#Love Lies Bleeding watch free

[seongwars]

Absolutely Not, Your Highness!

Pairing: non-MC x Sylus, non-MC x Rafayel Word Count: 2K a/n: clearing out my drafts and this was something fun I wrote a while ago after watching too many of those facebook short chinese dramas. It was originally going to be the lads regency fic but swapped it out for Zayne instead. might turn this into a drabble series, idk. raf photo for the algorithm

Weddings were meant to be held on auspicious days—full of promise, celebration, love.

And yet, here you were.

Heartbroken and alone, fighting off a band of bandits in the middle of nowhere.

One moment, you and Charlie were halfway to your brother’s estate. The next, chaos. An arrow pierced through the carriage window and the world turned red. 

The battle had been brutal, but somehow, you managed to fend off the attackers. Your sword had kept them at bay, giving Charlie enough time to find help. But now, standing among the remains of your carriage, the aftermath of your fight was catching up with you.

Pain coursed through your body as you leaned against the wreckage. Blood stained your fingers, as it dripped from a gash in your side. Your breath came shallow and ragged. The trees around you blurred and tilted as your legs threatened to give way.

"Lady Y/N!" Charlie's frantic voice reached your ears, but it felt distant and muffled. He sounded desperate, but you couldn’t find the strength to respond. Your limbs were growing weaker, refusing to obey your commands.

“Y/N!” 

There was another voice too but you couldn’t make out who it was. Darkness was already creeping in, threatening to consume you. You knew deep down, that this was it. You had no more fight left.

As the cold settled into your bones, your thoughts drifted to the man who had been your whole world.

Sylus.

Your first love, your only love. The man who had promised to love you and only you. Yet here you were, alone and dying and Sylus was gone. He had taken another wife. A princess from the north who would solidify the crown’s hold on the northern territories. And what had that left you?

Heartbroken and abandoned.

Here you were, bleeding to death as he was enjoying the festivities with his new wife. 

To love and to cherish.

Lies.

The coward had been too afraid to face the consequences of his actions, too selfish to set you free. Instead, he’d kept you shackled by the legalities of a marriage that had long since lost its meaning.

Tears welled in your eyes, not from the pain of your injuries, but from the grief of loving someone who had stopped loving you long ago.

You closed your eyes. And with the last of your strength, you made a promise to the gods.

“In my next life… I won’t love again, Sylus Qin.”

⟡ ݁₊ .

The scent of incense and flowers fills your nose, and you blink. Once. Twice. The sun is far too bright and for a moment, you wonder if it’s just another dream. 

You glance down at yourself, hands trembling as they move to your side. No wound. No blood. You’re dressed in the embroidered silks your mother had chosen for you. Your hair is twisted into an elaborate updo, heavy with pins that tug uncomfortably at your scalp.

This isn’t real, you think. It can’t be.

“Y/N? Did you hear your aunt?”

“Hear what?” you ask, despite the rising panic in your chest.

Your mother glances at your aunt, then back at you, giddy with excitement. “Your aunt was just saying how fortunate you are. His Majesty has chosen you to be Prince Sylus’s bride.”

No. No, no, no. 

Your mouth goes dry. You’re not dreaming. You’re not dead. You’re back. Back in the palace gardens where, in another life, you would have accepted the proposal before your aunt could say another word. Where you followed Sylus with starry eyed devotion and blind faith.

And now, you can’t even stomach the thought of being anywhere near him. You had to change the course of your fate. 

You blink again. “That’s…unfortunate.”

Your aunt’s eyes narrow, the corner of her lip twitching. “Unfortunate?”

“Y/N Shen, what are you talking about?” your mother asks sharply.

You straighten your spine, folding your hands neatly in front of you. “It is unfortunate that His Highness will have to continue his search for a bride.”

“You’re…declining to marry the crown prince?” your aunt echoed slowly.

“Yes,” you reply, smoothing the skirt of your dress. “I’m flattered, Your Grace. I’m sure he’s charming. Ambitious. A master tactician. But I must politely decline.”

Your mother looks like she might faint. “Have you lost your mind? Do you know how many families would sacrifice for this opportunity?”

“Yes, well, they’re more than welcome to it. I hear regicide is all the rage these days.”

“Y/N,” your aunt begins, her voice unnervingly sweet as she resists the urge to throw her cup at your head. “You are being offered the highest match in the empire. This is not a favor, it’s a privilege.”

“One which I would like to politely, yet firmly, decline. Your Grace.”

Her eye twitches. Just slightly. But you catch it.

She might not have birthed Sylus, but she had raised him, stepping into the Empress’s role after her illness left a void. While the emperor ensured that his son was ruthless on the battlefield, your aunt took pride in teaching the crown prince how to outmaneuver the court, turning manipulation into an art form.  

Now, she was trying to add you, her dutiful niece, as another piece on the board. 

Unfortunately for her, you weren’t feeling very dutiful today.

“Y/N,” she said softly, though there was an edge to it, “I understand you’re nervous—”

“Oh, no. Not nervous. Just not interested,” you beam. “But thank you, ever so much for the offer.”

The flicker of irritation in her eyes is almost imperceptible, but it delights you. With a graceful bow, you add, “Please tell His Highness I wish him the very best… particularly with someone who can tolerate extended proximity to him without the urge to jump out of a window.”

You don’t wait for her reply. Instead, you spin on your heel, strolling away with your head held high.

“Y/N!” your mother snaps, scandalized. “Come back here this instant!”

You don’t stop. You don’t look back. You’re halfway down the garden path when you hear your aunt sigh. With one single look to the captain of the guard, you suddenly hear the sound of boots pounding against stone. 

You whirl around and spot the palace guards moving towards you. Gritting your teeth, you grab your skirts in both hands and mutter something distinctly unladylike under your breath before breaking into a sprint.  

There’s shouting behind you, but you’re already halfway down the garden path, tripping in these ridiculous slippers. You curse their existence, kicking them off mid run as you round the corner only to find yourself colliding face first into a broad chest. 

The impact sends you reeling. Strong hands catch your arms before you can stumble, and for a moment, you’re too disoriented to process what just happened.

Your heart sinks as you look up and meet the piercing gaze of none other than the crown prince himself. With a startled shriek, you rear back and throw a punch, connecting your fist with his throat. 

Sylus doubles over with a wheeze, one hand braced on his knee, the other still at his throat. 

Using this opportunity to escape, you make a break for the wisteria covered wall at the edge of the garden. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, grabbing fistfuls of fabric and tying your skirt above your knees. You leap, fingers scrambling for purchase on the stone, muttering curses underneath your breath as you make your ascent. 

“Going somewhere?”

Twisting to look down, legs still awkwardly hooked over the wall, you spot Sylus approaching with his guards. His white hair drifts in the breeze, a sharp contrast to the deep crimson of his robes and that infuriating smirk you’re so tempted to slap off his face.

“My lady,” Luke, steps forward, looking genuinely concerned, “what has His Highness done to offend you?”

“Aside from existing?” you deadpan.

Sylus tilts his head slightly, clearly enjoying this far too much.

“Any woman in the empire would be honored to be chosen as his bride,” Kieran pipes up. “He’s strong, intelligent, not entirely unpleasant to look at—”

You shoot a glare down at them, your arms still flailing desperately for leverage. 

“I’m not marrying him,” you announce, dragging yourself higher up the stone. 

“I don’t want the palace. I don’t want the title. I don’t want the responsibilities. And I especially don’t want the prince.”

Luke opens his mouth, then promptly closes it, clearly unsure how to respond while Kieran looks personally offended on Sylus’ behalf.

“You wound me, my lady,” Sylus chuckles, stepping forward. You roll your eyes. 

“Wounded?” you scoff, pausing just long enough to glance over your shoulder and mumble, Should’ve hit him harder.

“You’ll live. Unfortunately.”

With a defiant glint in your eye, you grip the top of the wall even tighter, steadying yourself for what comes next. You vault over the side with the most dramatic thump, leaving behind a stunned prince, a group of confused guards, and one slightly trampled stranger.

⟡ ݁₊ .

Rafayel adjusted the angle of his straw hat, the brim casting a shadow over his eyes as he squinted up at the sun. With a satchel full of brushes and rolled canvases slung over one shoulder, he looked every bit the eccentric young artist he was pretending to be.

Which, of course, was the point.

Thomas trailed two paces behind, fanning himself with a folded map and muttering under his breath.

“Remember, if we’re going to pass as unknowns, we have to commit to the act. You're my loyal steward, I’m a reclusive painter with a tragic backstory, searching for inspiration.”

“I’m your advisor, not your cover story,” Thomas sighed. 

It had been Rafayel’s idea to leave the palace. He was growing tired of court politics, endless state dinners, and the never ending debates about marriage alliances that his family insisted on having every waking moment of his life. So, one morning, without a word to anyone, he slipped out of the palace with his brushes, a wide-brimmed hat, and a half-assed plan.

And, naturally, he’d dragged Thomas into it.

Truthfully, it wasn’t just about freedom. It was about curiosity—about living a little, about finding out who he might be outside of his title and crown. 

So far, it was going splendidly. Aside from the blisters. And the food. And the part where Thomas kept insisting they were going to be arrested for impersonating peasants.

“Oh, I hope Solana is okay with the baby,” the advisor muttered, mopping his brow with the edge of the map. 

“She’s going to kill me when she finds out I’ve vanished across the border into Linkon.”

“She’ll be fine,” Rafayel said with a dismissive wave. “Besides, it’s not like—”

“I don’t want the palace. I don’t want the title. I don’t want the responsibilities. I especially don’t want the prince!”

Both men froze. Slowly, they turned their heads toward the sound of the voice echoing from somewhere overhead. 

There you were, perched on the edge of the high wall, dress torn at the hem and hair wild from running. For the briefest moment, your gaze locked with Rafayel’s. Then, without a flicker of hesitation, you braced your hands against the ledge as you vaulted over.

“Wait, no no no—” 

Thump.

“Oof!” 

His breath left him as you landed squarely on him, knocking the wind out of the Lemurian prince entirely. Both of you hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, your skirt in his face and his foot jabbing into your ribs. 

“Your highness—I mean, R-Rafayel!” Thomas exclaimed, scurrying over. 

You rolled off the stranger as quickly as you could, cheeks flushed, and body sore in the aftermath of your leap. Rafayel groaned dramatically, propping himself on his knees as Thomas helped him up.

“You!” he wheezed, clutching his chest. “Who do you think you are? Do you know who I am!?”

“Apologies,” you panted, brushing yourself off and already backing away. “Truly. But I really must be going.”

You reached into your hair, pulling free an ornate hairpin and holding it out to him. “My brother, Xavier, the young master of House Shen, will compensate you.”

Rafayel blinked up at you, still clearly baffled. He stared at the hairpin in your hand before meeting your gaze. “Wait, going? Going where?”

Without waiting for an answer, you thrust the pin toward him, then turned on your heel and bolted. “My brother will handle it!” you shouted over your shoulder as you sprinted into the crowded market.

Rafayel gaped, looking deeply offended, his voice rising in frustration. “Compensate? I don’t need money! I need an explanation!” he shouted, raising a fist into the air.

The sounds of the market swallowed the last of Rafayel's protests as you disappeared into the crowd. The rush of the escape was a reminder that for the first time in a long while, you were making your own choices. No palace politics, no strings of duty, and certainly no prince with a crown of empty promises. Just freedom. 

For now.

[revelboo]

Here’s a little more fanart for you because OHMYGOODNESS I’m on the edge of my seat for the next Everything Is Alright chapter!!! Agh I live for the danger and suspense. Anyway thanks for these amazing stories. Delicious as always 🥹

Aaaaaah! I love it! Thank you so much! 💕💕💕

Everything Is Alright Pt 75

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader

• “Don’t.” Struggling against the weight of Megatron’s ped pinning him, he twists to look at Soundwave upside down. Pleading with him, but then Soundwave hadn’t lied. His loyalty has always been to Megatron above all others, still believes in him. And doesn’t want to believe that the mech he all but worships will harm you just to make an example. To hurt him for daring to believe he deserves happiness, that he can have this. Injuries screaming, he stretches out an arm, servos straining. Needing to get free, get to you. Protect you from what’s coming.

• There’s a desperation on Starscream’s face that Megatron’s never seen before. Despite the damage, he’s still struggling to get to Soundwave. And Soundwave still has a palm splayed protectively against his chassis, an injured cassette? Rumble is missing he realizes and he hesitates. What exactly is going on here? “Show me,” he growls and Soundwave’s head bows.

• Is this a mistake? Wanting to trust in Megatron, but you’re just so fragile. What if he doesn’t understand? He can’t look at the pinned Seeker, can’t see that pain, but he doesn’t even try to shut it out of his processor. Lets the Seeker’s bitter hate, fear, and worry spill through him, because if he’s wrong he’ll deserve this and so much worse. Venting raggedly, he opens his cassette compartment and reaches in to find you. Unsettled at how still you are as he lifts you free, breathing but out, your temple bleeding where you’d gotten rattled around when he fell. Frame bowing over you as he cups you in his palms, unable to look up to see Megatron’s reaction as he nudges you with a servo. Willing you to open those eyes, move. Anything.

• A human? Of all the things he’d expected, this hadn’t even occurred to him. Shifting his ped off of Starscream and watching his SIC scramble to Soundwave, servos hovering over the small, still form before the two exchange a look. All this secrecy over one little organic? Why risk his temper over this creature? Watching the painstakingly gentle way Starscream takes the human from Soundwave, he knows he’s missing something important. Realizing that the Seeker cares about this human and it’s a shock, because he’s never seen him care about anything but himself. “This is what you were hiding?” Not another coup but a human. One Starscream scents of.

• Cradling you to him, Starscream’s damaged wings lift. Head tipping and denta bared in threat as Soundwave lays a warning hand on his shoulder. Because if he’s going to lose the only thing he has left, he’s going to make it worth it. Drag Megatron to the Pit with him when he goes. “Ours,” Soundwave says, deep tonal voice almost pleading, surprising him. Still standing with him even after betraying you? “Mine,” he counters, wings trembling.

• Ours? This lunacy has Megstron off balance, because why suffer so much drama and pain over this pathetic, little thing? But watching the way Starscream’s head dips when the human makes a pained noise, the expression that flickers across the Seeker’s face snags at him. He really does care as insane as it is. And it’s an opportunity. Because if this little human means something to the Seeker, it’s a way to guarantee his obedience. A leash. No more plotting. Servos curling under into a fist, he vents. “A shared pet.” And Starscream’s face twists as he looks up at him, seething with hatred. “Let me see our pet, then.”

Previous

Next

Y’all got me wanting to draw again and I can’t explain how happy I was when the new tablet also didn’t work because I had a dead HDMI port. I was able to return it and buy a $13 adapter instead. (I honestly can’t believe they still make the supplies I used to use)

[xcaptainhannax]

Until the Storm Broke (joel miller x reader)

Plot: When a routine patrol turns into a deadly ambush, the reader risks everything to save Joel from a group of vengeful Fireflies—emerging wounded but victorious, and giving Joel a reason to keep going.

Warnings: violence, blood, tlou SPOILERS!!!! if you haven't seen the new chapter please be aware.

A/N: i knew what was gonna happen bc i played the game but still i couldn't watch it, i actually closed my eyes for it bc i was gonna cry BUT since this is fanfiction and im free to do whatever the fuck i want, joel lives and is happy and loved. I've taken some liberty on this for eg. jackson is not under attack and the events might no be carbon copy but i mean the plot is there ok?

The storm was brewing like a secret. Heavy clouds pushed against the peaks, and the air had that bite — the kind that told you you were on borrowed time.

Joel and Dina left early. East patrol. Joel had said something casual over coffee, a rare smile tucked behind his cup.

“Be back by sundown. Try not to miss me.”

You tried to play it cool, but you watched him ride off longer than you should’ve.

By the time you, Ellie, and Jesse mounted up a few hours later, the wind had picked up. The snow came down slow at first, just dusting the trees. You were supposed to loop through the western perimeter and check in every hour. Easy.

It stopped being easy when the radio started breaking up.

Jesse fiddled with the receiver, frowning. “They should’ve checked in by now.”

“Joel?” Ellie leaned close to the radio, voice low. “Dina? Come in.”

Static.

A burst of something.

“—not responding—ski—”

Another crackle.

“—fuck—Joel—”

Silence.

You locked eyes with Jesse.

“We go now,” you said, already kicking your horse forward.

Ellie was on your heels. No one argued.

The storm swallowed you whole. Visibility dropped, your scarf iced over, and it was almost impossible to see the trail. But you knew the old ski lodge wasn’t far. Joel had taken you there once, told you to remember the path.

You did.

The lodge was barely visible through the flurrying snow — a crooked silhouette of a cabin with boards over the windows. A warm glow leaked through a cracked door.

You dismounted first. Pistol drawn. You couldn’t explain it, but something felt off.

Inside, it was hell.

Dina was on the floor, slumped against the wall. She looked uninjured, but her eyes were shut and her breathing was shallow. Drugged — not bleeding.

You rushed to her first, checked her pulse. Strong.

“Dina,” you whispered. No response.

Then you saw Joel.

On his knees. Breathing heavy. A man grabbing him by the shoulders, keeping him down. Blood ran down his face. His hands were cuffed behind him.

Surrounding him were five strangers. Weapons drawn. Faces full of something ugly — like it wasn’t about survival.

Like it was personal.

You didn’t wait.

“NOW!” you shouted.

Jesse burst through the doorway and opened fire. Ellie rolled in behind him, a clean shot to the guy nearest Joel. You ran for him, ducking behind a broken counter.

“JOEL!” you shouted. “Down!”

He dropped as best he could. You vaulted over a chair and fired three rounds — hit one square in the neck. Another turned toward you, and before you could react, his bullet grazed your side, burning pain flaring across your ribs.

But you were already moving.

You tackled the man who had pinned Joel, knocking him off balance, and your shoulder cracked hard against the floor. You cried out, but reached for your knife.

Too late.

He lunged.

A shot rang out.

Jesse. Clean through the guy’s temple.

You panted, chest heaving, as the last one — the woman with the golf club— turned and ran.

She didn’t get far.

Ellie chased her down. You heard the scuffle. Then nothing.

Silence.

You crawled over to Joel, uncuffing him with shaking hands.

His eyes widened when he saw your blood.

“Y/N—”

“I’m okay,” you lied, breath hitching. “We got you.”

Joel leaned forward, cupping the back of your neck, his blood mixing with yours. “You shouldn’t’ve come.”

You laughed bitterly. “Like hell I wouldn’t.”

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

By the time you got back to Jackson, you were half-frozen and barely conscious.

They patched you up. The bullet had passed through clean, no organ damage. Your shoulder, though, was wrecked. And your ribs would be sore for weeks.

Joel never left your side.

Neither did Ellie. You knew she was still resentful with Joel but the attack clearly left her scared.

Dina, still groggy, came to see you the next morning. “They gave me something. Knocked me out cold. I didn’t even see it coming.”

She was safe. All of you were and that’s all that mattered.

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

Joel sat next to your bed that night, hand in yours, eyes tired but alive.

“Reckless,” he muttered. “Damn fool thing you did.”

“You’d do it for me.”

He was quiet.

“Already did,” you added softly.

Joel leaned in then, forehead brushing yours.

“I’d do it again,” he said.

There was a long silence before he spoke again, voice lower, heavier.

“They were Fireflies.”

You looked at him.

“The girl—the one who swung the bat. Her name was Abby. She was the daughter of that surgeon. The one I… killed. Back in Salt Lake. To get Ellie out.”

His voice cracked just a little. “They were after me because of that. Spent years hunting me.”

You squeezed his hand, gently.

“And they found you. And they lost.”

You met his eyes, firm.

“You saved Ellie that day. I’d have done the same. And I’ll keep saving you now, every damn time if I have to.”

Joel stared at you, a thousand things flashing behind those storm-colored eyes. He didn’t speak for a moment. Then he leaned closer, pressing his forehead to yours again.

“Goddamn lucky you’re stubborn.”

You smiled. “You love that about me.”

He chuckled — a soft, broken sound.

“I do.”

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Forbidden Desires: A Handmaid’s Tale Fic✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x Handmaid! fem reader

A/N: I started watching The Handmaid’s Tale and fell in love with Nick right away, so it inspired this one-shot! I couldn’t stop thinking about Joel in his place, so I had to write while inspiration soared. If you love soft, protective Joel, then this fic might be for you 🩷

Summary: Gilead. A dystopian world—one that was once a free country. But that’s gone. Just like your freedom. You do as you’re told: say your prayers, spread your legs, pretend this nightmare is just a phase that’ll end. But it’s not; it’s real. Just like he is. Joel Miller—the gardener/driver that just might be your way out.

Rating: 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 10k

Tags: Soft! Joel, Protective! Joel, a Handmaid’s Tale inspired fic, dystopian world, forbidden romance, angst, yearning, smut, unprotected piv, mentions of abuse, trauma, nonconsensual touching, implied age gap

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Red carves along your teary vision as you stare at your pale expression in the mirror—your modest dress clinging to your fragile body, bonnet covering your locks of pinned-up hair beneath the white fabric. You feel it. All of it. The weight of this dystopian nightmare you wish you weren’t living in rushing through every limb, every nerve in your body like a bolt of hot lightning.   

   You’re going to be sick. Going to throw up what little dinner and water you’ve had over the past few hours. Or maybe you’ll just toss your body down on the wooden floor like Mrs. Waterford likes to do when she shoves you in your little room, throwing slurs around like you’re a tiny ant she wants to squish under the ball of her expensive high heels. Her favorite word to use is slut. 

   Slut. Slut. Slut. It’s ingrained into your brain. Carved with blood into the back of your eyelids when you try to sleep. You almost start to believe the lies, believe you were never special in the first place. Maybe she’s right. Maybe you’re useless, just like you feel. 

   Maybe you should let her end your suffering. Take you into the back and shove a knife through your jugular and get it over with. It’d be quick. Just a few seconds and you’d be bleeding out on the cobblestone pathway. It’d be one of the best ways out of this insufferable hell. Maybe you’d find peace. A nice place to rest your weary head from the endless months you’ve been here. 

   Maybe then you’ll just be free. 

   Free of her, free of the Commander, free of this house. This extravagant, overly-large residence seems to shrink in on your anxious mind. Despair crawls under your skin like a hoard of spiders. You feel sticky, hot as your breath is knocked from your lungs over and over again like you’re suffocating under a black lake with nobody in sight to pull you free from the dark. No one’s coming to save you…

   Your red-rimmed eyes stare back at you in the bathroom mirror, taunting you like the blood that comes once a month. You’re still not pregnant, still not filled with the seed of a child that’ll never truly be yours. Mrs. Waterford loves to punish you. Loves to slap you around each time she’s reminded that she can’t have children herself. Maybe she’s just taking her rage out on you because she lives under a roof with a monster of a husband that doesn’t desire or love her anymore. He doesn’t even touch her. No gentle gazes from his narrowed eyes. No words of affirmation from his poisoned tongue. No. He doesn’t love her. He’s just stuck with her until her beating heart ceases to stop.

