#and its a really uneven burn

[the-kneesbees]

I got sunburned today but instead of going all the way across my cheeks it goes over my nose and then stops about an inch out so I look like a goof 😭

[ghostedbunnie]

trouble comes in fours; simon's ver

you are trying to scare off your ex and who better to send him running than a masked burly guy you've met at a bar and who bulldozed his way into your bed.

simon riley x fem!reader nsfw, minors do not interact!! warnings: dub-con (drinking), fingering (fem!receiving), car sex, exhibitionism, oral (fem!receiving), doggy style, creampie, manhandling

prologue // other versions (TBA)

Everything that happened after Johnny invited you over (which really meant he pulled you by the hand before you could back out) was a blur. You found yourself sandwiched between the masked guy and the pretty boy who introduced himself as Johnny, speaking with a sexy, thick Scottish accent. You couldn't help but steal glances at the masked guy. He said nothing, merely dipped his chin in greeting and met your gaze with an unnerving stare.

From this close-up, you noticed parts of his blonde buzzcut where he had nicked himself with the razor. He had done it himself without a mirror, resulting in some slightly uneven spots. On someone else, this might make them appear unkempt, but for this giant of a man, it seemed just right—almost endearing.

Everything about him screams danger. His thigh is pressed against yours, and you're already sweating because he and Johnny feel like walking furnaces. When you try to pull off your hoodie, the alcohol courses through you, and your head spins. As you finally manage to take the garment off, you accidentally grab onto something solid and hard for support. Too late, you realize that your hand has latched onto the blond's muscular thigh. You immediately let go, as if you’ve been burned by the touch.

You almost swear you hear him snort under his mask. When he finally speaks, your thighs clench. “I think it’s time for you to head home, doll. Come.”

It sounds as if he is talking to a dog, and you feel a sense of indignation rising within you. "I'm not a dog to give orders to. Besides, I don't even know your name."

He rolls his eyes at you. "Simon. That better now?"

"Not really. How do I know you're not some serial killer?" That gets some laughs out of the rest of the table.

He leans down closer to your ear, and you can almost sense the smirk in his voice when he says, "You don't. It adds to the thrill." It could be the alcohol coursing through your veins or the way his voice, with its rough British accent, sends shivers down your spine, but you find yourself agreeing. In some twisted way, it does add to it.

You discover that Simon doesn’t actually drink; the beverage you saw in front of him was just plain water. When he drives you home, he looks absolutely ridiculous in your small car, taking up all the space. He grumbles about your seat being so close to the steering wheel. When you ask him how the other guys are getting home, he simply replies, “They’ll walk,” along with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

He doesn't touch the radio, and you're too nervous to reach for it. You soon realize that he's not much of a conversationalist. He only answers your questions but never offers any additional information that would prompt you to ask more. After you've exhausted all possible conversation starters, all you can do is sit and look out the window. You swear you see him chuckle at your fidgeting whenever the silence becomes oppressive. As you finally arrive home, you can hardly wait to bolt out of the car. The tension is so thick that you need some fresh air to breathe properly, trying to push away thoughts of the consequences of your actions.

Before you can act on those thoughts, a heavy hand grips the back of your neck. "You think too loud. Stop it." A retort dies in your throat as you're pulled into him so quickly that your head spins. You barely register him removing his mask; you can’t even enjoy the fact that his face is finally visible. He latches onto you with the hunger of a man starved, kissing you deeply and urging you to stick out your tongue more.

Just by kissing him, you can feel the scar running through his lips. There's another scar, one that you noticed before, that runs through his eyebrow. When he finally pulls away for a moment, you see that his nose was definitely broken at some point, and he never bothered to get it fixed. You can't help but wonder what it would feel like to sit on his face.

Unceremoniously, he pulls you over the center console and onto his lap, which causes you to squeal in surprise. He doesn’t even bat an eye as he manhandles you into position, making you think about how your ex couldn't even carry two bags of groceries without complaining about the weight.

Something must have revealed your train of thought, or perhaps it was simply the fact that you were still lost in your thoughts, because Simon growls in response. You can feel the sound reverberating through your hands, which rest on his impressive pecs.

"Stop. Thinking." Every word is punctuated by a grind of his hips. To his great amusement, your mind goes blank immediately.

He guides your hands to his zipper straining under his hard-on. "What if someone sees?"

He only replies with "They'll get a hell of a show then." before he drags the pads of his fingers over the wet patch on your panties underneath your skirt that has already ridden up to your hips. He pulls the crotch of your panties to the side and pushes up to a knuckle, wasting no time and making you cling to him for dear life. After he adds another and starts hitting all the spots that make you whimper into his thick neck, he chuckles. It sounds a little mean but it still shoots right to your pussy anyway. "Finally shut that brain of yours up, doll."

He pulls up your shirt with his free hand and drags the cups of your bra up as well before sucking a nipple into his mouth. In reaction you push further into him, making him hum. He ends up alternating between bites to the side of your tits and sucking angry red marks into your collarbones and neck. Every part of you will be sore tomorrow but that's something you'll deal with later.

He lets you ride his fingers, scratching at his back and shoulders, fisting his hoodie and when you finally let go and the orgasm makes your eyes roll back into your head, he pulls you back into him for a kiss. It's messy, all teeth and tongue. When he pulls back there is a string of saliva connecting you two and if your mind wasn't currently wiped by the mind-blowing orgasm you would be embarrassed by the pornographic imagery. Simon forces you to look at him, his big, rough fingers holding up your chin to make you meet his gaze. You finally see the color of his eyes: brown, with pupils dilated wide. "We're nowhere near done," he says.

Simon is a whirlwind; he makes decisions, and you find yourself following them as if they were orders. He doesn’t wait for an invitation; instead, he stands behind you, his chest against your back, providing support as your legs feel like jelly. The drinks you had are wearing off now.

When you take too long to get out of your shoes, Simon tosses you over his shoulder. "You're taking too damn long," he says. You give him directions to your bedroom, and before long, you're dropped onto the sheets. You’re about to call him a caveman for his methods, but the sight of him pulling off his hoodie, revealing he’s not wearing anything underneath, leaves you speechless.

His skin is pale, but you can still see angry-looking scars on his torso and arms. Some of them resemble cigarette burns, while others look like bullet wounds that didn't heal properly. All of that should make you reconsider the kind of danger you’ve just invited into your bed, but as your gaze wanders lower, following his blond happy trail, you find yourself unable to think about the consequences.One of his hands is tattooed up to his elbow, and you can't really tell the design in the low light but it only adds to his appeal. Something possesses you to act, you end up reaching for his zipper before he can and he only gives you a wolfish grin before you pull him out.

He's not wearing any underwear. Your mouth dries up at the sight of him. That's never going to fit. Only after hearing him laugh did you realize that you had said that out loud. He was already hovering above you, caging you in against the sheets. "We'll make it fit."

Your skirt and shirt with your bra soon follow his pants and are lost to the shadows of your bedroom floor. Your eyes are drawn to his dick, you can't help it. He's big and thick you can already imagine the stretch, there's a vein on the underside that makes you wanna follow it with your tongue all the way to the top to catch the pre-cum already gathered there but he doesn't let you. Instead, he drags you to the edge of the bed and throws your legs over his shoulders. You almost want to argue that you hadn't showered, it's been a long day, and he doesn't have to do this but one look at the intense stare makes you swallow all of that down. You don't want to mention that you've never had anyone go down on you before. Your ex-boyfriend wasn't one to reciprocate.

There is no time to think about how miserable your sex life might have been. A bite to the inside of your thigh serves as a warning, both to stop thinking and not close your legs. In your defense, you didn't even realize you were doing it. His eyes are almost unnervingly focused on you before he dives in. He's always been a bit of a messy eater; the sounds he makes in the back of his throat are nothing short of animalistic. If you weren't shaking from his ministrations, you might think he's enjoying himself even more than you are.

He only moves a bit to lock eyes with you and tell you how sweet you are, juices dripping down his stubbled jaw. "Come on now, gotta make sure you're ready f'r me, doll." He alternates fucking you on his tongue and sucking on your clit, fingers digging into the fat of your thighs to keep them open for him. He's only barely controlling his strength so you know there will be bruises on your hips and thighs tomorrow but you can't bring yourself to care especially not this close to another orgasm. He can feel you twitching, getting closer and closer. There's a second of fear that he'll stop but he doesn't. Instead, he adds a finger and pushes on that one spot that made you see stars. That was all it took to wring the second orgasm of the night out of you.

Boneless, you let go of the sheets you were gripping. You only get a second of rest before he's repositioning you on the bed again; it would be infuriating if you could actually move properly.

He presses you into the mattress with his body, his scarred lips brushing next to your ear. "This will be a rough ride for you, don't say I didn't warn you." that's all you get before he bullies the ruddy head of his cock inside of you. You have half a mind to pull away but his weight keeps you in place, when he finally bottoms out there are tears in the corner of your eyes from the stretch, he only drops a few open-mouthed kisses to your shoulders before he rises to his knees and pulls your ass to him.

Everything after that is a blur, you're going crazy from the echo of the slapping of skin against skin, and your arms gave out on you midway so all you can do is scrunch the sheets in your hands and moan out his name like a prayer, to slow down? To go faster? You don't know. If he set out to make sure you can't think he achieved it. Your brain is fuzzy, your legs are shaking and a knot is unwinding in your lower stomach again. It's all too much and not enough at the same time. One of his hands finds your clit and it's over for you. "Come f'r me, doll. That's it." You can hear him hiss from the way you tighten around him as you come. He doubles down chasing his own orgasm now, balls slapping against your pussy even harder. There is a split second of clarity that he didn't use a condom (even though you are on a pill) but as soon as the thought registers he's filling you up with a groan before again squishing you underneath him, cock still lodged deep inside you, keeping his spend from leaking out. When you try to move from underneath him, he only chuckles before his hands find your tits and knead them, making you moan. It will be a long night for you. You've invited a ghost into your bed, and now you must deal with the consequences.

The picture you took with a large black shadow looming over you in the mirror, with a tattooed hand resting on your neck, might help you get rid of your ex who keeps creeping on your social media posts.

[mysssticc]

Say I’m yours

Warning: nsfw, smut, cat Sylus

“Say I’m yours”

Sylus's words barely registered in your brain, his movements overwhelming you as you struggled to focus. His hands held yours, pinning them above your head, his cat tail wrapping tightly around your thigh and his face buried against your neck, getting drunk in your scent, each touch of his making your body burn with desire.

"Say it, my lady," he ordered.

Your breath hitched as his thrust deepened, the sound of your moans and skin against skin filling the room.

"You- You're mine," you whispered, the words coming out in a breathless rush. He slowed his hips for a moment, seeing your struggle to get the words out.

"Again, louder," he commanded, his voice soft but insistent, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Sy-Sylus... you're mine," you said this time, your voice trembling but stronger than before.

"Keep saying it," he urged, his hips resuming hi rhythm, quickening as you wrapped your legs around him, your body moving along with his powerful thrusts.

"Mine," you whispered over and over again, your soft voice murmuring such possesive words bringing him closer to the edge.

Suddenly, his movements stopped completely as he pulled away from you, leaving you breathless and confused for a moment. Without a word, he repositioned you, laying you onto your stomach and placing a pillow under your hips.

He positioned himself on top of you, gently turning your face to his to give you a messy and desperate kiss as he pushes inside you again, his mouth capturing the moans that scape you as he starts pounding into you from behind.

His lips trailed across your skin, leaving marks that would last for days on your skin. His tail curled back around your thigh, grounding you in the moment.

You could feel the heat building in your lower stomach.

"Sylus..." you murmured, trying to let him know.

"I know, my lady," he said softly, he could feel you were close, his voice almost a growl as he kissed your shoulder. "Me too."

It was when he sneaked a hand between your legs and teased your clit that you finally reached your release, arching your back against his chest , your body trembling as the intensity of your climax reached its peak.

“F-fuck” you heard him groan behind you when he felt you clenching tightly around him, shaking slightly as his own climax reaches him, still moving with sloppy thrusts as he finishes inside you.

You feel Sylus’s relaxing as he collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you with his weight, his breath uneven as he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you. Your bodies still shuddering from the intensity of it all.

"Sylus..." you murmured, coming back to yourself.

He groaned softly, allowing you to turn in his embrace, resting his head on your chest as you held him close. You could see his tail moving around lazily, content and relaxed.

You reached for your phone, checking the time and remembering the reason you were here. As much as you’d love to stay there with him in your arms, you had a mission to complete.

"Sylus," you said softly, tapping his back to get his attention. "We need to get presentable. We have to meet up with snowy owl soon."

