#and i wake up in a cold sweat in a panic not knowing where i am. everything is so unfamiliar !!!!

[defiledtomb]

you know when you're going through a high stress situation that is prolonged and agonizing but you've put on a brave face and you think you've got this! 💪 and then a week into it you accidentally burn your quinoa and there's smoke and all of a sudden your skin is sloughing off and you feel like alice about to be swept away in a tide of her own tears? mmnnmm yeag.

[shararan]

tfw you cant write because no manner of seating arrangement currently works without major pain and your body feels like its about to fall apart into pieces jfc if it aint the neck its the shoulders or lower back or elbows

[pedrospatch]

call it what it is

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: A disagreement over patrol duty leads to declarations that have been long overdue.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. established relationship. HEFTY AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and joel is 56). ellie and joel are fine bc i said so and they deserve nothing less. reader handles a rifle, joel’s a little too overprotective and almost seems controlling, but i promise he is not. well, maybe just a smidge. arguing, admission of feelings, joel miller says i love you (yes this is ooc, no i do not care bc i need this old man to tell me he loves me). angst, fluff. quite a bit of side character interaction before we get to joel and reader in the second half. the only physical description of reader is that she is shorter than joel. fair warning, i am quite rusty.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: hi hello. i have not shared a wip in over 2 months. i was going back and forth on whether or not i wanted to share a fic with so much going on but decided i wanted to get back to doing what i enjoy. that and ofc that new footage was a boost of inspo. i am sending so, so much love to anyone who happens to see this author note, whether you read this fic or just happen to see this note in passing whilst scrolling. i know things have been tough, but i am here with you. <3

Joel wakes with a gentle start. Yawning, he rolls over from his side onto his back, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as warm, golden sunlight filters into the bedroom through the sheer, white linen curtains drawn over the window. He stares up at the ceiling, his breathing slow, steady, and even. He’s still getting used to it, it seems. Waking this calmly, with a tranquil peace he had been so certain he would never in his life feel again. He knew it couldn’t be a mere coincidence the nightmares had all but stopped tormenting him in his sleep when the two of you stopped doing that awkward little tap dance around one another and began sharing a bed, a home, a life.

No more bolting upright in sheer panic in the middle of the night, heart pounding and drenched head to toe in a cold sweat. No more believing he’s failing in his sleep. No more waking up feeling like he’s lost something.

Even his dreams about Sarah had become so, so much more pleasant. Images of her in that field on that night were replaced by different memories, like watching her teammates dogpile her after she’d scored the winning goal in their soccer tournament, or the big, triumphant grin she’d flashed him over her chocolate milkshake as the pair sat in their usual corner booth at their favorite fifties-themed diner in Austin—much to Joel’s surprise, Sarah had politely declined her teammates’ invitation for pizza once the match ended, choosing to celebrate her victory with him. Just the two of them.

“Y’sure you don’t wanna go with your friends, kiddo?” he’d asked, raising an eyebrow. He had been certain she was approaching the age where she would start spending less and less time with her old man. “I wouldn’t mind, y’know.”

“Positive,” she had reassured him with a smile, looping her arm through his and leading him off the pitch. “I’d much rather be with you, dad.”

Rather than smelling metallic in his slumber, he smells the grass that stained her white and blue striped jersey. Her cheeks are smeared with dirt, not with crimson.

Stifling another loud yawn, Joel stretches his arm out over towards your side of the bed, his calloused fingers seeking the warmth and softness of your naked body—instead, all they find are empty sheets, cold and long abandoned. He turns his head, and as suspected, you are not laying there beside him. That’s hardly out of the ordinary. Out of the two of you, you were the early riser, up before the neighbors’ rooster even had the chance to sound the alarm. Joel knows how much you treasure your quiet mornings lounging on the porch swing he’d built for you as you watched the sunrise with a hot cup of coffee in hand. He often made a genuine effort to get up and join you, but lately, his patrol rotations had been all over the place thanks to a shortage of patrolmen. He found himself sleeping in whenever he had the chance, seeing as he never knew when he might have to work a damn double. Or maybe it was just his age catching up with him.

He checks the time and then rolls out of bed, groaning when his sore knees and his aching lower back protest his movement.

After taking a quick shower using whatever hot water the kid had left for him after her own shower—much to his annoyance, it was not very much—Joel brushes his teeth and gets dressed for the day before pulling on his boots and heading downstairs into the kitchen where he finds the culprit responsible for the cold downpour he’d been forced to wash himself under. Ellie’s sitting at the table, absentmindedly stirring her oatmeal around her bowl with her spoon as she flips through one of her comic books. Just as he’s about to greet her, he spots the clean, empty coffee pot on the kitchen counter and frowns. You hadn’t even made coffee yet?

Now, that—that is out of the ordinary.

“Where is she?” he asks.

“Well, good morning to you too, old man. Oh, I slept great, thanks for asking,” Ellie quips without looking up at him as she flips the page. She mumbles something under her breath he doesn’t quite catch, something like, and you get on my ass about my manners?

Rolling his eyes, Joel snorts in response and pads over to the coffee maker on the counter. He spoons in some of the grounds he’d traded for earlier that week into the reusable filter, pours in water from the tap, and turns it on to brew. He grabs two ceramic mugs from the wire dish rack beside the sink and sets them down on the counter. “She out back?” he questions, yanking the refrigerator door open—he tries to remember the little things, like how you enjoyed your coffee with a bit of milk as well as a dash of cinnamon, if you had the rations, or something to trade for the precious spice. He always made sure that you did.

“Nope.” Ellie shovels a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth and adds thickly, “She went to get some eggs.”

Joel shoots her a look of disgust over his shoulder. “Jesus, Ellie! How many times do I gotta tell you? Don’t talk with your mouth full. It’s bad manners,” he scolds her, shaking his head. He turns his attention back to the refrigerator. As he reaches for the glass bottle of milk, he pauses and his eyebrows pull together in confusion when he sees the wicker basket on the top shelf. “Wait a minute.” He feels her stiffen in her chair. “Why the hell would she go get eggs when we’ve got a full basket of ‘em right here in the fridge?”

She clears her throat. “Oh, uh, my bad. I got confused. Think she said she was gonna go get more honey? Uh, I used the last of it to make my breakfast this morning and she, uh—she wanted some for her toast. You know, ‘cause she really likes putting honey on her toast,” she rambles before piling more oatmeal into her mouth.

Closing the refrigerator door, he turns to her, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as uneasiness settles deep in the pit of his stomach. “Ellie?”

There’s a momentary pause. “...yeah?”

This time, Joel doesn’t bother to chastise the teenager for talking with her mouth full. “Where is she?”

Ellie nervously swallows her food and holds up both of her hands. “Hey, I already fucking told you, man.”

“Look, I know you like the back of my own hand, kiddo. And I know damn good and well when you’re lying to me.” Joel crosses his arms over his chest. “Now tell me the truth. What do you know that I don’t?”

Groaning, Ellie sits back in her chair. “Ugh. She made me swear not to tell you! She’ll fucking strangle me if I do—”

“Yeah, well, not if I fuckin’ strangle you first myself,” he threatens her. “M’Serious, Ellie. Tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

“Alright, alright! Jesus,” she huffs. “She’s with Tommy. He’s been taking her out of town to do target practice in the mornings, just the two of them. She usually gets back to the house before you get up,” she admits.

Joel’s arms fall back to his sides, his shoulders tense. “And how long has this been goin’ on?” he asks, rigidly. There’s a sudden tightness inside his chest, a feeling he hasn’t felt it in a while, but is still all too familiar to him.

After Tommy spread the word around town that more people were needed for patrol duties, you’d expressed an interest in the role, but Joel had been all too quick to shut you down, telling you he didn’t want you stepping foot outside the community’s gates.

“No,” he’d said. “Not happenin’. S’too dangerous.”

“But Joel—”

“I said,” he lowered his voice. “No.”

He hadn’t offered you an explanation as to why he was against it, refused to give you one good, solid reason as to why it was acceptable for him to risk his own life to protect Jackson, but it wasn’t acceptable for you to do the same.

Joel hadn’t known how to tell you the truth. How he needed you far, far more than you needed him, how the mere thought of losing you, the best fucking thing that could have possibly happened to him since the world ended, made him feel like his heart was going to stop.

A few weeks had passed since then, and thankfully, you never brought it up to him again. You had lost interest in patrol duty. Or so he’d thought.

“How long has this been going on?” he repeats after a minute.

“C’mon, man! Haven’t I already snitched enough?”

“Ellie,” Joel bites out her name. “Tell me. How long?”

She sighs in defeat. “Two weeks? Maybe three?” When she notices the muscle in his jaw tick, she grimaces. “You do realize why she didn’t fucking tell you, right?”

“Don’t,” he warns her, sharply.

“I’m just saying,” Ellie mutters, peering down into her bowl.

Without another word, Joel angrily storms past her and straight out the front door, snatching up his rifle on the way. He heads straight for the stables, trying to ignore the anxiety flaring inside of his chest.

Focus.

Now, breathe in. And breathe out.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe...

You exhale as you slowly squeeze the trigger.

Y’squeeze it like you love it, you had been told by your reluctant instructor.

The round fires off into the distance and you swiftly grab the bolt handle, bringing it up, back, forward, and then down again. You pull the trigger once more, then repeat and continue firing one shot after the other for a total of five rounds.

The rifle’s recoil nearly sends you flying backwards, but a strong hand on your back keeps you nice and steady. That same hand then moves to your shoulder and gives you three firm taps.

“Alright, alright! Christ,” Tommy laughs. He withdraws his arm from around you and shakes his head. “Fuckin’ calm down, Annie Oakley.”

Picking up his binoculars, he rises to his feet and looks through the lens at the makeshift targets that he’d set up for you, three empty soup cans lined up in a row on top of a wooden fence about twenty-five yards away—your longest shooting distance to date.

“Well?” You don’t even bother masking your impatience as you lower the rifle, carefully propping the weapon up against the tree stump you’re perched behind. Rubbing your sore shoulder, you hope the kickback won’t leave a bruise. You wouldn’t know how to explain that to Joel. “How did I do?”

His response comes in the form of a long, low whistle.

There is no telling if that had been good whistle, or if it had been a bad one. You groan. Now was not the time for him to dick around. “Please tell me I got at least one of them?”

“You got ‘em all, actually.” Tommy replies, lowering the binoculars and peering down at you. There’s a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “Good job, kid.”

Kid? Not exactly a nickname one wants to be called by the brother of the much, much older man that they are romantically involved with. It’d taken Tommy months to accept your relationship with Joel, especially when you moved your things out of your unit and into his over the summer. Part of you wonders if him referring to you as a kid is simply his own subtle way of telling you—no, of reminding you, that he’s still not comfortable with it.

And perhaps he never would be.

After all, you had still been a teenager when you first arrived to Jackson a few years ago, stumbling upon the town just a few months shy of the twentieth birthday you weren’t sure you would survive long enough to see.

You were indeed a kid when you’d met Tommy Miller.

Were.

Scowling up at him, you snap, “I told you to stop calling me that. I’m not nineteen anymore, Tommy.”

Having read your mind, he gives you a small smile and acknowledges, “Yeah, you’re right. You definitely ain’t a kid anymore.” He offers you his hand and hoists you up to your feet. Before dropping your hand, he gives it an apologetic squeeze.

You relax a little and smile back at him. “Did I really get all three?”

Tommy nods. “You sure did. You’re a damn good shot. I gotta be honest with you—I didn’t expect you to be this fuckin’ good,” he admits sheepishly.

Chuckling, you scoff, “Thanks. I think.”

“It’s a compliment, sugar.” He winks and flashes you a lopsided grin. “In fact, I’d say my work here is done.”

“Great! So when are you putting me on the roster?”

His grin instantly vanishes. “Uh, listen. About that....”

He trails off, and your heart sinks a little.

Tommy wouldn’t back out of this now—would he?

“Oh, no. Don’t you dare go back on your word, Miller,” you say, lightly poking him in the chest. “We had a deal. You said if I did well enough, you’d think about it.”

He nods in agreement. “Exactly. Said I’d think about it. And I think that puttin’ you on the roster for patrol ain’t a good idea.”

Your mouth falls open. If he never had any intention of holding up his end of the bargain, then what had been the point of teaching you how to shoot?

You didn’t understand.

“You just said it yourself, I’m a great shot! I’m a good on horseback, too. I’m stealthy. I’m diligent. What more do you fucking need from me, Tommy?”

Tommy’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “Joel would fuckin’ murder me with his bare hands if I even thought about puttin’ you on patrol duty. Hell, he’d murder me just knowin’ we’re out here and I’m teachin’ you how to shoot. It’s a damn fuckin’ miracle he still hasn’t caught onto this, y’know.”

Shocked, your eyebrows shoot to your hairline. “This is about Joel? Are you serious?”

“‘Course it is.” He pauses. “Listen, now I know the three of us had our—differences—when he first told me ‘bout you two. Still takin’ me a bit of gettin’ used to, but I can see he’s real serious about you. I know my brother, and I know he won’t risk losin’ what’s most important to him. Ain’t no way in hell. He doesn’t want you out here and you know that as well as I do.” Tommy shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging as he shuffles his weight from one cowboy boot to the other. “Unless he’s alright with it, I ain’t gonna put you on the roster.”

For a moment, you’re at a complete loss for words.

Upon seeing the crestfallen expression on your face, he makes a suggestion. “You can try talkin’ to him ‘bout it again if it means that much to you. Ask him—”

“Ask?” You want to laugh. You almost do. “I’m an adult, Tommy. I don’t need his permission to do this. Or to do anything for that matter. Joel doesn’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”

Tommy smiles wryly. “Well then, if that’s the case, why are we sneakin’ around and doin’ this behind his back?”

Your shoulders slump in defeat.

Because the ramifications could be disastrous.

Joel had made his stance on the matter abundantly clear, and yet here you were, deliberately disobeying him.

“Stumped you real good, didn’t I?”

Before you can even start to think about how you can possibly respond to that, you hear the sound of hooves in the dirt behind you, followed by whinny of a horse.

Tommy’s face pales as he glances over your shoulder.

“Shit.”

There’s no need for you to ask. His grimace says it all.

Somehow, you will yourself to turn around just as Joel’s steed comes to a halt beside the mare you and Tommy had ridden out on together. He jumps out of the saddle, grunting at the forceful impact on his knees when his feet hit the ground. His rifle hangs from a worn, brown leather strap slung across his back.

He approaches the two of you looking absolutely livid, and your throat goes dry.

“The hell is goin’ on here?” He breezes right past you, roughly shoving his brother with both hands. “Why the fuck would you bring her out here, Tommy? What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“Joel, c’mon. Take it easy—”

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me to take it easy!”

“Joel!” You reach for his arm. “Wait, it’s not his fault!”

Joel shoves him again, then takes him by the collar of his shirt and pins him against the ponderosa pine tree behind him. “You’ve been bringin’ her outside the gates behind my fuckin’ back for weeks, asshole?”

The panic begins to set in—he’s taking his anger out on the wrong person, and deep down, he knows this too.

“Joel! Stop! Let him go!” Grabbing fistfuls of his jacket, you try pulling him off of the younger man. “Stop it! It’s not his fault! I asked Tommy to bring me out here!”

He whirls around, his nostrils flared, jaw clenched.

You’ve seen this side of him a handful of times before.

But his anger has never been directed at you.

“What?”

Immediately, you let go of him and take a step back. “I asked Tommy to bring me out here and teach me how to shoot so that I can start working patrol,” you explain, hoping, praying, he doesn’t catch the slight tremble in your voice. “This was all my idea, okay? If you’re going to be mad at someone, then be mad at me. Not at him.”

“So you did this after I fuckin’ told you I didn’t want you out here?” Joel seethes. His neck becomes flushed, his tan skin now a deep shade of red.

“Joel—”

He cuts you off. “I had to find out from Ellie? You tried to get her to fuckin’ lie to me? After all the work it took for me and her to—” Stopping mid sentence, he places his hands on his hips and shakes his head.

“Joel. Please.” Behind the anger in his dark brown eyes, you detect something else. A mingle of hurt, concern—fear?

Tommy awkwardly clears his throat. “Well I’m, uh—I’m gonna head back to town,” he says, touching a hand to the back of his neck. “I’ll let the two of you work things out in private.” As he passes Joel, he lightly claps him on the shoulder. “Girl’s a sharp shooter, big brother. I’d reckon she’s almost better than you.”

His effort to lighten the mood fails. Miserably.

Offering you a subtle nod of encouragement, Tommy hops into the saddle of his mare and takes off towards the commune.

Silence falls over the both of you. It feels suffocating.

Unfamiliar.

Finally, you speak. “Joel, please just hear me out—”

“What the hell were you thinkin’? Or were you just not thinkin’ at all?”

“I was thinking I want to pull my weight in Jackson.”

“You already have a fuckin’ job,” Joel reminds you.

“Making sandwiches and serving whiskey at The Tipsy Bison?” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I am capable of more than that, Joel. So much more. Don’t you believe I’m capable of doing more?”

“I don’t want you out here,” he grits through his teeth. “Capable or not, I don’t want you outside Jackson’s walls. I don’t want you on patrol and that’s fuckin’ final. You understand me?” Now it’s him who falters, and you wonder if you’re imagining things, or if that’s really a tear you see sliding down the side of his face, disappearing into the salt and pepper scruff of his beard.

“That’s not your decision to make, Joel. It’s mine.”

“M’responsible for you. It’s my job to look after you—to protect you.”

Something about the way he is looking at you, it feels like a punch to the gut, and it’s at that precise moment when you begin to realize that he’s not angry. He’s afraid.

“Joel, I know that all you want to do is protect me,” you sigh, letting your arms fall down to your sides. “I know you do. But you’re doing me no favors by trying to keep me sheltered. By treating me like I’m defenseless. Don’t forget, I’m a survivor too.”

“You already know how fuckin’ dangerous it is out here. Clickers, raiders—”

“I can handle it,” you insist, stubbornly.

“You’d be puttin’ yourself right in harm’s way!”

You shoot back, “You mean, the way you and so many other people put yourselves in harm’s way every single day for the sake of keeping Jackson safe?”

A frustrated growl rumbles through his chest. “Christ, why are you bein’ so fuckin’ foolish? You’re just askin’ to get yourself killed!”