   This she knows. Like she knows you know. That’s why she always sends you away to your room when she catches you staring. Or when you’re laying in her bed while the Commander drills his half-soft cock into you, taking advantage while she holds you down against your will. She can’t even look at him because she knows she hasn’t felt his touch since their wedding night. And you hate it. You hate being underneath him. A ragdoll with no say. He doesn’t make you feel good, only shoots his cum deep inside you where you know it’ll never fertilize. 

   He’s sterile and his wife knows this. She even whispered the possibility to you the other day in the garden. All you could do was stare with wide eyes and keep silent. If you would’ve spoken, she would’ve taken her garden clippers and cut your tongue right out at the scene. So you just zipped your mouth closed like you always do. You don’t have a say anymore. Not with anything. You have no freedom left. Nothing.

   And yet, she still blames you. You’re the problem. The succubus that sucks away her husband’s will to fuck. Lately, he’s snuck peeks at you while you’re underneath him, limp and lifeless. Even though he threatens to get you caught. You’re his new plaything—a pretty little doll that bends at his will. A piece of plastic that he loves to break. You’re his to command, his to destroy. Like the nights he invites you down to his office to play board games. You can’t refuse, can’t say no. That’s the only way you get a semblance of freedom. The only way you’re getting out of this hellish house.

   So you flirt, bat your eyelashes each time he offers you a drink. Grit your teeth each time he uninvitedly touches you out of respect. You’ll indulge him, but only because you’d be locked away in your room till the moment you get pregnant, which will never happen. Not with the Commander, at least… 

   But then there’s him. Joel. The only thing that keeps you going every day. A breath of fresh air. Sunlight streaming through your darkened curtains. A taste of something that feels a lot like coming home. 

   He’s kind. So very gentle. From the moment you arrived, he was always near, always seeking a way to be close to you. It was the slight brush of his hand against yours, the soft gazes across the garden, the stolen conversations in the car when he was ordered to chauffeur you around Massachusetts. He’s become something dear to you. Something you can hold on to for just a moment when your knees give out. He always keeps you from hitting the floor.

  Safe. A word you no longer recognize in a cold world where women have no rights anymore. Nowhere feels safe anymore. But yet, you felt safe the moment he brought you an ice pack after Mrs. Waterford bruised your face after lashing out about you not being pregnant. He wasn’t supposed to be there, wasn’t supposed to help. But still, he snuck you a cold ice pack, took your hands in his gently, brushed a stolen kiss to the back of your knuckles. You still feel it—his soft lips lingering on your fragile skin like sweet perfume. You wish you could feel his lips on yours. Wish you could just be with him…

   But that can’t happen, can it? No. You only got that one afternoon. The one where Mrs. Waterford snuck you into his little studio, told you to hurry up and finish the deed so she could have your child. And you just had to comply.

   It was only five minutes. Five blissful minutes that you got to be with Joel. Even if it was forbidden, the wrong way to do this. She didn’t fucking care. She just selfishly threw you in the room and told you to spread your legs, get it over with. But even though you were both forced into it, you were glad it was him. Because you got him once. You got him, even under the worst situation. Still, you had him. Even if it was just those five whole minutes…

   He was so gentle, even then. Whispered, “I’m right here. Jus’ look at me, sweetheart. You’re alright.” And so you did. You stared up into his big brown eyes, pretended your handler wasn’t in the room, imagined it was just you and Joel for those quick five minutes. His broad body loomed over yours like a blanket. His strong, tanned arms held himself up against each side of your shoulders. And his eyes���big brown orbs of sadness slipping against his flecked irises. He was holding himself back. Holding himself back from really touching you like he wanted. You could see it in those coffee-colored eyes. He wanted to kiss you so badly, but he couldn’t. He fucking couldn’t. 

   He held on for as long as he could with each slow, languid thrust inside your walls. Gritted his teeth together when she said to hurry up before someone comes up. He wanted to fucking strangle her with each sharp word steered toward the two of you. But at the next command, he thrusted deep inside and spilled all of his warm seed inside you, claiming you as his own. 

   And even through those entire five minutes, he never once let his warm brown eyes drop from yours…

   But then you were ripped away, yanked out of his calloused reach, back to your prison cell of a house. And with one more longing look, she shut the door with a bang, growling orders once again when you were alone in that big, empty house where cobwebs lingered in dark corners. Corners only you knew. 

   Your teeth chatter, lips quiver as tears begin to stream down your face. Your nails dig into the porcelain sink like a chalkboard, dragging along like knives that could gut the expensive decor to shreds. This house is no home. The only home you know is in Joel’s arms. 

   Joel Miller. The only one that’s seen you as a real human being since this nightmare of a world started. The only one that truly made you feel safe, seen, loved. 

   Loved. That’s what it is. The one thing the Commander said wasn’t real anymore. But it is. It’s real in Joel… You feel it everywhere when you’re around him. It’s in those yearning eyes of his, those long, dragged out glances he steals across the garden when he’s tending to the rose bushes. It’s in the shadows of the kitchen when he brushes his knuckles against yours just so he can feel you for a second. It’s in the way he looks out his window every night just to make sure you’re okay. 

   But you’re not okay. You’re never okay. You’re a chipped teacup with cracks and fractures all along the dusty china. And you just keep chipping away day after day. Pretty soon, you’ll only be in pieces swept under the crimson rug by the front door. 

   Your body trembles beneath you as you stare at your pinned-up hair, hidden under the white bonnet. The one that hides your face from the world. The one that tells everyone you’re oppressed—used as an object to burden a child into this world. One you won’t be able to keep…

   And if you birth Joel’s baby, you won’t be able to keep it. You won’t be able to raise it together. It’ll just be taken like everything else has from your life. Just like Joel will be taken shortly after the birth, once you’re kicked out of the house. You’ll never have a real family of your own. You’ll never truly have… Joel.

   Anger boils its way through your body, singeing nerve endings, feeding flames in your watery eyes. Gritting your teeth together, you throw the white bonnet to the floor, frantically pull out the bobby pins that hold your hair up. It’s messy, unhinged the way you tug and throw them all over the floor while tears drop like rain to the polished wood. Metal clatters against the ground while your hair falls in messy waves. You claw at your scalp till all the bobby pins are out, till you feel a glimpse of a weight off your chest. But the rage still churns deep in your gut, still swims in your bloodstream. 

   When you run your fingers shakily through your hair and let them fall to your violent red dress, it takes everything in you not to rip it clear off your body, shred it to pieces till you never have to wear the monstrosity of a dress ever again. 

   Forbidden. What Mrs. Waterford did last week was off-limits. Banned. But she broke the rules, now it’s your turn. Now you get something forbidden too. And that something is Joel. 

   Whipping your head around, you see the clock says ten o’clock. She’ll be asleep by now. The Commander will be deep into his alcohol in his study. The guard that patrols the yard will be well past this area, clear across the neighborhood by now. So now is your chance. Now, you run. 

   Slipping out of your room, you tiptoe down the hall, go clear down the staircase silently, careful not to make a sound as you make your way to the front glass door. With one peek behind you, you have the all clear. So you slide through the door, quietly close it behind you and fucking run for your life. 

   You let your hair fly behind you as you zigzag through the rose bushes, push your way through the front gate, sprint next door to where the black staircase is. The one that’ll lead you to Joel’s room. 

   Your blood starts pumping when you hear footsteps approaching somewhere behind you. Sweat beads your forehead as you slip into the shadows and make a run up the staircase to safety. 

   “Is anyone there?” a guard shouts into the stillness of night. 

   Your foot catches on a broken step, and it takes everything in your power not to whimper as your knee skids against metal. But you hold in the cry, duck down and pray you won’t be seen. Your knee’s not bleeding, thanks to your long dress, but you still could be caught. 

   You timed it wrong, wasn’t prepared for this to happen. It was a rash decision. A desperate, stupid idea. One that might just get you killed. And for what? All because you can’t fucking go another night without being in his arms. For him, you’d hang if you have to. For Joel, you’ll do just about anything. Even if that means getting dragged off into a black van in the night. 

   Holding your breath, you feel the tears sting your eyes. Feel the weight of the world topple down on you as the guard with a huge rifle slips inside the creaking gate. He checks in every crevice of the garden, looks behind trees, through the red rose bushes, even looks through the kitchen window. 

   You don’t move a muscle, don’t even breathe while he’s there, hunting you down. He’ll never find you. Won’t drag you down this staircase. Won’t take you away from the man you’re head over heels for. You won’t let him. Or rather, Joel won’t let him. 

   Closing your eyes, you wait for the inevitable as he pushes the iron gate open while his heavy footsteps observe the perimeter. You cringe, sinking in on yourself, just waiting to be tazed and taken into custody. But his abusing hands never come. His gun never shoots off. He just vanishes into the dark night like a cloud. And in the next moment, he’s completely gone. 

   Uncovering your mouth, you let out a gigantic sigh, relax as your knee stops throbbing. You did it. You fucking did it. Snuck past the hounds. But still, you feel so far from safety. Feel like he’ll be back any second, so you push yourself up off the stairs and crawl your way up, still too terrified to stand up all the way. 

   When you make it to the dark green door that’s closed, you rap your knuckles quickly against the wood, scared of making too much noise in the quiet of the night. 

   Open up. Please, open the door, Joel. 

   It’s desperate, dire as you silently beg for him to open. What if he’s asleep and doesn’t hear you? What if he doesn’t come? What if he…

   Your rampant thoughts are suddenly silenced as he whips the door open, his eyes wide when he sees you standing there in a puddle of tears. Your hair all down, hands shaking, face probably pale from the close call of the guard. 

   You have no time to explain, you just rush into his space, close the door, click the lock tight, and then you’re jumping into his body. You wrap your arms around his broad back, fall into the weight of him, inhale the scent of coffee and safety, feel all of him, all at once. 

   “Joel. I had to see you. I couldn’t… I couldn’t…”

   “Shh. I’m here, sweetheart. I’m right here. S’okay now. You’re safe,” he coos into your ear while he places a soft kiss atop the crown of your head, wrapping his arms like a cocoon around your shaking body. 

   He holds you like that for another minute, till your sobs start to quiet down, till you’ve soaked through a section of his blue flannel shirt. But he doesn’t seem to mind. Doesn’t even flinch when you lock your fingers around the soft fabric, till you’re one in the same with him. 

   “Hey. Look at me.” He says it softly, lifts your chin with his calloused fingers, lets the pad of his thumb catch a falling tear from crashing onto the carpet. “Are you hurt?” He assesses your cheeks, looks for any new signs of purple bruises, but he finds none. Only sees how broken you truly are. 

   Shaking your head, you gulp. “No. I’m not hurt. I’m just…”

   “Jus’ what?” His soft brown eyes delve into yours while they search for anything that might give your reckless behavior away. But he’s not looking for an apology or explanation of why you came. He knows why. Deep down, he knows. 

   You just need him. More than you ever did. 

   “I needed you…” you whisper into the air as he catches another falling tear. 

   “Oh, sweetheart,” he drawls out as sadness sweeps over his soft features. “C’mere, baby.” He scoops you up in his arms bridal style, takes you over to the bed, cradles you in his lap till everything just stops. Till all the noise dissipates into the air. Till your body stills in his arms. And then you let him rock you against his firm chest while he gently kisses your temple, leaves the mark of his soft lips on your skin like an invisible tattoo. You’ll surely wear it forever underneath this red rag of a dress. 

   “You’re such a brave girl, you know that?” he whispers into your hair, dragging his lips down until he’s pressing them to your forehead. An action you’ve needed so desperately for so long. 

   You choke on words, spit them out as if this will be your last time to voice them. “I thought I was gonna get caught. I slipped on the stairs. I made too much noise. They almost��� they almost…” You fall into his warm chest, nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck where you know it’s safe.

   “Shh,” he coos while he runs a hand up and down the small of your back. “You’re safe now, sweetheart. You made it. And now, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

   I’ve got you. He repeats the phrase so he can drive it into your brain. Really make you believe that this is all okay. He knows it’s not, but he’ll make you feel like it is for now. In these few minutes you have together. 

   You turn your head, stare at the locked door like they’ll break in any second. Carry you away. They’d take Joel first. Hang him by a rope till his neck breaks. That’s what they always do because they love torturing women. They’d drag it out so slow, till you felt everything Joel did. Till every single particle inside you broke from heartbreak. And then they’d drag you back to that awful house and make you relive it all over again but without Joel. You can’t live without him. You can’t…

   “It’s so awful in that house, Joel. They’re both monsters. Please don’t… don’t leave me,” you cry into the fabric of his flannel, praying it never gets to that point. Begging for anyone to just listen to your pleas. 

   “I'm not goin’ anywhere, sweetheart. Gonna stay right here,” he whispers gently into your ear. As if he knows exactly what you’re thinking, he wraps you tighter in his arms, rocks you till you’re floating in a sea of still water. “I know, sweetheart. I know. I worry ‘bout you every second of every day when I’m not there. ‘Cause I can’t… I can’t stop them from hurting you. I can’t stop him.” You know exactly what he means. He can’t stop the Commander from spreading your legs every single week. Joel has no power to do that, and you know it kills him. God, it fucking weighs on him like wet cement. Even if he wants to end it, he can’t. 

   “I know. I wish you could because he makes me sick. They make me so fucking sick. I just want…” You pause, curl your fingers into the soft flannel, reel him in a little closer so you can inhale his woodsy scent. 

   “What do you want? Tell me, sweetheart,” he coaxes as he twists a strand of your hair between his fingers.

   “I just want you.” That’s it. That’s all you want. All you need. “If I can’t have anything else in the world then just let me have you.” Your eyes swirl with mist, tears breaking over your lashes, a desperate cry for help for someone to hear your call through the dark night. 

   Please, just let me have Joel. Just once more, if that…

   “Oh, babygirl.” He draws you in, brushes his plush lips over yours, kissing away the pain of yesterday. And then he takes his calloused palm and caresses your cheek while he stares into your blurry eyes. “You’re all I ever want, too. You’re like the twinkling stars in the night sky. So beautiful, yet so out of reach. And when I try to extend my arm out, jump for the night sky, you somehow get further from my grasp. You always jus’… disappear.”

   You know what he means. You’re always pulled in two directions at once. Always at the beck and call of Mrs. Waterford. Always fucking drowning in her moody demands. She can’t stand the sight of you. Thinks you’re a crawling parasite that she can walk all over. Makes you choke when she wrings your neck like a dog on a leash she can’t control. She has control though. Always has ever since you walked through that dark doorway. She has every last bit of control with you, except right this very second.

   You cling to his flexed bicep, look him deep in the eyes while you try to put on a brave face. “I can’t sleep at night knowing you’re just feet away from me. I can’t function when all I think about is you in that haunted hell of a house. I can’t… think when you’re not around. I can’t fucking breathe.” There. You said it all. Poured out your entire feelings on a platter and offered it up to him like a pot of gold. He’s your everything, and you can’t bear to live in this authoritarian nightmare without him.

   He pauses a beat, fixes his sad brown eyes on you, slides his knuckles against your jawline, gives you that look that makes butterflies swim through your stomach. “Sweetheart, I… I haven’t slept a wink since me and you… Well, since we…”

   “Slept together,” you finish for him, watching his lips twitch and jaw clench.

   He nods, sighs through his words. “I wouldn’t call that sleepin’ together. That was… forced. ‘Cause she was fuckin’ standing over there like a goddamn watchdog hoverin’ and blowing smoke down my back. I couldn’t give you what I wanted to. I couldn’t make you feel the way you should feel. I couldn’t… Fuck. I couldn’t make love to you like I wanted to.” He drops his forehead to yours, holds you a bit closer, grazes his lips over your cheek, steals your breath when he tips your head back until you’re practically mouth to mouth.

   There’s a tension thickening in the air like a warm summer breeze. Thunderstorms brewing in the distance, creating humidity and heat between your bodies. This is it. This could be your only shot at a real moment together. You could be dead by tomorrow, so you’ll take every advantage of what’s right in front of you now. Joel. 

   “So make love to me then,” you whisper against his lips.

   He dips his head, looks you right in the eye and asks for permission with those perfect brown eyes of his. “You feel up for that, sweetheart? I mean, did the Commander…”

   “Not tonight,” you shake your head, feel relief flood through you as he carefully takes his hand and unzips the back of your crimson-stained dress, letting you know he’s going to take good care of you.

   “Well, then. Let me make you feel exactly how you deserve to feel. Let me show you how I really feel about you.” He slides the dress off your body, takes his hands and unclamps the back of your bra, tugs just enough until it’s thrown in a heap on the floor. Leaving you in only your panties.

   “Joel…” you breathe as he kisses a trail down the side of your neck, kneading your breasts until his mouth closes around them. You arch your back, whimper his name through closed lips, fall into bliss when he hooks his fingers around the elastic of your panties until he’s pushing them down, leaving you completely bare with parted legs.

   “Tell me what you want, baby,” he says through languid kisses, his tongue teasing along your inner thighs, creating slick that you haven’t felt in years. Is this what it’s like to feel wanted, to be loved? 

   “Want you to… touch me,” you say effortlessly through fluttering eyelashes, your legs splayed wide as he settles between your thighs, looks up at you with satisfaction swimming through his shiny irises. He’s going to eat you alive, and you hope he swallows you. 

   “Jus’ relax. Lay back. Enjoy this. It’s all for you, sweetheart. All of it,” he growls. And then he dives down, flattens his tongue over the entirety of you and slides up, licking all of you. 

   You have to wrap your fingers in the sheets. Have to hold on to something while he ignites every single nerve ending in your body. He does it again, this time slower, needier. Flicks his tongue around your bundle of nerves while you moan through the pleasure. 

   “Yes, yes,” you chant as he looks up with hungry eyes, replaces his tongue with two big fingers that circle your puffy clit till you see stars. 

   “Joel, I’m close. I’m…”

   “Take it all, sweetheart. Want you to feel so good for me. Want you to come like no one’s ever made you come,” he groans as he licks over your folds, pushes two thick fingers through your dripping hole, reaching that spongy spot that no one’s ever reached but him before. 

   You throw your head back into the silky sheets, push your fingers through his greying locks of hair, feel your body start to vibrate through the pleasure. You feel him everywhere. Through the tips of your fingers, through your curling toes, through the way his name slips off your tongue through his languid strokes of his tongue. He’s inside you, all around you, through the smoke of the air outside. You’re his. He’s marking you through his lips, reaching inside and slapping his name on your heartstrings. He’s all of you. And now, you fall. 

   He sucks you into his mouth, pulls you in and curls his fingers once more till you’re falling from the stars. Arching your back, you let the white-hot heat take hold of you, let the tears crash over the messy sheets, let his name fall off your lips as your orgasm washes over you like falling snow. There’s no Commanders, no rules, no regulations in this room. It’s just Joel guiding your body, freeing you of your shackles so you can experience this wonderful, incredible, once in a lifetime moment you may never have again. 

   You fall back in the bed, his fingers still meticulously brushing over you, pulling out the last of your orgasm like magic on a string. And when you open your eyes and let your body come back down to reality, he hovers over you, strokes your cheek, looks at you like you’re made to be loved. 

   “You okay?” His deep Southern drawl is filled with so much love. A scrape of affection you thought you’d never feel again. 

   “Mhm. More than okay.” You lace your fingers with his, coax him forward until his lips are hovering right above yours, waiting for an invitation to drop down on yours. 

   He sighs, lets his forehead lean against yours, brushes a piece of hair behind the shell of your ear, gazes at you with the most sincere eyes you’ve ever seen. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he whispers out as his hand skates over your heated skin, feeding the flames inside you. 

   Your bottom lip trembles, your eyes melt. No one’s ever called you that. Not in this lifetime. Not in that house with crawling spiders and venomous snakes. But he did. Joel called you that. Beautiful. He thinks you’re beautiful…

   Without wasting another second, you grab the front of his flannel, draw him closer until your mouth crashes against his in a heated kiss. Flames erupt around you; wildfires burn as you tangle yourself around him. He tastes like yours, tastes like freedom, like love. 

   You paw at the buttons on his flannel, frantically tugging like you’ll die if you spend one more second without his tanned skin on yours. He senses your worry, feels you desperately pulling at the buckle of his belt while your other hand clings to his button-up. So he helps, assists you in your dire need. 

   He quickly undoes all his buttons, lets you slide the soft fabric off his broad shoulders while his tongue dances with yours. Next, he unzips his black pants, lets the belt slide loose until he shucks them off along with his boxers. Now there’s nothing left between you, just warm bodies sliding against one another, connecting like you fit perfectly together. 

   Your bodies tangle together as you roll through the sheets, toppling over one another. His hands are everywhere—exploring your curves, his mouth molding with yours like honey, fingers tangling through your locks. You push your hands through his soft brown hair, lock your arms around his neck, kiss him like he’s the only thing filling your lungs with oxygen. But it’s not enough. It still isn’t enough. You need to be closer, tighter, sewed into the very essence of him. Maybe then it’d be enough. 

   As he rolls onto his back, he disconnects from your lips. Just long enough to take a breath and look up at you with big brown eyes that sparkle just for you. And then he smiles—one that nearly tips you over the edge. You’ve never seen anything more beautiful in your life. 

   “Hi,” he says, so casually with a perfect crooked smile on his lips.

   “Hi,” you repeat, your lips curving into a soft smile. 

   “Goddamn it. Look at you. Straddlin’ me. Looking like a pretty picture under the soft lighting,” he smiles, melting your heart that much more. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters. The only thing that exists in this world. 

   “Am I your girl?” you ask shyly, batting your eyelashes as a blush stains your cheeks. 

   He nods, spreading his smile wide while he caresses his knuckles against the side of your cheek. “Yeah, you’re my girl.”

   You blink down at him, take this moment to memorize the outline of his chiseled jawline. Map out every single wrinkle and line of his tanned skin. Commit to memory his perfect glossy-brown eyes. Eyes that make your knees weak. 

   Taking his time, he slides your body down, just enough to where his tip nudges against your entrance. Coaxing you to move on your own terms. Nodding down between your sprawled legs, he lets his hand fall to the side of your right hip. 

   “Go on, sweetheart. Take what you need,” he coaxes, sending you another warm grin. 

   You flick your eyes down for a second, see his hardened cock ready to go, trace the outline of the thick veins wrapping around his long length, memorize all of him before you look back up with big eyes. 

   He knows… He knows you’re always being held down against your own will. Always on your back as the Commander takes and ravishes and steals till you finally break. Joel knows how uncomfortable it makes you. Reminds you that you have no freedom. But Joel’s giving you release, unshackling you from your duties. He’s giving you a choice. Freedom. He’s setting you free…

   With one more knowing look his way, you start to rock against him. Let him slip inside your dripping opening. Feel him stretch you like no one else has before. You slide down till he’s bottomed out inside you, bounce up and down at a slow, satiating rhythm. You revel in the feel of him, in the way he makes you feel so good. He lets you take the pleasure, lets you breathe his name through the thick air while you intertwine your fingers with his. And then you moan, let his name slip off your tongue till all you can feel is him buried deep inside you.