He groaned, nuzzling further into your chest, tightening his arms around you unwilling to let you go just yet.

"Are you still going on about that?" he grumbled.

You shifted in his embrace, letting out a small sound of protest when you felt him still inside of you.

"Are you really going to sell me to her?" he asked, finally letting you sit up, though his grip on you remained firm.

You cradled his face with your hands, and caressed his cheeks softly.

“How about this? As soon as we finish this mission we can cuddle for as long as you wish” you stared into his red eyes trying to show him how serious you were about this.

He stared at you for a moment, his expression not revealing anything that went through his head.

“Fine…” he finally spoke ”but I think cuddling isn’t the only thing I’d want to do, sweetie” his hands that were on your waist tightened slightly, trying to subtly tell you what his intentions were.

You blushed slightly, your pulse quickened with desired at the thought of what could happen between you two in just a few hours.

You smiled sheepishly, leaning closer to him and brushing your lips against his.

“That’s fine by me” you whispered, sealing your words with a hungry kiss.

[rafeysbangs]

ྀིྀི⋆˚࿔↷frat!rafe stumbles into a room you're hiding in and suddenly, he's not as untouchable as you thought...

warnings ; not proofread ! angstttt, fluff if you squint, mentions/allusions to rafe being super high, sensitive!reader but not really, drinking, mentions of ward....eugh.

notes ; all this talk of angst fics made me just whip this up... enjoy! um if you can that is ... poor rafe

the pulsating bass from the speakers below reverberated through the walls, embodying the cacophony and disarray of the party. you had attended with the faint hope of explaining the acute sting of isolation, yet the atmosphere only worsened your sense of alienation. somewhere between observing your so-called friends laughing without you and the burn of vodka that failed to dull the ache, you slipped away, seeking refuge in a random upstairs room.

tears clouded your vision as you stared at your phone. the group chat buzzed with plans that excluded you. the exclusion was blatant, friends tagging one another in shared jokes, the humour opaque to you. the ache in your chest defied articulation, a weight that no amount of deep breaths could alleviate. you perched on the edge of an unfamiliar bed, trembling and endeavouring to stifle the sound of your sobs.

the door creaked open, the sound startlingly loud in the muffled cocoon you’d made for yourself.

“yo, what the f—” the voice was thick with inebriation, but the tone carried an undercurrent of irritation. you looked up sharply to find rafe cameron leaning in the doorway. his figure was the epitome of disheveled elegance, a boy who wore chaos like it was tailored for him. his eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide, and his shirt hung askew, a caricature of the golden boy image he wielded like a weapon.

“what are you doing in here?” your voice came out uneven, cracked like a porcelain vase hastily glued together. you hated the way it betrayed you.

he stepped fully into the room, shutting the door behind him with an air of finality. “nah, what're you doin' in here? crying? at a party?” the question hung in the air, the mockery in his tone as unsteady as his balance.

“just go away,” you managed, swiping angrily at your cheeks. it wasn’t a plea, it was a defence.

he didn’t leave. instead, he collapsed onto the bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. for a long moment, he said nothing. the silence was louder than the bass below, filled with the heavy presence of unspoken thoughts. you wanted him to leave, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask again. his presence was intrusive, but his silence was almost comforting, as though your misery had drawn out its mirror in him.

“it’s stupid,” you muttered, breaking the unbearable quiet. “you wouldn’t get it.”

his gaze flicked toward you, but he didn’t speak. his stillness was unnerving, like he was afraid that moving too suddenly would shatter whatever fragile tether kept him grounded.

“it’s just… it’s like no one even sees me. like i’m some kind of shadow in their perfect little worlds.” the words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered. you hated how small they sounded, how small you felt. “i’m there, but i’m not there. and it’s stupid, i know it’s stupid, but it still—it still hurts.”

his hand fidgeted in his lap, the faintest movement breaking his otherwise rigid posture. still, he didn’t speak. your frustration mounted, burning hotter than the tears.

“are you even listening?” you snapped, your voice cracking under the weight of your anger and humiliation. “or are you just sitting here so you can feel better about yourself?”

his head lifted at that, and for the first time, you saw something like pain flash across his features. it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the stony mask he wore so well.

“i’m not judging you,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

“then what are you doing?” you demanded. the words were a challenge, but they came out almost desperate.

he exhaled sharply, his hand dragging through his already tousled hair. “tryina figure out how to say something that won’t make this worse.”

“like what?” your skepticism was a shield, thin and fragile, but all you had.

he didn’t answer right away. when he finally spoke, his voice was low, barely audible over the muffled music from below. “it’s not perfect, y'know. my life. not even close.”

you blinked, caught off guard. “what?”

he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together like he was holding himself in place. “you think i don’t get it. feeling like you’re not enough, like no matter what you do, you’re always falling short. but i do. trust me, i do.”

disbelief heavy in your tone. “you have everything. money, friends, girls throwing themselves at you. what could you possibly know about feeling like this?”

he let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and hollow. “none of that means shit. ward says i'm a disappointment, a- a failure..” his voice broke on the last word, and he swallowed hard, the movement sharp and jagged.

your heart twisted painfully at the rawness in his words. “rafe…” you began, but he cut you off with a sharp shake of his head.

“don’t,” he murmured, his voice fraying at the edges. “just don’t. i’m not saying this so you’ll feel sorry for me. i’m saying it because… because i get it. feeling like you’re drowning and no one even notices.”

the silence that followed was suffocating, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. you wanted to reach out, to say something that would pull him back from whatever precipice he was teetering on, but the words wouldn’t come.

“you’re not invisible,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “and you’re not pathetic.”

the tears you’d been holding back spilled over, hot and unrelenting. “neither are you,” you said through the sobs, your voice trembling but sure.

he turned to look at you then, his eyes glassy and red-rimmed. for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped, the two of you suspended in this fragile, shared understanding.

“you shouldn’t drive,” you said after a long pause, your voice hoarse but steady. “let me take you home.”

he hesitated, his expression torn, before nodding. “yeah. okay.”

as you stood, he reached for your hand, his grip warm and grounding. neither of you spoke as you made your way to his car, the night air sharp and biting against your skin. the silence between you was no longer heavy, it was something else, something that felt almost like solace.

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[misswynters]

Drunken

featuring. ekko x reader

happy turkey holidays 🦃

note. when reading this imagine the boom sound effect everything ekko says something unhinged. (lol)

Lights from flickering neon signs bathed the streets in hues of green and purple, casting eerie shadows along the broken walls and uneven pathways. Ekko sat perched on a ledge high above the chaos, his feet dangling lazily as if he didn’t care if he slipped and fell. He often came here to think, to escape. Tonight, though, his solitude was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. It was yours.

“Hey,” you greeted, your voice softer than usual but edged with something he couldn’t place. You were wrapped in the jacket he’d given you, its fabric worn but warm against the chill of Zaun’s smog-filled night.

Ekko glanced over his shoulder, his face unreadable in the half-light. “What do you want?” His tone wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t welcoming either.

You frowned, hesitating for a moment before stepping closer. “I just… I wanted to see you. You’ve been distant lately.”

“Yeah? Maybe I had a reason.” He swung his legs, his sneakers catching the dim light as he stared out at the cityscape.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you snapped, your patience fraying at the edges. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s wrong, Ekko. You’ve been shutting me out—”

“Maybe you’re the problem,” he interrupted sharply, turning to face you now. His eyes were hard, a rare thing for someone who usually carried so much warmth. “You don’t get it, do you? You’re always here, always around, like… like you think I owe you something.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. You stepped back, your breath hitching. “I’m clingy? That’s what you think of me?”

Ekko groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You confuse me, alright? You’re all over the place, acting like you care but then pulling back. I can’t—I don’t know what you want from me, and I don’t have the time to figure it out.”

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Instead, you shrugged off the jacket he’d given you and threw it at his back. “Fine. You don’t have to figure it out. Here’s your damn jacket.” Your voice cracked, betraying the pain you tried to hide, and you turned on your heel, storming off without another word.

Ekko called after you, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. His words had cut too deep, and you needed to get away.

The Last Drop was dimly lit, its familiar haze of smoke and alcohol making it feel both comforting and suffocating. You slumped onto a barstool, not caring about the stares you earned as you ordered the strongest drink they had. The bartender raised an eyebrow but obliged, sliding a glass toward you. The liquid burned as it went down, and that was exactly what you wanted.

By the third drink, the room felt like it was spinning, but you didn’t care. You leaned heavily on the counter, muttering to yourself about Ekko’s audacity. “Clingy? Really? I’m just supposed to—” Your drunken rant was cut short by a familiar voice.

“Y/N.” You turned, and there he was, standing near the doorway with your jacket in hand. He looked out of place here, his usual confidence tempered by something softer. Regret, maybe.

“What do you want?” you slurred, glaring at him as he approached.

Ekko didn’t answer right away. Instead, he draped the jacket over your shoulders, only for you to shrug it off. It fell to the floor, and you stared at it for a moment before looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes.

“You dropped this,” he said simply, picking it up again before sitting on the stool beside you.

“I didn’t drop it. I threw it at you. Big difference.” Your words were biting, but your voice wavered.

Ekko sighed, ordering a light drink and stirring the ice in the glass as he spoke. “I came to apologize, alright? I shouldn’t have said what I did back there.”

You scoffed, turning back to your drink. “Save it, Ekko. You said how you really felt. No need to sugarcoat it now.”

“You don’t get it,” he said, his tone growing more earnest. “I’ve been dealing with a lot—stress, responsibility, everything piling up. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. That was wrong.”

You didn’t respond, instead taking another sip of your drink. He waited, his patience steady even as you cut him off with sharp, drunken remarks every time he tried to explain himself. Still, he didn’t leave.

Finally, you turned to him, standing unsteadily and placing yourself between his legs. Your finger jabbed at his chest, your faces inches apart. “You think… you think you can just apologize and fix everything?” you asked, your voice slurred but your expression serious.

Ekko’s eyes softened as he looked at you, his hands instinctively resting on your arms to steady you. “I’m trying, I know I messed up.”

“You’re the one that’s confusing,” you muttered, your words barely coherent now. “One minute you’re pushing me away, the next you’re… you’re here, looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asked, his voice low.

“Like you care,” you whispered, your hand coming up to trace the edge of his jaw. Your finger brushed his scarf, twisting it absently as you spoke. “Do you care, Ekko?”

He caught your wrist gently before your fingers could brush his lips. “Stop,” he said softly, his tone a mix of firmness and concern. “You’re drunk.”

You blinked up at him, your eyes glassy. “So? I still mean it.”

He didn’t respond right away, instead standing and slipping an arm around your waist to keep you upright. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

You stumbled against him, your legs uncooperative. “You know…” you slurred, leaning heavily into his chest, “your arms are really nice. Strong. Muscular. You should carry me.”

Ekko raised an eyebrow, but before he could protest, you jumped into his arms with surprising enthusiasm. He caught you effortlessly, sighing as he adjusted his grip. “The drunken firefly,” he muttered, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Drunk but still lovable,” you corrected, resting your head against his shoulder as he carried you out of the bar. The night air hit your face, cool and refreshing after the stifling atmosphere inside.

Ekko’s steps were steady as he walked, his grip on you firm but gentle. “We’ll talk when you’re sober,” he said, his voice low and calm.

“Fine,” you mumbled, already half-asleep in his arms. “But you better not run away again.”

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice barely audible over the hum of the city. And for the first time that night, you believed him. Let’s just hope next time he will be more open and honest about how he is feeling with you.

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banner. @anitalenia

[smuttysabina]

Mamamoo's Fuck-Fitness Program

(Male Reader x Hwasa & Solar, 5k Words) Tags: Workout sex; Sex while working out; Someone grows a GirlCock (Blame Dreamcatcher); Vagina, Oral, Anal, and Exterior Sex; Double penetration; Multiple cocks in one hole; Sweaty messy sex; Only Hwasa and Solar are there though, sorry; Sloppy Seconds; Lots of calories were burned during this smut; Can recommend this exercise for weight-loss; Thigh-fucking

Sex, is a messy activity. The grunting and exhalations, the sordid stench of sweat and hormones, the noisy slap of flesh, the taste of another person upon your tongue, the sticky fluids that invariably end up leaking everywhere... Sex was an exercise drenched in shared shamelessness, the thrill of ignoring your innate disgusts to focus solely upon the pursuit of pleasure; and of course, breeding. Which only made threesomes all the nastier. Now there was a third body squishing itself against the others, adding its own sensual heat to the mix, spicing the intercourse with its uneven dynamic that only ever encouraged more perversion. It was simply too easy to toss away your inhibitions and give in to the unnatural deviancy of the situation, spurring yourself as you seek your climax. Which, all in all, meant that you burned a lot more calories in a threesome, which was why the Mamamoo Workout Program always made sure its clients were paired with two of their ladies at once!

