#Specter (one on the left corner)

[grugruel]

His Little Killer

Pairings: Cooper howard x f!reader

NSFW/MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: in reluctant companionship with a ghoul, which turns out to be exactly as dreadful as you'd thought. You find yourself in a shoot-out where–post battle–one of your usual fights end way more pleasurable than usual.

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: (violence, blood, death, in typical fallout manners), enemies to lovers, choking, pinv sex, rough sex, fingering, creampie, pet names (darlin', honey, killer, sweetheart), praise, a pinch of degradation.

AN: not yet proofread! Hope yall enjoy! (Yes, I'm unwell.'

Wood shattering, explosions booming–and charging footsteps heading straight for me. 'At my right!' I shout, gesturing in the direction of the steps. My voice barely registering above the racket of the fight.

Nonetheless, he heard me, I knew he did. Because bullets suddenly whizz past my makeshift cover in every direction except to my right.

The ammunition creating sick squelching noises as they collide with their targets, bloodsplatter spraying the walls a horrifying deep red. Meanwhile, in my corner. The heavy footsteps were left wide open to plough through the old wooden barrels I was hiding behind, 'Holy shii-' I squeak as im tackled to the floor with enough force to knock the breath out of my lungs. I try to cough, try to make my lungs open up as the man grabs hold of me. I hit my chest hard, desperately hoping it would do something–

He grabs my boots, pulling me toward him and finally- I get a breath of air. 'Stupid, fucking asshole.' I mutter through clenched teeth as I lunge and wrestle my attacker, our quarreling bodies kicking up a cloud of dust to swirl around us.

The man was big and foul-smelling, maybe it would've been better refered to as an it, considering the animalistic growls, snapping teeth, and fraying lips that bit and lunged at my face. He attempted to pin my arms to the ground while aiming its teeth at my jugular, but I was quicker. My knee smashing into his balls before he had a single thought of defending himself. He cried out in pain and I took my chance to roll him over, pinning him down with my weight instead, and I began throwing a wave of punches to his face, over and over again. 'I said MY right!' I shouted over my shoulder, weeks of fury and frustration bubbling up inside me as it fueled me into beating the ugly mut unrecognizable–when a second force slammed into my back, knocking me onto the ground once again. Another man, now climbing on top of me, his dirty fingers slithering around my throat and-

Another splatter, this time it's his blood–the second man's, and its sprayed all over me.

'Finally. . .' I exhale heavily, thudding back against the floor, splaying out with relief.

'Were really polishin' up on our teamwork.' A gruff voice announced, words coming out slow and steady with that self-satisfied tone which never failed to get on my nerves.

I heaved myself up on my forearms, angling my body so what remained of the man slumped off of me, and the source of the voice appeared like a specter from the dead man's shadow. 'You're a real pretty sight when ridin' a man like that.' He said, nodding to the guy with a bashed face.

I rolled my eyes, unbelievable. 'You mean while beating the shit out of him?' I ask, my voice pitching higher as I couldnt quite fathom the nerve of that man, despite forcing myself to get used to it over the past few weeks.

He hummed. 'Mhm, really got me goin' for a sec.'

My face scrunched up in disgust. 'Fucking cowboys.' I spat, renouncing the idea loudly. But, quietly, inside my mind, the thought had my core purring unwillingly.

'I shot right, just like you asked.' He shrugged, stalking closer, the drawl in his voice washing through the barren and now battered bar.

'The hell you did!' I hissed. He stopped at my feet, looming over me with his tall frame, frayed coat swaying around his chins, and that stupid cowboy hat covering half his face just like always. We'd been forced travelling companions for a while now, and I could say a lot of nasty things about him, but it was hard to deny- he was a real fucking apocalypse cowboy. Pretty cool if you cut his personality out of the picture.

'I said my right, what the fuck else do you think I ment with "my"?' I kick the lifeless body with my boot, emphasising my point.

'Well. . .' He shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. '. . .my, right.' He smirked.

I shook my head, shooting him daggers. 'Not even you are moronic enough to get that wrong, ghoul.'

'Well, you're right.' He admitted, shocking me for a second. But then, the problem I've always had with him, inescapable and always the same–he never shut his damn mouth. 'You need to work om your phrasin', honey.'

I shut my eyes, screwing them together so tight I began wishing I could disintegrate from annoyance and seep through the cracks between the weathered floorboards like a corn of sand. But no, I was stuck with him, and had to lay there listening to his idiocy. 'How–?' I sighed a heavy, exasperated sigh. '–is it possible for a man to be so full of himself, yet- never talk about himself?'

'Tricks of the trade, sweetheart.' He winked, clicking his tongue while those forsaken eyes roamed my body like a predator sizing up it's prey, and extended a hand toward me as if it were no big deal.

Exhausted as I was, accepting his help seemed sorely tempting to my tired body. After a moments hesitation, I decided–once, wouldn't harm my morals. So, I grabbed his hand with reluctance and let him pull me to my feet. 'I could've died, I hope you realise.'

'Yes. . . But you didn't.' His lips pulling into a grin. 'I wouldn't let that happen'.'

'You're a real bastard, y'know that?' the words left my lips with an unintentional drawl, damn that man.

The ghoul cocked an inexistent eyebrow. 'If I didnt know any better, I'd say im rubbin' of on you, honey.'

Another scoff from me. 'The only thing you're rubbing–is me the wrong way.' I spat, this time making a point of speaking as plainly as possible.

His eyes lit up suspiciously, filling with mischief as his widening smile creased them. 'Well, tell me how you like it then and I'll do it the right way.' He smirked, his voice gravely as it scraped along my spine with a shiver. He always did this, He'd call me nicknames, flirt with me. All cause he knew I hated it. But now he's just bordering on harassment. It did however, not, stop the heat from rising to my cheeks, or for a blush to seep through my skin. He'd staggered me, I truly didn't know how to react. What happened next was purely instinctively driven–

The palm of my hand made contact with his cheek, a crisp slap sounding out through the room. I even confused myself for a moment, almost as I was the one who'd been hit. But I would've been furious, how he reacted, well. . .

'There you are. . .' He purred, his tone lethal. '. . .my little killer.' A grin spreading across his face as he took a step closer.

He was pure poison, somehow both hot and cold as he ran through my veins. 'I ain't yours.' He wss the only person- ghoul, who could get on every nerve I possessed, lighting it ablaze with frustration.

'No. . .? You ain't?' He chuckled, 'You're sure startin' to sound like it, sweetheart. I see the way you look at me, the way you blush when I call you pretty little names.' He nodded toward my eyes, his hat tipping with the movement as he took another step, gaining on the precious distance between us. I feared he was right, too, my cheeks burned in a way I'd never noticed before. Had I always reacted like this? Before I knew it–I'd flung my palm for his face a once again-

Only this time, he caught my wrist. 'Tsk tsk tsk, you can do better than that, killer.' He let go off me, forcefully shoving my arm back to my side with a scoff.

But now, I'm the one stepping closer, pushing him away by the chest simultaneously. 'I hate you.' I spit, taking another step and push again, but this time he doesn't budge, and I was left standing mere inches away from him, my hands pressed firmly against his chest as my own heaved with frustrated breaths, strands of hair hanging over my face from the ordeal.

'Good. . .' He whispered, brushing wild strands of hair from my face. '. . .Now, show me how much you hate me.'

I could've slapped him again, pushed him again, done anything else than what I actually did. But my body acted on instinct, again-

I crashed into him, my hands grabbing his face as our lips met in a battle for control. He released a breathy moan, his trigger ready hands finding my waist impossibly quick to pull me flush against him, our bodies clashing together in a thud. He hummed. 'That's right, killer. Show me.' He whispered in the air-swallowing gasps between our kisses.

I put pressure behind my hands, walking him backward while my fingers found the buttons of his vest. Undoing them along with the shirt, then slid his coat and vest down his shoulders in one go, right before his back collided with the bar top. My hands found themselves making their beneath his shirt, feeling the dents of his scarred chest as I sucked his lip between my teeth, and bit down. A sharp hiss escaped him, quickly being replaced by a wide grin. 'Naughty girl.' He breathed.

Smiling, I pushed myself off of him. 'You bring it out of me.' I panted, pulling my shirt over my head and unhooking my bra, letting it fall to the floor.

He leaned back against the bar, bracing himself on his elbows as his eyes roamed over my bare chest and flushed face. 'Those are the prettiest fuckin' tit's I've ever seen. . .' He spoke in a low voice, too filled with lust to allow him anything else. 'Now, would you mind.' His hand gestured below my waist, his index finger sliding through the air as he traced the buttons of my pants from a distance.

And an idea struck me, suddenly feeling like I wanted to indulge myself in a little torture. Turning around, I did as he told me and began unbuttoning them, slowly. Terribly, terribly slowly. Sliding them over my hips and down my thighs, bucking my knees and bending over slightly as I pulled my panties down along with them. Just as I stepped out if them and looked over my shoulder to give him a coy little look, perhaps revel in the feeling of his pained expression–I was in for a surprise.

Turning my head over my shoulder, I came fave to face with him, but he wasn't just standing there- no. He collided with my back, his arms already wrapped around ny front to catch me. His shirt bow nowhere to be seen. 'Enough.' He growled, one strong arm wrapping around my breasts as the other wrapped around my waist. He raised me off the floor, held tightly against his chest. I squeeked, giggling as I pulled my legs up. Completley overcome with the anticipation of what was about to befall me–then I all of a sudden found myself pushed over the bar top, chest against the smooth luke warm surface. The quality off it telling me it hadn't been bought when fitted into this weathered building.

Then, the clanging of metal, leather groaning, friction, and his belt hit the floor. Gruff hands ran over the swell of my ass and down the arch of my back, taking his time to feel all of me. 'Been thinkin' 'bout this, how you'd feel falling apart beneath me, on top of me–' he leaned over me, hand wrapping around my neck as he pulled me flush against him only to whisper in my ear. '–around me. . .' He breathed, dragging the words out. '. . . All wet 'n messy with my cum fillin' you up.'

A moan left my lips. 'Show me.' Was all I could get out, a silent pleading to make all those thoughts a reality–and so he did.

Before I knew it, a hand had disappeared to line himself up with my entrance, pushing inside me without as much as a warning.

'Fuck!' I cried out, my voice breaking as my breath left me. It felt never ending, he was huge. But oh, he felt so good.

He groaned, finally stopping as he'd sunken all the way into my core. 'So wet for me already.' His hand slid over my back and shoulder, molding itself to my throat as the other grabbed my hip. Already flush with my back, he inclined his head, leaving trail of kisses along my spine and neck.

'Fuck me, please Coop-' it was the first time I'd called him by his name, and I realised it the second it left my lips.

His lips curled against my skin, a smile-

He thrusted into me, again and again. My back arching into an angled I had no idea it was capable of, helping him hit my core at every rut of his hips–not that he needed it. The 200+ years of experience really showed, and they were definitely felt.

The bar was dead silent, no noise except for our joint breaths of pleasure and the sound of slapping skin. It was lewd and brutal, and It made me absolutely delerious. His low, pained grunting in my ear did nothing to ease the matter. He'd created an aching so strong within me I wasn't sure It'd ever be able to be tamed.

'Harder, harder, please.' I stuttered, the words barely coming out between my heavy pants. Fuck, he made me feral. Without even trying, that's just what he was capable of. It annoyed me, he managed to annoy me while fucking me senseless. Oh, how I wish I could hate him, but there was no going back now.

Coop left little love bites all along my shoulder, and up the side of my throat, nipping and kissing in equal meassure as his breathing warmed my skin deliciously. Doing it all with such precision I couldnt understand, his thrust were rocking my emtire body, his chest rubbing againdt my back, yet he could be so delicate. I side ive never seen before. 'Little killer ain't so tough no more, is she?' He whispered, placing a kiss behind my ear before biting the lobe, tugging in it gently.

'. . . Mmh- 'm not, I'm not.' I got out. I was whatever he said I was while he delivered this type of pleasure on a silver platter. I didn't care, my morals had been thrown out the window the second his lips touched mine.

'Well, look at that. Admittin' defeat already?' I could feel his stupid grin again, his pace slowing- still ruthless, but it did enough for that feeling of building pressure to wain inside me.

I shook my head, shutting my eyes hard as I tried to focus on his member moving inside me, desperate not to lose that red string that'd lead me to climax.

'Words, sweetheart. Use em'. .'

'Dont fucking care.' I cried. 'J- just- Fuck. Me. Harder.' I ground out, my teeth clenching real hard from a mix of desperation and frustration for the pressure to start rebuilding.

'That'll do.' He groaned, squeezing my throat. All the while his other hand slid down to my cunt, starting condensed circling around my clit. And just like that, he'd made me into a whimpering mess for him to steady, falling apart beneath him just like he'd thought. Then he simply took up right where he left off, without missing a beat he thrusted so ferociously I was sure I'd be bruising on every single part of my body from the vibrations that rumbled through my muscles alone.

The darkness of my lips were specking with white, a wall of pressure building brick by brick in my abdomen. 'Close, so fucking close.' I whimpered.

'Good- Good job sweetheart. Doin' so good for me.' He burried his face in my hair, nuzzling his nose into its scent, inhaling it as he too approached climax. And there it was, that sudden softness. It was almost unsteadying my senses more than his touch, more than his thrusts, but only almost. 'You sound so sweet for me, honey. Let me hear ya'. . .' He moaned, exhaling warmth against the nape of my neck.

I obliged, of course I did. 'Feels so good, Coop- so close. . .' I panted, tears burning my eyes as they began rolling down my cheeks.

He slid his hand upward, keeping it between me jaw and throat, still choking me as he angled my face over my shoulder, enabling him to kiss me properly. And I've never been more thankful because I was about to cry myself dry as the wall broke. Pleasure flooding through my body in tidal waves, my knees bucking beneath me. 'Good girl.' He praised, voice muffled against my lips. Fingers stopping to instead cup my aching cunt. 'My good fuckin' girl, my little killer.' He moaned softly, my lips vibrating from the roughness in his voice as he caught me, delivering a final few ruts of his hips before he too came. Doing just as he promised, filling me up with his cum.

He loosed his grip around my throat and slit, letting me depend on the counter for support while he held me. 'Still hate me?'

'Yes.' I didn't, but it'd be a long time before I admitted that to him.

'Good.' And then there was silence, our lungs catching up with our breaths. 'Still wanna see those pretty hips ride me.' He murmured as he hugged me from behind, his hand sliding lower, pinching my hipbone.

'Ow! Asshole.' I yelped, and he kissed my shoulder to make up for it. But the thought was alluring nonetheless. I wriggled in his embrace, looking around at the destruction we'd caused, at the- dead bodies. And a pang of guilt hit me. 'Fine, but not here.' I agreed, actually wanting nothing more than to get out of there and sit in his lap, maybe ride his thighs too.

We redress, and share a kiss before leaving. 'Can't wait to taste that cunt of yours, killer.' He murmured suddenly. Leaving me staggered once again.

Ugh, I'm done for.

[thewulf]

Bulletproof Bonds || Aaron Hotchner

Summary: Request - Maybe a husband!Aaron x Long Time BAU!wife and how there’s a new member to the BAU and she keeps trying to flirt with Aaron but he keeps turning her down🥲 but the new member doesn’t know that Aaron and reader are married, and new member just thinks of reader as competition to get with Aaron, eventually leading to reader getting really mad cause new member does something really stupid on a case that leads to reader almost getting seriously injured??... Read Rest Here

A/N: Really loved writing this one. Hope you all enjoy! Thank you for the request @viscade !

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader,

Word Count: 3.1k

TW: Yelling, gunshot (non wounded)

In the bustling chaos of the BAU bullpen, Aaron Hotchner sat at his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sifted through the multitude of case files scattered before him. A usual sight for the unit chief. The harsh fluorescent lights cast stark shadows across his features, accentuating the lines of exhaustion etched into his face by years of chasing monsters in the dark.

You sat by his side, a silent sentinel amidst the whirlwind of activity. Your own workspace dedicated beside him cluttered with documents and crime scene photos. The faint aroma of stale coffee hung in the air as you both delved into the intricate web of clues left behind by the latest serial killer to plague the streets. It was always so easy with him, your husband. The way the two of you were able to bounce ideas off each other was like none seen before.

The tension in the room was palpable, a heavy weight pressing down on everyone present as they grappled with the enormity of the task at hand. Each unsolved case seemed to loom over them like a specter, a constant reminder of the lives lost and the justice yet to be served. Amidst all the usual chaos, Agent Sarah Miller made her presence known. Her arrival heralded by the soft click of her heels against the linoleum floor. She moved with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, her youthful exuberance a stark contrast to the world-weary countenances of her colleagues. She had no idea what she was getting herself into.

Sarah's eyes lingered on Aaron as she sauntered past his open aired desk, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of her lips. She was young, ambitious, and hungry for success. Her gaze fixed on the formidable figure of the BAU's leader like a moth drawn to a flame.

Despite Aaron's cold indifference, she persisted in her attempts at flirtation, undeterred by his lack of response. Her tactics were shamelessly transparent, her words dripping with false sweetness as she sought to capture his attention. Agent Sarah Miller yet again walked past Aaron's desk, her gaze lingering on him for a moment too long before she turned her attention to you. There was a subtle flicker of annoyance in her eyes as she took in your presence, her lips curling into a barely concealed sneer.

"Hey, Hotch," she purred, leaning against the edge of his desk with practiced ease. "You must be tired of staring at all those files. Why don't you take a break and grab a coffee with me?" Her eyes kept looking back to you in brief flashes to gauge your reaction. You decided early on after her brazen attempts that you would give her none. A layer of disgust masked on top of the doe eyes she was attempting to give your husband was meant for you. She was very forward, you had to give her that one.

Aaron's response was polite but firm, his tone devoid of any warmth. "I'm sorry, Agent Miller, but I have work to do," he replied, his eyes never leaving the papers in front of him.

Undeterred, Sarah flashed him a flirtatious smile, her gaze lingering on him expectantly. "Maybe some other time, then," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness before she finally strolled away.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at her blatant display of interest, the subtle scoff escaping your lips as you returned your focus to the files sprawled across your desk. "Some profiler she is," you muttered under your breath, the sarcasm dripping from your words like venom. It was a small act of defiance, a way to vent the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface as you watched Sarah's failed attempts at seduction.

Your comment earned a small smirk from Aaron, his lips quirking up in amusement as he glanced up from his work. His eyes met yours, a silent acknowledgment passing between you, a shared understanding of the absurdity of the situation. In that fleeting moment, you found solace in the unspoken reassurance that he was not blind to Sarah's antics, nor was he unaffected by them.

As the tension in the room continued to get heavier, you exchanged a knowing glance with Aaron, the unspoken bond between you speaking volumes. It was a silent reminder of the unbreakable connection that bound you together, a tether grounding you amidst the disarray swirling around you. In that moment, you drew strength from the knowledge that no amount of flirtation from the new agent could ever hope to rival the deep-seated love and loyalty that defined your marriage.

But beneath the surface, resentment simmered, fueled by the blatant disrespect for the boundaries of your marriage. Each lingering glance, each flirtatious comment served as a reminder of the fragile line Sarah was treading, unaware of the storm brewing beneath the calm facade. Yet, as frustrating as her antics were, you knew that the true test of your marriage lay not in her misguided advances but in the unwavering trust and devotion you shared with Aaron. A bond that would withstand any challenge thrown your way.

You had to give the girl credit. She certainly didn’t stop. It was not even an hour later that the girl came crawling right back to him. In the dimly lit bullpen of the BAU, the seasoned agents huddled together, their eyes darting furtively around the room as they exchanged knowing glances. Reid, Garcia, Morgan, and Prentiss stood in a tight circle. Their voices hushed as they leaned in conspiratorially.

"So, who's going to crack first?" Garcia whispered, her eyes sparkling mischievously behind her glasses.

Prentiss smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. "My money's on Y/N. She's got that poker face down pat."

Reid nodded in agreement, adjusting his glasses. "And she's got a wicked sense of humor. I don't think she's sweating it."

Just then, Morgan, ever the observant one, interjected with a grin. "You know what, I'm with both of you on this one. Y/N's handling this like a pro. She's probably just waiting for the perfect moment to drop a witty comeback."

The others turned to look at you, noticing your bemused expression as you observed the scene unfolding with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. The new agent, eager to impress, leaned in a little too close to Hotch, her voice dropping to a suggestive whisper. "So, Hotch, any plans for dinner tonight?"

Hotch glanced up from his paperwork, his expression remaining impassive. "Just finishing up some reports, Agent. Nothing planned."

Undeterred, the new agent persisted, fluttering her eyelashes coyly. "Well, if you change your mind, I know this great Italian place down the street."

Hotch merely nodded, returning his attention to the file in front of him. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, Agent."

Behind his back, the BAU members couldn't contain their laughter, stifling their giggles as they watched the new agent's attempts fall flat. It was clear that Hotch was immune to her charms, his focus unwavering even in the face of relentless flirting.

As Sarah retreated, finally somewhat defeated, the BAU members exchanged triumphant looks, their silent bet settled. Hotch may have been unflappable in the field, but when it came to dodging unwanted advances, he was truly a master of his craft. And you, well, you were just enjoying the show, your amused smile barely masking your annoyance as you watched the scene unfold.

The breaking point came during a particularly intense case, where the unsub's erratic behavior had everyone on edge. You felt the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you moved cautiously through the dimly lit corridors of an abandoned warehouse, every nerve on high alert.

In the heat of the pursuit, Sarah's impulsive decision shattered the fragile equilibrium you had struggled to maintain with your team. Ignoring protocol and disregarding the safety of the team, she charged ahead recklessly, her actions sending shockwaves rippling through your ranks. Bullets flew past you like angry hornets, the deafening roar of gunfire echoing off the walls as chaos descended upon you.

It happened in the blink of an eye, a split-second decision with far-reaching consequences. A bullet sliced through the air like a deadly whisper, its trajectory aimed straight for your chest. But thanks to the protective barrier of your bulletproof vest, the impact was nothing more than a forceful shove, the fabric absorbing the blow with a sickening thud. The impact knocked the wind out of you, pain searing through your body as you stumbled backward, clutching your chest.

As the adrenaline faded and the reality of what could have been sunk in, fury ignited like a wildfire within you. You rounded on Sarah, your voice a crescendo of anger as you unleashed the pent-up frustration that had been building for weeks. Each word was a dagger aimed straight at her heart. Your tone laced with a venomous ferocity that mirrored the intensity of the emotions raging within you.

Coughing up blood, your vision blurred as you struggled to make sense of what had just happened. Anger surged through you like a tidal wave, drowning out the pain as you staggered to your feet. With a primal roar, you lunged at Sarah, grabbing her by the collar with a strength born of desperation.