   “There ya go. That’s my girl,” he groans out through his own pleasure, his hooded eyes staring up at you as you listlessly call his name.

   “Joel, Joel, Joel,” you moan as your clit catches on his coarse, dark hair; your continuous echo bouncing across the walls each time his massive cock hits that spongy spot at the top of your walls. 

   “Yeah. Attagirl. Take it all. Every drop. Soak it in. Bottle it up. This is all for you. Jus’… you,” he bites through his clenched teeth as your walls suck him in, devouring him like you’ll never let go. 

   You revel in the ecstasy. The way he tilts his hips, just enough to where each thrust pounds you deeper into oblivion. And you ride him—slowly, implicitly, unabashedly until you take back every ounce of freedom you’ve lost. Each slide of his cock, each affectionate word, each roll of his hips is giving back something you’ve lost. Your right to own a house, your ability to have money in a bank, your freedom to fuck who you want, when you want, your choice to love who you want. Joel gives it all back piece by piece each time he stares at you with those big brown eyes. Eyes that make you forget you’re trapped in a simulation of misery and despair. 

   You blanket yourself over his body, seal your mouth to his, get lost in the taste, smell, and feel of him. Tanned, sweat-glistened skin. Calloused fingers dancing across your back. The scent of trimmed rose bushes permeating off the tips of his dark hair. You bottle it up, slip it into your mind so you won’t forget. Push past the barrier that says this might be the only night. The last time you’ll be able to be like this. Sprawled over his body, draped in his silky sheets, his tongue dancing in sync with yours, his body tangling with yours.

   Fear alights in your mind, your facade breaks, glass shattering as wet tears rain down your face. And you cry through the pleasure, sulk through the way his cock bruises your cervix, moving through the pain of knowing this could be the last time. The only time you’ll ever experience this form of love blooming in this little room, lighting fires in these twisted sheets. You just crumble, ride through the sheer terror of leaving this very room. Leaving him. 

   “Let it out, sweetheart,” he coos through your tears, helping you through your blurry eyesight. “Let it all out.” He flexes a big hand around your hip, guides you to that point of no return. Sets your body alight once again as your climax starts to go over the edge. 

   And then he says your name. Your real name. Slow, filled with passion, his tongue drawling your name in that sweet, saccharine way he always does. In a way that screams “I love you, I need you” so desperately and deeply. And then he repeats it like a prayer, chanting your name through his deep thrusts, making you burn like fire. And when he says it once more, rolls his hips so your puffy clit catches just the right spot to make you see stars, you fall, reach for heaven when you throw your head back and moan his name. 

   He falls apart the second after you do, calls your name while he spills his seed deep inside you—warm bursts of cum filling you, claiming you as his. 

   His, his, his. Yes, you’re his…

   The moment he pulls out, you topple on top of him, collapse against his sweat-glistening chest, your fingers automatically hooking around his. He pulls you up higher, kisses the crown of your head, talks you through coming down from your orgasmic high. 

   “That’s my girl. My perfect girl,” he drawls out slowly, his fingers curling a lock of hair behind the shell of your ear, brown eyes filled with so much admiration. 

   You look up at him with tears filling your eyes as fears drown out the bliss. You’ll have to go back, have to be ripped away from Joel once again. You don’t think you can do it. Don’t think you can breathe once you walk out his door. 

   Taking a shaky breath, you swallow back tears. “Please, don’t make me go back. I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to…”

   He goes silent for a beat. His lips form into a tight line; his eyes start to shine from the building tears he’s holding back. And then he closes them just for a second, enough to pull himself back together. He doesn’t want you to go back either. Wishes he could just vanish the both of you away from this awful, twisted place. He wishes he could take your pain away for good. 

   Letting the back of his knuckles graze your cheek, he sighs. “Sweetheart, I… If it were up to me, I never would’ve let you spend even five seconds in that house with those fuckin’ monsters.”

   You give him a sad smile and nod. “I know you wouldn’t.”

   He lets his hand fall to yours, intertwines his fingers through yours like tangled vines, looks at you with so much intensity you might just melt into his gaze. “Do you know how hard it is for me to jus’ stand there and watch the way they treat you? When he puts his hands on you or calls you names or slaps you around. I jus’ wanna take a goddamn gun and pop it in his fuckin’ mouth!”

   He’s angry, getting heated because he knows he can’t intervene. Not if he wants to be found out. If he gets caught that means this is over. And it can’t be over. Not yet. Not ever.

   “Hey, it’s okay,” you implore sadly, showing him you understand. 

   “It’s not okay! It’s—”

   You push your fingers through his messy locks, let his silver strands tangle around your hand. “Joel. Just having you in the same room with me is enough. For this life, it… it keeps me from tipping over the edge.”

   He draws out a sigh, relaxes beneath your touch. “You keep me from losin’ my goddamn mind in this hell, you beautiful woman. You keep me from lodging the barrel in my own mouth…”

   You nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck, breathe in his earthy scent, committing it to memory so you’ll never forget this night with him.

   “How much longer do we have?” you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut so you don’t have to see the pain written on his face when he answers.

   “If we’re speaking in terms of safety, we have none,” he murmurs out quietly as he wraps an arm tightly around your waist like he never wants to let go. “Riskin’ a little, maybe an hour or two, at most.”

   Being brave, you flutter your eyelids open, watch the way he stares down at you with such affection in those pools of warmth. “Can I stay till morning?”

   He’s silent a beat, probably scared to say anything at this point. “Sweetheart, we…”

   “Please?” There’s a desperate plea in your voice, a cry for help in your wide eyes. If this is the only night you have, you want to make it last as long as it can. 

   He sighs, breathes as his jaw flexes, nodding through his uncertainty. “Alright. But we gotta get you back in before the sun rises. If you got caught, I couldn’t live with myself.”

   “Well, it’d be worth it because I got to spend my last moments with you…”

   He pulls you in, plants a lingering kiss atop the crown of your head, lets his lips trickle down to your forehead. And then he whispers out into the night air, “I love you, my sweet girl.”

   Love blooms deep in your chest. Butterflies toss through your stomach. And it’s like the rose garden in the front covers the expanse of Gilead. “I love you too. So much…” you whisper back.

   He throws his arms around you, pulls you as close as humanly possible into his side. And you mold to him like clay. If you die tomorrow, at least you can say they didn’t get to steal this night from you.

   After a few minutes of comfortable silence, you decide to ask the inevitable. It’s a touchy topic, but you have to know. “Have they let you see her?”

   He stills beneath you, his breathing becoming shallow at the mention of her. His little girl. 

   Joel shakes his head. His eyes become so heavy that you can almost see thunderstorms brewing in them. “No. The Commander loves to dangle Sarah in front of me. To threaten or scare me or maybe jus’ to be the bastard that he is.” His jaw ticks, the muscle becoming strained beneath the weight of this burden on him. “He thinks he has me on a short leash with a shock collar, but he’s fuckin’ wrong. I’ll never be his dog.” But his anger melts away. In its place is hurt, sadness, a weight that hollows out his chest. “He promises she’s safe, as long as I… obey.”

   There’s a weight setting across the room, blanketing heaviness and despair across the thick air. Joel looks so defeated, so very lost in his head. With his deep-set eyebrows framing his watering eyes to the flex of his jaw with every moment he makes. 

   You place a hand gently on the side of his face, give him an encouraging smile that says you know exactly how he feels. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what that feels like. To have your daughter stripped from you just like that.”

   He shifts in the bed, stiffens his broad shoulders, holds you just a little tighter through the pain. “I miss her every day. Her laugh, her bright smile, the way she used to make pancakes with me every Saturday mornin’.” He sighs, relaxes his jaw, and looks at you with worried eyes. “You know, I don’t even know how brainwashed they’ve made her. I don’t even know if she remembers me.”

   Dragging your fingers softly through his salt-and-pepper scruff, you say, “She remembers. I know she does. And she loves you. So much, Joel. She thinks you’re the best father in the world.”

   He stills beneath you, gives you a half lopsided smile, and laughs under his breath. Tucking you against him, he lets his hand slide up and down your back slowly in a soothing way. 

   “I miss her so fuckin’ much…” There’s a gleam in his eye. A tear slips down his cheek, and you brush it away with your thumb. He tries so hard to be the big, tough man that is his, but strong men break too. 

   “I know, Joel. I know.” You linger your fingers on his tanned cheek, keep yourself strong just for him, even though you feel like shattering too. “She misses you too.”

   He swallows back the tears and nods through the pain, just like he always does. “She’d want me to be brave.”

   “And you are,” you confirm. “You’re the bravest man I know.”

   He burrows himself against you, lifts you up so you can blanket the top of his body with yours. And then he cups both sides of your face and brings your lips to his to soothe the pain for just a minute. You’d do anything to erase his pain. You guess the two of you do that a lot. Use each other to drown out the pain of living in enslavement. Remind each other that you’ve got to keep living. Even if most of the time that ray of light seems miles away. Like you’ll never be able to fully grasp it. 

   What was it he told you before? That night he found you in the mud in the middle of a thunderstorm. When you buried yourself behind the rose bushes, praying that’d be your last night on earth. He said, “C’mon, sweetheart. You can’t give up. You’ve got to find the light.” But he was your light. Still is. You could’ve died right there, but he scooped you up and showed you the path to light again. 

   He’s the only reason you’re still breathing…

   “Joel?”

   “Hm?” he hums against your body, one hand on the small of your back, the other drawing hearts on the side of your face.

   “What if I…” You pause, not able to finish the sentence.

   “What if you what?” He searches your face, digging for anything that might give away your half-finished sentence.

   “Get pregnant.” It’s a whisper, barely anything at all. But it permeates through the room like fog.

   “Then I’ll take care of you.” There’s no question or hesitation in his voice. He’s firm like the wood on the floor. He will take care of you. This you know. You guess you’ve always known. Like that first day at the house when he clasped his hand around your wrist after you stared at the ceiling fan for too long. He saved your life that day, and he’s still continuing to save it.

   “But they won’t… let you,” you mewl, biting your bottom lip as fear creeps its way inside you. “They’ll take the baby, Joel. Once it’s born. They won’t let me see them. Mrs. Waterford, she’ll never let me hold my…” You can’t help it. You break on the spot. Tears pool in your eyes. Your chest squeezes around your lungs. You can’t breathe. You can’t think because your future baby, the one that may already be growing inside you, will be lost forever. In the hands of monsters that will never be what your baby needs. 

   “Hey. No… no.” His big hands cup your face in a desperate plea, his big brown eyes delving into yours. “I’ll fuckin’ chop off their goddamn hands before they lay a finger on our baby.”

   Our baby. Something made out of love in spite of living here where love doesn’t exist. But it does with you and Joel. But again, it sounds too good to be true. Our baby. 

   “But…”

   He brushes his thumb over your skin, calming you down through every soft stroke. “I’m gonna get you out.”

   You gasp as you let the words sink in. “What?”

   “I’m gonna get us out,” he states clearly. 

   “Us?” 

   He nods. “You, me, Sarah, our baby…”

   Our baby. There it is again. It settles like concrete on the ground outside. Makes it official. You’re going to have his baby.

   “How?” Your eyes search his face, grabbing at answers you don’t quite have yet. 

   “Jus’ trust me, okay? I’ve been workin’ on somethin’, and I think it might jus’ work.” 

   You open your mouth, but then snap it shut. There’s nothing you can say because your mind is racing through the unknown. 

   He’s going to find a way out…

   You dig your fingers into the flesh of his bicep, hanging on for dear life when the fear comes raging through your bones. And then you start to shake. “I’m scared, Joel. The Commander. He’ll… he’ll…”

   Joel wraps his arms around you, draws you in so he can hug you tight like a teddy bear. And you cling to him as hard as you can.

   “Hey. Baby, I need you to hold on jus’ a little longer.” He smoothes a hand through your hair, caresses his other down your back until you feel just the slightest weight leave your chest.

   You flick your eyes up to his and whisper, “How much longer?”

   He lets a sigh escape his mouth. “Maybe a month. Two at the most, unless I can get my cards right.”

   You close your eyes, breathe in the scent of him and try to picture freedom. “Two months is an awfully long time.” But really, every day seems like weeks.

   “I know.” He lets his scruff slide against your jawline till his lips brush against the shell of your ear. “Sweetheart, you’re such a brave woman. So fuckin’ brave. And you’re gonna be okay. As long as I’m here, you’re gonna be okay.” 

   You want to believe he’s right, but he’s not in the Commander’s room when he’s got his grimy hands on you. Joel’s not there when he’s using your body and holding you down. He can’t always be there. At least not when you need him the most…

   As if he can read your thoughts, he murmurs out once more, “I’m gonna get us out.”

   Get us out. The words sound foreign, distorted, but they’re clear as day when you look into his soft brown eyes.

   “But what if they catch us. What if they…”

   “Hey, look at me.” He cups your chin, tilts your head until his gaze is locked with yours. There’s no maybe about it in those eyes. “I’m gonna get us to Canada. I’m gonna set us free.”

   “You promise?” you whimper out, holding back tears from the fear that tries to eat you alive. 

   “I swear,” he nods, firm in his promise.

   “Okay.” You fiddle with your bottom lip, brows knit, your teeth grinding against one another. What if this doesn’t work? What if we get caught? What if we… die.

   Joel sees that look in your eyes. The one he knows all too well. So he does what he does best. Comforts you when you need it.

   “C’mere, sweetheart.” He scoops you up, wraps his thick arms around you, and hugs away the fright. It just melts away like warm butter. “You alright?” His warm breath blows against the shell of your ear, his lips grazing your skin, making you feel so good and warm and safe.

   “As long as I’m in your arms, I’ll be alright,” you coo into the crook of his neck as your fingers dig into the flesh of shoulders. 

   “Then I’ll hold you for as long as I can,” he says quietly as he kisses the top of your forehead, silencing the gut-wrenching fizzle in your chest that tells you you’re running out of time. The night can’t last forever.

   “Promise you’ll never let go?” There’s a catch to your voice, something broken, fading—like the light inside you. But Joel holds the lamp up, so you never have to fade to black. 

   “I promise.” And he does. You hear it in the softness of his words. He promises to always keep you safe…

   The room turns into silence, only the faint chirps from grasshoppers outside, the hoot of an owl somewhere in the blowing trees. You wish you could just walk out that front gate with your hand in Joel’s. Strut right past the armed guards, turn invisible for the hour it’d take to get past this city. Maybe then you’d really be free.

   Shifting your weight, you adjust yourself atop his broad chest and look at him with a fixed gaze. “You really think we can make it?”

   He nods and strokes lightly at the back of your head, your hair tangling in his fingers. “I know we’ll make it.”

   “I believe you.” Giving him a sweet smile, you take your nails and scratch them along his greying scruff, memorizing how it feels to touch him. Really touch him. This time it’s not just your imagination. 

   Joel brushes the pad of his thumb along your cheek, soft strokes like he’s running a paint brush over your skin. “When we get there, I’m gonna take you on the best date of your life.”

   “Oh?” You giggle, tilting your face to the side so you can admire the handsome man in front of you. 

   “Mhm,” he hums out, watching you through lovesick eyes.

   “Enlighten me,” you challenge with a smirk.

   “Hmm. Let’s see.” He traces a line down your arm slowly, savoring the feel of your skin. “We could start by me takin’ you out for a nice, fancy steak dinner. Top it off with some chocolate cake.”

   “Go on. I’m listening,” you murmur out dreamily.

   He strokes along the back of your neck, sending tingles down your spine. “Could drive you down to the lake. Make a little bed in the back of the truck. Watch the stars in the night sky.”

   He’s such a romantic. How’d you get so lucky? If you were never placed with the Waterfords, you never would’ve met Joel.

   “I like the sound of that,” you lull against his chest, your fingers still scratching along his smooth, clipped beard.

   “Yeah?” he smiles, asks you to elaborate, so you do.

   “Sounds so romantic,” you drawl out in a thick cloud of admiration, picturing it through the fog of your mind. 

   You adore this man so much.

   “Well, I am the romantic type,” he smirks playfully, his Texas accent thick on his tongue. 

   “I can see that.” You press a sweet kiss to his cheek, settle back into him as one of his big arms snakes around your back.

   Tilting his head in curiosity, he murmurs out, “And if by chance we have another guest with us then?” One of his hands finds your stomach. As he flattens his palm over your bare skin, he lingers there like he’s waiting to feel something other than the butterflies flitting in your belly.

   “Then?” You try to read him, but it’s pretty damn obvious. He’d love to have a baby with you. 

   A crooked smile frames over his mouth. Makes his eyes a little brighter. “Maybe we’d put on a record, get nice and cozy in bed, cuddle till we both fall asleep. You in my arms…”

   “Sounds like the perfect date,” you muse as his hand slides atop yours.

   “It will be, sweetheart. It will be.” And there’s that promise again in his deep drawl. Something to hold on to.

   As he tangles his fingers in yours, he pauses. “You know, if we would’ve met when America wasn’t like this, when it wasn’t a prison, I think I’d have found you either way. Given you a family.” 

   Given you a family. He wants to give you a family…

   “You are my family,” you verify with a big smile. And he is. He has been since the day you met him months ago. 

   “Jus’ as you are mine.” 

   Craning his neck forward, he brushes his lips over yours, steals a kiss like he steals your breath every single time he even looks at you. Even that first day that you saw him in the garden, you just knew he’d be your undoing.

   Biting your bottom lip, you ponder for a moment. Wonder what this could become in a broken world. “Do you think…” You pause, unsure if you should continue. But the tilt of his head and warm eyes tells you that you should. So you ask, setting the question free like a string on a loose kite. “Do you think it’d be a boy or a girl?”

   He hums, mulling over the question as he stretches his arm up, flexing his muscles while his fingers run through his messy curls. Then, he smiles. One that’s gigantic and all-knowing. “A girl.” The answer makes you light up a bit.

   “Yeah?” You daydream for a second, trying to snatch an image of what she’d be like. She’d probably be so brave. As brave as her daddy. Must have the cutest laugh. One that floats through warm summer air and fills you with joy.

   “Yeah,” he confirms as his thumb brushes against your bottom lip. “I just have this weird feeling it’ll be a girl.”

   A girl. You’d love to have Joel’s little girl.

   “What would you name her?” he wonders out loud as your eyes light up like fireflies.

   Chewing your bottom lip, you think hard on the question. But it doesn’t take you long until one is right there dancing on the tip of your tongue.

   “Ellie,” you reply with a soft smile, already certain.

   “Ellie…” he breathes out quietly, like he’s drawing the letters on the wall with permanent ink. “I like it. That’s a pretty name.”

   “I think so,” you smile as you run your fingers through his tousled locks, enjoying every second you can continue doing this.

   “Bet she’d have your eyes,” he drawls out as a heartstopping smile appears on his face. 

   “Just like she’d have your smile.” You caress the side of his face with your fingers, nuzzle your nose against his, pour out affection while you still can. 

   “Our own little family,” he sighs out. You can almost map out the daydreams flitting across his brown eyes. Can almost see exactly what he does. 

   “One day,” you whisper out faintly.

   “We’ll be free. Happy. Safe.” 

   “Yes. Safe…”

   One day, you will get away from this place. Whether it’s months from now or just barely weeks. Joel will get you and Sarah out, and he’ll take the two of you far, far away. 

   Well, the three of you. 

   It’s inevitable now. You will have his baby. Mrs. Waterford won’t give up the chance to have you get pregnant. She’s too desperate, too soulless and selfish of a person. She’d rather cheat the system and use a forbidden way than not have a child. But your baby will never be hers. Your baby will have you and Joel’s DNA tied together like a web. And you won’t give that up. You’d rather die by fire. 

   Maybe that’s what will happen if you don’t get out in time. You’ll just wither away like the crumpled leaves of winter. But Joel won’t let you. No. He’ll be the rock you need through this treacherous valley of death. He’ll be exactly what you need, just like he’s always been. 

   So you nuzzle against his neck, bury yourself in his warmth as he wraps his strong arms around you. And then you doze off to sleep, breathe this moment in like it’s the last breath you’ll ever take. 

   If this place is the desert, Joel’s the stream of fresh water that never stops flowing. He’ll keep you hydrated, safe in a place you thought had no happy endings. But isn’t Joel that? Yes, he is. 

   He’s your happy ending that’ll set you free from Gilead. 

[pome-seed]

The Soldier's Keeper ★ 25

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Summary: Reflection on the past, and the present, reminds both you and Bucky just where you are. And where you are together.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Mentions of trauma and torture. Mention of pain and mental health. Angst. I really like this one

Song Rec: I miss you, I'm sorry by Gracie Abrams

Authors Note: Please comment, I love interacting with you guys! Be kind!ALSO, if you want to be apart of the taglist, let me know :)

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

Sometimes you remembered those days in captivity. Sometimes, as you stared down at the hole in your leg, you remembered. 

You remembered the smell of the air.

Chemicals and dust.

You remembered the tastes.

Dry bread and the feeling of a gag on your tongue.

You remembered the look in Bucky’s eyes every time he saw you walk through those doors.

You remembered how defeated he was. How devoid of life. But never empty. 

No, never empty. 

Bucky was almost constantly bursting at the seams. He was throbbing and aching and bleeding.

He’d watch you with that look in his eye like he couldn’t understand you. Like he couldn’t understand your kindness, or your smile, or your soft touch. He’d look at you with longing for freedom. With a desperation to be where you were, to be allowed to stand and move and breathe.

He looked at you like he was a prisoner of his own flesh, and he was.

Because there was no freedom for Bucky.

There was no life where he could ever be free. He could see it, he could hear it, but he could never touch it. Never grasp it.

It would always slip through his fingers.

You heard a quote once, one that used to make your stomach twist over trivial romantic tragedies in your youth. But you think of it now, and think of Bucky.

“I will leave such an imprint on your heart that anyone you entertain after me will have to know me to understand you.”

A quote you once thought to be so beautiful, so melancholy, now drenched in blood.

Because who was Bucky now, without Hydra? 

Who were you without Hydra?

Who were you without each other?

There was a thread, a rope, a thin trail of barbed wire that tied you all together and knotted itself around your throats.

There was no escape from the tragedy that linked you.

And there was no wisp of freedom that Hydra couldn’t taint. There was no fresh air, no open road, no article of clothing, no gentle touch, that wasn’t overshadowed by who he once was. And what they’d done.

There was no world to him now that was free.

But he lied to himself, and he lied to you.

You’d look him in the eye and accept it, pleading with yourself to believe it. You wanted to believe it. You wanted him to believe it. 

You wanted to feel alive. You wanted to be free.

You wanted to look Bucky in the eye and smile and tell him you could go anywhere together, run wild and reach for the stars. But it was impossible. 

It was all a lie. 

And lies were all you had left now. All there was to push you forward.

You’re okay. You’re safe. We’re happy. We can make do. We’ll go somewhere nice, one day. We’ll be something to be proud of. 

We’ll be happy.

It was all some form of a lie. 

Your memories were now tied with who you were at your core. You could remember who you were before. You could remember the feeling of laughter. You could remember your friends' voices. Your old home. Your pets. Your roommate. Your bed. You could remember everything you ever were and ever wanted.

But it's changed. 