Fans would obviously plumb the depths of their reserves when with one of their idols, but with two of them... why, the weight would practically melt away!

It cost quite a bit to secure a session at the Mamamoo Fitness Center, but it was well known that the health benefits were worth every penny. There were only four open slots per day, and competition was fierce to obtain one, it was said that the ladies were fully booked for the year within minutes of opening; it was something of a miracle you had managed to secure yourself one. The modest office itself was tastefully decorated, pure white walls covered in informational posters and awards, and the plush chairs in the waiting room were of the highest quality. The assistants behind the front desk were equally as beautiful as the room itself, and went about their business with the quiet diligence of any medical office. A smiling secretary had given you a clipboard of forms and waivers to fill out, full of disclaimers carefully worded to avoid any explicit mention of what went on. The form had blandly informed you that your upcoming session would consist of a "personalized workout session", guided by two randomized members of Mamamoo, who would lead your "workout" until you had reached your "fitness goals". What it really meant of course, was that you would be vigorously fucked until you were on the edge of exhaustion.

The Mamamoo Workout experience had been carefully tuned to maximize the amount of calories burned during the intercourse. The controversial decision to randomize the members chosen had been done on purpose, since it had been noted that clients often burned as many calories with their least favorite member as they would have with their bias. One particularly celebrated patient had spent five hours rutting atop Wheein, and had managed to lose 20 pounds in the process. The eight hour long slots had also been chosen as the most optimal amount of time, past that and most patients were on the verge of death via excessive fluids loss. And of course, the decision to include two of the members instead of just one was to send their clients into a sexual frenzy; though it was also because the members enjoyed having sex with one another too much. On average, most patients lost around ten pounds over the several hours of intensive intercourse, their excess fat burning away as they pushed themselves to the limit to continue fucking half of Mamamoo. It was an extremely efficient method of losing weight, with the added benefit of being the best sex of your entire life.

The demure secretary returns to collect you, and your documents, checking to make sure everything had been filled out properly before guiding you to the front desk to record your temperature and weight. Nodding with satisfaction, she leads you out of the waiting room and through the doorway in the back, into a plain corridor adorned only with four brown doors. Colorful placards on the doors indicate whether the rooms were in use or not, and as you pass by the single occupied suite, you hear muffled squeals and moans emanating from it; evidently the sound-proofing here was high-quality. The assistant takes you to the room two doors down from the one currently in use, politely knocking on the door before opening it and motioning you inside. Your heart pounds and your palms grow sweaty as the reality of your situation hits you, you had been anticipating this for so long it had become almost mundane, but now that you were on the threshold... The secretary gives you an encouraging slap on the ass, and smiling kindly, assures you that you would be up for the grueling workout ahead of you; everyone gets cold feet before this! Mustering your courage, you return the favor, much to her amusement, before entering the "fitness room"; the door shuts, and locks, behind you.

Twin goddesses await you within, hands on their hips as they appraise their newest customer, their bodies sheathed in clinging tights that accentuated their plush lower lips, and sports bras that pushed out their chests. Solar seemed as bright as her namesake, cheerfully eyeing your crotch with open intent, while Hwasa glares thoughtfully at your face, her own sultry expression hinting of her love for vigorous copulation. Solar steps forward to greet you, her lithe body swaying as takes your hand and leads you further into the exercise room; which was severely lacking in conventional exercise equipment. The floor was completely covered in firm mats, with beanbags and exercise balls strewn about, there were several curiously-shaped benches, and the pull-up stand had a few too many straps than usual. Full-length mirrors covered the two sidewalls, while the furthest had various cabinets and a door that presumably led to the bathroom; and there was a tallyboard that marked the gender of every customer, it seems that women were here as often as men. Hwasa saunters up and takes your other hand, smirking slightly as she senses your nervousness, and you stammer as you introduce yourself to the two idols. The pair smile at your awkwardness, before explaining today's schedule to you once more; a mild stretching session, followed by a series of intensive workouts interspersed with breaks for hydration and restroom use, with a shower at the end to clean you all off.

Contrary to your assumptions, your time with Hwasa and Solar began with the utmost banality, the pair guiding you through some basic standing stretches before moving onto some sitting ones. If the police had burst into the room under suspicion of illegal sexual acts, they would have found a normal guy in sweats and a baggy tshirt, grunting as he strained to touch his toes, while two attractive fitness instructors watched with amusement. Now if said police returned half an hour later, well... The first sign that this was anything other than a regular weight-loss session was when Hwasa moved in front of you while your legs were spread, and smoothly slid her ass back between them. A position that left you quite conscious about the size of her posterior, now that it was nuzzling against your crotch, the pair's chests might have been similar, but Hwasa's rear was far thicker. A moment later Solar presses herself against your back, squishing her breasts against you as she slowly leans forward, stretching you out while ensuring you would be unable to escape. If Hwasa is at all troubled by the now obvious poking her cheeks, she does not show it, and placidly starts to grind against your loins; your penis obviously required stretching out as well. What started as slow teasing gradually turns into something more, as your excitement builds you find yourself moving as well, until what started as a suspicious stretch has degenerated into desperate dry-humping.

You groan as you rub yourself against Hwasa's thick ass, boldly grasping her waist so as to force her back against you all the harder, before long you are leaking through your sweatpants and onto her tights. She slowly hikes her ass up, and you eagerly follow, until it looks as if you were plowing her doggy-style, only with more clothes than usual on. Speaking of which, now that you have the room, you eagerly pull down your pants, and are surprised to discover your shirt getting yanked up as well, before Solar meshes herself against your back once more. Her hands roam your bare chest, toying with your nipples while she kisses and sucks your neck, whispering encouragement into your ear before nibbling up on it. You shudder as you hotdog Hwasa's plump butt, the fabric of her tights smooth enough to allow for easy movement, the sticky evidence of your virility smearing itself against it. With her amused face staring back at you in the mirror, the idol suddenly pulls forward, using her hand to press your cock downward before pushing back against you; and you find your cock sandwiched between her meaty thighs. Now it truly looked as if you were having sex, as you furiously fuck Hwasa's thighs, your crotch slapping loudly against her constrained ass as she squishes her legs together in imitation of her tight pussy.

With Solar pressing her supple body against you from behind, and with your cock buried between Hwasa's thighs, you feel your climax building unstoppably. The pair of idols were not blind to this, and they eagerly brought about its fruition. Solar smiles wickedly at you in the mirror, "Finishing so soon, dear?" she purrs, "we haven't even completed our stretches yet," before returning to giving your neck purple hickeys. Hwasa simply looks back at you and commands, "Cum, now," and you moaningly obey, picking up the pace as she clenches around your manhood. You had not even lasted long enough to put your first load inside one of the members of Mamamoo, and it is with some embarrassment that you empty yourself against Hwasa's stomach. You groan as you paint her tummy with your seed, your cock fooled into thinking that it was draining itself inside of her fertile pussy, when instead your sperm was wasted upon her tanned skin. Shaking from the force of your orgasm, you lean on Hwasa for support as your strength pours from your dick, as the idols loudly praise your climax.

Solar pulls you upright onto your feet, murmuring encouragingly as she massages your crotch and thighs, while Hwasa idly cleans your semen off of her stomach with her fingers, licking each in turn while staring bemusedly at you. The girls share a glance before Hwasa gets up and stalks over to a cabinet, while Solar occupies you with kisses and touches, now that the warmup was finished, it was time to pick up the pace. And of course, the pair knew the best way to encourage their clients to do just that. Mamamoo, like most Third-Generation idols, may have looked on with contempt at the alchemical aphrodisiac brews churned out by Twice, but that did not mean they were opposed to all such potions. Hwasa removes an ornate, maroon-colored flask from a drawer, tossing it to Solar before sauntering back and shamelessly stripping in front of you. Your eyes boggle as you drink in the sight of Hwasa's naked body, her fertile curves framing a massively puffy pussy that is already slick with arousal; and her swaying breasts were practically begging to be groped. Meanwhile, Solar takes advantage of your distraction and chugs a portion of the bottle, licking her lips as the cherry-flavored drink pours into her stomach and its effects take hold.

Solar lets out a moan of pure pleasure as a bulge appears in her tights, spreading upwards until it nearly pushes fully from beneath the fabric. She shudders as she gingerly reveals the results of the potion, a girl-cock of average size, twitching and tender from its recent birth, with a pair of heavy balls throbbing in their hairless sack. Mamamoo know very well that to inspire a client, it is best to set the pace yourself, and let men's natural jealousies do the rest; plus, the women tend to be rather invigorated by having their favorite idol's cock in one or more of their holes. So Hwasa wastes no time in getting on her knees in front of Solar, and enthusiastically starting to suck her off. You are admittedly shocked by this sudden development, you had not expected for one of Mamamoo to sprout a cock, but you are not entirely opposed to this... To your own surprise, you find yourself oddly aroused by the scene taking place in front of you, and soon are shoving your own stiffening cock into Hwasa's face. The idol expertly gives oral to both of you, one hand on either cock, sucking one then the other, rubbing the tips together as her tongue lathers both with warm spit. You and Solar both moan from Hwasa's efforts, kissing and groping one another as your dicks are devoured, precum dribbling steadily all over her pert lips. After what seems like an age of endless pleasure, Hwasa smoothly rises before bending over, her face still bobbing in front of your crotches, but now offering an alternative.

You are too busy enjoying the stimulation of getting a blowjob from an idol like Hwasa, and so Solar is the first to take her pussy, slipping inside of her groupmate with practiced ease. While Solar has her sloppy way with Hwasa's lower lips, you use her upper lips with equal messiness, using her head's positioning to force your cock down her throat. Hwasa gags as you fuck her face like a pussy, slobber coating your balls with every thrust as you struggle to not unload your seed directly into her stomach. You and Solar hold hands and make-out while you spit-roast Hwasa, who squirms as both of you shove yourselves as deep as possible into her, united in your eagerness to use Hwasa's body. But before you can impregnate Hwasa's guts, Solar does just that inside of her friend's cunt, moaning loudly and spasming wildly as she empties herself into Hwasa, her eyes rolling back as pleasure washes through her body. Panting, her tongue still connected to yours be streamers of spit, Solar pulls out of Hwasa, slapping her thick ass in thanks before wiggling her eyebrows suggestively at you; now its your turn... Hwasa solidly plants herself against one of the wall mirrors in preparation for the pounding she was about to receive, looking back smugly at you as she spreads one cheek open in welcome. You shudder as you press your cockhead into the sticky mess leaking from Hwasa's plump pussy, your passage into her dripping hole made even easier by Solar's seed.

The cacophony of flesh slapping together reverberates through the exercise room as you violently take Hwasa against the wall. A surprising vigor fills you, turning every thrust into a hammer-blow as you break yourself against her massive ass-cheeks, your cock churning her pussy as Solar's seed pours out of it. Her sloppy cunt constricts tightly around your shaft with every thrust, gripping you tightly even while taking a ferocious pounding; idol pussy truly was superior. Hwasa growls hungrily as you plow her, licking the mirror lustfully to spur you on, her cunt gushing as she climaxes from the intensity of your coupling. With your hands around her hips, you hold her steady as you go into a frenzy, thrusting wildly as your own orgasm approaches, gasping her name with every breath while your balls throb with effort. Sweat is pouring down your skin when you finally let out a groan and force yourself deep inside of Hwasa, your semen erupting into her in a flood of jizz. Who looks back at you with satisfaction, licking her luscious lips while you plaster her pussy with your seed; relishing in every drop coating her insides. When you are finished, you stagger backwards, exhausted by your sex, and a laughing Solar passes you a water bottle as she guides you to the bathroom for a little break.

You were perplexed by your energetic coupling with Hwasa, you had not intended to be so rough with her, even though she had evidently enjoyed it, and you ponder this while you piss in one of the two toilets with Solar. Hwasa soon joins you two, squatting on the free seat and voiding her bladder as well; the pair of idol's did not need to ruminate on your sudden vigor, they knew exactly where it came from. Like most idols, Mamamoo knew full well that when fucking a cum-filled hole, men naturally grew more forceful and energetic, their bodies automatically adapting its rhythm to better scoop the semen out with its thrusts; which of course, burned more calories. So, the girls made sure to have as many holes filled with their own girlcocks and cum as soon as possible, not that it was very hard considering how good those holes were; and jealousy was a truly powerful motivator. Thus, when you three exit the bathroom, Hwasa almost immediately is laying down on padded bench, and opening her legs for Solar, who happily starts fucking your sloppy seconds out of Hwasa. You meanwhile rest on an exercise ball, idly rubbing your still slick yet flaccid cock, while the two idols make passionate love without you; a situation that makes you surprisingly aroused as you watch them fucking. Eventually, the squeals and moans are enough to get you hard once more, and you hasten to join the pair of idols once more, already knowing which hole you wanted to fill.