"What the fuck was that?" you yelled, louder than you ever had before. And certainly not in front of the team. Your voice raw with fury. Each word was a thunderclap, reverberating through the warehouse like a warning shot. "You could have killed me! Or them! Do you even realize what you've done?"

But Sarah's response was a defiant sneer, her gaze unwavering in the face of your righteous indignation. "I did what needed to be done," she spat, her voice laced with arrogance. "I'm not afraid to take risks to get the job done."

The words were like a slap to the face, a cruel reminder of the recklessness that had nearly cost you everything. With all your rage, you shoved her away, your hands trembling with anger as you struggled to contain the tempest raging within you.

"You're a liability," you growled, your voice a low, dangerous whisper. "And if you ever put my life, their lives,” You pointed to Spencer and Emily behind you, “in danger again, I won't hesitate to take you down myself."

As you stood there, trembling with fury and pain, the rest of the team made their way over. You still hasn’t seen Aaron yet but the rest of them looked on in shock and disbelief. Derek surged forward, his strong arms wrapping around you as he pulled you back from the confrontation. "Easy there Y/N," he said, his voice low and soothing as he tried to calm the storm raging within you. "Cool off."

Emily and JJ exchanged worried glances. Finally, Aaron found you after too many moments of losing it in front of everyone. His eyes widened in alarm as he took in the sight of blood staining your lips, his heart clenching with fear at the sight. "What happened?" he demanded. His usually calm voice was laced with urgency as he reached out to gently touch your arm. His fingers trembled against your skin, his touch a comforting anchor in the swirling chaos of the moment.

Still reeling from the confrontation and the shock of narrowly escaping serious injury, Spencer stepped forward, his voice calm but tinged with urgency. "Aaron, Sarah made a nearly fatal mistake," he said, his words cutting through the tension like a knife. "Her impulsive actions endangered everyone on the team, especially Y/N." You were thankful he was willing to step in because you weren’t quite sure if you had the right words.

Aaron's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching with barely contained fury as he turned his gaze on Sarah. The air around him crackled with palpable anger, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. "Is this true?" he demanded, his voice cold and steely as he pinned her with a hard stare.

Sarah shifted uncomfortably under his intense scrutiny, her bravado faltering in the face of his unwavering gaze. "I...I was just trying to apprehend the unsub," she stammered, her voice wavering with uncertainty.

But Aaron's patience had worn thin, his temper flaring like a raging inferno. "You made a reckless decision that put the entire team at risk," he snapped, his voice echoing off the walls of the warehouse. "Until you can prove that you're capable of following protocol and putting the safety of your teammates above all else, you will not be back in the field."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the consequences of her actions. Sarah's expression fell, her defiance crumbling under the weight of his judgment. It was a harsh lesson, but one that she would need to learn if she ever hoped to earn back the trust of her colleagues and prove herself worthy of wearing the badge.

As Aaron turned away, his attention returning to you with a renewed sense of protectiveness, you couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for the unwavering support of your team leader and husband. But as you tried to catch your breath, a sudden coughing fit wracked your body, drawing Aaron's attention back to you. Concern flashed across his features, his eyes narrowing with worry as he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to steady you.

"Hey sweetheart," he murmured softly, his voice a gentle caress against your ear as he brushed a strand of hair away from your forehead. "Let's get you checked out, alright?"

You attempted to speak, but the coughing fit continued, leaving you gasping for air. So, you shook your head in protest. You were fine and you knew it, but the damn bullet hit you right in the lung leaving you gasping for air. Aaron's worry deepened, his brow furrowing with concern as he knelt down beside you, his hands hovering anxiously over your shoulders.

"Honey, just breathe," he urged, his voice filled with tenderness as he placed a comforting hand on your back. "We'll get you to the hospital, and they'll take care of you. I promise." It wasn’t usual that he dropped those sweet terms of endearment to you in front of the team, but he couldn’t really care. Not when he could’ve lost you.

Despite your protests, Aaron's determination remained steadfast. With gentle insistence, he scooped you up in his arms, cradling you against his chest with a strength born of love and concern. "You're going to the hospital," he declared, his voice unwavering as he carried you towards his SUV. “I’m not taking no for an answer sweetheart."

As Aaron settled into the driver's seat beside you, his eyes flickered with concern as he stole glances, his hand reaching out to brush against yours in a silent gesture of reassurance. But despite his unwavering determination to get you to the hospital, you couldn't help but feel a stubborn sense of resistance bubbling within you.

"I'm fine, Aaron," you insisted, your tone tinged with frustration as you crossed your arms over your chest. "This is incredibly dramatic. You’ve been hit in your gear too."

Aaron's expression softened at your words, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Maybe I am," he admitted with a chuckle. "I also know what it feels like honey. I’d rather be safe than sorry."

You shot him a playful glare, unable to suppress the teasing smile that danced on your lips. He cared for you, truly. Every inch of himself loved you more deeply than even you could have fathomed. You also knew that love bore stubbornness and there was no talking him out of what he knew he had to do. You were just along for the ride now. "You just can't resist playing the hero, can you?" You spoke up after a moment of silence between the two of you.

Aaron chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he glanced over at you. "Guilty as charged," he replied. "Always remind me never to get on your bad side," Aaron quipped, a lighthearted smile playing on his lips as he attempted to alleviate the tension that hung heavy in the air.

You managed a weak laugh trying your hardest to hide the pain radiating from your chest. However, so grateful for his attempt to lighten the mood. "You looked like you were about to take matters into your own hands back there," he teased gently, his voice laced with affection.

The image of you, ready to throw down with the new agent, brought a genuine laugh bubbling up from deep within you this time. "Well, she did have it coming," you admitted with a mischievous grin. "But I guess I'll let you handle the heroics this time."

As the laughter subsided, Aaron's expression turned more serious, a hint of regret flickering in his eyes. "I'm sorry things got so heated," he said softly, his voice tinged with sincerity. "I should have stepped in sooner. I thought she was harmless. Dealt with her type so many times before." He sighed, running a hand through his hair before finding your hand and lacing his fingers within yours.

You squeezed his hand, a warm smile spreading across your face. "It’s not your fault you’re such a silver fox," Tossing him a wink you couldn’t help but to tease him right on back. It’s how you knew everything was going to be just fine. The two of you had dealt with so much worse and come out even stronger, this would be nothing but a minor blip on your journey together.

Aaron laughed at your playful comment, a warmth spreading in his chest at your familiar banter. "Ah, so you're saying my charm is both a blessing and a curse," he retorted with a grin, his gaze softening as he looked at you.

You nodded, a fond smile playing on your lips. "Something like that," you agreed, feeling a surge of gratitude for the ease with which you could navigate even the toughest moments with Aaron by your side.

As the car glided through the streets towards the hospital, a comfortable silence settled between you, punctuated only by the gentle hum of the engine. Despite the events that had unfolded, you found solace in the quiet intimacy of the moment, knowing that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. With each passing mile, you felt the weight of the day begin to lift from your shoulders, replaced by a sense of reassurance that only Aaron could provide. His unwavering love and support was everything you needed. He guided you through the darkness, illuminating the path forward with hope and determination.

As you arrived at the hospital and Aaron helped you out of the car, you knew that this was just another chapter in your life together. You couldn't help but feel a profound sense of gratitude for the man beside you, your literal partner in crime, your rock, your everything. Together, you were truly unstoppable.

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[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon "Ghost" Riley, Reader

Summary: All the buildup, all the teasing, finally leads to this: Simon is back and ready to act on all those filthy things you two had been teasing each other with. Will you make it home before you both explode? Or will the car have to do to break the tension?

Word Count: 5.1 k

Warnings:

Part 2:

Unsteady hands gripped hard into the steering wheel, knuckles white as you tightly held on while headed straight to the military base. Your heart pounding furiously inside your chest, breath quick and short the closer you got, it was nearly impossible to keep your eyes focused on the road. Christ were you gnawing at the bit to get there and once again see that beast of a man, the one keeping you begging for release for the past three months.

Those breathtaking bits of personalized porn you two had sent each other had done nothing other than made that inconvenient ache into a raging monster that could not be quenched. Hours spent furiously working yourselves, silently begging for a little ease in the constant throbbing had gotten nowhere except to drain the battery life on your phones from the constant re-watching of videos.

…though that last photo he sent you of his abdomen covered in his milky white cum after having watched your little romp into amateur pornography had left you feeling on top of the world for a couple days.

And just as you were on that last leg of desperation, finally the light at the end of the tunnel that led up to you driving where you were today. It had been exactly one week from when you got the text you had been waiting on from Simon:

“I’m coming home, baby. Fucking finally; Christ I thought I was going to rub myself raw. Best not wear anything you want to remain intact, you hear me? Cause the minute I get my paws on you, that's it.”

Thank fuck, the suffering was almost over.

That entire week seemed to drag on endlessly, each day crawling through at a snails pace, but here you were now only a few more minutes away from your destination. Even as you checked in at the entrance to the base, antsy and squirming in the seat of your car, you couldn’t believe that you had actually made it.

You took Simon’s message to heart when you got ready that morning, choosing a simple, flowy dress that he could literally shred off of you and you wouldn’t give a shit. It was just long enough that it could easily conceal the fact that you had done away with the panties today, opting for ease of access over anything else, but low cut enough in the front that he could get a nice eyeful of your full chest; you had no idea what would happen the moment you saw each other again and you weren’t taking any chances.

This reunion was bound to be explosive after all the visual edging you two had been doing lately and having to waste even a second more of time before your bodies could be joined felt like a crime.

You walked through the base, heartbeat rapidly increasing with each step as you got closer to where you knew you'd find that hulking Lieutenant hanging around.

And then you turned a corner and there he was like a specter brought back to life, standing idly beside the outside wall smoking as he watched the privates of his troop find their families and suddenly the wind was knocked from you.

“Simon,” you called out to him and he turned to face you.

That instant connection of your eyes felt like a shock from a live wire; Simon could feel the electricity run through his veins and tingle its way up his spine until the first prickles of sweat dotted across his body as his cigarette slipped from his fingers. It felt like he couldn’t breathe and the closer you got the worse it became; you knew what you were doing wearing that pretty little dress.

Fuck did he want to take a bite of those thick thighs he could see just under the hem that popped out every time you took a step and if his hands didn’t get their fill of your breast spilling out of his grip soon, he might just keel over and die. You were more than tempting, you were a feast sent to make him completely lose his goddamn mind.

His entire body was sent into shock as that ache that he had tried to keep from ripping him apart all day as he waited for your arrival overtook him until his balls pulsed and he had to adjust himself or get caught sporting a stiffy that would instantly tent the crotch of his pants and make it even more painfully obvious to any curious eyes just how gone he fucking was.

Coming to a stop you stood before him, your stomach doing back flips as you struggled to form words that weren’t just pleas for him to just rip the waistband of his pants down and take you right then.

“Hey you,” you said through unsteady breaths, trying to keep calm. “Long time no see, huh?”

Simon nodded. “Too fuckin’ long sweetheart. Ya look...” he had to clear his throat, “incredible.” He had to keep it short, there were still too many people about and even his words would cause him to lose composure.

“Well, it is a special occasion after all,” you chuckled. “Got to remind you what you leave behind every time you go.”

The need to take your hand and give it squeeze, that customary greeting that you both did when in public, made him hesitate. If he touched you right now, any bare part that met skin with skin, he may not be able to stop, not once those weathered and brutish fingers got their fill of all that sweet softness. There as still a little time left that he had to be there and the agony was already eating away at him.

“Believe me, I fuckin’ know,” he said as he shot you a look; I’ve been in hell waitin’ to get back to it, it whispered to you.

Taking a few calming breaths, he risked lacing his broad fingers in between the empty spaces in your own. Simon could feel the rapid thump, thump, thump, of your pulse against his palm; good, you were just as excited for this reunion as he was.

Somehow that made it a bit easier, knowing that the feeling was mutual.

“Can we go?” you asked eagerly, hopeful that you were closer to the end of your joint suffering sooner rather than later.

Simon stroked the back of your hand with his thumb. “Gotta be here just a bit longer,” he muttered dejectedly under his breath. “God, I want ya so bad I can’t see straight.”

You squeezed his hand back. “It’ll go fast,” you assured. “And…I mean… no one’s looking this way if you wanted to touch me a little more. Maybe you’ll find something you’ll like.”

It was dangerous, but he took a chance with even more touch as he released your hand and loosely wrapped his arm around your waist, bring you in to him until your hips were touching. You were warm against him, warmer than the day would suggest, and the curve of your hip that he ran his fingers over delicately to retrace the lines he had dreamed about felt even better than he remembered.

Silently you peaked over at his face, watching as his head faced firmly forward to watch for any prying eyes, but it was clear he hadn’t noticed it yet. Not wanting to spoil the surprise, you kept quiet; he’d figure it out eventually. Those exploring fingers were beginning to stray more towards the back of you to the small dip at the base of your spine.

…and then lower still…

That’s when you felt it; he risked a lingering stroke over the contour of your ass when he noticed it. Where was that distinct seam of your panty line? He had grabbed your backside so many times over the course of your relationship that he knew the feeling of what should have been there. Quickly he ran his hand over the area again and still the same, there was nothing. Christ, you’d really prepared for today, hadn’t you?

Good fuckin’ girl.

His chest began to grow tight with his quickened breathing… along with that engorged appendage down below. He was in fucking trouble now; would he even be able to make it to the car at this point? The moan that desperately tried to escape through his throat he swallowed down, but who knows how long it would stay.

He was in the thick of it now.

Simon leaned down to rest his face against the side of your head, his warm breath still able to be felt against your ear even through the mask. “Fuckin’ hell sweetheart, no panties?” he whispered intrigued. “Christ, how the fuck am I supposed to hang on now?”

You smirked, trying to pick even though you were falling apart at the seams, a wetness gathering between your thighs as you pressed them together. “You complaining? Cause I can head back home and put some on real quick if you want.”

A harsh squeeze along the underside of your ass cheek made you gasp before he removed his hand and gave you your answer. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he warned, a playfully lilt to his tone. “That sweet little pussy is about to be filled and I don’t wanna waste a goddamn second havin’ to rip those fuckin’ things off ya.”

Dear God he was about to fuckin’ explode, say screw it and pin you up against the nearest wall right in front of the entire goddamn squad to plow into your tight, wet cunt with months worth of unrequited need that had built up to this monster of desire churning away inside of him. His teeth bit at the skin of his lower lip, his fists clenching and unclenching as he failed to calm himself while he again checked the time.

The moment that those amber eyes watched the second hand on his watch hit and the minutes change to the millisecond he could be released, his oversized mitt wrapped around your wrist, securing it in his harsh grasp, and quickly he began making his way to your car with you being dragged alongside.

“Where the hell are ya parked?” he questioned in a huff, that gruff voice nothing more than a growl, and you pointed towards the back of the lot in the corner.

You could barely keep up with his intense pace, nearly tripping over your own feet several times to match his long strides. It didn’t help that your heart was pounding furiously, nearly beating out of your chest the closer you got to being in a tight, secluded spot with him; could you even make it back to his apartment?

All signs were pointing to not a fucking chance.

Simon only released you so that you could both get inside, separating at the tail of the vehicle with you headed towards the driver side and him the other. The slam from the car door rung through the interior of the vehicle and before you could even insert the key into the ignition, Simon had moved in silent as a specter to place his large palm against the side of your cheek. The endless ache he had endured over the past months apart had been unbearable as you both edged each other to the brink of insanity and now that he was so close to you again it felt like he was in a dream.

The tension that suddenly filled the car was overwhelmingly electric as Simon closed what little distance there still sat between you both, his hand moving to the back of your head. Those bulky, calloused fingers that had missed having any part of you against them laced themselves through your hair with harsh abandon, pulling your face closer.

He held your head steady and pointedly at his face so that you had to stare into his intense, unwavering gaze; it made your skin tingle with anticipation of what was on the horizon and barreling down fast. Those sparkling brown eyes drew you in to hold your own captive as he drug his thick thumb across the length of your bottom lip as if to test that all this was actually real. His entire hand palmed the back of your head which left you completely at his mercy, not that you were complaining.

After all, you needed him just as badly.

Without warning he wrenched the bottom hem of his balaclava up over the top of his head and off his face before his mouth crashed violently against your own, hungry and greedy to steal kiss after fiery kiss from those soft, supple lips he had been eyeing with a burning desire to ruin since the minute he saw you again. Desperately his tongue parted your lips as he plunged it inside your mouth to reclaim it.

God it felt euphoric to finally be given the very thing you had been aching for for months, feeling as if your body had pined for his for an eternity, as it was finally released from it’s torture. And by the way his tongue was nearly shoved down the back of your throat you knew Simon felt that same kind of relief and it only spurred him on further.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your parted lips, nothing but hot, sticky breath being shared. “Ugh…fuck, baby, I’ve missed you so goddamn much I thought I was gonna fuckin’ die before I could feel ya again.”

Crawling over the small console in the center between the car seats, Simon shoved his body weight into you, making your smaller frame slam against the driver-side door. The raised panelling along the inside dug roughly into the muscles of your back as the backside of your head was shoved harshly into the glass of the window. There was no pause in his assault of your mouth until your lips began to burn from the constant contact and yet even the pain still felt like heaven.

He tasted so strongly of tobacco from the chain of cigarettes he must have smoked to calm his nerves until you arrived, but even through the distinct flavor you still drank every last drop of him down like you would cease to function without him.

Those thick digits of his free hand eagerly pawed at your supple thighs until he was able to divide them so that his hand could slip in between. There was a damp heat gathered near your unclothed sex and it only made him more wild to feel it. His palm cupped around your entire mound and you whimpered directly into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he hissed one of the only words he could recall in that moment as the damp heat filled his palm. “All for me?”

Words, what the hell were they again? You couldn’t remember how speech worked as you were far too busy try to simply breathe through the conquering of your body by him. All you could do was mewl like a kitten as he massaged the petals of your cunt before taking his middle finger and slipping it between them. Your back arched in a jolt as he ran one finger along the length of your cunt, mouth falling agape as Simon gathered as much of your juices on his finger as he could.

Even this small amount of contact already had you dripping and coming apart at the seams; it had been so long since you had felt that familiar touch and pressure against your clit, the one that only he could provide.

Simon couldn’t help himself once he got his first real feel again of how soft and slick you were, goddamn it had been too long that he’d only been able to play with himself, and greedily he drew upon your clit in concise circles with the pad of his rough finger. There was a second where he tried to remain calm, to take his time drawing out your pleasure as he would normally do, but as your back arched and your breathy music filled the silence of the car, he could not hold off from unleashing weeks of pent up need onto you.

Removing his lips from your own, he moved down to the soft skin of your neck with teeth ready to leave the flesh marked with his seal. It burned him alive with desire at the thought that he would be able to see your pretty skin marred by him, that everyone who came in to contact with you in the coming days after today would see it too.

You could not stop the way your body writhed and squirmed as his finger collected a friend to join it and spread your entrance open so they could both slide inside. The heightened tension of the moment with the man you had yearned for only made you more sensitive and the way his fingers filled your tight, aching hole after it had been left empty for too long thrilled you. As natural as breathing, your hips ground down on his fingers, using them as your own living dildo.

God, he wanted nothing more than for you to ride his cock as well as you rode his fingers just now and send him straight to hell. Shit, he couldn’t catch his breath, his need was just too much. “That’s it. Use me; make my fingers yours.”

Both of your hands moved to behind your head and onto the window; you needed more leverage to ground onto him harder, as hard as you could. Nothing compared to him, not your own fingers, not a toy; you could not stop yourself. You could feel the condensation already gathering on the glass as you moved and you had to wipe it away so that you could get better purchase on the surface so you wouldn’t slide.

There was nothing that was going to ruin this.

“Oh god, baby,” you squeaked out as that overwhelming deep warmth of your release gathered in your abdomen.

The corners of his mouth upturned against your neck at the sound of you falling apart because of him. Images conquered in his mind about your moans and cries reaching outside the car so that anyone who walked by would hear them before they caught a glimpse of the show. Why wouldn’t he want to show you off like this? You looked so fucking beautiful falling apart to his ferocity.

Just the way your muscles strained and your cries became more pathetic, Simon knew you were close. “Are ya gonna come for me already, pretty girl?” his gruff voice purred against your collar bone. “Come on then, give it to me. Clench down on my fingers. Let me feel it.”

Pumping his fingers in and out of you, keeping the pace as steady as he could, he felt those velvety walls flutter around his digits as he rocked his upper body with you to simulate the movements he’d soon be doing when he was really inside you. The air was so thick with moisture it almost felt hard to breathe right, the windows filmed with the stuff as with a few more strokes at your clit you came hard and fast, shaking as he continued to work you until ever single ounce of your orgasm had been spent.

Simon was gone then, replaced by a feral beast fueled by his ability to make you come… and wanting to do it again, but this time with his cock.

He pulled those thick fingers out of you, glistening with the wetness of your cum and brought them to his lips. You watched wide eyed as he stuck them in his mouth and licked them good and clean; goddamn you tasted just as delicious as he remembered. Could you blame the man? You had kept him starving since your video popped up on his phone and he had to get a bit of it all.

“I need more of ya,” he groaned in whispers as he leaned back into you, desperate hands pawing at your breast still sadly inside your dress as he kissed you again, now with the taste of you on his breath.

“We need to move, someone’s bound to come see what all the noise is about,” you said, able to think a little more clearly now that you had come once, but Simon was still gone and there was only one thing that would bring him back.

“Don’t care, can’t wait. Get in the back. Now.”

The primal growl in his gruff voice was enough to make you comply without another word; once was not enough anyway, not after how you had suffered. You needed to be filled with more than his fingers. With a nod you immediately began climbing over the cushions towards the backseat of the car as he got out and moved into the back with you. You leaned back into the front long enough to shove the seats forward all the way to give you more space.

Simon needed room to work.

Scooting over, he planted himself directly in the middle of the back seat and pulled you over top of his lap to straddle him, shins digging into the edge of the cushion. Shit, he as so hard you couldn’t properly sit over top of him without leaving a wet spot right where his cock tented the fabric.

Clothes could be washed, as if he would care at all if anything got on him right now. Pushing your hips down, he made you grind your overstimulated clit hard on that throbbing shaft and you mewled into his face. A devilish grin spread from ear to ear as he rocked your hips to dry hump him.

“Someone ‘ere begged to be bred and that’s what she’s gonna fuckin’ get,” he hissed, sucking in the air harshly between his teeth at the feeling of you on top of him. “Can’t take it back now, luv. I have been fuckin’ dreamin’ of doin’ this, ever since you sent me that goddamn video and I ‘eard you say those sweet fuckin’ words. Been fuckin’ gnawin’ at the bit to stuff you full.”