And those memories were all you had left. 

So you looked at Bucky, and tried to make it better.

You tried to lean on him, find safety in the cold brush of his fingers. You tried to show him what life could be. 

You’d take him to the shotty bakery down the street and spend your little bits of pocket money on an array of slices of cake. You’d show him what sugar and happiness could taste like.

You’d buy dvds and play them on a scratchy machine you picked apart in a thrift store. You’d introduce him to songs of the past, and those of the present. You’d ask him to dance- though he never would. Not like this. So you would dance around him. 

You’d walk the streets with him, feeling the sun on your skin- too afraid that one day you’d never feel it again. You’d pick flowers and bring them to your cold, haunted home. 

You’d window shop and tell Bucky about all the things you should plan for one day- like buying that dress on the corner. Or picking up that stray cat and bringing it home. Or buying paint and replacing that faded red star with something Bucky wanted. 

He’d listen, smiling at your attempts to distract yourself from the life you now lived.

And he’d stay there, in that place. Thinking of his past. His future. His doomed soul.

But it all felt just a little bit easier beside you, like he could lean on you and you’d bear just a bit of that weight.

And you always did. 

He could never understand it, but you did it. You were weak and broken and scared, but you did it. You took him at face value and welcomed him into the home that was your heart.

Even with all you’d suffered, for him. Even with every bit of pain caused by his presence.

He couldn’t forget the sounds of your screams. 

He’d heard them more times than he could ever bear. 

Down the halls from the basement level lab. Through the walls. At his feet, while he was chained and forced to witness as Rumlow’s fist connected with your face.

He’d felt your blood on his skin. He’d felt you slip away. 

He’d watched you say goodbye to him. 

He couldn’t take it.

And he realized, you were all he had left. 

You were it.

  You were home and freedom and safety and relief.

 You were it. 

You couldn’t see it. But together, you were twining together something unbreakable. Call it trauma, call it pain, call it understanding, call it whatever you want. It was there. It was there and it was all you two knew to be true.

You picked through the small collection of DVDs in the corner by the bed. Old music, scratched and faded. But beautiful. 

You clicked open one of the cases and pushed it into the little player you had. 

Gentle melancholy piano drifted through the air. 

Bucky looked up from his corner of the room, his journal in his lap. You caught his gaze with a wry smile. No words were shared. You moved the music box to the table and climbed to your feet. Shuffling forward, you held your hands out to Bucky.

He lifted a brow at you. “What?”

“C’mere,” you wiggled your fingers at him. He stiffened, glancing at the music box, then at you. You waited, patient as ever. He pushed off the floor to stand. 

You didn’t retract your hands. 

He stared down at your palms, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. You waited.

The music picked up, gentle guitar and violin twisting together to create something beautiful, yet painful. Something you two were familiar with.

Bucky slid his flesh hand in yours. 

You moved, grasping the cold steel of his prosthetic hand as well. His breath caught. You tugged him back into the center of the small apartment. He followed.

He’d always follow.

“What are you doing?” He whispered, his voice caught in his throat. 

You slowly began to sway, moving his hands with you. “I’m dancing. And I’m making you dance with me.”

He huffed, a wry smile on his lips. But words were lost on him. He couldn’t find them. Because what was there to say?

He hadn’t danced in decades. Since the night before his deployment. He used to love dancing. He used to find it fun and freeing.

But he didn’t have to say any of that. 

Because he never had to explain himself with you. 

So he stood there stiffly while you swayed, moving his arms with you. The music swelled, picking up into a beautiful symphony of instruments, melting together with an angelic voice. 

The lyrics were muffled by the poor speaker quality, but you felt it. You could hear the emotion. You looked up at Bucky, tugging on his arms. 

He fought himself as he stared down at you, his stomach twisting. He released your hand from his flesh one, his palm sliding around the small of your back.

You suppressed a shiver, stepping into his space as he pulled you just a bit closer. To your shock, he began leading you, adding more structure to your slow sway. 

Your fingers swept over the smooth metal of his other hand, his mechanical knuckles wrapped around yours. You smiled, closing your eyes as you strained to hear the music clearer. But Bucky never looked away from you.

He never could.

And he never understood it.

Whatever this was.

Whatever you two were.

He didn’t know friendship, kinship, relationships, like he once did. He didn’t know people like he once did.

But he knew you. 

He knew your voice. Your touch. Your heart. And that's all he needed.

A/N: I wrote this one just now and I really like how it came out. Sad, but beautiful, y'know?

@rafesgurl @pleasecallmeunhinged @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @frog-fans-unite @lonelyghosts-stuff @cherryandsugar @a-world-with-pure-imagination @unicornqueen05 @cupids-mf-arrow @sharkylalala @littlesuniee @meineguete @hawkinsavclub1983 @theconsultingdoctor10 @dollface-xoxo @bloodmocha @natalia42069 @nicolebarnes @fallen-w1ngs

[vivsinkpot]

Motifs That Make Your Story Stick With People.

Motifs are more than vibes — they’re threads your readers follow without even realizing it. Here are some powerful ones by genre:

Romance

1. The Unfinished Letter

A confession that was never sent, a page torn halfway through — the kind of silence that says more than words ever could.

2. Worn-in Clothing

A lover’s coat still carrying their scent, a scarf borrowed and never returned. Intimacy without touch. Presence in absence.

3. The Empty Chair

Always set, never filled. Waiting becomes a quiet ritual. It’s not just about who’s missing — it’s about who you’re still hoping for.

4. Dancing (but not quite together)

Spinning at opposite ends of a room. Always out of sync. You almost touched, and didn’t — and that almost is what lingers.

5. A Shared Song

The one that plays at just the wrong time. In the supermarket. At a wedding. On the radio. A melody that aches like memory.

6. The Locked Drawer

Something hidden, maybe for protection, maybe out of fear. A love letter, a photograph, a ring. What’s kept secret still speaks.

7. Ghosts of Firsts

First glance. First argument. First goodbye. The early moments replay — not because they’re gone, but because they still matter.

8. Parallel Lives

The two of you live close — same café, same bookstore — but never meet. Until you do. And suddenly, everything clicks too well.

9. The Rain-Soaked Confession

A classic for a reason. It’s not about weather — it’s about chaos, vulnerability, cleansing, and raw emotion colliding all at once.

10. The Held Breath

Before a kiss. Before a touch. Before a truth. The pause between. The suspended yearning. The moment you want to live in forever.

Fantasy

1. The Prophecy Misread

Everyone thinks they know what it means — until it’s too late. The chosen one, the foretold fall, the wrong name. Destiny misinterpreted, yet inevitable.

2. Blood on Ancient Stone

A ritual, a sacrifice, a curse reawakened. Magic that demands a price — and history that bleeds into the present.

3. The Forest That Whispers

It’s alive, not with words, but memory. Paths shift. Trees remember. If you stray too far, you might never leave — or come back changed.

4. A Name That Holds Power

Speak it, and the sky cracks. Bind it, and a person is no longer free. The right name can open doors, or destroy worlds.

5. The Mirror That Lies

Or tells the truth too cruelly. A reflection that isn’t quite yours. A twin self trapped behind glass, waiting to be let out.

6. The Star That Falls

Not a wish — a warning. A guide, a lost god, a life flung from the heavens. You’re not meant to touch it, but you do.

7. The Blade That Refuses You

Not everyone can wield it. Not because you’re not strong, but because it knows. The weapon chooses the worthy — or the damned.

8. The Disguised Royal

Crownless, cloaked, quietly watching. They move through the world unknown, until the moment they must rise — and rule.

9. The Last Dragon Egg

Forgotten, fossilized — until it pulses with warmth. Legacy, extinction, hope. One life that could reshape an entire world.

10. The Map That Draws Itself

You wake, and a new line has appeared. Paths shift, dangers emerge, and someone — or something — is guiding your journey.

Mystery/Thriller

1. The Missing Hour

A chunk of time no one can account for. It’s not just gone — it’s hiding something. And the truth lies in what’s been forgotten.

2. The Locked Room

No windows. One entrance. No way out. Yet something — or someone — disappeared. It’s not a puzzle. It’s a trap.

3. The Photograph That Shouldn’t Exist

Everyone claims they were never there. And yet, there they are — in the background, staring at the camera. Smiling.

4. The Phone That Rings Once

Just one call. Just one word. No caller ID. And when you try to call back, there’s no record it ever happened.

5. Footsteps That Stop Midway

A trail in the snow. Mud tracked across the floor. And then — nothing. As if the person vanished, or was taken.

6. The Case Gone Cold

A file gathering dust. A girl who vanished. A detective who can’t let it go. Everyone’s moved on — except the one who matters.

7. The Voice On The Tape

Distorted, but familiar. Breathing between words. A secret only they would know. And they’re supposed to be dead.

8. The Key With No Lock

Left in your mailbox. Hidden in your coat. Ancient, brass, worn by time — and it doesn’t fit any door in your house.

9. The Red Herring

It’s so obvious, it has to be true — until it isn’t. The character you trusted. The story you followed. And now, you’re lost.

10. The Fog That Won’t Lift

It clings to everything. Cars vanish inside it. People say they hear voices. But the worst part? The fog smells like smoke.

Stories stay with us because of moments — not just plot twists, but symbols, patterns, echoes.

Motifs are more than decoration — they’re the emotional fingerprints of your story.

The way a name repeats. The fog that returns. The touch that doesn’t happen.

These are the threads readers don’t forget.

So plant them with care. Let them whisper. Let them haunt.

Let your story echo in the silence after it ends.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Honey Girl. Chapter Ten.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Eleven. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Chapter Synopsis - The two of you have some time to yourselves for what feels like the first time in forever.

Pairing - Dadsbestfriend!Bucky Barnes x female reader - soulmate au

Warnings - smut. cursing. mention of a panic attack. initial hospital setting. one alcohol mention.

Word Count - 4k

Authors Note - 10!! 10 whole chapters!! can you believe it!! pancake recipe taken from mr carlos sainz - thanks carlito <3. double date next chapter (with protective/jealous bucky, as requested ;)). and the much awaited conversation… coming very soon. thanks for the love and support and kindness. it means the world, always <3

as always, if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging!! reblogs are the only way to circulate my writing, which generates more of it. feel free to send me a comment or an inbox, too!! thanks, my loves!! <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

“Before I came down to find you, your Mom raised a question with me.”

“… which was?”

He takes a deep breath. Exhales it shakily.

“She asked me how long you and I have been soulmates.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“We can’t sit out here forever, honey.”

You stretch out your legs from where they’ve been tucked up against your chest, chin resting on your knees. Bucky places a hand on your thigh, thumb rubbing gentle circles.

“We can.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss into the top of your head.

“I know it’s scary, but we can’t run from this any longer. We’re just going to have to face it head on.”

“I know,” you sigh, taking his hand in yours. “I’m just…”

You trail off, leaving words unspoken in the air like particles of dust in the sunlight.

“What are you so afraid of? Is it that they won’t support us? Honey girl, they aren’t gonna have much of a choice. We are literally soulmates.”

You’re trying to find a way to explain, but none of your thoughts are coherent enough to articulate into something comprehensible.

“I don’t know, Buck. At first, I think it was that. But now? Maybe I just feel guilty that we’ve kept something so huge a secret for so long. I used to tell my parents everything - by choice. That’s how we’ve always been. And suddenly, the biggest event of my life happens, and I… didn’t tell them?”

“You’re letting this guilt eat you alive, baby. Listen, I feel it too. You’re not alone in this. Do you know how many times your parents have asked me about dating in these last eighteen months? How many times we’ve talked about soulmates? And I guess I never lied… but I haven’t exactly told the truth. I’m just as guilty as you think you are.”

“I’m sorry,” you confess, resting your head against his broad shoulder. “I’ve had such tunnel vision with this whole situation. I’ve been selfish. I should have thought about you more.”

“You haven’t had to.”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve got nothing to apologise for, honey baby. You’ve never had to ‘think about me more’, because you’ve known how I felt this whole time. In here.”

He places a hand over your heart. You close your eyes, letting the warmth from his palm bleed into your chest. The weight of it grounds you back down to Earth, tethered to your soulmate in more ways than one.

“That’s the beauty of it,” he continues. “You don’t have to guess how I’m feeling, or when I’m feeling it - because I’m always telling you. And you’re always listening.”

“I don’t deserve you,” you whisper, squeezing his hand where it’s still linked with yours.

“The Universe disagrees,” he whispers back, leaning in to kiss the spot underneath your ear. “I disagree.”

It’s all so tender, so gentle, so real, that a lump in your throat forms instantly. You blink rapidly, fighting back tears as you press your side into his. If you could sew yourself into his ribcage and live there forever, resting your head on his beating heart, you would.

“Come on,” he coaxes carefully, pulling you to your feet and watching to see if you’re steady enough. “Let’s do this thing.”

You stare up at him, lost in those ocean blue irises. For a moment, you swear you see the waves moving in them, crashing against the shore in a motion so comforting, it reminds you of home.

“I love you.”

Bucky smiles at you, pupils dilating and heart beating that little bit faster. He’ll never get sick of hearing those words.

“I love you more than all the stars in the sky, honey girl. More than anything.”

Tangling your fingers with his, you inhale deeply before taking the first step forwards, towards the front doors of the hospital.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

When you reach your Dad’s room, you drop Bucky’s hand as if by instinct. When he links your fingers once more, you panic momentarily, before realising it’s futile.

They already know. There’s no point in hiding it anymore.

You walk through the door hand in hand, pressed into each others sides as if it’ll keep you standing upright. Maybe it will.

Your Mom instantly bolts out of her chair, coming over to assess you. She looks you up and down, cradling your face in her hands as she checks you over.

“You were gone a long time, sweetheart. You okay? Have you been crying?”

Bucky lets go of you to give you some space, but doesn’t go too far. You can still feel his warmth from behind you as you watch your Mom’s eyebrows furrow with worry.

“I had… I think it was, um… like a - a panic attack, or something. I don’t know. I just got overwhelmed.”

Your voice sounds so small again, so fragile. You mentally chastise yourself for not being stronger for her.

“Oh, honey.”

She pulls you into her chest, stroking your hair just like she did when you were a child and had a nightmare. You’d run across the hall and into your parents room - your Mom would always bolt upright when she heard little feet on the wooden floors, waiting for you with open arms.

“Your Dad is gonna be fine. I promise you, the Doctors have said he’ll make a full recovery.”

“It’s true.”

The voice is croaky and rusted from misuse, but it unmistakably belongs to the man lying in the hospital bed.

You make your way over and sit down carefully, cautious and calculated. Your Dad takes your hand, stroking his thumb across your skin.

“I’m gonna be just fine, kid. I know I scared you, and I’m really sorry. But I’m okay. Promise.”

You smile at him, genuinely this time, before leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“You guys should go home.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Go home, get some rest. The two of you look almost as exhausted as Lori does.”

Your Mom laughs, shaking her head. You chuckle, watching them. There’s no one funnier than your soulmate.

“I think we should stay a little longer, Jack.”

Bucky’s voice has all three of your heads whipping around to face him.

“Buck, please be on my side here. You’re tired. Go home, sleep it off. All I’m gonna do for the next twenty four hours is sleep anyway. There’s no point in you sitting here watching me like a bunch of creeps.”

You chew your bottom lip, watching your Dad’s face carefully.

“Mom, Dad - we need to talk about-”

“I know, babygirl,” your Dad interrupts. “And we will. But not here, and not now. We’ll do it when I’m home. We can all sit on the couch and drink your Mom’s cherry lemonade and talk about how you and Bucky have been soulmates this entire time.”

“Not this entire time,” you grumble at his attempt at a joke.

“Seriously, you two. I won’t ask again. Go. Home.”

You look at your Dad for a moment, before averting your gaze to your Mom. They’re both wearing the exact same facial expression - the one they used to give you when you’d refuse your bedtime as a six year old on a school night.

“Come on, honey. You heard them. We’re practically dead on our feet.”

You rise from the bed reluctantly, pressing another kiss to your Dad’s cheek before doing the same to your Mom.

“Call me if anything changes, or if you need anything. I mean anything, you guys.”

They both nod as your Dad does a mock salute, laughing at himself.

Bucky extends his hand out for you. This time, you don’t hesitate to take it. You hold it tightly all the way back to his truck, and then all the way back home.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You and Bucky get ready for bed in silence, both of you flitting around your apartment as quickly as possible. You can’t wait to finally get under your duvet and lose the stress of the last twenty four hours.

The minute your head hits the pillow, you’re wide awake.

The exhaustion has seeped into your bones, making you weary but restless. You can’t settle, physically or mentally.

Bucky, on the other hand, is out like a light.

He looks so peaceful like this. The moonlight soaks through a gap in the curtains, illuminating his face like some sort of angel. His hair is a little longer than usual, stubble growing out across his sharp jawline. He looks rugged, a little rough around the edges. He’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

As if he can feel your gaze on him, he cracks an eye open, blinking to adjust to the dimly lit room. He has a pillow crease across his skin, cheek flushed pink with a dusty blush.

“You okay, baby?”

His voice is hoarse and all sleep heavy, rumbling through you like gentle summer thunder.

“Can’t sleep,” you whisper, trying to fight back tears. “I’m so tired, Buck. So fucking tired.”

“But you can’t sleep?”

He pulls you into his chest, tucking your head into the crook of his neck and stroking your hair soothingly.

“It’s like my body is exhausted, but my brain is wide awake,” you mumble into his bare skin. “Doesn’t make sense.”

“Nothing makes sense,” he chuckles lowly. “Nothing in this goddamn world makes sense. Except for me and you.”

Bucky spins you in his arms so your back is to his chest, bodies pressed together without an inch of space between you. Pressing a kiss into your neck, he starts mumbling.

“You just need to turn your brain off, baby. I know it’s easier said than done… so I’m gonna help you. All you need to do is focus on my voice, on my touch. Focus your attention on my hands on you, my lips on your skin. The heat of my body against yours.”

He skims his fingers down your side, gripping at your hips to ground you. He’s still kissing your neck, nipping occasionally to vary the sensation. He slips a hand down your front, cupping you over your underwear as you close your eyes, breathing him in. He smells like salt water and sea air and gasoline and home.

You cant your hips into his touch, trying to get him where you want him. Bucky takes the hint, slipping his hand into your panties and running a finger through your wetness. You groan, throwing your head back into his solid shoulder.

“Just switch off, honey baby. Give in to me.”

Bucky glides a finger into you, crooking it towards him. His palm hits your clit and you keen, whining all high pitched and breathy. His hips buck into your backside at the sound, and he chuckles.

“Fuck, you sound so sweet. Sweetest girl in the world.”

He adds another finger, using his thumb to circle your clit in precise, firm motions. You’re writhing against the mattress like a serpent, unable to stay still as Bucky takes you apart.

“Come for me, baby. Can feel you squeezin’ my fingers. That’s it, atta girl… ride my hand, take what you need. Wanna hear how pretty you sound when you come.”

Your entire body tightens up as you reach your climax, back arching away from Bucky as he continues to curl his fingers. He pulls you close, anchors you to him as you moan and shudder.

Your head is empty, besides the thought of your soulmate. All you can think about is Bucky.

Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky.

You take a stuttered inhale as you try to catch your breath, beads of sweat dripping down your back.

“You okay?”

He’s muttering into your shoulder, mouth never leaving your skin. You nod, linking your fingers with his where they rest on your waist.

“You didn’t come,” you whisper, leaning your head back into Bucky.

He kisses your cheek, chuckling lowly.

“This wasn’t about me,” he reassures. “It’s all about you, baby. Always is.”

The two of you breathe together for a little while, allowing you to come down from your high. Eventually, Bucky taps your thigh, nudging you up.

“Come on, honey. Get up and use the bathroom, and then we’ll sleep for the next week.”

You do as he says, crawling back into bed with limbs that feel like jelly.

“How you feelin’?” he asks as he pulls you into his side, resting your head on his chest.

“Fucking fantastic.”

He laughs and you can’t help but laugh too, as if by reflex.

“Yeah? No more racing thoughts in that pretty head of yours?”

“None. All I can think about is how much I want to sleep right now.”

Pressing a kiss onto the top of your head, Bucky tightens his arms around you.

“Then sleep, baby.”

You snuggle into your soulmates side, relaxing into the mattress.

“I love you,” you mumble into his skin.

“I love you,” he murmurs back. “Sweet dreams, honey girl.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

When you wake, you can’t tell if you’ve slept for five minutes or five days.

The sheets are crumpled, linen strewn across the bed as the pillows sit completely unmoved at the headboard. Sunlight filters in through the curtains, warming your skin that’s exposed to the sea soaked breeze.

You reach over to the other side of the mattress, seeking Bucky’s warmth. You’re met with empty space, and the sound of a throat clearing on the other side of the room.

The man in question is leaning against the doorframe, shirtless and sun kissed. His boxers are hugging his thighs just right, and you repress the urge to crawl over and sink your teeth into the muscle. Later.

“Morning or afternoon?” You croak out, watching as he softly smiles at your sleep addled voice.

“Morning. Eleven twenty four.”

You stretch your arms above your head, unaware of the way Bucky’s eyes are glued to your bare stomach.

“You want breakfast, or have you eaten?”

“Haven’t eaten yet. Was waiting for you.”

You slide down to the end of the bed where Bucky meets you, leaning down to press a minty kiss to your lips.

“Have you been awake long?”

He shakes his head, stealing another kiss.

“Ten minutes or so.”

“How’d you sleep?”

He moves some hair away from your face gently, the morning affection making you light up inside.

“Like a baby. Don’t think I moved once.”

You laugh, running your fingers over his bare shoulders.

“I can’t remember the last time I slept like that.”

“Me neither. I think we need to start prioritising sleep a little more.”

“It’s just… so hard,” you murmur, rising onto your knees on the bed so you’re face to face. “I don’t ever want to sleep when I have the most handsome man alive in my bed. I can think of many other things I’d rather be doing.”

He groans, chuckling lowly.

“Watch it,” he warns. “Or I’ll keep you in this bed all day. Won’t let you leave.”

“Is that a threat or a promise, Barnes?”

He football tackles you suddenly, both of you falling backwards into the plush sheets. You squeal, caught off guard as his hands squeeze your sides firmly.

“Keep running your mouth and see what happens, angel.”

You card your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly to get a reaction. When his eyes flutter closed, you breathe out a laugh.

“I’m so scared,” you tease, peppering his face with gentle kisses. “Like, quaking in my boots.”

He goes to retort, but is interrupted by the deafening sound of your stomach rumbling.

“If we weren’t about to get noise complaints from the neighbours about that hunger of yours, I would absolutely continue this. But…”

“We need to eat.”

“Yes, we do.”

You peck his cheek before jumping off the bed, stretching as you make your way to the kitchen. Bucky follows you eagerly. Of course he does.

You click the coffee maker on as you spin to face him where he’s leaning against the counter.

“I’m about to make you the best pancakes you’ll eat in your entire life, James.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Watch and learn, baby.”

When he doesn’t move, you walk him backwards, pulling out the bar stool from underneath the island.

“You just sit there and look pretty.”