“I can take care of myself!” You realize your hands are shaking and curl them into tight fists at your sides in an effort to hide it. “Just accept it, Joel! Accept that I can take care of myself, alright?”

That is all it takes to tip Joel over the edge he’s been teetering on. “Then what do you fuckin’ need me for?” he shouts, his voice thundering over the quiet plains of Wyoming. “If you can take care of yourself, what’s the point in us bein’ together? Why are you with me?”

“Because I love you!”

As soon as the confession comes tumbling out of your mouth, you take a step back, your wide eyes meeting his own. Until now, neither of you have ever called this what it is, been bold enough to say it’s love.

Loving after so much grief, so much loss, is daunting. It’s something you thought you would never be capable of doing again, not in this lifetime. Not in this world. It’s happened, though.

You love Joel Miller.

And he loves you.

He’s never told you he does, but he’s shown you.

From the way remembers how you take your coffee in the mornings, to the way he laces his fingers with your own, holding your hand when he’s buried inside of you, whispering sweet nothings into your collarbone every single night.

“You—you what?” Joel’s whisper is hardly audible.

You inch your way closer to him, your voice soft. “I love you,” you declare once more. “I’m not with you because of what you can do for me. I’m not with you because you can take care of me.” Closer. “I’m with you because I love you—because I’m in love with you, Joel.” Closer, until your chest brushes against his, and he can smell the subtle scent of your homemade, rosewater soap. “The only thing I need, and have ever needed from you, is your love in return.”

His throat bobs. Before you can utter another word, he lifts his hands and gently takes your face, cradling it in between his large palms, gently. His eyes search yours, immediately finding the sincerity behind your words. Leaning down, he brushes the tip of nose against your own as one of his hands travels down, his long fingers curling around the nape of your neck. His thumb lightly strokes the column of your throat.

“I love you,” Joel says hoarsely. Three words he hadn’t said to anyone in over two decades—it feels foreign to him, they ring strange in his own ears. He tries it again, clearer this time, and with a little more confidence. After all, he’s only saying what he has known from the very start. “I love you.” His other hand moves to your hip, pulling you even closer to him. “M’gonna love you for the rest of my life, baby.”

He leans in further and presses his lips to yours lightly, at first, but he wastes no time in sweeping his tongue across your bottom lip, silently asking for more.

Your mouth parts for him, and he backs you against the ponderosa, kissing you deeply, greedily, like he’s a man starved.

You whimper into him, your hands sliding up his broad chest and past his shoulders until they’re tangled in his soft, graying curls. He breathes you in, like you are the oxygen he needs to stay alive.

It isn’t until you both hear the sound of rustling behind a nearby shrub that you’re forced to pull apart. “Don’t move,” Joel instructs in a hushed voice. He keeps you pinned against the tree, his hand abandoning your hip. He glances around, slowly reaching behind his back for his rifle. His tense shoulders relax when the both of you see a pair of rabbits dart out from one dried bush and straight into another. Exhaling an amused huff, Joel shifts his attention back to you and rests his forehead against yours.

Smiling, you reach up and softly graze his beard with your fingertips. “Guess it’s about time we called this what it is, huh?”

“Guess you’re right, darlin’.” He lifts his chin, brushing a kiss onto your forehead. “M’sorry for raisin’ my voice to you. For talkin’ to you the way I did. S’just, the thought of somethin’ happenin’ to you out here scares shit out of me.” Taking a step back, he pulls the strap of his rifle from around his shoulder. He chews the inside of his cheek and silently stares at the gun in his hands. After a minute, he meets your curious gaze. “Do you really wanna do this, sweet girl?”

You nod. “Yeah. I really do.”

Joel sighs. “Can I put a condition it?”

“Depends on what that condition is.”

“I’m your patrol partner. Every shift. Every rotation.”

You roll your eyes. “Joel.”

“At least for the first few weeks,” he bargains. “Last thing I need is for you to be paired up with some fuckin’ idiot who doesn’t know what the hell they’re doin’.”

Knowing that would be the only way he’d have some peace of mind, you decide to agree. “Fine. We’re patrol partners.”

“Alright then.” Joel nods and hands you the rifle. He flashes you a small grin. “Show me what you got, baby.”

divider credit to @/saradika 💛

for fic notifications please follow @joelsgreysupdates!

[wandaslittlebird]

Pendulum

Wanda x Reader, WandaNat x Reader

After a session with Wanda the prior evening, you wake up alone in your bed and find you’re a bit more reliant on her than you’d like to be.

CW: Sub drop, (kinda) panic attack, mood swings, guilt, Mommy Kink, mentions of spanking, established WandaNat (no cheating), pills (Tylenol and Xanax), Wanda generally being a protective and worried mama

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: I may know hardly anything about dom drop, but I’m ✨well versed✨ in sub drop. I honestly think this one is adorable and I hope you all enjoy.

A/N: I wasn’t doing this consciously, but reading this back I realize I kinda did a reverse YAIL, so, if you haven’t already, go check out that series by @wandasaura

Fic based on this request

You woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air before your head even left the pillow. It was hard to find anything to ground you in your dark bedroom, but with the help of your stuffed bear, Francis, and some breathing exercises you’d been working on in therapy, you were able to calm down at least enough to breathe. Still, you found yourself dizzy, nauseous, in pain, and, perhaps most excruciatingly, alone.

Wanda. Where was Wanda? Where was your mommy? You needed mommy.

“Mommy?” You cried quietly into the empty room. But she wasn’t there. Of course she wasn’t there. She was at home, tucked peacefully into bed with Natasha, her wife. And you were here, in your cold, empty apartment, all alone.

You turned to look at the clock on your bedside table. 1:30 am. It was far too late to call her. She had to get up for work in a couple hours. You had to get up for class in a couple hours.

But god, you needed her. You needed just to hear her voice. Everything felt so empty without her here. Your brain felt like it was underwater. You couldn’t think. It felt like your mind was strapped to a pendulum, swinging back and forth between extremes. It’s like half of your mind was begging for Wanda while the other half scolded you for your over-reliance. You wanted her, but you didn’t want to want her. It was hyper-dependence clashing with hyper-independence in an internal battle that left you dazed and confused.

Just call her, you thought. She told you to call her if this ever happened.

You’d been her submissive for months, and, though you’d never actually experienced sub drop with her, the two of you had discussed it extensively. “You can call me at any time,” she’d said. “Even if it's been days. I’m here for you in any way you need me.”

You grabbed your phone from the nightstand, pulling up her contact and hovering over the call button. But before you could press it, the pendulum swung back. You hurled the phone into your beanbag on the other side of the room.

What are you thinking? You can’t call her. She’s not your fucking girlfriend. You’re so reliant on her and she doesn’t even care about you. Leave her alone. This is your mess. Handle it.

You sighed, dragging your aching body off of your mattress. Everything hurt. The wounds she’d so loving inflicted the night before ached even more than they had when they were fresh. You wanted, needed, to feel her soft hands massaging soothing balm into your skin like they had only hours prior. But no.

Wanda. Wasn’t. Here.

It was just you and you alone. You needed to take care of this. You needed to pull yourself together and handle this on your own. You felt like you might be sick. The swinging of this pendulum was nauseating. You dragged yourself to the bathroom, pulling two Tylenol and a Xanax from the medicine cabinet. You sat on the toilet, tucking your head between your knees.

You didn’t understand what was happening. Or rather, you didn’t understand why it was happening. Wanda had done everything perfectly, just like she always did. She’d insisted you stay with her until you were out of subspace and your mind was clear again. She’d given you all the cuddles and love and reassurance you could possibly want. She’d even rubbed that soothing lotion on your sore ass despite the fit you’d pitched about it. This shouldn’t be happening. She’d done everything she was supposed to do. You were the problem.

You moved from the bathroom to your living room, pacing anxious circles until you worried the neighbors would complain. Then you decided on a walk.

A little walk to clear your head. That should help. No need to bother Wanda. You could take care of this by yourself.

—————

A little over two blocks proved you could not, in fact, take care of this by yourself. You found yourself collapsed on a bench outside your favorite coffee shop, her contact pulled up on your phone, sobbing as your thumb hovered over the call button.

You clicked it, anxiously awaiting an answer through the dial tone. Every second without an answer was a battle not to hit the red button, and smash your phone on the ground so you wouldn’t be tempted to try this again.

“Hello?” You heard, not Wanda, but Natasha’s sleep addled voice.

You silently cursed, debating hanging up the phone and forgetting the whole endeavor. You had very limited experience in dealing with Natasha. Where Wanda was warm and inviting, Natasha was cold and intimidating. Wanda had told you once that Natasha had a soft spot for you, but you remained unconvinced any of Natasha’s spots were “soft”.

Wanda had explained to you that Natasha’s had submissives of her own, but she tended to prefer brats, submissives who needed a harsher hand. “It’s not that she doesn’t like you,” Wanda had explained, “she’s just not used to sweet little girls like you.”

Still, the woman terrified you. And she definitely was NOT the one you wanted to be speaking to right now. But you took a deep breath, and answered her. “H-hello, Miss Natasha. C-can I speak to Wanda?” You stammered. You couldn’t keep the tears and desperation out of your voice when you added a “…please.”

“Y-yeah, sure honey. Just a second let me get her up,” she responded tiredly.

Your heart shattered at the thought of Natasha rousing a peaceful Wanda from her sleep just because you couldn’t get yourself together. But all such thoughts faded when you heard her voice through the phone. “Angel? Is that you? Is everything okay? Are you hurt? What’s going on?”

“Mommy…” you said tearfully. “I’m okay. I promise I’m okay, I just… I don’t know what’s happening. I mean I’m dropping, I know, but… I don’t know. I just needed so badly to hear you and talk to you. I’m sorry for waking you up. I’m so sorry. I know you said���.” You were rambling breathlessly, but Wanda soon cut you off.

“Breathe for me, little love,” she instructed softly. “Three deep breaths. In and out. Can you do that for me, angel?”

You nodded despite knowing she couldn’t see you over the phone. You took three audible breaths, calming yourself down.

“Good girl,” she praised. “Now, can you tell me what’s happening?”

“I… I… Sub drop, I think,” you explained. “But like, really bad.”

“Aww,” she cooed. “I’m so sorry, my little love. Can you explain to me what you're feeling? Are you in pain? Do you need company?”

“I just… I don’t know why this is happening to me,” you cried. “Everything hurts so bad. My head feels like it’s spinning. And… And my body is so sore. It’s never happened like this with you before. You did everything so perfectly. I just don’t understand why I’m being like this.”

“Sub drop can happen no matter what, honey. And I’m so sorry it’s happening to you, sweetheart. Do you need to come back over?” She asked.

You pondered her question, the pendulum inside of you swinging violently. You felt like you were being torn in half between admitting you needed her help, and feeling defeated and weak that you couldn’t handle it on your own. But eventually you remembered it didn’t really matter. You made your choice when you took the Xanax. You weren’t going anywhere now. “I-I took some medicine. I can’t drive. I’m sorry,” you admitted.

“What medicine?” She asked, panicked. “Did you take too much? Are you okay?”

“It was just a Xanax. Just one. Just like I take for school sometimes,” you reassured.

You heard her breathe a sigh of relief on the other end of the line. “Okay, sweetheart. I’m sorry I panicked. You know I just worry sometimes. I tell you what, Nat and I are going to get you an Uber, and then you can spend the rest of the night here, okay?”

“Wanda, you don’t have to-“ You didn’t use her real name very often given the exclusively sexual nature of your relationship, but you needed her to know she wasn’t responsible for being your dominant right now. She was Wanda, and you were you: two grown adults. She didn’t have any obligation to take care of you right now, in the middle of the night on a Wednesday.

“But I want to, darling,” she interrupted. “Is that okay?”

“Y-yeah, but I’m not at the house right now.”

You heard her breath catch. “Where are you, honey? You promise me you’re safe?”

“I-I’m just at the coffee shop,” you explained. “I wanted to take a walk, b-but I didn’t make it very far.”

Wanda sighed. She’d have to have a little talk with you about walking all by yourself in the middle of the night. But not right now. Right now she just needed you in her arms as quickly as she could have you. “Alright, love. You’ve got a car on its way. Just stay on the phone with me until it gets there, okay?”

“O-okay.”

—————

The car was there within five minutes of Wanda’s order. Most of that time was just filled with tears and mumbled apologies on your end, and reassurance and encouragement on hers.

She waited anxiously by the front door for you to arrive, peeking out of the blinds with every set of headlights that passed by. She clutched her robe tight against her chest. If you were there, you would’ve teased her about her anxious habit. You always said she was “practically clutching her pearls.”

When you finally pulled into the driveway, she was standing in the front door frame before you could even get out of the car.

“Mommy!” You ran up to her, nearly tripping on the front porch steps on your way in. You were even more hysterical now that you were seeing her in person. Something about the sight of her made you fall apart. You felt safe now. You were going to fall, and she was going to catch you, and everything was going to be okay.

“Careful, love,” she chided, taking you into her arms. “Mommy’s got you. It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m gonna take care of you and I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you.”

It sounded more like she was reassuring herself than anything, but her words still washed over you like a wave of relief. “I missed you, mommy.”

“I know you did, angel,” she said, kissing you on the temple. “Mommy missed you, too.”

She wrapped her arms just under your ass, still sore and super sensitive from your activities earlier that night. She picked you up, wrapping your legs around your waist. You squeaked in a mixture of surprise and pain.

“I’m sorry, baby. I know you’re sore. I’ll be gentle,” she cooed. “Let’s get you to bed. Tasha will be waiting for us.”

You just cried, burying your face into Wanda’s neck as she carried you up the stairs. You couldn’t talk anymore. You were so completely exhausted, mentally and physically. But it was okay. You had your mommy and everything was going to be okay. The bedroom door was already open, and, as Wanda had expected, Natasha was sat up against the headboard.

“Is that a little angel I see there?” You heard Natasha ask. Wanda sat you on her lap at the end of the bed, bending down to take off your shoes.

You peaked your eyes out from Wanda’s neck before perching your chin on her shoulder. “Hi Miss Natasha,” you sniffled. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“That’s alright, little angel,” she assured, sliding closer to you and Wanda on the bed. She looked so much kinder than usual, soft sleepy eyes smiling at you through your tears. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

You nodded, still teary eyed and snotty on Wanda’s lap while she unlaced your shoes.

Natasha cupped your cheek, wiping away stray tears. “It must’ve been so scary to start dropping without your mommy there, huh?” Her touch was unexpectedly gentle, as were her words. Maybe Wanda was right, maybe she really did have a soft spot for you.

You nodded, trying to speak but only managing to whimper a “mhm.” You blushed a little with embarrassment. Wanda must’ve told her all about your situation. You wondered momentarily if she thought your behavior was overblown or ridiculous, but if she did, her gentle face showed no indication.

“But now you’ve got your mommy and everything’s gonna be okay, right?”

You nodded again. “I-I hope you don’t mind if I steal your wife for a little bit for-for some extra snuggles.”

“Not at all little angel.” Natasha smiled softly. She could see your anxious embarrassment, and decided, despite her inexperience with soft subs, she’d make an attempt to soothe you. She knew she wasn't expected to, but she found herself desperate to make you feel better, even if it was only a little bit. “Your mommy could hardly stop bragging about you tonight, you know?”

“Re-really?” You asked. Natasha could see the tiniest little twinkle in your teary eyes.

“Really,” she confirmed. “She told me she was so proud of her sweet girl for calling her, because that must’ve been so scary for her, to call in the middle of the night. She knows you don’t like to wake people up, and asking for help when you need it is so so hard. And I said ‘wow, it sounds like you have the bravest little angel in the whole world. I think she deserves some extra special snuggles from mommy tonight, for being so brave.’”

“Y-you really think so?” you asked bashfully, hiding back in Wanda’s neck.

“I really do,” she confirmed. “And you know your mommy keeps her phone on silent in the nighttime. But she cares about you so much she has a special setting so it rings just for you.”

You smiled. Your heart fluttered, not only at the idea Wanda had her phone on for you, but also at the thought that Natasha must’ve known it was you before she answered. “I-I thought you might be mad at me,” you confessed. “Cause you and-and mommy were probably all snuggled up in bed and I came in and messed it all up!”

Natasha stroked your cheek as she shook her head. “No angel. Never. You could never mess up one of our snuggles by asking to be a part of it. We’re both so proud of you, for calling and getting help.”

“P-promise?” You asked.

Natasha held out her pinky, which you wrapped with your own. “Promise.” She confirmed.

Wanda finally got your shoes off and placed them on the floor next to the bed. “Okay little love,” she announced, easing your pajama pants down around your knees. “I’m gonna get some of the nice lotion again, okay?” She’d already put a little on earlier, but she figured it would probably do quite a bit to soothe your current pains, both physically and emotionally.

You wrapped yourself around her, refusing to let her move. You didn’t need silly lotion, you needed her. You whined at the prospect of having to let go.

Natasha giggled and sat down next to Wanda. “Do you want me to do your lotion while you hang onto mommy?”

You nodded, sending her into the next room. Wanda kissed your temple. “I told you she likes you.”

“I’m so spoiled,” you mumbled blissfully into her neck.

“You deserve it, angel,” she said.

Natasha returned to the room with the bottle of lotion. She approached you and rubbed your back gently. “Alright little angel, is it okay if I touch your bottom, or do you want mommy to do that part?”

You pondered for a moment. On one hand, having Wanda do it would mean getting to lay over her lap again. But, you found yourself inexplicably excited by the thought of Natasha putting your lotion on. Maybe, if you played your cards right, you could have the best of both worlds.

“You can do it, Miss Natasha,” you said while flipping yourself over to lay over Wanda’s lap.

“Oh,” Wanda squeaked in pleasant surprise. From this position she could’ve just as easily applied the lotion. She was pleased to know that you wanted Natasha to do it, though. She pulled up your shirt and rubbed your back.

“Okay, it’s gonna be a little cold,” Natasha advised, giggling a little bit when you jumped at the cool liquid anyway. Her hands were so gentle as she soothed your raw skin. You wondered if she was this gentle with her subs as well. “All done. Do you want a kiss?”

You nodded, feeling so completely at ease with the two women taking care of you. Natasha placed a gentle kiss to each of your red ass cheeks.

“Does Tasha’s kisses make it feel all better?” Wanda asked.

You nodded into Wanda’s thigh.