Taking both of his hands, he pulled at the low neckline of your dress until your breasts came spilling out of the top. Angling his face in, he placed his nose right between the two to suffocate himself within them. There was a hint of your perfume still lingering there, that scent he had bought you for your birthday last year, the one that occasionally lingered on his clothes and had done for the first couple weeks of his mission.

The flesh was so enticing that he sucked in the supple top of one breast before he bit down, not enough to break the skin, but enough that it would definitely leave a nice red outline of his teeth; more signaturea that you could both admire.

“Simon,” you moaned his name.

Your own hands roamed up under his shirt, pushing the fabric up until you reached his chest and you could run your hands over the sparse bit of hair you adored; it would be so nice to get to nuzzle against it again. As your fingers ran between his pectorals you could feel the moment his breath hitched.

“Please, Simon,” you begged. “I need it.”

Those breasts he would get back to later, your words brought him back and his need to fuck you senseless slammed into him full force.

Rushed, he laid you back over the console between the seats as he sat up and forward, undoing his belt before ripping his pants down enough that he could pull his cock out of his boxers. The angle was slightly awkward, but as he aligned the leaking head of his phallus with your entrance and gave that first thrust to fully enter you, everything else fell away.

“Oh fuck…fuck… oh fuck,” that deep agonized whimper echoed through the car as Simon’s hands bore down his grip on the top of the seat cushions. “Goddammit, luv…s-shit…ah…”

Nothing, absolutely nothing in this fucking world could ever compare to the way your body felt wrapped around his cock: how silky and warm and tight it was. There was no way with his limited brain function could he accurately describe how mind-numblingly amazing it was to be inside you again. Those restless nights where he just couldn’t seem to stay satisfied, the pictures and video that made it worse, the dreams that woke him to stained boxers, it was all undone in that moment as your soft walls held him snugly.

Your head flew back over the lip of the console as he filled you completely to the hilt, stretching you out to your limit. It was almost too much after so much time apart, but goddamn was it exactly as you had wanted. You swallowed the saliva gathering in your mouth, wanting to say the words you had first brought to life in your video, but in person this time.

“Breed me, please Simon. I need you to fucking breed me.”

Never had a more beautiful sentence ever been spoken to him in all his years than to hear your desperate and depraved voice telling him to claim you in the most ultimate way; it was even more beautiful in person than it was that first time he heard it. His fingernails nearly tore holes in the seat as gripped with all this strength to stop himself from coming too fast from all the excitement.

The car began to shake forward and back as Simon snapped his hips into you with a feverish intensity. Even within the first few minutes he was already pussy drunk, slamming into you with a feral roughness that left his rhythm scattered for a bit as his brain only had one objective now: to come.

Your legs were absolutely burning and shaking from the intensity as you had to spread them wide so that he could fit in between, but it didn’t matter; you would have done anything to have him reclaim your cunt as his own again.

The scent of sex was heavy in the air of that enclosed space, the wet slapping sounds of two bodies connecting in that most erotic way keeping the beat.

Yet there was still one more thing he wanted, one more thing that he had been daydreaming about all by his lonesome. Even in this cramped space, he was determined to make it happen- for both of you. His hands were on your legs and before you knew what was happening, he had pulled out of you so that he could situate your calves up on his broad shoulders.

As he thrust back in, the new position helped him reach even deeper until he completely bottomed out. Goddamn it was like you could feel him in your stomach, so full with him that you were completely one being.

“F-fuck…” you stammered out the cry, choking on your words as you writhed uncontrollably. It was almost too much.

“There ya go baby,” he groaned as he started rocking his hips again, unable to contain himself at this consuming euphoria. “Gotta make good on my fuckin’ promise.”

He took you even rougher now, gripping into your hips hard enough to leave purple fingerprints where his hands rested as he pounded into you furiously, your body contorted and at his mercy. The windows of the car were completely fogged over now, the condensation not letting any clear visuals in or out as the axel squeaked with the force of Simon’s thrusts. The console you were still laid on scraped across your back to make it burn as your body was rocked, but the angle was so perfect that the stimulation made your brain blank to anything that wasn’t your second release creeping up on you quick.

There were no more words that could be said as you both devolved into beings hell bent on pleasure alone, just the depraved sounds of grunting and moans filling up the interior to capacity; that growing warmth in your belly nearly reaching its peak

Goddammit, he was closer than he thought due to all the pent up desire he'd been unable to sait for weeks, but he had to be sure you were almost there again too. "Are ya close?" he asked as more of a plea than a question, hips snapping desperately with a shudder as he was losing the battle to his orgasm.

"Yes," you groaned back. "Don't stop, please."

He closed his eyes tight, working to stay from blowing until he felt your thighs twitch and clamp down around him, keeping him locked in. A few more sloppy thrusts slipping through the cum covering your cunt, a few more bumps against your swollen clit, and that was it. The warmth shot through your limbs, coursing like electricity as you came once more.

"Yes, yes, yes!" you cried out and finally he let go and fuck did he come with a roar that stung your ears.

Simon's body convulsed, the muscles in his abdomen tensing and straining as he released weeks and weeks of need. You took it all riding out your orgasms in tandem until you both lay still a moment, simply breathing after such an explosive ending.

He moved back into the seat exhausted, pulling your body along with him as you stayed connected. Lightly he pushed up your dress to press his raw lips to your stomach to kiss down the lower half of your body. Each embrace was another silent praise he gave while he took deep breaths through the high of his ecstasy until his rapidly pounding slowed and he could final re-wet his dry mouth to speak.

“Fuck, I think we both needed that one,” he said against your skin, his warm breath wafting over the fine spread of moisture along your torso, making you tingle as he kept his cock buried inside. “Ya did so good for me sweetheart.”

You reached a hand out to him and he helped you to sit up and into his lap. Wrapping your arm around his neck you pulled him into a deep kiss, letting your mouths linger together with eyes closed for a few moments as you both finished coming down.

“I’m glad your back,” you whispered as your lips parted.

He cupped your cheek with his palm, staring back into your eyes as he smiled. “I’m glad to be back too,” he returned. "And I'm gonna make sure that I make up for all that lost time."

Tag list: @sillylittlereader @babygirl-riley @jarfullofjizz @jamieelol

[rainybyday]

Pt 2 | Pt 3

Jazz was in awe of her baby brother. Sure, she had seen him in her Ma’s tummy but seeing him in person was different. 

He was so.... squishy and tiny and small and soft! His hands waving in slow motions with legs kicking in the air, closed eyes and baby soft clothes on his new body. Jazz was content on watching her brother like this, hearing his soft coos and simply staying with him but she felt a nudge from her left. 

“Touch him Jasmin,” Big Sister Rosa said. “Hold out your finger to greet him.”

Jazz looked back at her Big Sis. Her dirty (mud covered) blond (dark red) hair shifted so her green (missing) eyes stared at her in gentleness (and understanding, for she too was a big sister once upon a time). Seeing Jazz’s hesitation, she nudged her again towards the crib to encourage her.

Jazz looked at her, then glanced back at her brother. The baby was still wiggling in his position. Hesitantly she reached out her hand to hover over her brother, still a bit unsure as to what she should do. Just when she was about to retreat her hand when the nerves got the best of her, she felt the touch of feathery soft skin. 

Wide blues eyes watched in awe as a tinny tiny hand grazed her’s. Danny was blindly waving his arm to feel her own before little fingers with even tinnier nails finally unclenched from his fist and latching on to her hand. 

A moment of silence passed by before the tiny ittiy bitty baby made a soft whining sound. 

And then-! And then-!

He opened his eyes!

Jazz felt all her breath escaped her in a loud gasp as blurry blue eyes blinked against the bright lights of his nursery. He blinked for a long time before his eyes seemed adjust enough to seek out the soft thing he was touching. 

“Hi baby,” Jazz breathed. “I’m your sister.”

Little eyes blinked as responding hums answered back. 

(The specters watched the two living breathing beings as they conversed with each other. Neither of the siblings knew that those words would have taken a hold of them both. A bind that transcends beyond blood and water.)

(Both pair of eyes glowed under the veil, ebony hair became wispy white and crimson hair became blazing embers.)

(One held the starting of a star in his eyes, space under his shadow, and eternity written in his future.)

(One held the shine of a sun in her eyes, magic on her fingertips, and the birth of infinity that will be the tale of her destiny.)

Jazz protected and loved her brother. Twin laughter can be heard in rooms they claim to play in. Jazz would always insist on feeding him when her parents come to grab him for food. Giddiness would push Jazz to rush to her brother once school is over to tell him about her day. Slowly, Jazz’s life was becoming brighter with her little star by her side. 

The birth of her brother also had another side effect. She would converse with her Big Sisters more, asking questions about her brother's health or ask them what stories her brother would love to hear. Craft projects were made with the upmost care in order to gift them to her little star. She spent a large about of time digging for pretty rocks and wildflowers to present to him as well. More and more she planned her days around what she can do to make her little brother the happiest he can be. 

More and more she started to spend more time outside 

(More and more people of the town started to notice how the predator began to prowl the streets of their uneasy town.)

(Tension began to rise, and every person would start to slow down around corners of their homes. Afraid to meet the gaze of something unnatural, the beginning of something dangerous with too white teeth and too bright eyes. Tension was becoming thicker and only time will tell when it snaps.)

(And it did.)

“What are you smiling about?”

“Hmm?” Jazz hummed as she turned questioning to the voice behind her.

“You heard me!” A classmate yelled. “What are smiling about Witch!”

Jazz tilt her head at the term, not noticing the growing uneasiness of her classmates around her who were staring at the altercation. She pondered at the new word as she answered. “I was smiling because I was thinking of my brother.”

The classmate waited, clearly looking for more of an explanation but got none which agitated them. “So what? You just smiling thinking of your pet?”

Jazz frowned. “Pet? Danny is not my pet.”

No, Danny was her little brother. Her sweet little brother who would smile so adorably with so soft cheeks and playing with ever do gently. Her little brother was her prefect little star. He wasn’t some pet.

Her classmate looked at her disgust. “Thats what a Witch would say.”

“What’s a Witch?”

“What you are!”

She doesn’t understand what that means at all. 

(The unseen dead children cower under the name. The name that was said with such fear yet hunger. The need to destroy and take and light on fire because of that name. Many have seen those that set ablaze, many have been there longer than what their appearance may imply.)

(Many have seen the start of the hunt.)

(The Witch Hunt.)

“Why would you ask that?” Big Sister Annie asked Jazz. 

Jazz, unaware of the troubled look her Big Sister had, answered. “A classmate called me a Witch, but I don’t know what that means.”

(The Fenton Household became still. The elderly couple at the back stopped gossiping with each other as their auras became a deadly shade of black. Big Sister Rosa frozen in kitchen, her open wound on her neck started to drip blood once more and her mulated hands tumbled. The women in dresses of fire started to burn, skin turning black and the smell of ozone.)

Big Sister Annie stayed silent for a long moment. So long that Jazz started to shift every so often for waiting for so long. Finally, as years of waiting (not) Big Sister Annie crouched down to meet her eyes. 

“Listen to me Jasmin.” A̸̰̹̬̭͌̏̅̍͜n̷̺̆͌̽̈́̽́͝n̴͔͉̻̯̪̤͇̐̐͛͋̚͝ę̶̦̓̀̃b̵̈̀̓̀͛ͅë̷̡͚̬̳͎̪́̚t̴̡͊h̷̜̪͖̓ͅ ̷̡͖͎̥̇M̴̡̛̠͖͚͈͋̈́̑̾a̷̢̺̝̭̣͎̾̈́̋̾̑r̷͕̣̐ḯ̶̢̤̉͗̔̒̽͝b̸͍̓̅̂̀ͅe̶̝̬̹̪͇̒̄͒̌́̃͝l̴̰̍l̸̼͕̭̞͂̋̽͝ ̴͖̼̙̞̬̈́̔̃̓G̴̠̭̖̥̦̮̙̓̓͆̉͋̋r̴̜͙͊̽̉͗ã̸͖̞̬̠͎̦̓͆̃͂͜c̷̱͙̬͈̺͗͐͌͆̚e̶̪̭̦̬͉̯̩̔̇̽͂̀ demanded. “Listen to me very carefully to what I am about to tell you. Do you understand?”

“Uh.. Yes?”

“Jasmin.”

“Yes!”

(There's something about history. History always tells us the stories of the past, the winnings of war and the start of buildings anew. History is always taught to show the mistakes we make so that we will be blessed to no repeat them.)

“Witches are people that are hurt by others because people fear them. They don’t mean to cause fear, it's just that people are scared of things they don’t understand, things they deem strange.”

(But we often forget that History is written by the survivors, the winners.)

“Jasmin, you're not strange to me nor to Roselle or Madame Victoria or Master Wischer. We love you so very much, but you have to understand something Jasmin. Not everyone can see us, they don’t understand us, nor do they accept us. It's not their fault nor yours, but sometimes people believe in stories that are passed down far to earnestly.”

(And History, is not always right.)

“We don’t want you to be hurt, so please, listen to me Jasmin. Listen to me.”

(Witches, as they all know, were always burned at the stake.)

That day was the day that Jazz learned how to pretend. Pretend because if she did not, then she will be hurt. 

She doesn’t want to be hurt so she pretends, even if she doesn’t like to pretend that she can’t see the children in her classroom. Or how she can no longer call out to the madams in beautiful gown in the streets or dance in the forest with them anymore without getting caught. Sure, she could still talk with them behind closed doors, but her family started to come less and less by the day. 

Slowly, it became just Jazz and Danny. But her and Danny. And no one else.

(She wonders why they left her.)

It would be years of being normal, years of pretending to read more silently and walk away a bit faster. Years of pretending to be someone she is not. 

It was years of fakeness when she meet someone new, someone lost. 

His name was Jason. 

[novaursa]

Web of Gold (rook's rest)

- Summary: Alicent could only watch as you handle her son like a lioness who plays with her food.

- Paring: lannister!reader/Aegon II Targaryen (+Aemond Targaryen?)

- Note: This chapter is more serious than the rest and the humor is toned down. Also, the part after this will be the last one.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: addendum

- Next part: the final choice

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @purple-1995 @thisbiann @whiteoakoak @deemee33

The sky above Rook’s Rest was dark, choked with clouds that promised a storm—though none could compare to the storm that Aemond Targaryen intended to bring. Below, the fortress stood like a sentinel against the gathering shadows, its high walls defiant, its towers tall. But even the proudest fortress could not stand against what was coming. Not when he had Vhagar.

Aemond sat upon his great dragon, high above the world, the cold air biting against his face. Vhagar’s wings beat with the steady rhythm of a creature born of fire and shadow, the winds of her passing causing the trees below to sway as if in worship. And yet, despite the power he commanded, his thoughts were not on the battle ahead but on something—or rather, someone—else entirely.

Y/N.

The image of you lingered in his mind like a specter, haunting him at every turn. You, Aegon’s wife. You, the woman who seemed to occupy every corner of his thoughts, no matter how hard he tried to push you aside. The way you looked at him during the celebrations, the subtle hints of something unspoken between you, it had all twisted itself into a knot of frustration and desire that Aemond could no longer untangle.

And then there was Aegon, the fool, parading around as if he were the true ruler of the realm, with you always at his side. Aegon, who did not deserve you. Aegon, who had spent his life squandering every gift handed to him.

Aemond’s jaw clenched at the thought, the anger rising unbidden in his chest. He hadn’t wanted this battle—not in this way—but as the events unfolded, a dark decision had taken root. One that, for all his usual restraint, he was now prepared to carry out.

Below him, the armies of Rhaenyra’s supporters were gathered at Rook’s Rest, waiting for the onslaught to begin. But that wasn’t what concerned him now. No, there was a different dragon circling below—Sunfyre. And upon that golden beast sat Aegon.

Aemond’s eye narrowed as he watched his brother in the distance, circling Rook’s Rest like a hawk waiting to dive for the kill. Aegon, oblivious as ever, prepared to claim the glory of this battle. The fool didn’t even realize what was coming.

Aemond pulled Vhagar into a dive, her massive wings cutting through the air with a thunderous roar. The wind howled in his ears as they descended, his heart pounding, the world below coming into sharp focus. He could see Sunfyre now, the golden dragon’s scales gleaming in the dim light, Aegon’s form barely visible on his back. Aegon, so intent on the battle ahead, had not noticed Aemond’s approach.

It should have been me, Aemond thought, the bitterness curling in his chest like smoke. It should have been him by your side, not Aegon. And now, for once, Aemond would make sure it was.

With a grim resolve, Aemond urged Vhagar closer. The great dragon let out a deep, rumbling growl, sensing her rider’s intentions. The clouds above darkened further, and then, without warning, Aemond made his move.

“Dracarys.”

The word left his lips like a death sentence, and in the next instant, the world erupted in fire. Vhagar’s breath shot forward in a torrent of flame, blazing a path through the sky. The firestorm engulfed Sunfyre before Aegon even had time to react. The golden dragon screeched in agony, its wings beating wildly as it tried to escape the inferno that now consumed it.

Aegon’s scream followed soon after, a high-pitched wail that echoed through the skies as the flames licked at his armor, his cloak catching fire as Sunfyre spiraled downward, desperately trying to stay aloft.

Aemond watched, his heart pounding in his chest, but his face remained impassive. There was no triumph in this, no joy. Only a cold, calculated decision that had been brewing for far too long. Aegon, in his arrogance, had finally paid the price. And though Aemond had never intended to become a kinslayer again, the moment felt inevitable. Aegon had stood in his way for too long.

For her, he thought, his eye flicking upward for a moment, as if you were watching from some unseen perch. It was a foolish sentiment, but Aemond did not care. He had done what he had to.

The screams of Sunfyre and Aegon faded as the dragon plummeted toward the ground, fire still trailing in its wake. Aemond spared them no further thought. The deed was done.

But the battle was not over.

From the east, the unmistakable roar of another dragon filled the air, and Aemond’s eye snapped toward the sound. There, soaring through the clouds like a fury of vengeance, came Meleys, the Red Queen, her scarlet scales gleaming in the dim light. And on her back was Rhaenys Targaryen, the Queen Who Never Was.

Aemond’s lips curled into a tight smile. He had known this moment was coming. Rhaenys had been a threat for far too long, and now, with Aegon burning below, Aemond would end this rebellion once and for all.

“Vhagar,” Aemond growled, tightening his grip on the reins. “Let’s finish this.”

Vhagar roared in response, her massive wings beating the air as she surged forward to meet Meleys. The two dragons collided in a clash of flame and fury, their roars shaking the very heavens. Fire spewed from both sides, filling the sky with an inferno that turned night to day.

Rhaenys and Meleys fought with a ferocity that Aemond had rarely seen, the Red Queen snapping and clawing at Vhagar with wild abandon. But Vhagar was larger, older, and far more experienced in the ways of war. Aemond’s bond with her was strong, and together, they fought like a single, deadly force.

Rhaenys may have been called the Queen Who Never Was, but today, she would not be a queen. She would be a memory.

With a final, decisive strike, Vhagar clamped her massive jaws around Meleys’ neck, crushing bone and flesh with a sickening crunch. The Red Queen let out a final, anguished roar before her wings gave out, and she tumbled toward the earth, Rhaenys still on her back.

Aemond watched, his heart steady, as Meleys and Rhaenys fell from the sky, their bodies vanishing into the clouds below. The battle was over.

Victory was his.

And yet, as he hovered above the battlefield, watching the smoke rise from the charred remains of Sunfyre and the smoldering ruin of Rhaenys’ dragon, Aemond felt no satisfaction.

He had done what needed to be done. He had claimed the victory. But as he turned Vhagar toward the distant horizon, his thoughts returned once more to you, as they always did. The victory felt hollow, like an empty crown resting too heavily on his head.

For all the power and glory he had won today, it wasn’t enough.

You weren’t his.

And that, more than anything, gnawed at him like a wound that would never heal.

The Red Keep was quieter than usual as Aemond made his way toward Aegon’s chambers. The air was filled with the heavy silence that always seemed to settle after a tragedy, the kind that lingered long after the fires had been extinguished. And though Aegon was alive, a part of him—the Aegon that Aemond had known—seemed to have been consumed in those flames at Rook’s Rest.

Aemond paused outside the door to Aegon’s chambers, taking a breath. He had avoided this moment long enough. A month had passed since that fateful battle, and though the rest of the realm had resumed its usual rhythm, this corner of the Red Keep remained in shadow.

He pushed open the door to find Aegon lying in his bed, the once-boisterous king now reduced to a broken, burned shell of the man he used to be. Bandages covered much of his body, and his usually proud silver hair had been singed unevenly. His skin was marred with scars, red and angry from the burns that had nearly claimed his life. Aegon’s eyes, once filled with mischief and arrogance, now stared vacantly at the ceiling.

The scent of burnt flesh still faintly clung to the air, mixed with the overwhelming odor of healing balms and herbs. Maesters and healers had done their best, but Aegon was far from the golden prince he had once been.

Aemond closed the door behind him, stepping into the room. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but the sight of Aegon like this struck a chord he hadn’t anticipated. For all his faults, Aegon had been… well, Aegon—larger than life, impossible to ignore. And now, here he lay, barely more than a shadow.

Aegon’s head turned slowly toward Aemond, his once-bright eyes dull and heavy-lidded. His voice, when it came, was weak and rasping, as though every word cost him what little strength he had left.

“Aemond…” He croaked, a dry cough following the sound. “Where… where have you been?”

Aemond stepped closer, standing at the foot of the bed. He regarded his brother carefully, unsure how to navigate this conversation. Not knowing how much Aegon remembers. “I’ve been tending to the realm,” he said, his voice calm, though there was a flicker of something darker behind his eye. “The battle left much to be dealt with.”

Aegon’s lips twitched, a ghost of his old grin. “Ah, yes… the realm… always the realm.” He paused, blinking sluggishly. “But… where is Y/N? My wife… Where is she?”

Aemond felt the familiar knot of tension tighten in his chest at the mention of your name. He had known this question was coming. Of course Aegon would ask for you, even now, when everything else had fallen apart. Even after everything Aemond had done.

He tried to keep his face neutral, though there was an undeniable edge to his tone as he answered. “She’s… been keeping herself busy. Distracted.” He met Aegon’s gaze, careful not to betray too much. “You’ve been asleep for a long time, brother. Life doesn’t stop.”

Aegon’s brow furrowed, his gaze searching Aemond’s face with a flicker of concern—though it was hard to tell how much was due to his weakened state. “She hasn’t come to see me?”

Aemond hesitated for a beat, his jaw tightening slightly. “No,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Not yet.”

Aegon’s lips parted, his expression a mixture of confusion and hurt. He shifted in the bed, wincing as the movement sent a wave of pain through his burned skin. “She… hasn’t come?” His voice cracked slightly, a tone Aemond had never heard from him before. “Why… why wouldn’t she come?”