He shakes his head with a smirk as you wink, turning on the stove and grabbing your bowls and utensils. He didn’t ask for a cooking lesson, but you’re about to give him one.

“The trick is to separate the egg whites from the yolks, and whip them. When they’re fluffy, you fold them into your mixture, and it makes the pancakes light and airy and gorgeous. Then you add honey, for extra sweetness.”

He watches you flit around the kitchen as if you’re the sun, bright and warm and radiant. He can’t take his eyes off you for a second. He couldn’t if he wanted to.

Bucky’s blinking back tears, suddenly, as you sway your hips while flipping the pancakes at the stove. He wants to drop to his knees, yell out to a higher power and ask what the hell he did to deserve someone like you. He’ll beg, if he has to, for someone, something, to make sure that he finds you in every universe, in every version of this crazy life.

“I love you,” you beam at him, as if you’ve read his mind. “I love you more than anything.”

Your grin is so blinding, so utterly brilliant that the entire room lights up with it. Your own form of electricity.

“I… I-”

“I know, Buck.”

It gets like this, sometimes. Too overwhelming to put into words. To love someone more than anything, anyone - a love that knows no bounds - is completely indescribable.

So he doesn’t even try. He just nods at you, watching as your eyes light up at the sight of him.

“Will you pour us some coffee while I put these on a plate?”

“Anything you need,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair as he squeezes past you to grab the mugs. “Always.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You settle down to eat on the balcony, letting the midday sun warm you both up.

“I brought syrup, but, I also brought this.”

You hold out a plastic tub that contains a dark pink mixture, popping the lid off.

“Try it.”

Bucky sticks his little finger in, putting it in his mouth and sighing in contentment at the taste that coats his tongue.

“Good?”

“So good. What is it?”

“My homemade raspberry and lemon coulis. I make it to go on top of pancakes and waffles - it beats maple syrup any day.”

“You’re a genius.”

“So it’s been said,” you laugh, pouring it over your plate. “Now eat before they go cold.”

“Yes ma’am.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“You weren’t lying,” he says when he’s finished. “They were the best pancakes I’ve ever eaten.”

You laugh, sliding across to press your side into his.

“There’s a lot more where that came from. I have so many recipes I want you to try.”

“God, I’m so lucky. I have the most perfect soulmate in the world, and she’s a baker. What did I do to deserve you, hmm?”

You lean in to kiss him gently, licking across his lips. He tastes like raspberries and sugar and eight hours of sleep.

You’re sat in comfortable silence when your phone rings, startling you both.

“Hello?”

“Babe?”

“Lacie?”

“Hey!”

“Hi!”

You smile instantly, and Bucky does too, by default.

“Your Mom called me and told me about your Dad. She’s been keeping me updated over text. How are you guys holding up?”

“We’re good, honestly. It was a little touch and go at first, but now… we’re okay. All of us.”

“Good. I love you guys.”

“Love you too. So much.”

She sighs all deep and wistful, and you can’t help but chuckle.

“What’s up, Lace?”

“Well… I’m calling with a proposition. And I feel like you’re gonna say no, but your Mom already told me that I had to force you to do it, so.”

“Oh, God.”

“Come on a double date with me and Cameron tonight. Come for dinner and drinks with us.”

You take a deep breath, looking over at Bucky. He nods in agreement, encouraging you.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

Her surprise is undeniable, the octave of her voice rising ever higher.

“Yeah. I haven’t seen you in too long, and it’ll be good for me to meet Cameron, finally. Plus, we’re visiting my Dad this afternoon, so we have a free evening.”

“Oh my God, I am so excited! Okay, I’ll text you the address of where we’re eating. Cam knows so much about you already, he can’t wait to meet you. And I can’t wait to meet Bucky… again? I mean I’ve met him before, but not as your soulmate.”

“Yeah,” you giggle. “It’ll be good for everyone to get… reacquainted.”

“Exactly!”

“Alright, Lace. We’ve gotta get ready to visit my Dad, but I’ll see you later?”

“See you later, babe. I am so excited. See you then!”

She puts the phone down, and you can almost picture the cloud of perfume and pressed powder that’s about to rain down on her bedroom. You wish you were there to watch it happen, like old times.

“Our first double date, huh?”

“It’ll be our last if you don’t behave,” you tease, leaning in to peck Bucky’s lips.

“Don’t tempt me.”

You laugh into his mouth, running your fingers through the ends of his hair at the back of his neck. It’s the longest you’ve seen it, and it’s starting to curl all cute and soft and wispy.

“Come on. Let’s go see my Dad, and then spend hours mentally preparing ourselves for Storm Lacie.”

“I always liked her. Seemed good for you.”

“She is. She’s the best.”

Bucky wraps a strong arm around your shoulder as you swing your legs over his lap, burying yourself in his bare chest.

“You nervous?” he asks into your temple.

“A little, weirdly. Meeting each others soulmate is the kind of thing we’d talk about when we were kids. And now we’re doing it.”

“We can handle it,” he reassures, his thumb rubbing patterns into your arm. “We can handle anything, you and I.”

“Anything?”

“Anything, honey girl. Anything.”

tag list part one

@lillytracy6996 @securegorgon @roostersforevergirl @povlvr @val-writesstuff @dreadfulxives18 @1deadpool26 @abbygraceasd @nyutasgirl @mavrellover91 @winterslove1917 @f-this42 @skewedcherries @noisesinthedark @kandis-mom @black-cat-2 @harrystylesandthegoobs @vladsgirlxx @h0nestly-though @arienotari @nash-dara @wandaneedstherapy @galaxy-dusk @justherefortheficandsmut @cremebruleequeen @cjand10 @buggy14 @avengers-fixation @blueberrybambi @beautiful-loserr @sarah1barnes @miss-rebel-without-applause @ragingrainbowshipl @shamrockqueen @savemeroman @jenn-f @8crazy-freak8 @daddyjackfrost @openup-yourmind @adangerousbalance @mandijo17 @daddylorianisastateofmind @rcarbo1 @casa-boiardi @spideegwen @navs-bhat @mssbridgerton @asuni921 @middle-of-the-earth @mfrnchsk

[cherryvinyl-777]

I Like Me Better When I’m With You

Part 1

Ellie Williams x Reader

Summary: To get back at her ex girlfriend, your enemy Ellie Williams proposes an offer to you.

Warnings: none, enjoy! xo

Based on the book/move series To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before

“Come on, you’re my only option!”

God, how did you end up here? Sitting outside your university with Ellie Williams, the girl you’ve hated since primary school. No, that wasn’t a joke. As if ending up at the same high school in your small town wasn’t bad enough, you had both got accepted into the same damn university.

You stare at the tall auburn haired girl incredulously. “You have to be kidding.”

She sighs frustratedly as if she wasn’t the one asking you to pretend to be her date.

“I’m dead serious, okay? I just…I need something to make my ex jealous, and you’re perfect,” Ellie states, tapping the wooden table with her pointer finger.

You rub your temple, looking around the courtyard if only to reconnect with reality for a second. Ellie notices your hesitation and tries for a grin.

“You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it before,” She smirks, her foot now tapping on the pavement of the courtyard.

The thought practically makes you gag as you say, “As a matter of fact, I really haven’t. And anyways, what would I even get out of this little…scam?”

Ellie seems to ponder for a moment before she comes up with her answer, “Free rides to school. I’ve seen your driving, and uh…yeah,” She chuckles, glancing at you, “and…you’d even get invited to parties.”

You shoot her a glare, rolling your eyes a little too aggressively, “You’re all the same. Maybe I don’t want to get invited to parties, ever think of that?” You scoff.

Ellie gives you an apprehensive look and you just throw a fry at her face, making her laugh and proceed to eat the fry off the table.

“I’m gonna need an answer, L/N” Ellie urges, her hands interlocked together.

With a long sigh, you finally nod, causing Ellie to pump her fist.

“First rule, never do that again,” You state, pulling out a pencil and paper. Ellie stares at you, looking dumbfounded.

“You’re serious? You’re making rules?” She lets out an exaggerated sigh, holding her head in her hands.

You start writing the title of the list, “Fake Dating Rules”, causing Ellie to groan. You ignore her efforts to derail you and start listing.

“Okay…number one, no fist pumps,” You scribble down.

Ellie scoffs lightly at that, but stays silent after to watch you write.

“Rule two, absolutely no kissing,” You say matter of factly, barely even considering the fact that nobody would believe you were in a relationship with Ellie if you didn’t kiss her.

“What? Very funny, give me that,” Ellie snatches the paper from you, writing a rule of her own.

“Limit to…3 rules per person,” She scribbles down in the most god awful handwriting you’d ever seen in your life.

You can’t help but grin a little, “You just wasted one of yours.”

“Damn it,” Ellie whispers, causing you to roll your eyes.

After a half hour of bickering over what should be on the rule list and what could be left out, you had finally come to an agreement.

FAKE DATING RULES:

1. No fist pumps

2. No kissing

3. Limit to three rules per person

4. If fake relationship goes on longer than anticipated, must go on ski trip together

5. Ellie must watch ‘But I’m A Cheerleader’ with me

6. Y/N must watch ‘Love Lies Bleeding’ with me

You both take a moment to admire the completed list before Ellie interrupted.

“I think we should add one more rule,” She states, looking at you seriously.

You lean in a little, curious to see what this ‘final rule’ would be.

“You can’t fall in love with me, L/N.”

That earns her another french fry to the face before you look at her seriously as well, mocking her expression.

“That’s not gonna be a problem,” You counter, eating one of your french fries. Ellie just grins idiotically.

“We’ll see.”

an: had the best time writing this, felt so excited to get started on a fic like this after finishing s2 of xo kitty. based on the poll results, it looked like you guys wanted something like this, so i hope it’s what you had in mind! lots of kisses and ty for reading! <3

[blingblong55]

The Great War -141, Vladimir Makarov

Based on a request:

with the new mw3, lets do angst, something along the lines of "Somewhere in the haze, got a sense i've been betrayed" coming from us because 141 betrayed us horribly, which ended up in us getting tortured and then we pretennd its fine when it isnt. forget and forgive we lie and when we meet with Makarov, we tell them, 'oops sorry, forgot i was also a enemy at some point, guess its time to betray like real enemies do' and as we set Makarov free, we show that we have been working as his spy ever since they betrayed us. also can this be with a female reader and we also marry makarov behind their backs so thats why we betray so hard? i love u!

A/N: anon knew what they were doing with that ask…anyway, here you go my love…betrayal as a meal <3

--- F!Reader, soldier!reader, enemy!reader, betrayal, mentions of torture and violence

A/N: also, not much of an angst since I don't want to kill Soap in this one...but I hope you like it

[Present day]

File #21712

Name: [Readers Last, First name]

Alias: Grim

Callsign: Bravo 0-5

Gender: F

DOB: [Redacted]

Rank: 2nd Lt.

Affiliations: 

-TF 141 (Former)

-Kasper Team (dissolved)

-Konni Group (Current)

Status: Alive. Threat.

Summary:

Deadly, fast and a killing machine. Soldier was trained as a recon sniper and has been trained by allied forces as an insertion specialist. SAS has recognised this soldier as a necessity for most of its joint operations. Decorated with high awards and recognition by all military forces. TF 141 acquired soldier after a mission in Al Mazrah. Capable of killing all those that come between her and the goal, will not hesitate to harm enemies.

---------------------- 

The file was there, Laswell and all of the men in the team stared at it. What have they done, was all that played in their minds. To betray a soldier that has been wanted by all allied forces, by all teams and now losing you so quickly to a Russian group. To think your hands will be responsible for their demise. One torture room, where you begged as they did vile acts against you. Truth yelled by your gravelly throat, only to have Price ask for more of your blood. "How did he get to her so quickly?" Gaz asked, baffled to have lost you to the man you hated when this all began. "He had her all along," Kate spoke. Nikolai shook his head. "But how? We were her family," a betrayed Ghost said. "We betrayed her first," Price recalls. 

[Eight years ago]

There had been suspicion someone within the base was working with KorTac, a double agent. All fake puzzles led to an unsuspecting, then officer cadet, you. Ghost and Soap made sure to tie you nicely to a chair. The same one that watched you bleed the truth as they cut looking for lies. You were always the hunter, never the prey. "Tell us, R/N, why the fuck were you talking to KorTac!" Price made sure to have the young Lieutenant punch you each time you stayed silent. Your blood on the walls of the torture-...interrogation room. "I told you Price, it isn't me!" Your eyes poured the truth they never saw. 

"Fucking answer us!" Soap, more than ever hurt, slapped you. You play tough, but this hurts, the people you trusted with your life are now wanting to end it. An oath you hold close to you, now far away, or so they believed. The patch you wore with pride, is now ripped from your uniform. No longer friendly but an enemy. You knew what this meant. Ghost took his knife out, began to approach your neck with the sharp blade and before he took your life, Gaz walked in. A small-figured soldier is being pushed into the room. "Tell them what you told me!" Garrick barked. "I-it's me! I'm the one who is talking to KorTac," voice filled with fear, rightfully so. Ghost let go of the fisted uniform in his hand, and watched as your body fell forward. Soap, look of regret, held you in his arms. 

On the way to the medic centre, Ghost was by your side as you kept whispering it wasn't you. The scar he made, is forever to be kept. Days of healing, hours of apologies. Nights when you didn't hear it, but the cold lieutenant apologised with a stream of tears on his face. A blade he cared for, neared your death. 

A/N: Makarov's information has been updated for the reboot, so I'm basing myself on that

[Seven years ago]

[Saint Petersburg, Russia]

You visited the country as a civilian and bumped into a man on your way to your hotel. "Sorry, mate," you kept walking and then days later, the same man appeared in the hotel's lobby. Bumped into you and then as an apology for spilling your wine, he offers dinner. 36-year-old Vladimir was still not illustrated, not to any of his future enemies or hunters at least. You learned many things with him that evening, from his young years in the military and how his night had gotten better since meeting you. "It's wonderful, to have such a beauty like you visit such a dull country." He had you blushing and knew how to mess with your young heart. 

"You're just saying that, Vlad," a smile on your lips. It was bizarre how he went from Vladimir to Vlad, a short name that meant too much to a man like him. "Well, it's true, my dear," his smile winning you over. He didn't know your real job and you didn't know his. That night, you made a friend, someone you hold dear. That night, he made a lover, a puppet to his future. 

[Six years ago]

[middle of nowhere]

"Where are you taking me?" a blindfold on you as your boyfriend, Vlad, took you to yet another date. "You'll see my dearest," he whispers against your soft skin. Warm breeze hit your skin. The ocean, as free as you and him yearned to be. "Suprise my love," his thick accent melting your heart. The blindfold off you, you smile and hug him. This day, all truth was told, no arguments, just two lovers understanding each other's lives. "No no, my love, I would never hurt you," a promise he knows to keep. "And you wouldn't betray me, right love?" His hands cupped your delicate face as you nod. "I would never," you whisper as you feel his lips fall on yours. 

From then on, no one knew who he was to you. But to his comrades, friends and family you were the girl who held his heart. The task force all thought you were just like them, stuck to the mission and not to civilian love. Dancing with the devil, making love to him and promising your all. An engagement ring that hangs with your dog tags. Secret love to never be told. 

[Five years ago]

"Who is this?" Soap and Gaz looked at the photograph. "Vladimir Makarov, a Russian nationalist, born during the USSR," Laswell responded. "He's the target," her lips said. A knot at your throat, this can't be, you have to warn him. "Y'alright love?" Ghost's hand on your back. You nod. "Yeah, I'm just thinking," you turn to him. He nods, "Right, well, what do you think we should do?" He encouraged you, the new lieutenant of the team, no longer a cadet officer. It was something he pushed you to, to be the best. Proud smile on him when you ran up to him with the news. "I say we start with intel," you look at the photograph once more. It was your Vlad, no doubt. "Right, sergeants with me, Ghost and Grim stay behind for Laswell's next intel ask," Price nodded and left. 

Days passed and Operation Golf was established. Ghost taught you how to perfect your ghillie suit. He just liked how you tried to make yours better than his, which always turned into, 'which Lt. wore it better'.

By midnight, as Ghost went to sleep, you left base to meet with Vladimir. Price and the two other men in a different country, looking for him. "What is it, my love?" His gloved hands held your face. "They are now gathering intel on you. They believe you are still in Russia," you spoke in Russian. He chuckles, "Shame that I'm here, isn't it," his lips meet yours. Your nose is cold and now warmed by his kiss. "Don't trust no one, not even Ivan," you warn him. "I only trust my beautiful love," he kisses you again. "Now, let me hold my precious darling before she plays pretend." And that night, was the first of many rendezvous's he took for you whilst you play ally to the task force. 

[Four years ago]

You were on an operation with some old teammates from a past squad when Price got a hold of you. "Grim, it's that Captain Price guy!" A teammate calls out. You answer the call. "Prisoner 627 is now in Russia," Price proudly spoke. 627, a number unique to the case the military had opened for Makarov alone. Your wedding ring is hung with the dog tags. "Copy, out." You say over the call. That night, your bedroom was not filled with the call of your dearest lover. It's strange, to play pretend with the family you made as a soldier and to play feign with the man you call home as a wife. All in the name of love and war. 

Months pass and you play calmly. No husband, just an enemy in some Russian prison. "Y'okay bonnie?" Soap sat beside you during mess hall. "Yeah, just a bit tired from that training," you lie. The sleepless nights you have thought about your husband. You look around the table, no one knowing you knew what would come next from Konni. In the end, it wouldn't be you who got betrayed again. Not tortured, especially not by the men in your husband's team that guarded your life with theirs. 

Mission after mission, you would go to a country near Russia. Have meetings with people on your husband's side, and hear how he would escape prison. Asked you to stay away from his people when the day arrived. Play good, he would remind you. You know the date, time, how and when it would happen. The plan is all memorised in your head. You knew the people that would break him free, you knew it all and yet no one in 141 was aware. 

[Three years ago]

On yet another mission, you got news of Vladimir. He isolated himself, prepared for when he would see you again. Sent letters to you occasionally. Details of love no one would see from a man like him. A love for all movie lovers to never witness. You roamed the home he set out to be his and yours, no one, not even his best soldier knew that home existed. It was days like these that you wished to have stayed in bed and kissed his body, all details to be taken in for when you waited to once more kiss him. 

The picture of the secret wedding was held between your fingers. A smile he dreams to see as he awaits the prison break. The man who was set to believe evil held your hand and promised an entire lifetime of love. "I'm sorry," you whisper as your gaze focuses on the 141 emblem. 

"Never be sorry, never, what they did to you is cruel, you never do that to a woman who was oathed in," fury escaped his lips. It was the night he finally told you all about him. He kissed the scars that the torture room left. In that moment, all else who dared question you, especially the rats of 141 would pay for what they did to his darling. Maybe he did corrupt you, but those scars, the lies they believed and the truths they never heard from you, were way before he met you. He believed in loyalty, good or evil, opposing or not. And the way you told him how you held the oath of being a soldier dear to you, he admired it. He believes that loyalty is essential, and if you are loyal to who you are, he applauds it. 

[Two years ago]

A mission gone wrong, a phone call from within the prison. All he sacrificed to just hear you say, "I'm fine, honey." With that oh-so-soft voice of yours. A sigh of relief came from his lips. This was a reminder he would always be around even from within a guarder tower of hell. His men would always guard you, even if they fought 141, you were never the target. KorTac had a target on their backs when Vladimir found out they were the ones responsible for the bullet on your shoulder. "What is it?" He asked the guard. "The girl has been injured, gunfight at some mission." He had people that worked for him within the guards, and when the news arrived to him, that's when for the first time in his life, he feared life and a gun. Vladimir Makarov is a villain in everyone's eyes. In your eyes that hold paradise, he is peace. He is Vlad, your husband. 

Whilst waiting for Soap to get cleared from the medics, you played with the ring on your necklace. "Oh, R/N, has some lover?" Gaz was the first to notice. Ghost's stare went to you, eyes wide as he heard the words he never needed to hear. Your blush told the words his heart never wanted to hear. 

[One year ago]

[Las Almas, Mexico]

"Are you threatening us?" Ghost asked and in that moment, he made you back away. Guarding you with his body. Betrayal, the first of many he would see with you. That became the night you escaped the shadows of Commander Graves. Soap was somewhere in the city, Ghost and you escaped every chance the shadows had at catching you. Imprisonment is something you got Colonel Vargas out of. Ironic. By the end, you killed him, the man who used his shadows, in some explosion. "You alright, love?" Ghost asked as you went to the aircraft quietly. "Yeah, Mexico just tired me," your head hung as you played with the dog tags. "Who's the lover?" He finally acknowledged the ring. "No one, it's just a silly joke," you lie, something he knew well. "Hmm, yeah...a silly joke," he turned away from you. 

[Present day, 21 November 2023 ] 

[London, England]

The last time you saw them all as a team, well, now that you were sure you'd be a newfound enemy. With Makarov now out of prison, prisoner 627, your love called for him. As Ghost looked through the CCTV cameras, one of the men in Konni gave you the signal. And as you approached, you caught a glimpse of him. Your heart flutters and then you look at Ghost. He nodded and you pretended to try and fight against Makarov. Czar-9-0 Actual. The callsign of your husband and the name of the man you betrayed them for. Guns blazing, bullets directed at them, not you. Gaz and Ghost, a team, Soap and Price, a team, 141, one unit. You, the wife of the enemy. Two bullets and then, the head hit the ground. Young soldier down. "What are you doing?!" Soap asked as you turned on them. A 20-year-old soldier died within seconds, you knew him from when he joined at 18. James, the man whose blood ran on your gun. 

Makarov fired, one of his men held your hand and brought you to your husband. The 141 patch off your uniform as now, you were given the Konni patch. "Welcome back, comrade," a man spoke with an evil grin. Ghost, the eyes that saw the betrayal again. 23 soldiers died, from both sides. 141 on the ground, trying to recover. 

--

"C'mon, Grim, you have to trust me on this, yeah?" the young lieutenant that made Ghost told you. "What if we fall?" you asked. "If you trust me, we won't and if I trust you, we will go home and get a pint or two," He smiles at you. From this day on, you and he became close, a bond no gun could break. 

--

Ghost swore you were taken hostage. And as Makarov was about to kill Captain Price, one of his men tapped him out. "No time, we will get him later!" Ghost's glare never left yours. He shook his head. This can't be, not his R/N. You looked at him, no remorse behind your eyes. It wasn't R/N, it was Grim that stared at him. The soldier he respected the most. You pointed your gun at one of the other soldiers with them. 

It turned into something bigger

Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed

He jumped at you, to not kill you but to bring you back and let Makarov run with Grim. You pushed him, what turned into a fight for his teammate to be back, became a fight against the enemy. You pushed him to the ground. "Ghost!" Gaz yelled as he saw your gun pointed at him. It was never Makarov that would be his demise. It wasn't an enemy. It was you. It was the one he held dear to his civilian self. The woman he would drink poison for. The one he jumped a bullet for when they were young cadets. Stupid, stupid, stupid. His eyes never left yours and for a second, he saw past Grim and noticed the scared R/N that obeyed her husband. 