“I’m glad I could help,” Natasha giggled, placing the lotion on Wanda’s nightstand so it’d be ready for you again in the morning. She crawled back into bed, making herself comfortable on her side.

Wanda placed you face down on her own side of the bed, trying not to disturb you too much as she slid her legs out from under your body. She crawled over you, placing herself in the middle between you and Natasha, pulling you tight into her side.

You laid your head on her chest, catching a glimpse of Natasha’s pretty smile in the low lighting. She really didn’t look like she minded you being here at all. In fact, she looked happy.

In your fuzzy haze, you waved at her from across the bed.

Wanda and Natasha both giggled, hearts swelling at the innocence of the gesture. You just wanted Natasha to feel included, and what better way to acknowledge her presence than with a kind wave hello.

Natasha waved back. “Hi, little angel,” she said, reaching over Wanda to pinch your cheek.

You looked up at Wanda, your big eyes gently pleading. “Mommy, do you think I could sleep on your other side so I can be closer to Miss Natasha?”

Wanda smiled giddily. She never expected such a request from you, but she was more than happy to oblige. She was overjoyed to see your relationship with Natasha growing. “Of course, sweet girl,” she said, effortlessly flipping you over to her other side.

“You know, you don’t have to call her Miss Natasha,” Wanda said. You’d always called her that since you’d first met her without any prompting to do so. She certainly didn’t mind, but Wanda had always secretly hoped you’d get past the formality. There was nothing she wanted more than for her two favorite people to love each other as much as she loved them. “I bet she’d like it if you called her daddy. Only if you wanted to.”

You faced Natasha, who looked surprised at the proposal, but nodded.

“I thought only your subs were allowed to call you that?” You said, equally shocked by Wanda’s words.

“Hmm…” she pretended to ponder the question. “For my little angel I think I can make an exception.”

You smiled. “In that case,” you pressed a small kiss to her cheek. “Goodnight daddy.” You turned back to Wanda, placing a kiss on her jaw as you snuggled back into her chest. “Goodnight mommy. I love you.”

“Sweet dreams, little angel,” Natasha said, wrapping herself up behind you.

“Get some rest, little love,” Wanda said, kissing your head.

And finally, the pendulum stopped swinging.

Taglist (ha I remembered this time): @boredandneedsfanfic @marvelwomenarehot0

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

Safe and Sound - Jacaerys Velaryon

A/N: Hi, hi! The hotd brain rot is REAL. All I can think about is this beautiful prince above. I'm working on a longer story for him, but in the meantime, enjoy is blurb. This was jointly inspired by a genuine bad dream I had (the brain rot!!), and the Taylor Swift song that was playing when I was writing this at work. Hope you enjoy!

TS Prompt #7: Safe and Sound

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader Word Count: 1.3k Synopsis: Jace comforts the reader after they wake up from a terrible nightmare.

Warning: This does not follow the canon, but I do base the nightmare off of real events that have yet to happen in the show. Do not read if you don't want spoilers.

Sweat drenches your brow. Swords clash, arrows whistle through the air, and dragon fire paints the sky orange.

Your heart thuds as you spin around amid the chaos, searching for a green dragon or for a head of dark, curly hair. For any trace of Jace.

An ear-splitting scream rattles the sky, and before you can make sense of what you are seeing, Vermax's body crashes into the water, sending up a raucous wave.

Panic flows through your body. Searching, searching, searching. You need to see any sign that he made it, that he is alive. The water is riotous, making it impossible to figure out where he landed.

You nearly fall to your knees in relief when you see him crawl up onto floating wreckage, injured badly, but still breathing. You know you need to get to him, need to do whatever it takes to get him out of enemy-infested water.

As you move towards the coast, you have no plan in mind. Out of the corner of your eye, you see an approaching ship, making its way towards Jace. You run, wanting to scream his name, but also not wanting to give away his location.

You reach the shoreline and the water laps at your feet. Jace spots you the moment the approaching ship spots him.

You know he won't be able to get to the shore in time. You wade into the water, watching as he struggles to swim towards you. He's too far away, too weak, and you're not strong enough to pull him back.

The sound of a crossbow trigger pierces through the crash of waves. Jace's eyes widen - looking into yours - as the arrow speeds towards his chest.

"Jace!" you scream.

You tear out of your dream in a cold sweat, waking to your dark bedroom.

Jace wakes when you scream, crying out his name. His eyes adjust too slowly to the darkness, so he grabs for you blindly. He needs to know you're alright, needs to feel your warmth, your pulse. It thunders beneath his thumb as his hand wraps around your wrist.

His eyes finally adjust and he sees you sitting up in bed, your night gown wet with sweat.

"What is it?" he asks, sitting up next to you. "What happened?" He does a quick scan of the room, confirming his first guess. The room is unchanged from the evening before. There is no danger within its walls, just within your head.

You've had another nightmare.

He brushes the hair off your forehead as you put a hand to your pounding heart, clearly coming to the same realization. Jace leans closer and kisses your shoulder gently.

"It was just a dream," he says lowly, his lips still pressed to your skin. You take deep breaths as you try to relax. You have yet to look at him.

"Y/N," he says, "It was just a dream." He tugs on your arm and finally, you look at him. Even in the dark room, he can tell your skin has paled.

"It didn't feel like just a dream," you say. He frowns and rubs soft circles on your back.

This has become your miserable routine. You wake up in the middle of the night, screaming, and he sits next to you, feeling useless to change anything.

"Tell me about it," he says quietly.

"It's the same dream I always have," you say, looking at him sadly, trembling. He pulls you into his arms, holding your shaking hands in his. His gaze focuses on the Valyrian steel ring he put on your finger a year ago. The promises he made to you that day flash in his mind.

"The Battle of the Gullet," he says in response.

"Yes."

"I regret ever telling you about that day," he says with a shake of his head. The movement jostles his hair, and you tuck it behind his ear gently, your hand linger on his face. "I'm fine, Y/N."

"I watched you die."

"What do you see now?" he asks, taking the hand cupping his cheek, pressing a loving kiss to the palm. He moves it down to his bare chest, to the beating heart beneath his warm skin. "I am alive and well."

You continue to frown at him, but your hand presses to his chest. You take a few more deep breaths.

"I'm sorry," you say, tears forming in your eyes as you look up at him. He shakes his head, his heart hurting that you would ever think that your pain was an inconvenience to him.

"Hey," he says, pulling you into his chest, your tears falling onto his skin. "You don't ever have to be sorry."

"I know that we are safe now. That war is over. But I am still so scared," you say, and on the last word your voice breaks. Jace holds you tighter.

"I know. I am, too, sometimes."

"Really?"

"Really," he says, "You think I don't have nightmares about that day? Or any from the past year."

"You don't ever tell me about them," you say, pulling away to look him in the eye.

"That's because I don't want to worry you," he says, smiling shyly, playing with your hands. "There are memories I have that I wouldn't dream of sharing with you, that I don't want you to carry."

"That doesn't seem fair," you say, "You get to worry about me but I don't get to worry about you?"

"It's hard," he says, his eyes still focused on your hands. "Sometimes I still see the dying dragons. Still remember when I'd look outside and see everything on fire. Still see the war raging."

"But you don't seem like any of it haunts you," you say, leaning in so he'll look at you. He gives you a soft smile, his thumb tracing circles on your hand.

"Guess I've gotten good at hiding it."

"Tell me how," you say quietly. He hates that he can hear the longing in your voice. He notices the dark circles under your eyes. How many nights in a row have you woken from your sleep like this?

"I just try to remember everything good that I still have. Vermax is alive. My mother is alive. You are alive," he says. "Safe and sound."

"Safe and sound," you say disbelievingly.

"You are, I swear it. I won't let anything happen to you," he says. "Ever again."

"I know," you say, touching his cheek softly. "I love you."

"I love you," he says. He draws you in close and kisses your lips slowly, his movements languid, like he's got all the time in the world. He hopes you feel it. Hopes you realize that this is what the rest of your existence together looks like. No wars, no death, just the pair of you in this room, reminding each other what you fought for.

"Let's get some sleep," he says as he lays the two of you down. He adjusts the sheets around you, keeping you close to his body. You run a hand over his chest, humming softly.

"I'm not sure I'll be able to," you say.

"Just close your eyes," he says, kissing your forehead, feeling the pull of sleep wash over him. "You're alright, Y/N. No one can hurt you or I now."

"Promise?" you ask.

"I do."

"You'll never leave me here alone," you say. It's not a question.

"I'll never let you go," he says, tucking you in tighter. "You and I are safe and sound."

"Safe and sound," you mumble. Jace waits a few moments for your breathing to fall into a slow rhythm. When he knows you're asleep he lets himself close his eyes. He vows to himself that he'll do whatever it takes to make sure you never feel so scared again. He vows that you'll never feel ashamed to talk to him when you do. And he vows to have more moments like this, with you asleep on his chest, his hand in your hair, and less like the one he jerked out of sleep to.

[cherie-doll]

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: You’ve Got Sleeping Issues

ᶻz Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Alejandro, Phillip Graves, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

‎܂ ｡ ༢ medicine isn’t enough i need someone to knock me out with a shovel (for all my insomniacs <3)

Ghost

Oh, what do two insomniacs do with each other on restless nights?

He used to be alone on these nights, listening to the ticking of the clock as the hours cruelly pass by without granting rest

Now you both sit in silence watching the reborning sun and it’s kind of enjoyable now

Pulls out a bottle of NyQuil and takes turns taking shots until either you or him or both simultaneously pass out

Soap

When he’s with you he wants to do everything with you; including sleeping

He’s visibly upset that you can’t sleep but he’s not mat at you, he’s mad at whatever prevents you to cuddle next to him under a heap of blanket and pillows at night

You’re often tossing and turning in bed, fidgeting with your hands as you pace around the bedroom that it wakes him

You try and coax him to go back to sleep but he’s up and determined to stay up with you bingewatching tv shows, trying weird snack combinations, etc…

Gaz

Tries out everything to get you to sleep

From adjusting your routine to diet choices before bed

He knows you hate taking pills and it’s the last thing you resort to by doctor’s orders

He adjusts your pillows and blankets on your side of the bed, letting you rest your head on his shoulder as you drift off to sleep

Gently cradles your head as he lays you down on your back

And doesn’t sleep until he hears your breaths change and the pulsation of your heart, at ease knowing you’re finally resting

Alejandro

You have terrible nightmares that prevent you from getting a peaceful sleep

Anytime you awaken in a panic; cold sweat, hands seizing and tugging at your shirt, feeling your heart thumping wildly in your chest

He wakes up right away upon hearing your quickened breaths

“It’s alright, I’m right here cariño”

Touching foreheads, light touches on your arms and neck to sooth you, holds you close to him, intertwining fingers

Taking you to the window where you can observe the moon, “see the moon? Look at how she shines… focus on her lustre.”

Phillip Graves

Turning over in bed, his arms searching for you only to find you in a slouched position

“Hard time falling asleep doll?” He drags out his words, words slurring together from having just woken up

When you whimper and nod he pulls you down with him, his hands pulling you against his chest and placing sweet and comforting kisses on your head as he caresses your hair, softly humming

Spooning you is one of his fave ways to feel your body against his, wants to feel as if he’s protecting you and wishes he could lull your mind

Keegan

Knows you’re likely to fall asleep at random times of the day due to fatigue

With a tap of his finger on your wrist he’ll signal for you to rest your head on his lap

He’ll take to trailing his hand up and down your back, following the outline of your spine with his index finger, slower and more deliberately

Speaks very low and softly to give you reassurance he’s there, leans down and places a soft kiss on your cheek once you’ve fallen asleep

König

He takes one look at you and immediately knows you did not sleep

And yet, even if you watched the moon descend and the sun rise your cherub eyes are as loving and warm as they meet his

Whilst he was asleep, you inched closed and wrapped his strong arms around your body

Now he’s awoken to holding what he considers dear, you, enfolded in his arms gently

Cuddles and stays curled up next to you until you drift off to sleep, even if it’s only for a little bit

Horangi

At night, before bed he prepares teas, warms milk and anything else he can think of to get you to sleep

As daybreak enfolds he finds you yet again with dimmed eyes, signaling you did not sleep

You feel as if a river rushes through your bones as he strokes your back in circles, whispering softly in your ear

The soft, golden glow of the sun makes this scenery seem dreamy as your eyelids feel heavier

He watches until you fall asleep and subtly slips out of your arms, tucking you into bed and closing the curtains to let you sleep in and catch up on your sleep

Nikto

He’s either out like a rock or is tossing and turning unable to quiet his mind

In the silence, thinking you’re asleep, he reaches out to your form to engulf in your warmth only to find you awake when he glances at your face

You open your eyes and he freezes, already starting to retreat before you clutch his hand close, not letting go

“Sorry…for waking you” he mumbles, before you tell him you can’t sleep either

He’s silent for a moment before he softly says, “come closer” so he’s spooning you as you inhale his scent and fall asleep, your body rising with every breath; you’re like his stuffed animal 〜(⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄ ·̭ o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝)♡

[lordprettyflackotara]

deja vu || hoodie

‘do you get deja vu?’

sum: after waking up you find a mysterious man in your room, one that feels eerily familiar. you can’t deny that you know him somehow, nor can you deny your attraction to him

tw: smut minors dni 18+, hair pulling, humiliation, murder, roughness

a/n: kinda really proud of this concept

Boom!!

You sat straight up in your bed, heart pounding as your soaked in the remnants of the sound. Across the room was your window, your thin curtains failing to conceal the storm raging outside. You rubbed your temple, shaking off a cold sweat you had developed. Thunder storms always made you nervous. You sighed, your eyes scanning your dark room. You weren’t afraid of the dark. That’s what you always told yourself anyway. You were afraid of what was lurking in it.

With an out stretched arm your fingertips found your desk lamp, clicking the switch. The lamp illuminated the room, your eyes widening in terror as your gaze landed on an ominous intruder. He sat man spreading in your rocking chair, tucked away in the corner of your room. A black ski mask with a poorly stitched set of red eyes and frown stared back at you, a mustard yellow hoodie concealing the rest of his defining features. You could see the muddy footprints his boots left on your floor starting from your bedroom door. You gulped nervously, tugging at your comforter to cover yourself more.

“W-Who are you?” You sputtered. The man shifted in the chair, as if he was studying you. He was mysterious and a misty memory at the same time. “Call me Hoodie,” He responded, his voice deep and rough. You stared at him dumbfounded, at a loss for words. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” Hoodie chuckled, as if your terror was amusement. You straightened out your back, giving him a look so nasty you swore it could kill. “What? No. Why are you in my house?” You asked boldly. Hoodie rolled his sleeves up, revealing his toned arms. “I was in the neighborhood,” He shrugged carelessly. You found the courage to get out of bed, running out of the room. You were anything but graceful, your footsteps audible as you stumbled down the stairs.

You were almost to the bottom, when a strong set of hands shoved you. You didn’t have time to process it, gasping as you helplessly fell to the bottom of the stairwell. Groaning in pain you tried to crawl, Hoodie’s straddling you and pinning you down against the floor. You could feel his crotch against your exposed ass, regrettably attempting to run in a skimpy victoria’s secret night gown. “I love it when you run, it’s always so cute,” Hoodie purred. His fingers raked themselves through your hair, yanking your head off of the floor. “You’re going to give into me, you always do sweetheart,” He cooed. He snickered at your thrashing, attempting to crawl away. “I don’t know you, you’re a fuckin psycho!” You screeched, desperately clawing at the wooden floorboards. You whimpered under him yanking at your hair once more, bringing you closer to him.

“I know you better than you know yourself. I know how to make you cum in under a minute. I know where you hide your vibrator. I know what your deepest darkest secrets are. I’m a shadow you can’t escape,” Hoodie growled. You became panicked, your heart pounding against your ribcage as you struggled to breathe. “Awe sweetheart don’t panic, i’m here to please you,” He grinned, grinding against your ass. You audibly gasped, unsure how to process your body responding to him willingly. It was as if you had felt him dozens of times before, if not more. He reeked of tobacco and cologne, his musk flooding your nostrils. It seemed so familiar.

“Who are you?” You whispered, questioning him again. Hoodie sensed this, releasing your hair. “I’m your non traditional guardian angel sweetheart,” Hoodie grunted. He lifted himself off of you, allowing you to climb to your feet. Your gaze remained on the floor, claw marks that were older clawed into the wood. You narrowed your eyes, realizing you hadn’t made those. They were too far away, you wouldn’t have been able to make them. The sound of a lighter flickering snatched your attention, Hoodie shamelessly lighting a cigarette. “You can’t smoke in here,” You hissed, slapping his arm. Hoodie chuckled, tilting his head back. It was then he shoved off his ski mask, carelessly tossing it aside.

Dozens of lives you swore you could’ve lived before washed over you, your head beginning to spin. Unsurely you rose your hand, reaching out to him. Your fingertips grazed his stubble, his chapped lips ones you remembered somehow. But how? “Are you real?” You whispered. You cupped his cheek, Hoodie staring down at you slightly. “Probably more real than you,” He whispered back. He extended his hand, offering you his cigarette. You waved it away, cringing at the smell. “I don’t smoke,” You declined. Hoodie found this amusing, taking another hit. “Yeah you do. Try it,” He insisted. You crossed your arms defensively, unintentionally pushing your breast together. “What do I get if I do?” You countered. A smirk creeped across Hoodie’s lips, your attention temporarily mesmerized as he exhaled out of his nostrils. “You hit that and cough, i’ll go. If you don’t though, you’ll give me what I want,” He purred.

Goosebumps trailed across your skin at the sound of his words, causing you to swallow.

“And what is it you want?”

“You.”

The confession created a heavy pause in the room, your head spinning. If you agreed to this silly game, you’d get this invasive intruder out of your house without a fight. If you didn’t, you doubted you’d be able to successfully call the police this time. You couldn’t recall smoking a cigarette in your entire life. You knew you were going to cough. Hesitantly you grabbed the cigarette from him, instinctively placing it between your two fingers. You unsurely placed it to your lips, inhaling deeply. To your surprise the tobacco was like a big hug, something you relished in. You could feel it swirl around your lungs, before exhaling it. A mere tickle in your throat was no where in sight.

