all the time, the moment he enters you his mind goes blank, only able to think about how wet and tight you are. Never experiencing anything like it before. Almost every night you have to change the sheets, the sheer volume of his cum too much for your body to handle; however, that doesn’t stop you from fucking him every damn day, waking him up with blowjobs when he has morning wood, or the way you beg for him to cum in you just one more time.

Bucky understands now. He understands why people go so crazy over sex. The pleasure you give him makes him weak in the knees, not a single thought in his head, only the urge to fill you up over and over again. 

That’s how he ends up in bed, railing you. Legs thrown over his shoulders taking his brutal assault. He’s gotten more confident each time he fucks you. He may not last long, but he makes up for it with how many times he can cum and keep going. The both of you writhing in pleasure, him drawing seven orgasms from you already, eating your pussy for over an hour. 

He wasn’t too far behind, cumming inside of you three times and once down your throat. The sounds of your fucking is louder than ever, your squirt mixed with his excessive loads making you wetter than ever. “Fuck, doll, this pussy is so fucking wet, filled up with my cum. So fucking dirty, letting me use you like this, fucking you like a damn toy. God, my cock is so fucking sensitive, gonna blow again. Yeah, you want that? I bet you do, you dirty whore.”

One thing that Bucky has found out he really loves is dirty talk and degradation. He loves when you do it to him just as much as doing it to you. It makes his cock somehow even harder. Each push of his hips is met with a harsh slap of his thighs meeting your ass and the vulgar sound of the excessive wetness of your pussy.

“Shit, doll, gonna cum. Gonna cum so goddamn much, make this pussy overflow. Shitshitshit, fuck, m’cumming.” His balls pull up, forcing so much cum out of his cock that he swears he’s about to pass out. His eyes roll to the back of his head when he feels you squirt all over him, another wave of cum bursting from him. The force of your orgasm pushes his cock out, but Bucky was brainless now, having cum so much he was losing control of his body.

His hips never stopped moving, almost not noticing that he wasn’t in your pussy anymore, too lost in his own pleasure, cum still flowing from him. He tried to put his cock back in, needing to keep you full of his cum, but the amount of cum and wetness made a slippery mess. At the next thrust of his hips, his cock slides down, not entering your welcoming pussy, rather trying, and failing to enter your ass.

Your hole tight and unwilling to stretch on such short notice takes your breath away. The pain is instant, shooting from your hole all the way up your spine. “FUCK!” You push Bucky off of you with so much force he almost falls off the bed. Curling on your side, you try to gasp for air, the pain knocking the wind out of you. 

Bucky is knocked out of his stupor, cock immediately softening when he sees how much pain you’re in. “Doll, what happened? Are you okay?” Ice drenches his spine. He barely started having sex and he’s already hurt you. Everything was fine seconds ago and now you’re curled up in the fetal position gasping for air. 

“I’m okay, Bucky, I’m okay.” It comes out breathy but you try to compose yourself for your boyfriend’s sake, needing to comfort him, letting him know he didn’t do anything wrong. You roll over looking at Bucky who looks like a kicked puppy. 

“What did I do?” His voice is thick with unshed tears. You’re the last person he ever wants to hurt. You motion for him to come closer to you. At first he hesitates, not wanting to accidentally hurt you again, but you insist so he follows.

“You tried to go in the wrong hole, sweetheart. That one doesn’t open up as easy.” He whines. Bucky can’t deny that the thought of his cock in your ass hadn’t crossed his mind more than once. But he couldn’t ever find the confidence to ask you. Of course he knows that you would never judge him, but he didn’t know that he wasn’t the only one who was interested.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, doll.” You cut off the rest of his apology, not wanting to hear him talk badly about himself. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. A lot of people do that, they just have to prep for it.” That gains Bucky’s attention. Other people want to do the same thing as him? 

“I-well-they do?” Bucky can feel the heat rising in his cheeks. He was terrible at having any conversations about what he wants to do in the bedroom, too afraid to ask.

“Yes, they do. If you want we can try it too. We just need to have some prep beforehand, so you’ll fit inside of me and it won’t hurt.” 

“It hurts you?” There was no way that Bucky would do anything if it would hurt you. He gets off on your pleasure just as much as his own. Why would anyone want to do something that hurts their partner?

“Not when I’m prepared. You have to work that hole open because it’s not usually meant for that kind of stuff. It’s supposed to feel good for the both of us.” That makes his cock twitch. The feeling of your pussy is so different from the feel of your mouth. They both drive him crazy, but the thought of what your ass would feel like has his cock rock hard in a matter of seconds.

“Can we, uh, can we do that?” His cheeks were on fire, never having been so embarrassed to ask for something in his life. He buries his head in the crook of your neck, not wanting you to see his face. The sound of your giggle makes him curl further into you, feeling the vibrations through his chest.

“Of course we can, sweetheart. I’ll show you what to do, talk you through it.” It soothes Bucky, knowing that you’re there to guide him. To show him how to please you. He has no clue what he would do without you.

“Have you done this before?” Bucky knows he has no right to be jealous of any of your exes when he is the one who gets to be with you, but the image of someone else taking that hole annoys him.

“Only by myself, but I’ll show you how to start.” Gently, you push Bucky off of you, making him sit up on the bed. He stares down at you with so much love you almost just beckon him back to you, wanting to keep him in your arms forever. Nonetheless, you spread your legs, showing him your swollen, cum filled cunt.

You see Bucky’s cock bop with a pulse of arousal at the sight. “Oh, I almost forgot.” Bucky watches as you flip over, ass up in the air causing him to moan. You glance back at him with a smirk, but continue on your mission. Opening the drawer to your bedside table, you pull out a bottle of lube, tossing it to Bucky who easily catches it.

“What is this? What’s lube?” You move back into your original position, drawing Bucky’s attention away from the bottle. 

“Well, you gotta get in there somehow. It makes everything slicker, less painful. Open the bottle, sweetheart and put it on one of your fingers. Then I want you to circle my hole with it.”

Bucky whispers a quiet, “oh fuck, that’s so fucking hot,” underneath his breath before popping the cap to the bottle open and putting a generous amount on his finger before bringing it to your rim, circling it just like you said. 

“You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart. Always listen so well to me.” Bucky’s hips jerk involuntarily at your praise, wanting more.

“Can I put one in now, please?” Oh, your baby was desperate. You look right into his eyes and nod, letting him know he can. “Shit, you’re so tight.” You only gasp, the feeling of his finger inside of you is so much different than your own. He slowly pumps his finger in and out, curling it to find your spot. His brows pull together in concentration, not being able to find it. He has to put his ego aside and ask for help, he knows it. “Doll, can you show me where it is?”

“There’s no g-spot in my ass, sweets.” This stops his finger, his head immediately falling, not wanting to look into your eyes. He knows men have a prostate, it was a whole deal back in the day with men getting cancer. So why didn’t you have one?

“But, what about your prostate?” The poor thing. You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing. He doesn’t know any better and he just wants to make you feel good. The last thing you want to do is make him feel bad for something he didn’t know. 

“Oh, sweets, women don’t have them, only men do.” This was a very awkward conversation to have when Bucky’s finger is still in your ass, just sitting there unmoving. Bucky bites his bottom lip, avoiding eye contact with you. Why can’t he do anything right? First he tries to spear you with his cock in your ass and now he is trying to find a damn prostate that you don’t even have.

“M’sorry, doll. I didn’t know, I just thought everyone had one.” Bucky feels the blood slowly leaving his cock from the mortification. You felt your face heat up too, the pressure of his finger a constant reminder that he was inside of you. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart, just move your finger like you would your cock. All you have to do is be gentle and you’ll get the hang of it.” When he finally looks up at you he has the sweetest pout on his lips. Keeping eye contact with him, you trail your hand down your body, meeting his hand where it resides inside of you. Wrapping your hand around his, you guide his movement, slowly trusting his hand until he starts to move it on his own.

