#I don’t want to see them fail or crash and burn

[crancisfrozier]

Hi back from the dead again because I need to talk about this Watcher situation as someone who has been following them since BU and has been supporting them on Patreon for the last 3 years.

There are a lot of people claiming this decision was made out of greed or something equally malicious and I have to disagree completely. There is a lot of talk about parasocial relationships from the fandom side but I actually think this runs both ways. I think the boys are used to a very devoted and very loyal fanbase that professes to love and care about them and wants to support their endeavors, and has demonstrated that over the four years they have been operating as Watcher. I think they saw this as a logical next move for their company that they were excited about and that the fandom would wholeheartedly support, as always (hence the countdown). They likely did not think about how this would look or feel from an audience standpoint and made a, in hindsight for them, pretty impulsive trust fall expecting us to be there for them, only to hit the ground pretty hard and unexpectedly. They are probably reeling from this which, I believe, is the cause for all this radio silence.

Also, something that I haven’t really seen anyone address yet is how this moment feels like a defining blowout argument in a relationship. We are at a point where both parties (Watcher and the fans) have done/said things that cannot be taken back. They can try and slightly walk back the streaming decision, maybe offer an additional free tier with ads on the streamer itself so they are not cutting off fans from content completely, but they cannot completely take back this decision as they’ve likely already sunk time and money into the platform, not to mention the people who have already paid for it. And from the audience side, there have been a lot of reasonable and logical comments made about the message this sends to fans who cannot afford it or why this is a hurtful and unwise business decision, but there have also been A LOT of very nasty and very rude comments, or comments that would likely be very hurtful to the boys in general. Blaming Steven for the decision and saying how he wasn’t ever liked and was only tolerated by fans, how people have never liked ghost files or mystery files as much as unsolved, how the quality has gotten worse as the production value increased, etc. The boys have likely not seen every comment but I’m sure they’ve seen enough of them and that is something that is going to fundamentally change how they view their fanbase as much as this has warped how we view them. I could not imagine facing and making new content for an audience that I thought 100% supported me then basically ended up telling me my content is subpar, I peaked years ago, and that they always disliked 1/3 of the founding members of my company.

We are at a point where we have both said and done things that have fundamentally changed our relationship to each other and only time will tell whether we can walk this back and start building trust again or call it quits for good.

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Eleven

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 6k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Graphic depiction of domestic violence. This fic contains mature themes. Mention of pregnancy. Nurse!reader, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies. Bun is in pain, goes to a doctor. Dissociation. Lots of despair, fear, anxiety. The 141 reunites. Nightmares. Comfort. Tenderness. Angst. Welcome home.

“Knock knock.”

“Bunny.” Johnny murmurs, lifting an arm, urging you close, a moon to a tide.

“Hi.” You bend, moving into the hug, pressing your face to his neck for a quick second before straightening.

“I miss ye.” You survey him, glancing at the monitor, the brace on his leg and hip, the disconnected fluid line. He’s doing well. You’re so relieved to see it with your own eyes, ribs rattling with a long exhale. Satisfied, you smile, tension bleeding from your spine. 

“Simon says you’re terrorizing your night nurse.”

“Am not. She’s jus’ not gentle, or quiet. Wakes me up.”

“That’s her job.” He scoffs, waving you off. You settle in the chair at his side, and he takes your hand in his, lifting it to his lips, dotting kisses across your knuckles. His affection is freeing, sweet and easy, a warm breeze on a spring day. It overflows your heart with warmth until you think it might spill over, and you go with it, following his lead, even though your better judgement, the girl in the mirror, wails.

“Ye look good. Better. Swellin’ gone down?” He cradles your chin, turning your face from left to right, inspecting with a crystal-clear sapphire gleam.

“Yeah, my shoulder is still sore but… yeah. I feel better.”

“’m glad. Simon keepin’ ye off yer feet all day then?”

“Oh my god.” You laugh. “He keeps telling me to lay down. Or asking if I want to take a nap.” Johnny chuckles.

“Sounds right. He’s a bit o’ a mother hen, that one. He cares though, we both do.”

“I know.” You squeeze his hand. “And I missed you too.”

“He said ye an’ him had a nice chat the other night?” Your cheeks burn. Oh god. Did he… “I’m a wee bit jealous.” He complains, turning his nose up and away in a mock pout, and you roll your eyes.

You laid in bed all night and thought about these moments. Thought about Simon’s mouth on yours, his hand on your ass, squeezing and stroking. You thought about how he tasted, how he smelled, the way he looked at you, like you were a part of their world, a piece of them.

And you thought about Johnny. Johnny alone here, Johnny trapped in the hospital, healing, unable to leave or even get out of bed. How anxious he must be, being separated from his family, how frustrating it is to spend so long trying to get better.

You wanted to give him something. Wanted to make him feel better, see him smile.

Here goes nothing. 

Leaning, standing, you dip into his orbit, lightly bumping your noses together. It takes no time until his good hand is around the back of your neck, crashing your mouth into his, and he breathes you in, holding you steady, tongue and teeth and lips swirling together in a ubiquitous, overwhelming haze. He tastes like summer rain, the feeling in the air before a giant storm, electric and blazing, brilliant glow transferring between the two of you, lightning striking a mountaintop. He nips your bottom lip, heat flooding your stomach, and you pull away slowly, his eyes jeweled and shimmering, brilliantly blue.

“Bunny,” You try to swallow a quiet giggle and fail. “I’ll have to tell ye I’m jealous more often.”

“Don’t take advantage.” You playfully scold.

“Me? Take advantage?” He pretends to be outraged, voice piquing higher, and you laugh again. “How can I take advantage when ‘m the one stuck here in this bed while ye two are at home, playin’ house, takin’ couch naps and gettin’ butt rubs. No one cares about Johnny, no-“

“Shhh.” You press your lips to his, silencing him, remaining in the kiss that’s long and soft and saccharine. He sneaks his tongue back between your teeth, mischievous and wild, every bit the man you’re drawn to, an attraction you can’t fight.

“Well.” Simon clears his throat from the doorway, brows raised, mask snug. “Hope I’m not interrupting.” You don’t know why, but you fly backwards, nearly stumbling, cheeks on fire. You feel like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t, and that feeling, the pit in the bottom of your stomach, is all too reminiscent.

It frightens you.

“Whoa, hey.” Johnny tries to snag a finger around your wrist, but you step out of the way.

“It’s alright.” Simon moves inside fully, clicking the door shut behind him. “You’re not in trouble. Nothing is wrong, I was just kidding. That’s my fault.” You shake your head.

He’s not mad. Johnny is fine. Everything is fine. 

You’re overreacting. You’re making a mess of this. 

You shouldn’t even be doing this in the first place. What’re you doing? Who are you kidding? 

“I’m s-sorry.” You stammer, hands wringing together anxiously.

“Ye dinnae have anything to be sorry about.” Johnny protests, still trying to reach for you.

Get it together. You have to get it together. 

You close your eyes.

Deep breath. In and out. You can do it. Just breathe. 

It works. You’re steadier, and you meet their watchful gazes as your eyes open.  

“You okay?” Simon murmurs, moving very slowly to the other side of the bed where you’re standing, like he’s approaching a spooked, scared, wild animal.

“Yeah. Sorry. Just… had a moment. I’m fine.” Not entirely true, but that’s alright. You feel a little unsteady, a little unnerved, and Johnny frowns.

“Ye should sit.”

“I’m fine.”

“Bunny, please. For me?” He bats his eyelashes, and you want to groan.

But you lower yourself in the chair all the same.

Quiet falls over the room. It’s awkward and stiff, and you curse yourself for ruining the moment.

“Hey.” Simon soothes, reading your mind. “Hey, you’re alright. Everything is fine.” You nod, unsettled. He squeezes your good shoulder and dips past you, leaning to press a gentle kiss to Johnny’s brow, before dotting his nose and pushing their lips together. Their kiss is long, languid touch melting away to expose their connection, trust and love on full display. Delicate and rare, their affection makes your heart flutter, pulchritudinous whispers given to one another as Simon holds Johnny’s hand, stroking a familiar pattern into his skin, something similar to the way he touches you. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Wish they’d let me out of this bloody bed.” Johnny grumbles. You clear your throat.

“They’re waiting on your wrist. Once your wrist can support your weight on crutches, then you’ll be able to start PT and be released.”

“Ach. I know.” He’s frustrated, it’s clear. You know it’s not easy, being here, being separated, stuck in a hospital.

“It won’t be too long.” You try to reassure him, and he nods, still a little forlorn. “Here,” you stand with a burst of confidence, knocking his arm with the back of your hand as a direction, “scooch over.”

His eyes light. Simon laughs.

You fold yourself onto the edge of the bed, turned on your side, curled along where he’s the least banged up, careful of the sensitive graft lurking beneath his hospital gown.

“There. That better?” His good arm wraps around you carefully, settling on your ribs, a thumb tracing the wrinkle of your shirt.

“Aye, much better.” Your knees are bent, and cool air ghosts over your lower back, where your shirt has ridden up and exposed your skin. You shiver.

“Cold?” Simon murmurs, and you nod. He’s close, hovering, pulling a blanket up from the end of the bed to cover both you and Johnny. He tucks it around the two of you carefully and leans forward, pulling his mask down again to brush his lips across Johnny’s brow.

You watch in a daze. They don’t speak, but there’s something happening between them, something being said in their eyes as Simon holds his face briefly, and Johnny nods.

They both look to you, your bottom lip caught between teeth.

“Want one too?” Simon hums, cupping the back of your head. “Here.” He kisses you, lingering in it, heat of his naked mouth still a shock to your system.

Johnny is beaming, and cuddles you as close as possible, cheek resting atop your forehead.

They make you dizzy. All of it feels like some kind of dream, a world impossible, a fantasy suddenly turned real life. You’re on the verge of spinning out of control inside it, losing yourself.

It doesn’t help that everything you’ve done over these last few years, this identity, this life, the work that went into hiding and planning and saving and scraping, trying to stay unseen and unnoticed-

Was all for nothing.

“Bunny?” Johnny whispers, bringing you back to them. Simon is settled in the recliner, the same one from the ICU room, but his arm is stretched past your head, fingers playing idly in Johnny’s very long mohawk.

“Sorry. I’m here.”

“Where did ye go?” He tightens his hold, and you snuggle in closer, hiding away from everything bearing down on you, the pain and the panic and the doubt. You hide your face from it, refuse to acknowledge it, desperately trying to stay in this moment, hoping to just be… be here with them. In the sun.

“Nowhere.”  

A day passes. Then another, and another, and another. Your face nearly looks normal, puffiness and swelling practically gone, and your neck aches less and less with each passing day.

Your shoulder, on the other hand, is a problem.

It never stops hurting. You struggle to get your arm through your shirts, can barely lift it, can't pick anything up, and it’s so sore, tender, and stiff, like it’s been dislocated or worse, broken. You’re worried, worried about going back to work without a full range of motion, worried about being in pain.

Worried about being even more permanently damaged than you already are.

Just another tally mark. Just another thing you must live with now, a permanent remnant of him, a forever reminder of just how foolish you really are.

You’re weak. You’re stupid. You’re damaged. 

The pain breaks you down. It prevents you from sleeping, keeps you twisting and turning through a roil of dark dreams. It depresses you, sinks its teeth into your flesh and gnaws on the pieces touched by the sun, the parts of your heart still beating, somehow.

It reminds you of everything you’re desperate to forget.

It all comes crashing down one morning. The despair. The helpless feeling brewing in your stomach. The loneliness. It keeps you there, in bed, in agony, past breakfast.

It keeps you there, until you hear the creak of the stairs, a firm knock.

“I’m coming in.” Simon advises, trying the door, cracking it enough to stick his head through.

You’re crumpled in the middle of the mattress, pillows strewn about from trying to find a comfortable position, tears already dried. Your shoulder hurts so bad, and you don’t know why, don’t know why it’s not getting better, not healing.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” He sits at your side, hand resting on your hip, inspecting the worry lines, the frown tugging at your lips. “What’s going on?” Guilt swamps you.

“It’s nothing, my shoulder just kept me up, so I’m a little tired. That’s all.” You paste on your work smile, forced and believable, but he only shakes his head.

“Don’t do that.” He thumbs your brow. “I think you should see a doctor.”

“N-no.” You can’t. He doesn’t understand. They’ll want to take x-rays. X-rays lead to questions. 

He never takes you at face value. Always pushing. Always digging, looking you over. “Why not?”

“It’s… it’s not necessary. I’m fine, it’s probably just a deep bruise.”

“You’d be experiencing less pain if that was the case.” You raise an eyebrow. He shrugs. “I know a little bit. We all have basic medic training, and I’ve been reading up, for when Johnny gets home.” He pats your hip. “Let’s make you an appointment.” You shake your head.

“No!” It’s too sharp, too insistent, and he freezes. You wince. “I’m sorry. It’s just-“

“You can’t go to a doctor.” He finishes, like he knows. “Tell me why, sweetheart.” You take a shaky breath.

You can’t. You shouldn’t. 

Sunlight taps against the iron that’s encrusted around your heart. It knocks, wanting to be let in. It searches for weakness, places of opportunity, slivers of space where it can find its way.

Your mouth starts moving before you give it permission, like it knows this is where you’re headed, no matter how hard you fight, no matter how deeply the survivor’s logic is ingrained in your brain.

“It… it’s not safe.”

“It creates a trail.” He surmises, and you nod. For a wild moment, you wonder if he’s a plant. If they’re a trap, designed to get you to lower your guard, fabricated to encourage you to trust, to love, just so the jaws of Philip’s cruelty can close around you at the most opportune moment.

They wouldn’t. They’re not. You’re being ridiculous. You’re paranoid. 

“We’ll make it under my name. Our primary is service member focused, and very discreet. You’ll be safe.” He makes it hard to argue, even though you want to. You should.

“I- I don’t know.”

“I can’t stand to see you in pain like this.” He rebukes, and then smiles softly, eyes lighting up. “Besides, I’m going to need your help. Johnny’s coming home on Friday.”

“He is?” You push upward. “Really?”

“Really.” He’s beaming, radiant sunshine spilling from his lips, and it makes you emotional, seeing him so happy, so weightless. “He passed a strength test on his wrist this morning. He needs a few days of PT in hospital, and then he can do it outpatient. His care team has signed off, and he’s ready.”

“Oh my god, that’s great!”

“It is. But I want both of you on the mend, not just one. Please.” It doesn’t take much more for you to concede, unable to find an excuse or a good enough reason, one he’s not able to combat.

“Alright, I guess.”

“Simon. Good to see you.” The doctor extends his hand and Simon shakes it readily, keeping his body positioned between you and the physician, one hand still on your knee.

He’s had a hand on you for the last half hour. You’ve been rattling on the exam table, shifting and fretful, disquieted energy spilling forth since he coaxed you into the car this morning.

“Dr. Fitch.”

“This is my patient?” He motions to you, and Simon stands to the side, concentrating, eyes focused above the mask. You give your name, and the provider repeats it with a warm smile.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Fitch.” You raise your good arm to shake his hand, and he pulls the rolling stool underneath him, taking a seat opposite Simon at your knee.

A warm palm flexes at your lower back. It’s soothing, comforting.  

I’m here, it says. You’re safe.

“Simon says you’ve been having some shoulder pain?”

“Yeah, I had… I had an injury. Thought there was some soft tissue damage, maybe some minor bruising, but the pain is too persistent.”

“Mind if I take a look?” He points to the side you’re clearly favoring.

“Sure.” It’s not comfortable, to have another man’s hands on you outside of your job. There’s no trust there, no familiarity like there is with Simon and Johnny, and your body knows it, practically vibrating as he walks his fingers up your scapula. Simon stays close, still with a hand at your back, watching intently.

Dr Fitch holds your elbow, and slowly lifts your arm until you’re telling him to stop, pins and needles radiating through your shoulder and up your neck.

“I think we need an x-ray so we can really see what’s going on.” Your fingers curl, nails digging into your palm. 

Fuck.  

“I… I think I just need a sling, or an immobilizer for a few weeks. Give it some time to heal.” You try to protest, but he shakes his head.

“I can’t be sure of any of that, without an x-ray.” Oh god. You think you might throw up.

He’s right, though. You know he’s right. You know no good provider in their right mind would sign off on a treatment plan without knowing the extent of an injury. He’s not going to let you dictate what you need.

“Bun.” Simon murmurs, and you blow out a rough breath.

“Okay, fine.”

Dr. Fitch is grim when he reappears almost an hour later, throwing the films up for both you and Simon to see.

You spot what’s soured him immediately, and there’s a sharp intake of breath behind you, the tell-tale sign of Simon noticing it too.

“This side of your body has seen a lot of trauma.” The doctor says gently. He’s not unkind, but still clinical. The kind of provider you’d like you work with, you think. “These old injuries, your clavicle, acromion, even this break in your ulna, make your scapula a very delicate part of your body. I think an MRI would show a fair amount of cartilage damage in these areas.” He motions around your joint, and you close your eyes.

You can’t do this. 

If Dr. Fitch sees your unease or panic, he pushes past it. “You have a rotator cuff tear. The good news is, it’s not surgical. I recommend physical therapy for injuries like these, along with activity modification and lots of rest. I want to do a corticosteroid injection for your pain as well. Today, if you’d like. You’ll need to rest your arm for twenty-four hours afterwards, make sure you’re not lifting anything or moving it…” He continues, but you lose track, lose focus, staring at the vinyl tile, weird grey and pink and green patterns all worked together to make some of the ugliest floor you’ve ever seen.

You zone out. Lose yourself. The films mock you, their ugly, horrific images hanging you out to dry, showcasing the truth, the reminders you’ll never be able to escape.

The pieces of you, changed permanently.

It’s hard to look at. Hard to think of.

You’d rather be considering survival. Counting your cash and researching new places to live. New communities to disappear inside, a new life to assume.

It’s easier to run.

You can’t look at Simon. Can't bear the shame. Can't believe he's seeing this, your nightmares on display. 

You keep your eyes fixed on the wall.

The girl in the mirror is falling apart. She despises being confronted with your failings, your weakness, the results of your stupidity.

It’s far less common now, these mistakes. These slip ups.