“W-What the hell?” You whispered, staring at the cigarette. Hoodie grinned mischievously, taking the cigarette back. “What’d I tell you? Now bend over,” He barked. A normal person in your shoes would’ve been scared. They would’ve been terrified, scrambling to escape. Yet something about Hoodie felt so familiar and you couldn’t deny the way his orders sent pleasure right to your core. You couldn’t explain it, feeling an odd sense of deja vu as you crawled onto the couch, arching your ass into the air. Heat dashed across your cheeks as the AC brushed against your skin, goosebumps arising. Hoodie’s gloved hand met the mounds of your ass, an unseen satisfied smirk growing across his face. “So beautiful. So obedient. You always end up listening to me,” He murmured, mostly to himself. He took another drag of his cigarette, carelessly pulling your panties down.

It was embarrassing how wet you were, all for a man who broke into your home. He dragged two fingers up your slick, teasing you. “So wet for a stranger, interesting,” Hoodie chuckled. His cigarette hung lazily from his lips as he spread open the mounds of your ass, admiring your holes. “So pretty. My pretty girl,” He hummed. It was odd, hearing his words that you swore you had somehow heard time and time again. You whimpered at the sound of his belt clinking, one of his thick fingers welcoming itself into your aching cunt. “Just as tight as always. You always out do yourself,” He mumbled, exploring your cunt. You swallowed in embarrassment, in disbelief your body was reacting to him as if he were an old friend. He quickly removed his singular digit, his shaft teasingly rubbing up and down your slick.

“You wanna know my favorite thing about you sweetheart?” Hoodie asked, his tip rubbing against your clit. You shuddered at the sensation, embarrassed of how easily your body gave in to him. “You’re always so easy to slide right into. It’s like you were made for me,” He gloated. A protest was on the tip of your lips, a gasp escaping them instead as he slid into you with ease. You had never been so wet before, your gummy walls eagerly accepting his cock as he sank into you. You were in disbelief, unable to comprehend the way your body adored his. Hoodie grunted as he bottomed out, his gloved hands gripping your waist. Sheepishly you buried your face into the couch cushion, a groan escaping your lips unwillingly. “Does it feel good sweetheart?” He asked, taking a proper inhale of his cigarette. He stayed inside of you for a moment, allowing you to feel him fully. When you didn’t respond Hoodie frowned, delivering a sharp slap to your ass.

You didn’t recognize the sinful moan that left your lips.

“Answer me.”

Propping yourself up on your elbows you refused to glance at him. “It feels good,” You replied, humiliated. Hoodie was gleaming with pride beginning to move his hips to fuck you properly. He was anything but gentle, fucking you as if you were the last woman on earth. It was as if he was determined to pull as many noises out of you as possible. Embarrassed at your own noises you bit your bottom lip, unable to conceal them. Someway somehow your body liked this. It liked being fucked by an intruder with an attitude problem. Your hands clawed at the couch as he abused your g spot, destroying your cunt the way he pleased. Grunts and curses left his lips like a mantra. All teasing and degrading had subsided, his focus completely shifted and occupied on his own high.

Your perky nipples rubbed against the rough leather of the couch, your hand slithering down to your neglected clit. It was apparent to you Hoodie was in this for his orgasm alone, no matter what he said. Not only was it embarrassing for you to be bent over like this, taking a strangers dick. But it was even more humiliating you wanted to get off just as much as he did. Your fingers were shaky as they circled your clit, your moans now more loud and unhinged. Hoodie thrust showed no sign of stopping, even after he carelessly tossed his cigarette bud aside. The smell and sound of sex clouded the room, completely flooding your senses as you took him. “Thats it. Good fuckin’ slut, takin’ me like a whore,” Hoodie grunted, snapping you out of your daze. Your body was a slave to the pleasure, addicted to the high only this intruder seemed to give you.

The knot in your stomach tightened, your body shaking as you approached your high. You had never felt this way before, so turned on. You were addicted to the feeling, as if Hoodie had just provided you with the best heroin ever produced. “I feel the way you’re squeezin’ me sweetheart. Go ahead. Make a mess on my cock,” Hoodie ordered. As if on cue your orgasm washed over you, your vision white as your body trembled. Your heart pounded against your ribcage, your vision hazy. You could feel Hoodie’s release, his cum painting the skin of your ass. Through your hazy vision you noticed white stains on your couch, a few inches away from your head. In confusion you raised an eyebrow, unsure if through the dancing stars you were seeing things correctly.

Before you could question it too much Hoodie scooped you up bridal style, carrying you away from the couch. He swiftly kicked open your bathroom door, sitting you in the tub and undressing you. “Should I ask why you know where my bathroom is?” You asked softly, your body spent. Hoodie chuckled, tossing your night gown and panties aside. He turned on the faucet, goosebumps covering your skin as the water turned warm. He reached under your sink, searching for something. “For such a know it all I thought you’d know my bubble bath is on the top shelf above the toilet,” You said, your eyes closed with bliss. Your body felt completely relaxed, a hum of satisfaction emerging from your throat as the water began to surround you.

“Such a smart ass. I’ll remember to fix that mouth of yours later,” Hoodie said, grabbing the bubble bath. The comforting smell of lavender filled your nostrils, causing you to smile. “I assume you know that’s my favorite?” You asked. Any other person in any other world would be terrified right now, shaking with fear. Yet you were content. Somehow comforted by your intruders presence. Hoodie dug another cigarette out of his pocket, roughly shoving it in between his lips. “This is always the worst part,” He sighed. You curiously opened your eyes, looking over at him. Bubbles began to rise, coating your skin.

“Why’s that? You afraid to say goodbye?” You asked. Hoodie shook his head, leaning against your bathroom sink. “Yeah, something like that. Restarting this over and over again is borderline torture,” He grumbled. This caught your attention, causing you to shift uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, what?” You questioned. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to not be afraid of him, there’s no telling whether or not he’s insane. “This is the only way The Operator lets me see you. I try to make the best of it really, Masky’s girlfriend didn’t get the same grace you did,” He explained. A mysterious supernatural being flashed in your mind, before quickly fading away as quick as it came. “I guess I can explain it to you just this once, not like you’ll remember anyways,” He said, roughly turning off the faucet. Drips of water droplets hit the water, your heart beginning to race.

“You’re my reward for being an obedient proxy. It’s a pain in the ass sometimes, rinsing and repeating this process. You’re stuck in a time paradox, where you’re be trapped in a loop of this forever. This isn’t even your house, it’s what The Operator made you believe is your house. Most of your memories are altered heavily or just completely erased. You don’t remember our five year relationship, back before I became who I am now.”

Hoodie ignored your reaction, your face twisted in horror as he continued.

“Tomorrow the cycle will start again. I’ll come in, just as I did tonight. You’ll be scared, just as you were tonight. But that sense of deja vu will keep you attracted to me and that’s all I could really ask for,” He sighed. He inhaled another hit of his cigarette, shaking his head. “Each time I kill you, the cycle resets. I bring you to Jack and The Operator, who revive you and wipe your memory. I gotta say though, too much of your memory is staying. He’s gotta fix that or it’s gonna fuck up this whole arrangement,” Hoodie explained. He couldn’t bear to look at your face. You had curled up into a ball in the tub, your knees tucked to your chest.

“B-Brian I don’t-”

The name fell off of your lips before you could process it. You didn’t understand, Hoodie’s eyes widening. He reached back under the sink, grabbing a toaster. He had planted it there the day before, not wanting to keep killing you in such bloody ways. Roughly he shoved it into a nearby outlet, sighing.

“Thats my cue. Dont worry sweetheart, tomorrow you won’t remember anything at all.”

Before you could protest or scream, he carelessly tossed the toaster into the bath. You were now dead once again, your destiny forcing you to be revived time and time again. Maybe Hoodie could find a way around it. Or, maybe he could rely on your deja vu for comfort for as long as he was cursed to live.

[cruel-seduction]

A World Without You

(Picture taken from Pinterest)

Pairing - Peter Parker x Female Reader

Genre - Angst 

Summary: When Peter Parker wakes up in a world where Y/N never existed, he thinks he's been given the gift of freedom—no one to put in danger. But as the emptiness of her absence consumes him, Peter begins to question the cost of his choice. How far will he go to bring Y/N back, and who—or what—was behind her disappearance in the first place? Can Peter undo the deal he made, or is he trapped in a world where love never existed?

Glimpse - He thought back to their last conversation, where Y/N had called him a "Nerd" for winning at chess everytime, to which he’d fired back, calling them "a hopeless case with zero taste in music."

Warnings: This story contains heavy angst and emotional distress, exploring themes of loneliness, guilt, and the consequences of difficult choices. It also includes elements of reality distortion and manipulation, which may be unsettling for some readers. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to intense emotional scenarios.

***

Peter Parker woke up with a start. His heart pounded in his chest, the remnants of a nightmare clinging to his mind like a fading mist. His body ached in places he didn’t know could hurt. The city skyline blinked outside his window as it always did, but something about the silence felt…off. He rubbed his face, trying to shake off the strange unease gnawing at his gut. It wasn’t unusual for Peter to wake up in a cold sweat after a brutal night of web-swinging, but this time was different. The feeling lingered like a whisper he couldn’t quite hear.

He groaned, rolling out of bed and pulling on a T-shirt. Maybe some breakfast would help clear his head. He padded barefoot into the kitchen, expecting to hear the familiar hum of Y/N’s terrible music playing in the background as they whipped up something quick before heading out. But the apartment was eerily quiet. Too quiet.

“Babe?” he called, only half-expecting a response. Silence. Peter frowned. It wasn’t like Y/N to leave without saying goodbye, even when they had early shifts. Maybe she’s at work already.

But the more Peter looked around, the more he realised something was wrong. The photos on the fridge—the ones of him and Y/N from their last disastrous attempt at a beach day—were gone. He checked the living room; no sign of Y/N’s jacket, their shoes, or the usual clutter that always accumulated near the door. Where the hell are they?

The sinking feeling in Peter’s chest deepened as he began to search the apartment. Their stuff was gone. All of it.

Peter’s mind raced. Has Y/N left him? No, that didn’t make sense. Things had been good between them. They always were, even when they fought. And their playful insults were never serious, just the way they communicated. He thought back to their last conversation, where Y/N had called him a "Nerd" for winning at chess everytime, to which he’d fired back, calling them "a hopeless case with zero taste in music."

But there was love in every jab, every joke. He knew Y/N didn’t mean any of it, and he didn’t either. It was their love language—twisting insults into affection in the way only they could. He could still hear their laugh in his mind, could still feel the way Y/N would poke him in the ribs after a particularly savage comeback.

But now, that warmth is gone. All of it.

Peter’s head was spinning. He pulled out his phone and quickly dialled Y/N’s number. The line rang once, twice, and then, “The number you’ve dialled is not in service.”

Not in service?

Peter’s stomach flipped. He called again, and the same automated voice greeted him. Panic rose in his throat. He rushed outside and knocked on the neighbour’s door.

“Hey, Mrs. Martinez, have you seen Y/N today? She—” Peter began, but Mrs. Martinez gave him a confused look.

“Y/N? Who’s Y/N?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Peter’s heart skipped a beat. “You know…my—my girlfriend? The person I live with?” he stammered, his voice unsteady. Mrs. Martinez’s frown deepened.

“I’ve lived here for twenty years, Peter. I’ve never seen you with anyone. You live alone.”

Peter’s world tilted. What?

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He tried to laugh it off, but the horror was sinking in. “You’ve—of course you’ve seen them, Mrs. Martinez. She is always around…”

But the older woman shook her head sympathetically, patting him on the shoulder. “You’ve had a tough week, sweetheart. Maybe you need to take it easy.” She retreated back into her apartment, leaving Peter standing there, frozen.

He sprinted back to his place, his thoughts racing. What the hell is going on?

He fumbled for his laptop, searching through his social media, his phone photos, anything—anything—that could prove Y/N existed. But there was nothing. Not a single picture, no text messages, no memories captured on his phone. It was like they had been erased.

Peter’s chest heaved with panic. This can’t be real.

But it was.

As the day dragged on, the nightmare didn’t end. It only got worse. No one—no one—remembered Y/N. Their friends, their coworkers, even Aunt May looked confused when Peter mentioned their name.

Peter slumped onto the couch, staring blankly at the wall. How is this happening? He gripped his head with both hands, feeling the weight of Y/N’s absence like a suffocating blanket. He didn’t know if it was magic, science, or something worse.

But the silence? The emptiness?

It was unbearable.

At first, he had thought maybe—just maybe—this was for the best. Y/N was safe, right? Without him in their life, without Spider-Man lurking in the background, they wouldn’t be in danger. They wouldn’t have to deal with late-night patch-ups, watching him stumble in bruised and bloodied, hearing him apologise over and over for missing dinner or forgetting plans because someone needed saving.

But this wasn’t peace. This was torment.

Peter thought back to the moments they’d shared, the playful insults and sarcastic remarks that only drew them closer. He remembered Y/N’s smile when they called him a "complete idiot" after he bungled a dinner reservation. Or the time he jokingly told them to "Haww!! You are only with me for that ass" when she tried to help him fix his suit and squeezed his ass in teasinf way. The way Y/N had thrown a pillow at his head, laughing the whole time.

He missed it. All of it. The teasing, the arguments, the late-night takeout dinners where they’d bicker about who had worse taste in movies.

And now…he had nothing.

Peter couldn’t stay here. Not in this reality.

The thought gnawed at him—how had he ended up here? He hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary. Sure, he’d been toying with new tech from Oscorp, but nothing experimental. Nothing that should have thrown him into some alternate dimension. Then, in a flash, a memory surfaced.

The last night he spent with Y/N before everything changed. A strange figure had appeared—someone with no face, no form, just a voice. A voice that had whispered to him about choices, about the dangers of loving someone so deeply while being Spider-Man. At the time, Peter had brushed it off, thinking it was just the stress talking, some weird fever dream. But what if…?

What if that figure had done this? Created a world where Y/N never existed?

Peter had to find answers. He had to get Y/N back. He couldn’t stay in a place where every corner, every sound reminded him of what he’d lost. The weight of their absence crushed him more each second.

As he sat there, planning his next move, Peter realised something chilling. The figure—whoever they were—had offered him a choice that night. A chance to live without burdening the people he loved with Spider-Man’s dangers. And in a moment of weakness, of exhaustion, maybe Peter had unknowingly made that deal.

But he hadn’t meant it.

Peter Parker was no stranger to guilt. He’d lived with it every day since Uncle Ben died. But this? This was different. This was the pain of choosing to save someone by erasing them entirely.

He couldn’t undo what had happened on his own. He needed to find the entity who had done this and force them to undo it. But first, he had to survive in a world that was a constant reminder of what he’d lost.

And that meant holding onto the memories of Y/N. The real memories.

He could hear Y/N’s voice in his head now: “Peter, you absolute dumbass, you know you can’t live without me, right?” He could imagine the smirk that came with it, the light in their eyes when they teased him.

“Yeah, well,” Peter muttered to the empty room, his voice cracking. “Turns out you’re right.”

Peter sat in the deafening silence of his apartment, his mind running in a thousand directions. Y/N was gone. No one remembered her, as if she'd never existed. And the only explanation he could cling to was that entity—that faceless, shadowy figure from the night before everything changed. A vague memory whispered at the back of his mind, telling him that he’d been offered a choice. But how could he have agreed to something so horrifying?

The truth, as much as it made him sick, was simple: Peter had been desperate. He’d been exhausted, weighed down by guilt and fear, always worrying about Y/N’s safety. Every time she patched him up after a fight, every time she stayed up late waiting for him to come home, Peter felt that gnawing fear that one day, she wouldn’t be there anymore. And for one brief, weak moment, the thought of her being safe—being away from Spider-Man’s world—had seemed like a blessing.

But he hadn’t realized the cost. Not like this. Not the emptiness.

Peter shot out of his chair, pacing the apartment as a plan started to form in his mind. He had to find the entity. That much was clear. This wasn’t just some glitch in reality; this was a deliberate choice—a deal made between him and something far more powerful. But if Peter had the power to get himself into this mess, then he had to have the power to get out.

First, he needed answers. How did he find the entity again?

Peter remembered that it hadn’t come from nowhere. The figure had appeared while he was messing around with Oscorp’s tech, but it wasn’t just any tech. It had been an experimental quantum destabilizer—a device meant to measure energy fluctuations between different dimensions. Harry Osborn had been talking about it for weeks, trying to figure out if they could tap into the multiverse for...who knows what. Science had never been Peter's strong suit, but he had a hunch that the entity had slipped through during one of those experiments.

Multiverse. The word hit him like a truck.

Was this even his universe anymore? Or was he trapped in another reality where Y/N had never existed?

Peter’s heart raced at the possibility. If Y/N was truly gone—not just from his life but from all universes—he might never get her back. But if she still existed somewhere, in some timeline, then Peter would burn through every dimension until he found her.

He knew the first place to start: Oscorp.

Later that night, after slipping into his Spider-Man suit, Peter swung across the city towards Oscorp Tower. It was late, the city’s streets quieter than usual, but Peter’s mind was anything but calm. He landed on the roof and quickly made his way inside, avoiding security cameras with the ease of someone who had done it countless times before.

The lab was exactly how he remembered it—rows of cold, gleaming equipment, the soft hum of high-tech machinery filling the air. But Peter wasn’t interested in the usual tools. He needed the quantum destabilizer.

Peter found it stashed away in a corner, covered in dust. He hooked it up to the main computer and started running a search for energy signatures. If that entity had come from another universe, there had to be some kind of residual trace left behind.

As the machine hummed to life, Peter’s thoughts drifted back to Y/N. Why had he said yes to losing her? In that moment, when the entity had whispered in his ear, offering him peace, safety, an escape from the constant fear of Y/N being hurt...he had caved. He’d thought it was a way to protect her.

But now he realized how wrong he’d been. Protecting Y/N wasn’t about keeping her away—it was about fighting alongside her, loving her despite the risks. Peter had always known that deep down, but fear had clouded his judgment. He’d chosen what he thought was the easy way out, but now he would do anything—anything—to undo it.

The machine beeped, jolting him from his thoughts. The screen flickered, showing a faint, pulsing signature. Peter’s heart raced as he recognized the same strange energy from that night. It wasn’t from his universe. The entity had come from somewhere else.

He plugged in the coordinates, knowing that if he followed the trail, it would lead him to the source—to the entity.