“It feels so tight. How am I going to fit in there?” Just the thought of his cock in the hole that is struggling to accommodate one finger has the blood rushing right back into his dick. 

You let out a small moan, enjoying the feeling of Bucky’s finger, much better than your own. “You can add another finger, sweets, just be gentle.” Bucky’s breath hitches, cock desperate to be inside you, but he knows he has to wait. He brings his middle finger to your hole, rubbing it the way he did the first; his first finger still inside you. After a few seconds he gingerly pushes his second finger in, extremely aware of the stretch around his digits.

“Oh fuck, want to feel you around my cock so bad.” Bucky knows that as soon as he puts his cock in you he’s going to cum. It took so long for him to not cum immediately when he’s in your pussy. Even so, he still can’t last more than a few minutes. It’s still a shock to him that he didn’t bust as soon as you took him in your mouth for the first time.

Bucky keeps up the pace with his fingers, ignoring the ache in his cock. When you tell him to add another he eagerly does so, wanting to stretch you out as fast as possible while keeping you comfortable. You see his hips jerking, trying to find relief from the pressure building up in his balls.

“Spread your fingers for me, sweets, stretch me out for your fat cock.” The whine that leaves Bucky’s lips has your cunt throbbing and your ass clenching around his fingers. He does what you say, like he always does, and the moan that leaves the both of you is salacious. “You like that, huh? You like the thought of your fat cock in my ass, sweets?” Bucky can only groan, frantically nodding his head, his dick somehow getting harder.

“Please tell me you’re ready. Need my cock in you so bad, doll.” He looks like he could cum just from the sight of his fingers in your hole. You take pity on him, not being able to stand the thought of him not being inside you any longer.

“Yeah, sweets, just need more lube.” As quickly as he can while still being tender, he removes his fingers and desperately searches for the bottle, squirting more than enough on his cock. Skooching closer to you, he spreads your legs, lifting you up so he can stare at your stretched hole. He places your legs on top of his thighs, looking at you for confirmation before grabbing his cock and lining it up with your entrance.

Slowly pushing in, he can feel the resistance of your ass, yet it was still so welcoming. Bucky’s eyes roll back, his metal hand wrapping around the base of his cock, trying to stave off his orgasm. “Doll, I can’t, fuck, it feels too good, I- oh fuck, m’cumming.” Bucky only had the tip of his cock in your ass. He was vaguely aware that he shouldn’t push the rest of his cock into you so the hand holding the base of his cock moves up his length, jerking his cock to help ride his orgasm out.

“Fuck, sweets, I can feel you filling up my ass. You’re going to make me leak all over the bed.” This only makes Bucky whine more, hips jerking slightly, still trying to stop himself from slamming the rest of his cock inside, but the feeling of his cum shooting in your ass it too hot so you move your hips, trying to take more of his cock, while he’s still cumming inside of you.

“Ohhhh fuuuucck, that’s so good, so fucking good, want to stay inside you forever, keep this tight ass wrapped around my cock all the damn time.” More cum shot out of his cock with renewed vigor. Bucky thought he was about to pass out, fighting off the feeling because there was no way he could miss a second of being inside you. 

His head was thrown back, not able to control his head. You felt your pussy throb, slick leaking down to where his cock rests in your hole, clit pulsing, hard and begging to be touched. You couldn’t help yourself, rocking your hips, fucking yourself on his cock that was still hard but not shooting his load anymore. “You’re so fucking big, sweets, stretching me out so much, never felt anything like it before.” It wasn’t a lie, it never felt like this with any of your toys, the fact that Bucky’s load was supersized doing nothing to quell your arousal.

“Bet I could feel myself if I stuck my fingers in your pussy. Massage my cock through your walls. Bet you would like that, wouldn’t you? Yeah, I think you would.” Bucky had no room to talk about how needy you were when he busted as soon as his tip was inside of you, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care when you’re already cock drunk just from the few shallow thrusts of your hips.

All you could do was moan and nod your head, wanting to feel him everywhere. Bucky had to use his flesh fingers, needing to feel his cock through your pussy. Without preamble, he pushes two fingers into your pussy, immediately curling them to feel his cock through your thin walls. “Fuck, doll, you’re so fucking perfect, taking my cock so well.” 

He couldn’t hold out any longer, pulling his hips back just to slam them back in, the sound of your leaking slick mixed with all the lube around your ass made a sinful sound. Just that one thrust knocks the wind out of the both of you, only to catch your breath to wantonly moan. “How does it feel, doll? How does my fat cock feel up your tight ass?” The slapping noises only got louder with each thrust, each harder than the last. 

“So good, daddy, so fucking good!” Bucky’s hips stutter, cock aching to cum, but he can’t, not yet.

Your moans mixed so sweetly with Bucky’s whines and groans. His fingers rubbing his dick every time he pushes back in. “You’re gonna make me cum again. Need to feel you milk my cock. Need you to milk daddy’s cock for him.” You shake your head, not able to process the pleasure he’s giving you, having already had seven orgasms. “Yes, you can, doll. I need it, need it so fucking bad.”

With his fingers still thrusting in your pussy, his metal hand comes down to rub your clit. Your hips jerk, trying to get away from the cool metal but you have nowhere to run. He fucks you even harder, urging the cum from his balls. You don’t even feel the coil tighten in your belly, overwhelming pleasure sneaking up on you. 

You can’t even scream, eyes rolling back, somehow mustering up the strength to push his hand away from your clit. With your ass clenching so hard around his dick, he can’t hold out any longer, cumming in your ass. He feels the wetness of your squirt push his fingers out, wetting his stomach and making his thrusts just that much easier. 

His orgasm is just as silent, knocking the words right out of him. He can’t even breath, veins in his forehead bulging, face turning red. This one doesn’t last as long, his balls being drained from all the cum he’s shot out in the past hour. Right before Bucky passes out, he sucks in huge gulps of air, trying to come back down to earth. You both lay there, eyes dazed, looking at nothing, covered in cum, lube, and squirt. Neither of you care, you couldn’t even if you tried. You’re the first to speak, voice hoarse from all the screaming you’ve done.

“We’re going to do that again.”

Bucky can only get out one word, “yeah.”

[inseobts]

TRAITOR pt.6

law x traitor!reader

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4 - PART 5 ⤳ PART 7

words count: 2.5k

tags: series, enemies to lover(?), traitor reader

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

You don’t know how long you walk. You don’t know where you’re going. You just know you can’t stay.

Because if you stay, if you see Law one more second… you’ll break even more. And there’s nothing left to break.

So you keep walking. One foot in front of the other. Through the corridors of the submarine.

Vision blurred from your tears that don't want to stop, but you know you're getting past the people you once called family.

None of them stop you.

Not even Bepo, but you hear his voice soft, barely above a whisper “Are we really just letting her go?”

No one answers… Because no one knows the answer.

Not even Law.

Law is still standing there watching you leave. Not stopping you. Not saying anything. Just letting it happen.

And it kills him, because he doesn’t truly want this.

But what’s the alternative?

To forgive you? Again? To trust you? Again? After all the lies?

To let himself believe, even for a second, that maybe, maybe you really did love him?

That you still do?

No.

He can’t and he won’t fall for your lies again.

Because the last time he believed in you, you destroyed him, and he’s not sure he’d survive it again.

But letting you go actually hurts more than holding onto the anger.

Law clenches his fists. His heartbeat is too loud in his ears. The taste of regret, sharp and bitter, claws at his throat.

He tells himself this is what has to happen.

That there’s no other way. That this is what you truly deserve.

But then you pause just before stepping out of sight.

You turn your head slightly, not enough to face him completely, just enough to say one last thing “I never lied to you after meeting you again, after so many years of regrets.”

A breath.