Aemond felt the weight of the question settle between them like a stone. He glanced at the floor for a moment, unsure of how to answer in a way that wouldn’t betray his own guilt—or worse, his own conflicted feelings. How could he explain that he had been the one to set these events in motion, that his actions had ultimately separated you from Aegon in the most irrevocable way? How could he tell his brother that the woman Aegon had cherished was slipping further from his grasp with every passing day?

So instead, Aemond settled on the only answer he could offer without unraveling everything. “She’s… grieving, Aegon. It’s been difficult for her. She’s unsure of how to… face this.”

Aegon let out a weak, humorless chuckle that quickly turned into a cough. “Grieving… for me?” He shook his head slightly, the motion slow and painful. “She… always said I’d be fine… no matter what foolishness I got myself into.” There was a distant look in his eyes, as if he was recalling your teasing words from before the battle, when everything had seemed so much simpler.

“She’s probably just waiting,” Aegon muttered, his voice trailing off. “She’ll come. She’ll… come around.”

Aemond stood in silence for a moment, watching as Aegon’s eyes flickered, his exhaustion taking hold once more. His brother was broken, physically and perhaps even mentally. But the one thing that had not broken was his faith in you—a faith that Aemond couldn’t help but feel was misplaced. Because even now, as Aegon lay burned and shattered, you were slipping further and further into Aemond’s own thoughts. Into his possession.

“I’m sure she will,” Aemond said softly, though the words felt like ash on his tongue. “In time.”

Aegon, too weary to argue, simply nodded weakly, his eyes drifting shut once more. The room was heavy with the weight of what had been left unsaid, the silence filled with unspoken truths.

Aemond turned to leave, his heart a storm of conflicting emotions. But as he reached the door, Aegon’s voice—hoarse and barely a whisper—called out one final time.

“Aemond… take care of her, won’t you?”

Aemond paused, his hand resting on the doorframe, his expression hardening for just a moment before he answered.

“I always do.”

The corridors of the Red Keep felt colder than usual as you walked through them. You had spent the last month avoiding this very moment, but now it was time—time to see Aegon. The guilt had gnawed at you, the weight of his absence hanging over you like a shadow. Aegon was alive, but you hadn’t visited him once since he had returned, broken and burned, from Rook’s Rest.

The court whispered about it, of course. About how the queen had yet to sit at her king’s bedside, how the once-lively Aegon had been abandoned in his darkest hour. You told yourself it was because you didn’t want to face the truth of what had happened—that seeing him like that would make everything real. But deep down, you knew there was more to it.

Aemond.

His presence had loomed over you since the battle. He had been your shadow, watching, waiting, his gaze lingering on you with something between hunger and possessiveness. You had felt the shift in him, the way his usual cold composure had cracked, revealing the depth of his feelings. And you knew, without him saying it, that he was the reason Aegon had been burned.

You had avoided confronting him for weeks, but as you made your way to Aegon’s chambers now, you knew there was no avoiding it any longer.

And there he was, waiting for you at the end of the hall, his tall figure standing in the shadows like a sentinel. His single eye locked onto yours the moment you approached, his jaw set in that familiar line of determination.

“Where are you going?” Aemond’s voice was low, but it carried the weight of a command. He stepped into your path, blocking the door to Aegon’s chambers, his expression unreadable, though there was a dangerous glint in his eye.

You stopped, your heart pounding, though you kept your face calm. “I’m going to see Aegon,” you said simply.

Aemond’s eye narrowed slightly, his lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “After all this time? Now you decide to visit him?” His tone was laced with something darker, something possessive. “You’ve been avoiding him for weeks, and now you think you can waltz in there as though nothing has changed?”

Your chest tightened at his words, but you forced yourself to stay steady. “Aemond, I know what you’re trying to do. But Aegon is my husband. He’s my responsibility.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched, his eye darkening. “Your responsibility? I did this for you,” he said, his voice low and intense. He stepped closer, his presence looming over you like a storm. “Everything I’ve done—burning Aegon, taking control of the realm—I did it for you. To free you from him. Don’t you see that?”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, but it wasn’t out of fear. It was out of something far more complicated—something that had been simmering between you and Aemond for far too long. His intensity, his obsession, had drawn you in more than you wanted to admit. But this… this was too much.

“Aemond,” you said, your voice softer now, though your resolve was firm. “You may believe you did this for me, but I never asked for any of it. I didn’t want Aegon to get hurt. I didn’t want this.” You gestured between the two of you, the unspoken tension hanging heavily in the air.

Aemond’s eye flickered with something—anger, frustration, maybe even hurt. He stepped even closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “I’ve given you everything. I’ve made sure Aegon could no longer stand in your way, and yet, you’re still running to him?”

You met his gaze, unflinching. “I’m not running to him. I’m fulfilling my duty as his wife.” Your voice softened, but there was a firm edge to it. “I care about you, Aemond. But I won’t let you destroy him for your own reasons.”

For a moment, Aemond stood there, staring at you, his jaw clenched tightly. You could see the conflict warring inside him, the tension between what he wanted and what he knew he couldn’t have. His fingers flexed at his side as though he were restraining himself from reaching for you.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he stepped aside, his expression cold once more. “Go then,” he said, his voice flat. “But remember this—Aegon is no longer the man you once knew. He is broken. And you cannot save him.”

You swallowed hard, his words cutting deep, but you nodded and walked past him, your heart heavy. You could feel his gaze burning into your back as you opened the door to Aegon’s chambers, but you didn’t look back.

Inside, the room was dimly lit by the flickering light of a single candle. Aegon lay in the bed, barely moving, his burned skin still wrapped in bandages. The once-proud king looked small, fragile, a shadow of the man you had married. His eyes, dull and distant, flicked toward you as you entered.

“Y/N…” His voice was weak, barely more than a rasp, but there was something in it—relief, maybe. “You came…”

You moved toward him slowly, your heart aching at the sight of him. “Of course I did,” you said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

Aegon’s lips twitched into a faint, tired smile. “I thought… you’d given up on me.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, taking his hand in yours. “I could never give up on you, Aegon.”

He closed his eyes, his hand weakly gripping yours, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you sat in silence—together.

But even as you sat by his side, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Aemond’s words lingering in your mind, like a shadow that refused to leave.

[spectersgirl]

hi! can you do one where harvey and the reader had a thing and it ended badly and they end up in court against each other or something like that? maybe they end up together after all? thanks!!

Loveeee flexing my angst muscles!

Ready for a Battle

Harvey Specter x Reader

-------

"You've gotta be fucking kidding" you muttered under your breath as you read over the paperwork for your latest case, noticing the attorney on record listed just so happened to be Harvey Specter. You'd dated a few years prior, but the ultimate killer to the relationship was that you and Harvey were very similar in stubbornness, causing you to fight and argue more than spend any actual time together.

You'd been lucky enough not to cross paths in all the time you'd been a lawyer since the breakup, but it seemed that your luck was running out. You placed your head in your hands in frustration, sighing before getting back to work on preparing for your case.

A few days went by of normalcy before you heard a knock on your office door, and they didn't wait to hear you answer before entering.

"Harvey, you know normally people knock to get permission before coming into a room." You said dryly.

Harvey smirked before striding to your desk, leaning on the corner before looking around appreciatively.

"I knew you'd tell me no, and I wanted to see this fancy corner office they gave you."

"Not too bad, huh? Don't worry, I'm sure Jessica will give you one soon enough." You replied, sarcasm dripping from your tone.

"I have one of my own, I just wanted to see how much better mine is than yours."

You rolled your eyes at the cockiness, setting the file you'd been focused on aside, finally giving the man your full attention.

"Is there something I can do for you, Harvey?"

"No, but you can do something for you. You can settle this thing so it doesn't get ugly in court."

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to figure out what he was trying to pull. "Since when do you care about things getting ugly?"

"Since I noticed you were the attorney of record on this case. I don't want to see you get hurt." He replied, a hint of something in his tone that you couldn't identify.

"I think I can manage. Plus, it's not like it wouldn't be the first time you've seen me get hurt. I'm ready for a battle. Now, if there's nothing else, you can see yourself out. I've got a case to prepare. "

He paused for a moment, clearly taken aback by the sharpness of your tone, before shaking his head and heading for the door.

"Don't say I didn't warn you, Y/N." He said before opening the door and leaving you to stew in your own thoughts.

The verbal banter continued throughout the trial, each argument met with a counterargument, every objection with a swift rebuttal. The tension between you two was undeniable, the courtroom atmosphere simmering with unspoken history.

Days turned into weeks, and the battle intensified. You won the case, barely, based on a technicality that you were thankful Harvey didn't catch during discovery. He'd come to your office later that day, clearly pissed about the verdict. The energy in the room turning nothing short of intense the moment he stepped foot inside. The arguing began immediately, the two of you throwing jabs left and right until Harvey took it one step too far, making it personal.

"You always were too blinded by your own stubbornness and ego to ever see the truth," Harvey retorted, his voice carrying an unexpected edge.

The words hung in the air, a sharp sting piercing through the facade of rivalry and through the high you'd had from winning the case. It was a line crossed, a jab that hit closer to home than intended. The hurt flashed across your eyes, and anger surged within, a tempest of emotions brewing beneath the surface.

"MY ego? MY stubbornness? You're one to talk, Harvey. You know why this didn't work out all those years ago and you know it wasn't all my fault. At least I never let my arrogance overshadow my competence," your voice, usually composed, held a hint of hurt.

Harvey's facade wavered, regret immediately swirling in his stomach as he realized the depth of his words. "I didn't mean... I'm sorry,"

But the damage was done, the rift between you widening with each passing moment. His apology hung in the air, sincere yet inadequate in the face of the pain it had caused.

It was later that evening when yet another knock interrupted the silence of your office. As you turned, Harvey stood in the doorway, a mixture of determination and vulnerability on his face. Without a word, he crossed the room, closing the space between you. His gaze was unwavering as he reached out, his hand cupping your cheek gently. You couldn't move, and you hardly breathed as he began speaking.

"I messed up. I messed up today when I got pissed and opened my mouth, and I messed up years ago by letting you walk away. I know that now, I guess I always have but I couldn't admit it. I can't let you walk out of my life again." Harvey's voice was earnest, devoid of the usual brashness.

Before you could respond, he leaned in. His lips met yours in a tender yet passionate kiss, one you'd been craving since the moment you left him all that time ago. In that moment, words became irrelevant as the depth of his regret and affection poured into you through the kiss.

As you pulled away breathlessly, the weight of the moment hit you both.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N, I... I shouldn't have done that, that wasn't fair to you. I just-" He stammered, but you stopped him with a gentle hand to his chest.

"Don't. Just come here" You replied, pulling him in once more and guiding his head down to yours for another kiss. You felt him smile as he ran his hands down your sides.

"I always hoped you'd come back." He whispered against your lips..

"I fought myself every day to not come running."

"Wish you would've"

"Me too"

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 43

Part 1 Part 42

Will’s loitering around the school, Dustin, Will, and Lucas plastered to his sides like burrs as he waits for Jonathan to get out of school and pick him up. The hallways are almost empty – everyone else allowed to take buses, and ride bike, and walk home; Will left the odd one out.

Even his friends who are dawdling by his side as they walk the empty parking lot have bikes chained up at the front of the school. They’re only still here because Will’s not allowed to be left alone. By anyone. 

The air is crisp, biting into his cheeks, but it’s too crisp to be the other side. Snow is on the horizon, not ash. He can smell it.

Mike’s talking about El in a hushed voice, moaning about Hopper blocking all access like the protective Father he isn’t. Will wishes his problems felt as small as Mike’s are,, and promptly feels bad about the thought.

It’s just, winter is in the air, and the sky is getting darker earlier each day. In a few more weeks, Will’s not sure he’ll even be able to get home after school without the specter of the Demogorgon hunting him from the shadows between each tree.

He wishes he didn’t live so close to the woods.

He wishes he could live in Steve and Eddie’s pockets like they live in each other’s. He only feels covered when he’s looking at Steve Harrington’s broad back.

Jonathan’s car pulls into the empty parking lot, and Dustin, Lucas, and Mike run off with shouts of goodbye. Only Dustin looks back, waits for Will to shuffle into the passenger seat before waving and peddling quickly to catch up.

Jonathan’s heat is up high enough to hurt. Will sinks into it, puts his frozen hands up to the vents to dethaw. 

“How was school?” Jonathan asks, The Doors playing near silently from his crackly radio.

“It was okay,” Will says, thinking of Zombie Boy shouted out at him like a slur in the hallways. Thinking about how sometimes he’ll walk up to his friend’s and be greeted by abrupt, strained silences, like a few days in the Upside-Down has made him a freaks among the freaks.

Jonathan hums, but doesn’t press. WIll loves him for it. As they drive toward home, the long-familiar fishhook feelings hooks and yanks his stomach. In a moving car, it’s almost a queasy thing, like he always imagined being on a sailboat would feel. He’s being pulled in two directions and his organs are sloshing around with it.

“Can we go see Steve and Eddie?” Will asks quietly.

Jonathan’s hands clench hard, shitty steering wheel vinyl creaking. He sighs, like a dog when you won’t share a piece of your dinner no matter how hard it begs. He takes a u-turn without a word, heading toward Forest Hills, knowing just like Will does that if they’re not already there, that’s where Steve and Eddie will end up soon.

Will knows they’re not there yet before Jonathan parks in the vacant spot where Eddie’s van usually presides. He puts it in park, doesn’t take the key out of the ignition, turns the heater down just a hair.

“I just don’t get it,” Jonathan says, looking at the Munson’s closed front door, not looking Will’s way at all.

“Get what?” Will asks, even though he knows. 

Jonathan sighs that same sigh. “Just–” he runs a hand through his discheveled hair until it partially covers his eyes, “you spend a few days with them and now it’s like they’re all you think about.”

Will looks down at his lap, can’t meet Jonathan’s eyes even when he feels his brother turn to look at him. Left unsaid in the space between them is that Jonathan doesn’t get them, doesn’t get him anymore, when they’re all each other has had for years.

“You weren’t there,” Will says. He knows it’ll hurt even before Jonathan breaths in like he’s been shot.

The heater and radio static break up the silence. Will can still feel it. 

“Can you–” Jonathan srarts. Will sees, out of the corner of his eyes as Jonathan reaches out toward him before dropping it. “Can you try to explain?” Will looks down at his dirty sneakers, thinking. He doesn’t have the words. But hten Jonathan says, “please?” all quiet and desperate and Will turns.

He pulls his feet up onto the seat, arms wrapped around his knees,  turning his body to face Jonathan as Jonathan does the same. Jonathan’s knee bangs on the bottom of the steering wheel, but he gets it all the way up to mirror Will’s posture, both their shoulders hunched, both of their arms around their knees.

“I was really scared,” WIll says, for the first time admitting something that was obvious. “And then they saved me.”

Jonathan nods, meeting his eyes. “And that’s it?”

Will shakes his head, looks down at the stick shift separating them. “No,” he says, fidgeting his fingers anxiously. “I think there’s something wrong with me.”

Jonathan reaches across the car, covering Will’s knee with his big palm and squeezing. “There’s nothing wrong with you.” He doesn’t understand, Will can tell.

“No,” he says, shaking his head, eyes prickling. The fishline is slackening now. He can feel it. They’re on their way. “This isn’t like that.”

“Like?”

“Like, a stupid teenager thing,” Will says. How does he say this isn’t about puberty, or growing up, or a fight with his friends, or even the isolation of the school halls where everyone treats him like he’s oil and everyone else is water. 

“Okay,” Jonathan says in that calm, quiet way that always calms WIll down. “What is it then?”

Will looks back down at the stick shift, Jonathan’s foot now propped up against it after he’d stretched it out. His sneakers are too small – Will can see his pinky toe pushing up against the side. 

“Like, there’s something in me,” Will says. “And it’s in them too.” Jonathan doesn’t say anything, but Will can feel his eyes on him. “I can feel them, right now.” He whispers it out, a secret in this car confessional of two.

“Feel them, how?”

“It’s, itchy? When they’re too far.” WIll says, struggling to find words he’s not sure exist. “And I can tell they’re turning into the trailer park right now.” He touches the hollow just below his ribs, looks up into Jonathan’s eyes. “Right here.”

Jonathan’s brows are furrowed, eyes intense, just as Eddie’s van comes peeling into view, parking haphazardly in front of Eddie’s trailer. Jonathan’s eyes go wide. He hadn’t gotten it until this moment. Will can see it hit him in the dilation of his pupils. “Like El?” he asks, quiet as Eddie tumbles out of the driver’s seat and rushes over to open the passenger side door for Steve like a goofy knight.

“I don’t know.”

Jonathan glances over just in time to watch a wan-faced Steve take Eddie’s hand to hoist himself out of the van. “Do they?”

Part 44

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b

[moonsandmobilityaids]

Disappointed

Pairings: poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: You're struggling after you couldn't finish in sex. Your boys know better. Warnings: Discussion of sexual dysfunction. Series Masterlist

"Don't worry, Y/N," James's voice echoes in your mind as you lay awake in bed long after the boys have left. "We're here for you."

His words were meant to soothe, but they only serve to deepen the pit of unease that has settled within you. You turn onto your side, pulling the blankets tightly around yourself, trying to ward off the lingering chill of vulnerability.

The room is dark and silent—your own private sanctuary—but tonight it feels like a prison, the walls closing in with each passing second. A heavy sigh escapes your lips, the sound hollow and empty in the vastness of the night.

You want to believe them—to trust in their reassurances—but doubts gnaw at the edge of your consciousness, refusing to be silenced. It's not their intentions you question; it's your own response—or lack thereof—that leaves you feeling adrift.

"I'm sorry, love," Remus had murmured against your skin, his touch gentle yet insistent. "We'll do better next time."

But there was a rush—a desperate need to reach the peak they promised, to prove to them—and to yourself—that you could. That you were enough.

Yet despite their patient coaxing, the much-anticipated climax eluded you, leaving behind a trail of frustration and self-doubt. The memory of your failure burns brightly, a beacon signaling your inadequacy even in the most intimate of moments.

"You did great, Y/N," James had assured you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before he too retreated into the night.

Did I? you wonder now, staring up at the ceiling where shadows dance like specters of your insecurities. Did I really?

A part of you wants to scream, to let out all the fear and disappointment that's been building inside. But you swallow it down, pushing it back into the recesses of your heart where it festers, feeding on your uncertainty.

What if you've let them down? What if this changes everything?

"You were amazing," Sirius had said, holding your trembling body close to his. His voice was steady, grounding. But could he see past your facade—the tremors of desire masking an undercurrent of apprehension?

The questions are relentless, each one chipping away at the confidence you'd painstakingly built over time. With every replay of the evening's events, the reality of your inability to finish looms larger, casting a shadow over the shared laughter and whispered promises of earlier.

A strange and unyielding sense of guilt begins to creep into your interactions with the boys, a constant reminder of your perceived failure. Instead of seeking their company as you once did, you find yourself withdrawing—pulling away from their gentle touches and avoiding their lingering gazes.

It's not that you love them any less; rather, it's the fear of falling short again that holds you back, the nagging thought that you might never be able to give them what they truly deserve. And so you retreat further into your shell, putting distance between your heart and theirs—a protective measure against the imaginary blow you're certain will come.

"You okay, Y/N?" Sirius asks one morning at breakfast, his brow furrowed in concern when he notices how quiet you've been.

"Fine," you murmur, forcing a smile onto your face even while your chest feels like it's being crushed under the weight of unwelcome thoughts. "Just... tired."

But the lie tastes bitter on your tongue, and you can't help but wonder if they see through your facade. Can they sense the turmoil roiling beneath the surface? Do they know about the battle raging within you?

You begin to avoid those stolen moments—the secret kisses shared in hidden corners of the castle, the playful banter that would often lead to more intimate encounters. Each time James' hand brushes against yours, or Remus' gaze lingers a little too long, you pull away, making excuses about needing to study or catch up on sleep.

Your actions don't go unnoticed. The boys exchange worried glances, their brows furrowing in confusion and concern. But you brush off their questions, assuring them that everything is fine even though nothing feels right anymore.

As much as you crave their touch—the warmth of their bodies pressed against yours, the familiarity of their scent enveloping you—you can't shake the feeling that you're holding them back, that you're denying them an experience they should be having. It's this thought that haunts your every waking moment, planting seeds of doubt where there was once only certainty.

You see the way their smiles falter when you flinch away from a touch that was once welcome, how confusion clouds their eyes as you avoid sitting too close in the common room. And each time you make an excuse to leave early or decline an invitation to sneak off somewhere more private, the silence that follows is deafening.

"Y/N," James calls softly one evening, settling beside you on the plush sofa of the Gryffindor common room. His arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you into his side for a cuddle like so many times before. But instead of melting into him, you sit rigidly, every muscle tense with unease. "I thought we could..."

"I have to study." The words are out before you can stop them, filling the space between you with a new kind of distance—one not measured by physical proximity but by the gulf widening in your hearts.

James blinks at you, surprise etched onto his handsome features. You've never turned down a moment of closeness before, and he's left searching for answers in the depth of your evasive gaze. As you rise from the couch and head towards the girls' dormitory, he watches you go, a frown creasing his forehead.

The pattern continues over the next few days, your laughter growing quieter, your presence less constant. Sirius picks up on it during one of your usual study sessions, the library's vastness suddenly feeling oppressive without the sound of your shared chuckles echoing off the stone walls.

"Something's up," he murmurs to the others later that night, his grey eyes clouded with worry.

"You think?" James retorts, a hint of sarcasm lacing his words as he runs a hand through his unruly hair. "It's been days since she's even looked at us properly."

Remus, ever the observer, nods in agreement from his place by the fireplace, his amber eyes flickering with concern. "We should talk to her."

So they do.

The following evening finds you curled up on your bed, a book open but unread in your lap as thoughts whirr relentlessly through your mind. A soft knock pulls you from your reverie, and before you can respond, the door creaks open. James peeks around the edge, his hazel eyes filled with trepidation.

"We need to talk, love," he says softly, stepping aside to reveal Sirius and Remus waiting behind him.

Your heart stutters in your chest as you sit up, setting the book aside. You swallow hard, nodding for them to enter despite the knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach. This is it, isn't it? The moment you've been dreading—the confrontation you've been hoping to avoid.

They move in unison, crossing the threshold into your sanctuary. Their presence fills the room, their silhouettes outlined by the warm glow of the setting sun streaming in through the window. Each step they take feels like an echo of the distance you've created—intentional yet painful, necessary yet heartbreaking.

"Y/N," Sirius starts, his usually confident voice wavering slightly. He settles on the edge of your bed, so close yet miles apart from where you're sitting. "We're... we're worried about you."

"Worried?" You laugh, but there's no humor in it, just bitter disbelief. How could they possibly be concerned when all you've done is hold them back?

"Yes, worried," Remus confirms, taking a seat next to Sirius. His fingers drum against his thighs, a nervous habit betraying the calm exterior he presents. "You've been distant lately. Not just physically, but emotionally too."