Solar starts with surprise when your hands grasp her waist, stopping mid-thrust to glance back at your touch, bemusement written on her features, "Oh, would you like a turn?" she asks with a knowing smile, before her eyebrows raise as you apply pressure to guide her down onto Hwasa, "Oh, wait, are you lubed up enough...?" Solar's question is answered as you press your glistening cock against her exposed asshole, and force yourself inside of her. Solar groans as she is impaled from behind, pushing herself deeply into Hwasa as you gradually fill her ass; until you are both balls-deep in your respective holes. Solar squirms as she is pleasured from both sides, her girl-cock getting massaged by Hwasa's sultry cunt, while your dick pokes at her innards; and you had not even started thrusting yet. Solar's guts probably had subtle differences compared to Hwasa's experienced pussy, but by now you were on your third load, and all your cock cared about was that it was inside of a warm hole; so it does what any dick inside of a warm hole would do, and starts moving. After an awkward start, all three of you eventually fall into a steady rhythm, allowing both you and Solar to get deep strokes in, while Hwasa simply lays there and takes it, naughtily urging you both on while you do all the work. Solar's perky butt meshes perfectly against your crotch with every thrust, and you have to contain yourself to not simply pin her against her groupmate and pound her soggy guts out of shape. Solar though, sounds like she is in heaven, gasping and moaning, becoming overstimulated and giving into her own pleasure, frantically humping away between Hwasa's thick thighs until she reaches her climax. When she pushes deep inside of her fellow idol, you follow suit, pressing yourself against her sweaty back as your weight presses Solar's girl-cock even further into Hwasa's pussy. Shuddering, Solar collapses onto her and unloads the contents of her balls into Hwasa, who groans as the warmth spreads through her belly, squished beneath both of your weight.

A glistening streamer of semen connects the tip of Solar's cock with the mess leaking out of Hwasa's cunt as she delicately maneuvers out from between you two; leaving you yet another sticky mess to unclog. But Hwasa has other ideas; obviously tired of being passive, instead she cranks the back of the bench upwards and seats you on it, sperm and sweat streaking down her thighs as she gazes down at you. She squats down in front of your upraised dick and takes it in her mouth, slobbering on your smelly meat until it is thoroughly doused in spittle, her eyebrows furrowed intensely as your tip stabs at her throat. Hwasa wears a seductive smirk when she finishes lubricating your manhood, rising back up to straddle you, placing one hand on your chest to hold you down, she uses the other to guide your cock inside of her as she sits on it. Your eyes widen in surprise when instead of slipping easily into her slimy cunt, Hwasa angles you a little further back, and forces your dick inside of her unused asshole. She lets out a satisfied grunt as she hilts you, your member twitching inside of her belly, her lips quirking upwards when she notices your expression, "What, did you think I disliked having my ass filled as well?", she brings a finger to your lips to hush you, "No, just shut up and let me enjoy myself." So you do, and she does, though it was not as if you were not savoring the feeling of Hwasa's tight anus sliding up and down your shaft as much as she was.

Hwasa's powerful thighs piston her up and down your length, a sneer of pleasure twisting her lips as your cock grinds against her insides, making you shudder with every squat. If anything, she looked smug at being able to exert some control once more, leaning down to forcefully kiss you on whim, her cunt leaking her juices steadily onto your belly. Moaning, you grope her swaying breasts as Hwasa rides you, holding onto them for support as her asshole clamps tightly around your cock. Only when you approach the edge of your orgasm does she pause, waiting until your dick finishes pulsing before resuming her sensual movements, her hips writhing atop your lap as she works you deep inside of her. After Hwasa has successfully edged you for a third time, Solar reappears behind her, no doubt painfully erect once more, running her hands down her friend's back to attract her attention. But Hwasa is teasingly aloof, "Sorry dear, this hole is already taken," she purrs, grinding meaningfully upon you for emphasis, curling her mouth into a haughty yet knowing smile. Solar simply beams though, and scoots herself onto the small open portion of the seat slipping her legs up yours until her cock and balls are squished against your own. Rolling her eyes, Hwasa stands up enough until only your head is inside of her, and you twist to try and see what is going on as you feel something hard pressing against the base of your tip. The pressure builds, and only when another rigid object surges in alongside your cock do you realize that Solar has forced her dick into the idol's ass as well. Hwasa lets out a true groan as she sits on both of your cocks, clenching tightly around both of your shafts as precum leaks out from the gaps between your cocks. With frightening flexibility, she lifts one leg up over you and turns, so that her side is now facing you, and you can see Solar smiling reassuringly from across Hwasa's swollen breasts; Hwasa's ass felt so snug with someone else in it...

With a hand on either shoulder, Hwasa bounces lustfully on both of your cocks, leaving both you and Solar moaning plaintively. Effectively pinned by each other's weigh, Hwasa has free reign to fuck you as she liked, turning what should have been in intense anal pounding into a languidly intimate ride. With your shafts squishing and slipping against one another, Hwasa's guts massage your dicks until they are the edge of bursting, then she pauses, allowing your precum to slop out over your congealed cockheads, before resuming her exquisite torture. All you and Solar can do is grab at her curvaceous body as it pumps up and and down your members, and your mind starts to melt under the unending pleasure. Hwasa's asshole makes disgusting squelching noises as precum slops out of it and onto your balls, soon your lower bodies are splattered with the evidence of your weakness. Even an experienced slut like Solar looks to be in heaven, her tongue lolling as she glares lustfully back at you, grinding herself against you in her desperation to climax. You start asking for it, pleading with Hwasa for release, which of course only makes her leak all the more, until eventually she lets out a grunt a paints the matting with a wash of gooey squirt, shuddering with ecstasy as her asshole clamps tightly around your members. Her face flushed with arousal, her hands slip onto your throats as she snarls, "Beg for it! Beg. For. It!" and with your brains sloshing with hormones, you and Solar easily comply. You beg for release as Hwasa slams herself against you, her thick ass cheeks slapping loudly as fluids spray, the two of you now humping wildly upwards while Hwasa hammers you flat again and again. Solar is the first to finish, moaning sweetly, her eyes roll back as she fills Hwasa's guts, her pulsating cock slobbering cum all over your dick as much as her coils. The stimulation is enough to make you explode soon after, drowning Hwasa's innards in semen as she squirts messily once more as her ass gets turned into a jizz-filled slurry.

Hwasa unmounts you both with a groan, Solar nearly toppling backwards off the seat as all three of you are weak and trembling from your intensive exertions. Hwasa gingerly kneels next to you, and without hesitation starts cleaning off the filthy mess coating your sensitive cocks with her mouth. Now you are truly writhing in the seat, your skin painfully stuck to the black leather by sweat, clutching her hair as her warm saliva is slathered all over your manhood. Hwasa skillfully rubs your tips together, her tongue slipping between and around them, before taking you both in her mouth, trying to fit both of your cocks into her throat and sometimes succeeding. By the end of it, both you and Solar are gasping, but your cocks are both bulging once more. Hwasa stands back up before sashaying to an uncluttered area of mat and bending over, spreading her cheeks for your enjoyment. She smirks coyly as her asshole belches a ream of semen down her leg, her gaping pussy still awash with sperms, "Who is getting which hole?", she asks, her smile growing wider, "Or are you going to share again...?" Hwasa seductively licks her lips as Solar untangles herself from you and staggers over, with you a step behind, wiggling her butt enticingly as you approach. Solar glances at you and gives you a kiss, before grinning, "Well? We have five hours left, so take your pick, or do you want me...?"

The next four hours pass in a blur of pounding flesh and spewing fluids, an unending tide of hedonism that sees you plumbing the depths of your depravity. You violate Hwasa's asshole, you plow her pussy, you fill her throat, while Solar gleefully does the same. You balls slap together in an endless cacophony, and more often than not your shafts slip and squelch against each other as you both ravage the same hole at once. Not that Solar's orifices are spared either, pumping away at her butt while Hwasa pleasures you both, or forces you to pleasure her; and Solar's face is almost as covered with both her cum and your own as Hwasa's is. All of you guzzle down vast amounts of water, only stopping when your bodies can take it no more and you have to make a break to the bathroom, often returning to find the other two fucking as intensely as before. Sweat pours down your skin like a waterfall, and the mats are covered with puddles of sexual fluids (and the occasional pond of piss from when someone was unable to reach the toilet in time), it feels like your brain has devolved until your only thoughts are for slaking your desires upon the two idols of Mamamoo. Eventually though, your exhaustion catches up to you, and when you pull out of Hwasa's sloppy cunt for what seems like the hundredth time that day you find yourself collapsing from utter fatigue.

Hwasa and Solar carefully tend to you over the next twenty minutes, pouring fluids down your throat to rehydrate you and massaging your cramped and aching muscles. When they are satisfied you can walk, they haul you to your feet, chattering amiably and complimenting you on your love-making skills; of course they barely showed even a hint of tiredness. They haul you into the bathroom, where they crudely hose the worst of the filth off of you with a shower head before frog-marching you to the exit. A smiling assistant greets you at the door, and your half of Mamamoo wave you goodbye as she leads you out, covered head to toe in cum, squirt, and other unmentionable fluids. As the girl leads you down the corridor, you idly notice that the idols had stuffed you back into your clothes, though you knew you must absolutely reek. The other occupied door cracks open as you approach, and a lady staggers out of it, her belly distended and her holes leaking so much cum it is slicking through her yoga pants in a reeking stream. She barely even glances at you as you are dragged by her, though through the closing door you notice a rather well-endowed Moonbyul and Wheein blowing kisses to their retreating client. Humming cheerfully, the assistant takes your weight at the scale, before depositing you in front of the kindly secretary from before. Who beams knowingly, before slyly enquiring if you would like to make an appointment for next year? Nodding tiredly, you flick through your calendar to look up the date, while the lady behind you noisily vomits what sounds like gallons of semen into a trashcan.

Of course you would like to make another appointment, though you are sure to ask if there have been any last minute cancellations... Another few more sessions like this, and you would be hitting your weight-loss target in no time!

[leighsartworks216]

Blood Washes Out

Sylus x gn!Reader

Had this idea and had to spend like a week writing it

Warnings: hurt/comfort, blood, injury, murder, swearing, vomiting, panic, pet names, sharing clothes, cuddling, crying, guilt, broken bones, guns

Word Count: 2,801

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

The phone rings by your ear, waiting to be answered. The copper stench of blood latches itself to your senses. You can taste it on your tongue, against your teeth, at the back of your throat.

The call is picked up and a whimper of relief rips from your mouth against your will. “Sylus!”

“What’s wrong?” he demands. His voice is stern. You’re glad for its strength right now. “Are you alright?”

What a shit question for him to ask.

“I need you to pick me up.” You turn your head to the side to spit out the blood pooling in your mouth. You wish it would just fucking stop.

“Send me your location, but don’t hang up.”

You feel blood stick to your ear as you pull the phone away. The touch screen is covered in red fingerprints. You’re shocked it still reads your input as you go to your messages and send him your location. You feel a burn at the back of your throat as you put the phone back to your ear, disgust wrapping its hands around your esophagus and churning your stomach.

He says your name. It’s so rare to hear him say it nowadays. That’s how you know he’s really worried. “I’ll be there in five minutes. I’m sending Mephisto ahead of me. Stay on the phone.”

You nod even though he can’t see, squeezing your eyes shut and curling into yourself as you wait on the curbside. If there’s anybody else around, anybody else who witnessed what happened…

Panic floods your veins like ice.

What if someone did see what happened? Or- Or maybe someone who didn’t and just stumbles around the corner to find-

You clamp a hand over your mouth. Bloody fingers aggravate your nose. More blood pours over them, warm and wet, sliding over a layer that’s already congealed. The metallic twang stings your eyes.

You can’t tell whose blood is whose anymore.

“I’m coming, sweetie. Just a few more minutes.”

You gasp out, “I’m gonna be sick.”

You don’t get a chance to hear his response before you drop your phone to the sidewalk. Your body moves on its own in a mad dash to turn and hurl into the gutter. It burns. It burns so fucking bad. And the taste-

Your body convulses and shakes, acting against you until your stomach is empty and you’re coughing around dry heaves.

A motor pulls up nearby. Heavy boots scuff the pavement as they rush to you. A gloved hand pulls your hair back, collecting it at the base of your head. An arm wraps around your chest, keeping you upright. A caw sounds from above you.