An hesitation.

“And I never stopped loving you.”

Then you’re gone, and for the first time in years, Trafalgar Law doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to do.

Then you keep moving, even though every step feels like it’s killing you.

No one speaks.

No one knows what to say.

Not after that.

Not after everything.

Bepo looks at Law hopeful, desperate “Captain…? Please...”

Like he’s waiting for him to fix this, to call you back, to do something.

But Law doesn’t move. He doesn’t even react.

His expression is cold. Unreadable. Like nothing just happened. Like you didn’t just destroy yourself in front of them.

But Bepo knows better... knows Law better.

And when the captain finally turns on his heel and walks away without a word, without looking back, Bepo knows exactly what that means.

It means Law is running. And not from you, but from himself.

Law is losing his control.

He doesn’t stop walking until he reaches his studio. The door slams shut behind him. His hands grip the edge of his desk, knuckles white.

He needs to calm down, breathe, to stop thinking about you.

But looks like he can’t.

Because your last words to him now won’t leave his head.

“I never lied to you after I came back.”

“And I never stopped loving you.”

He exhales sharply.

His whole body is shaking, because he actually believes you and that terrifies him. Because if you’re telling the truth now then what does that mean for everything?

Meanwhile you’re alone again.

The night air is cold when you step off the Polar Tang. Too cold. Or maybe that’s just you. You don’t know anymore.

All you can feel is the ache in your chest. The weight of everything you’ve lost.

The man you weren’t supposed to love, but you did. And now, you don’t know if you’ll ever recover from it.

You lost the only person who ever made you feel like you could be something more. Like you could be loved.

And now you’re back to being nothing.

“Captain…?” Bepo knocks at Law's door.

Law exhales through his nose “Not now.”

Then Bepo speaks, voice quieter “You don’t have to act like you don’t care.”

Law’s eyes snap open “I’m not acting.”

“Then why do you look like you’re in pain?”

Law stiffens. He hates that Bepo knows him so well.

He hates that his crew sees right through him, even when he doesn’t want them to.

“I made my choice,” Law mutters “and she made hers.”

“Did she?”

That makes Law pause.

Bepo’s voice is careful, like he knows he’s walking on thin ice “She said she never lied to you after she came back. And she—”

“Enough.”

Law’s tone is sharp. It's a command. A warning.

Bepo doesn’t push but before he walks away, he says one last thing “You can lie to us, Captain. But you can’t lie to yourself.”

Then he’s gone and Law is left standing there alone, again.

You’re Still Walking. You don’t even know where you’re going and you don’t care.

Your legs move on instinct, carrying you further and further from the only place that ever felt like home. The only people who ever made you feel like you belonged.

You wipe your face, frustrated. Crying won’t fix anything. Nothing will. But you can't stop.

Then—

“Going somewhere, sweetheart?”

Your blood runs cold. You know that voice, and it’s the last one you want to hear right now.

Slowly, you turn and there, leaning against a wall, arms crossed and a smirk on his face... Your old captain.

Your feet stop moving. Your chest tightens.

You knew this would happen eventually.

You just hoped you’d have more time. And not with you in this conditions.

You swallow hard, forcing your expression into something unreadable “What do you want?”

Your old captain chuckles, stepping forward, hands tucked into his coat pockets “That’s a dumb question, sweetheart. I want what you owe me.”

Your fingers twitch “I don’t owe you anything.”

His smirk deepens “Really? That’s funny, considering you ran off with something that belongs to me.”

You hold your ground, but your heartbeat pounds in your ears.

You clench your fists “I didn’t steal anything yours, because they were never yours in the first place”

His eyes darken for a second. Then he sighs, shaking his head “See, this is why I liked you. You’ve always had a sharp tongue. Shame you wasted it on Trafalgar Law.”

Your stomach drops. He notices and grins.

“Oh? Did I hit a nerve?” He chuckles, stepping closer “I heard your little goodbye scene. Gotta say, that was brutal.”

You don’t react. You won’t give him the satisfaction.

But he keeps going, voice mocking “I mean, the guy didn’t even try to stop you. That’s cold. Even I had more difficulties to let you go.”

You inhale slowly. Don’t break.

He leans in, voice dropping “Was it worth it? Loving him?”

Your jaw tightens.

He hums, amused “You’re not denying it. Interesting.”

You snap “What do you want?”

He straightens, the teasing edge fading “Like I said—I want what you owe me.”

You meet his gaze, eyes hard “And if I say no?”

His smirk returns, but this time, it’s dangerous.

“Then I take it myself.”

Meanwhile Law is restless. He shouldn’t care, but he does.

Maybe it’s true. Maybe you did love him.

He exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. He needs to let this go.

Needs to let you go.

Then—

The door slams open. Shachi, breathless. Panicked.

“Captain—”

Law frowns “Leave me alone”

Shachi shakes his head “No. I mean... she wasn’t alone. We think someone was following her”

Law’s blood runs cold.

“What?”

Law is already moving.

Back to you—Your old captain moves first. Fast. Too fast.

You’re faster and dodge, just barely, spinning back to create distance.

“Still got those reflexes,” he muses “Good. You’ll need them.”

Your mind races. You can’t win this fight here. You need an opening.

“I’m not coming back” you say, stalling.

He raises an eyebrow “Who said you had a choice?”

You smirk, but your grip tightens “You don’t have control over me anymore.”

He grins “Don’t I?”

Then he lunges—

And the world tilts.

His smirk tells you everything... he’s just playing with you.

And that pisses you off.

“Still quick,” he muses, rolling his shoulders “Good. I’d hate to think you got slow while running around with your little doctor boyfriend.”

You don’t react and you won't, because that’s what he wants—to get inside your head and make you hesitate. To make you weak.

You exhale sharply “If you wanted to fight, you shouldn’t be talking this much.”

His smirk widens “You’re right.”

And then he disappears.

Shit.

You barely have time to react before he’s behind you.

You twist, block—but he’s stronger.

His fist slams into your ribs, sending you crashing into the side of a building.

Pain explodes through your body, but you grit your teeth and push up. You won’t give him the satisfaction.

But he’s already there, crouching beside you.

“I could kill you right now, you know,” he says conversationally “But I won’t.”

You glare up at him, breathing heavy “How generous.”

He chuckles “It is, isn’t it?” Then his voice drops “Because I don’t want you dead. I want you back.”

Your stomach twists.

“You really think I’d go with you?” you spit.

His grin fades.

And then his hand wraps around your throat.

Not tight enough to choke, just enough to make you feel trapped.

“You still don’t get it, do you?” he murmurs, tilting his head “You don’t have a choice.”

"I'd rather be dead"

And then you feel it— the shift in the air.

He’s here, and your old captain knows it too.

His grip loosens just slightly, eyes flicking over his shoulder.

A slow, mocking smile spreads across his face.

“Well, well,” he muses “Look who finally showed up.”

Your chest tightens. You don’t have to look beacuse you already know Law is standing there.

Watching.

Expression cold, unreadable, but his eyes are burning.

For a moment, everything is silent.

“Get your hands off her.”

His voice is calm.

Your old captain laughs.

“You gonna make me, Trafalgar?”

Law doesn’t move but the air crackles, and then, in a voice that’s soft and lethal all at once—

“I don’t repeat myself.”

And then he’s gone, and before he can react Law is already there. And suddenly, your old captain is on the ground.

A clean cut across his chest.

Not deep enough to kill but enough to hurt.

Law stands over him, sword angled downward, eyes cold.

“You made a mistake” he says, voice flat.

Your old captain coughs, blood dripping from his lips.

Then he laughs.

“Did I?”

Law’s grip on his sword tightens “You shouldn’t have touched her.”

Something flickers in your old captain’s eyes.

Amusement, but also something calculating.

“You think this is over?” he breathes.