But before… before… they indulged Philip in a beautiful game of cat and mouse. You made it fun, made it exciting. A wolf with his prey. Playing with his food before he eats. Before he strings it up and breaks its collarbone because he likes to hear it scream.

Simon is talking to the provider, asking questions, receiving answers. You can barely hear him. You’re underwater.

The only thing that tethers you to the earth is the hand on your back, the warm, gentle, broad, grounding pressure.

There’s more conversation, and then Dr. Fitch is vacating the room.

Is it time to go? 

You try to stand on autopilot, but Simon holds you steady.

“We’re going to do the steroid, for your pain.” He drifts into your line of sight, pulling the mask down. “Bunny, look at me.”

When you can’t, he follows your gaze.

The films come off the wall within the next second, ripped down by the long reach of his arm.

Gone. 

“I have to go.” You whisper.

“You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to get this injection, and then I’m going to take you home and put you to bed.”

He doesn’t understand your meaning. 

Or maybe he does. 

Home. The word rings in your ears like a punch. It’s like you’ve been hit with it, burned with it.

Home. 

He’s not forceful, but you still feel the pressure, the insistence. You expect to rail against him. To cower.

Instead, you slip inside it. Allow him to tell you what to do, to make the decision. You fall easily into him, and he holds your hand through it all, while the injection site is swabbed, when the needle goes in. He holds your hand out to the car, holds your hand as he buckles you in. He holds your hand as he tucks you into a bed larger and softer than the one you've been sleeping in. It smells like him and Johnny, soft sheets and pillows piled around you like a wall, false sense of security building every time you twitch, testing where is he is, if he’s left yet.

The last thing you feel before you drift off to sleep is your hand, still in his.

You don't know how long you sleep. You sail in the darkness, navigating turbulent seas, waking every now and then, sometimes alone... sometimes not. 

The baby monitor blinks pale green, little circle fuzzy on the edge of your vision, appearing and disappearing throughout the day. 

Sometimes the bed is warm. Sometimes it's not. 

When it is, you seek him out on instinct, trying to crawl inside his ribs, frantic with your effort to hide, to run. He holds you through it, rocks you gently, tells you you're safe, says you don't have to be afraid anymore, he's here now. He'll take care of you. 

There's a rope around your ankle, tied too tight, tethered to the ocean floor. It drags you down, rips you away from him, fills your lungs and silences you. 

You didn't make it. 

All you can see behind closed lids is those films. All you can feel is the phantom ache in your limbs, the remnants of a shadow, still living and breathing inside of you. 

The girl in the mirror is silent. Nothing to say for once in her life, she weeps like her chest is being carved open, sobs and screams pouring out in a flood. 

I know you'll be here when I get back, won't you?

The house is vibrant today.

Lou has been here, stocking the fridge, precooking some meals, and her husband is helping Simon rearrange the living room, moving pieces of the couch to be more accessible, laughing back and forth quietly. Occasionally, he stops into the kitchen where you’re seated next to Pen in her highchair, checking in, but never encroaching.

He doesn’t get too close, right now. You’re still underwater somewhere, lost in a current. You’re here, but not really, silently drifting like a ghost, watching and waiting for something or someone to shake you out of it.

Simon hasn’t yet, but he’s watching. Always.

He’s intentionally careful, loud. Announcing himself everywhere he goes in the house, telling you everything he’s doing.

You didn’t understand why at first. Didn’t realize you hadn’t spoken in eight hours, and then ten, then twelve.

Trapped in a tomb of yourself, locked away with the girl in the mirror.

Guilt burns like a wildfire.

This should be a happy time. A wonderful time. 

But all you’re doing is making a mess of their life.  

Lou, thankfully, doesn’t push you either. She’s content to let you sit there, next to Pen. She keeps an eye out, glancing over at you occasionally, but your placating smiles seem to satisfy her.

Simon steps in front of the counter, ducking his head down to catch your eyes. “I’m going to pick Johnny up.” Somewhere, in the pits of hell, excitement blooms. Happiness tries to sprout. “Do you want to come?” Definitely not. They’ll certainly clap him out, and there’s no way you can be there for that. 

“No, I’m… okay.”

“Okay. Penny is coming with me, but John and Lou are staying here. Kyle is coming by. If Johnny’s feeling up to it, I’m hoping to do dinner all together.” Acid is tossed around, tempestuous in your stomach. Lou smiles around his side.

“Want to watch something while we wait?”

“Sure.” She disappears down the hall, saying something to John, and Simon slowly pulls Pen from her chair, kissing her cheek and nose before cradling her to his chest. She’s not a small baby, but in his hold, she’s tiny, soft and delicate, content in her dad’s arms, still a little sleepy from her afternoon nap. 

“We’ll be back soon.” He whispers, turning to go.

Your hand whips forward instinctively, out of control.

It latches onto his.

“Simon. I’m… I’m sorry.” You’re sorry you’re ruining everything. You’re sorry you’re fucked up beyond belief, you’re sorry he had to see all that in the doctor’s office, you’re sorry, you’re sorry, you’re sorry. 

He squeezes. “Shhh, hey. There’s nothing to be sorry about.” He shifts, still holding Penny, but stooping down to crouch at your knees, his own popping with effort. “It’s okay, if you have to go somewhere else for a little while up there, as long as you're not lost in it.” He motions to your head. “Nothing has changed. We’re still right here, everything is alright. Huh, Penny girl?” He bounces her, and she shrieks out a giggle, reaching for his face. He kisses her hands like he’s trying to eat them, rumble in his voice making her squeal, and he catches your faint smile. “There she is.” He kisses your forehead. “We’ll be back soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

You hear Johnny before you see him.

There’s a scrape of crutches, his voice animated, talking to his baby, Penny giggling wildly outside on the walk. Lou and John exchange a comfortable smile, and she manages to get the door open before Simon can get his key in the lock.

“Welcome home!” She exclaims, and Penny squeaks, clapping excitedly. She’s wriggly, wanting to get down immediately upon crossing the threshold, but Simon holds her firm, turned around so Lou can snap their picture.

“Ach, Price, can ye do somethin’-“ Johnny laments, but the captain only laughs and looks on.

“Hey! Come on, you’ll want this, later. I promise. Look over here.” They’re picture perfect, Penny cradled between them, Johnny’s hair moved out of his face, his posture a little slouched because of his hip and leg. His head rests on Simon’s shoulder, an arm stretched across his middle, right under Penny, who glows from her perch, the center of attention.

An ache unfurls in the middle of your chest, a sore spot, growing, spreading through your body.

They’re so lovely, it hurts. This moment is beautiful, a homecoming, a story of survival and perseverance. Johnny’s strength and determination. Doing something you know a lot of people initially doubted.  

The dark spot of pain passes, fleeting.

Johnny’s eyes find yours. “Ye goin’ make me hobble all the way over there?” He teases, and you shake your head.

The two of you can only give half hugs, but you make it work, holding onto him, fingers fisted in the back of his shirt.

“Welcome home.” You whisper in his ear, and he pulls away, notching his forehead against yours. His eyes glitter, heavy, trembling breath filtering through his nose, and he kisses you slowly, so painfully slowly it’s like you’re the only one in the entire house, in the whole world.

“You too, bunny.”

Dinner is lively. Kyle arrives shortly before it’s time to sit down, greetings and warm wishes passed around as everyone gets settled, Penny positioned in highchair between the guys with mashed potatoes and peas already scooped onto her tray. Johnny’s on your left, with Lou on your right, and Simon sits at the head of the table, across from who you realize now, is his old, or kind of still, boss. 

He looks perfect there, half turned towards Pen and Johnny, radiantly smiling at his partner and daughter, trying again and again to catch your eye. Johnny's knee stays steady against yours, fingertips occasionally brushing your thigh, and the two of them try to draw you in, pull you towards them, over and over. 

Conversation flows easily. They’re all talking, laughing, swapping stories, poking at one another. Kyle tells you about a time he fell out of a helicopter, and they all tease Johnny about nearly dying this time, or a different time, you can’t be too sure.

“Ye jus’ wish ye had the natural ability I do.” He sniffs, and Kyle chortles, struggling to swallow his food.

“I’d probably be dead, mate.”

“’Cause ye cannae handle it!” He retorts, and Simon laughs, causing Penny to giggle too, and then the entire table erupts in it, attention redirected, cooing at the adorable girl with mashed potatoes smeared on her face. Johnny and Simon fuss over her, a perfect family in unison. 

There’s a whining, buzzing noise in the back of your head. It’s an off-key tenor, annoying and coarse, like the snag of rough skin texture against a soft sweater.

What are you doing here? 

The world, this room, these people, spin and spiral around you. Talking, laughing, loving. Making connections with each other, feeling the warmth of love and friendship, of happiness.

The buzzing gets louder.

You’re vaguely in it now, still seated but not here, not anywhere. You’re drifting, falling away, slipping behind walls and layers, hiding.

The girl in the mirror approves.

What makes you think you have any right to be here? What makes you think you could ever possibly belong here? With them? With their friends? Their family? 

You’re an intruder. 

You’re risking their safety. You’re making a mistake. 

Lou boasts a sharp laugh, and you nearly flinch.

You don’t belong here. You’re supposed to be alone. It was supposed to be okay, to be alone.

You’re selfish.

Simon reaches for Johnny’s hand, stretching across Penny’s spot, eyes heavy with love. There’s so much in his expression alone, dedication, devotion, borderline obsession bleeding through, and he holds Johnny like he’s holding his lifeline.

You’ll never be loved like that, known like that, cherished and protected… like that. 

And why should you be? 

You’re standing before you announce it, trying to hold yourself together. Both guys look to you, Simon’s expression changing from amusement and love to worry and concern, while Johnny mirrors it, and tries to grab your hand.

“Ye alright?”

“Bun?”

“I’m fine, just… uh. My stomach.” You lie, motioning away from the table, like it makes any sense. You excuse yourself quickly, apologizing, and practically run up the stairs.

The guest bathroom door locks, and you slide down against the tub, slumping over to rest your cheek on cold tile. “Fuck.” You whisper, rubbing at your cheeks. What is wrong with you?

You lay there long enough that your shoulder starts to hurt. Everything aches, your heart too, and wipe your cheeks over and over, trying to regain control of a sinking ship.

God, you really, really hope they aren’t mad you bailed. 

The bed is your only option, your only salvation, and you sink into without fuss, burying yourself beneath a pile of blankets, hiding yourself away from the world.

At least when you sleep, you can’t think.

At least when you sleep, you can’t feel.

“Philip, please.” 

“You made a fucking fool of me tonight.” He grips your upper arm so tight it feels like he’s cutting into your flesh, branding you, burning you down to the bone. 

“No, I- I wasn’t trying to, I swear.” 

“I think you were, spitfire. I think you wanted to see me sweat, didn’t you? Wanted to play a little game, huh?” 

“No!” you’re crying, chest heaving with giant sobs, and his fist tightens in your hair, dragging you down to the ground. “No, Philip, stop. Stop!” 

“Shut up.” You’re crawling on your knees, trying to keep pace, trying to stay in stride with him as he tugs, practically pulling you down the hallway to the bedroom. 

Once he gets there, he jerks you upwards. 

The hardwood floor is the next thing you see as your face crashes into it. 

“S-stop.” You’re barely audible, buried in sobs. He mocks you. 

“Stoooop, babe. Stop please.” Your arms cover your head, trying to protect your delicate bones there, your skull, your nose, your cheeks. 

His foot rears back. 

The world goes cold. 

“NO!” you jerk your knees up to your chest, rolling away. “No! I’m pregnant!” 

You think he’ll be happy. You think he’ll be pleased. 

Instead, it’s raw, concentrated fury you see lining his face, lightning and thunder gathering in his eyes. 

“You’re what?”

You come to trembling, coated in a cold sweat.

It’s okay. He’s not here. He’s not. You’re safe. 

You clasp a hand over your mouth to ward off the volume of the sob, nausea rising until you’re almost gagging.

It’s okay. 

You can do this. Get it together. 

Time ticks away, but the agony of your memory, your nightmare, doesn’t fade. It settles in your bones like a sickness, infecting your mind and heart, keeping you from closing your eyes.

You can’t go back there. Not in real life. Not in your dreams. Not ever.

You would die before that happened.

Johnny and Simon sleep down the hall. You wonder if they’re wrapped up together, if Johnny is comfortable, if their room is cozy and homey, bed heavenly and full of love.

You could… 

No. 

The clock on your phone reads three in the morning. You feel like you haven’t slept at all, but every time you try to close your eyes, dread spreads, tenebrous and sticky, clinging to every synapse in your logical brain.

You eye the door.

You could… 

Should you? Would they be mad? Would they welcome you? Would they even answer?

You don’t know how you convince yourself to do it, to drag your weak will down the hall and knock on their door, but you do. You’re a child the whole way, padding up to a parent’s room in the middle of the night, looking for salvation and sanctuary, desperate for comfort.

It takes almost no time after your timid little rap for the door to swing wide, Simon standing behind it, little lamp flicked on where Johnny is half sitting up, mostly still asleep, rubbing his eyes.

“Hi.” You whisper, distracted by Simon’s naked chest. He’s wearing sweatpants, but they’re slung low on his hips, soft tummy with wispy light brown hair peeking out above the drawstring. You think you’re staring, and you force a blink, trying to appear normal.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing, I just… I had a nightmare and…I… I can’t…” the rest doesn’t come out, laying heavy on your tongue, trying to organize itself so it doesn’t seem so intrusive, or weak.

He doesn’t make you feel bad. Or guilty. He doesn’t even ask, he just steps aside, motioning to bed, clicking the door shut behind him.

“Take the middle.” He whispers, and you crawl across the expanse, timidly smiling at Johnny, who’s still yawning. He’s got his bad leg and hip set up on a bunch of pillows, and the spot next to him is still warm.

“Hey pretty girl.”

“Hi.” He pats the empty space, shoving the blankets down to the best of his ability to let you get underneath them.

“Bad dream?” He drawls, slow and sleepy.

“Yeah.”

“C’mere.” He tries to tug you closer, but Simon scolds him softly.

“Johnny, easy. Your graft.” He turns, sliding, encouraging you to settle on your side, with him at your back. “There we go. That’s better, hm?” It is better. So much better. Warm and safe. Blocked in on either side by them, your hand resting on Johnny’s sternum, grounding yourself with the rise and fall of his breathing, Simon nestling you into his chest, heavy arm slung across your ribs to hold Johnny’s hand.

It's so nice, tucked between them like you belong there, things start to spiral a little bit, doubt and worry fueling a cycle of second guessing. You shift restlessly, and Simon rubs your hip, soothing whatever he senses amiss back to neutral, lips humming just above your ear. “Close your eyes, little bunny. We’re here. You’re safe.”

[kakujis]

you only call me on the weekend.

warnings: afab!fem reader, situationship, unrequited feelings, oliver can't admit he loves you, praise, creamp*e, implied multiple rounds, that should be it! not proofread.

ft + wc: oliver aiku hehe. around 1.6k

a/n: THIS IS A REPOST! I'm trying to get back into the swing of things, but alas, I am extremely busy with end of semester stuff. This got fl*gged so I'm hoping this repost can make it to more ppl, mwah to all the new Oliver lovers!!

you hate oliver aiku. you hate the missed calls, the times he’s stood you up, and the amount of times he’s left you on read. but when your phone chimed that night and you saw his name etched across the brightly lit screen of your phone, you didn’t hesitate to open it. 

oliver♡: hey baby, you free tonight? 

don’t respond. don’t fall so easily. don’t give him what he wants. this is the mantra that you tell yourself every time he pops up, whenever the other girls he pursues turns him down and he tries to come crawling back to you for the sake of getting his dick wet. 

but you’re weak for him and that’s why you respond without fail every time. 

y/n: i might be. why? 

you bite your lip, fuck, you know why. 

oliver♡: i miss you, pretty girl. that’s why. let me come over, yeah? 

that stupid phrase has your thighs rubbing together and you can feel your resolve, what little you had anyway, cracking. 

y/n: mm, dunno. 

oliver♡: you don’t miss me? 

say no, your mind screams, for once, don’t let him get his way. 

y/n: …maybe a little. 

oliver♡: be there soon, <3. 

y/n: that doesn’t mean come over! 

you sigh, frowning and turning your phone off before tossing it to the side. you try to immerse yourself back into the show you were watching, but the prospect of oliver coming made your hands clammy and you’re unsure if it’s due to nerves or excitement.

there’s a knock on your door and your stomach drops, fuck that was fast. of course he was nearby, he knows you can’t say no. and that's the annoying part, that he was waiting nearby, planning, no, knowing that you would let him in.

as you walk over, you steel yourself, you’re gonna give him a piece of your mind this time. if he wants to keep fucking you, then he needs to put a little more effort in. yeah, that’s it, that’s what you’ll say. 

but as soon as the door opens, he’s on you. you can’t even get a syllable out before he’s slamming you against the wall and crashing his lips onto yours. he kisses you like he’s starving, like you’re the first meal he’s had in years.

you can barely breathe, the air sucked out of your lungs as he picks you up, your legs naturally curling around his waist, while your nails are digging into his shoulders as he turns and kicks the door shut. 

he’s fast, barely stumbling down the hallway as he walks you to the bedroom. throwing you down onto the bed, you’re given a moment of respite, gasping. 

“oliver-“ you try, but he’s back on you instantly, slipping his tongue in, while some drool runs from your mouth. he tugs at the waistband of your shorts, before sliding them off.

his fingers ghost your clothed pussy, groaning when he feels the wet patch on your undies. he leaves your mouth to leave sloppy, wet kisses across your cheek before he’s growling in your ear, “you’re always soaked when i’m around, aren’t you?” 

you whine out a needy and breathless, “mhm,” mind already hazy and resistance long gone. you tug at his shirt and he gives a light laugh, that makes your heart ache, before pulling it off. 