The next night, Peter swung through a dim, fog-covered alley deep in the city. The air felt thick, heavy with something unnatural. He could sense it—the same strange energy signature he'd tracked.

And then, like stepping through a veil, the air around him shimmered, and the entity appeared. A swirling mass of shadow, faceless and formless, its voice an eerie whisper that seemed to echo inside Peter’s head.

“You seek to undo what you asked for, Spider-Man?”

Peter’s jaw clenched. “You tricked me. I didn’t know what I was agreeing to.”

The entity’s voice hissed, low and mocking. “I offered you peace. I offered you freedom. You accepted.”

“I didn’t want this!” Peter shouted, his fists trembling. “I didn’t want to lose her! I—” His voice broke. “I love her.”

“Love is weakness,” the entity whispered. “It makes you vulnerable. It clouds your judgment. I gave you a world free from that burden.”

“Love makes me strong,” Peter said, his voice filled with determination. “I don’t want a world where Y/N doesn’t exist. I want her with me, in all her imperfect, wonderful chaos. And I’m going to fight you until you bring her back.”

The entity laughed—a sound that rattled the very air around him. “You think you can fight me, Spider-Man? I am beyond your comprehension. I am the architect of realities. I gave you a gift.”

Peter’s eyes hardened beneath the mask. “Then I’ll take it back.”

Without another word, Peter launched himself at the entity, his fists glowing with the energy from the quantum destabilizer. But the entity was fast, shifting and slipping through his grasp like smoke. Every time Peter thought he had it cornered, it would reform behind him, taunting him with whispers.

“You will fail,” it hissed. “I am all-powerful. You are nothing but a boy pretending to be a hero.”

Peter gritted his teeth, focusing on the entity’s movements. It might be powerful, but it had a weakness—every entity did. He just had to find it. And then, as the entity shifted again, Peter saw it—a flicker in its form, a moment where it hesitated.

That hesitation was all he needed.

Peter leaped into the air, firing a blast from the destabilizer at the exact moment the entity began to reform. The energy crackled, surging through the entity’s form. It screamed, its voice splitting the air like thunder. Peter didn’t let up, pouring everything he had into the attack. He thought of Y/N’s laugh, her smile, the way she called him out on his worst habits, the way she never let him get away with anything. All the moments they shared.

And then, with a final surge of energy, the entity shattered. The air around Peter shifted, reality bending and warping.

Peter collapsed to the ground, panting. For a moment, everything was still.

When he opened his eyes, Peter was lying on his apartment floor, the sunlight streaming through the window. His heart pounded in his chest. Was it real? Did he actually get her back?

“Peter? Why are you on the floor, you weirdo?”

His heart stopped. That voice—it was Y/N. He turned his head slowly, and there she was, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a mug of coffee and looking at him with a raised eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Y/N…” His voice cracked as he scrambled to his feet, pulling her into his arms.

“Whoa, whoa!” Y/N laughed, clearly surprised. “What’s gotten into you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I thought I lost you,” Peter whispered into her hair, holding her tight as if she might disappear again.

Y/N snorted, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Lost me? Please, Parker. You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not. Now, stop being a dramatic idiot and help me make breakfast,”

Peter laughed, a tear slipping down his cheek as he smiled at her. “You can call me useless all you want.”

Y/N gave him a puzzled look. “What’s gotten into you?”

Peter just shook his head, kissing her forehead. “I love you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Okay, now I’m worried.Is something wrong, babe?”

He laughed again. “Nah. Just…never leave, okay?”

Y/N smiled, her usual sarcastic grin lighting up her face. “I wasn’t planning on it. But you know, I could leave if you keep talking like a sappy idiot.”

“Shut up,” Peter muttered, pulling her closer. “I’m serious.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll stay,” Y/N teased, poking his chest. “But only because you’re the dumbest, nerdiest superhero I’ve ever met.”

Peter chuckled, finally feeling whole again. He had Y/N back. He’d fought for her, and now, he wasn’t letting go.

He never would.

[oraclekleins]

hello hello!! i discovered you a few hours ago and LOVE your content<3

could i request a joost klein x gn!reader where the reader is also competing in eurovision, representing {readers country} and basically they are already dating and joost kind of gets jealous because readers new make up artist got a little TOO touchy.. once they get back to their shared hotel room he expresses that jealousy by getting a bit more clingy?

when reader tried to ask about whats wrong he just kisses them or brushes it off as not important :3

thank you if you accept my request and have a great day <3

ill be 🩵anon if that’s okay!

Hii! Thanks for being so sweet, nonnie! Hope this is up to your liking. 💙 I changed the prompt a little iiif that's alright, so here's kind of an aftermath of that. ^^ I love any feedback.

You're Overcomplicating Things . . -> Jealous!Joost Klein x Reader

The buzzing of Joost's phone wakes him with a start. 

His head turns a bit to the side, slowed from exhaustion. Joost's vision is still catching up with him, the living room gauzed in a radial blur; he feels like he’s wading through quicksand — dragging himself to sit up, before his arm catches another body. You're curled onto the left side of the bed, unmoving —  the pillow your arm was wrapped around having ended up on the floor. There’s a spot of drool on your hoodie, plush lips tugged along the bold Eurovision logo of your sleeve. 

“Morning,” Joost mumbles, patting the cushions for his phone. His voice is groggy, scratched dry from the shitty beers you two had downed the night before. He grimaces at the spit webbed on the top of his mouth, flicks at it with his tip of tongue in disgust. He moves to gently push at your leg; it’s hot, too hot for you to lounge this close; there’s a pool of sweat sinking into the crook of his chest — he feels gross, sticky, uncomfortable. There's a heavy silence in the air. It feels like you did something wrong, but you can't place your finger on it. You stir in response, a whine of annoyance rumbling from your throat. You blink over to see what Joost's all worked up about, who’s grabbing his phone from the nightstand, pinching at his forehead.

"Good morning — what's wrong?" You're still waking up, clearing the spit from your throat. Biting back a cough, you manage to sit up, pressing on the wrinkles from your shirt.

Joost offers you a tired smile, moving to kiss your forehead. "Long day ahead, right? Hop to it." A bit of enthusiasm pokes out of his voice as the words die out, his lips trailing to your jaw, pressing into it. It feels like he's hiding from you, even when he's slotted into your side like a puzzle piece, lazily tracing his fingers against your hip.

He's sulking, the boy-shape trying to disappear into your skin, upset and loathing.

Your fingers find his curls, gently raking your nails across his scalp. He makes a noise of satisfaction, face nestling closer to your collarbone.

You would know his envious touches through death. There were small, red marks around your waist where he had been pressing into it, marking you, yet.. gentle. Apologetically, he rubbed his thumb over them, turning his face from you.

"Joost," you sigh, "you think it's stupid," he perks up. "Right? That's why you won't tell me."

His bottom lip is caught between his teeth. "Your makeup, it looked good yesterday. The new artist. Good." Joost fixates on the blanket under you both, looking anywhere but at you. "Good connection."

"Good connection?" He's already kissing the words from your mouth, stealing them from you. If he took them, then he wouldn't have to hear you say them. Listen to you accuse him — be disappointed. "Joost, let me," you're tired of this game already, and he's holding you like he can't get enough, arms tightly wrapped around your waist. You can feel the tense of panic in him, cold throughout his veins, a tremble to his grip.

You're prying his fingers away — careful, soft, not like a punishment. A warning. "You need to talk to me."

Joost is quiet for a minute. He's thinking. His uncomfortable grin is full of teeth, ones that graze on your irritability, biting into you like a peach. He doesn’t wipe the juice from his mouth —  instead lets it dry on his chin, picking at the stain. A rash of his own, festering nerves.

He sits up. Joost's tank hugs his figure. His hair is coiffed into loose, blonde strands of fray, kissing the back of his neck — bouncing when he tilts his head. He frowns. You wrap your arm around his shoulder, keeping him afloat.

"You do not rehearse today, yes?" Joost asks after a bit. You want to make a remark about how you have his schedule memorized, everything written down on your phones, laid out for him — it's a little mean. He doesn't need it right now.

Swinging your legs to the side of his bed, you nod. "Not today, yeah. You want me to come hang out with you?"

Joost nods, a little too fast.

You kiss the side of his head, pulling him back into your chest. "You need to tell me when you're upset. Even if you think I'm gonna get mad, or, I don't know — weirded out."

"I love you." You hum into shoulder. You're ghosting the pad of your thumb against his cheekbone. He looks satisfied, curling back into you.

Joost tangles your fingers. You know how this goes.

"I love you too."

Thanks for reading!

[abandoned-anemoia]

Nightmares

☯ Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x Fem!reader ☯ Genre: smut, a little fluff ☯ Word count: 2.4k ☯ Summary: When your reoccurring nightmare gets the best of you, you search for comfort in Seungcheol's presence. ☯ Warnings: nightmares, piv, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), multiple positions, oral (f! receiving), restraint, pet names (princess, sweetheart, baby. slut) ☯ A/N: Please Let me know if I need to add any warnings! ☯Disclaimer: None of my work represents any of the idols included in any way. This is merely fictional and all based on my opinion as a joke! I have nothing against any of these idols and love them all dearly.

Please do not copy, translate, or post as your own!

Keep running. Keep pushing forward. That's all you could tell yourself as you sprint through the empty streets of a dead end town. You're not sure what exactly you're running from, but the fear that flows through you doesn't allow you to stop moving.

Glancing behind you, you see a dark figure speeding toward you. You know that if it catches you, that is the end. You try to scream but no sound escapes your body. No matter how hard you try to scream for help, for anyone to save you, your voice can't be heard.

It's closer now. You can hear the wispy hissing and unbearable screeching getting louder. The panic rises in your chest as you force yourself to keep running. It's going to get you. To kill you. You can do nothing to stop it.

It's cold breath is on your neck in mere seconds. Then it's in front of you, stopping you in your tracks. Dark sockets are all that exist where its eyes are meant to be. It's staring at you. Waiting for you to make your next move.

Your eyes snap open, body jolting up into a seated position. Hands clenching the sheets at your sides as cold sweat rolls down your face, chest rising and falling in rapid succession as you try to catch your breath. The time on the clock reads 1:06 A.M.

It's the same nightmare, every time. The dark figure never actually gets you. You just wake up when you know it's about to. Almost as if your body knows when to wake you up.

You can't go back to sleep right now, the nightmare will just start over. Knowing this, you sigh, sliding out of the bed. Not bothering to change clothes, you grab a jacket from the chair sitting in front of your small desk and leave your bedroom.

Slipping on your shoes that are tucked next to the front door of your apartment, you grab your keys and head out. Maybe a walk will clear your head. Some fresh air might help calm you down enough to sleep again.

Your brain didn't have a destination planned but your body did. The walk to his place feels familiar, almost as if your body is on autopilot—searching for comfort in the one person who never fails to provide it.

That's how you end up in front of his apartment door, staring at the white panels before knocking on the door. You feel guilty, knowing he will be asleep this late at night and you'll be waking him up.

Before the guilt can make you head back to your own apartment, the door opens to reveal a very dazed Seungcheol, clad in a black tee and gray sweats. He blinks repeatedly, trying to wake himself up and focus his eyes, squinting at your figure for a moment before he realizes who you are.

As he takes in your disheveled state, he ushers you inside, quickly pulling you into his arms. One hand rests on the back of your neck while the other presses against your back, pushing you flush against him. His voice is gentle when he speaks, hand rubbing your back soothingly, "What's wrong, Princess?"

Your hands grip his shirt at his sides. Taking a deep breath in, you let his scent fill your senses. The dull smell of birch wood with a rosy undertone—that perfect mix of floral and musk. His scent and the added warmth of his body against yours serves to calm your nerves enough to answer, "Nightmare."

Seungcheol hums in response, "Don't worry. I've got you."

He plants a kiss on the top of your head, his hands coming to squeeze your biceps before gently pushing you away from his body, "Come on. Let's get to bed."

Seungcheol pulls your jacket down your arms, hanging it next to his door while you slip your shoes off. You quietly allow him to guide you through his apartment and to his bedroom.

Still slightly on edge, afraid the nightmare will resurface, you sit on his bed as he moves to the other side. He lifts the covers, crawling underneath them, hand reaching over to you to run his fingers across your back, "Lie down. I promise I won't let anything get you."

Seungcheol knows about your recurring nightmare. You'd told him about it one night when you woke up gasping for air and scared him shitless. He had been nothing but understanding then and he is nothing but understanding in this moment—when you've shown up at his door in the middle of the night.

Giving in, you slip under the covers next to him, resting your head on the pillow. You both stay silent, not touching but simply staring at one another.

It's you who breaks the silence, guilt overcoming you once again, "I can't sleep."

Seungcheol responds with a tight-lipped smile, "Anything I can do to help?"

You shrug, not knowing what would get the image that is burned into the back of your eyelids to go away. His eyes are droopy and filled with sleep, but you know he won't fall asleep while you're still awake.

He shuffles closer to you, one arm resting under his head, the other crossed over his body. Your faces are so close now that you can feel every breath he takes, his nose almost touching yours. His hand comes up to run along your cheek as he moves closer, lips ghosting over your own.

You take the chance to close that final gap between the two of you, lips softly pressing against his. The hand that was once on your cheek, slowly moves down to your hip, pushing you onto your back as your lips move together.

Seungcheol's legs encase your body under his own when he moves to hover over you, his elbow resting next to your head to hold himself up. His tongue runs across your bottom lip as his hand sneaks under your shirt to rest on your bare hip. The kiss steals your breath, his lips aggressively moving against yours.

You grab the bottom of his shirt and tug at the fabric. His lips part from yours for a moment as he pulls the shirt over his head, carelessly tossing it to the floor before diving back in to kiss you again. Hands running under your shirt as the kiss heats up, he barely lets your lips part when you lift your body for him to slip your shirt off.

He nestles himself between your legs, his hips pressing against yours. His lips find their way to your neck, slowly moving down your chest, leaving sloppy open mouth kisses along the way. Rolling one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he swirls his tongue around the other causing you to let out a sigh.

A string of split trails from your nipple to his mouth when he pulls away and replaces his other hand with his mouth, sucking the other nipple into his mouth. Fingers running through his hair, your breathing stutters when he grinds his hips into yours, feeling his bulge through his sweatpants.

His mouth trails down your body, planting a kiss on your lower stomach. Thumbs slipping under the waistband of your bottoms and underwear, his fingers pressing into your skin before pulling both pieces of fabric down your legs.

Kissing his way up the inside of your thigh, he looks up at you from between your legs. Your breath hitches in your throat when his eyes meet yours as his own breath hits your clit. Whining at the lack of contact, you wiggle your hips only causing Seungcheol to let out a dark chuckle, "What do you want, Princess?"

He's so close to you, every word out of his mouth causing a shiver to run up your spine, "Please."

"Please, what? Use your words, Sweetheart." You can't see the smirk on his face but you know it's there. Pausing for you to give him the answer, he swipes his tongue over your clit, "Come on, Princess, say it."

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth before answering, "Please, fuck me."

He flattens his tongue over your core before slipping it between your folds. Finally getting what you want, a loud moan escapes your lips. Your hips move to meet his mouth before he moves one arm over your hips, holding them against the mattress as his tongue delves deeper into your throbbing pussy.

Sucking on your clit and lapping desperately at your folds, he presses you further into the mattress. Eyes closed, breathing labored, and legs shaking as he devours you.

Heat coils in your stomach, fire burning through your body as you whimper, not being able to form words. Seungcheol quickly notices the change, shoving his tongue back into you, nose bumping against your clit as he purposely moves his head. The fire in the pit of your stomach swells, your whole body growing hotter, your moans growing louder and louder. A choked sob leaves your mouth when he curls his tongue into you, whole body shaking, making you want to scream as you reach your high.

His chin glistens when he pulls away from you, breathing heavily as he climbs up your body and attaches his lips to yours. You moan when tasting yourself on his lips. Your hands roam to his body, palming him through his pants, making him release a moan into your mouth and grind into your hand.

Quickly pulling his whole body away from yours, he pushes his sweats off before settling his hips back against yours. The tip of his dick hitting your sensitive clit as he drags it across your soaking pussy.

Squirming underneath him, you silently beg for him to do something. His hands run from your thighs to your ankles, grabbing them and folding your legs over on yourself. He holds your ankles together with one hand, your knees pressed to your chest as he lines himself up.

You feel the tip of his cock slipping between your folds, slowly easing into you to allow you time to adjust to his size. Hands gripping the sheets as he wastes no time pulling out and slamming back into you. He kisses your calf as he thrusts into you, hips slapping together.

His thumb presses against your clit, lighting a fire under your skin. Crying out when he picks up pace, your body shaking at the sensation filling your body, you search for anything to hold onto, hand frantically grabbing at the sheets and pillows before you hand lands in his hair, grabbing onto the strands for dear life. The moans leaving you get louder the closer you get to your release. Seungcheol's grunts and moans fill your ears. You know he won't last much longer as his hips start to stutter with every thrust bringing him closer to his high.

"Cum for me, baby." His breathy tone brings you closer to your release.

His hips slow down but his thrusts get more aggressive, pounding into you harshly, thumb rubbing over your clit faster. Letting out a scream, you cum all over his dick. Letting out a loud groan, he gives you one last thrust. You can feel his cum fill you up, seeping out of your cunt when he pulls out of you.

He lets go of your ankles, throwing both of your legs to the side and flipping you onto your stomach. Gripping your hips tightly, he pulls your hips up, running his hands over your ass before leaving a harsh smack that makes a gasp escape your lips. He pushes back into you causing you to cry out into the pillow.

"Give me your hands." Seungcheol's voice is demanding, raspy and filling with lust as he takes your hands, crossing your wrists over one another and holding against to your back.

He holds your wrists together as he thrusts into you, hips slapping against your ass as his dick hits all of the right places. He moves your wrists farther up your back, arching your back to give him the perfect angle. Fucking into your sopping cunt, his voice strained as he speaks, close to reaching another high, "Fuck, Baby. Always taking me so well. My little slut."

His thrusts get harsher as he lets go of your wrists, running his hand up your back and grabbing a fist full of your hair, pulling you toward him. Turning your head to the side, staring into your eyes as he thrusts up into you. He roughly presses his lips to yours, groaning into your mouth. His grip on your hair tightens, slightly pulling your head back as his free hand finds its way to your clit, "Who owns this pussy?"