Soldier down on that icy ground

Looked up at me with honor and truth

Broken and blue, so I called off the troops

That was the night I nearly lost you

You put your gun down and turn away, running to Vladimir. His open arms, ready to embrace his darling. Now, all of 141's secrets are with Makarov. It clicked in that instant. How four years ago Makarov knew who Ghost was. How well he knew all their names. It wasn't some file he saw when his hacker got in, no, it was you, the best of all pawns. The train cleaned your tracks. Price and the others stood in fear, all this time, you were part of Konni. Ghost stood in silence. 

In every war he was in, you were there. His favourite of all soldiers. From his early days as just Simon to his latest days as Ghost, all witnessed by you. He was the one who asked for you anywhere he went. His life came in a flash, all the Christmas events, the dinners and drinks he had with his friend...no...enemy. The one person who knew Simon liked the palm of her hand, now holding the man Ghost called an enemy. 

"How did he get to her so quickly?" Gaz asked, baffled to have lost you to the man you hated when this all began. "He had her all along," Kate spoke. Nikolai shook his head. "But how? We were her family," a betrayed Ghost said. "We betrayed her first," Price recalls. "But that was years ago," Soap comments. "It started years ago," Gaz mentions. "We weren't meant to win this one gentlemen," Kate informs.

"Fuck!" Ghost's blood boiled. He scared them, he knew that well. So when he slammed his fist on the table, he even made the best of soldiers flinch. "Lt," Soap tried to calm him down. "No, Johnny! You don't get it, you don't know her as I do," he approached the sergeant. "She didn't kill you, why?" Kate walks to the betrayed soldier. "What?" His voice is hoarse. "She had the chance to kill you, headshot even, yet she didn't, she ran to him and then when she did, all fire ceased." Kate is after all a mastermind. "She didn't betray Simon, she betrayed Ghost, she betrayed Soap, not Johnny, Gaz, not Kyle and Bravo six, not John." She states. 

"She betrayed soldiers, not family," Price came to realisation. Grim did that, Grim killed all that came between the goal. 'Capable of killing all those that come between her and the goal, will not hesitate to harm enemies.' The goal wasn't to kill Task Force 141, it was to get revenge for the betrayal, for torturing you in a room, letting your blood drip. You married a man, something all fools do. But even though Makarov wanted you to pull the trigger on Ghost, you didn't. You ran away and the fire ceased. 

There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair

A/N: see what I did there?...mastermind me y'know

Tags:

@tf141glory @liyanahelena @quaritchscupquake @dilfgestivo @thefragmented @scarletdfox @arialikestea @unicorngirly1 @alhaizen @willowaftxn83-87 @koniglovesme @bbyfimmie @mothcelestial @kit-kats06 @palomesa @dheet @dontfearthereaperazura

[shiviwrites07]

Falling

Izuku Midoriya x Fem!Reader

Synopsis : It all takes a turn after the symbol of peace dissapears…

TW: Major Character Death, just pure angst.

Word Count: 1.8k words

Waking up to your beautiful face in the morning was Izuku’s favourite thing. He loved seeing your peaceful face, with a content smile on your face, snuggled into his chest as the sunlight peaked through the curtains and presented a majestic glow on your body. He slowly reached out his hand and tucked the small hairs behind your ears that had fallen out of place. As you slowly stirred awake and looked at him with the most beautiful smile and doe eyes filled with love, he felt the most content. He chuckled as he watched you snuggle closer to him and fall back asleep. He reluctantly got out of bed and headed to the bathroom to clean up. 

                                                      As you stirred awake from your dream, you reached for the person on your side and frowned when you realised he wasn’t there. But the smell of toast and eggs tingled your senses and you smiled at the fact that Izuku was making your breakfast. As you head towards the kitchen, you sit down on the table and look at the view of the city from the glass wall of your penthouse as Izuku slides you your cup of coffee. You thank him with a kiss and sit down together to eat. You make small talk and Izuku informs you how sad he felt at the fact that he would have to leave you alone on your free day cause he has to work on a new case that has been a mystery the past few days. You reach for his cheek and he melts into your palm as you tell him, “Come back home safe okay Izu?” 

                                                  As he leaves the house bidding you goodbye and that he would come home soon, you hug him and tell him to stay safe and have a good day. But your gut told you that something bad was going to happen. You where sitting on the couch finishing some paperwork from your last mission as the TV played in the background. “REPORTING LIVE FROM MUSTAFU! PRO HERO DEKU IN A GUT WRENCHING FIGHT WITH MYSTERY VILLAIN VENGEANCE! WHO WILL WIN?” You look up at the screen and gasp when you see what state Izuku was in. You rush towards your bedroom and get changed into your hero gear as you bolt out of your penthouse. You run as fast as you can towards the scene and land a damaging blow on the villain as you stand infront of Izuku. “Ah the wife is here to save his husband huh? Too bad you’ll fail!” Said the villain as he launched his attack. ‘He’s fast’ You think as you barely dodge his attack. You see Shouto and Dynamight reach for Deku, and feel relived when they take him to a safe place. You exchange a blow after blow until the villain lies on the floor and you raise you arm in victory as you hold your bleeding side. You were in the middle of getting patched up when you saw the commotion outside, the villain screamed “You think you’ve won H/N? But you lost! Hahahaha” As he ditches the police. You don’t understand what he’d said until your sidekick rushes into the ambulance and says that Deku is gone.

The next few days went by in a blur as you buried yourself in the task of finding your husband. After 20 days, there was still no sign of Izuku. You slowly started to give up hope as crime rates started increasing as villains started terrorising the civilians in the absence of the symbol of peace. As you sat on the couch looking through papers, the front door slammed open. Your eyes widened as a bloodied form of Deku stumbles in. You rush to hold him as he passes out in your arms. 

After a few minutes of cleaning and patching him up, you examine his features, relieved at the fact that he wasn’t too harmed. You set him down on the bed and head to the kitchen to prepare his favourite Katsudon, a recipe you had learned from Inko as you call Katsuki and inform him about Izuku’s reappearance. Katsuki sounds relieved but it is immediately followed by a sense of suspicion which he doesn’t make much out of. (now he thinks he should have)

As you finish frying the meat and cooking the rice, you notice two arms that come and snake around your face. You turn to look back at him and tears well up in your eyes as you look at his beautiful bruised face smiling down at you. “Did you miss me my love?” He says as he hugs you while you turn around and burry your face in his chest, weeping at the thought that you had nearly lost him. He cradles your face and wipes away your tears with his thumbs and says, “It’s okay baby, you don’t have to worry anymore. I’m sorry I disappeared suddenly. I was under Anesthesia when the villain must have kidnapped me. When I woke up I was in a basement, I had no idea where I was but I knew I had to make it back to you. So I somehow managed to escape. I’m so glad I did.” He helps you set the table and you both sit and talk about how the situation has been while he was away as you both eat. As you lay in bed, cradling each other in your arms, you manage to fall asleep after a long time. 

You wake up in darkness, surrounded by an abyss. You panic at your situation and fail to notice the light coming from the opposite direction. As the light gets brighter, you notice a figure, bloodied and bruised, tied on a chair as it thrashes around. As you walk towards it, the figure of Vengeance suddenly appears and says “Peek-a-boo!” 

You wake up in cold sweat, as you look around yourself and notice you’re back at your apartment as Izuku sleeps peacefully beside you. You calm yourself down and head to the kitchen for a glass of water and think about how it was surprising that Izuku suddenly appeared after a long time. But you brushed the thought aside and headed back to bed.

As the days went by, the crime rate went down as Deku was back at work but you couldn’t help but notice the slight changes about him. He started coming back home later than usual and left before you woke up. Even though you both worked at the same agency, you barely saw him and when you did, he was always buried in paperwork, like he was searching for something. When you decided to confront him about it, he brushed off your concerns and said that he was working twice as hard to pick up where he had left. 

Months passed by and you felt yourself drifting apart from him. Others noticed the changes in him too, but they never put much thought into it. 

On 26th September, Vengeance made a reappearance in Mustafu. He had brought an army of villains from Tartarus and all of the heroes were confused as to how they managed to break free. He called out, “WHERE ARE YOU H/N? Come out, come out wherever you are~” They were manic, as they started destroying everything around them. Vengeance looked up with a smile when he saw Izuku and you standing on a rooftop and fighting other villains. “My dearest Y/N~” You turned around and received a nasty punch to your abdomen and blew back a few feet. You looked down at your wound, you must’ve broken a few ribs. You looked up to see Izuku fighting the other villains and rushed in to the fight head first.

A few hours later, you looked around you and saw all the destruction that had taken place. Many heroes and villains alike were gravely injured. You weren’t in a good condition either. As you and Vengeance stand face to face, he calls out, “Deku! It’s your turn now!” You’re caught of guard as black whip grabs you and throws you across the roof onto another building. You roll on the floor and when you look up from the ground you see Deku standing there with a look of such hatred, that it rattles you to your core. “You know I never loved you right? You were Almight’s goddaughter and I knew that if I had you, I would have him in the palm of my hands too. I wanted to get rid of you before, but then I realised that I needed to keep you for the future. I cheated on you with my sidekick too, but you were so naive and trusting, you never suspected that did you?” Each word was like a knife being stabbed into your heart and you didn’t even realise that he had backed you up to the edge of the roof. You noticed the helicopters flying above your head, recording all of it. “No! That can’t be true. My Izuku loves me, he respects uncle Toshi and he would do anything to protect anyone he loves!” You shout, trying to grapple the fact that this couldn’t be the guy you fell in love with. 

“Well how kind of you! But you never even realised, I’m not him.” He whispers into your ear as he pushes you back. In a state of shock, you freeze and fall off the building.

As you’re falling down, you reminisce about all the moments you spent with everyone you loved and the second before your death, Izuku’s smile flashes before your eyes and you smile at the fact that you were right about Izuku, because that villain was not him. 

As your body crashes onto the ground and blood pools around your body, the clone reveals his true from and is taken away by the police who identify him as Vengeance’s brother. They are both arrested and admit in the police custody that they were obsessed with you and since you couldn’t be theirs, you can’t be anyone’s. 

Meanwhile, Locked in a dark room as he looks at your falling body on the TV and the events that follow, the real Izuku thrashes and weeps in the chair he’s tied in, hating the fact that he couldn’t protect you, the only one he truly loved and that you must’ve thought that he was the one who killed you and betrayed you. He looks towards the TV with lifeless eyes, regretting that he beer got the chance to make your wear that ring hidden the the lower right corner of your safe. As he sat limp in his chair, it finally realised hit him that you were falling, and he wasn’t there to catch you. 

@dearestgojo

[iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin]

love lies licky

~masterlist~ wc: 2k reader: afab!reader — reader is supposed to be like kristen stewart in love lies bleeding. you get the picture warnings: smut 18+; MINORS DNI!!! -- specific warnings under the cut; also mentions of crime/drugs/violence but no real specifics, just a backdrop; bad relationships with fathers summary: 80’s crime/city noir AU — reader is the owner of a seedy but successful gym and prettyrichboy!ricky walks in one night inquiring about a membership -- inspired by 2024 film love lies bleeding starring kstew and katy o'brian devastated by how long it too me to post something. truly sorry about that. i literally love you all so much!! enjoy.

EXPLICIT 18+ SMUT WARNINGS: oral (reader receiving), public sex, a little bit of stalking/watching, mentions of crime/drugs/violence, etc. but not overly dark— just a fun backdrop

—

three.

two.

one.

it’s the kid across from you that just finished his set, but somehow you’re the one out of breath. black hair pushed back except for a few strands that have fallen into his eyes. a heart monitor band around his growing bicep as he places the free weights back onto the rack. veins popping from his slender wrists.

it’s at this moment you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror— jaw dropped as you recline back on the leg press. how long had you been sitting there?

you stand up, wondering if he’s noticed you yet. wouldn’t be the first time you’d snuck a glance in the past week. and it’s not like he’d called you out on it before.

and even if he did, you had a pretty good cover. you own the gym. as far as a legal defense, you’re just an extra attentive fitness manager.

keeping an eye out for your most interesting patron.

you make your way over to the front desk, reminded of some new member paperwork you’d been neglecting to file for a few hours. you should probably finish that before closing.

and you have every intention to do just that. but a particular exhale suddenly comes from the other side of the room. and it’s just out of your hands.

you set your stack of papers aside, walking back out onto the gym floor. you spot him instantly: on the leg press you’d previously been watching him from. he’s got a good amount of weight on it.

you’re actually concerned it might be too much.

when he’d first signed up for your gym a couple months ago, you’d actually fought the urge to laugh straight in his face. not to be misunderstood— he was a handsome kid. a tall, thin figure dressed in a designer coat with a pretty face to match. one that didn’t like to get roughed up much. he could be a runway model. or one of those cute teeny bopper boys that your niece likes.

buy your gym had a bit of reputation. it wasn’t really a place for boys like him. it was rough around the edges. maybe even a little seedy. but it’s where every bodybuilder went to get the best winning physique. results guaranteed.

“hi,” he’d said quietly with a polite smile. you frowned, removing your headphones off of only one ear.

“we don’t have a public restroom,” you’d replied, popping a mid-size bubblegum bubble in his face. “sorry.”

“oh no, uh,” he stuttered, hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck. “i wanted to sign up for a membership.”

wide eyes was an understatement. you couldn’t believe what’d just come out of his mouth. this little rich boy thought he could just waltz into your gym and join? did he really think he could survive that?

“get lost, kid,” you said, smacking your blue bubblegum. “you’re in over your head. how ‘bout you try one of those luxury gyms around the corner? probably more your style.”

he shook his head fervently. “no, wait! i—... i wanna join this gym.”

you raised an eyebrow at him. “yeah? and why the hell would you wanna do that?”

“because i want to do this,” he replied, brow furrowed in determination. “i wanna prove that i can do this.”

you stared at him for a long moment. you’d had a lot of people beg to join your gym before. and you’d had no problem showing them all the door. but there was something about this kid. you couldn’t tell if you wanted to watch him fail or succeed.

an exasperated sigh left your lungs as you pulled open your desk drawer and threw a booklet of paperwork at him. “fine. but i am not responsible for any injuries— physical, emotional, spiritual, medical, or financial— that you incur while at the gym.”

“financial?” he repeated warily.

“take a look around,” you said, gesturing to the worse-for-wear gym. “padlock your belongings all you want, but if someone here wants into your locker, they’re getting in. and if you walk around looking like that, you might as well just tattoo a giant target on your back.”

he looked down at the ground, swallowing nervously before meeting your gaze again. “understood.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. maybe he was just some rich shit looking for cheap steroids. he’d find that and more at your gym. you didn’t really care. but as you picked up a pen and handed it to him, his eyes lit up with excitement.

“what’s your name, kid?” you asked, taking a sip of the warm beer you’d left out on the welcome desk.

he looked up from the paperwork he was rapidly filling out, smiling as he answered...

“ricky.”

—

you hadn’t paid much attention to him at first. you figured he’d last a week at your gym at best. and you’d predicted accurately how that week would go. he was mugged three days in a row, approached to buy drugs persistently every half hour, and even took a pretty nasty punch to the gut from one of your best patrons: a heavyweight world champion powerlifter named steve.

but when monday rolled around the next week, you were taken aback to see ricky walking through the doors at 10 p.m. sharp.

he gave you a little wave. you nodded at him confusedly.

and then he went straight to work. just like he did the next night. and the next night. until two months had suddenly gone by.

and wouldn’t you know it— all of that hard work had begun to actually pay off. his arm muscles had grown significantly and his chest had broadened as well. of course, he was never gonna be the size of the regular bodybuilders in your gym. they were all on lethal amounts of steroids anyway.

but he looked... good. and you found his dedication to be kind of admirable. he was tougher than you ever could’ve imagined.

so after a couple months, you’d started moseying over from your welcome desk or whatever machine you were using to offer some help. maybe it was form correction or a spot or just some lackluster encouragement, but he seemed grateful to receive whatever it was you were willing to give him.

“if you don’t keep those fucking knees bent,” you’d corrected, lit cigarette in between your fingers and blue bubblegum twisted around your tongue.

“sorry, sorry,” ricky apologized, correcting his form immediately. “it’s just harder like this.”

“i bet it is, kid,” you’d replied, shaking your head. “thought you’d gotten stronger, but i guess not.”

“i have and you know it,” he protested, rolling his eyes. you smirk at him as he catches your eye in the mirror. “and i’m not a kid. i’m three years younger than you.”

“you’re a kid as long as you’re still living on daddy’s money,” you said, clucking your tongue disapprovingly. “some of us don’t even have a dad.”

the weight dropped from ricky’s hand, crashing onto the floor with a bang. he looked around awkwardly, picking it back up and mumbling, “sorry.”

“what? did that make you uncomfortable?” you asked, taking a drag. “figures. why’d you even sign up for this gym in the first place?”

ricky finished his set, placing the weights down on the ground carefully. “this is the gym you go to if you want the best results.”

“it certainly is,” you agreed with a smile. “but i assume you’d never been to a place on the wrong side of town like this before. like a baby deer in headlights, is what i’d call it.”

he shook his head. “you’re right. i guess i hadn’t. but i wanted to prove i could do this. and i thought this was my only shot.”

“you said that before,” you remarked with a frown. “‘prove i could do this’. why would you of all people have anything to prove to anyone?”

ricky shrugged. “just because i have a father, doesn’t mean he was happy to have me.”

after a moment, you huffed a laugh. “alright, kid. i get it.”

“and i also heard the owner of this gym was a total smokeshow,” he added, walking over to the water fountain and leaving you behind.

you fight a smile. “and?”

“and i wasn’t disappointed.”

—

you sit down on a raised utility bench, straddling it as you observe ricky at the leg press. it might be your fault he’d increased the weight so much— you’d been telling him to put some more emphasis on growing his leg muscles for a few days now. not that he didn’t already have good legs, but it’d be a shame if all the upper body work made him unproportional.

he’s handling it surprisingly well. good enough form to get him through a set. you watch as a bead of sweat drips down the side of his face.

and gasp softly when you unconsciously grind into the bench your straddling.

you’d like to claim you couldn’t help it. that it was a little mistake that you’d never make again. that you cared at all about being professional.

but you can’t. because you’re pressing yourself back into the cushion of the seat in a matter of seconds.

blame hormones. blame the time on the clock. blame the two beers you’d chugged within a half hour of each other or the adrenaline from the fight you broke up earlier in the night.

but the truth is, it’s his fault. it’s all him.

you look up from the cushion beneath you, expecting to see him completing his set, but instead, he’s sitting reclined on the machine— an amused expression on his face as he stares back at you.

“what muscles are you targeting over there?” he asks, one eyebrow raised. “pelvic floor?”

your mouth hangs open, not really sure what you could possibly say to deflect this situation.

ricky stands up, walking over to you carefully with his arms folded across his chest. “you know, that’s why i like this place so much. a lot of gyms are run by some corporate fuck who’s never even touched the equipment. but even the owner of this gym’s dedication to fitness is truly inspiring.”

“it was my dad’s gym,” you admit suddenly. “he willed it to me when he died.”

ricky looks at you thoughtfully before snorting. “i bet he’d be proud to see you using the equipment to its full potential.”

“i don’t care what he’d think,” you replied, shaking your head. “he’s dead.”

ricky smiles at this as he sinks to his knees in front of you. “lucky.”

he raises his brow quickly, asking for permission as his hands hover over your thighs. you nod slowly until his palms sink into your soft skin, kneading then gruffly. you push yourself closer to him, spreading your legs to show him where you really want him.

“a little desperate, hm?” ricky asks with a smirk, pushing his long fingers up the gaps of your short-shorts all the same. “don’t let any of these meatheads ever take you for a spin?”

“s’unprofessional,” you answer as he hooks his fingers around the waistband of your shorts and pulls them down your legs— discarding them onto the gym floor.

you were never wearing any underwear.

“oh yeah? well what would you call what you’re doing right now?” he asks, pushing you gently down until your back is flat against the bench. hands gripping your thighs, he inches in closer until his lips finally connect with your core. “you know there’s still people in here right?”

you look around at the lingering gym members still pushing through their workouts. fuck ‘em, you think as you sigh contentedly. “i’d call it understandable.”

he grins before diving into you, lapping at all the wetness that’s already gathered at your opening for him. he takes it on his tongue, bringing it to your most sensitive area and swirling persistent circles around it.

you’re whimpering and you couldn’t be more surprised. the pretty boy gives good head? you thought guys like him usually used their money as foreplay instead.

your hands reach instinctively for his biceps, admiring up close how much he’s improved his own physique. they look even better wrapped around your legs, though.

you give them a squeeze and ricky’s lips pop off of you with a smack. the corner of his lips upturns cheekily, your juices dripping from his chin.

“not too bad, right?” he asks, eyes shining as he seeks your approval. “for a guy like me, i mean?”

you smile, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the roots. “not too bad at all.”

the reassurance lights up his face as he continues lapping at your heat with renewed passion. your climax approaches rapidly as he switches to sucking— the steady, quick suction on your clit sending you over the edge.

“fuck, oh my god,” you whine, your grip tightening around ricky’s arm as your thighs squeeze him closer to you. “i—… m’cumming.”

“fucking gorgeous,” he moans into your cunt as you ride out your high. a few deep breaths and you sit up, looking at the mess dripping from you and onto the bench. you can guarantee it’s not the first time thay bench has been covered in someone’s cum.

ricky hands you the container of sanitary wipes on the bench next to yours.

“don’t you think we should wait until we’re all done?” you ask with a smirk, eyeing the bulge that’s grown in his shorts.

but to your surprise, ricky shakes his head and stands up from the floor— walking back over to the leg press.

“back to work,” he says with a grin. “these hamstrings aren’t gonna build themselves. maybe you should get some work done, too.”

why that little shit—

you grab your cutoff denim shorts off the ground, grabbing the pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the back pocket.

if this kid wants to play…

you’ll just have to play, too.

[revelboo]

ngl my only exposure to vortex is secondhand stuff of him with first-aid (and even that im spotty on, cuz im not sure thats even him or if its someone else) but DAMN. HELL OF A FIRST IMPRESSION GHDSJKGMGKDSM-

He’s a sadistic interrogator for the Cons, a Combaticon, a tad bit masochistic and a lot of freak from what I know about him- I’d imagine none of the combiners are exactly okay in the head, though, Autobot or Decepticon. That the modifications necessary, the nature of the gestalt and losing your sense of self probably does some mental damage. And that Vortex may have been a bit manic and sadistic even before volunteering. Wanted to get this one done before I hit the road since it was in my head.

I Can’t Decide Pt 2

IDW Vortex x Reader

•Oh, that lovely sound of pure terror. Catching your tiny hand between two servos and pressing as you desperately try to pull free. Feels little bones shift. “Wait! I can get you more!” More? Crying out until he eases up and you yank your hand to your chest and point down at the other human. What’s left of him. “Like him. That’s what you want, right?” Such a devious little thing, offering to find him toys? To play with him?