“your turn.” he says and you scramble to take yours off. “god, you’re so pretty.” he hums, hand trailing through the valley of your breasts, making you tremble. you burn under his hungry gaze, trying to look away, but he catches you. your chin caught between the pad of his thumb and pointer finger, “eyes on me.” 

you watch as he takes your panties off next, another hum of approval from him when he sees your glistening folds. he was right, you were soaked and eager, your body reacting to every touch or word he gives.

you hate oliver aiku. you hate how he makes you burn with the desire, how every touch of his hand across the expanse of your skin has you whimpering. you hate that he always knows what to say to keep you wrapped around his finger, his words keeping you collared to him. 

but god do you love the stretch of his thick cock as it slides into your dripping cunt, mewling as he sinks down, inch by inch. he grits his teeth as he bottoms out, stilling a bit to let you adjust, before he’s driving into you like he hasn’t seen you in years. 

sometimes, you think you were made for him. the way no other fling ever brings you as high as oliver does. his cock hits all the right places, your face contorted in pleasure as the slap! of skin against skin reverberates within the room. or maybe, you think like that because he tells you that. “fuck baby,” he hisses, “ah, you were fucking made for me, shit.” 

oliver knows you like the palm of his hand. he knows when you want him to talk to you sweetly. he knows when you want him to growl obscenities in your ear. but most of all, he knows you always want him to fuck you stupid. 

your whines are like music to his ears, as he thrusts into you, heavy balls against your ass. your head falls back against the pillow, eyes closing as you let the pleasure wash over you. but oliver tsks, hooking his thumb into your mouth and jerking it downward. your eyes fly open as he grunts, “i said, eyes on me.” 

“s-sorry,” you whimper, trying to maintain eye contact with him, “ah, fuck!” but you just can’t, each thrust against your sweet spot has your eyes rolling back. you feel his hand on the back of your head, making sure you can’t throw it back, he wants to see it all, every fucked out expression you’ll give him. 

it’s part of his ego to see you come undone on him. he loves that such a pretty thing like you lets him ruin you. in fact he craves it so much that he’s basically stopped sleeping around with others. he thinks you’re the cutest thing to cream on his cock, especially when you paw and whine that “ts too much!” 

unfortunately for him, he’s not gonna be able to hold back this time. the noises you’re making are too pretty and the clench of your pussy feels too good. he’s sure this is the closest to love he’s ever gotten. 

“‘m gonna,” you gasp, glassy eyes gazing up into his, “oliver, i’m-“ 

“i know, baby,” he coos, “you’re, ah, gonna cum right? cum for me, yeah?” 

it’s embarrassing how quickly you do, the legs wrapped around him trembling as you clench down on his cock, vision blurring. 

“that’s it,” he praises, fucking you through your high, “good fuckin’ girl.” and it’s not long til he’s coming undone too, groaning as he fills your pussy up, painting it in hot white ropes. 

he pulls you in and you squeak, before he’s pressing a deep kiss into your lips. it’s the first time he’s done this and you’re caught off guard by the intimacy. but you don’t fight it, closing your eyes as he gives you kiss after kiss. 

“let me stay the night.” he says in between kisses and you pull away, pushing his face back with your hand. you blink at him, perplexed. did he get hit in the head? not only has he not pulled out, but he’s even asking to stay the night? 

“… who are you and what have you done with oliver aiku?” but he laughs at your confused expression. 

“c’mon, i drove all the way here princess.” he teases and you tilt your head, brow furrowed. it’s annoying, as if you’ve never done that for him before. he’s not sure you notice the way that turns him on, but the blood’s already started rushing to his once softening cock. 

you do notice and you frown, “you just wanna fuck me again.” 

“what’s so wrong with that?” he asks and you groan, pushing him off hard enough that he slips out of you. you roll over, curling up into your side, feeling his seed drip onto the sheets. 

“ugh, just go away oliver. i need to take a shower.” you feel stupid, dumb, and a little used but you refuse to cry in his presence, making a mental note that you really need to cut things off. but settles in next to you, throwing his arms over you and pulling you close. 

“that’s not the only reason,” he sighs and your heart flutters,  “besides, have i ever told you you’re my favorite?” 

“not funny.” you deadpan, it’s stupid but your heart does feel a little lighter. you feel his hands wander over your body and you curse yourself for being so weak, feeling his stubble brush against your skin before he presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“i just wanna spend some time with you, i missed you.” he murmurs, breath hot on your ear. your breath hitches as he finds your puffy clit, rubbing slow, sticky circles. 

“fine… but only because i love you.” you whimper as you spread your legs for him again, giving in for the nth time. you hate oliver aiku, but only because you’re so stupid in love with him. he knows, but he bites back the urge to say it back and let you know that you don't have to worry about it. you're not just his favorite, but his one and only.

“good girl.” he growls, before hooking a hand on the back of your knee, spreading you wider. maybe one day he’ll say it back. 

[revelboo]

Transformers x Reader Headcannons- problems

Pretty much how I write and overthink their personalities, actions, and motives. Soundwave, Starscream, Megatron, Ratchet, Wheeljack, and Jazz.

Starscream

• Can’t stop self sabotaging. As much as he hates Megatron, he’s his own worst enemy. Fueled by self-loathing, ambition, and spite. If every good thing is just going to be taken away, he might as well destroy it himself and take some petty satisfaction in watching it burn.

• You, though? He wants to protect this feeling you kindle in him. Even if he doesn’t truly trust that it’s real, he wants to pretend it is. Needs you to play along with him. Fiercely possessive because you’re his.

Megatron

• Exhausted all the time. With all that’s been lost, he can’t just stop at this point. There’s no peaceful end even if he almost wishes there was. The Decepticons look to him, believe that he’ll bring them home. To a better world. That guilt and responsibility fuels his hatred, keeping it going. If he fails, it’s all for nothing.

• They’re always watching. Looking for weakness to exploit. There’s always machinations among his officers, plots and schemes. You have no ulterior motives beyond survival and he can respect that. Even so, you’re willing to meet his optics even though you know who he is and what he’s capable of. Brave, foolish little thing.

Wheeljack

• Absentmindedly creating problems in the name of science. Is genuinely surprised when something blows right up in his face no matter how many times it happens. Forgets to refuel and recharge until someone says something or he just crashes. Generally avoided by everyone because of how often his experiments spectacularly fail.

• Even if he’s engrossed in an experiment, if you’re around, his attention is divided. You crash a lot faster than he does and guilt prompts him to take a break, because you definitely don’t look comfortable cheek propped up on a hand, sound asleep. He’s awful at taking care of himself, but surprisingly attentive toward you. Constantly worried because you’re just so fragile compared to Cybertronians.

Jazz

• Smiling through the stress. Seriously, he’s on a knife’s edge of anxiety all the time even as he plays it off. Everything’s a joke. Everything’s fine. Even if he wants to just scream, he keeps that easy going smile in place. It’s his armor and he needs it to convince himself as much as everyone else.

• Somehow you see right through him. You can lay a tiny hand on his plating and he just unravels. And you don’t expect him to just keep smiling through the pain. He doesn’t have to keep the act up, he can vent to you, bleed all the anger and frustration out instead of pretending it away. And he needs this more than you know.

Ratchet

• Gruff and caustic, that angry exasperation is all defense, pushing others away with sarcasm. No matter how quickly he works after a battle, the wounded just keep coming. Sometimes he’s not fast enough. A spark gutters out while his hands are wrist deep in another patient. He’s not enough. If he loses someone, it’s his fault. His burden and his blame to the point where sometimes his servos just won’t stop trembling.

• Somehow you understand that if you try to comfort him, he’ll fall apart. There’ll be time to grieve later, but right now the two of you work to save who you can, your little hands able to reach things he can’t. You don’t complain, just do what’s necessary. Later, he’ll cup you to his chassis, silent as you break.

Soundwave

• The worst part of being able to hear other’s thoughts? They never stop. It’s a constant sensory barrage threatening to overwhelm him unless he makes a conscious effort of block them out, so he’s always on guard. Can never relax or that tide of voices crashes over him. Finding out he can’t even block out human thoughts is a shock. You’re there in the back of his processor all the time.

• It’s why he needs you to sing for him. Doesn’t matter what it is, he just needs that one thing to focus on so everything else fades into background noise. The more you lose yourself in the song, the more he can relax, because you relax. Your thoughts calm.

[thelaisydazy]

I saw your firefighter post! And I didn’t know if it was recent!! So I’ll drop one in! Firefighter141 x reader. Where captain price leads his team on a call for a burning down old run down cottage! And that’s when they meet you- a sweet southern girl! Whose food she cooks and words are TOOTH - ROTTING. I like to think firefighter141! Live in like a sorta deserted town. With a diner here and there and cottages! So a burning Down cottage is a BIG thing! And they’re so caring and protective of you! I hope you enjoy this asks as much as I am! - 🎀

I love the idea of them in a little middle-of-nowhere town with just a few things around. I'm mandating a forest as well though.

Not sure if this is exactly what you're looking for, but this made me want to write Price comforting the Cottagecore Cutie.

---

You're shaking. Your world is crashing down, and all you can do is stand in place in front of your perfect little cottage, watching uselessly as it burns down. 

You don’t hear the sirens. You don’t acknowledge the arms that wrap around you, leading you away from the footpath leading to your front door. You sit on the cool metal of the fire engine.

“You’re alright luv,” the firefighter says. Behind him, the small brigade starts in on your home, fighting the blaze that ruins it. A gloved hand gently touches your cheek, drawing you from your catatonic state and to the man in front of you. 

Captain Price. 

“Stay with me sweet thing,” he says. “Is there anyone else inside?” You shake your head and he reports into his radio. “What happened?”

“I.. I don’t..” you start, trailing off. You’d been baking. You were always baking something. Tears sting your eyes as Price shushes you gently. 

“Just breathe,” he coos. Seeing you still shaking, he shrugs off his massive jacket and drapes it over you. It smells of cigars and something woodsy, it’s comforting. 

“I was making cookies,” you finally say. “I left the room for just a minute, and there was a boom and-”

“Your gas line broke,” Price supplied. Your cottage was outfitted with old appliances, it wasn’t surprising something failed. He reached for his radio. “Johnny, find the gas main and shut it off.”

Tears stung at your eyes. “I.. I’m sorry,” you hiccup, guilt weighing in your chest. Everything was gone. Your home, all your belongings, everything. Before you can say much else, Price’s strong arms pull you into his chest, wrapping you in his warmth. 

“It’s not your fault luv,” he says. “You’re safe and that’s all that matters.” 

[runariya]

The Auction (JJK) • Chapter 2

pairing: wolf hybrid!Jungkook x cat hybrid!female reader genre: mafia!AU, hybrid!AU, dystopian!AU, S2L, dark romance, slow burn, angst rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: angst, thoughts about past violence, trauma, mentions hybrid trafficking, JK is an Alpha, nightmares, being held hostage, a lot of fear, sniffing, obsession and possessiveness, mentions of branding, lmk if I forgot smth - THX word count: ~ 1.6K

a/n: Please make sure to turn on notifications to my blog if your tag doesn't work ☺️

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

01 • masterlist • 03

You fight sleep with every ounce of strength you’ve got left, a desperate battle that’s been raging for four long hours now, despite the way your body trembles with bone-deep exhaustion. Since the branding, since the wolf hybrid had you cleaned and cared for again by the retrievers, you’ve been brought back to his penthouse and then ushered into a different room, apart from the others. It’s nothing like the dirty, grimy holes they’ve kept you in for the past few weeks—it actually looks like a proper guest room this time. Still, there’s no peace for you here. You don’t want peace here, you don’t want your thoughts to quiet down. You refuse to let them. So, there’s nothing left but for you to strain your ears to catch every sound from beyond the door, refuse to think, refuse to consider this place, this room, this life, as anything close to home.

But your body is failing you. No matter how hard you try to stay alert, your mind slips under, sleep overtakes you, pulling you into its abyss at last. Not for long though. You snap awake with a strangled scream, gasping, hissing, chest heaving as you push yourself back against the bed, trying to escape the claws of the nightmare. It plays again and again, on a loop, behind your eyes, every nerve in your body thrumming with terror. 

Your cat eyes, hazy and wide, finally make out the dark room around you, and with growing despair, you realise that waking up doesn’t mean the nightmare has ended. It’s still here and you’re still trapped in it. And it’s far from over when heavy footsteps thud outside your door, and before you can steady your breath or calm down at least a little, the door bursts open, slamming against the wall with a loud crash.

There he stands, the wolf hybrid, silhouetted in the doorway. He’s angry, you can see it in the tense lines of his face, his nostrils flaring, his gaze sharp and glowing in the dark. His only clothing is a pair of pyjama trousers, his muscular chest and tattoos visible, but it’s his eyes that do the damage—they rake over the room, scouring it for threats, his nose twitching as if scenting for intruders. You shrink back further into the headboard, instinctively pulling the blanket up high over your nose, desperate to muffle the sound of your fearful, ragged breaths.

His eyes lock onto yours, and there’s a dangerous glint there as he snaps, “What was it?”

Sheer terror grips you once more, your body trembling as he starts sniffing around again, yanking back the curtains, peering into the closet, searching for some phantom threat, missing that it’s him. His frustration grows as he finds nothing, and slowly, he turns his attention back to you, narrowing in with predatory instincts. “What scared you?” His voice is a fraction softer now, but it’s still laced with impatience.

You can’t answer. You’re frozen in place, breath quickening as he starts towards you, as panic flares hot in your chest. You try to scramble away, desperate to get further from him, but the blanket tangles around your foot, trapping you. There's nowhere to go. You whimper, barely a whisper, “Please… don’t hurt me.” A hiss of fear slips out, sharp but trembling, in a hopeless attempt to make him back away.

He catches your foot, but it’s not rough, it doesn’t hurt the slightest. His grip is almost gentle, and instead of dragging you down to the floor, he pulls you towards him with unsettling care, sitting down on the edge of the bed and drawing you onto his lap. Your body curls up instinctively, small and tight, fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt like a lifeline, as if making yourself as small as possible might keep you safe. He strokes your hair, his hand smoothing down your back over and over. It’s supposed to be comforting, you think, but you’re still overwhelmed too much to calm down. You can feel his eyes sweeping the room, on guard, even as he murmurs low against your hair, his voice soft with an eerie tenderness. “You’re safe here, kitten. Shh, shh… don’t worry, I’m here.”

His words don’t bring you any comfort. How could they? He’s part of the reason you feel anything but safe. This isn’t home and you’re definitely not safe, and as he scoops you up and carries you into his bedroom, your mind refuses to quiet. The fear doesn’t ebb away; your trembling continues, the nightmare clawing at your consciousness, flaring your instincts without a break. 

As he lays you down on his bed, the sheets are still warm from where he must have been sleeping moments ago. He lies silently behind you, his body radiating heat that seeps into your cold limbs, though it brings little relief. The penthouse is too cold, the air too biting for your kind to ever feel truly comfortable. Despite your resistance, silent tears slip down your cheeks and dampen the pillow beneath you. It’s strange, but somehow his alpha scent dulls some of the terror wracking your limbs, even if it does nothing for the ache in your chest.

“Why are you crying?” His deep voice cuts through the darkness, halting the sobs trapped in your throat.

You think for a moment, heart heavy with longing, and then, in a shaky voice, you try honesty, praying that it might stir some pity in him, some mercy that could set you free. “I… I want to go home.”

His reply is cruelly simple, “But you are home, kitten.” There’s no hesitation in his voice, just pure conviction in his own words.

You don’t have the strength nor courage to argue anyway. You just nod, letting the tears flow freely as they please. You wait until he’s fast asleep beside you, until his breathing turns deep and steady, but still, you don’t even close your eyes for the rest of the night. You’re wide awake, heart thrumming, still battling the nightmares that won’t leave you in peace.

Even when the first pale light of dawn filters through the curtains, you remain alert and awake. He leaves, pressing a kiss to your head while you feign sleep, your body stiff under his touch. Hours pass before another enters the room—a cat hybrid this time, with a tray of food and juice and a tentative smile.

“Hey there, may I come in?” he asks softly, his eyes kind, white ears perked as he stays by the door, careful not to startle you more than you already are. “I’ve brought you some food.”

You don’t reply, just lie still, biting back any noise that might betray how lost and utterly shattered you feel.

He takes your silence as an invitation of sorts and steps closer, placing the tray carefully on the bedside table. Then, slowly, gently, he shifts your blanket and sits near the edge of the bed, careful to still keep his distance. “I know you’re scared. I was too,” he says quietly, not looking at you, but at the floor instead. “But I promise, you’re safe now with Jungkook.”

Jungkook. That must be the wolf hybrid. You know it must be him—he’s the alpha, after all. His mark now burns on your skin, a reminder of who your body belongs to now. But you can’t bring yourself to respond, your wide, scared eyes fixed on the other hybrid, watching warily.

The cat hybrid sighs, breaking the silence again. “I know what it’s like,” he continues. “I was trafficked too. Jungkook found me just in time. I didn’t have anyone back then to tell me I was safe, but I’m here now, telling you—you don’t have to be afraid anymore. No one here wants to truly hurt you.”

His words twist something in you, a raw anger bubbling beneath the surface. You growl softly, involuntarily, a bitter sound that slips out without your consent. Safe? How could they call this safe? The one who ‘saved’ you had branded you without mercy like you were some possession and not a living being.

The cat hybrid only chuckles lightly at your reaction. “I know,” he responds, almost to himself, “he’s a bit… extra. But you’re different. He won’t hurt you again.”

After a moment of silence, he turns slightly, his soft eyes finding yours. “I’m Jimin, by the way. Would you like to tell me your name, or should we stick with kitten for now?”

There’s something in his gaze that reminds you of family, of something warm and familiar. Against your better judgement, you let your guard slip—just a little. You whisper your name, barely audible.

But he hears it. His expression softens as he takes your cold, stiff hand in his, drawing small circles on your skin, soothing. “Nice to meet you, ___,” he says with a gentle smile that creases his eyes into crescent moons. It’s a small thing, but enough to make your shoulders sag, just a fraction, and allow the tiniest hint of a tired smile to touch your lips.

01 • masterlist • 3

a/n 3: hope you enjoyed it👀 lmk what you think in any way you like!

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[sunflowersteves]

can you write about carmy & readers first time after getting engaged 🥹

omg omg omg fiancé carmy just does it for me ok? and ik for a fact that the man wouldn’t wait once you got home. also I couldn’t find a picture of the ring I wanted so just pretend.

warnings || fluff, established relationship, SMUT, soft sex, riding, mention of oral sex, 18+ only

masterlist

You looked down at the small diamond ring that was garnished with two rubies on a sparkling gold band.