"And we want to understand why." James completes the thought, standing near the foot of your bed, his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze never leaves yours, searching for answers within the depths of your guarded expression.

At their words, something inside you breaks—a dam holding back weeks of pent-up emotions. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over as you look between the three faces before you. Faces that used to bring comfort now only serve as reminders of what you believe you can't give them.

"I don't..." Your voice cracks, and you have to stop, swallowing hard against the lump forming in your throat. You draw in a shaky breath, steeling yourself before attempting to speak again. "I don't want to disappoint you."

"Disappoint us?" Sirius echoes, furrowing his brow. "Y/N, how could you—"

"But I am!" you blurt out, unable to contain the wave of desperation crashing over you. "You all expecting something I can't give!"

Confusion passes between the boys before realization dawns on each face. It's James who speaks first, his tone gentle, understanding creeping into his voice. "You mean... during sex, don't you?"

Your silence serves as confirmation, the weight of your admission hanging heavy in the air. The truth, once hidden beneath layers of fear and self-doubt, is now laid bare before them, exposing the raw vulnerability you've fought so hard to conceal.

"Y/N," Sirius begins, reaching out tentatively to brush a lock of hair from your face, "is this about... finishing?"

A single tear escapes, trailing down your cheek as you nod. Yes, that's exactly it. That elusive peak of pleasure that seems to come so naturally to them remains stubbornly out of reach for you, and you can't shake the feeling that you're somehow less because of it.

"I'm afraid," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "Afraid that one day, you'll grow tired of me, tired of trying... because I can't... I can't finish the way you do."

The boys listen carefully to your confession, their expressions filled with nothing but love and understanding. There's no trace of judgment in their eyes, only concern for the pain you've been shouldering alone.

"Y/N," James says softly, his voice a soothing balm over the rawness of your exposed fears. "You don't disappoint us—never have, never will."

He moves closer, sitting on the edge of your bed, his hand hovering just above yours as if asking permission to comfort. You give him a small nod, and he gently takes your hand into his, offering silent support.

Sirius shifts next to Remus, leaning forward so he can look directly at you. His grey eyes are intense, not with desire this time, but with determination to make you understand how much you mean to them—all of them.

"Our love for you isn't dependent on whether or not you reach climax," Sirius begins, his tone steady and sure. "It's about so much more than that."

"Exactly," Remus adds, his own voice a touch softer, yet equally reassuring. "We care about you, Y/N. More than I think you realise."

They remind you that their intimacy isn’t about performance or expectation; it’s about being close, about sharing something meaningful and intimate.

"It's not about reaching some end goal," James explains, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. "It's about being together, experiencing pleasure and connection in whatever form that takes."

"And we do feel connected to you, Y/N," Sirius insists, his gaze never leaving yours. "Every touch, every kiss—it means something. It's real and beautiful, regardless of where it leads."

Remus nods, agreeing with the others. "And it's perfectly okay if you don't finish—we’d like you to, of course, but it’s okay if you don’t. That doesn't take away from the intimacy we share or how much we love you."

They tell you that your worth to them is far beyond physical pleasure, and they don’t need you to finish to feel fulfilled.

"You're not less because of this, Y/N," James assures you, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. "Your worth to us isn't measured by orgasm counts."

"That's right," Sirius chimes in, his resolve unwavering. "You fulfil us in countless ways, love. Don't ever think otherwise."

The boys' words start to seep into your consciousness, washing over you like a soothing balm. The weight on your chest feels a little less heavy, the knot in your stomach loosening ever so slightly as their reassurances begin to take root.

"Everyone has insecurities," James admits, his voice barely above a whisper as he continues to hold your gaze. "Even us."

"Especially us," Sirius adds with a wry smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "You should hear Remus fretting over his transformations or me worrying about living up to my family's expectations."

"And don't get me started on Prongs here," Remus teases, nudging James with his elbow. "He can be just as unsure of himself, especially when it comes to Quidditch."

Your eyes widen at their confessions, surprised by this glimpse into their vulnerabilities. You've always seen them as confident, almost untouchable in their self-assuredness. Yet here they are, sharing their own doubts and fears, reminding you that everyone—no matter how strong they appear—has moments of insecurity.

"That's what makes this relationship work," Sirius explains, his hand gently squeezing your knee for emphasis. "We navigate through those feelings together."

"For all of us, being intimate is more than just physical," James echoes, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks as he brushes a stray hair from your face. "It's about trust, vulnerability... allowing someone else to see us—not just our bodies, but our souls. And Y/N, believe me when I say we see you. And we love what we see."

"You trusting us enough to let us in—to share not only your body but also your worries... That means everything," Sirius says, leaning closer until you can feel his breath against your skin. His grey eyes reflect sincerity and warmth as he holds your gaze. "More than any climax could."

Remus nods, agreeing with his friends. "Pleasure doesn't always look the same for everyone, and that's okay. What matters is that we're here, together, caring for one another." He reaches out, placing his hand over yours and Sirius's where they rest on your knee—a silent vow of support and understanding.

When the conversation finally winds down, you feel lighter than you have in hours. Your insecurities haven't disappeared entirely—you know they may never fully go away—but for now, they seem manageable, less overwhelming. The boys' words echo in your mind: It's not about performance. We care about you. You fulfil us...

"Perhaps we should just spend some time together," suggests Remus, breaking the silence that has settled over the room. "No expectations, no pressure... Just enjoying each other's company."

"Yeah," Sirius agrees, standing up and stretching his arms above his head. "Sounds perfect."

James gives your hand a final squeeze before letting go, pushing himself off the bed to join Sirius. "Come on, then. Let's make ourselves comfortable."

What follows is an evening filled with shared laughter and whispered secrets, the four of you huddled together on your bed, talking about anything and everything that comes to mind. There's no urgency, no expectation of what might happen next; just the simple pleasure of being close, reaffirming the bond that goes beyond the physical.

As the night draws in and the glow of the setting sun fades, replaced by the soft light of the moon spilling through your window, you find yourself nestled between James and Sirius, Remus's arm thrown lazily over your legs. Their presence is warm and comforting—the best kind of anchor—and with every passing moment, you feel a little more grounded, a bit more secure.

"Thank you," you murmur into the quiet, your words barely audible yet carrying the weight of your gratitude.

There's a beat of silence before Sirius speaks, his voice low and laced with tenderness. "Always, Y/N. Always."

And in that moment, surrounded by their warmth and love, you realise the truth of their words. They love you, wholly and unconditionally, despite your flaws and insecurities. And perhaps most importantly, you haven't let them down. If anything, you've shown them once again why they fell for you in the first place: your strength, your resilience, your willingness to open up—even when it scares you.

[archive-of-alexandria]

Weak Ankles (Zoro x Reader)

A/N: One big helping of Zoro x Reader fluff, full of pining with a healthy dose of yearning. Somewhat inspired by that scene in Hercules, because it just felt too perfect for Zoro <3 xx

**

Zoro has never encountered a fight he can't muscle his way out of.

Having recessed into the corner booth of some podunk tavern while armed with nothing but a dangerously low bottle of sake and a healthy dose of self-imposed misery, however, he feels his chances of winning this particular battle dwindle by the minute.

As his swig bleeds the bottle dry, Zoro groans and drags his hand over his face. He succumbs to his desire to wallow.

Hell or high water, right?

Zoro has never encountered a fight he can't muscle his way out of, but the swordsman has never charged head-first into mushy feelings either.

Perhaps that's why he's seeking refuge back on the Going Merry as the sounds of the party rattle on the breeze behind him, trailing him, like a specter.

Zoro grimaces.

Kunia had once explained sword fighting as a language, and the idea has stuck with Zoro ever since. Sparring matches had turned into spelling bees, each hit earning a vowel or letter.

The first one with enough hits to spell out f-u-c-k-y-o-u was always the winner.

Zoro knows the language of fighting well.

There is no training to be had for situations like these...situations that call for finesse with words that can't be spoken with the hilt of a blade.

The ocean is deep and dark with evening and yet Zoro's eyes are glued to the depths, willing divine intervention to give him a direction.

He gives the railing a small shake, mock-pretending the water is like one of those fortune-teller spheres. No reply but his own reflection.

Outcome is unlikely.

A stirring on the deck catches his attention, hand moving to his hilt as he stiffens.

A soft voice breaks through the night.

"Hello."

...

"Hey."

**

Zoro's eyes zoned in on a figure through the sake's warped glass, the sight impossible to miss even from his hiding place. Zoro's lip had quirked up, though he'll never admit it - another small defeat at the hands of his unsuspecting foe.

Who could ever miss a sight such as you?

No, there was absolutely no way a soul in the taverna could miss the sight of you - your feet planted firmly on a tabletop with your head thrown back in glee. You're a whirlwind of whipping hair and skirts as a maritime shanty pours from your throat. Grog splashes from the stien in your grip, ale sloshing and spraying like the ocean you merrily sing of. The whole of the island seems to be singing with you, the tavern bursting with music and laughter as patrons slur out the words to the refrain.

When Luffy argued that pirating wouldn't be complete without a bard to chronicle the legendary adventures of the Going Merry, Zoro had staunchly opposed the idea. What good would a bard be in battle? What navigation skills, if anything?

Someone can't sing their way to victory.

As Zoro sat mesmerized, he began to think he was very, very wrong.

This is true power, Zoro mused from his place of solitude, Swaying complete strangers with nothing but the sound of your voice.

When he realized he'd been grinning like a fool, Zoro swallowed.

He was desperately losing this uphill battle.

**

The deck of the ship suddenly seems miles long.

Zoro can make out your reddened cheeks in the darkness, alight with the warm glow of youth as a sweet smile settles on your lips.

"You left."

Zoro's heart clenches at the simplicity of your words. He doesn't move.

"Yeah, I did."

Undeterred, you begin to move towards him. It's stumbly, though the sound of your soft chuckle lets him know you're aware of how foolish you seem. He watches as you make your way towards him, your eyes never leaving his face.

A homing beacon.

"I was wondering where you'd gone,"

"Hm?"

"I was saving a dance for you, Zo."

Your voice is quiet. Zoro's blood runs cold.

You had sought him out - he imagines your eyes twinkling, hair wild and free falling all around you like a halo as you reached for him from your makeshift stage only to find him gone.

To punctuate your confession, your feet seem to shuffle in a dance much too elegant for having been stomping on tables and slamming down ale, and yet here you are - light as a feather in the midsummer breeze.

The bouncing of your body keeps in rhythmic time with the gentle crash of the waves, and realization crosses the swordsman's face.

You're not dancing. You're moving through the seogi he has taught you during training.

Zoro's heart swells, a breath of a laugh passing through his lips.

"That's some fancy footwork, twinkle toes."

As if his words jinxed you, your foot catches hold of a divot in the planks. Zoro's reflexes are quick, securing you to his chest as you squeak out a yelp - an arm around your waist and the other on your forearm without so much as a thought.

A bashful smile blooms on your blushing face, cheeks dusted pink from the alcohol and the proximity of your bodies. You try to stand, pressing your forehead to his.

"Hmm..." You chuckle, closing your eyes tight. You bunch up Zoro's tunic in your fingers.

He wonders if you can feel his skin on fire beneath the flimsy fabric.

He holds his breath.

"Weak ankles."

The thick summer air is sucked from Zoro's lungs. You're near catlike in the way you seem to curl into him, nestling closer and closer...

Before the moment settles too deep, you're speaking again.

"Oh! That reminds me of a story...!"

"Haven't you told enough stories tonight?"

Although he teases, Zoro doesn't mean it. No. Not when the sky is clear and bright and your body is pressed so tightly to his and your eyes seem to glitter as they peer into his own.

As you playfully swat his chest and snort out a laugh, Zoro silently vows to spend a lifetime listening to your tales.

"N-No! No," You insist, "This is my last one - promise! Telling stories is my job anyway~!"

No one is around to hear the giggles from the two of you or to see the way Zoro's smile hangs lopsided, or to catch the slight flex of his fingers as he pulls you even closer.

"Well then," He gently butts your forehead with his,

"Go on."

You begin to weave a tale of a brave young soldier, born with great skill and undefeated in battle. You tell Zoro the hero reminds you of him. He stumbles out a "thank you".

You say that the "great soldier" had lived in disguise as a young woman, sparking a short, teasing aside about how he would make a lovely woman (which Zoro vehemently denied).

You speak of a great battle and your gaze is far away, your fingers tracing patterns along Zoro's chest, every tug and pull of the fabric between your fingers tightening the hold on his heartstrings.

You explain how the soldier's mother had dipped him in a river but forgot the heel, and in his final battle was struck down in the very same spot. You make a quip about everyone having their very own "heel" in life before proclaiming that the tale is very romantic and sad.

Your arms slide up and around his neck, fingers finding their way into his hair.

Zoro's jaw clenches. Your eyes fall to his lips.

There is no wind, no waves. The entire world seems to have stopped breathing in anticipation.

Zoro's mind desperately searches for anything from his training to tether himself to at this moment, foggy from the way your breath tickles his face and the blood pounds in his ears.

In an instant, he makes a move.

"Your...your ankle."

He drops to his knee, breaking all contact.

Your breathing shutters, arms wrapping around yourself in comfort.

Zoro is glad it is dark.

He takes in the delicate slope of your ankle in his hand, pulling the bandana from his head to prep a makeshift brace for your sprain.

You sit in silence as he works, though his mind is far from quiet.

Zoro cannot afford to have soft spots like weak ankles. All of his training will be wasted.

No.

Zoro cannot afford to admit that he's in love with you. Not to you, not even to himself.

Your hand gently raking through his hair pulls Zoro from his stupor, eyes snapping up to meet yours.

"My hero," You hum, "Zoro..."

He can see himself reflected in your irises.

Your hand moves to caress his face.

It never happens.

Zoro grabs your wrist before you can even blink, gaze downcast, and grip uncomfortably tight.

"We should get you to bed."

**

Zoro hasn't slept in three days.

You've been avoiding him for three days.

Zoro doesn't blame you, though - he knows that he embarrassed you a few nights ago. Nami makes sure he knows just how badly he fucked up as well, throwing glares in his direction and spitting venom his way...

How could you do that to her?

Don't you realize how much she cares for you?

Have you transported all of your brains into your muscles, asshole?!

The Going Merry was certainly a far cry from merry.

Luffy was the only crewmate who entertained the idea of sparring with Zoro without an alternative motivation to beat the shit out of him for what he's done.

As Zoro countered Luffy's hook, the sound of your laughter floated through the air.

In a moment of weakness, he allowed himself to look.

You were seated as Chopper entertained you with his dance moves, clapping encouragement and cooing praises. The smile on your face made Zoro's chest grow tight.

Luffy had taken the opportunity to pounce in Zoro's distraction, sweeping the swordsman's leg clean out from underneath him.

"Ha HA! Gotcha! Victory!"

Nami whoops from down below, and Zoro mutters a curse.

"What happened there, Zoro?"

Luffy's voice is far away as Zoro thinks back to fighting lessons with you. He had taken Kunia's advice, using his sword to speak the words he could not. Every tap, every jab, each little correction of your form follows the sparring language he had made up as a child.

Every time, he finds ways to spell out i-l-o-v-e-y-o-u.

Zoro had promised to teach you how to fight for selfish reasons. He can't afford to let his weaknesses show, but helping you grow strong enough to protect yourself...that will have to be enough. Even if you can't see it that way.

Zoro sucks his teeth, giving his head a shake as he accepts Luffy's help up.

"Tch - weak ankles..."

[artists-ally]

I think Harvey would be thw type of person who makes love specially when he’s feeling sad. Like he needs comfort and to be as close to his s/o as possible, fingers intertwined and all that nice shit. How do you think reader would comfort him after he had a discussion with someone of his family?

{Oh, My Human Heart} Reader x Harvey Specter

So my mind went to [SEASON 8 EPISODE 5 SPOILER WARNING] where Harvey went up to Boston to defend his brother against his wife's divorce. That shit crushed my soul man, so this is based on that! Enjoy!! Title is a lyric from this song.

Word Count: 3,191

Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, smut, Season 8 Episode 5 Spoilers

Summary: When Harvey returned home from visiting his brother unexpectedly, there is an obvious weight to his shoulders as he slumps inside. And it’s your mission to find out what it is and wipe it from his memory.