Law doesn’t answer because he knows this isn’t over. Not even close.

As he presses a bloodied hand against the wound on his chest, he smirks “See you soon, sweetheart.”

Then he’s gone.

Your ribs ache. Your head is spinning.

And Law is still staring at you like he’s seeing something he doesn’t know what to do with.

You force out a breath, pressing a hand to your ribs “You didn’t have to do that.”

Law’s jaw clenches “You’re an idiot. Why don’t you use your powers against him?”

You flinch “He’s the one who gave me that devil fruit, he knows how to break off from any manipulation in a few seconds.”

He actually doesn’t look that interested in your answer, he looks more like he’s tired.

Like he’s already done with you.

You swallow “Law—”

“Shut up.”

Your chest tightens.

“Just shut up” His voice is quieter this time. Rough.

He turns away, running a hand down his face, exhaling sharply.

Then he looks at you again, and his eyes are tired.

“We’re leaving” he says finally.

Something in you cracks.

Your fingers clench at your side “you’re just going to walk away?”

Law’s face is unreadable “do you want me to stay?”

You don’t answer because of course your answer would be yes but that would also be hypocritical of you. It’s too late.

He sighs “come back to the ship, or don’t...”

Then he walks away, jaw tight, hands clenched.

Every step should take him further from you, further from the storm raging inside him.

But instead, it just gets worse.

His mind is screaming at him. He should be relieved, shouldn’t he? He finally got to say what he needed to. He finally let go.

So why the hell does it feel like he just made the biggest mistake of his life?

He exhales sharply, fingers running through his hair.

This is what he wanted. Right?

Then why does every step feel heavier than the last?

His breath catches.

Something feels wrong, but it's not what he feels about you and the situation, it's something else.

His body reacts before his brain catches up, his instincts kicking in.

He turns back just in time to see you stumble.

His heart stops.

You barely catch yourself against the wall, one hand gripping your side. Your legs shake beneath you.

Then you collapse.

Law moves.

In an instant, he’s beside you, grabbing you before you hit the ground.

“Oi!” His voice is sharp, urgent.

Your body is too heavy in his arms. Too still.

His eyes drop to your side and his stomach drops.

Blood. A lot of it.

His hands press against your wound, and it’s worse than he thought... deep, ugly, still bleeding.

Why the hell didn’t he notice sooner?

He’s a damn doctor. He should’ve seen it. Should’ve realized.

But instead, he was too busy hating you to notice you were dying.

His jaw clenches “You—idiot.”

You blink up at him, dazed, your lips barely parting “…Knew you’d come back.”

Law exhales sharply, his hands firm over your wound “Shut up and save your strength.”

A weak chuckle “Didn’t… wanna hear you yell at me.”

His grip tightens.

You were bleeding out in front of him, and you were still acting like this? Still pretending like it didn’t hurt? Like you hadn’t just fought for your life?

His voice drops, low and dangerous “You could’ve died.”

Your lips twitch into something like a smile “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Something snaps in him.

His fingers dig into your skin “Trafalgar…” You never call him that, and for some stupid, awful reason his heart aches.

“Guess you still care, huh?” you whisper.

Law stills.

His chest feels like it’s caving in.

Because the truth is... yes. He does.

More than he should. More than he wants to.

More than he can afford to.

He scowls “Shut up.”

Your body sags a little, exhaustion overtaking you. Your head leans into his chest, your breath unsteady.

Then you go still.

Law’s heart stops.

“Y/N?” His voice sharp, but this time it's because he's scared.

No response.

Tag List: @dana-nite - @osakis-gf - @crmnic - @weirdothatreads - @tuskjohnny - @tojirin - @xxvoidgrangerxx - @eggrollforyou - @chillerkiller - @stuckinmymind22 - @gojossixtheyes - @bonnie-tz - @luveitoraowife - @bagofrice - @chibinasuu - @tolkienlovee - @mahoee - @chxrriii - @whore-of-many-hot-men - @teiza - @greenbnny

[adragonprinceswhore]

Romancer

Aemond Targaryen x Wife

Summary: During King Aegon II tumultuous coronation, Aemond’s wife becomes the first casualty of the Targaryen civil war. The young prince’s grief drives him to Flea Bottom, where he meets a mysterious Qartheen necromancer, who promises to bring his love back. But as with any sorcery, there is a price to pay; with each of Aemond’s touches, she slowly rots away.

Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, death, violence, sorcery, necromancy, angst, longing, smut

A/N: Happy Halloween! 🖤

Word count: 4200

‘Twas but a fleeting instance. 

A dragon, the Red Queen, and her traitorous rider burst through the floors of King Aegon II’s coronation. 

Chaos followed. Shrill voices begging for mercy, children weeping, sobbed ramblings closer to nonsense than prayers.  

Prince Aemond, whose seeing eye had been fixed on his wife before the tumultuous entrance of Rhaenys Targaryen, steps to the side to protect his sister from Meleys’ wrath. 

When their cowardice wins, and the dragon and her rider leaves, his seeing eye falls back to where he had last seen his beloved. 

Only now, he cannot find her. 

As members of the King’s guard swarm around the royal family to protect them, a futile gesture far overdue, Aemond pushes between them to rush down the steps of the elevated platform made for the Targaryens to bask in the admiring gazes of their people. 

She couldn't have left, she was here just moments ago. 

His eye is frantic as it searches the soot-covered ruins around him. His silvery hair whips to the side as he desperately jerks his head from one side to another. Then, he catches sight of her hair. 

She lies on the ground, pushed down by large stones crushing her body. 

Aemond hauls them off with a strength bestowed upon him by his despair. A sob leaves his throat as he pulls her into his arms, gently stroking her hair, burying his face there and inhaling the dust decorating it. 

He holds her until the heat of her body leaves her. Until she’s cold as ice in his grip. Stiff and strange. 

Only once does he glance down at her, and to his horror, she’s changed. It’s not her anymore. 

The soft cheeks he used to trace his fingers down are now hollow. Her skin is discoloured, and her eyes lifeless. Almost white, like the soul has left them and in its wake, a mist settles over the grave that once was a loving gaze. 

Prince Aemond sits like that, with her lifeless, rigid body in his arms, for too long. 

He cannot tell how many hours have passed, but he knows that he has lost a day when the sun appears, and disappears. It feels like an eternity trapped in the blink of an eye. 

No one dares approach him. They know that the fiery prince will show no mercy to whoever chooses to disturb his mourning. 

So he’s left alone in his devastation, until he cannot bear it any longer. 

His fingers are blue from the cold air enveloping him in an embrace so chilling, it rattles his bones. 

His love has also turned impossibly cold in his hold. Colder than the freezing, blue burn of a dragon’s flame. 

When he can no longer withstand the chill, he finally stands. His legs almost give in and every inch of his body hurts. Still, he persists, never letting his love fall to the ground as he keeps a secure hold around her. 

She is heavier than anything he’s ever carried before. He knows her, and this is not her. How many times had he not lifted her onto their bed? Pulled her in his lap? This sack of flesh weighs far more than she ever did, and yet he cannot let go. So he persits, and carries her to their chambers, sacrificing his own aching limbs in the process. 

When he thinks he might pass out from the effort, he reaches their marital bed, and lays her on top of it. 

Tenderly, he places her arms on her stomach, brushes her hair from her face, and closes her eyes. 

She’s merely sleeping, nothing more. Nothing permanent, nothing everlasting. 

Soon, she’ll open her eyes, look up at him, and give him a smile that melts his heart. Until then, he carefully places a quilt over her, and lies down next to her to find sleep, as husband and wife, just like so many nights before. 

He finds slumber next to her, if only for a few hours. By the hour of the wolf, he’s once again awake, laying on his back, staring at the intricate carvings in the wooden canopy above him. In a moment of weakness, he reaches for her hand to hold, but when his touch is met by freezing cold fingers, he winches and quickly lets go, instead placing his hand on her stomach, covered by the quilt he’d placed over her. 