You were smiling so brightly that your cheeks started to desperately ache. The stones glistened, and you felt in awe as your chest fluttered with adoration. 

Your admiration for the ring had stopped as Carmen’s voice rang through your ears. “Are you sure you like it?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed and head down, looking at the delicious food he had made. His left leg was bouncing up and down as the thoughts piled one over the other. 

Carmen had asked you that same question about four to five times now. He asked you once after you said yes, two in the car ride, and one while walking up the stairs of your apartment complex.

Despite your reassurance—sometimes too much in a daze of staring at your hand to realize he had even asked you a question—Carmen still couldn’t quite get it into his head that you said yes. 

It was as if his head was still in a jumbled mess—still sweating and knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. His heart couldn’t stop thumping against his chest, and anxiety-filled thoughts rushed over another. The nagging feeling that he doesn’t deserve this and that he doesn’t deserve you had taken over his brain.

His entire speech happened in such a blur with his stuttering sentences and shaky voice. He watched as your eyes glistened with unshed tears as you shouted, “Yes!” It took him a moment to realize your response—his eyes slowly blinking with his mouth parted open to then at lightning speed getting up off of the ground and crashing you into a hug. It just all felt so real. 

You stand up from your end of the table and walk over to him, taking the spoon that he’s frantically tapping in his hand out from his reach. “Baby,” You coo, pressing your palm against his cheek.

It was the most obvious thing in the world to you. You couldn’t stop staring at it since he put it on your ring finger, but you knew that he just needed a little encouragement to swat those thoughts away. “What’s going on?”

Carmen had proposed. Richie had called you saying there was an emergency at The Bear. Of course, he failed to mention that everyone was okay. You rushed to the restaurant in a frenzy, grabbing the bare minimum and speeding down the highway roads.

When you arrived, you practically jumped out of the car and ran inside. Your brain had thought of the worst possible outcomes—a burned-down restaurant and hurt people. It was sending you into a spiral. 

But then, your heart stopped at the view in front of you. This time, the thumping of your heart was pure elation (minus the mental note to yell at Richie later). The entire restaurant had been closed, and a small candle-lit table had been set up—rose petals trailing across the concrete floors. 

Carmen and Richie were arguing but they didn’t see you quite yet. “You didn’t even fucking tell her anything?” Carmen huffed.

Richie just rolled his eyes and scoffed. “No, you fuckin’ bitch. I just said there was an emergency.”

Carmen’s hands exploded around him, an unlit cigarette between his middle and index finger. “Are you fucking serious right now, cousin? She’s probably freaking the fuck out—an emergency? Fuck—” Richie just rolled his eyes and shrugged, but then his eyes locked with yours and a huge smile spread across his lips. The rest went in a blur, and before you know it, Carmen got down on one knee. 

“I-I just—I don’t know. I wanna make sure that I’m doing this right.” His eyes finally look into your own. Your heart just about stops at the sadness that’s swimming through them. 

“Carmy, baby,” You moved his chair back, wooden legs sliding against the hardwood floor. You climbed onto his lap, legs on either side of him. You pressed a hand to his chest, and you gently rubbed your thumb against his soft, white t-shirt. 

His hands rest on your hips, and they squeeze the soft, plushy flesh. He let out a content sigh, some of the anxiety already dissipating from his thoughts.

He wants everything perfect, just for you. The irony of it all is that you do think everything’s perfect. Everything is always perfect with him.

“Let me see, bebita.” Tina couldn’t stop smiling, taking a glance over at you staring at your ring. You were waiting for Carmen to finish talking with Natalie before leaving the restaurant. Tina had found you, staring happily at your finger. 

She cursed under her breath, eyes widening.“Ay, coño—” She continued to watch the small diamonds sparkle underneath the kitchen lights.

Then, she smiled. She looked at you, and she had the biggest smile on her face. You make Carmen so happy, and he knows he makes you happy.

She was truly excited for her friends. “You know, this was Mikey’s ring. It was their grandmother’s or some shit, but—” She pauses, smiling right at you. “It was definitely his.”

Your eyes widened, mouth agape. “What?”

“You’re perfect.” You say, looking into his ocean eyes. “You’re doing everything right.”

He searches for something. He searches for anything. Any doubt, guilt, lying—literally anything. He continues to stare at your beautiful face, looking from the plump of your cheeks to the curve of your lips. 

His eyes look back up to yours. Nothing. He found nothing but pure love and adoration between your irises. He choked out a sound. It was garbled and whimpering. It made your heart clench. 

“Carmen—” Before you could even react, his lips devoured yours. You gasped against him before melting completely, hands going into his messy hair. His hands scaled your body in a passionate frenzy, desperation hitting his gut to pull you even closer to him. 

You moaned against him as his tongue pushed through your lips and into your mouth, swirling and tangling with one another. His hand went to cup your cheek; it was so gentle and sweet—the action made affection swirl in your chest. 

He parts from you, only for a moment. “Please. I need—I need to be inside you.” Another breath-stealing kiss, lips molding against yours. “You’re so—you’re so perfect, baby. N-need you.” He pants out. 

“Fuck, Carmy.” Your hands move to fumble with his belt. He continues to kiss you, lips smearing against your jaw and chin. Jittery, your hands bumble around and finally find the button to his pants. You shuffle them down his thighs, letting out a moan at the sight of a bulge in his boxers. 

“Carmy—” You whine. His fingertips graze your shoulder and lift the spaghetti strap of your dress. “Please.” You feel dazed and desperate. You feel a burning sensation sprout from your chest, and it ignites across your entire being. 

He helps you out of your dress, and his hands fumble with the back of your bra. Meanwhile, you’re also fumbling with getting his boxers off. The position of sitting in the chair had made this much more difficult. “Baby, fuck.”

“Need you, Carmy.” You whine. It caused him to smirk down at you. Eventually, the two of you get all of your clothes off, discarding them somewhere on the floor. You were still straddling his thighs—kisses so sweet and passionate that they tingled against your lips. 

His cock was hard, leaking with some pre-cum, and it made you shudder. His eyes were half-lidded as he stared at you with hazy eyes. You position him to your entrance and slowly sink into him.

You both moan against one another, breathing in each other’s presence. Carmen’s head rolls against your shoulder, biting down at the clench of your walls. You start to ride him—hips rolling against his own. 

“Gonna—fuck—gonna make you my wife.” He breathes out. He watches the way you slick smears against his thighs and the way he disappears into your tight cunt. You loudly moaned against him at the affirmation of his—making you even wetter than before. 

“Wanna—wanna be your wife, Carmy.” You whispered against his soft skin. His lips lower to the perky bud of your nipple and swirled his tongue around the sensitive area. “Want—fuck me—want you to be my husband.”

You could feel his cock twitch at your words. His lips revert their way to where he really wants them—your lips. You whimpered at the feeling of him pushing you further.

The hand on your back was rough from calluses. The new position made you whine and cry, Carmen whispering sweet, sweet praises. “Doin’ so good for me, baby. My–my fuckin’ girl. Look at you, so-so good. Gonna make you my wife. My fucking wife.”

His words are what send you over the edge—the sweet praises and confirmations of his love became too much. “C’mon, pretty girl. Let go for me. Be a good girl and let go.”

With a loud moan, your walls spasm around his cock and gush all over him. You’re screaming his name like a prayer that won’t leave your lips. Your legs shake, unwilling to move any longer. He’s whispering to you again and again, but this time you weren’t listening. 

He was on the verge of an orgasm too, but there was a bigger, more primal need for him to do first. He watched as you slowly slid out of him and he started to press gentle kisses across your shoulder and neck.

He watches your eyes slowly come back to him, and he waits. “I love you, baby.” He says, pressing a kiss to your nose.

“I love you too, lovebug.” You say, a lazy smile curling your lips. You look down to see his hard cock against your thigh. You open your mouth to say something—wanting to take care of him, but he stops you with a shake of his head. 

“I’m gonna—I’m gonna eat you out. I need to taste you. I-I—” He stutters through his words, and the desperation settles on his chest. He needs to taste you on his tongue. He needs to hear the sweet sounds that escape your mouth as he eats his favorite meal. 

“Carmen. Fuck, yes.” 

The first night of being Fiancée’s with one another was going to be a very long night. 

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Every Fucking Time

Summary: You want to help Dean, but he knows you can't.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Lots of angst! Smut! Unprotected PinV sex. Slightly rough sex. Dean being an asshole. Dean being a broken boy. Hurt/comfort.

Pairings: Dean x Reader (You)

Word Count: 2,737

A/N: So, I just rewatched 13x18, Bring 'Em Back Alive, and the scene at the end never fails to break my heart. I just wanna make Dean feel better! 😫 But it got me thinking about how unlikely Dean would be to accept that help, and how his anger might manifest. Anyway, this is what spilled out of my brain as a result.

A/N 2: The title is a reference to Dean's line, "Every time we get close, it all falls apart. Every frickin' time." I have changed it to the non-network TV version because we all KNOW that's actually what Dean said.

You just wanted to help. You needed to help. You needed to make it better for him. 

Dean had slipped back home through the rift barely an hour earlier, talking about the apocalypse world Charlie and how he'd left her and Ketch behind, promising he would come back with reinforcements.

Then you, Cas and Sam had given him the bad news; no one could go back, you couldn’t send reinforcements. Gabriel was gone, taking all his archangel grace with him.

“So if it’s gone, then that means that we can’t open that door again. If we can’t open the door, then I shoulda never come back!” He'd shouted.

He'd tried to tamp down the rage and anger that simmered just behind his forced calm. Nevertheless, it exploded out of him making you all jump.

“Son of a bitch!” He'd screamed, sending books and papers crashing to the ground as he swept them from the table. “Every time!”

You could feel his frustration and pain like it was your own as his voice dropped, defeated and broken for the millionth time. “Every time we get close, it always falls apart…every fuckin’ time.”

When he walked away, looking as though the weight of the world was once again on his shoulders, you’d tried to follow after him, but Sam had grabbed your arm gently, holding you back.

“Leave him for now, Y/N. He needs time.”

You should have listened to Sam, but you could feel Dean’s pain like a lance in your side and you were desperate to heal him. So less than an hour later, you went looking for him. But he wasn’t in his room, or the Dean cave. The kitchen was empty and so was the garage. 

You finally found him in the infirmary. He was sitting on one of the beds, sewing together a nasty looking bullet wound.

“Dean!” You called out worriedly as you rushed down the steps. He glanced up at you but then went back to stitching himself up. “Why didn’t you tell us you’d been shot?” You reprimanded him.

He shrugged his unwounded shoulder. “No big deal. Ketch patched me up on the go, just didn’t have time to sew it up properly.”

You watched him silently for a moment, wincing every time the needle pierced his inflamed skin. He’d taken his shirt off so he could tend to his wound, and you couldn’t help but take an inventory of his other numerous scars. Jagged knife cuts, more round bullet holes, and a few waxy looking old burns, all marred his otherwise perfect, lightly freckled torso.

Some of the scars were very faded, barely noticeable, while others were newer; some of them were still red and angry looking. They were a patchwork of pain - a tapestry of more than thirty-five years of hunting, fighting, falling, getting up, and fighting again. 

It made you exhausted just to see it; it made your bones ache.

You stepped a little closer to him, but he kept you at arm’s length with an aura of silent, repressed anger that you could practically see pulsing off of him.

You wanted to help him so badly.

“Dean, I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head, not looking up from his work. “No, let’s not. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

You let out a small sigh. Of course you don’t. You thought with a flash of frustration.

You were quiet another minute as he finished the last few stitches. Then you smiled a little, trying a different tactic. “So, there was a Charlie over there? That’s amazing. What was she like? Was she the same as our Charlie?”

Dean didn’t answer right away. He snipped the thread he was using and tossed the small silver scissors back into the first aid kit he had open on the bed beside him. He took some rubbing alcohol and poured it onto a gauze pad, holding it to his wound and sucking in a breath through gritted teeth before answering.

“Yeah sure, she was like our Charlie.” His voice was a growl of pain. “She was a badass, determined to fight injustice, sticking up for her friends, risking her life for them. And yeah, just like our Charlie, I left her on her own to be butchered.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “Dean that’s not true…you didn’t-”

“Seriously, Y/N. Just fucking don’t.”

You were silenced again, watching him clean up and toss the bloody bandages into the trash as he stood up from the bed. He reached for his flannel and tried to put it on, slightly hampered by his newly bandaged shoulder. You stepped forward to help him with it, and when it was on, but still unbuttoned, you slid your hands inside, down over his ribs.

You kissed his chest gently, and felt him twitch slightly. 

“Y/N.” He said quietly and you could hear the warning in his tone. 

You knew he was in a bad place, and the two of you had only recently begun to move your relationship out of friendship and into something more, so sex was still new between you. But you felt the overwhelming, screaming need to help him, to hold him close and let him feel your love shine through. You’d been in love with him for a long time, but you’d never told him. You suspected he didn’t love you back, though you hoped he might someday.

For now, though, you’d settle for being a soft place to land, if he’d just let you.

“Dean.” You said softly, kissing his chest again. “Let me help you.”

He pushed you back and turned away. “I don’t need help.”

You persisted, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. “We all need help from time to time, Dean.”

“Y/N!” He said again, louder this time, his earlier anger resurfacing. “I told you, I’m fine. Just drop it.”

But you couldn’t. You wanted to help him, whether he accepted it or not.

You moved around him, so you stood in front of him again. “Dean, you’re not fine. I just wanna help you.”

Dean scoffed. “Well you can’t fucking help me, Y/N. You can’t make it better.”

“I could try.” You cupped his cheek, but he pulled it out of your grasp, turning his head. You stood on tiptoe to try and kiss him. “Let me try, Dean. Let me try to help you.”

Dean grabbed your wrists from around his neck, glaring down at you, eyes blazing. “You fucking can’t, do you not hear me? You can’t help me, no one can help me! Because all I do is fuck up; all I do is leave my friends and family to die. And fucking you isn’t gonna change that; unless you have some kind of magical cunt that can open portals to another dimension, you can’t fucking help me!”

You felt your stomach drop, and an immediate ache started, high in your gut, clenching your insides and making you feel short of breath. You stepped back from Dean and swallowed convulsively, trying not to let go of the tears that clogged your throat. But it was a losing battle and they were soon coursing down your cheeks.

You nodded slightly. “K, yeah.” You didn’t know what else to say, turning away just as remorse began dawning in Dean’s emerald eyes. “Sam was right…I shouldn’t have come.”

You took off, bounding up the stairs as Dean called out to you. You ignored him, desperate to get away before you collapsed completely. 

You heard Dean following you, chasing you down the bunker hallway and you sprinted away. You got to your room just in time to slam the door and lock it just as Dean skidded to a halt outside.

He banged on the door, but you just moved over to your desk, dropping into the chair and swiping at your tears over and over, unable to make them stop.

“Y/N, come on! Open the door. Look, I didn’t mean that, okay? I just...just let me in.” He banged again. When you wouldn’t open it, he just kept banging. Finally he yelled at you through the wood.  “You know, I can just break down the fucking door! Let me in!”

He slammed his hammer like fist against the door again, rattling it in its frame. You jumped up and ripped open the door just as he was about to start pounding again. So his fist was raised and his features were twisted in a snarl as you looked up at him. But you were calm, even though tears still leaked from your eyes.

“Enough.” You said quietly. “Look, I shouldn’t have kept bugging you, you made it very clear you didn’t want me there and that I couldn’t be of any help. So, it’s fine. I’ll leave you alone now, and you can please stop raging at me and trying to smash down my door.”

You swallowed tightly and then nodded at him. “Goodnight.”

You closed your door softly and walked back to slump onto the end of your bed. You dashed your tears away as quickly as they fell, trying to dash away Dean’s angry words too, but failing miserably. 

After nearly half an hour your tears finally dried up and you decided to get ready for bed, sadness and hurt making you slow and sluggish. As you pulled your big sleep shirt on over your head, however, a noise caught your attention just outside your door. 

You walked softly to the door in your bare feet, cracking it open an inch to look out into the hallway. What you saw made brand new tears cloud your vision.

Dean was sitting across from your door, his back against the wall. His knees were bent slightly with his elbows resting there and his feet planted on the floor. His eyes were shut, his head leaning back against the wall with tears streaming silently down his cheeks. Or almost silently. As you watched, his face spasmed with pain and his breath seemed to catch in his throat, making the muffled sound you’d heard; it sounded like his pain was choking him.

You opened the door wider and Dean sensed you, his eyes springing open. At first it seemed like he might bolt, but then he shook his head as he stared at you. “Baby, I’m so sorry.” His voice was a harsh whisper. “I swear to god, I didn’t mean to hurt you like that. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me.”

He thumped his head back against the wall twice. “I just break things. Everything.” He punctuated the word by slamming his elbow back into the wall as well, hard enough that you were worried he’d break the bone.

You hurried forward to kneel on the floor in front of him, squeezing in between his knees. You pulled his hands into yours as you tried to reassure him. “Dean, that isn’t true. You don’t break everything; you fix things, save things. It’s in your DNA to try to right all the wrongs in the world, but sometimes you just can’t.”

He stared at you intently and once again you found yourself desperate to try to ease the bottomless ache you could see in his mossy green eyes.

His voice was barely a whisper as he reached out to run his thumb across your cheekbone. “Did I break us?”

You took a deep breath. “Your words hurt me.” He closed his eyes and nodded. “But…”

You were quiet a moment before deciding it was worth taking a chance, so you just said it. “But I love you, and my love doesn’t break that easily, even if my heart does.”

You took his hand from your cheek and held it against your chest, over your heart. “Not ever. No matter what the future holds, my love is unbreakable, even when you try to smash it to pieces with both hands.”

Dean’s expression was closed off, and you couldn’t see through it to his thoughts. After a moment he shook his head. “Don’t love me, sweetheart. I can’t…I can’t protect you if you love me. Something will come and take you from me - use you to hurt me somehow.” He closed his eyes again and repeated his words from earlier in the evening. 

“Every time I get close, it always falls apart.” He opened his eyes slowly and stared intently into your soul. “Every fucking time.”