Tagging: @kjbg-fantasymoon (your request is next babes <3)

~~~~~~~

The door slammed. Hard. Concerningly hard. 

“Harvey?” You shouted out into the kitchen, taking off the towel from your shoulder and set it on the counter. No one responded. Worry coursed through you, and you grabbed the knife from the cutting board. Just in case. 

Your husband rounded the corner and you jumped, but let the fear drain from your held breath and set the knife down. “Jesus Harvy, you could’ve… hey, what are you doing back here?”

Harvey looked indecipherably pissed. He had hard creases in his face and his lips pressed in that flat line that meant someone was about to see that side of him that meant he was gonna raise hell. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, and he let his hands fall to his sides. 

“Okay, okay come sit, love,” You reached for him and guided him to the island. “Do you want to talk about it? A distraction? To be left the hell alone?”

That communication strategy had worked wonders when Harvey came home from a lethal case. All the details you knew about this one involved his brother and a divorce from his wife. It had already shattered Harvey’s heart to hear they were splitting up, but this was… this was rage. Raw fury. 

“I am going to open my mouth and let the floodgates go with it, and I just need you to try and make sense of it. Because for reasons only known by Jesus-fucking-Christ himself can this be possible.”

You just nodded, letting Harvey take some deep breaths. You noticed his hands were shaking. He was shaking. What the fuck happened in Boston?

“Marcus called me up there to represent him for his divorce,” Harvey started, thumbs in his eyes. “He told me that it was because she had an affair. I was ready to go kick down her door and take their kids away myself. Turns out, he lied to me. She was divorcing him because he started gambling again and he told Haley not to tell Katie.”

Your blood ran cold, all remorse leaving your body for Marcus. How could he fucking do that? 

“So, tell me this Yn. Why would my own god damn brother, who I spent my money on to build him a dream restaurant, lie to my fucking face? Not once. Not twice. Four times. Four opportunities he had to tell me and he waited till the last fucking second. I-I can’t even begin to describe how sick it makes me feel to have Haley be put in that position.”

“It is wildly unfair for her, and for their son,” you felt awful for them. They were the sweetest kids and didn’t deserve to have that weight on their shoulders. 

“I mean, was he not apart of the fucking family when mom did that to me? Did he suddenly just show up on our doorstep one night looking for a place to sleep like a stray cat? No, he didn’t. He’s my fucking brother. He was there when mom did it to me. And he saw what it did to our family. What it did to me. He was the one trying to fix our fucking fucked up family. To piece it together after the fall out and he expects me to do the same when he did the one thing worse than practically fucking cheating on her.”

“Harvey I think that's a little-”

“Now he’s destroying his own life. No, not even destroying, destroyed. He has ruined all chances of working things out between him and Katie and honestly, I can’t be fucking bothered to watch it crumble to the ground. And the worst part of it is he had the audacity to ask me to win this case. He doesn’t deserve to win let alone ask me. What a selfish, lying son of a bitch-”

“Harvey,” you placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him from walking away. He had been moving around animatedly, now up out of his seat and waving around. “Take a deep breath. Please.”

He did.

“Good,” You smiled softly. 

He took another. And another. “Sorry… just- sorry.”

“It’s okay,” You came and stood in front of him, hands flat on his chest. “Let’s go and get you changed and we can keep talking through it. If you’d like.”

Though Harvey’s eyes were harsh, that anger wasn’t directed at you. You’ve dealt with him like this on more than one occasion, and you’ve learned to recognize the difference. He didn’t dare look at you the way he is now.

After taking his hand and leading him up stairs, you took your time undressing him so he could be more comfortable. Once upon a time he had told you that the feeling of your hands on him could make him forget anything and everything. It was only in your best interest to do that for him now. To calm him so he could see the full picture.

Starting with his tie, you walked to the closet and hung it up in the empty space from where you picked it out this morning. Much the same with the jacket, tossing his still crisp white-shirt in the laundry. He handed you his belt and shoes, and while you put them away, he took off his dress pants and put on sweats by the time you came back. 

“Better?” You asked, placing his hands across your middle. 

He smiled, “Better.” 

Harvey was still sitting, but he rested his forehead against your stomach, just breathing. With calm hands you massaged his scalp and neck, his shoulders and arms. It was important to give Harvey his space at times like this, letting him speak when he wanted. Otherwise he’d just get defensive and shut down. That was not beneficial to either of you.

“I’m so fucking mad at Marcus, Yn.”

“I know, my love. I know,” You spoke softly, kissing the top of his head. “So am I.”

“I just don’t understand how he could do that after what mom did to me. I thought- I thought we were brothers again.” 

His voice cracked, and you could feel the first tear drops soak through your shirt and cool your skin. Your stomach clenched and dropped. You know Harvey and Marcus have been rocky for decades, but since he forgave his mom and started rebuilding their relationship, things naturally got better with Marcus. 

So much for all that hard work. And you had been so proud of him for taking those steps. And you knew the toll it took on him. Now it was all back at square one. 

“I am so sorry, Harvey.”

“What the fuck do I do?”

You paused for a long while. “I don’t know.”

When he looked up at you, eyes all red and bleary, you wanted to fly to Boston and smack Marcus yourself for putting Harvey right back where he was when he was sixteen. He may not have been the one asked to keep a secret this time, but he knows what it’s like to be in that situation. To feel so pinned and powerless. The looming decision of whether he should betray his mom or dad, a constant threat, and either outcome will ruin the family. 

“Are you up for listening to my ideas or do you still need to get things off your chest?” All you got was a shrug and a few spilled tears. “Okay, there’s no rush.”

“I just don’t know what to do, Yn. I have no fucking clue what I’m supposed to do. I want to beat him into the dirt the most. I want to hold Haley and tell her that none of this was ever her fault and she is not the one to blame. Goddamn do I want to hug Haley right now…”

You had to close your eyes. You didn’t want to see Harvey in this position, especially because you knew what this did to him. It stirred up all those memories and emotions from decades ago. Now they were all at the surface, controlling every one of his thoughts. And there isn’t a whole lot that you can do to get them to stop.

“I think you’re angry.”

“You’re goddamn right I’m angry,” Harvey huffed, making you let out a weak chuckle. 

“And I also think that I know you when you’re angry. And that you don’t think clearly when you are. So, how about we distract you for a while and then we get some sleep. Then, maybe in the morning, we lay it all out again and go over what we know. Look at all the facts and whatnot. Because, despite your very much warranted anger towards Marcus, he is still your brother. And family means more than anything to you, Harvey. I can’t let you spend the next thirty years in regret for not trying. You owe that to yourself. Not anyone else.”

“I don’t even know where to start with all this bullshit.”

“That’s where I come in,” You smiled, sitting in his lap with one leg on each side of his. “Look Harvey, you have every single right to be upset. I am pissed at Marcus for doing that to Haley. But I will not let this drive another cavern between you and him. The two of you have been through enough. He fucked up, and he knows it because you’re Harvey goddamn Specter and you told him he did. But you forgave him once. And you forgave your mom. It is worth a shot to hear him out, and I’m not saying it has to be right away either. Just eventually.”

Harvey’s brown eyes darted around your face, that tight line still on his lips. When you tilted your head and batted your lashes, he sighed out, nodding. “Okay, okay fine you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” your smile made him finally unclench the space between his brows. “It’s because I’m really good at knowing who you are, and knowing how to approach a situation. You’re good at being a kick-ass lawyer and I’m good at taming that kick-ass lawyer.” “You love it when I let that animal out of the cage,” he smirked, hands stroking down your thighs. 

“If you refer to yourself as an animal in a cage again I will walk out that door and spend the night at Donna’s.”

“Okay okay,” he grinned ear to ear, pressing kisses on your cheek, then down your neck. “I’m sorry for being so… hostile. Thank you, Yn. For calming me down.”

“You’re welcome, my love.”

“I don’t know what it is that you do, but you make it all disappear.”

“It’s my secret,” you whispered, kissing his lips. “And I won’t ever tell.”

“I bet I could make you tell me,” Harvey winked and grabbed around your waist, taking you with him when he leaned back. 

“Oh, is that a fact?” “No, but it is a challenge.” 

He tangled his hand in your hair, bringing your mouth to his. He tasted like whatever cheap whiskey he had on the plane and mint. You let your body form to his and didn’t mind the way his tongue found yours. Harvey’s hands were gentle as they peeled away the cardigan on your shoulders, tossing it away to be picked up later. 

He took his time, slowly stripping you and easing you on your back. You wrapped your legs around his waist and needed to have his mouth on yours again. He was such a good kisser. So thorough and precise with what he wanted to do to you. 

And he was always very thorough. 

Harvey placed kisses down your chest, down your stomach and to each hip.

“Babe-”

“Shh,” he hushed. “Just let me do what I want. You just lay back and look pretty. Fuck do you look pretty, my love.”

Your heart melted. Normally he had a wicked, dirty tongue but tonight was obviously different. He wanted something to focus on, and if that was going to be you, then so be it. You surely weren’t going to stop him from spreading your knees and tucking his head to your core. 

If Harvey could do one thing for the rest of his life, he’d sure have a hard time picking between you and the law. While he loved his work, your mind and body were two things even the high of winning couldn’t compare to. Harvey loved you. Ferociously. With every part of his body he loved you. 

His tongue circled your clit, and your hand went in his hair to keep him there. The laugh that tumbled from him was nothing short of star-seeing. One thing about Harvey is if you weren’t satisfied and thensome, neither was he. He loved making you cum on his tongue, loved how you tasted. 

It wasn’t long before you warned him you were close, and he just hummed into you, vibrations making you arch up off the bed, tugging equally as hard on his hair as you did the sheets beside you. 

“I will never get sick of making you feel good, Yn. I love that I am the one who gets to spend these moments with you.”

“Harvey,” you swooned, cupping his face to bring him back up so you could kiss him. Your scent was strong on his lips and made you only need him that much more. All it took was a few impatient grabs at his shirt to make him take it off so you could finally get your hands on that body of his. 

All that time in the boxing gym surely paid off. 

Harvey brough your knee up and pushed it flat on the bed, pulling the other one around his hip. He pushed in, chest to chest with you as he sat still for a few moments. 

“I love you so much, Yn,” Harvey whispered, thumb training down your cheek, your neck. He slid it all the way down your arm and laced your fingers together, kissing them as he pulled back. He wouldn’t leave your lips alone, not that you wanted that in the slightest. He was all soft words and pleas of desperation. Telling you how good you felt.

It was like your wedding night all over again. When the two of you met, it had been in a fury of hands and tongues. All fast because there wasn’t a second to waste when it finally happened. But on your big day, he laid you down, just like this, and worshiped you all night long. 

Every word from his mouth was just him telling you how much you meant to him, his body seconding that omission. He was so dedicated to you, to making you feel good. It was all long, smooth strokes of his body inside yours, the warmth of your combined breaths. Swallowing each other's noises of pleasure.

“I am so in love with you,” Harvey smiled. “I am so fucking in love with you.”

You couldn’t hide your smile if you tried. It wasn’t rare that Harvey was affectionate– per say– but this was an illusive moment. He wine and dined you whenever you asked, you were always his plus one anywhere in the world. But it was these small, yet enormous moments of intimacy that you cherished the most. This was a side of Harvey that took a very long time to bring to the surface. And he too realized the weight of just taking his time and being soft with you. 

“I love you too, Harvey,” you whispered against his face, his mouth now busy with the side of your neck. Harvey couldn’t keep his hips slow for long, and they snapped to yours. Air pushed out of your mouth and right into his ear, right where it drove him crazy to hear what he did to you. 

“Fuck, my love, if you keep making those sounds this isn’t exactly going to be how I-”

“Now it’s my turn to take care of you,” you responded, locking your ankles together behind his back.

A shiver ran through his shoulders and he dropped to his elbows, hips driving into you faster and faster. Harder. It didn’t take him long to reach his high, fucking you through it. His heart pounded underneath his skin so hard you could feel it. A slight sweat at the back of his head where hair met skin. 

When he lifted his head, his eyes looked less… weighted. He looked much more himself. Muc more like Harvey and a little less like Mr. Specter. 

You mentally patted yourself on the back. 

There wasn’t anything you could do to convince him to not drag you into the shower down the hall. The warmth of the water, the heaviness in your body only made his fingers on your scalp that much better. He kissed all over, giving your ass a loving smack when getting out before wrapping a big towel around the both of you. 

“Promise in the morning that we can do this all again and then I can make you a big breakfast?”

“Only if you promise that there will be sausage and bacon,” your eyes were droopy, but the smile reached them anyway. 

“Good thing Postmates will go to the grocery store nowadays,” Harvey slipped one of his shirts over your head, straightening it out over your body. “You look so adorable in my clothes.”

“I know, why do you think I wear them when you’re gone?” “You wear my clothes when I’m gone?” You pff’ed out some air, “Don’t act like you don’t notice the suspiciously large pile of your laundry in the hamper when you come back.”

“I don’t think you know how happy that makes me, Yn,” Harvey’s smile was nothing short of pure adoration. He was never short on pure adoration when it came to you. 

“Yes I do,” You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Why do you think I do it?”

“Because you know me. Really really well.”

“That I do.”

Harvey breathed out, shaking his head. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me for something anyone would do for their husband.”

“Well, in my experience, most wives aren’t nearly as observant or as dedicated as you are, Yn. And I want you to know how much I appreciate you and everything you help me through when I don’t know how to help myself.”

Your eyes melted, much like your heart when he hugged you. Nice and tight and just how you liked them. You always felt impossibly safe with him, and his hugs were impossibly your favorite thing in the world. 

Harvey would listen better in the morning. Especially after a good night's sleep. You just hope that all your efforts will lead him in the right direction. And that direction isn’t the clearest right now, and that’s okay. Both of you know it’s okay to not make a decision as big as something like this.

But you know Harvey will try. And that is all you can ask of him.

[choidaisy]

where mingyu finds memories of his first girlfriend and decides to send her a message upon realizing she is nearby (part 1)

Part 2 here

words: 1,892 warnings: not many, just mingyu feeling nostalgic and regretful about past choices a/n: i think im a bit sad after writing this, i wish i could hug mingyu

Upon awakening at dawn, Mingyu felt an unexpected urge to revisit the past. The day promised to be busy with a looming show, but he decided to dedicate some time to organizing dusty relics that had rested for years in his closet.

As he pulled boxes from the dark hideaway, one of them caught his attention in a peculiar way. "I didn't even remember you were here," he chuckled, releasing a sigh of nostalgia. He sat on the floor, unraveling the treasures buried in layers of memories.

The lid of the box, when lifted, unleashed a specter from the past. Photographs, yellowed and blurred as if the previous decade had wrapped them in a nostalgic veil. Mingyu held one of them, observing with eyes that absorbed every detail. A smile, immortalized on paper, evoked long-dormant emotions.

Among the relics, a crumpled and aged letter captured his attention. The faded ink gave the words a melancholic tone, as if time itself had intertwined them with sadness. Unfolding it, Mingyu encountered handwritten messages, a distant voice echoing through the lines on paper.

Each item taken from the box told a story from ten years ago, a time when the world seemed simpler, and smiles came more easily. The room, once bathed in morning light, transformed into a theater of shadows and longing, where the silent echo of the past filled every corner.

Mingyu, sitting on the floor, embraced his memories as if holding a part of himself that had been left behind. The clock on the wall, like a silent witness, marked the present, but the open box cast a bridge to a persistent past.

Thus, he spent the morning immersed in the melancholy of recollections from a decade ago, a journey through time that left scars on the fabric of his soul, like indelible marks of a sad song echoing beyond the decades.

Mingyu's gaze lifted towards the ceiling as a specific photograph emerged from his memories. He closed his eyes, leaning against the wall. The image captured a moment of genuine laughter between him and Y/N, an instant immortalized where worries were forgotten in the face of her amusing words. A bittersweet smile illuminated his face, contrasting with the frozen joy in the photo.

Mingyu's mind traveled back in time, recalling how Y/N had the gift of eliciting laughter from him at every turn. Nostalgia enveloped him like a mist, and he found himself smiling in a different way than that depicted in that old picture.

"How must she be these days?" he questioned amidst the shadows of the past. He decided to explore the virtual world in the hope of finding traces of her life. He opened Instagram, typing her name in the search bar with a tentative expectation.

And there she was. Y/N's account, though not abundant in photos, revealed the path she had taken over the years. Mingyu scrolled through the images, witnessing fragments of a distant life. She had grown, distancing herself from the scene they once shared.

The photographs told silent stories of adventures and growth, of laughter that now echoed elsewhere. Mingyu, lost in the visual narrative, felt the distance that time had imposed between them. A sigh escaped, echoing in the quietness of the room as he absorbed the metamorphosis of the one who had once been the constant source of his joy.

He opened photo after photo, immersing himself in the visual narratives that composed Y/N's life. He read comment after comment, each word resonating like a melancholic melody that transported him to a time that no longer existed. "Damn, why am I doing this to myself?" he wondered, a storm of emotions churning within him. On impulse, he turned off his phone screen, trying to distance himself from those bittersweet memories.

He closed the virtual box that was her profile, and with a heavy sigh, he promised himself that it was time to close this chapter of the past. The day progressed slowly, each second feeling like an additional weight on his shoulders. Mingyu became entangled in the whirlwind of emotions, struggling to find a peace that seemed elusive.

When night settled and the show in Seoul finally came to an end, Mingyu remained backstage, the energy of the stage still pulsating in his veins. A persistent intuition whispered in his ear, urging him to reopen her profile. A mixture of curiosity and self-destruction led him to succumb to the silent call.

The screen lit up again, revealing Y/N's world in a way he couldn't avoid. The past resurfaced in digital colors, the photographs a window to a time he thought he had left behind. Mingyu found himself scrolling through the images, a roller coaster of emotions sweeping over him as the silent backstage of the show became the backdrop for a personal drama unfolding before the cold glow of the screen.

Y/N had posted a story, an update that hadn't existed before. Mingyu took a deep breath, feeling his heartbeat quicken as he embraced all the risks of being caught snooping on her social media. "What the fuck is this?" he exclaimed, the intensity of his voice echoing and surprising those around him.

"What's going on, Mingyu?" Wonwoo asked, showing surprise at the sudden reaction.

"Oh... sorry, guys," Mingyu stammered, distancing himself from the group still stunned by what he had just discovered.

Sitting on a bench, disbelief written on his face, Mingyu fixed his gaze on the phone. "Y/N, are you here? Were you watching our show?" he whispered to himself, as if uttering the words made the situation more tangible.

Without giving himself much time to think, Mingyu decided to respond to the story. "You here?" he added a shy emoji, a mix of surprise and anticipation that shone through the typed words.

The night stretched on, a tapestry of anticipation woven with threads of uncertainty. Mingyu, immersed in the anticipation of a response that felt surreal, watched the hours drag on. Before heading home, he joined the other band members, sharing a few glasses of beer in a ritual that would normally be synonymous with relaxation and laughter. However, his mind was elsewhere, more focused on his phone than the lively conversation permeating the table.

Even amid laughter and toasts, Mingyu was shrouded in a cloud of thoughts, lost in his own reflections. Tension hung over him as his eyes occasionally drifted to the device, eager for a notification that had yet to arrive.

It was then that Mingyu made an unusual decision. He was the first to say goodbye, breaking the tradition of staying until the end. The night continued for the others, but for him, the journey back home was marked by a heavy silence and an anticipation that stretched beyond the visible night horizon.

It was around six in the morning, and Mingyu was still tossing and turning in bed, desperately trying to fall asleep when a notification flashed on his phone. "Mingyu...?"

She had finally responded. Without thinking much, he initiated a voice call right there, in the Instagram direct messages chat.

"Oh... Mingyu. Is everything okay?" She answered with a cautious voice, a tone laden with surprise and concern.

"Hm, hey Y/N, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called, I just..."

"Did something happen?"

"I just... thought about you all day... I'm sorry." He scratched his head, words coming out in a thread, his voice choked with emotion, an echo of the restlessness consuming him.

"Are you drunk? Your voice sounds (pause) weird (pause) and it's like six in the morning..."

"No, I'm not drunk... I'm sorry, Y/N. I'll hang up, I shouldn't have done this." There was a tense pause, a contained sigh in his voice, echoing regret. The girl on the other end of the line sensed the vulnerability in every word, the complexity of what was unfolding in this unexpected conversation.

"No, Mingyu... Stay on the line, I'm just surprised... It's been so long since we last talked. I thought it might be an emergency or something."

"Yea, quite a while... Almost ten years?"

"Something like that... How are you? Did you have to wake up early today?"

"Oh... actually, I haven't been able to sleep yet..." A pause to take a deep breath. "And you, why are you up early?"

"I'm at the airport, heading back home..."

"Oh, so you didn't move back to Korea?" Sadness echoed in his voice as he verbalized the realization.

"No, just passing through..."

"Ah... I was really surprised when I saw you were watching my show."

"My niece is a big Seventeen fan," she explained.

"Daennie?" That's how he used to call little Shin Dae years ago. "God, she was a little kid... She's, like, twelve now?" The question arose gently, an attempt to map the years that had slipped away, even though distance had kept them apart.

"Yea" she laughed from the other side of the screen. "She's almost my height now."

"That's crazy..."

"Yea, time flew by... Mingyu, how did you find my Instagram?"

"Oh, about that... I stumbled upon a photo of us yesterday morning... I got curious about you and looked you up... Don't think I'm a stalker or anything."

She laughed on the other side of the screen, a gentle laugh hovering between nostalgia and the present.

"Y/N, I miss you, you have no idea how much..." he confessed. "You know, you'll always be my first girlfriend, my first love... I regret my decision so much."

"Mingyu, you didn't decide alone, it was the wisest choice. You know that."

"Honestly, I don't know if it was worth it."

"How not? You're living your biggest dream."

"But you're not here with me..." The last sentence slipped out like a sigh, heavy with a lament that echoed between the words, outlining a wound that time hadn't completely healed.

"Mingyu, don't do this." She heard him let out the sound of a sniffle. "Mingyu? Are you crying?"

"I'm sorry for saying these things, Y/N... I just wish I could go back in time and make different choices; I would have found a way to make both things work well."

"You would have regretted it, Mingyu. Look at how you're a star now."

"I regretted the same way."

"Mingyu, listen to me... We were very happy together, but our story happened at the wrong time. We were young, but we had an important choice. We did the right thing." She paused. "We grew up well."

"And will our story ever happen at the right time?"

"I don't have the answer to your question." Her response hung in the air, a sincere confession that floated between the uncertainty of the future and the certainty of the past. Silence became a delicate bridge between two hearts that, even at a distance, still shared an intertwined story.

"Y/N, I always thought I couldn't have you, that you're someone I should forget, but..." He was interrupted by the girl who spoke hastily.

"Mingyu, I need to hang up; I'm boarding now... we'll talk later."

"I wanted you to know that..." The call ended. "I still love you." Mingyu murmured to the silence of the phone, the words lingering in the void like an unspoken sigh, while the sound of farewell echoed in the distance between them.

Part 2 maybe? let me know :)

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Ruler of the Abyss.

Kneel to the Thorn Fairy, who shall make manifest one’s dreams—the wishes made by the heart.

He promises happy endings for all. Woe to those who doubt and defy his vision.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

Alone.

He has always been alone.

But alone he is no longer—not when he is in his castle, surrounded by hordes of his people. He will never be alone again. No one will, all thanks to his efforts.

Never, never, never.

Malleus easily traverses the thorn-crusted lounge, floating across them like a specter. The bodies of school staff and fellow students lie limp in chairs and couches. Eyes closed, chests rising and falling rhythmically.

As he passes, he runs a hand along their scalps. Brushing their hair, patting their heads. Tender touches wishing them well.

Here is a king's domain, and here are his subjects. He, the dragon guarding his trove of invaluable treasures.

Malleus turns to face his captive audience, arms spread out toward them. “Today is something of a special occasion: Night Raven College’s Founding. I do believe this warrants a celebration—and, of course, all are invited to the festivities.”

A wave of magic washes over the room. Conical party hats manifest on each person's head, decorations appearing from thin air. Banners drape across the walls, streamers spill from black-clothed tables laden with food, and balloons tuck into the corners, safe from the needle-like thorns.

He projects applause, stunned oohs and aahs. Here, he is not a monster, but fellow man.

"Hmm, we're still missing something." Malleus strokes his chin, deep in thought. He snaps his fingers. "Ah, that's it! Music. It's not a proper party without any music."

With the wave of his hand, he summons a series of floating instruments. Bass, cello, viola, violin, harp, each bathed in an eerie green glow. They start playing by themselves, as if being handled by skillful, invisible hands.

Soft orchestral song fills the venue.

The guests rise, puppeted by the strings of his magic. Thorns on the floor retreat, allowing his peers to spill over onto the area repurposed for dance. Heads loll over--Malleus frowns and fixes them.

"There we are."

A glittering assemblage.

He smoothly conducts the bodies into neat pairs.

A waltz, he thinks, is ideal. It is also one of the few forms of dance he is familiar with. A waltz it shall be.

Palms link, fingers intertwine. Hands upon shoulders and upon backs. And then they are set to the hypnotic swing of the music, slow and sweet and intoxicating, like a steady drip of honey into one's mouth.