Choking out a strangled moan as he thrusts into you, you struggle to find words, "You."

"I can't hear you, Princess. Who?" His warm breath hits your neck, his world drawing out another moan.

A sharp snap of his hips causes you to scream out in pleasure, returning to low whimpers as you answer him, louder this time, "You. It's all yours."

His hand leaves your hair, wrapping around your body to grab your chest, squeezing tightly as he fucking into you, "That's what I thought."

Hips pressing against you, thrusting harder than before as he rubs circles on your clit. Blinding light covers your vision, head falling back into Seungcheol's shoulder and body shaking at the intensity of the feeling of your release. Seungcheol holds you against him as he releases into you, pressing hot kisses against your neck.

Heavy breathing fills the room. Seungcheol slowly lays you down and takes his place next to you. He gently moves a strand of hair from your face, leaning in to kiss your forehead and then your nose before reaching your lips. Pressing soft kisses to your lips as he draws shapes onto your bare back, he smiles at you, "You okay?"

A short laugh escapes your lips, "Never been better."

The smile on his face widens, the rough man from moments ago replaced with the sweet one in front of you, "Do you think you can sleep?"

His voice held nothing but love and concern. Smiling back at him, you nod, "I'm gonna hope I have that nightmare more often if it ends up like this."

Seungcheol lets out a happy laugh, shaking his head at you, "You just have to ask."

The nightmare was far from your mind. There is no fear of closing your eyes and seeing the dark sockets where eyes should be because all you can see when you close your eyes are Seungcheol's love filled eyes staring back at you.

[aurumalatus]

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟔]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.5k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection, descriptions of blood and injury, panic attacks and anxiety

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

author's note. first off, sorry for the late chapter ;-; but the next chapter sort of marks the start to the second half of the story, so i hope you guys look forward to that! some parts of this chapter are a bit intense so please heed the warnings! please let me know if you enjoyed! reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗜𝗧'𝗟𝗟 𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗙𝗘𝗘𝗟 𝗔𝗟𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧

As you make slow progress toward recovery, Kinich can’t expel the image of you bleeding out from his mind.

The village doctor had rushed to your home, undeterred by the blanket of night falling over the land. The woman practically thinks of you as her own daughter, after all, with the amount of work you’ve done for her over the years. She stitches up your wound with a careful, practiced hand.

(Kinich stands at your side as it happens, your hand grasping his in a bone-crushing grip. He tries not to cry when you start to scream out in pain.)

She commits you to bed rest. You whine and argue against it. Kinich fights with you about it. You make up like you always do, but you stare longingly at the door every day when he leaves to work.

Time passes, and you do get better. He thanks the archons before he sleeps for that fact, truly.

But the guilt doesn’t cease. 

It prods at him in the dead of night, wrapping his stomach in knots as he tosses and turns. Even when he can hear your soft, even breathing across the room, a deep terror takes root in his chest. Nightmares lurk and haunt his rest, and sometimes, even when he wakes up, he has trouble believing that you’re still alive—it all feels too real when it’s in his head.

Even in reality, you’re decidedly…different. The weakness of your smile, of your hand in his—he can’t quite get used to it. It’s all part of your healing process, he knows that deep down, but he can’t shake the feeling that he had a role in all of this. 

On one night, the feeling of sin finally manages to gnaw through his chest.

He wakes up in a cold sweat, shirt sticking to him like a second skin. His blankets are already strewn about the floor, likely from his erratic movements. His gaze slides over to you, still peacefully resting, and he sags with relief. The pain keeps you awake sometimes, so it’s a miracle that you’re sleeping soundly for once.

With that in mind, he eases himself out of bed quietly, tiptoeing past you and into the hallway. He heads for the bathroom—a splash of cold water over his weary face might be just what he needs. The moonlight filters lazily through the window, uneven slivers painted over the wall. He yawns, letting the door shut behind him.

The mirror sits above the sink. 

It’s one of the more expensive things you have in your house, but you’d gotten it for a good deal at the flea market—Kinich had bartered for what felt like hours. You’d gushed over the artistry of it, the glass intricately framed with braided knots of silver. Kinich hadn’t really understood back then—a mirror is just a mirror, after all—but he’s not keen on saying no to you. He never has been.

His reflection stares back at him, haunting in the gloom. 

When he looks at himself like this, he sees his mother. He doesn’t really remember the sound of her voice anymore, but he remembers her eyes, her hair. So much of him had been inherited from her.

Most days, he tries not to think about where she might be—he doesn’t see a point in asking questions he’ll never know the answer to. But he does wonder if she thinks of him, if even for a fleeting moment of her day. Then, he wonders if she remembers him at all.

(Maybe she doesn’t want to.)

His reflection frowns.

Locks of dark hair shine in the lowlight, the streak of blond distinct against the plain backdrop. The paleness of it, even when braided back, still reminds him of his father. A flash of a rage-filled glare strikes through his mind.

“Kinich—Kinich, help me, please!”

The voice—

He chokes.

Kinich stumbles back from the mirror, the sight of his own reflection suddenly horrifying him. No matter where he moves, he can’t seem to escape it, golden eyes—no, his father’s eyes—following as he staggers around the room. A ghost’s frigid fingers grip around his shoulders.

It was his fault.

The room suddenly shrinks inward. Something icy and unseen grabs at Kinich’s heart and yanks until a struggling gasp is ripped from his lungs. The vase on the windowsill tips and cracks against the wall, shards skittering across the floor and water splashing against the backs of his calves. It’s shockingly cold, shooting shivers up his back and fraying his nerves.

Someone is screaming. His mother.

“Kinich?”

A faint voice reaches his ears, but he ignores it in favor of the thoughts pounding around his skull. The memory of his father’s corpse hangs at the edges of his mind. He looks back to the mirror, fingers curling into his hair, scratching at his scalp.

The blond streak is still there.

He sees his mother, begging and screaming, bruises littering her skin. Actually, she’s not screaming at all—he still can’t remember her voice. But she’s looking at him, grasping at his feet, and her lips are moving but he can’t hear—

“Kinich? Are you there?”

His hair—his father—seems to leap out at him, bursting from the mirror and grasping at his neck. The pressure leaves him scrambling to breathe. He thinks of the cliff, of his choice.

Echoes of footsteps pad down the hall, and he panics.

No, no. You’re going to see him, and you’re going to know what he’s done. You’re going to look at him with disgust and fear, and you’re going to leave. He hadn’t been enough back then, and he still isn’t now—no matter what he tries, nothing changes.

It’s your fucking fault! This is all your fault!

Another voice roars in his head, the hatred almost palpable with each syllable.

He clutches at his chest, desperately feeling for the heartbeat there—he feels like he’s dying, rotting from the inside out. His hand slams against the wall, nails digging painfully into the wood, clawing.

“Kinich?!”

Your voice comes again, more panicked now. You can probably hear the chaos from outside.

There’s no time.

He seizes the blond lock in his left hand, the right scooping up a ceramic shard from the floor and holding it to his head, right near the roots of the hair. He has to get rid of it—he’s panting, mouth dry and burning at the same time.

A firm knock on the door has him halting in his tracks—only a few strands of hair catch the sharp edge of the shard, floating uselessly to the ground. His chest heaves, uneven breaths puffing from his chapped lips.

He pauses. The shard clatters to the ground next to him, dropped from his grip. Slowly, he clambers to his feet. He brushes his clothes off once, then twice, before steeling himself to face you.

When the door swings open, it’s your face that greets him.

“Is everything okay?” you ask, eyes wide with concern. Hesitant, you reach for him—your shirt rides up with the movement, revealing starch-white bandages tinged with red. You’d irritated your wound in your panic to get to him.

He almost vomits at his feet.

He catches your hand before it reaches his cheek. He doesn’t deserve your comfort right now—maybe he never did. But your gaze is still so fond, so soft, as it falls upon his face.

“You haven’t been sleeping well,” you murmur, lacing your fingers with his. A faint frown paints your lips, wrought with worry. The thought is almost ridiculous—you both have only been worrying about each other all this time. “What’s going on?”

And Kinich knows he should tell you. He should do a lot of things when it comes to you. He should tell you he’s sorry for everything he’s put you through, that he knows he’s not good enough for you right now but he hopes to be, that he hopes you’ll wait for him to be that person. 

But he doesn’t say any of that.

Instead, he lets a deep, shuddering breath escape him. The only way to repay everything you’ve given him over the years is to be strong. If he can protect you, he can be useful to you.

So he takes the weakness sprouting in his chest and crushes it in his hands, letting the ashes go. He’ll bury them with this night—starting tomorrow, he won’t worry you again. 

Gently, he raises your hand to his lips, brushing over your pulse point. The steady drum of your heartbeat brings him some semblance of comfort, at least. The weight of your stare lifts from his shoulders when he meets your gaze head-on.

“I’m fine, just knocked something over,” he finally chokes out. “Let’s go back to sleep.”

/

A few days later, the whispers of a rumor begin.

The sky is still reddened with dawn when he heads out, greatsword secured to his back. It’s newly-sharpened, courtesy of you. With your range of movement limited, you don’t leave the house much these days—you pass the time by cleaning and cooking, despite Kinich’s pleas for you to remain in bed. You’re antsy to do more, even while your healing progress slowly chugs along.

The outpost is already bustling by the time he shoves the door open, slinking inside. The place usually runs rampant with work, with people searching for deliveries or other odd jobs. They seek him out often, knowing how often he visits, and he welcomes the extra Mora. 

For some people, it’s a more social place—they enjoy a drink at the small bar between deliveries, chatting and laughing. There’s one such group already here, the clink of glasses audible even this early in the morning. Kinich’s nose wrinkles in disgust at the stench of alcohol.

On the back wall is the request board, a place for people to advertise any long-term jobs. Kinich favors these sometimes, on days where the weather is better, just so he can maximize the amount of Mora he takes home. When he makes his way over, there’s already another man scrutinizing the requests. Weathered papers dot the wall, some yellowed with age, some pristine white and newly-posted.

“Hey, kid,” the man greets. It takes Kinich a moment to realize it’s him he’s referring to—he offers a short nod in reply, a bit confused. Most people are familiar with him to an extent, but rarely do they try to interact.

He just starts to read another Saurian hunting job when the man speaks again.

“That earthquake a week ago…they found some ruins in the South. Rumor has it that it’s holding some kind of awesome treasure, and no one’s quite made it through yet.”

He gives Kinich a once-over, sweeping eyes reflecting a faint respect—his reputation precedes him, apparently. Kinich shifts his weight, arms crossed, a challenge. Seemingly pleased by his confidence, the man chuckles.

“I’ve heard you’re a strong one. If you’d like, we’d have you join our party.”

Kinich regards the man with his own criteria—he looks experienced, arms criss-crossed with scars as evidence of battles long won. But even Kinich himself is still young, so he knows years don’t equal strength.

“What’s in it for me?” he sighs, feigning boredom. “For all I know, I could head in there alone and not have to split the spoils.”

The man’s smile widens, practically splitting his face.

“I like your spunk, kid. How about this, if you make it all the way down there with us, I’ll even let you have first pick.”

Kinich ponders that for a moment—it’s not a bad deal. Though it’s not his preference, working in a group can make long-term investigations like this go much faster, and he suspects that he’ll be able to assess the value of whatever treasure they find better than anyone else. In short, he’ll be guaranteed the greatest share of Mora, without using all of his own personal effort. Objectively, it wouldn’t be his worst decision.

If he can make a good amount, he can buy one of those cakes you like from the market.

Your smile would be well worth it, he thinks as he shakes the other man’s hand.

/

The dangers of the ruins had not been overstated—even halfway through the place, Kinich finds himself matted with blood and grime, muscles aching with overuse. Already, many have turned back, and as many lives have been lost. Only a few remain, those desperate enough to see the task through to the end, resting in one of the safer areas before continuing deeper toward the treasure.

Kinich reaches back, testingly feeling the stone wall behind him—it’s damp, but stable, so he leans back against it, sliding down to sit on the ground. Even down here, flowers grow through the cracks in the stone, tenacious in their bloom. It reminds him of you.

He wonders if you’re resting well, if you’d stayed in bed like you promised. 

“You got a girlfriend back home?”

He flinches at the sudden address, and he turns to see the man next to him—he can’t remember his name—smirk and nod at his bandana. He’d been thumbing at it unconsciously, the only source of comfort in this dark, stinking place.

“I know a woman’s work when I see one,” the man chuckles.

Kinich wonders if he should mention that he actually taught you how to weave, then decides against it—he doesn’t really care what this man thinks anyway. Somehow, he doesn’t feel an urge to discuss your existence with strangers.

“No, I don’t,” he replies quietly instead, and it’s the truth. There’s no title between you two, nothing to define the course of your relationship—in fact, the closest thing would be something informal, like “roommate”. The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

The older man observes the way Kinich gnaws at his lip, bothered, before offering a comforting pat on the back. It’s a bit friendlier than Kinich is used to, but he supposes it comes with the wisdom of age—somehow, the act reminds him of Elder Leik.

“Not a girlfriend, then, but something, right?”

Something feels wrong to say—too vague, too uninvolved. When he imagines the pulsing in his chest, it’s your hands cupping his heartbeat, holding the very core of him. 

Everything would likely be a more proper term.

His teeth grit, flashing in the dark.

“Sure, something like that.”

“You should tell her, you know,” the man sighs, leaning back against the wall. Kinich wonders how the man is practically reading his mind. “At least before you get old like me.”

Kinich knows he’s a bit more mature than other people his age, a result of his upbringing. And usually, it can be an advantage—he’s independent and self-sufficient, unlike most others. But it’s times like these that he wishes he would’ve lived a normal life, going to school and playing until dusk fell. Social skills have never been his strong suit, and he often finds himself saying the wrong things.

He can’t afford to do the wrong thing anymore when it comes to you.

It’s always been entirely unintentional, but these days, he can’t seem to do anything but hurt and disappoint you. And now you’re at home, alone, while he goes out and risks his life. Briefly, he ponders what would happen if he never made it home.

Would you cry? Would you move on?

Would you find someone else?

It’s hard for him to imagine a version of himself that doesn’t have you by his side. 

He wants to keep it that way. 

He really, really likes your smile.

Kinich finally turns to face the man next to him, jaw clenched with determination. The man smirks, seemingly expecting that reaction.

“Got somethin’ to say, kid?” he asks, raising a brow.

Kinich nods, staring down at his hands. 

“After this,” he affirms, more to himself than anyone else. “After this, I’ll tell her.”

/

And, as always, Kinich finds himself alone. 

He can’t exactly say what had happened to the others—then again, he hadn’t tried to look. Monsters seemed to leap at him from every turn, and he couldn’t focus on much more than his own survival. 

On his way back out of this place, he’s sure he’ll come across their bodies one way or another. He’ll try to give them a half-proper burial, he thinks. 

The ruins descended far further than he had expected—a pulsing warmth seems to emanate from this place, layering sweat over his forehead. A heady scent of smoke lies thick in the air, rising toward the unseen ceiling. Kinich has to be careful with his steps—the place is so weathered and worn, he fears that the floor might give out beneath him.

He isn’t sure what he expected to see at the bottom. Treasure doesn’t usually appear in cartoonish chests filled with shining gold coin, after all. But when he inspects the ruins around him, all he finds are pale stone walls with a single pedestal in the center.

Cautiously, he approaches, eyes sweeping for danger. If the treasure is something truly valuable, it wouldn’t be out of the question for it to be booby trapped in one way or another. But he walks up, each step light and gentle, and nothing happens.

He sheathes his sword, peering down at the treasure laying over the smooth stone. 

It’s a wristband, thick and engraved with a language he can’t understand.

The style of it is different than most he’s seen—somehow, it looks a bit more modern. But even historical fashion items don’t tend to sell for too much, he thinks in disappointment. 

Essentially, he’d wasted his time coming down here.

He picks up the wristband, inspecting the design of it. Then, tentatively, he slides it on.

A burst of heat cracks through the air.

“Who dares disturb the Dragonlord K’uhul Ajaw?! Speak now, mortal, or I’ll pound your puny face in!”

A tiny, yellow, pixelated dragon bursts forth, and Kinich’s jaw just about drops. 

Treasure comes in many forms, of this he is sure, but this seems to be more of a burden than anything.

It—no, K’uhul Ajaw—whirls on him in apparent rage. Kinich can’t really tell with the ridiculous sunglasses sitting on his face.

“Hey, I’m talking to you! Is there a brain in that puny head of yours, or are you just deaf?”

Kinich sighs. Whoever had started this whole rumor must be having a great laugh at his expense.

“I can hear you,” he replies monotonously. “I just don’t particularly want to talk to you.”

Ajaw grows angrier. Kinich wonders if it’s just his default state.

“Then why did you come all the way down here? Are you stupid?!”

“Well, I was told there was some sort of powerful artifact here,” Kinich admits. He glances toward the ceiling, gauging how long it’ll take him to climb out of this place. “But it seems that they lied.”

Ajaw reddens in rage. “I’ll have you know that I am that artifact! My awesome power is beyond anything your mortal mind could possibly hope to comprehend!”

Kinich thinks it’s obvious why this dragon would’ve gotten locked in these ruins for so long—his personality is loathsome. Whoever sealed Ajaw likely had only done it to rid themselves of the grating sound of his voice.

Still, he can sense the deep thrum of potential within him. He’s likely not lying about having incomprehensible power.

Ajaw fixes Kinich with what he can only receive as a judgmental stare. 

“Why did you come all the way down here anyway? Are you looking for revenge? Trying to topple a nation?”

Ajaw proceeds to list a series of awful atrocities—Kinich zones out halfway through the war crimes. He’d come down here for Mora, but mostly, he’d come down here for you.

He thinks of your smile, and a pink flush washes over his face.

“I have someone I want to protect.”

It’s silent for a moment as Ajaw absorbs the implications of his explanation and the blush on Kinich’s face. Then, he laughs, a shrill sound like nails on a chalkboard.

“You come all the way down here seeking power, all to protect some puny, peasant, mortal girl—”

It’s quite an assumption, not that he’s necessarily wrong. Kinich’s jaw tightens.

“—don’t speak about her.”

A sobering chill crackles in the air, filling the cracks in the ruined stone and sinking onto his shoulders. Ajaw seems to feel it too—he hesitates at the pressure, suddenly devoid of his earlier haughtiness.