He gazed at you for a long time, and you let him, hoping he could see that you weren't afraid to love him, and you weren't going to be scared away.

Suddenly he reached out to yank you into his lap and slam his mouth down on yours. You gasped into the kiss and then whimpered as he clutched you tight to him.

He pulled away from you, breathing harshly. “Am I forgiven? Because I was such a liar. I do need you.” He dipped his head to nip at your pulse point and flick his tongue against your salty skin. “I need you so fucking bad.”

You nodded, flushed and aching for his touch. “You’re forgiven.”

He crushed your lips with his once again, standing up without letting you out of his arms. He pushed you backwards through your bedroom door and closed it with a soft click, as he yanked your t-shirt off over your head, getting you naked in one quick motion.

You pushed his open flannel down his arms, being careful not to aggravate his newest injury. You fumbled with the button on his jeans for a moment, hands trembling, as he palmed your breast and squeezed, pressing his hard, blunt fingertips into your yielding flesh.

You threw your head back as he pulled your nipple into his mouth and bit it gently. You sank your hands into his short hair, tugging sharply and moaning loudly. He pulled away, just far enough that he could spin you around to face the wall. With a hand against your upper back, he bent you over slightly and lifted your arms, so that you braced them against the brick.

Then he raised your right leg, wrapping his forearm over top of it and spreading you open. You felt the knuckles of his other hand brush over your dripping wet core as he unbuttoned his jeans. Seconds later, you felt his tip pressing against your entrance and then you let out a scream of pleasure as he slammed into you hard and fast.

As he fucked up into you, he pulled you open even wider, reaching down with his free hand to rub circles into your clit with his calloused fingertips.

Eventually he dropped your leg, and pushed your feet apart while he pulled your hips back towards him. He never faltered or slowed his pace, just manhandling you into the positions he wanted.

You were bent at a ninety degree angle now, hands still braced against the wall, with your head hanging between them as Dean continued to pound into you so deep that he was almost lifting you off the floor with each thrust. 

He clamped his hand on the back of your neck, using it as leverage to piston his hips forward like a jackhammer. He tilted your pelvis forward slightly and suddenly he was perfectly, relentlessly hitting your g-spot over and over until you were screaming out his name and crashing into a hard wall of pleasure. You shook with your climax, but Dean didn’t stop, riding you through your first orgasm and into several more.

Your throat was hoarse from shouts of pleasure before Dean finally cursed loudly, shouting your name and surging into your body. With one last driving push,  you could feel him spurting into you hot and thick. He rocked his body against yours a few more times as his cock continued to twitch inside you.

Finally he stilled, both of you breathing harshly now, bodies slick with sweat. He laid his chest against your back, his arm still wrapped around your waist, keeping you close, keeping himself locked inside your slick warmth.

“Y/N.” You could hear the thick emotions even in his soft whisper. “You know, you save me. Every time I think I can’t recover, every time I think I won’t get back up. You make me think I can. You tell me I will.” 

He paused and his voice was velvety and warm as he breathed out across your skin. “You save me.” He kissed your shoulder gently. “Every fucking time.”

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Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom:

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[dumbkiri]

𝕯𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝖄𝖔𝖚 3

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐚 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝐱 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Please follow part 3 of Helaena!! AI love the character so much and I find almost nothing of her, the reader and Balerion have me ecstatic too!! You make art! Thank you for your attention :(

Yes! Please have Rhaenys and [Name] kill Aemond in the next part! On my hands and knees begging! Save The Queen Who Never Was!!

I apologize for the dragon fighting. I watched S2EP4 like 5 million times to describe dragon fighting, but my brain no work with that. As stated before, I am NOT familiar with GOT or HOTD (watched in once years ago), this is all made on the fly for a dear reader. So I apologize if it's "stupid" or terrible writing. But I will continue to write this for others that enjoy this series. Thank you for following along on this new journey.

There's also a sneak peek to a Targaryen x Stark story in the future....Sansa deserves love too.

The crackling of fire and the ocean waves crashing at the bottom of the cliff filled his ears along with the breeze combing through his hair. And the voice from the fire, which he normally heard on occasion, had been quiet for a long time. Tonight had to be different because of the strong need to light a fire in the night. 

Before Rhaegar died, the Lord of Light spoke to [Name] many times. Made the father devoted to his children because one of them was going to have a son powerful enough to defend the North from the long night. [Name] thought Rhaegar would have been the one to have that son. 

Obviously, he misinterpreted the Lord of Light. The son could come from Viserys’ line or maybe [Name] would have to have more children with Helaena to secure the prophecy from the god. Still, the voices stopped after Rhaegar. He thought he must have failed the god, disappointed the deity because he did not protect Rhaegar. Or get revenge for his fallen son. 

“I heard that you speak to the fire, uncle.”

[Name] lifted his head from the burning fire and saw Jacaerys making his way over to the edge of the cliff where he sat by his lonesome. 

A chuckle slipped past [Name]’s lips and he swept his legs over the edge of the cliff. “I speak to the Lord of Light, nephew,” His response was quick and to the point. Some people like his brothers described [Name] and Helaena to be odd; one spoke to the fire and the other spoke in cryptic messages. Aegon would tease and say that they were a special couple. The word special did not come from the heart, but Aegon’s way of saying simple. 

“I’m not sure I heard of that god before, it’s not any of the Old gods or even the Seven,” Jace pointed out expertly while taking his seat, the same way his uncle did, the small fire between them. 

“You’re right,” [Name] looked out towards the sea, the moonlight casting a blue hue onto the calm water, “I only experienced his existence in Essos when a Red Priest spoke to me with her alluring tongue.”

Jace snapped his head at [Name] and asked daringly, “Alluring? Did she get you in bed with her too?” 

“What?” [Name] leaned back in offense then looked over at his family member, “I’m hopelessly obsessed with Helaena, Jace. I’m devoted to her and her body, no one else can satisfy me, not that I would want them too.” The man turned to the fire when a stick broke in half. Lead Jace into the fire, let him see. [Name] felt a strong pull at his chest and his eyes drew over to his nephew when he spoke up. 

“So a red woman showed you her god and now you serve him?” 

“That’s not how I started serving him,” [Name] admitted quietly, thinking back to the night of his commitment. The vision he saw in the fire, the voices he heard all convinced him to serve the red god. “She found me tending to Balerion’s teeth after a battle with some assassins. I don’t like the smell of burning bodies, especially ones that linger between his molars.”

As [Name] told his story, the fire subtly grew hotter between the males. 

…

“Open wide, Balerion,” [Name] walked in front of his grumpy dragon with a bucket of sea water and a shirt from one of the dead men on the beach. Balerion huffed into [Name]’s face and turned away from the human with a disinterested groan. 

Reeling back in disgust from the smell, [Name] covered his nose with his forearm and pointed at his dragon with his free hand. Voice muffled, but loud, [Name] shouted, “Where are your manners? I’m doing a nice thing for Dreamfyre and myself! No living thing wants to smell your tarnished breath!” 

[Name] set the pale down and approached his dragon with a tired look on his face. He was warned about traveling to Essos for pleasure, but he wanted to get out of the castle. He wanted to stop hearing schemes and breathe for once. The air he caught flying was enough to fill his lungs and cleanse them. 

Yet one last stop on the beach almost got him killed. 

“Your dragon is very beautiful.” A woman’s voice startled the dragon and the rider, both snapping their heads to see the new person on the beach. She wore a red dress with her long dark hair cascading down the front of her chest. She held no weapon to his knowledge and her hands were placed in front of her. 

Balerion’s throat clicked in unease and he lifted his head off the sand, some grains falling onto [Name]’s defensive stance. 

“Give me one good reason why I should command my dragon not to burn you like I did the rest?” [Name] asked, his bloody hand gripping onto the handle of his sword. Skeptical of the woman, he didn’t let his guard down. If she was the one that sent the assassins, he would drag her by the hair and drown her in the sea. 

The woman in red smirked and answered, “I am not your enemy, Prince [Name]. I came here to help you realize your potential in the upcoming war between your families. You are to be a formidable ally, one that can bring balance.”

[Name] scrutinized her and gently commanded Balerion to stand down. His beast chuffed and set his head down back onto the sand. Then [Name] looked at the bucket of water, dunking the shirt into it. 

In his crouched position, [Name] began his interrogation, “Upcoming war between my families? There is no war, my lady. What are you insinuating?”

He noticed she was staring at his sad campfire and she asked quietly, “Your fire has dwindled, might I rekindle it?” 

“I asked you a question,” [Name] stood up and wringed the shirt of excess water, “answer it.”

The red woman nodded her head and approached his campfire, she messed with the stick and dry grass, explaining, “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, my prince, but your father has passed away. With his dying breath, he told your mother that he wanted Aegon to inherit the throne. She-”

“Aegon?” [Name] scoffed and his face scrunched up in confusion, “That’s not right at all. My father has always wanted my sister to have the throne, for many years he’s always been adamant that Rhaenyra succeed him. Even if he suddenly changed his mind, why would it be Aegon and not me, the oldest, to inherit it?” 

The campfire burst into flames and [Name] looked at the woman who conjured up fire with only her hands. She looked into the fire and said, “Your mother believes otherwise, insisting that your father spoke Aegon’s name. The Hightowers have usurped the throne and war will follow in the days to come.”

[Name] rested his hand on the upper lip of Balerion and paused for a second. Aemond was going to be crowned King, taking the throne away from their father’s true successor Rhaenyra. His mother, Alicent, couldn’t be this dull to really believe he said that on his deathbed. Even when he and his brother were born, Viserys never named either of them heir. 

“My prince, please join me by the fire, I have something to show you,” The red woman’s voice spoke smoothly and [Name] blinked his eyes to focus back onto the beach. As if he was entranced by the color of the fire and the warmth from Balerion, [Name] removed his hand from the dragon. 

He walked over to the woman and Balerion groaned in protest, watching his rider carefully. The beast didn’t trust the red woman yet and it showed when he bared his teeth as the woman reached for his rider. She moved her hands back and smiled at the dragon letting the beast know she won’t lay a finger on his rider. 

“Look into the fire and tell me what you see.” 

[Name] kneeled down on one knee and did as he was told. He felt completely different from the fire. He saw images of a long winter, a sword of fire, a white dragon that breathed blue fire and a boy from his line in the future. Then he saw people made of ice with blue eyes, a marriage with a Stark girl,  and the long night that engulfed the north. 

“Do you see now, my prince,” The red woman whispered in his ear, “you must return home and protect your family at all costs. Protect them so that the Dragon in the North can be born. Without him, the Prince That Was Promised will fall.”

…..

“A Prince That Was Promised, huh,” Jace huffed in question and playfully joked, “If a woman like her whispered in my ears like that, I would follow her god too.” 

[Name] laughed and patted his sword next to the campfire and finished off with, “Then she blessed my sword with his power too. But I believe he wants you to see something as well. Look into the fire, nephew.” 

Jace awkwardly laughed and shifted on the balls of his palms, “I think I’m alright, uncle.” 

“Are you afraid?” [Name] furrowed an eyebrow and smirked, “Don’t tell me the heir to the throne is afraid of a vision in the fire. I suspected my nephew to be braver than that.” 

“Fine,” Jace grumbled and looked into the fire, seeing small embers fly into the dark sky. The seventeen year old only wanted to amuse his half-uncle by doing what he wanted him to do. He had no real incentive to do it, but he was curious to see if the red god was real or if his uncle really was crazy. 

The fire reflected in Jace’s eyes and [Name] saw the twists and snaps in the reflection. Jace’s lips parted open to speak what he saw in the fire, shocked to see the vision come to life in the flames. 

“I see the North, there is an alliance to be made and an oath to keep.”

[Name] hummed in thought while Jace blinked his eyes trying to peer more into the flames. 

“And I see-”

A huge gust of wind blew the fire out as Balerion roared past the men, Dreamfyre tailing her mate close by with a replying call. Jace ducked down immediately while [Name] laughed at the cowering position of his nephew. He fixed his clothing and his hair from the flyby, still laughing at the glare he received from Jace. 

“Apologies,” [Name] cleared his throat and picked himself up from the floor, reaching a hand out to the teenager. “Balerion likes to announce his arrival, I’m sure he didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“You saw him, didn’t you?” Jace asked, taking the offered hand and stood up with the help of it. 

“From miles away,” [Name] answered, a grin on his face. 

Jace wiped his clothes off and sighed, “A warning won’t hurt next time.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” [Name] chuckled and followed after his fuming nephew with lighthearted apologies. 

Jace was soft of grateful to have his half-uncle at Dragonstone for many reasons. He looked up to [Name] when they were younger and admired Balerion from afar, too scared to ever approach the dragon. But [Name] tried to help Jace get over his fear of the Dread. 

[Name] never questioned his or Luke’s legitimacy either, claiming that his twin and younger brother were green monsters. That Aemond envied their claim to the throne. 

[Name] was a role model, perfect son of Viserys the Peaceful. The calm and deadly rider of Balerion. Nothing was truly bad about him. 

“He’s a cunt.”

“You shouldn’t speak that way about him, our greatest ally,” Rhaenyra scolded Daemon, the council members having a small meeting about their newest arrival to Dragonstone. While the Hightower-Targaryens found sleep, the meeting concluded with the Targaryen family. 

“He didn’t even demand my head or retribution for the death of his son,” Daemon growled out. 

Rhaenys shook her head and made eye contact with the ill-tempered man, “No, he barely acknowledged your name. He thinks differently of the whole situation.” 

“How so?” Corlys was also dumbfounded by [Name]’s sudden alliance with Rhaenyra. He also found it odd that [Name] didn’t want Daemon to suffer any consequences. 

“[Name] puts the blame on his mother and her sworn protector Cole for the death of Rhaegar. He sees Daemon’s order as revenge for Aemond killing Lucerys and-” Rhaneys faltered trying to find the right words to describe [Name]’s motive for all of this, “he believes Rhaegar’s death to be collateral. You weren’t after [Name]’s son, were you?” 

Daemon looked around the table and shook his head, “No. Not Rhaegar.”

“So you just proved him right,” Rhaenys continued on, “killing you or demanding any punishment from you will not bring him his son back. He’s learned that from you trying to avenge Lucerys. And he knows deep down that Rhaenyra is the rightful queen. He of all people should know that because he supported Rhaenyra’s claim along with Viserys.”

Jace nodded his head and vouched for his half-uncle, “[Name] has no desire for the crown even grandfather knew that. He never snickered behind my back or saw himself above me, never dished out the word ‘bastard’ like his brothers did.”

“He should hate me,” Daemon spat, “I killed his son!” 

Everyone looked at Daemon with wide eyes from his outburst and Rhaenyra breathed out of her nose. She knew what ate away at her husband. 

“Daemon, we know you feel guilty over the death of Rhaegar. Maybe this is [Name]’s punishment for you, to receive no punishment or consequences. To let you live on with innocent blood on your hands, to let you think of what you’ve done.” 

Daemon looked up at his wife and glowered at her, “If I had Balerion, I would have melted this castle down to its bones, burning every person alive in here.” 

Rhaneys straightened out her back and calmly replied, “Luckily [Name] knows how to use his authority on his dragon.”

Jace watched the back of [Name]’s head as he slowed down his pace to the castle. He didn’t know why, but Jace wanted to. 

“[Name], I’m sorry about your loss. I-I know how it feels to lose someone, not a child, but a brother.” 

Jace saw [Name] stop in his path and the young man turned around with a blank expression on his face. Perhaps Jace should have not said anything regarding Rhaegar, but [Name] spoke up with a soft voice. 

“Aegon wanted me to burn you all and Otto wanted to put the blame on Rhaenyra having the people dub her as ‘The Cruel’. But I know my sister, your mother, she’s just like our father with a bit more spirit in her soul. I could never burn the true successor to the throne and if I have to make my family bend the knee with the power of Balerion, I will.” 

[Name] looked up at the dark blue sky and said, “Rhaegar’s death opened my eyes and I’ve ignored the warnings from the red god. This time I will do anything for my family. Now come on, we can grieve together in the solitude of the castle walls.”

……

The next day, [Name] saw Rhaenyra’s dragon from afar, returning from her sudden trip to who knows where. Balerion noticed the golden dragon in the bright sun and called out in greeting to which Syrax replied with a screech of her own. Smiling softly at the interaction, [Name] commanded Balerion to do one last circle around his area. 

Rhaenyra watched in awe as she rode her dragon, seeing the Dread patrolling the skies in all his dark imagery. Larger than any dragon she has ever seen, she was hopeful that Balerion and [Name] were on her side. Especially after the conversation with his mother. 

She wanted [Name] to join in on the council meeting to discuss what was spoken too. To see if he had any advice of what his family could plan against her. So she urged Syrax to call for Balerion knowing that [Name] would catch on to the call. 

The golden dragon moved her head side to side and let out a high pitched bellow to signal the black dragon to come back. 

When [Name] heard Syrax’s call, he sighed and commanded Balerion to land on the beach where the black dragon made his nest.  Swiftly, he took his black helmet off and began climbing down the ropes tied to his mount. Balerion grumbled then rested his head on the sand with a huff. 

“Get some rest, Balerion,” [Name] took his gloves off next and placed his helmet next to his dragon, “we have tomorrow’s patrol as well.” 

As if responding to his rider, Balerion's chest rumbled in agreement, the dragon closing his eyes for that much needed rest. Although, the black dragon did want to go on a hunt with his rider. 

[Name] watched Syrax fly into the cave and he started making his long trek up to the castle. One of the cons of having a large dragon, you have to walk everywhere because it cannot sleep in a cave with other dragons. When [Name] was halfway to the castle, he saw a familiar red dragon fly out of the cave. 

“Princess Rhaenys?” [Name] mumbled then hurried up the steps to see what was wrong. 

When he made his way up to the council meeting, he spotted Rhaenyra looking pale and solemn. Helaena was by her side nodding to the words Rhaenyra spoke to her. Fearing that Rhaenyra was asking Helaena to fly out on Dreamfyre he interrupted the queen. 

“Your Grace,” [Name] huffed and briskly made his way over to his wife. He set a hand on Helaena’s shoulder and said, “Send me, you promised me that Helaena wouldn’t have to fly Dreamfyre.” 