“I’ve got you. Don’t fight it. I’ve got you.”

Sylus surveys the scene around you. A body lays several feet away on its back. A dark red trail worms its way through cracks in the sidewalk and follows the uneven ground to a drain intended for catching floodwater. A gun hangs limply in its hand. Yours is discarded nearby.

He ducks his head to look at your face. Your eyes are clamped shut, lips trembling as you try to catch your breath. Tears glide down the curve of your cheeks.

Your nose is broken. Blood oozes from it slowly, dripping into your mouth and down your chin. It mixes with your bile and saliva as you weakly spit it out. More blood covers your clothes and your hands. It’s hard to distinguish what’s all yours, or if your broken nose is your only injury.

He grabs a handkerchief from his pocket. It cost more than your apartment and he couldn’t give a damn as he uses it to gently wipe at your mouth. “Just breathe, sweetheart. Can you stand?”

You take in a deep, uneven breath, and nod. He lets go of your hair and grabs your phone, sliding it into his pocket without worrying about the blood. He tucks the handkerchief right next to it. His arms are strong and grounding as he helps you to your feet, putting himself between you and the body as he leads you to his bike. If he’d known what state you were in, he would’ve brought the car. As it was, he was more concerned with getting to you as fast as possible.

He doesn’t force you to put the helmet on this time. As much as he’d normally insist, he didn’t want to trap you in a helmet if you were still nauseous. He slips it over his own head as he gets on first and gives you his arm for support as you climb on behind him. Your arms wrap around him tightly, bloody fingers clinging to his shirt under his leather jacket. Your body rests heavily against his back.

“My gun…” you say quietly, halfheartedly, like your concern for it is only a distant afterthought.

Sylus squeezes your hands reassuringly. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll get it back for you later.”

You nod against him. The engine purrs beneath you as he turns his bike around and peels off back home.

-

The ride is a blur of passing lights and buildings, a collage of Linkon City and the N109 Zone meshing together until you relent to just keep your eyes shut. You don’t open them again until he slows to a stop in front of his mansion.

The twins are rushing out the door to greet you. “Boss! Woah, what happened to you?” Luke winces as he catches sight of you. Kieran smacks him upside the head and rushes to help you off the bike.

Sylus gets off after, pulling his helmet off and resting it on the seat. He pulls out the phone and handkerchief, and passes it over to Luke. “Get this cleaned up.”

“Sure thing, Boss!”

He takes you gently away from Kieran, wrapping an arm behind your knees and back and lifting you into his arms. “Follow Mephisto. Deal with it.”

Kieran nods. “On it, Boss.” Mephisto’s metal wings slice through the air as Sylus leads you past the twins and inside.

“‘M sorry,” you mumble. You turn your head from his shoulder, trying not to get blood on his shirt. Your hands sit limply in your lap.

“Don’t apologize, sweetie,” he assures. “Can you tell me what happened?”

The mansion is warm and familiar, dark and comforting in a way the night outside isn’t. He carries you all the way to his room and the ensuite bathroom where he sits you on the countertop. He removes his gloves, grabs a white washcloth, wets it under the faucet, and gently works on cleaning the blood from your face. The pristine white cloth stains pink, and eventually red.

You stare at his shirt. Despite it being black, you can see the remnants of blood you left on him.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.” He holds your chin delicately in one hand, tilting your head up to look at him. “Talk to me.”

Fresh tears burn at your eyes. You want to forget tonight ever happened. Want to find someone with a time-traveling Evol just so you can go back and do everything different.

It’s a fruitless wish. Everything already happened. It was already burned into your mind. There would be no do-overs.

Your voice cracks as you speak. He frowns at the sorrowful sound. “I was going to the convenience store to get some snacks. I-I wanted some chocolate, and I didn’t have any, so… B-But I guess one of my neighbors followed me. A lot of them are Hunters, too. Said they heard me talking to you.”

“They recognized my name from the Association.” It wasn’t a question. You nod. He folds the cloth over and brushes away some splatter from your face, gently wiping away some stray tears in the process. “Did they threaten you?”

You don’t need to answer. He already knows. That gun in their hand wasn’t just for show.

“They…” You swallow uncomfortably. Your mouth feels tacky. “They said they were gonna turn me in, but wh-when they approached, I freaked out. I just started fighting back, I-I didn’t know what else to do. They punched me and I fell to the ground. Th-Their gun was aimed at me, I couldn’t think, a-and I…”

The weight of the weapon in your hands never felt heavier than in that moment. Tears fell freely now. Your lungs shudder, gasping for air you can’t seem to get enough of. Your face crumples into a horrible grimace as you sob. Sylus cradles the back of your head and pulls you into his chest. He drops the cloth in the sink to wrap his arm around you. You grab onto his shirt. The blood on your hands is dried and crackly, seeping deep into your pores and staining your flesh.

“I tried saving them,” you whimper. “I tried, but there was just so, so much blood, I- I couldn’t do anything.”

He hushes you softly. “You were threatened and you protected yourself.”

“What if the Association finds out? What’re they gonna do when they find out someone’s missing? Fuck, Sy, what- What’s gonna happen?”

“Nothing’s going to happen. They’ll put up missing posters around the block, wondering where they went off to. It’ll remain an unsolved mystery, a story to tell the grandkids.”

It’s not reassuring. He sighs.

“What do you want to happen, sweetheart? You tell your boss what happened: you don’t get tried for murder, but you have to come clean about sneaking into the N109 Zone and being besties with the big bad leader of Onychinus. Or you don’t say anything, and nothing happens.” He pulls away slightly to look down at your face. You stare at the glass door of the shower, eyes glazed over and distant. “Which option sounds better to you, hm?”

You wrack your brain for a third option. Something that doesn’t take away the job you love and permanently ruin your life, while giving the Hunter you killed some grace in death. But there is none. Not really.

So you sigh. Long and drawn out. Will this guilt ever get any easier to carry?

You pull away from Sylus and he lets you. You cringe at his shirt. “I got blood on you.”

He chuckles. “Blood washes out, kitten.”

“Not very easily.”

“No,” he agrees. “But I have my ways.”

This is no longer a simple conversation about laundry.

Sylus picks the cloth back up and wets it again. The excess water that isn’t squeezed out drips into your lap. He wipes the fresh blood coming from your nose. “We need to set this. Do you want something to bite down on?”

-

Your nose still stings as you stand under the shower spray. The heady scent of his shampoo saturates the air, swirling in tandem with the steam. There’s no more blood in your hair, on your ear from the phone, or on your face. And there isn’t any on your hands, either. But as you look down at them, water collecting in your palms and slipping between your fingers, you could feel the hot blood that had been there.

A knock on the door startles you from your revelry. It opens before you can say anything, and you can see the blurry silhouette of Sylus as he sets something on the counter.

“Here’s some fresh clothes. I’ll be out here when you’re done.” His face doesn’t ever glance at the shower door, even when you call out his name to stop him while he’s leaving. He just stands there, head ducked slightly and ear turned your way, listening.

“Thank you.”

He chuckles softly. “It’s just clothes, sweetheart.”

You sigh bitterly. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

The door closes with a faint click as he leaves.

You put some soap in your hands and scrub until the skin is raw. Until you can’t trick yourself into thinking there’s still blood on them. Until the water begins to run cold. Only then do you feel clean enough to turn off the water and step out of the shower.

The clothes are large, practically drowning you in excess fabric. The familiar athletic shorts only stay on because of the elastic waistband and a hidden drawstring that ties on the inside of the shorts. The sweater’s sleeves go past your hands. You can’t imagine wearing anything else right now.

Just as he promised, he’s sitting on his bed when you open the door. The deconstructed parts of your gun lay spread out on the blanket, neatly sorted out. He diligently cleans every piece, ensuring he gets every speck of blood while giving it basic maintenance.

“Sorry about the clothes, sweetie. I’ll have some tailored for you.”

You pad across the floor and carefully climb up onto the bed, doing your best not to disturb the array. He doesn’t stop you when you snuggle up to his side. Rather, he allows you to wrap your arms around his, adjusting how he works for your sake. You shake your head and rest it on his shoulder.

“This is fine,” you assure him. The silence goes on for a beat or two too long before you add, “I might just steal this sweater from you.”

He chuckles. “Go ahead, sweetie. I can get more.” He sets down a cleaned part and picks up another one he hasn’t tended to yet. “Tell me what materials you like and I’ll have a whole closet of them you can steal, if you’d like.”

You smile slightly. He only notices when he glances down at you. He sets the piece down and begins to quickly assemble it all back together. You inhibit his movements somewhat, so it takes a few seconds longer than he’s used to, but he doesn’t complain. Your gun looks brand new, just as pretty and perfect as it was when you first got it at the Academy.

He flips it to offer the handle to you, a silent question. It’s all too reminiscent of your first meeting with him. Even then, even after you’d pulled the trigger, frightened for your life, you’d tried to save him. If it hadn’t been for his Evol…

Well. Lightning never strikes the same place twice.

You hide your face in his shirt, the casual grey one he usually lounges around in. The clinking of the gun disappears with the sound of a drawer opening and closing. His hand brushes your hair.

“You should get some sleep, sweetie. It’s late for you.”

“I’m not tired.” Your body says otherwise. You’re practically melting into him, into the bed. If you stay there for just a few minutes longer, you’ll be fast asleep.

“Now why don’t I believe that,” he teases.

You sigh and force yourself off of him, beginning to slip off the bed. “Let’s watch something.”

He sighs, too, but at your unrelenting stubbornness. It’s almost reassuring. At least you weren’t in a heap under the blankets, sobbing. He follows you into the living room, to the couch directly across from a large TV. You grab a blanket and wrap it around yourself until you are securely cocooned and tucked against an armrest. He sits next to you, drawing you into his side. His Evol carries the remote to his hand.

You command him along through menus and catalogues until you reach one of your favorite comfort films. The lights automatically dim as it starts playing.

You’re not even three minutes into the movie before your eyes are drooping closed. He knew it would happen, knew the exhaustion would catch up with you eventually. Still, it was quite cute, watching you fight to keep your eyes open and your head off his chest. Slowly, slowly giving in. Resting your head on his chest. Listening to his unusual heartbeat. Losing the battle against consciousness.

Still, he lets it play through to the end. It’s not a bad movie, he decides. You enjoy it, so it must have some merit. And you can always tell a lot about someone based on their favorite things.

Careful not to wake you up, Sylus lifts you into his arms, cradling you close to his chest. He carries you back to bed, not bothering to unwrap you from your cocoon at all. Despite being wide awake, he lays down beside you, continuing to hold you close to him. If you have a nightmare, he wants to be there. If you wake up in a dazed panic, he wants to be there.

As accustomed as he’s become with taking lives, he’s unfamiliar with the crisis you’re facing and how to comfort someone through a crisis of any kind. He wants to help. As best as he can, he wants you to be okay. He needs you to be okay.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow

[seancekitsch]

GIVE US PHOS

ask and ye shall get! this is a shorty, a little warm up, i love him

“He’s asking for you again,” The man in the suit tells you. You don’t remember his name, never having committed it to memory, but he doesn’t work for Arkham. Hes government, or something, and a lot of the others look worried when he’s around.

“Okay? And are you gonna let me see him?” You ask, your nail between your teeth as you bite down and tear the broken nail from your finger. Your nails are uneven now, and you scowl as you look at the botched job. You paid a lot to have one of Two-Face’s girls to do your nails and now the whole thing is ruined because you had the smart idea to try and scratch the last guard when he got too mouthy with you.

The man in the suit doesn’t respond, but holds up a shock collar as the door slides open with a woosh. You bend towards him, as if a queen on her coronation to allow him to put it on. The collar means yes, the collar means you get to see Mr Handsome again, means you might get to sit pretty on Boss Man’s lap again. The collar hisses as its lock clicks into place.

It feels like endless hallways you walk, the only differences being that the further you go, the more the tiles fade from pristine white to a faded yellow or a blood stained bloom across the floor. The man in the suit leads you to a set of double doors with no lock on them, like the doors to the mess hall and the rec room. Whatever this is, no one important is worried you’ll be too much of a threat. The idea of that puts you on edge as much as it comforts you, as this means whatever you’re facing will either be a grossly romantic reunion with Phos because you’ve been oh so good and haven’t killed anyone in three years, or one of Waller’s damn suicide squads. The man in the suit opens the door and motions for you to enter, but he doesn’t speak and he doesn’t enter the room himself. You more or less stomp your little pink slippers that the institution has given you into the room, its fluorescent rod lighting too harsh and irritating. But a voice you hear stops you from any anger or frustration you might feel from the lighting.

“My doll!”