His mind is too restless to let him find slumber. One hundred ideas, possible scenarios, flash in his mind. Thoughts of how to fix this; how to undo this, won’t let him rest. 

The Seven say that death is final, but is that truly the case? Surely, in Old Valyria, where dragons roamed free and the practitioners of the dark arts ruled, warlocks would not be content with leaving death to the Gods? 

Another day passes by as Aemond is deeply submerged in his own contemplation. 

This cannot be the end of her; of their life together. His dear wife. His one true ally. The sweet mother of their future heirs. She is not gone. She cannot be.

By next daybreak, an idea from his latent mind floats into his consciousness, and causes the troubled prince to finally see clearly. 

Necromancy. The art of bringing back the dead. 

Fuelled by the fire of determination set ablaze within his chest, Aemond reluctantly leaves his lover's side, throws on a cloak, and orders a member of the King’s Guard to guard the door to his chambers with his life. 

Before he leaves, Aemond throws one last glance at his wife’s lifeless form, and kneels by their bed, pressing a chaste kiss against her cheek. ‘Tis cold and stiff, as he should have expected. Still, his heart breaks when his lips are not met by the warmth he so wishes would still flow within her.

“I will bring you a cure”, he promises next to her ear, and ventures out into the dark, bustling streets of King’s Landing.

Flea Bottom is as he remembers. 

Filthy and depraved. 

The mere smell of the streets corrodes the insides of his nostrils, air so thick with stench from pigsties and tanneries the prince buries his nose inside his hood and breathes through his mouth. 

Around each corner of the dilapidated buildings lurks another distraction; whores beckoning him into their lairs, conmen trying to trick him into buying false treasures. 

‘Tis not a place for the educated. Nor is it for the devoted. Flea Bottom is reserved for the lowest of men; the ones who revel in debauchery and make a living of their falsehood. 

With the help of a few silver stags, Aemond manages to navigate the dirt-filled cobblestones of King’s Landing’s foulest corner. By the hour of the eel, he’s directed towards a short, stocky man with small eyes obscured by thick, bushy eyebrows. 

At last, he has found what he’s looking for;

A foreign man familiar with the dark arts.

He smiles when the prince tells him of the task, cold yet amused, resembling a serpent, 

“There is always a price to pay, my prince. What are you willing to sacrifice?”

“Anything”

“What if the sacrifice is your own selfishness?”

Aemond does not need convincing. He has already made up his mind. Without her, warm and comforting and breathing in his arms, he is willing to offer the sorcerer anything. The strange man inspects him with beady eyes that shine in the fire dancing against the stoney walls,

“10 gold dragons. And I will restore your lady once more”

In the shadows of the night, Prince Aemond brings the warlock into his chambers. 

The mysterious man does not ask for much in order to perform his sorcery.

He orders a servant to bring him boiling water, sage, dirt from the courtyard, and a small vessel. 

The staff of the Red Keep work quickly, and when he has all he requires, he pulls out a short, thin dagger from the inside of his pocket, and hands it to his prince, 

“A drop of your blood, your grace”

Aemond complies, and slashes the tip of his ring finger with the small blade. The warlock catches his blood with the vessel and proceeds to the bed, cutting the skin of the prince’s wife as well, mixing her blood with his. He adds the soil of their land, smoke of burnt sage, and water to his concoction before working his fingers into her mouth to force it open, and pours the brew down her throat. 

Nothing happens. 

Quietly, he leaves her bed to wash his hands in the basin by the hearth. He does not seem displeased by the fact that his magic did not work, or frightened by the dragon prince observing him closely. 

Aemond inhales, ready to have the deceitful bastard executed, flames of anger dancing within his blood from the humiliating disappointment of trusting a common conman. 

But just as he’s about to unleash his fury, he hears it. 

A sigh, quiet as a whisper in the room, yet loud as thunder in the young prince’s ears, floats from their bed to where he stands. He whips his head so quickly to the side his neck hurts, and hurriedly walks towards where she lies, still with her eyes closed and in the same position he had left her in. 

He carefully brings his hand out, shaking like the leaves of a tree caught in a storm. His eyes cannot see her clearly, unshed tears becoming a veil of relief over his eye. His hand gently grabs hers, and despite her still cold skin, he feels it, the drum of her heart, dancing in her chest and sending waves of thuds through her body. He leans in closer, wanting to whisper a greeting against her soft skin, yet is disturbed by the presence behind him he had nearly forgotten,

“We have not yet discussed the price, your grace”

Aemond leans back and turns to face the sorcerer. He wears the same wicked smirk as before, as if the prince’s despair amuses him. 

Disgusting creature.

“You have your gold. You are dismissed”

“Oh, but that is not the price the Gods wish to see, my prince”, he says with a sickly sweet gleefulness that chills Aemond’s bones,

“Witchcraft angers the Gods. It mocks them. I told you your selfishness will be the price you pay, and They have agreed”

“What do you speak of? Spit it out”

His smirk widens, “Release her hand”

Aemond gently lets go of her, and watches as a bruise blossoms forth from underneath the delicate skin of her wrist. 

“With each touch, she moves closer to the Stranger once more. You may have her by your side, but you cannot indulge in her” 

Frozen in place, the prince does not answer. What will become of his life if he is not allowed to touch his beloved? Being beside her, yet so far away. 

The man forces Aemond out of his thoughts,

“Will you settle for that, my prince? Being tempted by her every day, until you draw your last breath?” 

“If that is the price the Gods wish to be paid” 

“Hm. And you are content with a life without heirs? Without a bedmate? Or will you look for that elsewhere? Have another bed your wife, claim the offspring as your own?” 

The question turns Aemond’s stomach. 

“Watch your tongue, warlock. Or I will take it” 

His icy voice does nothing but amuse the man further, whose lips draw even taunter as he feigns regret with a courteous nod,

“Forgive me, your grace. I did not mean offence. Surely, you must have considered all implications carefully to reach this conclusion”

In truth, he had not. But the thought of another touching what belongs to him, his most dear possession, is so repulsive to Aemond he swallows the bile pushing up his throat. 

No one else may ever touch her. 

By next morning light, she awakens.

Still in a delirious state, she asks her husband to come closer and embrace her, frightened by the visions she had seen in her resting state. 

The contentment Prince Aemond feels from once again speaking to her; seeing her draw breath, seeing colour reappear on her cheeks, is dulled the separation between them, and the realisation that this is how they will remain from now onwards. 

He tells her of it all; Rhaenys bursting through the boards, the necromancer and the price he paid to bring her back. 

A tear falls from her lashes when he tells her that they may never touch again, for she will once more decay if they do. 

With a forceful swallow, she pushes down her own sadness and nods, grateful that he loves her too much to live without her. 

And so, their new normality begins. 

They enjoy the same things they did before; taking their meals together, reading together, speaking of their duties together. 

He had told court that her life was saved thanks to a skilled maester visiting from Oldtown, aware of the dangers enlisting a man of the dark arts carries.  

Should the truth about her resurrection come to light, she might be sanctioned not only by the court, but by the Citadel as well, and thus forced back into the arms of the stranger. 

In their endurance, their days grow tense, each moment tainted by the unspoken heartbreak of separation. 

The most prominent change to their lives together is the longing squeezing the prince’s heart. 

Never before has he ached so much for something as he does for her touch. 

The pain inside his heart doubles when he catches her eyes observing him from across the table whenever they sit together. 

She looks so devastated by their separation, so overcome with yearning. 

He knows the feeling, ‘tis the same sorrow that reflects in his heart. And yet, there is nothing they can do. 

Aemond would rather spend an eternity with her, and never once more feel the warmth of her fingers on his flesh, than to watch her get pulled away by the stranger yet again. 