Rhaenyra moved her eyes to [Name] and shook her head, “I was only giving Helaena some comfort, brother. Rhaenys is flying out to Rook’s Rest to provide backup to Lord Stuanton. There’s a possibility of her encountering Vhagar which is why you need to fly out with her. Now.” No time for goodbyes when Rhaneys was already flying out there. 

[Name] looked down at Helaena and her eyes glistened with a teary goodbye. 

“At once, Your Grace,” [Name] bowed his head at Rhaenyra and planted a quick kiss at the crown of Helaena’s head. Then he turned around demanding someone to give him a horse so he could ride out to Balerion. 

Helaena watched her husband disappear out of sight and she looked up at Rhaenyra, “I know he’ll come back, but…the cost of Rook’s Rest would be far too great. It’s never a good thing to fight amongst blood.” 

Rhaenyra looked away from the entrance and sighed. Helaena was right, odd as she may be. 

……

[Name] had Balerion glide right above the sea water, knowing that if he had his dragon fly any higher than that, they would be spotted quickly. His heart raced in his chest and [Name] prepared his mind to fight his brother, Aemond. His biggest foe and greatest enemy now. 

Aegon would never be on the battlefield just like Rhaenyra cause both parties were too important to be sent to battle. So he willed Balerion to fly faster to help Rhaenys against the green monstrosity that would soon come to Rook Rest. 

Upon seeing the cliff Rook’s Rest was planted on, [Name] saw Meleys fighting a very family light pink and golden dragon. Eyes wide in surprise [Name] urged Balerion to fly faster seeing the blood of Sunfyre rain down on the earth. 

“Aderī, Balerion,” [Name] shouted and the dragon grumbled in response. Then when they approached the cliff [Name] commanded Balerion to fly upwards parallel to the mountainside. The Lord of Rook’s Rest and his men felt a huge gust of wind blow them forward and turned around to see a giant dark beast rise into the sky with a thunderous roar. (qᵘⁱᶜᵏˡʸ)

High in the sky, [Name] spotted Vhagar flying her way towards the engaged Meleys and Sunfyre. “Naejot, Balerion,” The dragon rider growled in frustration seeing the highly focused gaze on Aemond’s face. (ᶠᵒʳʷᵃʳᵈ)

Meanwhile, Aegon held onto his mount hearing the painful cries leave Sunfyre’s throat. His ears shattered upon the noise that brought him sorrow. His mind racing a mile and his heart about to burst from his chest. That was until he heard the greatest roar in history rumble in the sky. His head snapped to the left and he saw Vhagar flying over to him with a determined Aemond on her back. 

“Thank the gods!” Aemond cried in relief, but that relief was washed away. The look on Aemond’s face, it wasn’t a look of help, but a demand for blood and death. 

“Dracarys!” Aemond shouted, the command Vhagar didn’t hesitate to defy. 

Rhaenys and Aegon looked at the impending doom, both bracing themselves for the fire building up in the back of Vhagar’s throat as their dragons fought amongst each other. 

Yet a desperate and willful demand shouted above Vhagar’s gurgling throat, “angōs, Balerion!” The black dread opened his mouth wide, snapping hard onto Vhagar’s flappy throat disrupting the line of fire. Vhagar roared out in pain while Aemond held tighter onto his mount, glaring at his brother who commanded Balerion to fly higher into the sky with Vhagar in his clutches. 

But they were already too close to the earth for the command to have any merit, so he watched. 

[Name] held onto his mount and watched Balerion hold onto Vhagar’s throat, squeezing tighter and tighter. Both large dragons took the show away from the smaller ones and [Name] couldn’t afford to look at Rhaenys when their biggest threat was in his grasp. 

Before Balerion could sustain any injuries from Vhagar’s talons, [Name] ordered his dragon to back away. Not wanting to spoil his attack, Balerion swished his head tearing into Vhagar’s throat a bit more then kicked the green dragon to the earth. Balerion spread his wings wide parallel to the ground and glided over the burning men and fallen dragon with a victory cry, his tail smacking into some men running away.

The Black Dread took to the skies and [Name] turned around to see Sunfyre succumb to his injuries from Meleys. The golden dragon cried out with a high pitched screech before hitting the forest ground in silence and a puff of fire. [Name] cringed and turned away from the tragic scene. This was all happening too fast, Balerion had years of battle experience, but he didn’t. Neither did Aegon or Sunfyre.

Aegon couldn’t have survived that fall, he thought. It wasn’t possible. While distracted, an attack from Vhagar happened upon Balerion who roared out waking up [Name] from his stupor. He looked to his left and saw a small chunk of Balerion’s right shoulder blade in Vhagar’s mouth. 

Quickly he held onto his reins with one hand and the other pulled Hellfire from its sheath. [Name] with strong legs, stood on his mount and began slicing at Vhagar’s saggy skin. The flames ate away at her flesh wounds. 

“Damn traitor!” 

[Name] ignored Aemond’s angered yell at him, for he was too focused trying to get Balerion help. 

“I’ll kill you right here! And force Helaena back home, to fight with her true family!” 

Hellfire burned brighter and [Name] stabbed Vhagar in her puffy cheek. Then he dragged his sword downwards to his mount forcing Vhagar to release Balerion because this fiery pain in her mouth was too much to bear. 

Vhagar bellowed into the ash covered sky and [Name] demanded that Balerion dive down to escape from Vhagar’s talons. With a tactical retreat, Balerion flew away just in time for Rhaenys to strike a critical blow onto Vhagar. 

Meleys attacked from behind and tore at Vhagar’s left wing causing the green dragon to breathe out fire into the sky. The Queen Who Never Was ended Aegon and Sunfyre, and now [Name] needed to pull his weight and end Vhagar. 

 [Name]’s heartbeat echoed in his head and he pulled Balerion back into the fight. If Aemond didn’t bring up Helaena in the fight, he would have left Rhaenys to claim the victory of killing Vhagar. 

But Aemond was his now. Brother or not, you do not threaten his wife. Rhaenys saw the Black Dread making his way over with strong beats of his large wings. That look on [Name]’s face said everything she needed to know and she had Meleys release Vhagar, flying high into the sky to see the end of the Green’s Dragons at Rook’s Rest. 

“Dracarys!” 

His commanding voice sent shivers down Rhaenys’ spine and for the first time, she actually witnessed black fire shooting out of Balerion’s throat. Even at the safe distance she was at, the heat from it was too much. 

Vhagar gave out a defeated bellow falling into the sea like a black fireball. A huge splash resounded in their ears and Rhaneys landed Meleys on top of Rook’s Rest looking down at the burning battlefield. Lord Staunton looked up at the princess and carefully asked, “Is it over?” 

Rhaenys breathed in and out watching the aftermath of four dragons fighting. She and [Name] just ended the war in one battle. Balerion and Meleys, injured yet fearlessly fighting with their riders, ended the lives of two dragons. Suddenly Balerion landed on the burning field and roared at the usurper’s men. 

One by one, men started surrendering with their weapons falling from their hands. Green banners left to be stomped on and she could hear some men whimper at the sight of the victorious dragons. 

“Yes, Lord Staunton,” Rhaneys breathed out, “It is over.” Her eyes dragged over and saw a paranoid [Name] on his mount. She unhooked herself from her mount and Meleys moved a wing down to Balerion's back.

Meanwhile [Name] tried to catch his breath, but his chest felt like it could explode. His grip on Hellfire loosened and he pounded at his heart with an ache. His throat closed up and his vision got blurry. 

“[Name], relax!” 

The adult male blinked the tears away and saw a clear vision of Rhaenys holding onto his shoulders. She must have jumped onto Balerion from Meleys with great expertise. 

“You need to calm down, breathe.”

She softly demanded, her face covered in ash morphed into worry as he said, “My own brothers, I killed them. My own blood.” 

Rhaenys’ eyes softened at his turmoil. “Aemond, you saw him,” She tried to reason with him, “he would have burned Aegon were it not for you. You stopped Aemond and his tyranny, no one would blame you for doing that. And I killed Aegon, not you. You’d be wise to remember that you fight for Rhaenyra’s claim, you support the rightful heir. No one is going to call you a kinslayer.” 

[Name] sucked in a deep breath and his shoulder slug forward in defeat despite winning a great battle for Rhaenyra. This happened all too fast and ended so quickly. Nothing was going to make him feel better right now. 

“Princess Rhaenys and Prince [Name]!” 

A voice shouted from the castle, it was Lord Staunton. 

“The Hightowers have fled with their remaining men and there is no sight of Aegon, but his dragon has succumbed to its wounds. Shouldn’t we chase them down on dragonback and horses?” 

Rhaenys looked back at the male adult in her arms and shouted back, “No! For now, we take this win and wait for Queen Rhaenyra’s orders on what to do next. Prepare Prince [Name] a hot bath and a meal. He fought well against his usurper brothers, it’s what you must do for him. And send a raven to Queen Rhaenyra. We have news to tell her.” 

News, [Name] thought. She didn't describe it as good news for the Queen. His brothers deaths were definitely good news for the blacks. Although for him, it was just news.

...........................................................

MUSIC THAT INSPIRED THIS CHAPTER

There Will Be No Mercy - Ramin Djawadi

Rook's Rest, Pt 2 - Ramin Djawadi

The Red Woman - Ramin Djawadi

[rainkays]

girl please i am on my knees give us another rain x reader the fics are running drier than the sahara desert on this app

at ur service 🫡🫡 (also so sorry for the inactivity ik ive been taking forever to answer asks but i PROMISE im getting to them rn ily) SPOILERS BELOW !!

A LITTLE DEATH | RAIN CARRADINE X FEM! READER (alien romulus)

SYNOPSIS: separated from rain and facing certain death, how far is she willing to go to save you?

WARNINGS: (mentions of blood/death, swearing, kissing)

NOTE: this is gonna be a rain x fem! reader & will be slightly au with reader taking kay’s place during the scene where she’s being chased by the xeno, hope u enjoy <33

THE NEIGHBOR WAS KNOCKING, YEAH.

BUT NO ONE WOULD LET HIM IN…..

everything went sideways faster than you ever could’ve imagined. it was already off to a rough start when navarro had come rushing into the cockpit, frantically searching for her bag before you’d handed it to her.

never in your wildest dreams could you ever have imagined what you witnessed. the sound of a cracking ribcage and blood splatter all over the ships walls were the last thing you could remember.

you weren’t sure how long it had been when you woke the next time, head pressed against the grates on the bottom of the ships floor. smoke rose around you, the sound of the ships alarms blaring as you pushed yourself off the ground. you had to hold back your tears as you passed by navarro’s body, lifeless on the floor.

it was deathly silent, save the alarms, the sound of electricity crackling as you walked through the hull of the ship. you didn’t know where you were, the ship having crashed at any part of the station as far as you knew.

it was only a few steps before you saw what looked like some sort of snake skin on the floor, the sight sending a chill up your spine. you spotted something you couldn’t even begin to explain growing out of the wall, a step closer before you were pulled backwards.

your scream was silenced quickly as you whipped around, turning to face bjorn. you silently exhaled at the sight of him, glad to finally see someone you recognized. he shushed you, removing his hand from your mouth as he looked over at the wall.

he walked closer to it, lightening prod in his hand, the same one you’d seen him grab from the station earlier. you held your breath, your heart beating faster as you watched him turn up the current on the weapon.

it was over nearly as quickly as it started, the loud sound of electrical cracking and smoke as he attempted to kill the creature in front of you.

you could only stand still, frozen as the creature began to burn him, his hand pointing you towards the door. all you had left to do was run.

your hands shook as you made your way to the door, repeatedly pressing the unlock button and failing. your comms were somehow still functioning, static crackling in your ear as you turned it on in hopes of anyone hearing you.

I WANT YOU TO TOUCH ME THERE

MAKE ME FEEL LIKE I AM HUMAN…

rain had never felt like crushing suspense weighing on her chest before. she walked through the room, quiet as humanly possible, the clicking sounds of the same creatures that had attacked navarro all around her.

she could’ve sworn her heart nearly fell out of her chest at the sound of static over the comms. it was you. it had to be you, right?

it quickly caught the attention of tyler and andy, both turning around to see what was so urgent.

“please, please, somebody help me. there’s some fucking- i don’t know what to do, please.”

the voice was distorted, but she would recognize it anywhere. she could practically hear the tremors in your voice over the comms. she quickly put the headset on, speaking into the microphone.

“where are you, what’s going on?”

“oh, jesus christ. thank god, rain. i’m at some door, the ship crashed in this hangar and i can’t fucking get it open.”

“there should be a key somewhere, okay? just look for a key, there has to be one, that’s the only way to get it open.”

there was a moment of silence, rain attributed to your search of a way to open the door.

“i found it, i found it.”

she exhaled, hearing the sound of the door hissing open, before the static crack of the comms cut off your voice again.

she shot a look to tyler, the 3 of them picking up their pace as he tracked your heat signature. there was only a glass door separating you, the relief that washed over both your and rain’s faces evident.

“oh thank god. please, open this fucking door. there’s some kind of security clearance on it, and i can’t get it open.”

rain turned around, ushering andy toward the door as she walked closer toward the glass.

“we’re gonna get you out of there, okay? just trust me, you gotta trust me.”

rain spoke, head against the glass as you glanced over your shoulder. your heart thrummed against your chest as you watched andy stand still, both rain and tyler pleading with him to open the door.

“guys, please. please, what are you doing? come on, open the door. open the fucking door! please!”

you felt the blood drip from the wound on the side of your head, the sound of metal creaking altering you of a presence behind you. you watched as the color in rain’s face drained, andy’s face stoic.

“rain, please open the door, please. please, you have to help me, okay?”

“you’re gonna be fine baby, we’re gonna get the door open, okay? just keep your eyes on me, don’t look away.”

your chest rise and fell rapidly, the sounds behind you growing closer. you watched as rain’s fists gripped the collar of andy’s suit, pleading with him. his eyes looked between the two of you, your hands pressed against the glass.

andy walked closer to the door, looking at the keypad. you turned around, no sign of anyone in the room with you.

“andy, please, please. please, you have to let me in, please.”

rain looked up at him, her hand on his arm as he reached for the keypad.

“fuck, thank god.”

the door hissed and slid open as you squeezed your way through the crack as it did. you fell into rain’s arms, the sound of the door beginning to close once more as something smashed into the glass.

“i got you, i got you. you’re okay.”

rain spoke into your ear, hands smoothing over your back as the two of you fell to the floor. she pulled the two of you up, hands steadying on your shoulders. there was ringing in your ears, the sound of your heartbeat destroying her words as she spoke.

she grabbed your hand, leading you to the elevator. she silently thanked god that andy opened that door for you. she held onto you, hands gripping the material of your t shirt. she wouldn’t let you go again.

MAKE ME FEEL LIKE I AM HUMAN, AGAIN….

[froggywritesstuff]

hell is no place for a human | yandere!stolas

ship/pairing: yandere!stolas x human!g/n!reader

request: anon: Can I request a yandere stolas with a human reader trying to escape?

warnings: kidnapping, unwanted touching (nonsexual), crying, handcuffs

fandom: Helluva Boss

word count: 1143

A/N: Stolas is canonically gay so fem reader's DNI. i do not in any way support yandere behaviour, please know that this writing is purely fictional, and should not ever be reenacted in real life

You had come up with the perfect plan. Just follow the plan and you'd finally be free of the sharp talons Stolas constantly had digging into your shoulder. Unfortunately, the plan required you to be away from Stolas. Which you'd found to be nearly impossible. The demon prince was incredibly clingy, and seemed to always need to be with you. It was no use getting help either, as Stolas had ordered every guard to immediately return you to him if you ever tried to escape. He treated the imps decently, so you doubted they'd jump at the opportunity to defy him. So maybe your plan wasn't so perfect after all. But after that realisation, you added some extra steps to the plan in order to get Stolas away from you.

You were sat in Stolas’s lap as he cuddled you on his couch, trying not to shake in anticipation.

He was talking about something you weren’t paying attention to, until you cleared your throat, “Stolas, I need to go to the bathroom.”

He paused his rant for a moment, quickly sitting up, picking you and changing your position so you were sat in his lap facing him.

”Is everything ok darling?” 

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. He would act like the world was ending if you had a stomach ache. “Yes, I’m fine, I just need the bathroom.”

He nodded, seemingly relieved you weren’t sick, and he called out to one of the imps standing guard, “Escort them.” He ordered, setting you off his lap and onto the floor. He cupped your face and placed a kiss on your cheek, an action you had to hide your disgusted expression over.

You were promptly escorted to the bathroom - something you weren’t happy about - and locked the door behind you, immediately searching through the drawers. Eventually, you found a sharp enough object you could use, gripping it tight in your hand before you opened the bathroom door.

The imp guard stared at you with an unreadable expression, seemingly unfazed by you holding a weapon to him. You took a step back, “Don’t say a word to Stolas. Please.” you breathed out, before sprinting off through the halls of Stolas’s palace.

You knew your words would have no effect on the imp, who was probably already off to inform Stolas about you running away. All you could do was run.

Your legs burned as you sped through the palace halls, anxiety plaguing your mind with every second you were out of the palace. You had no idea what you’d do once you were free. Hell definitely wasn’t safe for a human, Stolas never failed to let you know that day after day. You didn’t want to think about what might happen to you if you got out, but you also couldn’t bear to think of what would happen if Stolas caught you. He put up a sweet, loving front, but you knew he’d have to get angry at something as bad as this. You just didn’t know how angry…

While running, you heard a loud, demonic screech, followed by loud crashing noises. Your pace instantly sped up, fear fueling you. You were so close, the pounding footsteps behind you making you sprint even faster. You turned a corner, almost able to see the palace doors, when a large claw gripped your shoulder tightly, roughly throwing you to the ground. You craned your neck to look behind you, eyes widened in fear as you met Stolas’s multiple burning red eyes. Despite his bigger and darker appearance, you knew it was Stolas. Breathless, you coughed, trying to lift yourself up with shaky hands, only for you to fall back down. You shook in fear as you heard footsteps nearing you. A soft, firm hand touched your shoulder, a big contrast from the previous violent scene.

”My love, are you hurt?” You flinched at Stolas’s voice, unnerved by how calm his voice was. He held your hand gently, helping you sit up, and you saw Stolas back to normal.