That voice. You freeze, and look up into familiar eye sockets. It’s Alex, Dr. Phosphorus. It’s your boss, your man, your devoted, the reason you’re locked up to begin with. A smile breaks out across your face as you see him, and you’re so thankful you don’t have handcuffs on as you run forward to throw your arms around his neck. For a split second, you curse yourself for burying your full face of makeup into his soft hoodie, but its been 15 years since you’ve seen him, and you’ll scrub it clean if its really a problem. Warm, edging on hot arms wrap you in an embrace, strong and tight to pull you flush against his chest. You almost think you hear him whisper ‘finally’ against your hair but you can’t be sure. His fingers tangle in the hair at the base of your skull, his flames just hot enough to sting but not hot enough to cause damage. You’d learned quickly when he took you on how he could control it. Often times, he either didn’t care or didn’t want to control it besides his clothing. With you, he cared until you begged him to burn you, and even then, he held back. Your embrace gets needier, his arms moving from your back to hook under your thighs and lift you up. Instantly, you hook your ankles around his hips to secure your place on him. Its crazy, the way that you fuse back together so easily after over a decade apart, how easily the two of you fall back into your patterns.

“Oh Phos,” you sigh, “I’ve missed you, baby.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he tells you, and then pulls back just enough to look at you, “Did they tell you I just helped stop the end of the world?”

You shake your head, your eyebrow quirking up in question. They didn’t tell you anything.

“Yeah, stopped a whole war. Got the right strings pulled that they’d give me you as a reward for my good deeds.”

He doesn’t need eyes or lips for you to see the smirk or the roll of his eyes as he speaks.

You are many things, call girl, amusement park ride operator, gun for hire, and now a spoil of war. You cannot find fault in any of those titles, especially with the fact that you have his affection on your side.

“And uh, does your prize… get conjugal visits?” you ask, leaning closer to his flames. He doesn’t answer with words, instead he just kisses you, that familiar burn that you’ve dreamed and touched yourself about finally returning to your mouth. He drops you down onto one of the institution staple folding tables, the plastic cold and hard as your back slams against it.

“I didn’t ask,” he tells you, his hand reaching for the waistband of your sweatpants, “But I was planning on doing this no matter what.”

He doesn’t even tell you about the new team you’re joining.

[childrenofcain-if]

Please let us comfort C about their knee 😭 I'm seriously going to be angry if there's no option to beat the sh*t out of Alain when we see him in game 😡

I'm begging you for a fluff piece, they deserve it ❤️🙏

C’s dorm always felt quiet—as though the silence itself was holding its breath. even when music hummed low from the speakers, even when there was a mug of tea on the desk and a book abandoned on the bed, even when you were there. especially when you were there.

you hadn’t meant to stay this long—hadn’t meant to be here at all, really. but the night had bled into a soft comfort that made time meaningless, and C had let their guard down in that way they only ever did with you, trading their usual biting flippancy for something quieter. something fragile and hidden beneath layers of disdain that you’d spent years peeling back.

they were standing now, aiming to move toward the small kitchenette attached to the common area, their voice low as they asked, “do you want anything? tea? something else?”

“tea’s fine,” you said, leaning back against the wall, your legs curled beneath you on the bed. it was a simple enough exchange, a moment so ordinary it felt almost... domestic.

and then you saw it—the faint hitch in their step, the way their right leg dragged ever so slightly behind the left.

your heart thudded once, hard enough to make your ribs hurt.

“C,” you said, your voice louder than you meant it to be. they froze mid-step, their back to you, their shoulders taut as if bracing for a blow. “did you—did you fall or something?”

they didn’t turn around. for a moment, you thought they wouldn’t answer at all. then, slowly, they turned their head, their profile striking in the dim light. the shadows softened their face but did nothing to hide the tension in their jaw, the faint tremor in their hands as if you’d caught them doing something illegal.

“no,” they said finally, the word flat and hollow.

you sat up straighter. “then what—”

“it’s nothing,” they snapped, spinning to face you. their voice wasn’t loud, but it was harsh, each syllable flung like glass shards meant to keep you at a distance. their chalcedony green eyes burned, but the fire in them wasn’t the usual fury you’d come to expect from C. it was fear, raw and unfiltered.

“C…” you said again, softer this time, and that was what did it. their face crumpled, not quite enough to be called a collapse, but enough for you to see the exhaustion carved into their bones. they sat down heavily on the bed, their head bowed as if the weight of the moment were too much to bear.

“it’s nothing,” they repeated, but it sounded like a lie even to them.

“i don’t believe you.”

you waited, the silence stretching between you, brittle and acute. finally, they looked up at you, their face pale, their lips pressed into a thin line.

“my father,” they said, the words forced and clipped, as if they were prying them loose from their lungs with a metal wrench. “when i was little. he… he didn’t like that i accidentally broke a china plate from the kitchen while grabbing some food. apparently it was antique and one of its kind. believed i needed to be punished for being so careless.” they laughed bitterly. “he used a baseball bat to teach me a lesson.”

the air in the room shifted, stifling. you couldn’t speak, couldn’t fathom the kind of cruelty it would take to do something like that to a mere child. to C.

you swallowed hard, your throat tight. “let me see.”

they stared at you, their eyes wide and disbelieving. “what?”

“your knee,” you said, your voice steady despite the anger simmering beneath it. “please.”

for a moment, you thought they would refuse. they sat motionless, their hands clenched into fists at their sides, their breath coming shallow and uneven. then, slowly, they nodded.

C stood, their movements stiff and deliberate, and pushed the waistband of their pajama pants down far enough to reveal their knee. the act itself wasn’t sensual, wasn’t sexual; it was simply them letting you in, letting you see a piece of them they’d spent years hiding. but perhaps that knowledge made it all the more intimate.

your breath caught as your eyes fell on the fair, marble-like skin stretched over the joint. the shape of the knee was uneven, the bone obtruding out at odd angles where it had healed wrong. there were faint scars, pale and jagged, like ghostly reminders of the violence that had shaped them. the area around it was slightly swollen, the skin faintly discolored, a muted blue-gray hue that looked almost tender to the touch.

you reached out before you could think better of it, your fingers brushing lightly against the damaged skin. C flinched but didn’t pull away, their eyes locked on yours, their breath hitching as if the contact ached in ways that weren’t physical.

“good god,” you whispered, the word trembling on your lips.

C laughed, uncharacteristically nervous. “it’s not as bad as it looks.”

“it’s worse,” you said, and the anger in your voice shocked you both. but it wasn’t anger at them—it was at the man who had done this, the man who had taken a child and broken them in ways that could never fully be repaired.

without thinking, you leaned down and pressed your lips gently to their knee. the kiss was soft, reverent, more an act of devotion than anything else. C gasped, their hand flying to your hair, their fingers trembling as they threaded through it.

“what are you doing?” they whispered with a surprised look in their eyes.

“loving you,” you said simply, shutting them up.

see, childhood had been a knife stuck in C’s throat for the longest time, honed sharp by alain’s hands.

it was a knife that dulled with time but never stopped twisting. even now, years removed from that godforsaken house, from that evil man, they felt its cold atmosphere in every step they took, every chronic flare of pain in their knee when it rained or when they put too much pressure on their right leg, every stumble they hid behind a sharp tongue and a perfect façade.

vulnerability was a language they had unlearned as a child, carved out of them with every slap, every shout, every moment alain had twisted ‘love’ into something entirely unrecognizable.

and yet, here you were.

your lips pressed to their knee, the damaged joint that had never quite healed, and C felt like they were being slowly undone. the kiss was so gentle, so absurdly soft against the place they hated most about themself, that they thought they might break apart entirely.

no one kissed scars like this. no one kissed something so damningly ruined and made it holy.

C looked down at you, your face turned toward them like you belonged there, like you didn’t see the unflatteringly jutting angles of their bones or the bruises still hidden deep inside their soul which was wrapped in the rage that they inherited from their father.

you saw them. and in that moment, C wondered if you were the only reason they had managed to keep breathing through all the years of pain and silence.

they remembered the first time they laid eyes on you during middle school. you had been all fire and light, laughing with some friends, your smile so bright it had burned them. C, sitting alone at the back of the classroom, had felt a squeeze in their chest they couldn’t name. not yet.

at the time, it had felt like resentment—how dare you shine so freely when their world was filled with shadows which often made them taste the coppery taste of their own blood? how dare you be a star, so untouchable, so effortlessly seen?

but it wasn’t hatred, not really. they knew that now.

for years, they had convinced themselves that their fixation on you was because they wanted to outshine you, to prove they were your equal. they had fought you in every class, thrown snide remarks, done everything they could to make you notice them.

because the truth was, they would have torn the world apart just to make you look at them the way they looked at you.

and when you finally did—when your gaze settled on them, not with pity or contempt but with something startlingly like understanding—they had felt like they could truly breathe for the first time in their life.

now, as you knelt in front of them, your breath ghosting over their skin, C thought that maybe they had been living for you all along.

and it scared the fuck out of them.

because loving someone like this, needing someone like this, was just a brand new knife against their throat. and the most terrifying part of it all was that C’s heart didn’t mind it this time, not at all.

“tu es tutus,” you murmured, your lips brushing over the misshapen bone of their right knee. you’re safe.

they closed their eyes, their lips quirking up in a faint, almost disbelieving smile.

“amor meus, vita mea,” they said softly, their latin perfect, their voice unsteady. my love, my life.

you leaned into them, your forehead resting against their thigh, and they tilted their head back, their breath caught in a way that broke your heart.

C wasn’t a religious person. alain had beaten any notion of faith out of them long before they were old enough to properly understand it. but as they looked at you, they thought that maybe, just maybe, there was something divine about you.

my sweet starkid, they thought, god—or fate, or the universe, or whatever cruel, indifferent force that exists—must have made you just for me.

they reached out to you, their hand trembling slightly as it settled on the back of your neck. they pulled you closer, their lips pressing against your temple in a kiss so light it barely counted as one.

“stay,” they said, the word cracking slightly. it wasn’t a command though; it was a plea.

“i’m not going anywhere,” you replied, your voice steady and sure, and C thought that maybe, for the first time in their life, they believed it.

that really did hammer the nail in the proverbial coffin. you loved C unconditionally, so they lived.

[spocks-husband]

It's probably really obvious based on how I write them, but I'm obsessed with the idea of Bruce and Talia being each other's first loves.

Bruce is a young man, still a teenager, barely out of his childhood. He's spent every day since the death of his parents in this horrible downward spiral of pain and darkness and revenge-- until, toward the end of his training, while he's working so hard to channel all his rage into something that can be harnessed for good (he hopes). He begins training with the League Of Shadows and he meets this girl and she's beautiful. She's gorgeous and intelligent and graceful, and she fights with a sword better than anyone he's ever seen. He's a little intimidated by the idea of having her father as an in-law but for this girl he'd press his luck. She likes her chai with extra spice and when it's just the two of them she laughs like the sun and she has these perfect uneven dimples that make his heart jump into his throat. Her hair is so silky and long he can't help but touch it and her eyes are a sparkling shade of sage and she tells him quietly how she wants to see the world through eyes that are not her father's. Bruce has never been in love before, he didn't even believe in it until now, but here he is, and he loves her more than anything.

Talia is a young woman who spends her time wishing and wanting and yearning for that which she can never have. She loves her father-- how can she not, he's all she's ever known-- but she's hungry for a chance to look out at the world he describes with such bitterness, to look at it with her own eyes and make her own judgements of its people. One day, this goofy looking American boy with shaggy black hair and the tensest muscles she's ever seen arrives at their compound to train, and he's beautiful. He's handsome and thoughtful and full of this terrible, agonized darkness that she wants so badly to drain from his soul. She teaches him massage techniques because he's incapable of relaxing his body in the slightest, and he lets her sleep against his chest on warm afternoons when her father is away. She knows deep down that they're never really alone-- there's always someone watching them, she is the Daughter Of The Demon's Head, afterall. She cherishes her time with him, though, because it's all that she possibly can do, because she's only ever heard of this feeling in myths and storybooks-- Talia has never been in love before, she didn't even believe in it until now, but here she is, and she loves him more than anything.

But of course, nothing good can stay forever, he has his destiny and she has hers-- but as the years go by they constantly seem to find each other, over and over again... And every time they do, he sees that girl with the dimples and the silky hair, and she sees that boy with the tense brow and that burning determination, and they both think--

'Good God, what happened to us?'

[rorylovesangst]

A Burning Hill

construction worker/underground fighter simon riley x waitress

mood board

song of the chapter is I Bet On Losing Dogs by Mitski

tws: sh injury, physical discomfort, emotional distress, self-deprecation

previous chapter → chapter 3 -> next chapter

word count: 2.5k

The next time you see him, it’s not at the diner. But you really wish it was.