“...I see,” is all he replies, calculated.

Ajaw floats languidly towards Kinich, circling him. “Well, I’ll admit, I can sense something different about you. So, luckily for you, I’m willing to make a deal with you.”

The tone of his voice is laced with foreboding. Kinich crosses his arms, cautious.

“What kind of deal?”

Ajaw chuckles—the sound echoes hauntingly, running a chill down Kinich’s spine.

“Don’t be so scared,” he barks. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little dying.”

[tvseries-writings]

Hiiii I loved all of your wandanat fics and was wondering if you could possibly do a agathario where the reader has a panic attack please!?

The Road is cursed

Agathario x reader

TW: past suicidal attempt, Death, panic attack, nightmares.

You knew the Witches Road would be hard, you knew it since your wife, whom you had not seen since the death of your child, had come knocking on your door with a strange teenager and three other witches you did not know.

You knew, of course you knew, the road had always been known as a suicide for all witches but you accepted anyway; maybe because of those violet and gray eyes you love so much despite everything, despite the death of Nicky, of your Nicky

"Y/n...y/n, wake up!"

You jerk awake, sweat running down your back causing the blouse you are wearing to stick to you. The cold face of Nicky, your baby, has been haunting you for two centuries, and you know you are not the only one to have nightmares about it.

Agatha's hands run down your back, over your face, through your hair...Her lips move but you cannot actively focus on what she is saying. Rio is just behind her; she has always been good at hiding her feelings but you can still see the concern in the deep lakes of her eyes.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. It was just a nightmare...just a nightmare"

You pull away from her touch and their worried glances. Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest, your hands are shaking, and your breathing is only quickening.

"You should breathe" Rio says, moving away from the tree he was leaning against and stopping twirling the knife blade against his own index finger.

"You're not helping, Rio"

Agatha whispers angrily as she leans toward you, trying to get closer but pulling away as soon as she tries.

"Y/n, honey, you need to breathe okay?" "That's what I just said"

Rio says, her smirk faltering though as she sees that her strange humor is not making you laugh, not this time.

The purple witch approaches, her cold fingers encircling your wrist. Despite her touch, you cannot shake the image of your lifeless child and her cold, motionless body in your arms. You pull away from her touch and give them your back, their gazes burning into your back as you look up at the haunted sky above your heads.

"Y/n, honey, what did you dream?"

"You know what I dreamed, Aggie"

You whisper, your voice cracking and your chest becoming heavy again.

"I visit him...often. He always asks me about his moms, his other two moms...I miss him every single moment and there is not a day when I don't hate myself for destroying our family."

Rio whispers, you can hear her voice tremble as she says it. You know how much it cost her to take your son's soul, you remember the suppressed tears and the cries Agatha and Rio hurled at each other

that night.

"It's been 100 years and I still miss him like air, I-"

Your breath becomes a gasp as your lungs don't seem to want to cooperate.

"Is he okay? He-"

Agatha stops midway, watching you carefully and chasing back the worry about your son for a few moments.

The purple witch approaches once more, rests two fingers under your minus and lifts it up, forcing you to look her in the eye.

"Y/n, hey...you need to breathe"

"Y/n I can't Aggie, y/n I can't...why can't I see him? I-"

Your chest rises and falls quickly; your heart beats fiercely as a

familiar ache, characteristic of the last decades of your existence, begins to radiate down your chest.

"Mi amor, you can see ghosts, and Nicky is not a ghost; he has moved on. I made sure he did

" "I miss him so much, mi vida. Please take me to him, please!"

You sob, the dream has shaken you deeply, and your child's face is burned into your mind.

The Witches Road is playing with you and is winning.

Agatha remains silent, watching the interaction between you and his ex-wife from afar, looking at the loves of her life and feeling inside that they are hiding something from her...that you are hiding something from her.

"Y-you shouldn't have saved me that night. You shouldn't have!"

Your sobs become desperate, your cries tearing through the silence of the night as the air makes its way, with difficulty, inside your lungs.

"I had to mi amor, I couldn't lose you too"

The Green Witch kisses your forehead, letting her arms wrap tightly around you.

Ironic to see Death in love with two mortals, one a necromancer to boot.

That was exactly how you had met Rio, through your powers. You were trying to resurrect a cat when a sensuous woman had knocked on your door with a Dagger in her hand and a sadistic smile that you had immediately fallen in love with. At the time you could hardly have imagined that Death would show up at your little cabin in the woods for a little resurrection ritual. And then...well, then you had met Agatha.

"What the hell is she talking about, y/n?"

Agatha seeks your gaze but you ignore her, watching the mushy ground beneath your feet.

Confusion and fear invade your aura as you watch your ex-wife anxiously.

Death takes a deep breath, places the blade back in its sheath and approaches the witch.

"Ten years after Nicky's death, she...tried to trade her life for her own but I

stopped her."

You close your eyes, the weight and despair of that night burning in your mind like a

newly lit fire. You remember the spell, the burning in your chest and the candles, in a circle, around you.

A life for a life, it was simple basic necromancy...but magic is never simple.

It had to be the soul of someone who loved Nicky only as a mother would and who

would spend eternity burning in the flames of hell to bring him back to life. You had accepted that fate but Rio had intervened just in time, breaking the spell and

controlling you like a hawk for the next thirty-five years only to disappear again.

"Why the hell you didn't tell me? HOW COULD YOU HAVE KEPT IT FROM ME, RIO!!! I could have stayed by her side, I could have-"

"I tried to tell you but every time you chased me away! You were too angry with me, Agatha!"

The two women in your life keep yelling at each other as if you were not there, accusing each other again and again, just like the night Nicky died.

"STOP!"

You shout so loudly that your voice affievolves soon after and an unpleasant tingling radiates along your vocal cords.

"Stop fighting, stop...stop."

"Why didn't you come to me? I could have given my soul in exchange for Nicky's, you don't deserve to burn in hell, I-"

"I couldn't lose you too, Agatha. Neither Rio nor I could. I just wanted to bring our baby home-"

"Not at the cost of your life, you idiot!"

Agatha growls, frustrated at the idea that you can't conceive that even the thought of losing you would kill them for good.

"Yes it would, damn it! I should have saved him, I would have-"

A sob shakes your chest as your legs give out and you fall to the damp ground. Rio supports you and holds you close, whispering phrases in Spanish as the purple witch soon follows suit. Unconsciously, you begin to scratch your wrists, your scars reddening before the two

witches can stop you, and only then does the purple witch notice the scars that centuries before were not present on your otherwise perfect skin.

"Oh doll..."

Agatha whispers, her hands overlapping yours, her fingertips caressing your

scars as silent tears slide down her cheeks. Rio leaves a kiss in her hair before kneeling in front of you and locking your wrists together, preventing you from hurting yourself by scratching.

Sobs violently shake your body, so violently that Rio is forced to hold you tightly in her arms to keep you from hurting. Soon, your breathing becomes so fast, so rapid and warbling that oxygen no longer reaches your

brain quickly and your body collapses in their arms.

"Y/N!"

Agatha screams, shaking you by the shoulders as Rio gently lays you down on the ground.

"Rio don't take her away from me, please, please don't take mi vida away from me. Por favor, por favor mi amor, por favor."

"Shh, shhh, it's okay. I won't take her away from you Aggie, it's not her time yet, she's fine, she's fine mi amor."

Death cradles her wife in his arms while cradling your head in her cold lap until, after interminable minutes, you seem to regain consciousness.

"Welcome back mi vida,"

Rio whispers, leaving a kiss on your forehead before letting the purple witch do the same.

"The road is taking its toll on us, doll"

Agatha presses her forehead against yours, her hands running over your face, caressing your neck and pausing over your heart, listening intently for your chest to rise and fall rhythmically.

"Damn it, you're going to make me lose my immortality if you keep scaring me like this," she whispers, her worried gaze ill-concealed by the defensive attitude that is characteristic of her person.

You sigh, detach yourself a few inches from them, and place your hands on the wet, muddy ground beneath you to sit up.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't ready for the Road but I wanted to come anyway ... when you knocked on my door, I ... I don't know, I went back to when we were in the cabin, in our bed, and Nicky was snuggling between the three of us all night."

"I miss him like air, since I had to take him away...I can't help thinking about him. But I cannot die, though I have tried"

A sad laugh leaves Death's lips and both you and Agatha hold your beloved in your arms. You say nothing to her; it would be hypocritical of you to do so.

You tried countless times to take your own life and Agatha, well, she had thought about it more than once.

"I forgive you Rio, I forgive you my love."

The purple witch kisses Death's lips, their tongues entwining as the passion of centuries spills over in a single, single instant of time. They pull apart only for lack of breath.

"I've missed you so much...Goddess, I've missed you so much I-"

Your voice freezes, you cannot put into words how much their distance has cost you and you are certain that they have felt what you have felt.

A second later, your hands are sliding down the purple witch's back, your two fingers unclasping her bra as her neck is assaulted by your passionate bites and loving kisses. Agatha moans, her fingers clawing at your hair as your lips collide and tongues dance for dominance; her other hand tightens, however, around Rio's right breast as the latter slips a hand between your legs, causing you to moan.

A minute later, you are lying, naked, on the mud of the Witches Road and making love as you haven't in ages.

Needless to say, when Billy sees you, he screams and covers his eyes, running away as eagerly as a 12-year-old.

Thanks for reading! It’s been a while, uh? Merry Christmas people! (And Have a great day!)

Support me on ko-fi

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[with-my-calamitous-love]

last 5 years running out my mouth

katsuki bakugou x reader

one night, amongst the crowds and the music, katsuki wonders why he’s looking for you- he knows you don’t go to parties, anymore. themes of (katsuki’s) depression and substance usage

i love you 5sos nation 🪐 inspired by you dont go to parties

5 am.

katsuki’s clinging to his couch. everyone on his contact list, and everyone on their contact lists and so forth, stood in his house. red, drunken eyes dart around, as if looking for someone. though he knows its futile. you’re not there. at least, not anymore.

he groans, sitting up. he needs to vomit. this isn’t a good look for a new, fresh-faced hero. he pushes through the crowds, starting to kick people out. he didn’t care where they went, just not here.

he knocked over a vase. he’s probably offended a bunch of people. he’s trying to make it to a place in the apartment that doesn’t reek of alcohol and dead dreams- an ambitious attempt, to put it nicely.

he groans, bumping into someone. he grows even more frustrated when he sees who it is.

“katsuki, you’ve gotta sit down, man.” kirishima says, directing his friend to the bedroom. kirishima is a party goer, but lately, he knows to stay sober enough to keep things in check. someone had to be bakugou’s jailor.

katsuki doesn’t protest, sitting down while the redhead ushers everyone out of the house. he sighs, returning to the bedroom, seeing bakugou sitting there, his head in his hands.

“fuck… i don’t know.” he pinches the bridge of his nose. he doesn’t curse out of anger or hatred; he curses out of sadness. katsuki sits there, like theres vultures spinning around him, waiting for their time to strike.

what a tragedy.

bakugou opens his mouth to say something, but the overwhelming urge to vomit takes over. kirishima walks over, pushing him onto the bed and making sure he lays on his side. he stares, heartbroken, wondering where it all went wrong.

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you prayed he’d just talk to you, about his fears and about his doubts. you wish he’d be honest about his panic attacks, especially after the war. he’d wake up in a cold sweat, remembering the fighting, remembering the tears. but some invisible barricade caged his feelings inside his heart. this had to be his battle.

he’s still there in the darkness, feeling like a heartless monster. he’s starting to come undone, the sadness in his bones seeping into the security and confidence once embedded in him. maybe he isn’t who he set out to be in the first place.

but he’s not gonna let you know that.

“told you i’m find, moron.” he says, spooning you. he hopes you don’t notice how glossy his red eyes are, but you do.

“katsuki, please-“

“i’m fine.”

you bite your lip. if you can’t get him to open up, maybe you can take his mind off of it. a party never hurt anybody, right?

“…denki’s throwing this get-together tomorrow night.” you say, proposing the idea to him. “its a reunion for our class. we should go. it’ll get your mind off of… whatever it is.”

he scoffs, musing that he’s too good for parties. “yeah, a bunch of lightweight assholes i have to drive home? no thanks.”

“oh c’mon, it’ll be fun.” you pout.

it’ll be fun, and because you’re desperate to see a smile on his face again, even if its from laughing at his friends drunken antics. anything that’ll have even a semblance of your katsuki back.

“i’ll think about it.” he can’t say no to that face.

and that was the first time you ever saw katsuki drink.

he can handle his alcohol well, actually. he keeps you close by him, starting with one shot, and then another, and then kissing your neck in front of all your friends while his bitter breath tickles your skin.

he was laughing, enjoying himself. he was surrounded by people who diminished his doubts. a night of partying and fun did him some good.

what you didn’t anticipate, however, was how often he was attending them now.

the fame followed him everywhere. katsuki would end up in different celebrities’s basements, with close friends or even strangers. at first, you went with him. but it were as if the alcohol formed oceans between you two, separating you from katsuki.

he’s spiralling and you can see it. he’d chase down all that pain with shots, and all that trauma with drunken dares and released inhibitions. at first, you went with him to have fun. then, you went with him to make sure he didn’t take his foot off the breaks. now, you couldn’t bring yourself to go at all.

“katsuki, you need to stop.” you say, following one of his nasty hangovers.

he groans, clutching his temples. “don’t… god, you’re making my head spin, [y/n].”

“i’m making your head spin?” you scoff. “no, thats because you were out till 3 last night.”

“it was denki’s birthday.” he tries to excuse himself.

“no, it was sero’s, and they told me you were shitfaced for most of it!” you raise your voice, tears brimming.

his eyes widen, seeing how upset you are. he knows its irresponsible, but he also knows being drunk was a way to feel something, anything other than sad. given the choice between drowning in whiskey and drowning in tears, he chose the one that was capable of poisoning him.

“please.” you plead. “stop with the parties, with the drinking. its hurting you!”

“i have it under control!”

“you don’t!”

he stands up, his hangover more evident than ever. “god fucking damnit, [y/n]. if all you’re gonna do is bitch and moan like a fucking extra, just go!”

exactly 2 seconds in, katsuki realized what he said. but he’s too late.

theres a palpable silence in the air, followed by the sniffling crinkle of your nose as the tears cascade down.

“[y/n], babe, baby, i’m sorry. fuck, i-“

you slap him, cutting him off. his head whips to the side, just taking it. he wants to argue back, but he knows he deserved that.

you pack up your things, and he doesn’t have it in him to try and stop you. he begs in his mind for you to stay. secretly, you’re begging that he’ll beg.

but he doesn’t. and you leave.

subsequently, katsuki’s partying habit goes from controlled to dangerous.

he’s never not drunk, never not out doing something with people he doesn’t know. he’s always staying just a bit too late, but always manages to kick himself out in time to get to work. he’s always irritable, in part to the hangovers but largely in part to your absence.

people are starting to catch on. maybe not the fans, who adore him and his looks no matter what, but his colleagues have noticed a shift. the no-bullshit, toughed out dynamight sunk somewhere beneath his rising blood-alcohol levels.

still, he looks for you. he wonders if you’re still on the couch, singing karaoke with your friends, belting and humming along to the tunes. he thinks you might be in the kitchen, making yourself a drink and calling an uber in advance. or maybe you’re in the washroom, overstimulated, your anxiety taking over. anxiety he knows all too well. the anxiety he tried to hide beneath parties.

some nights, he’ll drunkenly stumble into the washroom, whether its his own or someone else’s. he’ll wonder if you’re there, sitting on the sink, ready to leave with him to your shared home.

but its another lonely night.

you don’t go to parties anymore.

because you’ve stayed at home, crying over photos, wearing his hoodies. everything you’ve learned about katsuki during your split had been against your will. there was silence from him, but the whispers of news and gossip tabloids could scream. you’re mad, yes, but you also pray for his safety.

selfishly so, you hope he still looks for you at those parties. at least there, he cares a little. maybe even more than you realize.

right now, he’s sitting on the couch with kirishima, denki, and sero. though all of them have had a bit to drink, katsuki is undoubtedly the worst of them all. he’s bitching about you, about missing you, about how you left him.

“she just.. got up and fucking left.” he slurs, leaning his head back. the mood is killed, and no one really has the energy to argue. except maybe for denki, who points out the obvious.

“you told her to leave. and she had a good reason for bringing it up to you, dude.” denki says. “can’t blame her for walking out on you.”

silence. the calm before the storm.

exactly 5 seconds later, katsuki is positively losing his shit, yelling at denki who just sits there, dumbfounded. kirishima is holding his friend back while sero attempts to position himself between the two. its one thing to be yelled at. but being yelled at by katsuki bakugou? thats something else.

“i don’t know what to do, man.” sero says, looking at eijirou for answers. the redhead honestly isn’t sure either. one thought crosses his mind, but he’s worried.

“get him to sit down.” eijirou says. “i’m calling [y/n].”

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“hello?” you say into the receiver. theres a pit in your stomach hearing ejirou’s voice, knowing he wouldn’t call you if it wasn’t an emergency.

“hey [y/n], listen… katsuki’s drunk, and he’s yelling at denki… i’m so sorry, but… you think you can come get him?”

god, its exhausting being a good person sometimes.

“yeah, i’ll be right there.” you huff, grabbing your car keys. eijirou thanks you, knowing you might be the one thing that calms him down right now.

all 3 boys help get him into your car. your heart clenches, seeing just how badly he’s been doing. he’s sick, and he’s tired. his eyes are swollen from crying, you know it.

eijirou leaves you with a long hug, arms embracing you. “take care.” he says. “call me if he acts up. he might need someone to kick his ass.”

you chuckle, for what feels like the first time in forever. “yeah, he could.”

when you re-enter the car, you don’t start it right away. you look over at katsuki in the passenger seat. maybe he’s starting to sober up, or he’s drunk enough where he’s starting to be honest.

“i’m so fuckin’ sorry, babe.” he says. you just nod, eyes welling up with tears, words failing you.

he laughs bitterly, head leaning your way. “i’m a mess, [y/n]. like, a real mess. doctor told me i have depression. i didn’t tell you ‘cause i didn’t wanna look weak. pathetic, right? i feel pretty weak right now.”

you look over at him, already wanting to cry all over again. you should have seen the signs. right now, they are so glaringly obvious- the detachment, the avoidance, the drinking….