You stayed silent, attempting to read his concerned face to find any anger that might let you know if you were in danger. If he was angry to the point he might hurt you, he was hiding it extremely well.

He sighed, effortlessly picking you up and beginning to carry you. He stayed silent for the entire walk back to your shared room, which had you extremely on edge.

You didn’t even know how scared you were until you realised you were physically shaking in his grip, before he placed you on the bed.

”Y/N,” it was silent for so long, that the sound made you flinch, “why did you try to leave?”

You were silent. Any truthful answer you gave would just upset him more, which was the last thing you wanted to do.

He sighed, gently but firmly grabbing your jaw and lifting your head so you were looking at him, “Answer me when I ask you something. Why did you try to leave?”

You couldn’t take it anymore, tears poured from your eyes and you shook under his cold gaze, “I-I’m sorry Stolas, I’m sorry, I-I-I-“

”Y/N,” his voice was so sweet, like honey, “look at me.” his hand moved from your jaw to cup your cheek, using his thumb to wipe your tears, “Breathe, just breathe.”

You found yourself doing as he said, taking deep breaths and eventually calming yourself down enough to have a conversation with Stolas.

”Y/N, I shouldn’t need to tell you why you can’t be running away and going outside, you hear it from me everyday.” He said, grabbing handcuffs from his desk drawer and walking back toward you, making you shrink back in fear.

”Stolas, I-“

”But apparently, I do. Perhaps I overestimated your species. Perhaps I overestimated you. If you can’t listen to a simple instruction, it’s clear you’re in need of proper guidance. My guidance.” He took your arms, one at a time and handcuffed them to the bed frame. “My dear, you’re simply far too precious to be left unsupervised.” You swallowed nervously. If he thought constantly clinging to you and showering you with affection was leaving you unsupervised, you couldn’t imagine what he thought was the opposite. “And it appears I’ll have to be taking extra measures to keep you safe.”

You shook with fear, making the handcuffs rattle against the bed frame, "No- Stolas, what are you-"

"My dear, until I believe you've learnt your lesson, you will not be leaving this room."

"What?! Stolas you-"

"Y/N if you ever want to leave this room within the span of a month, I suggest you stay quiet."

You swallowed your words, immediately shrinking back. You'd never seen Stolas angry at you, and it wasn't something you wanted to keep seeing.

[gogogodzilla]

day 30, corruption

shane (stardew valley) x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, unprotected sex, creampie, possessive!shane, no aftercare, no preparation, public sex, one instance of dirty talk, dubcon kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

The first time he saw you was when you entered the Stardrop Saloon. You were prettier than anything he’d ever seen before and so full of life. He watched as you bounced between the tables, greeting the various patrons as you made your way to the bar. 

Shane huddled over his beer, watching you out of the corner of his eye. You interacted with everyone like you’d lived here for years. It wasn’t fair. 

You sidled up next to him as you waited for your drink. You introduced yourself and began chattering away. You leaned on the bar, putting your chest on display for the entirety of Pelican Town.

“I don’t know you. Why are you talking to me?” 

The words slipped out of his lips before he could catch them. He hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, but a small part of him enjoyed seeing the way you tucked your bottom lip in between your teeth, and you straightened at his comment. 

As the days passed, he began to feel a deep desire to be closer to you. You were good and you were pure. Everything he wasn’t. A sick part of him wanted to ruin you, to see you come apart at his hands. 

You always made an effort to stop and chat with him while he walked to the Joja Mart in the morning. You were always there, waiting for him as he exited Marnie’s house. He wondered if you had memorized his routine or if it was a coincidence every time. 

Slowly, he acted less like an asshole and you warmed up to him. His head began to perk up at the sound of the doors to Joja Mart opening, just hoping to catch sight of you. This increased as spring turned into summer and you’d show up in clothes that left little to the imagination. He dreamt of you every night, skimpy clothes discarded as you fell apart on his cock. Infatuation quickly turned into an obsession. 

It was Friday night at the saloon, which meant everyone in the valley was there. Shane kept to his corner, awaiting your arrival. He watched the clock as the seconds ticked by and you failed to make an appearance. 

Eventually, you arrived with Sebastian at your side, a laugh gracing your lips. Shane felt the burn of jealousy consume him, and he scowled into his drink. He was patient enough to wait until you made your way over to him, swaying a little from the drinks you’d downed earlier. He grabbed your hand and practically dragged you out of the saloon. He was going to make sure he was the only thing you needed. Not Sebastian, not Sam, just him. 

He shoved you against the wall of the saloon, too desperate to take you home and fuck you properly. His lips crashed against yours, and he held you with a rough grip on your jaw. You moaned against his lips as you pawed at his shoulders. He reached a hand down to slide under that pretty little dress of yours that drove him crazy. His dreams didn’t do the feeling of your skin under his fingertips any justice. 

He slid a finger over your clothed core, eliciting a small whine from you. He wondered if you’d ever been touched like this; his cock twitched at the thought of being your first. A pretty thing like you must’ve had all sorts of people fawning over you. 

He pulled away to catch his breath, shoved his face in the crook of your neck, and pressed open-mouthed kisses there. Your skin tasted almost as heavenly as it felt, and he groaned. He pushed your panties to the side and drug a finger through your folds, relishing how wet you already were. 

His movements were hurried as he removed his hand from your jaw to reach down and free his cock from his jeans. He was already painfully hard, desperate to see you absolutely ruined as you came around his cock. He slid his cock through your folds, gathering your slick. 

He lifted your thigh, giving him more access to that pretty pussy of yours. Slowly, he inched his way inside of you, and you clawed at his back as he did. You hissed at the intrusion, and he wished he would’ve had more time to prep you properly. He pressed a soothing kiss against your temple as he bottomed out. Your walls fluttered around him as you adjusted to him, and he almost came there and then. 

He pulled out of you before ramming himself back in, earning a high-pitched mewl from you. He clamped a hand over your mouth as he rutted into you. His free hand drifted up to knead your breasts, your nipples hardening under his touch and showing through the thin fabric of your dress. 

He reached a hand down to draw quick circles around your clit as he felt the familiar heat building in his abdomen. He wasn’t going to last long with you squeezing him just right and making those desperate noises that had his eyes rolling in the back of his head.

He hoped Sebastian could hear them from inside the saloon. He wanted to make sure everyone in this goddamn town knew you were his. The thought had him thrusting harder into you, each drag of his cock releasing a breathy moan against his hand. 

You gripped his bicep as you clenched around him, your orgasm rapidly approaching. 

“C’mon, baby. Make a mess around my cock,” he begged, words slurring together as he neared his climax. 

You rutted against him and clenched his cock as you came. You whined against his hand and he loved the way your face scrunched up as he jutted into you, riding out your high. 

With one final drag of his hips, he was coming in you, marking you as his own. He relished the way his seed painted your walls. Slowly, the twitching of his cock stilled and he pulled out of you. He groaned as he watched his cum drip out of you and down your thighs. 

His movements were hurried as he tucked himself back into his shorts, and made his way back into the saloon. He hoped you’d come crawling back to him. He hoped you’d stay. You had to.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Part two to iv and his jacket of them getting together

Can be a part II to His mark but also can be a standalone.

His to keep

IV mindlessly brushed his fingers over the guitar strings, sitting with his legs crossed in the back of the car you two had rented in one of the longest stops. The days off tour were always spent creating music and for the most part, boys enjoyed doing it away from each other. You had been watching IV for hours. Legs tugged beneath you. His hoodie drowning your body out. You loved it when he was content like that. No harsh features. No need to bite at others. You wished he showed that more often.

Shaking your head slightly you reach out. Pulling the cigarette that has been slowly burning from between his lips. Brushing it against you and taking a deep breath in. IV snaps to you almost immediately. His eyes watching your every movement. But he cools his features down instantly, “That’s not so nice and it’s mine”, IV sighs, shaking his head. “I know, so what?”, you take another drag in, watching him with that same expression. Before he simply rolls his eyes, you can practically see him turning deep into himself. “Lighten up a little, you had a stick up your ass ever since the last concert”, what you failed to mention is that you had seen him and III. More like hear them. And IV had lots to say about what he thought you and III were doing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”, he mutters, brushing his fingers through the jumble of cords. “Yeah, and I shit butterflies”, you huff, putting the cigarette back against his lips, letting IV take the last drag before pressing it down into the ashtray. “You’re a brat”, he rolls his eyes, as he does for the most time. “And you wouldn’t want it any other way”, you chirp back, nudging his shoulder ever so slightly.

“True”, IV muses beneath his breath, “nothing’s better than you stealing things from me”, and from the way, his eyes gleam when he looks at you, you know that there is so much more hidden beneath these words. So much more than a jacket or pair of socks. “You need to tell me what’s all of this about”, you blurt out, not sure where the sudden confidence came from.

IV clenches his jaw a couple of times, “I don’t know what you’re talking about”. You can’t help but shake your head, “You do know and I do too”. The same angry face he had flashed at III washes over him, “Then say it”. And you can’t help but cross your arms over your chest in frustration, “You like me”. IV freezes for a moment. His whole body locks up before he forces a bitter laugh to slip past his lips.

“You do”, you push further, not ready to let him tiptoe any longer, “And you are scared shitlles because you like me”. His eyes practically turn to flames as your words meet the right target, “You don’t know shit”, he grunts through clenched teeth. “III called you a guard dog, you know”, you point out. “I didn’t care what he thinks”, IV grunts, putting his guitar down and hopping out of the car. You quickly push our door open before stepping right in front of him.

“Look at us IV”, you sigh, “I am with you, in your clothes. I practically live in your jacket”, you pull at the matter of his hoodie for emphasis. “Make a move”, you throw your hands up. And at that exact moment, he is right there in front of you. Hands clasping your face as he pulls you closer. Crashing his lips against yours in a desperate kiss. You stand there in shock for a moment, arms falling to your sides as your body drinks in the feeling of him. All the emotions pour out. Once that lingering touches could never soothe. Your hand's fist in his shirt as you two pull him even closer.

“Asshole”, you crock breathlessly, “You should have done that ages ago”. IV leans his head against yours, eyes closed as he mutters, “I felt that in the tips of my toes, fucking hell”. Laughing lightly you reach out to cup his cheek. “Will you be less rough around the guys now?”, you feel him leaning into your touch and then he’s back to frowning, “Hell no, you’re mine”, he huffs, hands reaching out to pull you closer by your waist, “Not my problem they are mopping around single”. “Ivy”, you whine, rolling your eyes. “You’re living in my jacket from now on, girl”, IV brings your chin up so you would be looking straight at him, “I won’t be hearing a peep about it”.

[hannie-dul-set]

CRASH & BURN.

p — PARK SUNGHOON x gn! reader. g — fluff, humor. w — swearing, one absolutely horrendous dad joke, the secondhand embarrassment is even worse this time i'm not sorry at all, the rest of the en-kids are also losers. 1.3k words.

note — listen, who am i to deny the public from their needs and wants? i have no idea how rizzless hoon became such a hit, but ask and you shall receive. i'm sure this won't be the last you'll see of this loser. PART ONE. if you enjoy loser! hoon, you might also enjoy this other series of mine.

also tagging those who were asking for a part two hope u all don't mind! — @gyulune @jngwnlvs @snowysab @miercerise @karinasswifee @cerealdreamwriter @dinonuguaegi @tyongff-ff

for the past five days, you have been routinely returning to the skatepark at the same time without fail. this has obviously attracted questions from your friends considering the first time you tried out a longboard, you crashed and scraped and bruised your chin within seconds, but you can’t exactly tell them the truth about your endeavor— that you’ve been trying to catch a glimpse of mr. kuromi bandaid with the rollerblades again, and being left disappointed every single time.

he hasn’t shown up. not even once.

it’s day five, and there’s still no sign of him nor his lollipop. it’s day five, and you’re just about to give up until you spot from your peripheral a familiar group of boys that scared the shit out of you the other day— except this time, they aren’t staring at you like maniacs, and they seem to be one person less.

“are you fucking stupid?” you overhear as you hesitantly approach their circle, cautious steps because they’re still as intimidating as you can remember. they all look so serious, two individuals glaring at each other while the rest simply watch, both unconcerned and amused. “oh yeah? you really think you can beat me? wanna duke it out right now, dickwad?”

cold sweat breaks out and you freeze in your tracks, expecting them to spiral into a fist fight.

“my dragonite will sweep your fucking team, loser.”

“your dragonbitch doesn’t stand a chance against my tyranitar!”

nevermind. you really shouldn’t be so quick to judge them again.

you regain the bounce in your step and race up before they could metaphorically kick each other's asses.

“hi!” 

you flinch when the six heads suddenly snap towards you. your smile twitches, discomfort  lasering into your skin from the half a dozen set of narrowed eyes leering at you so intently and so intensely. “who are you?” the one previously bragging about his dragonite asks.

“dumbass.” another one smacks the former on the backside of his skull. “it’s shoelaces.”

the nickname sets a few lightbulbs off, and a pair breaks away from their violent staring at you to give each other knowing glances. “oh, shit!” this time it’s mr. tyranitar who exclaims. “right. the dude hoon absolutely decimated himself in front of. poor guy. he’s still going through the five stages of grief.”

hoon must mean sunghoon. you want to open your mouth and present your business about the missing individual, but it’s not so easy to butt in when they’re busy conversing amongst themselves.

“what do they want?” 

“how should i know? i’m not them?” 

“no fucking shit. but what do you think they want?”

“maybe it’s about hoon?”

“no way. that guy’s done for.”

“hey, don’t be too harsh on him! he’s grieving!”

“what if it’s because we‘re being too loud—”

“what if they’re here to have a pokemon batt—”

“you do realize they can hear you, right?” 

light-haired guy is right. you can very much hear them, and they’ve all finally quieted down, slowly turning their heads to you once more but with a dampened intensity this time. they’re waiting for you to speak. you can’t believe you thought they were scary. you can’t believe you were intimidated by a group of nerds.

“sorry for the intrusion,” you smile, pressing your palms together. “i noticed one of your friends hasn’t been coming around lately. is he okay?”

a cough. a nudge. a silent conversation between the six pairs of eyes. “he’s been sick these past few days,” dragonite owner finally says. “sickeningly unbearab— ow!” 

your smile disappears. “oh no.” he’s sick? he already didn’t seem that strong when you met him the other day, collapsing into the ground and all.

“i think you can help him get better— ouch! jungwon, what the fuck?” one of them gets hit again. you’re sure it’s been the same guy hitting the rest of them since earlier.

“why are you asking about him?”

the nicest looking one squeezes out of their group while asking his earnest question, fishing out the answer from you with bright, curious eyes. “ah,” you sound out. “i just wanted to tell him that i also think his shoelaces are really cool.”

they stare at you, then stare at each other. and then someone spews out, “is that a new pick-up line, or some shit?” before getting hit again, and the light-haired guy comes forward to block the squabble happening behind him, and to tell you that they’ll be dragging their friend tomorrow at the same time (isn’t he supposed to be sick?) so you can compliment his shoelaces in person(?), and that they are looking forward to welcoming you to their family (whatever the fuck that means).

as promised, they do drag the sick man into the skatepark— literally dragging him because the guy who introduced himself yesterday as jake is pulling him forward by the sleeve while jungwon pushes him from behind as the wheels of his roller skates make sure that sunghoon keeps on moving. he looks like he’s ready to move on into the afterlife. your eyes light up when they drag him closer.

“c’mon, hyung! just a little bit more— a liiiiittle bit—

“i told you, i’m never coming back here again!“ you hear him groan, attempting to break away from his escort team. “never ever. never again. this is is where half of my dignity is buried. my pride. my shame. my—”

and then he freezes.

sunghoon gets frozen by an invisible force when your eyes meet, frozen but his cheeks are set ablaze. his friends did a great job in escorting him to you, encasing him and in consequence his view of his surroundings until you’re within an arm’s reach so he doesnt run away. the heat from his face thaws him back into movement, panicked and angry expressions sent to his friends and they all look pretty stupid trying to talk with just their eyebrows, but it’s cute nonetheless.

“hey!” you finally chipper in, causing sunghoon to freeze once more, creaking to meet your gaze. 

“h—hello. hi.”

sunghoon’s greeting comes out as a choke. jake and jungwon send each other signals before hurling the poor boy at you.

it’s like he’s suddenly forgotten how to skate. he can’t control his muscles, sliding over the short path at a dangerous speed that mimics his racing heart and oh shit— oh shit, oh shit. how does he stop again? how does he make a turn? how does he not fucking crash into you like a meteor being sucked into the earth’s orbit?

“oh!”

like all of his (very limited) interactions with you, sunghoon crashes and burns. it’s inevitable. but this time, he crashes and burns into you. you’re both on the concrete and his hand feels like it got crushed between the hard ground and the back of your head, but that pain quickly subsides into a numbing buzz, pumping his arteries with nectar, burning his veins with gasoline, because holy crap—

“close.”

“you’re right, that was a close call,” you breathe out. “i could’ve cracked my skull open.”

“i— i mean, close, you’re— you’re too close.”

does he realize that you can’t exactly move underneath him? he probably doesn’t, not when you can practically see the smoke emitting from his head and the panicked swirl in his eyes and you can’t help but laugh. “ah, sorry.” that was a mistake. sunghoon’s face flushes warmer and like a hammer to his skull, the realization hits and he and slowly pries himself off of you.

“sorry—”

“it’s fine.” you sit up and brush the dust off your clothes, stretching out your legs as you nudge yourself closer to him on the ground. “your friends told me you’ve been sick. are you feeling better now?”

“huh?” 

you’re not sure why he’s confused, but he looks very confused before turning his gaze to his friends. you find jay snapping out a thumbs up and sunoo’s stern face somehow reading don’t fucking blow it. he turns back to you with a lot more sweat on his neck than prior. “oh, yeah i was sick, i was so sick, ahaha—” he stammers. “a—anyway, what’s up?”

“i just wanted to see you again. it’s not everyday that i get a compliment on my shoelaces, you know?” you smile. “what about today? aren’t they prettier than the last ones?”

you wiggle your shoes to show off, laced in a complicated pattern that you’ve been practicing for the past five days, and you expect to receive another compliment for it, but sunghoon is oddly quiet. 

he’s quiet. you’re sure you chose a cool pair of shoes this morning. you’re about to be disappointed, until you notice that he’s actually thinking. he’s thinking very hard he’s thinking of something, and that something comes out of his mouth in the form of a badly timed pun.