The bell above the pharmacy door cuts through the heavy quiet with a sharp, irritating jingle. The air is thick and stale, heavy with the scent of cardboard, antiseptic, and damp. You pull your coat tighter around your body, its nylon whispering as you move, and your sneakers squeak against the warped linoleum, leaving small wet prints behind.

The overhead lights flicker faintly, casting yellow, uneven shadows over the shambolic shelves. Rows of half-forgotten remedies line the aisles, their withered labels mucky and peeling. The heater in the corner gripes mellifluously, pushing out only the faintest suggestion of warmth.

You find the burn cream on the far aisle, tucked between dented bottles of rubbing alcohol and crushed boxes of gauze. You crouch, your cold, stiff fingers skimming over the boxes, your eyes snagging on the bold prices: $17.99. $23.95. $19.90. An acidic knot twists in your chest. It might as well cost your entire paycheck.

The bell above the door chimes again, and the sound of boots scuffing against the linoleum cuts through your thoughts. You shift slightly, keeping your focus on the shelves and their ludicrous prices.

Embittered, you snatch a box of the cheapest cream and stand up too fast, your heel catching gawkily on the edge of your coat. You stagger backward, colliding with something solid—no, someone.

“Shit—sorry,” a voice rumbles behind you, low and familiar, vibrating through you like an aftershock as their breath puffs across your shoulders, balmy and minty.

Your breath catches, and you whirl around on your heels. His face is right there. Broad shoulders framed by a battered green jacket, the same blond buzz cut, and eyes so stygian they feel like ink.

Riley. Coffee, light and sweet.

For a moment, you’re too agitated to speak. The box of burn cream slithers from your fingers, thudding softly to the floor. He bends to grab it, rising in one smooth motion, holding it out like an offering.

“You okay?” He’s watching you with a smirk, cool and coy.

“I’m fine,” you say nippily, hell for leather. You pluck the box from his hand, holding it in a hermetic embrace against your belly.

Your eyes flick from his hands, seething and raw, back to his face. “You should clean those up,” you blurt, leaking like a faucet from your mouth, as you stare at the shelf behind him, the vitamins coalescing into a colorful, prismatic haze.

He raises an eyebrow, the faintest hint of amusement wrestling at the corner of his mouth. His knuckles flex as he rubs one hand over the other, and his voice carries a dry, razz edge. “Clean ‘em up, huh? That coming from you? With that look on your face?”

You blink, startled. “What?”

He gestures loosely toward you, his dark eyes probing over your posture, your face. “Your eyebrows are all pinched up. You’re holdin’ that burn cream like your life depends on it.” His tone softens, a few opaline teeth keeking through his curling lips. “Not exactly subtle.”

Your cheeks prickled hot, and you innately loosen your grip on the box. “It’s fine.” You’re flaring, voice serrate, defensive. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” he replies, tipping back slightly, though his gaze doesn’t waver. “Bet it doesn’t even hurt, right?”

“It doesn’t,” you snap again, the words brazen this time.

He chuckles, low and throaty, the sound entwining around you like vines. “Could’ve fooled me. You’re holding yourself so tight you might snap in two.”

You scowl, shifting on your feet, suddenly hyperaware of the dull throb radiating from your chest. “Shouldn’t you be worrying about your own injuries?”

“Oh, I am,” he says with a grin, holding up his hands dramatically. “Look at me. Poster child for health and safety.”

Against your better judgment, an infinitesimal laugh escapes you before you can stop it. A few more glistening teeth poke out from behind his grin, and you immediately hate yourself for finding him funny.

“Seriously, though,” he continues, his tone softening just a touch, “you should take care o’ that. Burns ain’t something you want to mess around with. Get infected easily, y’know?”

You flub for words, making them come out like a dog's breakfast. “I—I know,” you mutter.

“Good.” He nods toward the cream still clutched in your hand. “Tha’s a start. Now you jus’ need to stop looking like you’re about t’bolt.”

Your eyes dart to his, startled by his bluntness. “I’m not—”

He cuts you off with a wry smile. “Yeah, you are.”

You open your mouth to argue but close it again, the words failing you. You glance down at the burn cream, suddenly feeling the weight of his attention like a spotlight.

“I should go,” you blurt, stepping back.

“You’re good at that,” he says lightly, though there’s no malice in his tone.

“At what?” you snap, your embarrassment bubbling into a rolling boil.

“Running off,” he replies, shrugging. “Guess I’ll see you at the diner, sweetheart.”

The word sweetheart lands like a stone in your chest, sending a hot flush up your neck. Without another word, you turn and head for the exit.

It’s only when the cool air nips your face that you realize the burn is still safe and sound on the shelf where you’d slipped it in your panic. You don’t bother turning back. The burn will heal itself, without the aid of an overpriced cream.

Olive, of course, does not agree with you.

She’s protesting at you over the running water, your hands pruned and wet as you wash the dishes. “Blue, I’m so fucking serious! Why didn’t you get it?”

You shrug, handing her a plate to dry. “I dunno. Slipped my mind, I guess.”

“Slipped your mind?” she scoffs, glaring at you with her jade eyes, “You are telling me it slipped your mind to get the burn cream as if you can’t hear the gauze every time you move.” You nod, and she scoffs again. “Ill buy you some then.”

“No—no. Olive, seriously. I will get it. I swear.”

“You better,” she demands, draping the rag over your shoulder before going back out to the front. You watch her go, your hands still submerged in the soapy water. The warmth seeps into your skin, feeding the black holes that live deep inside you—parched, gnawing voids that grow where your bones should be. She tugs her umber hair into a clip as she walks, her hips swaying in that effortless, kittenish way she has. Olive always moves like she owns the space around her, like the world bows to her rhythm.

In the year and a half you’ve worked at the diner, she’s become a lifeline—motherly, but not your mother. She’s too young for that, only a few years older than you, and far too happy. It’s the kind of happiness that feels like a foreign language, one you’ll never learn to speak.

Olive had your back when no one else did. She let you crash at her place when things got bad, even found you that rundown ranch for dirt cheap—just a couple hundred a month. You try to repay her the only way you know how: covering shifts, cooking the occasional egg bake, and pretending not to need anyone.

But the truth is, Olive is the only one who’s seen through you.

And that’s why you’ll get the damn burn cream tomorrow. Probably.

You spend the rest of your shift crammed in the back, where the dishwater steam clings to your skin, making you feel as though you’re dissolving into the air. On your lunch break, you slump against the countertop, your arms folded like the weight of the day is too much to hold upright. Tony’s voice fills the space, rough but warm, as he flips something sizzling on the grill. He slides you a chicken quesadilla with a gruff, “Messed this one up,” followed by a quieter, “Looks like you could use the extra pounds.”

Olive’s voice cuts through the clatter of the kitchen. “Blue! Get out here a sec!”

You pause mid-bite, blinking toward the kitchen door. Tony gives you a pointed look, smirking as he flips a pancake. “Guess you’re wanted.” You sigh and stuff one more fat bite into your mouth, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk.

You rub your hands on your apron and push through the swinging door, the abrupt garishness of the diner’s main room making you squint. Olive stands near the counter, her back turned to you. But she’s not alone, and you almost choke on your food.

Olive peers over her shoulder, her perfect teeth glistening behind her pink lips. “This is Simon,” Olive says, nodding toward the man beside her. “He’s a family friend. Said he came in here the other day.”

Riley’s gaze meets yours, soft and steady. His dark brown eyes flicker with recognition, and he smiles faintly.

Olive glances from you to Riley—Simon?—her eyes narrowing as her gaze bounces between the two of you. “Have you two already met?”

Simon glances at you briefly, then back at Olive. “Something like that.”

You shift on your feet, feeling heat creep up your neck. “We ran into each other at the pharmacy,” you mumble, brushing a stray hair out of your face.

“Literally,” Simon adds with a small chuckle, but there’s no edge to it, no teasing smirk. Just an easy, almost apologetic tone.

“Ah,” Olive says, her curiosity lingering, but she waves it off. “Well, now it’s official. Blue, meet Simon. Simon, meet Blue.”

He holds out his hand, and for a moment, you hesitate. Then, reluctantly, you reach out to shake it, wary of the wrap engulfing his knuckles. His grip is warm despite his callouses and scars, and you wish you could curl up in his palm and steal all his warmth, but you pull away quickly.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, his voice low and calm. “Properly, I mean.”

“Yeah. You too,” you reply, your voice far more cloying than you intended, making you cringe.

The scrunch of your gauze sparks his attention, causing him to furrow his brows. “How’s the burn?”

You blink, taken aback. “The same as this morning,” you mumble, smoothing out your apron.

“Thought so,” he says, eyebrows slightly raised. “Burns aren’t something to mess around with.”

You nod, glancing away. “I’m taking care of it.”

“Glad to hear that,” he says with a faint smile.

Your gaze drops to his hands, the cuts on his knuckles. “What about you?” you ask, surprising yourself. “Your hands… are they okay?”

Simon glances down at them like he’d forgotten they were there, then shrugs. “They’re fine. Just clumsy, I guess.”

“Looks like more than just clumsy,” you murmur, but he doesn’t respond, just rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“You two done swapping injuries?” Olive cuts in with a grin. “Blue, Tony’s yelling back there. Simon, want me to grab you a coffee or something while you wait for Price?”

Simon nods, but his eyes linger on you for a beat longer. “It was nice seeing you again,” he says softly, stepping back to let you pass.

You mumble something resembling “You too” before slipping through the door, your pulse hastening for reasons you can’t quite place.

The quiet buzz of the diner feels like a bulky, smothering blanket, pressing down on you as you wipe the counter with bovine, ruffled motions. Your skin feels sticky, the burn on your chest starting to throb painfully; it’s alive and refusing to let you forget it, growing tentacles and eyes. The sting isn’t just a sting anymore. It’s oozing, sticky, raw in places it shouldn’t be, but you can’t bring yourself to look.

Olive’s voice breaks through the silence, humbler than usual. “Simon’s a good guy, you know.”

You freeze for just a moment, not ready to hear it. You know she’s talking about him, but you can’t quite bring yourself to nod or even respond. Your hands feel too rigid, the tingle of the burn creeping over your chest, making it hard to focus. You wish you could ignore it, wish it would go away.

Olive doesn’t push, though. She doesn’t seem to need you to respond. “I’ve known him for years. He’s the quiet type—keeps to himself mostly, but when it counts, he’s there.”

You wish your heart didn’t strain at her words. She makes it sound so simple, so tranquil. But everything about Simon feels like a weight you weren’t ready to carry. You can’t get comfortable around men. Haven’t been able to for as long as you can remember. Maybe it’s the way they look at you. Maybe it’s the way you look at them. Every part of you wants to space yourself, to keep up the walls you’ve spent years building.

You clear your throat, trying to push the uncomfortable feeling aside. “I thought his name was Riley,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “That’s what it said on his jacket.”

Olive glances up, her smile soft but knowing. “Riley’s his last name.”

You’re eyes flutter, caught off guard. “Oh.”

“Yeah, Simon Riley,” she adds, a slight warmth in her tone.

You nod, your fingers moving to polish at the counter again, but your movements are slugish now, bemused. Ronny coughs and sniffles from the back, a rough sound, cutting through the silence just as Olive speaks. His cough rattles through the diner, something almost intentionally loud about it, like he knows exactly what he's interrupting, exactly when to make his presence known. You can’t help but feel a strange sense of unease wash over you at the sound.

You shift anxiously, the burn on your chest now impossible to shrug off. It’s not just a dull throb anymore, but a sticky, aching kind of pain that pulls at the skin, and you can feel it starting to seep through the fabric of your shirt. You try to hide it, but it’s getting worse—making you feel more exposed with every second that ticks by. The tightness in your chest isn’t just from the burn. It’s the weight of your own discomfort, the way you can’t bring yourself to reach out for help, even if you know it’s getting too bad to handle alone.

Olive doesn’t press on Simon anymore, her gaze softening with a quiet understanding you can’t quite place. “He doesn’t talk much, kinda like you.”

Your hand intuitively goes to your chest, trying to kneed at the burn, but the pain intensifies, and you wince, clenching your jaw against it. You want to pull away, to escape the way it feels to be so visible—so vulnerable. But it’s too late.

Olive doesn’t say anything else, and the diner seems to settle back into its rhythm. But in the back of your mind, there’s that thought, small and growing: Simon. He might be a good guy. You just might not deserve someone like that. Not when you can’t even handle your own skin, let alone anyone else’s skin pressed against your own knowing the rot will spread.