• Still can’t look at the mess he’d made, but deep down? A part of you is glad. Knowing what he’d planned to do to you, that he’d likely have killed you after he was done, you can’t summon any sympathy for the guy. And there’s more like him, aren’t there? Aware that you’re making a deal with the devil to survive even as you look up into that luminous visor. “You’d bring me playthings knowing what I’ll do to them?” He asks, baring his denta in a grin. You’ll hate yourself for it later, but you nod. “Oh, we’re going to be such friends.” Tapping a servo against you hard enough to hurt as he laughs.

• Such a fierce little expression. You’re going to be such fun to break. Offering you his blade, he tucks the edge of his glossa against the corner of his mouth. Watches you squirm, trying to guess what he wants you to do and then reaching out and grabbing that sharp edge, wincing and hissing through your teeth as you pull your bleeding hand away. Those eyes narrowing as he lifts the blade and runs his glossa along it, shuddering slightly because you taste so much sweeter than the other human had. “Just a small taste and I can find you no matter where you try to hide,” he lies, feeling you stiffen in his hand. “But you wouldn’t do that, would you?”

• “Of course not,” you say, fear threading through you. Not sure if this is a game you can play. Can you really bring him victims? Even if you only find the worst of humanity, the truly evil? Flinching as he leans down and drags his wet glossa from your cheek, down you neck, along your arm all the way to your bleeding palm with a noise of almost euphoric pleasure, you decide you can. Anything to not get played with like a cat with a mouse until he accidentally kills you.

• Lifting his head instead of giving in to the urge to bite, he rubs his servo against that soft, delicate throat. “Name’s Vortex. To a lovely and mutually beneficial partnership,” he coos. Because you? He’s going to enjoy you, he can tell. None of the other Combaticons share his proclivities. Knows he makes them uncomfortable with his games, that they don’t understand. But you’re so desperate he can shape you as he likes. Make you play along until he gets bored.

Previous

Next

[guksvault]

HOUSE OF BALLOONS | JJK

08- In The Night

synopsis: fleeing the pressure and pretense of your elite life, you stumble into the seductive chaos of the House of Balloons. there, Jungkook waits— ready to make you question everything you thought you knew

w/c: 4.2k

warnings: jk is having a crisis!, too many mentions of the sun and the moon, (no srsly too many), mixed signals!, jk is a bit territorial, smut, hobi mention during foreplay??, oral (f.), unprotected sex (wrap then tap), creampie, reader has a breakdown!, the kims x parents r just soo boooo!!, alcohol consumption!, lots of texting in this chap sorry!!

!minorsdni!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Jungkook rarely had the chance to witness dawn on weekdays. He reserved those fleeting moments—watching the sun greet the world as the moon quietly bowed out—for weekends.

Though, despite only indulging in the views on weekends, it was always his favourite time of the day. There was something mesmerising about the battle in the sky, the darkness stubbornly clinging on while the sun slowly claimed its place. The muted blues gave way to warmer hues, soft oranges bleeding across the horizon as the light grew stronger.

Jungkook had always felt a stronger connection to the moon than the sun. Like the moon, he was stuck in a phase of emptiness, waiting to feel whole.

Sometimes, he wondered if he would ever find a partner like the sun—someone brighter, someone who could reflect against him, making him shine in a way he couldn’t on his own. He wondered if he’d ever experience a love so powerful that, when they came together, they’d create an eclipse, leaving everyone in awe.

His free hand slipped under the pillow where his head rested, digging for his phone. He pressed his thumb against the screen—half past five on a Thursday.

Too fuckin’ early.

Too fuckin’ early to be watching the sun lay the moon to rest. Too fuckin’ early to be coming up with metaphors about the moon and the sun. Too fuckin’ early to be watching the girl who rested her head on his other arm sleep so peacefully.

He watched as your chest rose and fell softly, noting how your hand was tucked awkwardly beneath your chin, your lips almost in a pout. It made him wonder if you, too, were dreaming of the sun and the moon, and how gut-wrenching their love story was.

Jungkook was used to playing the role of the moon—only available during the night, following the moon’s lead and disappearing when the sun came into view. It was why he had set his strict ‘No sleeping over’ rule in the first place.

The sun made things feel permanent, real, and hopeful. Jungkook was none of those things. He was the moon—something that always felt like it came and went too quickly. A moment in time that people could indulge in to do things they’d never dare in the light.

Jungkook was always honest—he made sure the girls who he bent over his mattress knew he wasn’t here to stay. He’d make it clear that sex was all he was after, no interest in breakfast or exchanging numbers to keep in touch.

But he hadn’t told you that. You’d waltzed in, pretty in pink, and somehow managed to blur all of Jungkook’s lines.

He tries to stay still, your head resting against his arm as you sleep, but he feels jittery. Anxious. His foot taps against nothing, his thumb cracking each of his knuckles. He watches the sun climb higher into the sky, the golden glow streaming through the window, spilling across his bed and over your body. It’s almost starting to piss him off—how well it compliments you. How it kisses your skin and makes you glow. Should’ve shut his fuckin’ blinds last night.

Your eyes slowly fluttered open, your hand instinctively rubbing them as they adjusted to the soft glow pouring through Jungkook’s window.

“What time is it?” you mumbled sleepily.

“Six-thirty.”

“Been awake long?”

“Nah, just woke up now too.” Jungkook lied, unable to tell you that he had spent the last hour watching you sleep, as he romanticised the sun and the moon.

He watches as you grab your phone, scrolling through the endless notifications flooding your home screen. He knows he needs to tell you that this isn’t something serious—that waking up with your bodies entwined and falling asleep together is something that shouldn’t happen again. But right now, he feels a little selfish. He expects the same reactions from you that he’s gotten from other girls:

“You don’t mean that.”

“I think we have something special.”

“Maybe I could change your mind.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He decides he can push it back a little further, nothing too crazy. Just wants to fuck you raw again—he’s sure that after he says what he needs to say, you won’t let him do it again.

His hand reaches out and presses his finger against the lock button on your phone as you type out a reply to a message.

“Dickhead.”

“Rude. Let you stay over, let you use my arm as a pillow, and all you care about is your phone.”

You roll your eyes and let your phone drop to the mattress, resting your chin on your hands instead. “Happy?”

“No. Arm’s dead from holding up your big-ass fuckin’ head.”

You push gently against his forehead with the tips of your fingers, letting out a small laugh and tell him to go fuck himself.

He watches as you move onto your knees, stretching your arms slightly. The shirt you’re wearing, hanging loosely over your body, lifting slightly.

“Rest of the boys here?”

“It’s 7 in the fuckin’ morning on a Thursday, D.D. Of course they are, you idiot.” Jungkook laughs, shaking his head as he brings his index finger to jab you softly in the ribs. You grab his finger, your body jolting slightly at the unexpected touch.

“Why? Got plans?” he teases, poking you again.

“Obviously,” you reply, a sly grin on your face. “Me and Hoseok, 8 a.m. Finally finishing what you interrupted.”

Jungkook’s eyes narrow slightly as he wraps his finger around the fabric of your shirt and tugs you closer to him.

“Not funny, D.D.”

"Bit funny," you murmur, tilting your head to give him a bit more access.

Jungkook's lips trail across your jaw, ghosting over your lips before moving to the other side of your jaw and down your neck.

"Did he kiss you here? Hm?" he asks, his voice low and teasing.

You're sure this is some kind of trick question, Jungkook trying to provoke a reaction from you. Instead of answering, you tilt your head the other way.

He pulls his lips away from your neck, his gaze meeting yours. “Asked you a question."

You look at Jungkook, letting out a small snort. But Jungkook isn’t laughing; he just looks at you, waiting. You shrug slightly, offering a small nod.

“Use your words. Yes or no. You can do that, right, D.D.?” His lips move back to your neck, pressing gentle kisses against your soft skin. His finger slides to the neckline of his shirt you’re wearing, pulling it back slightly to expose your collarbone. He presses two soft kisses there.

“Here?”

“Yeah.”

He looks up at you, his gaze darkening as his fingers slowly drag down your sides, reaching the bottom of your shirt. He pulls it off carefully, swallowing lightly when his eyes land on your bare chest.

His lips return to your soft skin, pressing a kiss to your sternum. "Here?"

"Yeah."

His head lowers, pressing soft kisses down your chest until his lips reach the curve of your breast, his other hand coming to squeeze the other gently.

"And here? Did he touch you here? Kiss you here?"

Your voice comes out a little breathier, your head tilting back slightly. "Yes."

Jungkook's lips kiss down to your nipple, his eyes looking up at you as your head rolls forward to look down at him, a slow soft lick over your hardening bud. “Here?”

You let a small breath escape your lips, paired with a nod.

He takes your nipple into his mouth fully, sucking gently before pulling away with a soft pop. "Words, D.D. Tell me." His teeth graze ever so slightly over your nipple, sending a shiver through you.

"Fuck- Mhm."

Jungkook feels a flash of annoyance that Hoseok got a taste of you before he did, got to touch and kiss you the way he's doing now. He knows Hoseok's more of an ass guy, wouldn't have fully appreciated just how lucky he was.

His hand moves to your shoulder, gently urging you back onto the bed, his lips trailing down your stomach. Each kiss is followed by the same question.

His lips reach the waistband, pressing a kiss over the fabric. "Here? Did I interrupt before he got to touch you here?"

You shake your head softly, goosebumps rising on your skin as his breath grazes over you.

He takes the waistband between his teeth, pulling back just enough to let it snap against your skin, earning a small moan from your lips.

"Got to touch you here, huh? I was too late?"

He leans back onto his legs, his fingers pulling your panties down your legs, wastes no time to push one of your legs to the side and settle himself between your thighs.

His lips inch closer, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh before moving to your clit, a small peck against your bud, his breath as he speaks causing your hips to shift slightly. “How ‘bout here D.D? Did he get to taste you?”

You lean up onto your elbows, looking down at Jungkook between your thighs, his eyes looking up at you through the messy strands of hair that have fallen over his forehead, his lips so incredibly close to your dripping core that it causes you to moan again.

“Fuck, Kook. No.” Your tongue darts out to lick over your lower lip, “Not there.”

Jungkook almost lets out a breath of relief, catches himself before he does, and swallows it. It’s not like it mattered—Hoseok and you, what happened or, clearly, didn’t happen. He tells himself it’s his pride, or his competitive nature. Almost slaps himself right there when he catches himself mentally thanking the cops for showing up, shutting down the party, and leading him to interrupt you both.

He lowers his head, moves his arms under your thighs and flattens his tongue to press a lick over your soaked core. Knows that the moment your pretty moans and whines fill the room, they'll drown out every unnecessary, irrational thought flooding his mind.

He moves his tongue back to your clit, softly flicking his tongue over you repeatedly. His eyes are still on yours, still leaning up on your elbows to enjoy the view. Brows pressing together, lips rested ajar.

His tongue is relentless, not faltering in speed—increasing instead. Soft little hums of satisfaction of his own vibrating against you, sends goosebumps over your skin. His tongue, every now and then, explores lower to drink in your arousal.

His hand, that had been holding the back of your thigh, moves softly across your skin. His head pulling up just slightly, his lips glossy with your slick form into a smirk of satisfaction. He brings two fingers to your center, softly runs them over your folds before pushing them inside you.

It’s almost kind of pathetic, how your body responds to the way Jungkook explores you. Your lips parted, letting out curses that are laced with whines. Fingers curling into the sheets beneath you, hips rolling up to greedily feel as much of Jungkook as you can.

His fingers curl slightly as they continue to push into you, his tongue back to work against your—now throbbing—clit. Your legs growing a little weaker, breaths getting a little more frantic, your walls getting a lot tighter around Jungkook's digits.

“Fuck—you gonna cum for me?” Jungkook’s lips barely pull from your clit, his voice practically echoing right through your body. Your come to tangle into the soft locks of Jungkook’s bed hair, encouraging him back to tasting you.

“Fuck.” Your back arches, one foot pressing into Jungkook’s shoulder, “Fuck, Kook.”

His fingers hook inside you, constantly pressing into the spot that you’ve only been able to find yourself. He lets out a groan of his own as he feels your walls start to pulsate around him. Your hand coming over your mouth to quieten yourself as your orgasm washes over you.

Jungkook pulls his head back, watches his fingers continue to push into you, drowning them in your orgasm. He brings himself to hover over you, fingers slowly exiting from inside you.

His other hand wraps around your wrist, moving it from over your mouth. He brings his other fingers, that are coated in your slick towards your mouth, when he’s met with your lips parting he presses them against your tongue. A hushed string of curses leaving his lips as he watches you taste yourself.

“Gotta fuck you, D.D.” His voice is low, fingers slowly coming out of your mouth and down to his cock, palming himself.

Your hands grab the sides of Jungkook’s face, pulling him into your lips. A silent invitation, fuck me. His lips work against yours as he kicks off his briefs.

His lips pull from yours, positions himself between your legs, his hands wrapped around the base of his cock as he lets the tip rub up and down your folds. Coats himself in you.

He could continue to tease you—likes the way you’re currently begging him to fuck you. But, Jungkooks self control seems to weaken whenever you’re in close proximity. Now, is no different. He’s sliding into you, your still pulsing pussy taking in his full length.

A steady rhythm is set, Jungkook's hips moving back and forth against you. He doesn't think he'll last as long as he wants-too fucking warm. So warm it has his mind drifting to the sun. Starts wonder if this is how the moon feels when it’s covered by the sun, to create an eclipse.

His teeth sink into his lower lip. Not the fuckin' time to be thinking about the moon or the sun or how they merge every now and then. He quickens the pace of his hips, shoving the silly metaphors out of his mind and replacing them with the sound of your moans.

His eyes flicker to your face, drinking you in.

Your eyes shut, lips parted slightly as your breaths grow heavier, brows furrowing with each thrust. Your hand moves to the back of his neck as he lowers his head, bringing his ear closer to your lips. He needs to hear you, needs your sounds to drown out the voices in his head comparing your expression to sunlight. Warm. Bright. Too fuckin' hot.

"Yeah? Feel good, D.D?"

Your nails dig into Jungkook's neck ever so slightly, your hips bucking to feel him even deeper. "Shit— So good, Kook." You want to see him-his brows furrow like he's in pain as he bottoms out into you, the small dimple that appears when he tugs on his lower lip as he cums. But Jungkook doesn't let you. He pushes your hand, the one pressed against his chest, down and traps it under his own.

"Gonna make me cum, fuck." His hips find a new, quickened pace as he feels the pressure building, inching closer to his high. "Tell me where you want it, where do you want me, D.D?"

You turn your head slightly, lips brushing against Jungkook's ear as you whisper, "Inside."

Jungkook’s sure he’s imagining things now. Convinced all the fuckin’ thoughts of the stupid sun have played with his head, giving him sunstroke. He’s got all the symptoms—confusion, rapid pulse, a little dizzy.

“Yeah?” You turn your head as close as you can, lips against his ear, “Cum in me.”

His hips falter for a second, hearing you loud and clear that time. His head pushes into the crook of your neck, sinking his teeth into your shoulder as his hips stutter into you as his orgasm reaches its peak and empties himself into you. His moans muffled against your skin.

The room falls into a quiet stillness, broken only by the sound of labored breaths as you both come down from the high. Jungkook shifts first, moving onto his knees, his body still tense as he pulls away.

He watches as your pussy drips with his cum, fights the urge to plug you with his fingers and make you lick them clean again. Quietly reaches for the wipes, moving his hands over you to clean the mess he left up.

The silence is thick—suffocating. There’s no back and forth banter, no playful teasing, no lingering touches. Silence, that’s only broken by Jungkook standing to pull his underwear back on.

Jungkook doesn’t look at you, doesn’t say a word. He simply stands, collects himself, and walks out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him to go take a shower.

Twenty minutes later, Jungkook steps back to his room. Grey sweatpants hang low on his hips, water droplets down his torso that reflect against the sun that shines against his body.

“Yoongi and Jimin are downstairs, can stay here ‘til they fuck off.” He mutters, his voice flat, eyes looking everywhere else but at you.

You hum softly in response, your fingers tapping against your phone screen. Nothing important—just a message or twelve from your parents reminding you that missing dinner with the Kims tomorrow night would also mean missing your monthly allowance.

Jungkook sinks into his desk chair without a word, swinging it slightly from side to side. His eyes flit around the room before settling on a Rubik’s Cube on his desk. He picks it up, fingers twisting and turning the already-solved puzzle aimlessly.

“Comin’ back tomorrow?” Jungkook mumbles, not looking at you. “To the party, I mean.”

You let your phone drop beside you on the mattress, a small sigh escaping your lips, your eyes focusing on the view from the window instead. “Nah.”

Jungkook’s eyes shift to you, an eyebrow lifting slightly. “Nah?”

“Mhm, dinner with the husband-to-never-be.”

His jaw tightens instantly, frustration creeping into his chest. He doesn’t even understand why this shit bothers him, why he cares that you’re still entertaining some bullshit arranged marriage. You’re here, aren’t you? Out from under their thumb, with friends, a new life practically waiting for you if you’d just grab it. Instead, you’re still running to their dinners, jumping through hoops for their approval.

His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek, gaze dropping to the Rubik’s Cube in his hands. “What does the groom think of it all?”

You shrug slightly. “Not a groom if there’s no bride,” you say flatly. “Wants it, I guess. Dunno. Don’t really care what he thinks.”

“You guys have history?”

Another shrug. You glance at him briefly, unsure why he suddenly cares. “Guess so. Took his virginity. Fucked around here and there—nothing too deep. Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Jungkook’s jaw tightens, fingers gripping the cube just a little harder. “Right,” he mutters, forcing a shrug of his own. He doesn’t know the guy, but he doesn’t need to. Adds him to his mental list of ‘Shit I Hate with a Burning Passion’ anyway. Not for any particular reason, though; just thinks he sounds like a dick.

“You need me to get you the morning-after pill?”

“Think I can manage,” you reply, your tone clipped but not cold.

Jungkook’s eyes drop to the Rubik’s Cube in his hand, twisting it aimlessly as his leg bounces like it has a mind of its own. He doesn’t know why annoyance seeps into his chest, spreading like a slow burn. You hadn’t done anything wrong. Neither had he.

But his head won’t stop spinning. A thousand thoughts colliding, crashing into each other. Every move he’s made since you showed up feels like a betrayal of himself—like you’ve pulled the strings and unraveled the tight rules he’s clung to for years.

“D.D?”

“Hm?”

Jungkook’s voice is steady, but there’s a tightness to it, like he’s bracing for impact. “Gonna be real honest with you—this ain’t more than sex to me.” His eyes stay locked on the Rubik’s Cube in his hands, fingers fumbling with the colors he’d carefully pieced together.

You blink, unsure if you heard him right. “Okay?” You almost laugh, but it comes out dry, bitter. Wonder if he thinks you’re a fucking idiot.

“I mean, like, I guess we are friends? Friendly? Whatever, I really ain’t here to do more than fuck. A release. A fuck. Not looking to do more than that, be more than that. Don’t need or want you falling in love or some shit, you know?”

You can’t fight the scoff that forces its way out of your mouth, a laugh following after. You tilt your head slightly, staring at him with disbelief, as if trying to figure out why he’s bothering to say it at all.

“And you’re telling me this because?” You quirk an eyebrow, more confused than anything else.

“Why wouldn’t I? I’m down to fuck around with you and all, you’re fun. But, if it feels more to you than that, now or later, I need you to know that it’s on you.”

“I think it’s really confident of you to think that I’d ever want anything more than that from you. Or that I’d ever expect it.”

Jungkook looks up from his Rubik’s Cube, surprise flickering across his face at the unexpected sting in your words. He’d been expecting some kind of reaction—maybe even a fight.

“Anyways, just fucking, right? So going downstairs and getting questioned isn’t really an issue, is it?”

“Right.” Jungkook nodded, his eyes on you as you stood up, slipping your phone into the back pocket of your jeans.

“Really not coming this weekend?”

You roll your eyes, a small laugh escaping. “Gonna cry if I don’t?”

“My dick might,” Jungkook smirked, tossing the Rubik’s Cube onto his desk.

“Have the day you deserve, Jeon Jungkook,” you teased, making your way toward the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, D.D.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Lately, Friday evenings had been reserved for getting ready to get shitfaced at the House of Balloons. Scanning your closet, trying on too many outfits in front of your full-length mirror, sitting at your vanity, applying makeup while listening to remixes and original instrumentals that Yoongi and Hobi had sent over.

Tonight, however, that wasn’t the case. You stood staring at your reflection in the mirror, wearing a yellow maxi dress adorned with a pink floral pattern. Your face scrunched up in disapproval—not because the dress was ugly (it wasn’t, it was a gorgeous custom piece from a high-end designer)—but because it just felt so… not you.

Florals, pastels, pinks, and frills had long been pushed to the back of your closet. Now, you reached for darker tones, pulling out leather jackets, black tees, and platform boots instead of dainty open-toed heels. You told yourself it was the influence of the House of Balloons, but was it really? Were you just trying to fit in, wearing clothes that made you feel like you belonged, like you were comfortable? Or had the environment simply enhanced who you truly were underneath it all?

The feeling of discomfort only intensified as you sat at the dinner table on the rooftop of Taehyung’s father’s hotel. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the city, but nothing about it felt warm to you. Glasses of champagne clinked around the table, the conversations flowing like the drink—mostly about hotels, business deals, upcoming events, and gossip about other elites. Most exhausting of all were the not-so-subtle hints about you and Taehyung being made for each other.

As dinner came to an end, you found yourself standing by the railing, eyes drifting over the sprawling view of Seoul. Skyscrapers jutted into the sky, busy roads weaving through the city, buildings stacked on top of one another in an endless, fast-paced rhythm. Seoul had always felt this way—like a place where everyone was constantly rushing, never pausing to breathe or truly take in what was right in front of them. It made you miss Daegu. More specifically, it made you miss the House of Balloons. Time felt different there. It didn’t race by. Instead, people held onto it, dragging it out, blending one day into the next so that moments felt stretched, lasting longer, unhurried.

“Pretty, right?” Taehyung’s voice slipped up behind you, his presence falling comfortably beside you as he leaned against the railing.

You hum in agreement, casting a quick glance at him. He was effortlessly handsome in his simple white button-down tucked neatly into black slacks, like something out of a picture-perfect magazine.

“Missed you at the last few events. Been busy?” His voice was casual, but the question carried an undertone of concern.

“Guess so. Been figuring some stuff out.” Your voice is soft as you take a glass of champagne from the server’s tray, careful to avoid looking him directly in the eye. It’s not a lie, exactly—just a half-truth.

“Is that so?” Taehyung glanced over at you, taking his own flute of champagne, swirling it casually. “And what are you figuring out?”

You let out a small, noncommittal shrug, sighing softly. There was no point in sharing your thoughts with him—he didn’t actually care. He’d pretend, of course, tell you he’d listen for hours, offer sweet advice, but you knew better. There was an agenda behind every word he said, and you weren’t interested in playing along.

“And you?” You ask, breaking the silence with your own question, a little more biting than you meant.

Taehyung shifted his stance, leaning back against the railing as he faced you, his gaze unwavering. “Been focusing on the business side of things. Working my way up to Dad’s position, you know how it is.”