“...what about...toe-day...”

park sunghoon only knows how to crash and burn. all his friends are a witness to that. they’re a witness to this events that transpired this afternoon, but what they didn’t expect is for you to have an affinity for disasters. you’re laughing at his dumb joke. you’re actually laughing. they’ve been shitting on sunghoon for being hopeless, but maybe there’s something wrong with you, too.

CRASH & BURN.

© hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[joocomics]

tags: jiseok x fem!reader x jooyeon, (secret) poly relationship, fingering in public, brief degradation (f!rec) | mdni

“is she wet?” jooyeon leans at jiseok's ear. “i bet she is.”

thanks to the bright screen of the cinema jooyeon can see his friend's hand beneath your pleated skirt; the same one that was simply just resting on top of your thigh, drawing mellow shapes on the inner side until it snuck in discreetly (to others, but not to him).

knowing that his greedy fingers are probably separating your folds at this very moment and getting to feel how you grow more wet with each second is making him unsteady in his seat. he's frustrated, because if it wasn't for gunil who joined you last minute he would be the one sitting next to you right now, touching you too. but he decided to crash your date and now he's not even watching the movie - he's asleep, because he finds it too plain for his taste.

“she’s so fuckin’ wet,” jiseok confirms before his tongue slides along his plush lips as if he's remembering how you taste down there. pushing fingers into your panties is enough to bring back so many memories. “our girl is even more dirty minded than we are.”

he gives your face a quick glance to study it. your mouth alternates between closing shut and opening wider, depending on how often his fingers lower down to your entrance. your glowy eyes threaten to look away from the screen any second now as your fist tugs at your skirt, constantly pulling it over his hand so you don't get caught.

“more, please,” you tilt your head in his direction, pleading quietly.

jiseok leans over till your foreheads touch. he wants to feel your heavy breaths lingering warm on his face, to hear your fragile moans that the on going animation keeps stealing with its sound, and feel how they arouse him even further as he circles your clit in secret.

“gonna make you cum, okay, baby?” he utters before fixing your panties just to feel the wet spot forming underneath his fingertips one more time. they’re turning messier and that might make his mouth drool if he doesn’t control himself. even now when you’re so extremely wet he keeps pulling them and teasing your hole through the fabric, might as well take them off, but he likes having a visual proof of what he does to you no matter where you go.

“okay,” you nod, wishing you could wrap hands around his neck to pull him closer. this row of seats is empty except the four of you, but it’s still a risky move that can draw attention from other positions.

jiseok takes a deep breath before centring his eyes back on the large screen. his fingers increase their speed and he doesn’t miss out on the way your thighs shift from the thrill that’s rapidly bubbling up inside you. meanwhile, he continues to sit still with an unbothered half-smile like he usually does when he’s in the middle of a movie.

“she said she wants more,” he says calmly, fully aware the guy next to him is following his every move.

jooyeon huffs at him as one of knees bounces up and down with frustration.

“then you should fill her up with your fingers if she's so greedy.” he snickers while pressing his shoulder into jiseok’s; pretending he’s not that affected by what’s unfolding next to him as his boner grows inside his jeans. “make her rub herself while you’re at it.”

jiseok’s hand adjusts your underwear to one side and the gasp you fail to keep to yourself from the effortless way he slips inside you makes him grin. your walls swallow his knuckles right away, gripping on them greedily.

“keep it down, baby,” he warns you. the playful dominance in his tone makes your neck burn just like the rest of your body. “we don’t want to frustrate jooyeon even more, right? he’s jealous of us enough already.” his hand thrusts sloppily into your pussy, but manages to build a nice pace despite the circumstances. “now, be a good girl and rub your clit, baby. jooyeon’s orders.”

“i…” you swallow while putting all possible effort into keeping your body from moving. your leg muscles tense, your stomach clenches at the same time as your stimulated gummy walls. “i want to cum so b-bad,” you mewl with desperation only jiseok can hear.

once your fingers follow the instructions by circling around your sensitive point, the pulsing grip around jiseok’s soaked fingers intensifies, causing him to suppress a groan in his throat. it doesn’t take too long before your legs begin to shake against your will; for a quick moment they trap his arm with a squeeze before opening again as the hot wave washes over you.

jiseok’s hand maintains the movements - with some difficulty, but more than that, with determination.

your spare hand hurries to cover your mouth in panic, but it’s your squirming that grabs jooyeon’s attention. he leans forward with head tilting in your direction only to see your face scrunched in the most overwhelming emotion. you’re trying so hard to keep quiet and to remain unnoticeable, it’s cute to watch.

your skin suddenly turns from warm to cold when you sense gunil moving before you even get the chance to calm down properly. he yawns, rubbing the sleepiness off his eyes as you rush to fix your skirt after jiseok backs away.

“damn, this movie is still going.” he comments with slight disappointment. “i need to go to the bathroom.”

you nod with the most normal smile you can form after what you just went through and shift your wobbly legs to make more space for him to walk past.

as expected, jooyeon doesn’t waste time. as soon as gunil continues down the stairs headed towards the exit, he jumps up and takes over his seat - the one on your right side.

when you face him you see a lustful smile already spreading on his lips.

“you could’ve waited for me, doll.” he’s just teasing you as he often does, but something in his tone feels different this time. he tucks your hair behind your ear, admiring how quickly you earn that fucked out expression which he loves. “were you that needy?”

“i still am,” you confess, leaning against his warm hand. “i want to feel you, jooyeon.” and it’s true. you will always feel a certain part of you unfulfilled if he hasn’t given you something too.

“will you moan my name if i touch you now?” his finger lifts your chin in order to guide your eyes up. “stop staring at my cock and answer, baby.” he keeps observing you provocatively until he glances at jiseok. “i think she wants everyone here to find out she’s a slut.” the corners of his lips slide with amusement at the same time as his friend’s.

“she does love attention,” jiseok comments while resting an elbow onto the armchair.

something makes you turn to his direction - his fingers, the same ones you came around a moment ago… they glide up the surface of his tongue once it sneaks slightly through his plump lips.

your own mouth waters at the arousing sight while his gets invaded by your taste.

jooyeon’s strong grip brings your attention back on him once it gets a hold of your jaw. your lips part in a silent gasp as your eyes turn glossy from how turned on you feel by all of this unfolding in such inappropriate place. a chatter of a group of friends few rows in front of you spreads throughout the theatre.

“she does,” jooyeon whispers, feeling your hand travelling over his crotch. “that’s why one boyfriend just wasn’t enough, right, pretty girl? you always want more.”

“more of you and him.” you state, not letting go of his intense gaze and giving his boner the needed friction with your right hand, while your left one, crawls impatiently towards jiseok’s crotch. “you two are all i want.”

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed

[zaceouiswriting]

The helpful teacher

Character: Jeremy Gilbert x teacher!male reader

Universe: Vampire Dairies

Warnings: Smut, inappropriate relationship between teacher and student, slightly forced sexual relationship but also not really

“Please, don’t forget your homework! The last essay showed me that you all have to work harder!” I call after my students without results. Sighing, I glanced at my grades sheet. Of twenty-five students, fifteen failed, and only two scored above average. Even though I haven't been a teacher for long, this course is far worse than any other I've taught this far. One of them, in particular, grinds my gears: Jeremy. I read some of his works before my class, and they were excellent. His downfall is truly heartbreaking.

Just as I was thinking about why one of the best students had fallen, there was a crash in my classroom. My eyes immediately jumped up. Back there in the class was none other than Jeremy himself. He is moving slowly as if he were drunk. He has trouble freeing his backpack from his chair. Jeremy shook and pulled until he stumbled back with his freed backpack in his hands.

With a gloomy smile, he threw the backpack over his shoulder and wandered towards the door.

“Stay for a moment?” I ask him harshly.

Hearing the tone in my voice makes him jump, his eyes widening as he realizes I'm still in the same room. I could immediately tell that something was wrong. His pupils are dilated, his eyes bloodshot. He reluctantly comes towards me, his hands in his pockets.

“Sit down.“

Jeremy follows my orders, seemingly knowing he's already in enough trouble. And he is, especially with his low grades.

“Would you like to explain why you’re drunk in my class?”

“I’m not drunk,” he speaks rather slowly.

“What then?“

Dismissively he crossed his arms before his chest. But sighs a moment later and says, "It does not matter. It’s not like you or anyone cares.”

At this point, I'm already upset. My disappointment is immeasurable. Still, I want to help him. But I can only do that if he wants help, too, and that doesn't seem to be the case.

"Then explain to me why someone as smart as you is failing every class and even got an F in a class you once excelled in."

He only sits there in silence. Anger burns in his eyes, but there is also something else, a pain that begs for help. As long as he keeps quiet, no one can help him.

“If you don’t answer me, come over here and bend over my desk.”

He tilts his head, confusion written all over his face. But my patience is already running out. In a decision that seems strange even to me, I step forward, grab him by his sweater, and pull him to his feet. Only to lead him to my desk, push him against it, turn him around, and slam his torso onto an open surface.

Before he could say anything, I pull his pants down. It's baffling why some teenagers don't wear belts. But I have to admit, it can be convenient in certain situations.

“You can’t do that!” He tries in vain to change my mind. But it's already too late.

I pull his underwear down enough to reveal his ass, a pretty and pale one at that. He's obviously never shown it to the sun, which is sad because Jeremy is rather attractive, and just from his butt alone, I can tell his body isn't bad either.

Strangely, he didn't try to get away. Even though his hands were balled into fists, with which he could've easily pushed me away. I would be lying if I said I didn't like it somewhere. He even looks like he's enjoying it, but it was most likely due to his drunken state.

With a sudden slap, I brought Jeremy back to reality, but even though my slap on his ass cheek was pretty hard, he didn't make a sound. Wondering why, I take a look at his face. I see him biting his bottom lip, his eyes are closed, and a shy smile coupled with a blush spreading across his cheeks shows me a darker side of him.

Riled up by his show of want for this punishment, I give him an entire spanking. However, he still doesn't make a sound. It somehow got me angry and disgusted with him. So I quickly take out a ruler. For a second, I see Jeremy open his eyes, but before he can see my new weapon, I swing and slam the ruler on his butt. For the first time, a scream comes from his lips, satisfying me. Suddenly, I feel something moving in my pants as I look down. I become horrified to see myself getting hard. Disturbed by my body's reaction, I dropped the ruler to the floor.

My hand moves of its own accord, caressing his ass and absorbing the sight of his ruddy glory. But soon, one of my fingers found his crack. Feeling bold, I let a finger wander towards it. But Jeremy told me to stop before I could get too far into it. Shocked that he finally found his words, I did as asked, at least for the moment. He still didn't move, so, encouraged by his unmoving position, I slid my finger through it again and even poked his hole.

I never in my life thought Jeremy would slam his hand on my desk and tell me to stop in a deep, sexy, authoritative tone. I'm so shocked that my knees buckled. Could a man younger and smaller than me really make me falter?

Then suddenly, what I had been wondering finally fell from my lips, so I ask, “Why didn't you move if you didn't like it?”

Silence. Jeremy didn't move, but he didn't say anything either. I try to stand up again, thinking he wouldn't say anything more, that I'd gone too far.

“Because you didn't tell me to,” he says, embarrassed.

Stunned by his words, I fall to my knees again. I try to think of what he could mean, but it quickly sends me into a whirlwind of thoughts. It's getting so bad my head is spinning.

“So if I told you to turn around, would you do that?”

He hummed in agreement but nothing else. So I tell him to turn around, and he does. His underwear is still in the same position, just with the second-largest tent I've ever seen. So large, in fact, that I think he could use it as a real weapon, at least to destroy someone's guts.

“Fuck!“

“What?” asks Jeremy, nervously.

But I’m too far gone at that point. I leap forward, pulling his underwear down completely. As his large, thick cock jumps in my face, all I could do was look up. For the first time, I see how handsome Jeremy truly is. Before I know it, my right hand is wrapped around his cock while my left fondles his big balls. He again bites his bottom lip.

“Are you doing everything I tell you?” Jeremy nods silently. "So if I told you to slam me on the floor and fuck me hard, would you do that?" He nods again. “And if I told you to kiss me, would you do that too?”

“Everything,” he says to me, trying not to moan.

“What if I tell you I want to do something to your ass?”

Suddenly his hands grab mine, and in an angry voice, he says, “Everything but my ass.”

I am shocked by his sudden change in behavior. Out of nowhere, I feel a knot explode in my stomach, and before I know it, I cum hard in my underwear. My whole body convulses violently. If Jeremy hadn't held me by the arms, I would have fallen sideways like a sack of potatoes.

It takes me a moment to come back to my senses, but Jeremy is still in the same position and seems unaware of the effect he's really having on me and my body.

"So you're a service top?" I ask, out of breath as soon as the fog in my head has cleared.

"What is that?“

“Doing whatever your partner sexually wants to satisfy him and make sure he enjoys every damn second of it. Like a good boy.”

Jeremy blushes at my words. It's quite adorable. He swallows loudly, clearly unsure of his next words. He whispers quietly, “I want to be a good boy.” He looks away shyly, biting his bottom lip again before clearing his throat and shrugging his shoulders. “As long as someone drains my balls, I don’t care.”

The second part obviously serves his male pride, which he should preserve. Because damn, he looks hot being prideful. Looking at him with flushed cheeks while he bites his bottom lip, he looks submissive, but when I look into his eyes, there is something completely different, a dominating force that makes me shudder. He's obviously holding back, but how far could I push him? Would he ever break, or would he just get power through it?

His hands slowly withdrew and instead grabbed the edges of my desk so I could do whatever I wanted with his large member. He leans back and thereby makes himself vulnerable to me. Jeremy is so young and yet mature enough to handle such a situation.

I look at his cock again and slowly stroke it up and down. The rest of my discipline quickly faded.

“Fuck it,” I say in a desperate voice, just before I put his head in my mouth. It's already filling my mouth, and I haven't even put much of his cock into it. But the taste is bitter and sweaty. I take it out of my mouth but still stroking as I look up. “From now on, you will wash yourself everyday, understand?”

Jeremy nodded awkwardly, clearly unprepared for such an order. Although he seems to have forgotten all about it, when I open my mouth wider and take about a third of his member into my mouth, I elicit a long moan from him. His cock is already shaking on my tongue. Maybe it's the first time someone is touching him, but I didn't think he would cum so early.

Just as I was thinking about it, it happened. An enormous amount of liquid ambrosia fills my mouth, and I quickly have trouble swallowing. But in the end, I didn't lose a single drop.

After I clean his cock, I pull it out. But it didn't go down, which is perfect since I'm not done with him yet.

“Sit on my chair!“

“Wha-“

"Get a grip and get on my chair! You want to be a good boy, right? Then sit in my fucking chair!“

As I raise my voice, he scrambles like a child with his hand in the cookie jar. He almost knocked over my chair when he jumped on it. A sudden surge of guilt washes over me. Is he so emotionally starved that he would do anything to feel connected to someone in some way? Am I really taking advantage of an emotionally hurting boy?

As I ponder on my decision to ruin my life just for an affair with one of my students, I look at Jeremy again. Unwashed, probably for a few days, heavy bags under his bloodshot eyes and slurred words. But besides that, there is an eagerness in his eyes, the look of an injured or abandoned puppy wanting a connection. Even though I feel guilty, I want to help him, and if I get something out of it, all the better. 

I slowly pull up my tight shirt and show the boy my vigorously trained body. He sat in amazement, staring at the body I was hiding. Shedding off my pants, I thought he was going to pass out. I'm not the biggest, but I have a great body and ass. Jeremy probably wouldn't find another ass this good in a long while, as I take extreme care of myself.

"Do you want to touch me first or-"

“Yes!” Jeremy shouts before I can even finish.

I smile at him and step closer to him so he won't have to get up again. When he still didn't move, I lean in and whisper close to his ear, "Touch me wherever you want, but don't you dare get up from this chair!"

Gulping loudly, Jeremy nods slowly. When I receive his answer, I straighten my back again and pose in front of him. His hands roam over my body, discovering every little part of me. I even kneel down between his legs when he shows interest in my upper body, where he immediately starts touching me. He is so gentle, always silently asking with his eyes if everything is okay. He really is a sweetheart.

But when his soft hand caresses my warm cheek, he looks deep into my eyes. As soon as our eyes meet, I know I can't wait any longer. Before he could react, I stand up, push him back into the chair, and sit on his lap. He looks stunned the whole time.

"This is your first time, isn't it?" He gulped but nodded. “Well, then we have to make it memorable, right?” I ask, winking at him.

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. It feels more like he's about to go to heaven. So to get him back, I move my ass, letting his big cock slide between my ass cheeks. He snaps back to reality and almost dares to touch me, but at the last second, he stops his hands from gripping my waist. This will be the most fun I've had in a long time. I'm sure about that.

***

It's dark when I finally open the door to my classroom again. I have no idea how long we were in there. Jeremy is close behind me, exhausted, but the corners of his mouth are turned up in a happy smile.

"A good chat, Mr. Gilbert," I tell him, clearing my throat, "If we do this everyday, I'm sure you'll be back on track in no time."

“Everyday?” he asks, swallowing loudly.

But I didn't say anything else. Instead, I walk past him and go out. Luckily, the janitor hadn't made his rounds yet. I wait outside for Jeremy, who walks quickly past me with his head bowed without looking back, stirring something inside me.

As I get into my car, I sit there for a moment. Reaching for the seatbelt, it suddenly dawns on me. Did I just force one of my students to have sex with me to raise his grades? I slam my hands on the steering wheel and curse myself. How could I convince myself I would help a hurting young man like that? By using him? Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

“Fuck!” I finally mutter and start the engine. Even though I know not to drive angry, I couldn't stay there any longer before someone would find me and ask why I was still there. Still, I couldn't stop cursing myself for something so stupid.

My therapists will be happy to hear that my impulse control seems to be gone again. Even after the many years of hard work, we had done. Except I should probably leave out that it was a student of mine. The least I can do for myself is not to sabotage myself further.