Malleus threads past the avid dancers and to the one person that has not been matched. The little bat who had almost flown away, far out of his grasp.

"Lilia," Malleus breathes raptly, "look at how happy everyone is. No one was left out. No one was forgotten. No one has to be alone anymore."

With this gift... my blessing... I've protected their smiles.

The duty of any Draconia.

He's proud--elated--but Lilia, alas, does not share the sentiment. Instead, the ancient fae wears a placid expression, eyes sewn shut. The same as all the other guests.

Malleus chuckles. No one hears it but himself.

"How exciting your dream must be. Action and adventure, at the best of your strength... I'm afraid this humble gathering cannot compare."

He’s sure Lilia would agree with him, were he awake.

“Never mind that," Malleus says, dispelling the thought. No more what ifs, only there ares. "Would you care for food? You'll need to keep your energy up for the celebration--it just may last all night."

He beckons with a finger, and a platter with a large cake hovers over. It is an extravagant seven layers, each a different flavor. Details are piped on in buttercream icing, invoking the image of each dormitory. A chocolate raven, wings open and prepared for flight, crowns the dessert.

A cake knife slides into Lilia's hand. His fingers slowly closer around the handle. With Malleus's guidance, he cuts into the topmost layer--Diasomnia--of the cake.

Something thick, red, and sticky leaks from the insides. The knife is coated as it is pulled back, freeing a slice. The violet crumb is fine, the frosting neon green with a dark chocolate drip.

Devilishly decadent.

"Come, you must try this," Malleus insists, stabbing a fork into the cake. He stuffs the bite into Lilia's mouth--but it doesn't stay, just rolls out and lands with a squishy splat on the ground.

Malleus eagerly waits for Lilia to beam at him, to praise him for its deliciousness.

It never comes.

Malleus laughs as though Lilia has responded as he imagines him to. He's drunk with delirium.

The strings abruptly screech, the dancers ceasing in their revelry.

He lets the unfinished slice fall. The plate shatters, reflecting one hundred Malleuses, one hundred Lilias. So many realities, and yet this is the one he has been dealt.

He guides the corners of Lilia's mouth upward, forcing a smile.

"Happy Night Raven College Founding Day," Malleus whispers, "and may you all have the sweetest of slumbers."

To his guests, to Lilia, to himself. And to the world that will soon be joining them in this delightful, never-ending dream.

Raising a hand, he unleashes fireworks from his palm. They explode in wild shapes and colors, emitting warmth and dazzling lights. The display is beautiful but fleeting--long shadows running along the walls before they blip out of existence and return to the darkness.

Every dream is like a firework, he surmises. A fiery flower frozen in time at the height of its bloom. They shall never wither nor fade.

Malleus reclines into his seat--a spiked and scaled throne, mounted high above the party venue. A lone king, untouchable.

Seated upon a mountain of lies, he looks out at his twisted kingdom. It’s a scene of his own creation, props lovingly places and toys carefully posed, acting out situations in his head.

The average school day at Night Raven College: students bickering, teachers watching over them. They see him, smile and wave. Talk with him, invite him.

Stay with him.

A loop playing, forever and ever.

Malleus sighs contentedly.

This is his happily ever after—from now until the end of eternity.

[librababe99]

Vigilante's Lullaby |Part Five|

cw: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, Jason Todd, Gn!Reader, themes of trauma, ptsd, implied smut, HEAVY ANGST, NO HAPPY ENDING summary: In the devastating final chapter, Jason and Reader share one last night together before he makes an unthinkable decision. After a brutal attack that left Reader scarred, Jason knows that staying in their life will only cause more harm. word count: 2.0K

a/n: Hi loves! I've finally gotten around to finalizing the last part of Vigilante's Lullaby🙌🏻 I'd like to thank everyone for their support on this series and following along--I really wanted to create something that was different compared to other things I've written, especially with something as angsty as this. As always, feel free to comment, like or reblog! - Libra * .♡ *:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆

(Synopsis) | (Part One) | (Part Two) | (Part Three) | (Part Four)

(Main Masterlist)

The recovery had been slow, painfully slow, and the scars—both seen and unseen—ran deeper than anyone could have imagined. The physical wounds healed with time, but the mental and emotional aftermath lingered like a shadow, haunting every corner of the underground clinic. The attack had fractured something inside, something you couldn’t quite name. There were nights when the memory of blood and pain would surface, clawing its way back into your mind like a cruel specter. The panic would come, unbidden, suffocating, and there were times when you still flinched at the sound of a door opening too quickly or footsteps approaching from behind.

Jason had been there, at first. After that brutal night when he found you lying in your own blood, broken and fragile, he had stayed by your side. His presence was both a comfort and a weight. You didn’t blame him for what had happened. You never had. Despite everything, despite the danger that clung to him like a second skin, you loved him—irrevocably, without question. But Jason couldn’t see it that way. He couldn’t absolve himself of the guilt, couldn’t shake the belief that everything terrible in your life stemmed from his existence.

Months had passed since that fateful attack, and though your body had healed, the nights were still long and sleepless, filled with the kind of restless tension that never fully dissipated. The clinic had returned to a semblance of normalcy, the wounded trickling in and out, seeking the quiet solace of your care. But the weight of what had happened lingered, a silent testament that came with loving Jason Todd.

Jason hadn’t spoken much since the attack, not about his feelings, not about the guilt that was eating him alive. But you could see it in the way he looked at you, in the distance that had begun to stretch between you. He had become more reserved, his visits more infrequent, each time tinged with an unspoken finality. You knew him well enough to see the signs, to understand that something was shifting. He was pulling away, retreating into the darkness that had always been his companion. And though you didn’t want to believe it, deep down, you knew what was coming.

That night, when Jason arrived, there was a heaviness in the air that neither of you could ignore. His steps were quieter than usual as he slipped through the window, the familiar routine now laced with an unbearable tension. He stood there for a moment, his tall, broad frame silhouetted against the faint glow of the city outside. His face was cast in shadows, but you could see the tightness in his jaw, the way his hands flexed restlessly at his sides.

"Hey," you whispered softly, your voice barely above a breath, as if anything louder would shatter the fragile peace of the moment.

He didn’t respond at first, just moved toward you in that slow, deliberate way that always reminded you of a storm gathering on the horizon. When he sat beside you on the bed, the mattress dipped under his weight, and for a moment, you just sat there, side by side, in a silence that spoke louder than words.

You reached for his hand, your fingers brushing against the rough leather of his glove. He flinched slightly, the motion so subtle that you might not have noticed if you weren’t so attuned to him. But then he relented, his hand relaxing in yours, though you could still feel the tension coiled beneath his skin.

“Rough night?” you asked, the words a quiet echo of a conversation you’d had so many times before.

Jason exhaled sharply, a sound that was more a sigh than anything else. “Yeah,” he muttered, though there was no bitterness in his tone this time. Just exhaustion, and something deeper—something heavier.

You turned toward him, your fingers still curled around his gloved hand. “Talk to me,” you whispered, searching his face for the answers he wasn’t giving. But Jason just shook his head, his gaze dropping to the floor.

“I’m leaving,” he said, the words slipping from his lips with a finality that knocked the breath from your lungs.

For a moment, you didn’t understand. Your mind refused to process the meaning behind his words, refused to accept what they implied. But then, the weight of them sank in, heavy and cold, and your heart twisted painfully in your chest.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Jason, no.”

He finally looked at you, and the sight of his eyes—those stormy blue eyes that had always held so much—nearly broke you. There was pain there, yes, but there was something else, too. A kind of quiet resignation, as if he had made up his mind long before he’d ever stepped foot into your apartment that night.

“This isn’t your fault,” you said, your voice growing more desperate with every word. “What happened—what they did to me—it wasn’t your fault. I don’t blame you… I never did.”

His jaw tightened, and he pulled his hand away from yours, rising to his feet in one smooth, fluid motion. He paced to the window, his back to you, his fists clenched at his sides. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice rough with barely-contained emotion. “I should’ve known. I should’ve known they’d come after you. And I can’t—” He paused, his shoulders shaking with the effort of holding himself together. “I can’t let that happen again.”

You stood, crossing the room to him, your hand reaching out to touch his arm. “Jason,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Please.”

He turned to face you then, and the look in his eyes was one of pure, unfiltered agony. “You deserve better than this. Better than me,” he said, his voice a low, harsh whisper. “Every time I’m near you, I’m putting you in danger. And I can’t—I won’t do that anymore.”

You shook your head, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t care about the danger,” you said, your voice trembling. “I care about you. I love you.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with the weight of truth. Jason’s expression softened for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that same steely resolve that had been building inside him for months.

“I love you, too,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “But that’s why I have to go.”

The silence that followed was deafening, punctuated only by the sound of your own ragged breaths. Jason reached for you then, his hands trembling slightly as they cupped your face. His thumbs brushed away the tears that had begun to fall, and for a moment, you leaned into his touch, savoring the warmth of his hands against your skin.

But then he kissed you, and it was like everything else faded away—the pain, the fear, the darkness that had always loomed over the two of you. The kiss was slow, tender, filled with all the love and longing that neither of you had ever been able to fully express. His lips moved against yours with a kind of desperate urgency, as if he was trying to memorize the feel of you, trying to hold on to this moment for as long as he could.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, refusing to let him go. But deep down, you knew this was the beginning of the end. You could feel it in the way his hands tightened around your waist, in the way his breath hitched when he pulled back to look at you.

“I’m sorry,” Jason whispered, his forehead resting against yours. “I’m so sorry.”

Before you could respond, he kissed you again, and this time there was no hesitation, no restraint. His hands moved to your hips, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepened, growing more intense with each passing second. There was a kind of desperation in the way he kissed you, like he was trying to pour every ounce of his love, his regret, his sorrow into that one moment.

And for that night, you let yourself believe that everything could be okay. You let yourself forget about the darkness that lurked just outside the window, about the danger that had always been a part of your life with Jason. You let yourself get lost in him, in the heat of his touch, in the way his body fit so perfectly against yours.

But even as you lay there, tangled together in the sheets, your bodies spent and your hearts heavy, there was a gnawing sense of dread that you couldn’t ignore.

Jason held you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you as if he was afraid you might disappear. His breath was warm against your neck, and for a moment, it felt like everything was normal, like nothing had changed.

But you knew better.

When you finally fell asleep, Jason stayed awake, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as his mind raced. He could feel the weight of the decision he was about to make, the finality of it settling over him like a suffocating blanket. But he knew—he had always known—that this was the only way to keep you safe.

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

You woke the next morning to an empty bed. The spot where Jason had been was cold, the sheets rumpled but vacant. Panic surged through you as you sat up, your heart pounding in your chest. “Jason?” you called, your voice hoarse with sleep and fear.

But the apartment was silent.

You threw the covers off and hurried toward the window, hoping—praying—that you’d see him standing there, that this was all just a horrible misunderstanding. But when you reached the window, there was nothing. Just the faint hum of the city below, oblivious to the storm that had just torn through your life.

It wasn’t until you turned back toward the bed that you saw it—the note. A single sheet of paper, folded neatly and left on the nightstand, right where you would find it.

Your hands trembled as you picked it up, unfolding it slowly, dreading the words you knew would be there.

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

I love you. I always have. But I can’t stay. Every moment I’m with you, I’m putting you in danger, and I can’t live with that. You deserve a life without fear, without the constant threat of violence and pain. You deserve better than me.

I’m sorry for everything—for the pain, for the hurt, for leaving you like this. But this is the only way I can keep you safe. Please, don’t try to find me. I won’t let you.

Jason.

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

The words blurred as tears filled your eyes, and you sank to the floor, the note crumpling in your hand as you sobbed. The ache in your chest was unbearable, like a piece of you had been ripped away, leaving a hollow, gaping wound in its place.

You had always known this day might come. You had always known that loving Jason Todd meant living with the constant threat of losing him. But knowing it didn’t make it any easier. It didn’t make the pain any less suffocating.

He was gone.

And this time, he wasn’t coming back.

Far from Gotham, Jason walked alone. The city’s skyline faded into the distance as he disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind the only person who had ever made him feel like he could be more than the darkness that defined him.

His heart was heavy with regret, with sorrow, but he knew this was the only way. He had made his choice. And now, he would live with it.

Alone.

Always alone.

Because that was the price he had to pay for loving you.

And Jason knew, deep down, that he was never meant to have happiness—not in this life.

Taglist: @arisa191 @leo-lvr @stormz369

[lovelygirlwithablog]

Heart on Trial | part 1

pairing: Harvey Specter x f!lawyer!reader

summary: Harvey Specter doesn’t let anyone in. But when his trusted associate starts slipping past his defenses, he’s forced to confront the feelings he’s tried to ignore. Torn between pride and desire, Harvey finally faces the truth—and this time, he’s willing to risk everything for you.

warnings: angst, mild language, slow burn, explicit content, smut, dirty talk, extra fluff, use of Y/N

word count: 2399 (bruh)

A/N: i came up with this idea after the first episode with Scottie; i kinda hate but love her at the same time (pls don't kill me) and i already feel Christmas coming so i wanted to make something winter themed ❄️ requests are open!

You always knew Harvey Specter was dangerous. Not in the obvious ways—the smug smirk, the razor-sharp suit, the ego big enough to fill his corner office. No, what made him truly dangerous was the way he could make you feel with just a look.

As his associate, you’d gotten used to being his confidante, his sparring partner, and sometimes the one person he could depend on when things got messy. But lately, it’s been different. There’s a spark simmering under every exchange, a tension that neither of you wants to name. And yet, every day, you find yourself pulled back into his orbit, craving the thrill of his attention while knowing it can never go further.

Until it does.

The stack of case files on your desk seemed to grow every hour. Between prepping depositions, reviewing contracts, and tackling the endless demands of high-profile clients, you barely had time to breathe. Pearson Specter was always high stakes, but today felt like a marathon. You glanced at the clock—already well past the time any sane person would have left the office.

In the quiet lull of the late evening, you caught sight of Harvey’s empty office across the hall, lights off, door slightly ajar. It was rare to see his space unoccupied; his presence filled the floor even when he wasn’t around. You tried to shake off the thought.

Tonight, though, you pushed those thoughts aside. You had your own cases to handle, and letting Harvey Specter occupy any more space in your mind was a risk you couldn’t afford—especially when your work was demanding every last bit of focus you had left.

You were deep in thought, lost in a mountain of documents, when you heard the familiar sound of footsteps approaching. Glancing up, you saw Mike Ross heading your way, a lopsided grin on his face that made it impossible not to smile back.

“Hey, do you have a second?” he asked, leaning casually against your desk, his eyes sparkling with that hint of mischief you’d come to love.

“Always for you,” you replied, raising an eyebrow playfully. “What’s going on?”

“I need your genius brain for a minute,” he said, feigning seriousness but unable to hide the smile tugging at his lips. “I’m trying to figure out the Thompson case, and I think I might be missing something important. Can you help me out?”

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms as you regarded him with mock suspicion. “You mean you just want to avoid doing all the hard work yourself?”

“Hey, I thought we were friends!” he laughed, rolling his eyes dramatically. “But seriously, I’d really appreciate your input. You always see things I miss.”

“Alright, alright,” you said with a chuckle, pushing aside the files in front of you. “Let’s take a look."

Time passed away fast. The soft hum of the office lights felt more pronounced in the quiet, and you could sense that it was time to wrap things up.

"Alright, I think we’ve gone through enough for tonight," Mike said, stretching his arms above his head and yawning.

You chuckled, glancing at the scattered files on your desk. "Yeah, I guess we’ve done enough detective work for one evening."

Mike stood up, pushing his chair back with a grin. "I’ll race you to the elevator. Loser buys the first round of drinks next time we go out."

"Oh, you’re on!" you replied, jumping to your feet. You both made a break for the door, laughter hearing in the empty office as you raced down the hallway.

As you walked toward the exit, you could feel the chill in the air creeping in through the glass doors. When you pushed the door open and stepped outside, you were greeted by a breathtaking sight. Snowflakes were falling gently from the sky, blanketing the city in a soft, white layer. The streetlights cast a warm glow on the freshly fallen snow, making it sparkle like diamonds.

“Wow, it’s snowing!” you exclaimed, momentarily mesmerized by the beauty of it.

“Looks like we’re in for a winter wonderland,” Mike said, a grin spreading across his face. He pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. “Well, I should get going before the roads get too bad. You’ll be okay getting home?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” you assured him, though you were aware of the distance you still had to walk.

“Alright, see you tomorrow!” he called, giving you a quick wave as he turned and started down the sidewalk, his figure slowly disappearing into the snowy haze.

You watched him go, the thrill of the snowfall filling the air around you. Just as you were about to head in the opposite direction, you heard a familiar voice call out.

"Hey, Y/N!"

Turning, you saw Harvey striding toward you. He looked effortlessly handsome, even in the cold, wearing his tailored coat with a purposeful air.

“Harvey!” you replied, a smile breaking across your face. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just heading out and thought I’d check in,” he said, his gaze flickering to the snowfall around you. “I see you’re still working. You shouldn’t be out here alone in this weather.”

“I was just about to head home,” you said, brushing off the concern. “Mike just left.”

“Let me give you a ride,” he offered, the warmth in his voice making you feel at ease despite the cold. “It’s not safe to be out in this.”

You hesitated for a moment, glancing at the snow piling up on the sidewalk, then nodded. “Okay, that would be great. Thanks.”

With a slight nod, Harvey led you back toward his car.

Harvey opened the car door for you, his hand brushing against yours as you slid into the passenger seat. The warmth inside was a welcome contrast to the cold outside.

As he drove, the soft glow of the streetlights illuminated his profile, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and his gaze.

“Here we are," he said as he pulled up in front of your building. The snow continued to fall.

“Thanks for the ride, Harvey,” you said softly.

He just nodded and looked at you with those beautiful, brown eyes.

As you stepped out of Harvey’s car, the chilly air hit you, but you still felt a bit warm from the ride. You wrapped your scarf tighter and waved goodbye.

Once inside your apartment, you kicked off your shoes and tossed your coat over a chair. You wandered into the kitchen and made a cup of tea, breathing in the warm, cozy smell.

You plopped down on the sofa with your tea in hand, feeling finally relaxed.

The next morning, you arrived at the office. As you settled into your desk, you barely had time to open your laptop before Jessica’s voice rang out.

"Y/N L/N. Come in my office. Now."

You felt a jolt of nerves and quickly made your way to her office, knocking lightly on the door before stepping inside. Jessica was already on the phone, concentrated. She ended the call and gestured for you to sit.

“I need you to take on a case,” she said, her voice firm. “It’s time-sensitive.”

You blinked, processing her words. “What kind of case?”

“It’s against Harvey’s client,” she replied, locking eyes with you.

You felt your stomach drop. “But… that means I’m going to work against Harvey.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Jessica said, her tone unyielding. “I need someone I can trust, and you’re the best fit for this. Here’s the situation: the client is being accused of fraud in a high-profile deal, and the evidence is stacked against them. We need to prove their innocence quickly, or they could face serious consequences.”

You blinked, trying to process the implications. “What exactly do I need to do?”

Jessica leaned forward, her expression serious. “I need you to gather evidence, interview key witnesses, and build a defense strategy. You’ll have to dig deep, and it may involve getting information that’s tightly held. It’s going to be challenging, but I believe you can handle it.”

Your heart raced as you considered the weight of the task ahead. “But working against Harvey—”

“I know it’s complicated,” she interrupted, her tone softening slightly. “But this isn’t personal. It’s about doing what’s right for our client. And if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her words. “Okay, I’ll do it,” you said, though uncertainty hung in your throat.

"Good. I’ll brief you on the details and put you in touch with our investigators,” Jessica said, already pulling up the case files on her computer.

You nodded, steeling yourself for what was to come, knowing you were about to step into a conflict that could change everything.

You returned to your desk, feeling a mix of determination and anxiety swirling within you.

You opened the case files Jessica had given you and immersed yourself in the details, focusing on the accusations of fraud and the evidence against the client. With each page you turned, the weight of the situation pressed down harder, but you pushed through, reminding yourself that you had a job to do.

As the hours passed, you stole glances at Harvey’s office, half-expecting him to come out and greet you with his usual confidence. But he was deeply engrossed in his own work, the door mostly closed, leaving you to your thoughts. You didn’t have the courage to approach him, not when you were about to undermine everything he was working on.

You were on opposite sides now, and that realization stung more than you expected.

Lunchtime came and went, and you barely noticed as you powered through your research. The few times you encountered Mike, he greeted you.

By the time the clock struck six, you had gathered a solid amount of information but felt drained from the emotional toll. You stood up, stretching and rubbing your neck, ready to head out for the day. Just as you were about to grab your things, you looked over to Harvey’s office one last time.

He was still there, leaning over his desk, completely focused on his work. A small part of you wanted to go in, to say something, but you hesitated, knowing you couldn’t. Instead, you sighed softly and walked toward the exit, the weight of your decision settling heavily on your shoulders.

As you left the office, the snowy streets greeted you once again, but this time, it felt different. The magic of the snowflakes didn’t reach you the way it had the night before.

Days passed, each one feeling heavier than the last. You worked diligently on the case Jessica assigned you, but every time you passed Harvey’s office, your stomach twisted with guilt. He was busy with his own cases, and you were careful to avoid him.

Finally, one evening, the office was quiet. Most of the staff had gone home, and you were focused on your work, buried in documents, when you heard the familiar sound of footsteps approaching. You looked up just in time to see Harvey standing in front of your desk, arms crossed, his expression a mix of frustration and concern.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice low and tense.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” you replied, feeling your heart race as you tried to maintain your composure. You stand up and look at him.

"You’ve been avoiding me for days,” he said, his tone sharper than usual. “What’s going on?”

You hesitated, searching for the right words. “I’ve just been busy with my new case,” you said, hoping it would suffice.

“Busy? That’s it?” He stepped closer, his gaze piercing. “You don’t just ignore someone like this without a reason. What’s really going on?”

You took a deep breath, knowing you couldn’t keep avoiding it. “I… I’m working against your client, Harvey. Jessica put me on the fraud case,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

His expression shifted, the anger giving way to disbelief. “What do you mean? You’re working against me?”

“I didn’t want to!” you exclaimed, frustration bubbling over. “Jessica needed someone to take the case, and she thought I could handle it. I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“By completely avoiding me?” he shot back, his voice rising. “That’s not how this works! We’re supposed to be a team, and you’ve turned your back on me.”

You felt your heart race, anger flaring in response to his accusation. “I didn’t turn my back on you! I was trying to protect you! I thought it would be easier if I just stayed away.”

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a step away before turning back to you, frustration etched across his face. “Easier for who? Because it’s not easier for me, standing here wondering why the hell you won’t talk to me. I thought we had each other’s backs, no matter what.”

“We do!” you argued, your voice rising as the tension crackled in the air. “But this situation is complicated. I didn’t want to create conflict between us. I thought if I just kept my head down, it would be less messy.”

His eyes softened slightly, but the anger still simmered beneath the surface. “Less messy? This is a mess. You should have come to me, talked to me. Instead, you chose to shut me out. Do you even understand how that feels?”

Your chest tightened at his words, the weight of guilt crashing over you. “I’m sorry. I thought I could handle it on my own. I didn’t want to drag you into this.”

He stepped closer again, his voice low and heated. “You think this is just business for me? You think I can separate this from everything else? I care about you, and it hurts when you act like I don’t matter.”

“Maybe we both need some space,” you finally said, your voice barely a whisper, feeling the weight of those words settle between you.

“Yeah, maybe,” he replied, his eyes searching yours as if looking for an answer neither of you could find.

As he stepped back, the moment fractured, leaving a lingering ache in the air. You knew this was far from over, and the unspoken feelings hung like a storm cloud, threatening to burst at any moment.

To be continued ...

[thatlotuscookie]

Hi, i love ur fic especially the one with dabi they’ve got me in a chokehold hold!! could you please write for dabi x fem!reader fic where they meet on the reader's apartment balcony (spoiler ig !) right before the final war when dabi is ab to go fight Shoto and yn tells him something like “don’t die”. Just some cute/angsty moment bc i haven’t read the manga’s ending yet but i got spoiled and pretty much know how it ends. However, ION KNOW IF DABI IS GOING TO DIE OR NOT(which is driving me crazy ngl )