“and i miss you more than anything.” he says. “i wish i just… talked to you more. even if its your shitty knock-knock jokes.”

you’re crying, but you do scoff a little, holding his hand. “my knock-knock jokes are not stupid.”

“knock knock.” he says.

“who’s there?”

“i still love you. and thats the worst part about all these damn parties… you weren’t there. i don’t care about parties if you’re not there.”

that might have been the most sober thing he’s said all night.

you don’t say anything, not ready to forgive. but you do place a kiss to his cheek before driving him home.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

a few days later, katsuki shows up to your house at 9 o’clock sharp- a new record considering the recent events. he called in advance, but your heart still skips a little when you open the door and motion for him to enter.

the bags under his eyes have reduced. he’s nor slurring his words, and he’s not snapping at all. he seems… better.

“i uh… brought you coffee.” he says, awkwardly handing you the cup. “i got you some sugar and creamer, cause i didn’t know how you like it.” he shoves his hands into his pocket and takes out the packets.

“katsuki, i have that all here.” you almost laugh at his nervousness. its clear that this has taken a hold on him. as he sobers, he feels the need to rebuild himself again.

“right, sorry, smartass.” he says, he sounds like an asshole, but its a nickname you’ve both grown used to.

physically, he seems like he’s finally gotten some rest. on the inside, however, you can see the turmoil in his eyes. he had spent weeks drunk on distractions. now, he’s facing all the things he’s fucked up.

you think back to what he said in the car. about his diagnosis, about his struggles. you wonder just how long he’s been feeling that tv static in his head, how long he’s been bullying himself. you wonder how strong his demons are, how they’ve got hands and how he was struggling to fight them.

it breaks your heart.

“i… i know what i told you the other night.” he huffs, hands in his pockets. “i remember that much.”

“…why didn’t you say anything?” you dare to utter, wanting to see his pain and wanting to shield him from it.

he pauses, finding the right words. “…i don’t know. i’m a hero, i’m the god damn best. i didn’t wanna look weak.”

“depression isn’t a weakness, kats.” you remind him, that familiar nickname rolling off of your tongue in a way that makes his heart ache. “especially after everything you’ve been through.”

he knows what you mean. the relentless training, the fights, all the times he thought he was going to die. honestly, he didn’t think he’d make it this far. everyday could have been his last.

“it just… hurts.” he admits, wincing at the vulnerability in his tone. “so damn much… like… i don’t know. like i’m trapped.”

his voice cracks at that last part.

“i don’t know what to do. how to deal with this. i just know i’m sick of parties. i’m sick of being away from you. i-“

you cut him off with a hug there, enough to get his eyes misty. he hugs you back instantly, fitting in with you like a puzzle piece. burying his face in your neck, he inhales and lets himself get lost in you.

“you don’t have to know what to do.” you say, stroking his back. “as long as you’re done hurting yourself. i’m here, you asshole.”

you shed a few tears as well as katsuki sobs that he’s sorry. but as you hold him, he admits to himself that vulnerability didn’t kill him- it just brought him closer to you. after days of searching for you at parties, during lonely nights, you’ve got him again.

and he’s never letting you go.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can we have more of domestic Jason but now with him needy of touch? 🥹

the reader got out of bed early to go drink water and he wakes up from a nightmare needing her and he thinks she left him and he starts crying in panic, but then she appears and calm him down with kisses, words of affirmation and lots of love.

Thank u! I love ur writing btw!!

I don’t know if this is what you have in mind, the ending might be a little half-assed but I was half asleep whilst making this 🦦also thank you for enjoying my writing! It really means a lot!

Your side of the bed had barely gone cold which indicated that it hadn’t been long ago that you had left but it was the reason why you’ve left that haunted Jason, who was fresh out of a nightmare and drenched in his own sweat and finding difficulty in calming his uneven breaths.

He had meant to reach out to you for comfort.

Only to be greeted by air just as palm of his hand then hit the lukewarm mattress below.

It was enough to break Jason’s resolve as his innate belief that everyone he ever cared for was destined to leave him- especially you- began to worsen with every passing second the longer Jason allowed himself to be poisoned by the possibilities that you were gone. Disappeared. Or worse yet; taken.

‘Y/n?’ He calls out softly.

‘Baby?’ He tries again, a little louder this time, not having realised that his eyes had started to tear up and blur his vision of his dark room, or that a lump in his throat had started to form, making it difficult for him to swallow down his overwhelming anxiety.

‘Don’t leave me here…please don’t leave me all lone.’ Jason pleads with the darkness of his room as though that would be enough to give you back to him. ‘Haven’t I done that enough?’ He then asks as he clenched the bedsheets between his powerful hands, trying to bound himself to something to combat his discomfort in being left alone with his mind for too long. ‘Being left alone when I was proven too difficult to save? Too far gone to be helped? Am I just that broken to be given just a sliver of happiness?’ He cries out at he pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes as he chocked back his own sobs.

Despite building himself a strong body that could endure punishment, the pain of that of an broken heart had been so excruciating it had Jason keeling over in bed, wanting nothing more then to tear it out of his chest as though it burned him; Or was it in fact just phantom pains from a heart that had been hollowed out by the hands of another.

The door to the room opened and golden light flooded in, eradicating the darkness that threatened to swallow him whole. ‘Jason?’ Your voice called out and Jason never felt more alive than he did in hearing you say his name in that angelic voice of yours, so much so that he didn’t notice that he had begun to cry harder but out of relief this time. ‘I thought- I thought you left. I couldn’t feel you. I tried reaching for you but you weren’t there.’ He began to say but was cut off when you brought him tightly into your arms.

‘Im sorry that I kept you waiting my beautiful boy.’ You cooed as your fingers reached up to comb through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp now and then to assure him of your presence. Jason didn’t hesitate to bring you into his lap as he buried his head deep into your shoulder, wiping his tears against your sleep shirt, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care when he was holding onto you as though you were bound to disappear once he lets go. ‘Where did you go?’ He asks. ‘I got a little thirsty and so I went to get a drink of water.’ You explained, kissing him anywhere that was made available to you.

‘You’ve been strong for a long, long time and I’ve never been more prouder of you for holding out as long as you have with everything you’ve been through, it never fails to amaze me how resilient you are Jaybirdie.’ You felt his breathing even out as he began to lean back into the bed, still holding onto you. ‘You’re truly an incredible man for being able to stand on your own two feet and still find it within yourself to fight.’ You softly told him as you continued to hold him in your arms as he squeezed your waist in response. ‘I’m so unbelievably lucky to have someone like you in my life and I will do everything in my power to make you believe that.’ You promised him.

‘Even if it’s impossible and might take forever.’ Jason says, starting to feel the lull of sleep as it began to weigh heavily on his eyelids.

You smile softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. ‘Even if it takes an eternity I would still find a way to prove just how beautiful you are.’ You replied, nuzzling into him as his bodily warmth began to ease you into a sense of security. ‘You are the most beautiful man I have ever met Jason Todd.’ You moved to look him in the eyes. ‘A butterfly may not be able to see the colour of their wings but that doesn’t retract the fact that they’re undeniably beautiful.’ You added as you pressed a couple of kissed to his forehead. ‘Now gets some sleep my beautiful boy, I’ll be here when you wake up.’

‘You promise?’ Jason asked, biting back a yawn.

‘I’d be stupid to break a promise I made to you.’ You responded, thinking all was said and done when Jason brought a hand up to your face, showing you his outstretched pinky. ‘Pinky promise me that you’ll be here with me when I wake up.’ He says and you smile softly at the inherent innocence of that of a pinkie promise but still went ahead and linked your pinky with his, pressing a kiss to his calloused and scarred hand with reverence before resting it on his chest. ‘I pinky promise that I’ll be here when you wake up. Was that good?’

‘We’ll see in the morning when I get to wake up to you chipmunk.’ Jason replied, holding you more against his chest and fell asleep but you weren’t complying as you soon followed him into dreamland, your pinkies still linked to one another as a reminder of your promise.

[love-toxin]

THANK U. gush i absolutely will! and ill probably have to rewatch it now. but oh my god. the way eric would probably not want to have sex for the longest time even after u eventually get together (which would take a LONG TIME TOO!) patience is fr key. like probably out of guilt and SHAME but also cause he’s a gentleman. blushes cutely……. like i hadn’t even thought about that because hes an actual Good person who knows that love/relationships is about more than fucking but….. 🫣🫣 damn. need him fr

oh he'd be SO conflicted about it mrrrrrrghhh!!!! im going OFF-

love the thought of it eating him up inside. it takes so long for him to even speak to you, longer to get to know you, and when you fall for him like he has for you it suddenly feels like he's getting in too deep. it's not that he realized he doesn't love you because he does, he's got it bad for you, but he feels so guilty about even thinking of you in that light. you have an innocence about you that he's long lost and to imagine ripping that away from you, regardless of whether you're virginal or not, just makes him sick to his stomach. and he doesn't want to push you. god, that's the last thing he would ever want to do.

truthfully, he figured that since his body is immortal now, he wouldn't get those urges that he'd get as a mortal. he doesn't need to eat, or drink, or sleep, so it stands to reason that he wouldn't feel the need for sex either. it almost guts him when he realizes he does. when you brush against him or purse your lips or just say something a little off-colour, and he feels a tightening in his groin and a flush up his neck. he practically speeds out of your house in a panic the first time he feels it because he doesn't know what to do about it--how he's supposed to act around you when you don't have that kind of relationship yet. acknowledge it, ignore it, repress it, there's plenty of options but no real solutions.

what if he hurts you? what if you feel guilted into doing things with him, just because of his circumstances? just because you care for him so much? or what if he hurts you physically, because he still doesn't have the perfect grasp on his own, inhuman strength?

but then, when the time comes where you bring it up, Eric sinks down to his knees to look up at you. those brown eyes just radiate warmth, love, and he gently ghosts his palms over your hips with the most adoring "I love you" you've ever heard off his lips. if you want it, he wants you to direct it--you don't have to take control, but you get to decide each and every movement he makes. when he touches you, even for a fleeting moment, you have all the power.

Eric starts off slow. baby steps. first it's a few touches to your neck, kisses that feel hungry as he mouths at the delicate skin, but only faintly graze his teeth over a thin barrier. he squeezes your thigh one day as you're driving and retracts his hand almost instantly, he thinks he grabbed too hard--but you slowly pull his fingers back to rest there and his worries are soothed at once, though his heart jumps up into his throat. although progress is steady he still has flashbacks and night terrors sometimes, and they're almost always so vivid he wakes up in a cold sweat or has to stop in his tracks and just breathe. the people who hurt Shelly are dead. he's here to protect you now. you're safe. nothing bad is going to happen to you. he has to repeat that mantra to himself to calm himself down, and sometimes you have to come and remind him as you hold his hand and hug his head to your chest.

it isn't until one night, when you've been nosing his cheek and kissing him more than usual, that Eric starts touching you back. normally he would lay back and enjoy your attention because it's a sort of ritual for you before bed, but this time he just feels it. it's time. he can do it. as he climbs over you you reassure him that if anything happens--if you change your mind, or if he realizes he's not actually ready--you can stop, no questions asked, and just cuddle. but he can sense in the tightness of his body that it really is time, and he really is ready for this. he's neglected you for too long but he's recovering from the guilt of that, now it's just the thrum of excitement humming through his body as he strips yours down for the first time.

as strange as it is, he's happy that he doesn't see Shelly when he looks at you anymore. he used to see her face in flashes when he was close to you, and the shame had burned him alive for so long. she was his love and his everything, his bride that never was, and despite his growing feelings for you he'd struggled not to see her in everything you did. it wasn't fair to you and it was part of the reason he stayed in the shadows for so long, keeping an eye on you but not getting close. it's why he planned to never speak to you in person and simply watch over you like a shadow, from the shadows, where he belonged. it was only once he'd seen your personality shine through over the months that his view of you started to separate, and now after long conversations and your endless patience he can fully put his heart into you without constantly thinking of Shelly in the back of his mind. he recalls when you brought him to her grave with flowers, your smile so wide and sweet when you asked him questions about her, wanting to keep her memory alive for him--and it drives him down between your legs, those pent-up feelings lashing out with his tongue as he finally brings himself to indulge.

you're just so beautiful, so good to him, so....alive. your kindness may be a weakness but it fills him with strength, it makes him crave you in a way that has your hips rising off the bed and your thighs squeezing his ears, muffling out all sound except your moans and the wet shlick of his tongue inside you. your fingers threading through his hair drives him wild. if his mouth wasn't full he'd plead with you to pull it. but you don't have to have everything lined up right now, it's just about exploring--although he'll have a lot more of your body mapped out than you will of his, because he can't help it, you just taste so good. he may not need to be satiated in body anymore, but something in your arousal feeds him as if it's the fount of his power itself. like he was drinking from the fountain of youth, hidden all this time between your angelic legs.

he won't even get into penetration tonight; you'll be too exhausted once he's finished the banquet between your hips, and he'll barely know his own name aside from you screaming it. neither of you are really concerned with it though, because this is your love, and nobody else's. he's almost too sensitive to touch when he crawls up beside you and you reach down, fingertips lightly grazing his stomach until you brush against him and he hisses through his teeth. his instinct is to draw your hand away but he hides his face in your neck when you grip him, clutching on to you for dear life to keep from squirming away from the attention. he wants it. he just can't look you in the eyes while he takes it, because he knows it's been so long and you smell so good that he'll bust before he even knows it's happening.

but it's easy to tell where he's at by the twitches in your palm, the little jets of clear liquid that startle you as they splash on your hand. he seems to breathe with every pulse of his cock as it spasms for dear life, aching for your fingers that stroke him with such effortless adoration. his hold on you grows harder and firmer the more you give him that attention, and with an especially slick twist he's buckling, humping your grip with soft gasps, mumbling nonsense into your neck until he finally hits his stride and shoots his load all over your pretty belly.

it takes him awhile--a long, great while--to eventually work up the strength to lift his head and look. his work is messy and unprofessional, emblematic of a man barely held together by threads, and yet you look back at him with such sweetness he can't help feeling more fragile in your arms.

"I love you." you whisper into his ear, brushing a strand of hair from his sweaty forehead and tucking it behind. and for the first time, the first time in a very, very long time, Eric finally believes it.

[fangdokja]

He knows your favorite color, your childhood fears, and how you’ll look in a coffin.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! FBI Agent x Fem. Reader

♡ Oneshot. #1

♡ Word Count. 865

The fluorescent lights hum above, sterile and cold, casting sharp shadows on the concrete walls. You’ve been sitting there for hours, hands trembling in your lap, wrists raw from the biting metal of the handcuffs he fastened too tightly. The air reeks of copper and disinfectant. His scent cuts through it all—cologne muted by sweat and iron. It clings to your skin, branding you, suffocating you.

He watches you from the other side of the table, an impenetrable wall of muscle and authority. The tailored suit stretches taut over his shoulders, framing a chest that could crush you. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing forearms veined and powerful, the kind you could imagine snapping necks without hesitation. His jaw is tight, shadowed with stubble, lips curling around a cigarette he’s not smoking. He doesn’t need to. The threat lingers in his silence, in the way his narrowed cold eye studies you, dissecting every inch of your quivering form.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” His voice is gravel, low and cutting, a razor against your ears. “Every breath you take, every blink, every time you clench those pretty little thighs—I see it. You think you’re smart, playing coy, hiding behind your trembling innocence. But I’ve been watching you for years, sweets.”

The way he says it sends a chill ripping down your spine. Years? Your stomach lurches, bile rising in your throat, but you swallow it down. You try to meet his gaze, defiance flickering behind your panic, but the way his lips curve into a predator’s smirk makes you regret it instantly.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He leans forward, the heavy oak table groaning under the weight of his arms. His eye gleams, sharp and calculating, a hunter reveling in the sight of his trapped prey. “Unless you want me to punish you right here. Is that it? Do you want me to break you down where the cameras can see? I can. I will. But you’re mine, and you’re smarter than that, aren’t you?”

His knuckles crack as he flexes his fingers, the sound echoing in the empty room. He slides the recorder off the table with a flick of his wrist, the device shattering against the floor. His calm dissolves in the blink of an eye, replaced by something feral, volcanic, terrifying. He’s standing now, looming over you, the chair scraping the floor behind him like a warning.

You try to shrink back, the cuffs clinking as you press against the chair, but his hand darts out faster than you can react. His fingers tangle in your hair, jerking your head back, exposing your neck. His breath is hot, acidic, on your skin as he leans in, speaking directly into your ear.

“Do you even understand what you’ve done to me?” His voice trembles, not with vulnerability, but with the strain of holding himself back. “You’ve made me into this. This thing. This monster who wakes up every night imagining what your blood would taste like on my tongue. You don’t know what it’s like to feel this way, to be consumed by you, to want to rip apart anything that touches you just so I can glue you back together with my own hands.”

The hand not tangled in your hair drags down your arm, leaving a trail of bruises in its wake, his thumb pressing cruelly into your wrist. “These little hands…what were you thinking, trying to run with them? As if you could open a single locked door I didn’t personally design to keep you exactly where you belong.”

You’re sobbing now, silent tears streaming down your cheeks, but he doesn’t stop. He revels in your misery, his voice dipping into something dangerously soft, almost sweet. “Do you know how beautiful you are when you’re afraid? It’s fucking intoxicating. I don’t just want your body, sweets. I want your soul. I want to mold it, twist it, own it until the only thing left is me.”

He steps back suddenly, releasing you. You crumple forward, gasping for air like you’ve been drowning, but the reprieve is short-lived. His massive hand claps your shoulder, dragging you up to your feet like a ragdoll. His eye bores into yours, the weight of his presence suffocating, inescapable.

“You don’t have to like it, sweets,” he murmurs, voice a low, rumbling storm. “You just have to remember one thing: there’s no world where you exist without me. None. I’ll find you in every lifetime, in every corner of hell, and I’ll make you mine again. And again. And again.”

The lock clicks. You realize it isn’t the door—it’s the shackles he’s just fastened around your ankles. He tugs the chain once, hard enough to pull you off balance. His laughter fills the air as you stumble, the sound dark, amused, and utterly devoid of humanity.

“That’s better,” he muses, gripping your chin and tilting your face upward to meet his. “Now, why don’t you thank me, sweets? For saving you. For loving you. For making you perfect.”