So he endures. 

An unforgiving storm whips the Red Keep with vexed, rainy lashes when he returns from Storm’s End. 

He is drenched, dripping from head to toe. His face looks haunted; as if he has met the eye of death himself. 

She sits by the hearth, embroidering a small, green dragon onto one of his tunics. Her needle clumsily pierces the tip of her finger as she sees her husband’s distressed state, 

“What is the matter, my love?” 

“Lucerys, he-, he’s dead” 

Aemond shakes from the cold of the rain soaking his clothes. With shaky fingers he peels off his leathers, until he is only in his underclothes, standing right before her by the fire to seek some warmth, 

“I did not mean to-, Vhagar-, she-”

The explanations die on his tongue. 

She meets his gaze, bewildered and pitiful, and nods in silent understanding, unsure of how to comfort him. Aemond sinks down to his knees, feeling the heat of the fire lick against his cold skin. ‘Tis little comfort; his bones still feel freezing. As does his heart, when he looks at her. So close, yet never close enough. 

Torture, that is what it is. A cruel jest from the Gods. 

“How can I ease your distress, my love?”, she asks, and he nearly whimpers at her sweet concern. If he cannot confess his suffering to her, then who? 

“I fear I am a selfish man, after all”, he says defeatedly, 

“Even now I miss you, when you sit before me. I crave your touch - to feel you near. To be inside you. I am not whole unless I am with you - part of you, my love”

The smile on her face is filled with sorrow, piteous eyes glimmering against the warm glow of the hearth. She shuffles in her seat, pulls her hand out, and opens it in an inviting gesture, 

“I can spare a few years in my elderly days if I may feel your touch for one more night, my love”

And who is he to deny his love? 

To dismiss her sweet pleas? 

He would never deny her anything. 

He moves forward, crawling towards where she sits like the depraved hound he is. When he reaches her, he pulls the skirts of her small clothes up to reveal the soft meat of her things, and lays his head there, only for a moment. 

A sigh escapes him, so content to feel her softness against his cheek once more. ‘Tis like finding salvation after a life in sin; an otherworldly experience. 

He nuzzles into her skin, and she brings one hand to the side of his face, gently tracing his cheekbone and threading the silk of his hair between her fingers. After a moment of still devotion, he pushes the fabric further up to kiss her cunny, the only drink his parched lips crave. 

A startled gasp echoes above him, and the hand she carefully stroked his hair with turns into a painful grip. He adores the sting against his scalp. Hurriedly, he steals a peak from her, wasting no time to finally feel whole again. 

Kissing his way up her panting body, he finally tastes the reward he had coveted so. Her lips are even sweeter than he remembered them; soft, warm and most comforting. 

He stands and pulls her up to do the same, leading her to their bed with quick, long strides. He removes her small clothes as if he despises them, tearing the fabric and grunting at the layers separating him from the light of his life. When she is finally bare before him, he strips himself and joins her on their bed, finding his home between her thighs. She is so slick he slides in as if he were the missing piece of her incomplete body, and they both cry out at the all-consuming bliss of finally being together, being one, once more. 

His arms snake underneath her back, pulling her so close to him each inch of her skin touches his. Their lips stay locked together, moans and pleasurable sighs bouncing between their mouths. 

He cannot tell if the wetness on her cheek is proof of her own relief, or his. 

Nevertheless, he kisses it away, closes his eyes, and disappears into the bliss of having her again. 

They stay intertwined through the night, and by first light, Aemond reluctantly lets go of his love. 

The light that illuminates their chambers is scarce in the early hours of the morning, yet he can see the discolouration travelling up the limbs of his wife; painting her legs and arms in odd, painful colours. 

Their indulgence had cost her greatly. 

Regret stabs his heart; potent and aching. 

What have I done? 

‘Tis as if the small dagger the warlock carried were lodged inside his chest, reminding him of the devious man he had become. 

A kinslayer. 

His bloodthirsty quest for selfish pursuits; justice, comfort, love, is naught but foolishness. 

And now those around him pay the price. 

Aemond makes sure to keep distance from her, and he suffers immensely from it. 

On the night he came back from Storm’s End, he had found peaceful slumber in the arms of his beloved. Each night since, he is tormented by nightmares; visions of his worst fears playing in his mind. 

Cold skin, blood, bruises.

He fears Rhaenyra’s wrath. The retribution he will have to atone for Lucerys’ life. 

Will he be the one to pay it this time? 

Or will the burden of his crimes once more fall on the shoulders of his loved ones? 

Aemond does not need to wait long for retaliation.  

Rhaenyra’s revenge go by the names of Blood and Cheese, a ratcatcher and a disgraced butcher. The pair snook into the chambers of his young nephew, heir to the Iron Throne Jaehaerys, and slew the boy in front of Aemond’s sweet sister, Helaena. 

His hands are no longer merely tainted by the crimson of Lucerys’ blood. His pursuit for vengeance cost him the life of his nephew, and his sister, so lost in grief she can no longer leave her chambers. He only visits her once, horrified by the ghost of a person the queen has become. 

‘Tis my fault.

And it echoes in the prince’s mind anywhere he goes. 

When he trains with Ser Criston. When he flies on Vhagar. When he breaks his fast with his wife.

‘Tis my fault. 

When his mother can’t meet his eye. When his brother sinks deeper into his cups. When his grandfather no longer confides in him.

‘Tis my fault. 

The only light remaining is his dear lady wife. 

She still regards him with love. 

Her eyes still sparkle as he enters their chambers after a long day. Her mouth still forms a smile whenever he greets her.

“Her sweetness is wicked”, Prince Aemond thinks, “So inviting, beckoning me in, yet I must remain at a distance”

They still sleep next to one another, separated by an arm’s length. A small distance that feels infinite as he longingly steals glances of her sleeping form. 

A siren calling to him, taunting him with her soft, warm flesh. 

He knows that a night with her in his arms would ease his distress; allow him to find slumber and wake up as a better man. 

I would be a better man, for her. 

And that is the last thing he thinks before he shuffles closer, gently pulls her into his arms, and buries his nose in her hair. 

If he were a better man, he would have stopped after one night. But by now, Aemond knows that he is not. 

He is a self-serving, weak craven. 

The first night of having her in his arms while she slept did not soothe the longing aching in his chest as he thought it would. It doubled it. And by next nightfall, he waited for her to drift to sleep before greedily pulling her into his arms once more. 

He sees the toll his nightly indulgence has on her body rapidly. The bruises that had decorated her limbs grow darker, like those of an apple decaying. They now travel from her hands and feet, up her arms and legs, and bloom out over her stomach, chest, and neck. 

Aemond finds himself looking at her less and less. 

‘Tis my fault. 

“Mayhaps we need to seek out the sorcerer again for council?”, she questions one day as she carefully observes the bruises colouring her body. She presses on one and winces, lips pulled down into a displeased frown. 

She is withering. Rotting away. 

“I will”, Aemond says, and the lie is so bitter on his tongue, he wonders if his foul ways have caused poison to grow from within him. 

He had stolen Lucerys’ life above Storm’s End. A quick affair, an instance that he regretted as soon as he saw Vhagar’s jaw close around the small dragon. He did not mean to do it; to take his life. He only meant to seek justice for his eye; for the pain his nephew had caused him. For disfiguring him. 

‘Tis what he has become known for; kinslaying. The merciless murder of the young boy who wronged him. If the court only knew of how vile he truly is.

With each night that passes, he steals another flicker of the flame keeping the light of his life alive. He sees her grow paler, the bruises now covering nearly every inch of her being, slowly working their way towards her heart, drumming weaker and weaker in her chest. 

And yet, he cannot stop. He needs solace; the only good thing in his life. Holding her near, feeling the heat of her melt the icy bolts of remorse and guilt shooting within him. 