✧･ﾟ: a/n : ANON THIS IS TOO GOOD. I WAS LITENING TO HERE WITH MY BY D4VD AND IT GOT ME IN THE FEELS. UGH. IT WAS SOO SADAJSHSIAHF (I cried). thank you for the request<3

✧ Title: ✧ Here With Me ✧ ✧ Characters: Dabi x Fem!Reader ✧ Genre: Angst, Romance ✧ Rating: T ✧ Summary: As Dabi prepares to leave for the final battle, time slips away, leaving him with so many things left unsaid. He won't have the chance to tell you how much he loves you or how badly he wishes things were different. The engagement ring hidden in his pocket feels heavier than ever. ✧ Content Warnings/Tags: Themes of violence, emotional turmoil, intense conversations about past trauma, and the potential for character death, angst and more angst, SPOILERS. Dabi has an engagement ring for reader (im balling my eyes out) ✧ WC: 2057 words // 11k chars

The night was heavy with tension, a storm brewing on the horizon as the world teetered on the brink of chaos. You leaned against the cool metal railing of your apartment balcony, staring out into the distance where the city lights twinkled like distant stars, each one a reminder of the life bustling below. The air felt electric, thick with unspoken words and emotions swirling in the darkness. You could sense the shift in the atmosphere; something monumental was about to unfold, a moment that could change everything.

Just then, out of the shadows, Dabi emerged, his figure cutting through the night like a specter. He stepped onto the balcony, and for a fleeting moment, the world around you fell silent. All your worries—the chaos of the world, the fear of the unknown—faded away as your eyes locked onto his. A chill ran down your spine, not just from the crisp night air but from the weight of the unspoken things hanging between you, pressing down like a physical force.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice steady yet laced with the tremor of uncertainty that mirrored the storm brewing in the distance. You wanted to sound nonchalant, but the fear in your heart seeped through.

He shrugged, a casual motion that belied the gravity of the moment. “Just wanted to see you before…” His voice trailed off, and he looked away, an uncharacteristic vulnerability evident in his posture. Your heart sank, the air thick with the unspoken truth of his words, realizing that this might be the last time you saw him before everything changed.

“Before what?” you pressed, stepping closer as if to bridge the chasm that felt too vast between you. “What’s going to happen?”

“Before I go face Shoto,” he said, the words slipping from his lips like a bitter truth. “I have to do this.” The finality in his tone struck you like a blow, leaving a knot in your stomach.

“No…” you whispered, the reality of his words crashing over you like a wave. “Dabi, please…” Your voice cracked, desperation creeping into every syllable. “Don’t go. You don’t have to do this.”

He turned his gaze back to you, and for a moment, you could see the conflict flickering in his eyes, the storm of emotions raging beneath the surface. Your heart raced in your chest, matching the frantic rhythm of your thoughts. “I do,” he insisted, but there was a softness in his tone that you clung to like a lifeline. “It’s something I need to settle.” His words were like shards of glass, sharp and piercing, and they twisted painfully in your chest.

“By fighting your brother? You’re both so much more than this,” you pleaded, feeling the heat of tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “You don’t have to prove anything. You’re more than your past, Dabi. Please… just come back to me.” The urgency in your voice hung in the air, thick and suffocating, as you tried to grasp at the fraying threads of hope.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, as his gaze drifted away. In that moment, Dabi was suddenly flooded with memories—warm, vivid recollections of you and him together. He could picture the way your laughter had danced in the air during lazy afternoons spent on the couch, the two of you wrapped up in each other’s arms while binge-watching shows. He could recall the soft look in your eyes when you first told him you loved him, a moment so tender that it had made his heart swell. Your fingers intertwined with his as you stargazed on the roof, sharing dreams and secrets under the vast, open sky.

And then, as his thoughts spiraled deeper, he envisioned what it would be like to build a family with you. The way your eyes would light up as you picked out names for your children, your laughter echoing through a home filled with love. He imagined you cradling a baby in your arms, the two of you working together to raise them, teaching them right from wrong, and watching as they grew. He pictured family trips, the four of you laughing and playing, creating memories that would last a lifetime.

But that future now felt like a distant dream slipping further away with each passing moment. It hurt to think of the love he had envisioned, now overshadowed by the grim reality of his life. He had always wanted to protect you, to create a safe space where love could thrive, but now it felt like everything was crashing down around him.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the bittersweet nostalgia creeping into his thoughts. “I can’t just walk away from this,” he said finally, his voice low and heavy with regret, each word dropping like stones into the stillness. “I’ve spent so long running from my past, and now I have to face it. I can’t let it go.” The intensity in his voice cut through you, a stark reminder of the choices he felt compelled to make, choices that threatened to tear you apart.

“Dabi,” you began, your heart aching as you tried to reach him through the fog of his pain. “You don’t have to carry this burden alone. I’m here. We can face it together.” The words tumbled out, raw and sincere, but he seemed trapped in his own storm, unable to see the safety you offered.

He looked at you then, and the rawness of his gaze sent shivers down your spine. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want you to suffer because of me.” His voice was strained, the very idea of you being hurt more than he could bear, a weight pressing down on his chest.

In his heart, Dabi wrestled with a torrent of feelings, each one sharper and more poignant than the last. It terrified him how much he loved you, how you had somehow wormed your way into the very core of his being. You were the light in his dark world, the warmth he never thought he deserved. And now, as he stood on the precipice of conflict, the thought of losing you gnawed at him, a relentless ache threatening to tear him apart.

He couldn't shake the image of the engagement ring hidden away in his pocket, the one he had spent all his money on, the one he had imagined slipping onto your finger as he asked you to be his forever. It felt like a weight in his chest, a tangible reminder of everything he had dreamed of—of you, of love, of a future together. But now, standing on the brink of battle, the thought of giving it to you felt almost cruel, as if it would only deepen the wound he was about to inflict. The crushing reality that he might never get the chance to give it to you left him feeling hollow, the hope of a future together slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.

“I can’t let you get hurt,” he murmured, memories swirling in his mind. He thought back to the nights you spent sharing secrets, the way your eyes sparkled when you smiled, the gentle touches that spoke volumes more than words ever could. “You mean so much to me,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, each word a fragile admission. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” The sincerity in his eyes was a flicker of hope, a lifeline in the dark. “For the first time, I’ve found someone worth fighting for.” The weight of his confession hung in the air, trembling with the enormity of his feelings.

“Then don’t go,” you begged, your voice trembling with desperation. “Stay with me. We can find another way. We can—”

But he shook his head, cutting you off with the finality of a closing door. “I have to do this. I have to face him. I can’t keep running away.” His eyes held a mixture of resolve and fear, and it shattered your heart to see him so torn, so lost.

In a sudden rush of emotion, you grasped his shirt, pulling him closer, as if the very act of touching him could ground both of you in this moment. “Just promise me you’ll come back,” you whispered, the warmth radiating from his body contrasting sharply with the cold fear gripping your heart.

“I promise,” he replied, but the wavering of his voice made it feel more like a farewell than a promise, a haunting echo of uncertainty.

The moment hung in the air, heavy and fragile, as he stepped forward, closing the space between you. Your breath hitched as he cupped your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek with a tenderness that felt almost foreign amidst the turmoil. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that you rarely saw, and it pulled at your heart, unraveling the walls you had built around yourself.

“Every time I see you, it reminds me of everything I could lose,” he confessed, his voice shaking slightly, as if each word weighed a thousand pounds. “You make me want to fight for a future I didn’t think I could have. But this… this is my fight. I can’t turn back now.”

As he spoke, memories flooded back to him, warm and intimate. He remembered the time you two went on that impromptu adventure, sneaking away from the world for just a few hours to enjoy a quiet day at the park. The laughter you shared, the way you playfully shoved him when he teased you, the moment when he caught you in a surprise kiss under the blossoming cherry trees—every detail etched in his mind like a beautiful tapestry woven with your shared love.

And now, amidst the chaos of his thoughts, he could see the family he wanted with you, the life that could have been. It was a vision that crushed him more than anything else—the weight of unfulfilled dreams pressing heavily on his soul.

“I want to marry you,” he admitted suddenly, the words slipping from his lips like a confession, raw and desperate. “I want to have a family with you. But I need to make sure I’m worth that first. I can’t do it without facing my past.” His gaze was unwavering, and you could see the boy he once was fighting against the man he had become.

And in that moment, Dabi realized that it was more than just the fight with his brother; it was the fight for a life worth living, a life where love could blossom amid the ashes. He wanted to build a future with you—a family filled with warmth and laughter, memories that would echo in the halls of a home you would create together. But now, that future felt like a flickering candle in a tempest, barely holding on.

As the storm raged above, he leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a kiss that held all the desperation of the world. It was a kiss filled with longing, sadness, and a sense of finality that sent your heart racing. You poured every ounce of your love into that kiss, willing him to understand that he wasn’t alone, that you would stand by him no matter the cost.

When he finally pulled away, his breath mingled with yours, and you could see the conflict still raging in his eyes. “I have to go,” he said finally, the words tasting like ash on his tongue, as he prepared to step back into the darkness from which he had come.

The shadows swallowed him up, and you felt an ache in your chest, a hollow space where his presence had just been. You watched him disappear into the night, the promise of his return echoing in your heart, a fragile hope flickering in the depths of your soul.

As he vanished into the shadows, the storm finally broke overhead, rain pouring down in torrents, mirroring the turmoil within you. You stood there, heart pounding, longing for his return, the weight of the promise lingering like a shadow, a reminder that even in darkness, there was still a flicker of light, a chance for a future filled with the love you both so desperately needed.

[angellurgy2]

Pull The Trigger

your favourite freak's writing agaain! you ever wanted to read a story about a homophobic gamer boy getting doxxed and raped? well here u go! ^-^ part two coming soon

cw: noncon, forced gay, slurs, shit like that

sandstone brick, towering ahead. trapped in a corner, waiting, ak-47 comfortable in hand. listening, watching, pixel-perfect gaze. the soft pitter patter of booted footsteps approaching on sand. spin, shoot before you see. three shots of triple-round burst to centre mass. dead. 

multiple pings hit the wall ahead of him, pelted at while his back was turned. losing health rapidly. he flicks and sends his barrel spinning 180 in the opposite direction, blind trading fire. 

he screams into his bulky turtle beach headphones as the body in front of him ragdolls, screen blurring with bloody low health warnings. “YEAAAH FAGGOT, YOU LIKE THAT?”

he’s swiftly popped into the win screen, all chat and winner microphones switched on to offer a chance to flaunt or whine. 

[ALL] TriggerFinger: get GUD fags i’ll wipe u in the next one 2 lmao

[ALL] XxxGr1mR3eaperxxX: dude you suck u just got lucky

[ALL] TriggerFinger: i bet u kno a lot about sucking huh?

[ALL] TriggerFinger: just like your MOM

trigger clicks on to queue for the next game, a satisfied gleam plastering his face as everyone else is gone to the aether.

in the top left of his screen as loading screens trawl pops a message from an unfamiliar user. not on his friends list, rather it looks like they’re in the ‘recently played with’ section. probably just another noob coming to rage.

[PRIVATE] Anonymous-Specter: that was pretty rude, you know.

‘ThAt WaS pReTtY rUde-’ what a beta.

[PRIVATE] TriggerFinger: why shld i care? get a life faggot. lmao

[PRIVATE] Anonymous-Specter: you really shouldn’t talk to people like that.

this guy’s clearly got some form of retardation keeping him from getting the hint. but trigger’s got better shit to do. the loading screen for this game always takes so long. he grabs a pack of shrimp tempura cup ramen off the nearby shelf and fills it with day-old water from his water bottle, shoving it in the microwave for a couple minutes. he numbly trawls through social media feeds, doomscrolling the beautiful faces on instagram before that gets boring, then the stale porn on twitter, then the ragebait on 4chan. nothing satisfying his appetite except this one clip of some guy eating shit on his first try skateboarding, which too is ethereal in the drips of serotonin it gives.

ding!

he grabs his soppy steaming meal and brings it back over to his computer, stirring it with a stray fork before moving back into the screen. the first thing he sees is another message from the same person as before. he rolls his eye and opens the notification.

[PRIVATE] Anonymous-Specter: this you? 78.222.0.13

[PRIVATE] TriggerFinger: TF?? 

he thinks he’s so cool. trigger quickly tabs over to chrome, typing into the address bar ‘whats my ip ad-’ before it autofills. he clicks in, praying for the release of the little ball of stress slowing spreading in his chest. only to have it implode. IPv4… 78.222.0.13

ok. well, he’s probably just trying to scare you. theres not much you can do with a few numbers. he remembers the streamers he’s watched being ddos’ed and how freaked out they’d always get. he can’t find that humour in the angered horror on their faces now, though.

[PRIVATE] TriggerFinger: thats not my fuckin IP asshole. ur not funny

[PRIVATE] Anonymous-Specter: i think it’s pretty funny.

[PRIVATE] Anonymous-Specter: see you soon :)

trigger looks around his surroundings. nothing around, just the same open bland studio basement. mattress on the floor, check. couch, check. tv, check. tiny window that shows literally nothing but a foot of grass? check. its hard for him to hide the scowl of hatred at this empty rotting enclosure. shit, did you lock the door? he runs up and flicks it locked like how a child runs up the stairs when they’re scared a monsters behind them. not because of this ‘specter’ though. just normal precaution. he wouldn’t let another man take up space in his mind like that.

trigger sits. unable to pull his focus enough to start another game, or to divest himself entirely. stuck in a limbotic resting space. he grabs the monster can sitting on his desk - one of many - and pours it down his throat with anxious franticity. after staring at the screen for long enough, with nothing else he can see to do, he types.

[PRIVATE] TriggerFinger: What r u talking about? fuckin weirdo

10 minutes pass.

[PRIVATE] TriggerFinger: hello?

nothing at all. empty threats and childish games. who puts in that much effort just to cause a little scare? freak, probably a faggot too.

he sighs and switches over to spotify, plugging his favourite XXXtentacion album into his grindy bluetooth speaker and grabbing a pre-roll from his weed drawer. a rusted old lighter folds between his fingers. flick, flick. hot choking mist fills his mouth and then suffuses his screen as he blows it back into the stale air. he lies idly spinning in his gaming chair, puffing until its gone and until the words leave his head. empty.

but not for long, apparently.

a resoundingly loud knocking thuds at his door. earthquaking enough to shake him out of his seatlock. but the tremors remain, rocking through his veins. he gingerly lowers his eye to the peephole. a short man looks up from a foot away, holding some sort of black bag. this is it trigger, time to man up. he paces back with soft steps, pulling a steak knife from the block and holding it behind his back. no more games, this is real life. no more being harassed by that bitch landlord, no more bad looks when mom and dad visit. when the police find him beaten and you on top you won’t have to feel bad anymore.

he opens the door.

“Hello. uber for trig?”

he doesn’t remember ordering any food, was he really that faded?

“it’s… trigger. but that’s me, yeah.”

the man passes trigger an unlabelled brown bag from the bigger unlabelled black bag. something liquid seeps out of the corner.

“have a great night, sir!” 

trigger tosses the bag onto the table already scattered with trash. throwing the knife onto the counter along with it. being paranoid is the sign of a weak mind, you need energy. he thinks about the shrooms his bro gave him a couple weeks back, saved for a special occasion in a box under his bed. the devil and angel on his shoulders scream.

he examines the food. taco bell crunchwrap and spilled soda, amazing. he begins to clean it up right as a CLFBKGBNJ clanging from the kitchenette behind his back rings out. he turns to see a tall, muscley imposing man already towering over him from there. backing up slowly, like hes a blind animal that’ll pounce at any moment. 

“hey there.”

“hi???” his words spit out with a spiteful acidity, tantrumic. 

“you must be trigger.” his monotone face twists upwards into a cruel mockery of a smile. he examines trigger up and down, who shivers at being ogled like meat.

he hears his dad in his head. puff up your chest, faggot. you can’t let people walk over you like a little bitch all the time. he straightens his back, stops retreating. his voice mimics a tough deepness.

“you need to g-get the fuck out of my house.” 

specter tilts his head with curiosity. trigger can feel the aftershocks of monster and adrenaline crumpling his heart as he looks into the intruders eyes. a dark jade gazes back, blank. empty. like null space inside his skull, giving off only the aesthetic of a watching being. beyond the entrancing holes, partially hidden behind curtains of frayed brown locks, a jagged scar cuts through his face, curved and serrated with the impression of its assailant. 

“it’s not really your house though, is it?” 

trigger stares back dumbly. specter lifts up a chiseled arm and knocks on the roof, indicating where the landlord resides. “it’s theirs, really.” he takes a step forward.

“what’s your fucking problem man?”

another step back. guarding facade broken as quickly as it was put up. you’re weak. pathetic. he can smell it on you, just like they all can.

“here to give you an attitude adjustment.” he says it so monotone, like reading a script. as if you should know what that means. specter gives a wide scan of the interior. sizing up your crime scene? this won’t be going the way you think it will, buddy. “this is a pretty shit place you got here”

“not any more shit than the goon cave you probably got, bitch” 

the molded smile on specter’s face drops in a second. in 3 sudden steps forward he closes most of the gap between them, the air between the two grows cold. trigger has no choice but to back up more to keep the feeling of safety. the distance between handler and beast, but there’s no leash here. and there’s no medic to save him.

“listen.. s-specter? right?” he looks into those dead eyes with a quiver hes kept hidden for so long.  “i'm sorry i insulted you or- or whatever i didn’t mean it okay? that’s just online shit, this isn’t real.”

specter takes another wordless step, and trigger hits the wall. this isn’t real.

“why so quiet all of a sudden?” his hand reaches out and cups triggers chin, his face too frozen with animalistic chemicals to react. forcing trigger’s weak inebriated gaze to meet his, dead yet malevolent. “are you scared of me?”

trigger spits in his face. “you- couldn’t. scare me.”

untrimmed nails dig sharply into the base of his skull. “i will.”

“my dads the chief of police. you don’t wanna do this.” he tries to put on monotone the best he can, head as swirly with emotions as it is.

specter chortles. “no he’s not”

the music emanating from trigger’s desk scratches hard as it changes into a fast-paced track. specter’s eyes and ears twitch in its direction like a bat.

“this is what you listen to?” his smile almost looks genuine this time. he gestures at the ground below them. “stay here.”

he turns and moves to walk past trigger, when he jumps into action, leaping at the man with a guttural yell.  “AA-”

immediately cut off by searing blunt force ripping through his gut, sending him crumpling to the floor with the force of extraneous gravity. so you’re a warlock, subclassed into gravitational magic, is that it? he gets up onto his hands and knees, a trail of saliva connecting his lips to the dirty linoleum floors. he chokes on each breath he tries to take in. the pain is unlike anything his soft and unexplored body has experienced before. 

specter walks away to the booming speaker, pulling out a black rectangle from the pocket of the black jeans sticking to his legs.. the speakers switch to a new track, unfamiliar to his ears. some kind of aggressive rapping, underscored by a metallic sharp noise groove. he tries to listen for words, analyzing the rhythm and slotting it with memories of other songs to try and figure out what it is. but before he can comprehend the first words to come out, a rigid boot crashes into the side of his ribs.

dazed on the ground, heaving for the little pieces of air that’ll fit through his trachea, cartoons birds twirling over his head as he stares up into the ceiling. 

a sharp sound cuts through his stupor. “you’re funny” says specter, “i really thought you’d have more fight in you.”

PHWACK. the sound of some elastic material slapping against skin, a black glove clinging to specter’s boney hand.

trigger’s shocked by the feeling of cold on his bare stomach, face twisting with rage but the rest of the body betrays him with frozen fear. specter begins to slowly lift triggers shirt, feeling up his concave flesh with rubber digits.

specter flinches back as a red handprint manifests on his cheek. i wasnt even thinking i didnt mean to i just-

a vice grip takes hold of his windpipe, holding it hostage. the hand begins to rise upwards, holding him against a wall that wasnt there two seconds ago, and then he has to fight with his noodlish body to stand up before it rips his throat right out. “you’re so weak. how did you make it so long, bullying people like that?” his other hand then puts itself to use. the cold rises up triggers body slow and nerve-wracking. he tries not to feel it and to just keep his eyes on him. the tangible, hurtable, beast. 

his mind lags from his body, not realizing he’s on the ground before he already is. terrifyingly strong knees spreading his legs apart ever so slightly, invading hand-shaped ghosts pinning him into the dirty floor face-first. months of uncaring habitation coming back to bite him in the ass all at once. his eyes jump from little pieces of dust and crumbs, filling his vision more than their existence is intended for. brought low with the trash. maybe you should’ve listened to mom.

a bottle squirts loudly out of his sight. he tries to spin his head around but he’s just met with increased pressure on his neck, pinning him down like meat on a butcher’s table. fuck this. thrashing out with all the strength in his limbs- it forces specter to change up his positioning, but even then you can’t make a single scratch, slapping at this very real intruder like a whiney little girl. 

“stop it.” he says it like he’s talking to a petulant child, dry and tired.

“fuck you! get off me!” 

a rubbery object shoves itself down his throat as he opens his mouth to yell more obscenities. fingers ripping open his jaw, dispelling his pleas into inhuman garbling.  

“reht rre throo!” 

he looks around, there has to be something he can do. everything is dark blobs because of his eyes wetting from the fingers assault of his uvula. heavy whispers assault the back of his neck, venom in his blurred ears. “i could take out a tooth. how about that?”

he shakes his head, as much as he can crushed between these manly hands. 

water trickles down from the corners of his eyes. fuck, don’t let him see you crying, that’s the ultimate defeat. man card revoked. the only benefit of this positioning is that only the tile can see your face’s treason.

the hand abruptly leaves and moves back to the rest of his body. not preferable, but at least now his eyes will stop coating themselves in water. there has to be something on this floor somewhere if he can look. 

blood coats his vision. bloody floor, bloody nose, face shoved into a pool of it. he can feel his nose contort under the hard material, head bouncing off it with a loud crack.

‘look’, you shouldve known better. thousands of hours of experience watching torture scenes in COD, and you think he’s gonna give you a break? you’re not the shooter like you thought you were, you’re just the dead russian snitch. 

slender hands dip under the waistband of his sweatpants, threatening with slow dragging downwards. fuck, he is a fag. so much screaming in his head, be a man be strong fight back faggot stop being a fucking BETA. but the weak trembling in every inch of his nervous system won’t let go. the part that knows what you are. weak little soyboy. shit, was it the burger king? he looks at the softness of his tiny arms splayed out in front of him, thinking back to all those impossible whoppers he had during that first (and last) year of college. sure there were the conspiracies but- he had to lose some weight and it was right next to his dorm and surely a little bit of hormonal meat couldn’t hurt anyone. well, apparently not. he shudders at the thought of all those tiny little girl particles running around in his bloodstream.

coldcoldcoldcoldcold fuck. something cold and wet drips down his ass, sending rippling twitches through his body. something small pokes and prods, forcing the wet inside, already he feels speared through, he has to purposefully hold his face together to not burst into open sobbing. 

“shhh sh sh. it’s okay. you’ll take it.” 

it pulls out, a hot emptiness filling all feeling. another squirt, and more wetness shoved so deep he cant handle in the choking cries. “please. please don’t. i don’t- i’m not-” cut off by the finger pulling out again, leaving his hole gaped. “Fuck stop im not gay pleasepleasepleasepl”

a sweaty palm wraps over his mouth.

something warm and hard and fleshy begins to rub circles around his hole. pressing up so close his breath hitches in fear it might go in and then pulling back and then repeating.

“be a good boy and stay quiet, trig.”

pushing pushing pushing pushing pushing pushing

“HEEEEELPP WAIT PLEASE SOMEONE HELP ME PLEASE HELP NONONONONONONO STOPP#&$*%9

&$#%^#^%)#!($#$^%

##&% %%#(% %$$*$#&

*#$&$THELP

* * *

specters hard chest presses up close and warm against trigger’s back. hot, heavy breathing forces its way into his ear. they stay there for a moment, frozen in time. a breaking point cut, getting a cinematic view of his own ruination. what a shitty fucking movie this is. 

“mmhng-” specter pulls back, breaking the trance, almost making trigger wish he would’ve just stayed inside. he grunts at the feeling of trembling boyflesh seizing on his cock, shaking with each inch moved in either direction, clenching for dear life. he grips a handful of trigger’s hair and pulls it back, forcing his limp and drooling expression into specter’s vision.

 “so, what was it?” the burning rod of pressure starts to move faster, thrusting with detached force, muscular hips bouncing off trigger’s ass. “dad beat you?” another assault forward, enunciating each bit of words with the slapping of their flesh. “mom molest you?” it hurts sososososososososo bad but he cant feel anything other than the pain nothing but searing waves of some long-forbidden feeling. “or- fuck- you just get bullied too much in those squishy formative years?”

boiling hot rain streams down his face, terror burning his eyes blind. choking sobs spit out little bits of snot and saliva pooling with his tears below him in a sad filth soup. 

“oh c’mon-” specter reaches in closer, thoughtlessly pushing his cock into a switch that turns triggers legs to jelly. a waterfall of tears overlaid with shameful noises, the kind he’d before only ever heard through the speakers of a computer. each one abrading his will even more. he was supposed to be on the other side, not this. anything but this. 

“please stop”

“it’s too late.” his hand brushes triggers cheek, mimicking a comforting motion with uncomfortable skin, “you can never take back what’s already happened… and what’s about to.”