You nod as you listen to him rant about meetings, brag about the perks, and complain about the workers—all so insincere, every word feeling more rehearsed than the last.

“Was thinking, maybe we could have dinner? Just us? No prying parents, somewhere nice… could even go to Paris if you want?” Taehyung’s suggestion hung in the air, insincere and rehearsed. You could almost hear the ‘how-to’ guide behind his words. Ask her to travel with you, a trip alone to the most romantic city in the world. She’ll love it! It’s where love blooms!

You almost laugh, but stop yourself, already tired of the charade. You open your mouth to reply, but just then, your phone buzzes, the vibration a small relief from the conversation.

“Sorry, give me a minute?” you offer with a forced smile, already walking away.

| 9:36pm

Unknown: rude

| 9:38pm

You: ???

| 9:38pm

Unknown: ???????

| 9:39pm

You: whos this

| 9:40pm

Unknown: are u really not coming

| 9:41pm

You: how did you even get my number you freak.

You roll your eyes, knowing exactly who it was. A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips, you lean into the armchair and sip on your wine thats bubbling in your hand.

| 9:45pm

starboy: definitely didnt steal yoongis phone and send it to myself.

| 9:47pm

You: dont u have coke to snort. get off my phone

| 9:47pm

starboy: sorry am i interrupting dinner with ur husband

| 9:49pm

You: fuck off

| 9:50pm

starboy: does he know i fucked his wifes titties

| 9:51pm

You: im blocking u. hope ur nose collapses.

| 9:52pm

starboy: r u rlly not coming.

| 9:52pm

starboy: asking for a friend.

| 9:53pm

starboy: friend = my dick. lol.

| 9:56pm

You: ur sick in the head. get immediate professional help.

| 9:58pm

starboy: weird way to say u want to roleplay as my therapist

| 9:58pm

You: i would have u put down.

Your father calls from the opposite side of the rooftop, snapping you from your thoughts. “Come on, honey, cars waiting downstairs.”

You stand up, stuffing your phone into the small purse slung over your shoulder. You exchange empty pleasantries with the Kims, hugging them in the most rehearsed way, all while plastering a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

The drive home is a muted affair, with your parents gushing about the Kims’ efforts. Their compliments don’t feel real, but they sure sound it, meant only to please themselves.

As you step into the penthouse, you’re immediately enveloped by the silence. It’s almost too much to bear, the quiet echo of the place swallowing you whole. Your parents, immediately reach for the red wine, filling three glasses without a word.

“Isn’t he just a charming young man?” Your mother coos, almost dreamily. “You’d be foolish not to snatch him up, honey. He won’t wait for you forever.”

You take a deliberate sip of the red wine, feeling the tension simmer. Your hand grips the glass a little too tightly, and you bite back the eye roll, stifling the groan that’s already building. “Can we not have this conversation again?”

“Don’t be difficult,” your father chimes in, his voice firm. “Your mother’s right. It’s time to grow up. You’ve been sneaking around, coming home at all hours, dressing like a mess. Stop this nonsense.”

“Really? You’re telling me to grow up when you’re the ones trying to marry me off to a man I have zero interest in, just so you can add more zeros to your bank account?” Your voice is sharper than you intended.

“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” Your mother tilts her head, as if you’ve crossed some invisible line.

“Sometimes, you need to make sacrifices for the greater good.” Your father’s voice hardens, and his gaze sharpens. “Don’t be selfish.”

You glare at him, a deep, burning resentment filling your chest. The sick feeling in your stomach intensifies as your hands clench around the bottle of red wine, the glass rattling slightly. With a sharp shake of your head, you turn toward your parents and storm up the stairs, “Go fuck yourselves.”

You hear your mother’s footsteps follow you, no doubt ready to lecture you, but she’s stopped by your father’s voice, sharp and commanding.

“Leave it. She’ll learn.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The empty red wine bottle sits abandoned on your bedside table, its partner, an empty soju bottle, discarded carelessly next to it. You had grabbed three bottles from a nearby convenience store, hoping the walk would help burn off the fire that had ignited inside you.

Another sip of soju, another attempt to numb the growing heat. But it doesn’t help. Every little detail of the room makes your blood simmer. You can’t escape it — the anger, the frustration, the overwhelming sense of being trapped.

Your eyes land on your reflection in the mirror, and your tongue runs along the side of your cheek, a frustrated sigh escaping your lips. “Fuck it.” You mutter under your breath, rising from the bed. You grab the bag from the convenience store and storm into the ensuite.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You stare at your reflection in the mirror, a small laugh escaping your lips as you rub a damp towel across your forehead, trying to wipe away the black dye staining your skin. Frustrated, you toss the towel aside and pick up the scissors. With a quick swig from the bottle, you tilt your head forward and snip. One snip turns into two, then three, and before you know it, you’ve lost count, mindlessly following a terrible YouTube tutorial.

Buzz.

| 4:30am

starboy: someone (definitely not me) smashed one of joons plant bottles. very unfortunate.

| 4:30am

starboy: if anyone asks it was valerie.

You let out a small laugh as you read the messages. Absolute moron. You glance at yourself in the mirror, fluffing your hair slightly. The haircut wasn’t bad… wasn’t amazing either. Still, it made you feel a tad better. You grab the packet of cigarettes from your bag, head to the small balcony attached to your room, and step outside.

| 4:36am

You: hope valerie kicks ur ass.

| 4:44am

starboy: why the fuck are u awake.

| 4:44am

You: wouldnt u like to know

| 4:45am

starboy: ur weird.

| 4:45am

starboy: r u still with ur husband

| 4:46am

You: home.

| 4:46am

starboy: then why r u awake. suspicious. r u still with him

| 4:47am

You: yes. u caught me :( balls deep in me rn

| 4:47am

starboy: what

| 4:47am

starboy: hahaha what

| 4:48am

starboy: lol r u really

| 4:48am

You: no.

| 4:48am

starboy: D.D ur not funny

| 4:49am

You: lil bit funny.

You flick the ash from your cigarette, the cool air mixing with the heat of the soju down your throat. You look at the messages on your phone, wonder why Jungkook is even texting you. Wonder what he’s doing, who he’s with, why he’s distracting himself on his phone to talk to you. Wonder why you text back, why you enjoy it, why you have to tell yourself his messages aren't that funny when you find yourself laughing.

| 4:50am

starboy: did u actually fuck him

| 4:51am

You: ??? no i didnt fuck the person who wants to marry me for money

| 4:51am

starboy: oh okay. good

| 4:52am

You: good?

| 4:52am

starboy: well. u let me hit raw.

| 4:53am

starboy: cant do that if we are fuckin other people, right?

| 4:54am

You: are you saying that you’re not fucking other people?

| 4:54am

starboy: yea, that

| 4:54am

starboy: so smart. using ur brain.

| 4:55am

You: :/

| 4:55am

starboy: titty pic?

| 4:56am

starboy: to celebrate only fucking 1 pair of tits.

| 4:56am

You: die.

| 4:57am

starboy: so hot when u talk dirty to me

| 4:57am

starboy: say it again.

| 4:58am

You: goodnight.

| 4:58am

starboy: gna cum

| 4:59am

starboy: kidding. lol. goodnight D.D.

You had tucked yourself into bed, the TV softly playing in the background as you fell asleep, the diffuser by your bed refreshing any hints of cigarette smoke that had seeped into your room. Peaceful. Peacefulness has been short-lived lately—now, your eyes snap open to the sound of your phone you forgot to silence.

“It’s half past five in the fucking morning, Jungkook.”

“Hey, D.D.” You can hear the smirk in his voice as he speaks softly into the phone. You should cuss him out, call him an idiot, hang up, and let yourself fall back to sleep, but instead, you push the phone closer to your ear.

“Hey.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[minxipinxi]

Company Stans and the Internet: A Personal Rant & Observation

My experiences on the internet, both within fandoms and outside of them, have led me to some interesting observations. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever been part of any K-pop fandoms, but you’ll notice this a lot in those spaces. There are these very curious, sometimes baffling groups of individuals we like to call: company stans.

There are:

Regular fans

Passionate fans

Company stans

If you’ve ever been part of a K-pop fandom, you know exactly what I’m talking about. This is absolutely a thing. It’s real, and it’s weird.

I used to be part of just one fandom. I’d say I’m more of a casual fan now. But back then, I didn’t really notice this trend. It’s only recently that I’ve started to truly see it. At first, I thought, “Oh, it’s just a K-pop group thing. Probably won’t bleed into anything else.” But I was so wrong.

As someone who’s dipped their toes into both K-pop and gaming spaces, I’ve now witnessed this culture of being a company stan start to appear elsewhere too. It really stood out to me with HoYoverse games, Genshin Impact, in particular. Suddenly, I was seeing people fiercely defending not the game, not the characters, but the company.

Even though I’ve kind of moved on from HoYoverse titles (though I still play them occasionally), I’ve adopted more of an observer role now. And it’s honestly fascinating (and slightly disturbing) how people seem to be fans of the company more than the game itself, or the characters, or the actual content. That absolutely boggles my mind.

I’ve seen this not just in Genshin Impact, but also in Honkai: Star Rail and other HoYoverse games, because those are the games I’ve followed closely. And more recently, I’ve started to notice the same thing in Love and Deepspace.

Criticism of the company, even mild criticism, is just not tolerated. At all. And that’s wild to me. Like, I get being protective of the game. Maybe even protective of the characters. But the company? Why?

It’s not just regular “defense” energy either. It’s the kind of intensity you’d have for your LI. You know, if someone said something bad about Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus, or Caleb, that kind of reaction? Now imagine that same emotional energy directed at the company behind the game. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.

So, forgive me if I sound repetitive, but this kind of behavior really bothers me. The inability to handle even the slightest criticism (especially when it's valid) is exhausting. Like… you’ll accept being disrespected by the company, but lose your mind when someone questions the company’s decisions?

Yes, companies need to make money. I’m not arguing against that. But when fans start justifying everything a company does with things like:

“They can’t give you stuff for free.”

“The company deserves to make a profit.”

Or worse: “Don’t play if you’re broke.”

That kind of energy? It’s wild to me. You’re defending a multi-million, maybe even billion-dollar company that doesn’t care whether you’re online fighting their battles. Unless you’re part of some content creator program, the most you’ll probably get is 10 diamonds, and that’s being generous.

Take Infinity Nikki for example. That game soared at launch. It was a beautiful, major moment for “girl games.” But then? The company fumbled. Badly. It makes me nervous for Love and Deepspace, honestly, since they share the same parent company.

Here’s the thing: if we keep tolerating even the smallest forms of disrespect, what are we really telling the company? “Hey, treat us however you want. We’ll always come back.”

That kind of thinking doesn’t just stay in games either. It leaks into real life. Where you start accepting breadcrumbs and calling it respect. And it’s painful to watch.

Because let’s be real, the company is earning profit. They’re not going to care how loudly or passionately you defend them online. Unless you’re in a top-tier influencer network, the most acknowledgment you’ll get is… silence.

And again: look at Infinity Nikki. Players begged for more farming content. Not even free diamonds, just upgradable content. Something to do. And nothing happened. I saw someone on YouTube say that it’s “lucrative” for the company to withhold those features because it helps gatekeep progress.

Sure, maybe it is. But should that be acceptable? Should people just say, “Why are you even complaining?” Because that’s what I’ve seen. That’s the energy I’ve seen from some players: accept the bare minimum. And look where that mindset got us.

Genshin Impact is a perfect case study. For years, they treated players poorly. And players accepted it. Some even fiercely defended the company. Saying things like:

“Be grateful!”

“They’re being generous!”

No. They’re not doing us favors. They’re investing in us so they can make even more money. Why is that so hard to understand?

It wasn’t until competition showed up (Wuthering Waves) that Genshin started shifting. Only when player ratings dropped and a competitor threatened their market share did things begin to change.

Right now, Infold is doing whatever it wants with Love and Deepspace. Because there’s no real competition yet. Sure, there are other 2D games. But nothing has matched the emotional impact or popularity of Love and Deepspace. So, Infold knows it can take liberties, and people will stay.

But that won’t last forever. Sooner or later, a strong competitor will rise, just like with Genshin. Until then, we’re kind of stuck.

So, here’s my real question: what are your thoughts on company stans? Have you interacted with people like that?What’s your take?

I’m genuinely curious. Because for me, it’s been frustrating and fascinating all at once. And while I don’t want to judge or call anyone names, it’s disheartening to see people mock others for being free-to-play (F2P), or for choosing to spend their money wisely.

We’re all part of the same community. Whether you’re F2P, low-spender, dolphin or whale, we’re here because we love the game. No one should be belittled for prioritizing their budget.

Personally? I’ll spend when I feel like it. But until now, I haven’t spent a cent, not because I’m against it but because I believe respect has to be earned. If a company treats me right, I’ll pay. If not? Not a dime. This is my hard-earned money. If I’m going to spend it, I expect to be treated fairly.

When a company shows you, they don’t care about your time, effort, or money – take that as a sign. Because it is.

We love these games. We love our characters. We love the world we’re part of. And because we care, we should be allowed to ask for better. We should demand respect, not as a luxury, but as a basic expectation.

[spiderlilywritings]

of happiness and lies

Trigger Warnings: implications of murder, assault, SA, suicide

divider made by: @/kodaswrld

"Maria, what do you think about —"

"How did you feel when —"

"You must have been so shocked —"

Angel's gaze is lowered. The flashing lights of the cameras blind her, makes her eyes hurt. The voices are too loud, mixing together into a jumbled mess. She takes a deep breath, puts her mask on and looks up. She wills a soft, hesitant smile to appear on her face.

She needed to look sad. Needs to look like she's hiding her (non-existent) distress. In times like these, she can be a pretty good actress.

"I... I really am shocked." She starts and the voices die down, finally.

"I'm so sorry, I don't think I'm feeling very well right now. I can't... put my feelings into words."

She places a hand on her heart. Maria's heart bleeds and bleeds and bleeds. For her friends. For her loved ones. 

...But not for that person.

"My manager... he was a great person." Lies.

"He was amazing with his work. Always looked out for me and made sure I stayed in top shape. I can tell that he had my career in mind and took his job seriously." Sometimes, Maria can still hear his voice yelling at her. 

"I've only worked with him for a few months... but I'll miss him terribly. What happened to him was tragic and shouldn't have happened in the first place." One shot and he was gone. Ronin would scoff at such a quick and easy death.

'Should've tortured the fucker.' Ronin might say.

"My condolences to the bereaved family. May he always be remembered in loving memory." Such angelic words. Too bad they're just more lies.

The interview finally, finally ends and Angel can breathe.

In the end, her manager was just another juicy story for the reporters. They'll forget him soon enough. Angel can still hardly believe that she got away with her manager's murder. This one was far too close.

But in the end, they just saw sweet Maria dela Rosa. Scared and distraught of the unexpected murder that happened so, so close to her. Closer than they could ever imagine. (Really, no one even questions the blatant display of her teeth necklace and bracelet. Just how thick were those rose tinted glasses they wear for Maria dela Rosa?)

Time passes. Her agency sets out to find a new manager for her. She's expecting someone even worse.

"...Mari! Hi!"

She was expecting someone even worse, so how...

Your name falls from her lips.

How are you here?

"I'm your new manager, Mari!" That bright smile makes her heart clench. She thought she'd never see you again.

Angel gets up from her seat and before she realizes it, she was already hugging you tightly, like she's scared you'd disappear again.

(In her mind's eye, Maria sees you crying. She sees your hollow eyes. Your distant figure at the edge of a building — she remembers her rage. The most brutal murder the 'Heartsick Angel' ever committed. She remembers you quitting. Setting off to hopefully live a peaceful life. She remembers goodbyes. Feeling happiness and sadness for you overwhelming her all at once. This industry devours people whole. Violates them in the most gruesome ways.)

Angel pulls back, holding your shoulders as she looks at you. 

You look happier. Healthier than you've ever been when working in the industry.

"W-What are you doing here...? Didn't you quit?"

You grin (God, she loves seeing you so happy. So free.)

"I did. But... I thought it over for awhile. I still wanted to be involved — like, I wanted to. To help. I can't be on the stage anymore, but if I can watch over someone so they don't have to go through what I did... and, I saw the news. You needed a new manager. And. Mari you... you need... So I went for it. I applied and got the job. Surprise?"

"Oh my god, you're unbelievable!" Angel cries and laughs all at once, hugging you again. You hug back. It's so warm.

You're so warm.

"I'm okay now, Mari. You're... you'll be okay too."

"I'm... yeah. Yeah. I'll be okay."

Angel whole-heartedly believes it.

<goreboy>: so <goreboy>: heard you got a New Manager.  <goreboy>: Are They as Shitty as the last One? <Angelic>: no not at all <Angelic>: ...they're someone important to me <Angelic>: I feel like I'm dreaming <Angelic>: I can <Angelic>: I can finally breathe. I'm... really happy. <goreboy>: well I'll be <goreboy>: looks like this Shitty world finally decided to give our Dear Angel a break <goreboy>: ...I'm happy for you Maria <goreboy>: looks like the new Manager's gonna be good for ya

Reader's POV

Maria has her secrets.

Every person has one. Maybe it's something silly. Something sad. Something happy. Or...

Something so dark, it's better left buried.

You see it sometimes — a side of Maria she doesn't normally show. It's in the way her eyes look when she's around men. Particularly disgusting men with leering eyes, too adventurous hands and perverted words that they think would catch a woman's heart. (It doesn't. Their words are filthy. They make women feel violated. Absolutely revolting.)

You see it in her teeth necklace and bracelets — you wondered if they were real. And if they are, where did she get it from? The look she has when she fiddles with it is... something.

You make sure Maria is comfortable. You do your research, make sure that the people offering her jobs were decent instead of. Vile. Yeah. That's a good word for it.

You make sure she's taking breaks. Having fun with her friends, (you didn't mean to see the name of that strange discord server 'Slaughterhouse Losers' Is it some kind of roleplay server?), just... taking care of herself so her mental health doesn't suffer anymore.

Once, you met one of her friends — her ex, she later informs you with an eye roll and a fond smile. Ronin was... a character for sure.

You certainly liked his style.

His words were a bit strange — all cryptic and... poetic? With lots of biblical references. He's a nice guy (there's just something a little strange with how he looks at you. Not in a creepy way. Not like how you're used to with some people in the industry. It's just... he feels off-putting. Still, he's Maria's friend, so you'll trust him.)

Maria has her secrets. 

But you didn't need to know about it. 

Maria's happy now. You're both happy with the way things are.

Ignorance is bliss.

As long as Maria's safe. Happy. Healing.

...

You stare at the television screen where a reporter was covering another murder.

Its a male model; you recognize that handsome face. (Too bad his personality's shit.) Its the same guy that tried to punch you when you asked him to keep things professional and to not touch people without their consent.

Maria went out later that same day. She said she had something to do.

...

You shake your head, grabbing the notebook with the schedules you set for Maria today.

"Mari! Are you ready? We need to head out soon!"

Some things are better left in the dark.

[phoenixeclipse-lmkau]

ISAT is In Stars And Time, if you have the time, watch "So, You're Stuck in a Time Loop!" by youtuber JelloApocalypse, its goes deep enough that you should have gotten the gist of the game without getting spoiled on the ending.

also very sorry that i haven't been crumbing, its crunchtime for me irl and i am ALMOST FREE, so i cant write my crumbs right now :(

also who cares if what you write isn't canon, its great to read all the same. off shoots and what-ifs are always interesting to read.

also, before i send, one last angst crumb:

what if reader was too late in the forest? if the wolf got to landing an injury on one or both of the cubs? knocking one out or perhaps fatally injuring them? imagine how the conscious/surviving cub would react to seeing reader running in to fend off the wolf too late? and imagine them seeing reader attempting to patch up injuries, not knowing if its too late or not.

if they return to their original forms in diyu, well, i guess that would be an easy way to break the curse? sun wukong already escaped once, he could probably do it again. so easy curse break, unless it reapplies itself the moment he leave diyu. would be terrible luck tho, to be a monkey cub all alone far away from the group, unless he was lucky to pop out near them.

i like my angst as much as i like my timeloops, haha.

also feel free to slice my asks if it makes your life easier, i don't mind if you jump back and forth or only answer some, or take longer to answer some than others.

Okay so the ideas of “In Stars and Time” are so cool! I really like what I have seen, personally I don’t care about spoilers so you don’t have to worry about spoiling anything for me! The video was a really fun watch, though with how much it jumped around it was rather confusing, but didn’t really give too many spoilers. Had some fun laughs during it.

OKIE!! I love angst so onto it!!

If one of the cubs get hurt to the point Reader has to worriedly patch them up, she would do so when they get to the village. Carefully wrapping them in cloth as she applies pressure to make sure the bleeding stops.

Throughout their lives neither Wukong nor Macaque have ever had to have someone take care of them like this. Someone frantically taking care of them, and fussing over their injuries and making sure that they are getting better.

For them to wake up or see Reader take care of their mate would send them spiraling in instincts for better or for worse- Their VERY selfish nature would more than likely to go almost full Yandere pretty quickly after that. Of course that would mean they’d have to break the curse (Not that they aren’t going to go Yandere they definitely will be going Yandere in this au, it is a Yandere au after all. They don’t like it when- Ah spoilers hehe~)

Now if one of the cubs are sent to Diyu. If one of the cubs is sent to Diyu then they would undoubtedly return to their regular forms, not only one but both would actually.

The curse that holds the two of them actually breaks if they are separated as is was a curse set to the both of them at the same time with the same spell. So if this were to happen there would be no more curse. (Whoever was sent to the Diyu would cause absolute devastation there though as they break out)

In this AU the DIYU had only captured Wukong the first time, however I know that in JTTW both of them end up in the DIYU during their fight. So we know that they can both end up there, personally in my au Macaque and Wukong are relatively equal in power. Each having their own skills that they are better in of course.

But basically if one were to die, then they would revert back to their Warlord Form, which would definitely freak Reader out. And she would get captured A LOT faster, at this point they wouldn’t kill her, they don’t see her as wife material quite yet but since they won’t kill her it would still happen.

Reader would end up on Flower Fruit Mountain starting off as a servant, one who the cubs of the mountain really like.

And it wouldn’t take too long for the warlords to fall in love with her when she’s always by them, as afraid as she is of them.

If this were to happen they’d find her fear cute at first, so it wouldn’t be as soft of a love story at first (I use soft because it’s the only word I can think of, Wukong and Macaque try to be soft but we all know court-napping isn’t actually soft)

Ba: “What is this woman doing here my king?”

Wukong: “She is going to be a servant.”

Ba: “You both seem to like this new servant you brought in.”

Wukong and Macaque: *both with bruises from getting into a fight with each other and finally admitting they like Reader to each other* “… Yeah, we do.”

Ma: “Go on dear, you wished to see the flowers didn’t you.”

Reader: “No-No I need to get my work done. I don’t want the Kings to be mad at me.”

Ma: *Thinking* ‘You don’t see how they will NEVER be mad at you, do you.’

I loved this ask!! Thank you for sending it, and I hope that you love this!

Comments, reblogs and likes always welcome!