Tonight, he knows it is their last time. She can hardly open her eyes anymore. Her lips are purple, skin a sick melody of various shades, and her heart beats slowly, as if it is fighting with each thud. 

Just like the nights before, he lies down next to her, pulls her into his arms, inhales her scent, and closes his eyes. 

“This time, she perishes by my hand”, he thinks, “She gave me everything, and yet I took more”

But what is love, if not to take? 

Take and take and take, until there is nothing left. 

No one savours love. 

No one would ever feel satisfied with only a taste. 

It is meant to be devoured. And that’s what Prince Aemond tells himself, as his love finally draws her last breath in his arms. 

“Forgive me”, his whisper begs, 

“I have devoured you. I have let my selfishness slaughter you. Now I await my own demise, one that will come to me soon”

His fingers gently dance over her cheek, 

“I welcome it. I welcome a chance to meet you once more”

He holds her closer, feeling the warmth of her body leave for the second time in their lives,

“Until then, sleep well, my love, and I will return to you soon”

A/N; I hope you enjoyed this little Halloween fic of mine! I tried to go with a bit more classic, haunting and tragic theme, and it was so fun to write.

If you enjoyed this, please check out my fic Colour My Mind, Bring Me Back. It has very similar vibes and I'm sure you'll enjoy it. Kisses!

[slasherscream]

crazy ass boys gang + reader who threatens to leave (part two: CAPTIVITY) 

warnings: extreme yandere behavior - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. part one can be found here.

BILLY LOOMIS:

The days move at a snail’s pace. There’s little distraction available to you. 

Billy has always thought you were clever. A survivor. It’s one of the reasons he fell in love. That sharpness to you. But it makes you completely untrustworthy, given the circumstances. And the circumstances are this: your life for the last few weeks has consisted of being chained to the bed.

Not all the time. Not when Billy is home, and can watch you. But when he goes to work, or goes off to kill, Billy takes out the cuffs, and meticulously locks your ankles and feet to the bed. The dark look on his face as he does it makes you watch the process in silence. 

He’s been killing more often. You hope, absently, that he’s still being careful to not get caught. In the years since you two had been together he’d slowed down.

Now, it feels like every other night, you were watching him get ready to go out as Ghostface.

You can tell when he’ll go out next by how he treats you the day before. You two don’t talk anymore. You eat together in silence. Sit together in silence. He watches the dark silhouette of your body through the shower curtain, in silence. (You’re never alone, anymore, when you do anything. When you’re allowed to do anything. You don’t have even a sliver of his trust left.)

But how he watches you is the tell. 

His expression has been a mask of neutrality, since the moment you first woke up, cuffed to the bed. 

On the days before he goes out to kill, though? Those are the days where the mask keeps cracking. Small glimpses at the anger sitting in his chest like a second heart, beating steadily. The silence only makes it worse. Makes the anger red hot and blinding. 

It’s the icy silence of a lover scorned, on his part. And yours is the fearful silence of the last survivor of a horror movie trying to evade the killer at the end. 

The two of you used to laugh together. Laugh, and smile, and love each other. But you, apparently, don’t love Billy anymore. 

But Billy still loves you. So he stares at you until he gets too angry to think straight. And he goes out and kills as many people as it will take to keep himself from ever hurting you. 

JOSH WASHINGTON: 

You’re getting sick of hearing how sorry he is. 

He says it endlessly. Like a prayer. Like a compulsion. The words fall out his mouth as easily as breaths do. 

It feels like you wake up to his apologies and fall asleep to them each night. 

Josh only tied you up that one time, at the start. He apologizes about it often. “I panicked. I’ll never do it again. Not ever. I’m sorry.” You believe him, maybe you shouldn’t, but you do. He’d untied you as soon as you’d begun to rub your wrists raw from trying to get out of the cuffs. 

Once upon a time, you used to use those cuffs on him, at the start of everything. Back when Josh felt he was more monster than Human. Back when he didn’t trust himself not to hurt you. You’d obliged him and would cuff him to the bed before you went to sleep each night, even as you whispered: you couldn’t hurt a fly, Washington. 

You feel like a fly now, in a nasty spider’s web. But you don’t even bother struggling. 

When you’d rescued him from the mountains, his parents had set you both up somewhere remote. Not on another mountain, of course, but in a comfortable cabin out in a forest. No neighbors for miles and miles. Everything you need gets delivered to you twice a month. You used to make the lists of the necessities and send it off to the Washingtons, who were only too happy to give you anything you asked for. 

You’re still getting the deliveries, so you guess Josh has taken over that chore of communicating with his parents. 

You could run away. You could. But you remember how hard it was to out run the monsters on the mountain. You remember watching your friends die, one by one. By claws and by teeth, as they tried to run away. You watched almost all of them die. Or found their bodies. 

Josh wouldn’t kill you. Despite everything, you know he isn’t capable of that. 

Sometimes he still reaches out and touches your wrist, where you’d made yourself bleed with the cuffs, and looks sick to his stomach. They hadn’t even left a mark. But Josh stares at your wrists like a kicked dog, like any day, all these months later, they’ll show up by magic.

No, Josh wouldn’t kill you. He wouldn’t even hurt you. But you know you wouldn’t get very far. The forest isn’t a mountain, but it’s close enough. Sometimes you sit on the porch and just look out at all the trees that border the property line, and try to think about how long it would take him to catch you. 

Ten minutes? Thirty? An hour? You always make yourself laugh, with that last one. 

He’d never let you run for that long. He’d be terrified you’d get lost. Get hurt. He’d drag you back to the cabin, arms a tight-but-never-bruising cage around your waist, and you could claw him to shreds like a hellcat all the while, and you know the only thing he’d say would be: I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

You don’t want to hear him say it anymore because it isn’t true. For every apology he gives you, every tearful glance, there’s something beneath it - utter relief, delight, that he’s even able to tell you he’s sorry. That he can reach out and put a hesitant hand on your arm. That he can look over and see you stewing in your anger. 

If Josh let you leave he would have been alone. And Josh has been alone before. He can’t handle it. Not for one second longer. So all that’s left to say is sorry.

STU MACHER:

It’s terrifying how normal he acts.

Love had blinded you before. You’re not sure how, but now you can see Stu for exactly what he is. You don’t ever let yourself forget now. You’d made that mistake once, you can’t make it again. 

You’re not sure how no one else sees it. 

You watch him endlessly. It’s all you can do. Always on edge. Always waiting for him to snap. You watch him at parties while he effortlessly holds the attention of the room. You watch him during dates, while he talks to the waiter like they’re long lost pals. You watch him charm all your friends, all your family. You watch how everyone laughs off all the little creepy things he says. He slips up so often. But he smiles just as often, and his laugh is contagious. The whole world has written him off as an eternally playful man-child. Peter Pan, born again.

You flinch whenever he comes up behind you, draping himself onto your body in that playful way he always has. 

You’d never focused on how much stronger he was before. Now, it’s all you ever think about. You close your eyes, and feel the strength in his arms, and plaster a smile on your face, thinking: Please don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me. 

He seems to have moved on so completely from it all. You wake up in the middle of the night in tears, remembering how much blood had covered your apartment on the worst night of your life. Stu marked the date on your calendar as your new anniversary. 

The heart he made had been comically large, eclipsing the tiny box of the day in red marker. You’d forced yourself to laugh at the enthusiasm and give him a kiss on the cheek. His eyes had been glued to your face. For just a beat too long. You watching him. Him watching you. He’s always watching you now. You feel the burn of his gaze on the back of your neck like a second sun.

You’d felt your smile shaking at the edges. Your eyes starting to sting. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. You begged yourself as those sharp blue eyes scrutinized you. Waiting for you to slip. But you didn’t, so he grabbed you around the waist, dipped you low, and kissed you like you were a lead in a rom-com at the end of the movie. 

“We’re almost at our happily ever after, you know.” He’d slyly said at a party with all your friends and family, his arm thrown casually over your shoulder. 

He playfully tells your best friend they’re gonna have to help him pick out a ring soon. Everyone laughs and congratulates you. Tells you how lucky you are. 

You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and make yourself laugh too, “Don’t I know it!”

JASON DEAN/JD: 

You have to say I love you a lot more. 

He doesn’t ask for the words. He never would, beyond saying them first and giving you an expectant look. Green eyes boring into yours, begging you to say it back. You could so easily interpret that expectant look as a demand. But you know it isn’t. It’s desperation. 

You say it more because there’s a pit in your stomach. And it twists every time you see how much worse the tangled weeds of that desperation for your love has gotten within JD. 

He’s your shadow, more often than not. Like if he takes his eyes off you for just a second too long you’ll disappear. It wouldn’t be an unfounded fear, with the life he’s lived. All that he’s lost. 

You don’t know why you said something so cruel to him. So thoughtless. JD pushes because he likes the passion you two share. Because he needs to know you care. Not because he wants to push you away. And now he looks at you like a kicked dog every time he thinks you’re not paying attention. But you’re always paying attention. 

You wish you could take the words back. Pluck them from the air and swallow them down, bury them somewhere deep inside you. 

I didn’t mean them. I swear I didn’t mean them. I was just stressed. You just push me so much. But you keep those words inside too. It’s bad enough you said them once. You don’t want to remind JD of them. Bring them up again. It’s clear from how he’s acting they’ve been bouncing around his head already. 

He’s been more quiet than usual. Trapped in his head. He doesn’t even look up when you walk into the room. The look on his face makes you ache. 

You curl up into his side, wrapping your arms around him, and squeeze as tight as you can. So he can feel you by his side, solid and permanent. “I love you, JD.” 

He turns to look at you. Those sharp eyes searching for any hint you don’t mean it. That these pretty words are the lie, and the wanting to leave him was the nasty truth. 

You meet his gaze head on. You would tell him how sorry you are, but you don’t want to think about how cruel you can be, when you get mad. “I love you.” You repeat, instead.

Finally he smiles at you, “Yeah, I know you do, darlin’.”

KEVIN KHATCHADOURIAN: 

You don’t have to pretend you’re happy. In fact, when you try, it makes Kevin very angry. 

He never tells you to stop. But whenever you try to fake a little enthusiasm. Put on a little smile you don’t mean… the look on his face is enough to make you feel sick. His expression hardly moves. It’s the look in his eyes. Like he wants to hurt you. Badly. 

So you stop pretending. 

He demands your presence. Your attention. He doesn’t want your disingenuous attempts to placate him. 

You sit in silence more often than not. 

You used to try and fill the air between you. The more he would stare at you, the more you would talk. He’d hardly blink. Just watching as you’d wind yourself up under the force of your own anxiety. He rarely told you to be quiet. You think Kevin must’ve liked watching you squirm. Watching you uhm and ah, only pausing for breaths, because otherwise the silence would be deafening. And all that would be left would be the suffocating weight of his gaze. 

You don’t bother talking now. What could you say? 

Now you stare back. He’d almost looked surprised, the first time. When you turned to look at him, while he looked at you. You didn’t stop until it was time for you to head home.

That’s how you spend all your time with each other now. You arrive at his home. You take off your shoes. You make your way to his bedroom. Sit on his bed. You take a deep breath, and then you stare at him, and he stares back. 

You hate him. A very big part of you hates him. An even bigger part of you is terrified of him. 

You carry on like this for months. Passing the time. Feeling isolated. Like a trapped mouse, or bird in a cage, even as you live every aspect of your life completely identical to the way you did before you knew what Kevin was capable of. There’s no chain around your wrist or ankle. No guillotine blade on your neck. But the threat is still there, and life feels paper thin now. Like some veil has been pulled back. It all feels meaningless. 

You hate him. But there’s no one you can talk to. No one to turn to. You don’t dare turn to anyone else. 

So one day, while you’re staring each other down you reach into the space between you on the bed with your hand, and lay it down palm up. Kevin’s eyes flicker down, sizing up your hand, sizing up you. After a long moment he puts his hand in yours. 

You go back to staring at each other.

NATHAN PRESCOTT: 

Nathan hates the way you flinch when he gets too close. 

He tries to be understanding. He doesn’t have a right to be hurt, after what he’s done. It hurts anyway. He just tries not to let it show. He’s sure that would make you angry. Him walking around like a little victim when he fucking kidnapped you. He makes himself angry. He makes himself sick. 

But at least he has you. You hate his guts, but you’re with him. 

Nathan tries to tell himself that’s all that matters. But he misses the way things used to be like he’d miss a leg that got cut off. Phantom aches all day long. Every time he looks at you, and finds you already looking at him, hatefully. You used to look at him like you’d never get tired of him. 

He still wants to know what finally made you tired of him. But he doesn’t have the right to ask. So he doesn’t ask. 

He reinforced the cabin so you can’t get out. If you try you’ll have to make so much noise there’s not a hope in hell he won’t hear. He can’t bear to tie you up, or chain you. You’re a fighter, and he’s not much of one, so he probably should. But he can’t. He’d tried and it made him sick. He’d actually thrown up over it. 

He keeps you lightly drugged instead.

He’d thrown up over that too. But he had to do something. 

He’s always careful about the dosage. Careful about every step of the process. He’ll never mess it up. Not ever. He loves you. He’d hurt you once, and he’ll never do it again. He doesn’t want to fight you. Doesn’t want you to fight each other. 

You love each other. It might take a while, but one day you’ll remember that. Until you do, you’ll both stay here, far away from anyone else. Nathan hopes you’ll remember soon.

SEBASTIAN VALMONT: 

He’s going to make you fall in love with him again. 

If he was stronger he’d let you go. Hell, he wouldn’t have paid someone to kidnap you in the first place. But Sebastian has always gotten everything he wanted. And he’s never wanted anything as much as he wants you. He’s never loved anyone as much as he loves you. Maybe, before you, he never loved anyone at all.

You split his chest open and carved out a space inside him where only you can fit. You’re the single occupant of his heart. Forever. You can’t expect him to just turn it off. Can’t expect him to forget you. He tried, and he failed. 

So now he’s going to try something else. He’s going to win you back. Obviously, this isn’t the best starting point. But there have been worse starting points for rekindling a romance. 

He hires only one chef and one maid for your new penthouse. He pays them very well to never ask any questions. And to never, ever help you escape. The money is too good to turn down. Life-changing, really. So they never help.

It’s just you and him. The way it was always meant to be. 

You do candlelit dinners every night. You wake up, every morning, to flowers outside your door. Sebastian fulfills your every desire. Hangs on to your every word. You can have anything you want. Do anything you want. You just can’t leave. Not yet. Not until you’re in love with him again. Then life can go back to normal. 

He’d laughed when you asked him if he was going to keep you in the penthouse with him forever. He laughed until he had to wipe a tear from his eye. Then he leaned forward and kissed you softly. “No, sweetheart, I’m not crazy. Just crazy about you.” 

There are a lot of locks on the front door. You’ve never even seen the keys for them. The windows don’t open. Even if they did… the penthouse is twenty stories up, you wouldn’t survive the fall. 

Sebastian opens your bedroom door, giving you a smile that’s both cocky and charming. Hiding something behind his back. Another gift. “Good morning, gorgeous.” 

You smile. Reflex, and don’t know if it’s because you’re too scared not to, or because looking at him makes you want to smile. Sebastian gives you a gentle kiss on the cheek, the way he does when he’s happy. 

Nothing makes Sebastian more happy than getting what he wants.

A/N: we all know it took me forever to do this part two. if you enjoyed this fic consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anon! a writers fuel is engagement. and this fic took too damn long to write. xoxoxo