[d0llcuries]

LYING HAS TO STOP

pairing(s): neteyam x fem!na'vi reader

summary: neteyam is haunted by memories he shared with you before he left for awa'atlu

author's note: i think this could technically count as angst but it's more melancholic to me, there's just lots of longing. consider this a warning i suppose. i really can't put it here but listen to “lying has to stop” by clairo while reading for the best experience!! unrelated but i have midterms tomorrow and i haven't studied #yolo !!! 😜 (help me)

neteyam stood on the shore of awa’atlu, watching the sky, it's orange and pink light reflecting off the vast, endless sea. the sky here always seemed too wide, too open, nothing like the comforting embrace of the forest canopy he had grown up beneath. here, there were no towering trees to shelter him, the cool breeze that came off the ocean didn’t carry the scent of the forest, of wet earth and soft moss.

two years had passed since they fled. two years since the sully family left their home, their people, and everything they had known. awal'atu, for all its beauty, for all the new skills and wonders he had discovered, this place would never be home.

home was where she was.

he glanced down at the bracelet that circled his wrist, a simple thing—woven vines and tiny purple and blue beads. he hadn’t taken it off since the day she gave it to him. the memory of that moment was burned into his mind, one of the last things he could hold onto when everything else had been stripped away.

the way her wide, tear-filled eyes had stared up at him, as if she couldn’t quite believe he was leaving. he explained everything to her, his voice breaking as he explained why they couldn’t stay. she had understood, of course. she always understood. but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

the day his family decided to leave the omaticaya had been one of the worst of his life. the guilt of it still weighed heavily on his shoulders. they had no choice—quaritch wasn’t just hunting his father, he was hunting all of them. staying would have put their entire clan in danger, would have brought death and destruction to their people. but leaving... leaving meant abandoning the life they had built. it meant leaving her.

he could still feel the soft warmth of her hands, the trembling in her fingers as they brushed against his skin. and he could still hear the way her voice had cracked when she told him she loved him, right before she kissed him as if for the first time. her lips soft and trembling, her breath warm and uneven, the way she had pressed herself so close to him, as if she were trying to imprint herself into his very soul. he had kissed her back just as fiercely, holding her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded, the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

his heart ached at the memory. every night he replayed it over and over, the feel of her, the taste of her, the way her breath had hitched in her throat when he deepened the kiss. he could still taste the salt of her tears, mingling with the sweetness of her lips. it had been bittersweet—knowing it was a goodbye, even if she had promised it wasn’t forever.

forever, neteyam. i’ll wait forever.

he wanted to believe her. he had to believe her. but the distance between them seemed to grow wider with each passing day.

bitterness haunted his heart at the thought of what should have been. they were supposed to be mated by now. it was all so clear back then, so simple. it wasn’t even a question of if, but when. he could still remember the way she had smiled when he first mentioned the possibility of them being mated, how her cheeks had flushed a soft shade of violet, her eyes bright with excitement. he remembered how shy she had been at first, her hands fidgeting nervously as she offered him a carved trinket she had made. a symbol of their courtship. his heart had swelled with pride and affection, and he had taken it from her as if it were the most precious thing in the world. and to him, it was. everything she touched became sacred, imbued with her warmth and care. the future had seemed so sure, so inevitable, like the turning of the seasons or the rise of the sun.

but then quaritch came back, rearing his ugly head into their lives once more, like a demon from some nightmare. everything shifted in that instant. the careful plans they had laid, the promises they had made—all of it was torn apart in the blink of an eye. nothing was certain anymore. nothing was safe.

the metkayina were kind, welcoming. they had taught him to swim, to ride the ilu, to adapt to their ways. but no matter how much he learned, no matter how skilled he became in their ways, neteyam still felt like a stranger. and at night, when the village was quiet and the only sound was the soft lapping of the waves against the shore, he let himself feel it. the loneliness, the heartache, the longing for a life that seemed further away than ever before.

he thought of her constantly. every day, every night. he wondered what she was doing, if she was safe, if she still thought of him the way he thought of her. he would lie awake, imagining what it would be like to see her again. to hold her. to hear her laugh. his mind would drift back to the quiet moments they had shared—the way she would lean into him, her head resting on his shoulder, the way her fingers would trace the lines of his palm as they sat together in the stillness of the forest.

she was always there, in the back of his mind, a constant, aching presence. he would catch glimpses of her in the most unexpected moments—a flash of her smile in the curve of a wave, the sound of her laughter in the distant call of a tulkun. at night, when the village was quiet and the stars reflected off the still water, he let himself remember her fully, let himself drown in the memories of her.

he remembered how she used to laugh, how her eyes would crinkle at the corners when she was truly happy. how she would tug at his braids playfully, teasing him in that soft, affectionate way of hers. he could still hear her voice, soft and melodic, as she whispered his name in the quiet moments they shared alone.

but as the days stretched into months, and the months into years, that trust had started to feel fragile. had she moved on? the thought plagued him, gnawed at him like a festering wound. she had promised to wait, but how long could he really expect her to? he didn’t know when—or if—he would ever return. and if she had found someone else, if she had chosen to be with another, he couldn’t blame her. he knew she had every right to. after all, he had left her. not by choice, but he had still left. he couldn’t expect her to put her life on hold, to wait indefinitely for something that might never happen.

the idea of her being with someone else, though—it tore at him. the thought of another man holding her, kissing her, making her smile the way he used to—it was unbearable.

“neteyam?” his father’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. jake stood a few feet away, his expression unreadable in the fading light. neteyam had grown used to the look—his father’s concern, his quiet observations. “you alright, boy?”

neteyam nodded, though the tightness in his chest told a different story. “yeah.”

jake studied him for a moment, then sighed, stepping closer. “i know this move hasn’t been easy for you,” he said, his voice gentle. “for any of us. but you... you’ve been carrying a lot on your shoulders.”

neteyam glanced down at the sand beneath his feet, not trusting himself to speak. his father didn’t know the half of it.

“ke’loreä’s been asking about you,” jake continued, his tone careful. “she’s a nice girl. strong, kind. maybe you should give her a chance.”

she was kind, sweet even, with a laugh that rang like a bell and sea-green eyes that sparkled when she looked at him. she had taken an interest in him from the beginning, always finding excuses to be near him, to talk to him, to laugh at his jokes, even the ones that weren’t particularly funny.

at first, he hadn’t noticed. or maybe he had, but he hadn’t let himself think about it. but as time passed, it became harder to ignore. she would linger by his side during training, brush her hand against his arm when she spoke, offer to help him with tasks that didn’t require any assistance. she was... nice. there was nothing wrong with her. in fact, she was everything a mate should be.

but she wasn’t his.

“i cannot,” neteyam said, his voice tight. he shook his head, his jaw clenched. “i cannot do that to her.”

“to ke’loreä?” jake asked, raising an eyebrow.

“to yn,” neteyam corrected, his chest tightening at the mere mention of her name. “i can’t... i can’t betray her like that.”

jake let out a slow breath, his expression softening. “son, it’s been two years. i know you miss her. i know this isn’t what you wanted. none of us wanted this. but you can’t hold onto the past forever. we all left people behind. but maybe it’s time to start thinking about—”

“i am not holding onto the past,” neteyam said, his voice quieter now, but no less firm. “i am holding onto her. she is not the past. she...” he trailed off, unable to find the right words to explain the depth of what he felt. “i promised her,” he said finally. “and she promised me. i am not going to break that. she is waiting for me.”

“and what if she’s not?” jake asked quietly. the words hung in the air like a heavy weight, pressing down on neteyam’s chest.

he hadn’t let himself think about that. he couldn’t. if he let himself believe, even for a moment, that she had moved on, that she had found someone else, it would destroy him.

“she is,” neteyam said, his voice firm, though his heart trembled with uncertainty. “i know she is.”

jake didn’t say anything for a long moment. finally, he placed a hand on neteyam’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “i just don’t want you to spend your life waiting for something that might not happen.”

neteyam swallowed the lump in his throat, nodding stiffly. his father meant well, but he didn’t understand. how could he? he didn’t know what it was like to love someone so deeply that their absence felt like a physical wound, to miss someone so much that every day without them was like another weight added to his chest.

jake didn’t push the issue any further. he placed a hand on neteyam’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze before turning and walking back toward the village, leaving neteyam alone with his thoughts once again.

he closed his eyes, letting the sound of the waves wash over him. he could almost hear her voice, soft and sweet, carried on the breeze. he could almost feel her hand in his, the warmth of her skin against his. he could almost see her smile, the one that always made his heart race.

but when he opened his eyes, she was gone. just like she had been.

sobbing. should i do a part two?

[daisymbin]

Hii it's my first time requesting. Can I request 5. "Is that your way of asking me to stay tonight" with Joshua x female reader thankyouuu

hi anon!! thank you for requesting!! 🤍🤍

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // shua's m.list

suggestive prompt #5: "is that your way of asking me to stay the night?"

joshua leaned back against the couch, his arm draped casually along the backrest, his hand brushing your shoulder. the movie you picked had long since faded into the background, forgotten amidst stolen glances and lingering touches. your focus wasn’t on the screen—it was on him. you can't help but be reminded of how happy you've been the past 2 months, dating someone like him.

“you’re not even watching,” he teased, voice low and soft, a smile playing on his lips.

“neither are you,” you shot back, turning your head to meet his gaze. his eyes sparkled in the dim light, and the corners of his mouth twitched, betraying the amusement he tried to hide.

before either of you could think twice, the gap between you disappeared. his lips were warm against yours, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. the movie’s soundtrack melted into the background as the kiss deepened, a slow and deliberate exchange that left your heart racing.

when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, and his breath was uneven. his thumb brushed your jawline, lingering like he didn’t want to let go.

“it’s getting late,” he murmured, his voice just above a whisper. “i should probably go.”

your eyes widened at his words, panic flaring in your chest. “wait!” the word came out more desperate than you intended, and joshua’s brows raised in surprise.

“what is it?” he asked, his lips curving into a faint smile, his hand still resting on your waist.

“it’s just...” you glanced at the clock, scrambling for an excuse. “it’s late. you shouldn’t drive this late, its.. dangerous.”

his smile widened into a smirk, the kind that made your stomach flutter. “is that your way of asking me to stay the night?”

your cheeks burned under his gaze, and you bit your lip, suddenly shy. you nodded, barely meeting his eyes.

joshua chuckled, his voice warm and teasing as he leaned in closer. “you’re making this really hard for me, you know that?”

“why?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

he sighed, his forehead dropping to your shoulder for a moment before pulling back to look at you. “because i’m trying to be a gentleman. i’m trying to leave before things... escalate.” his eyes flickered down to your lips before returning to your gaze, the implication clear.

your heart pounded as you processed his words, your fingers instinctively curling around the fabric of his shirt. “what if i don’t want you to leave?”

joshua’s breath hitched, his resolve visibly wavering. “are you sure about that? i dont know if i can hold myself back if you keep looking at me like that.” he said softly, searching your expression.

you nodded, your voice steady despite the heat rushing to your cheeks. “im sure,”

he let out a soft laugh, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “you’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, but the smile on his lips gave him away.

“is that a yes?” you asked, a nervous lilt to your voice.

he sighed dramatically, leaning back against the couch as if weighing his options.

his tone turning teasing again as he leaned closer, his smirk returning, “no man in their right mind would ever say no to you, darling.”

your cheeks flushed, and you buried your face in his shoulder, his laugh rumbling against you. even as the movie continued playing in the background, it was clear neither of you was paying attention anymore.

[callmeagardengnome]

𓆩 bless me 𓆪 - chapter 13

w.c - 2.8k

pairings - demon!ateez ot8 x demon! fem! reader

genre - demon au, hint of royal au, possible yandere themes (?), romance, slow burn

synopsis: as hell's receptionist, you only wished to talk shit and stay out of trouble. yet, you happened to be the one that the two social clans in hell start fighting for.

c.w - dark themes, knives

not proofread!

previous / next

masterlist

Time froze as Seonghwa pressed you against the cold wall, his switchblade just under your chin. “How long have you been planning this?” he asked bitterly. “How elaborate is this foolish scheme of yours?”

You squirmed under the blade, wincing. “I don’t kno-”

“You don’t know?” Seonghwa sneered. He dug the blade deeper into your skin, enough to draw a line of blood. “Convenient answer for someone as-”

“-Stop,” Mingi interrupted, his voice hoarse as he tried to rise to his feet once more, gripping the bars for support. “Put the blade down now.”

Seonghwa scoffed, not even sparing him a glance as he kept his eyes on you. “Are you going to be a nuisance the whole time?”

“Yes,” Mingi said. “If you keep hurting her.”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes. “How noble.”

Without warning, he grabbed your arm harshly, dragging you away from the chamber. You tripped, stumbling over your feet as Mingi shouted raspily behind you.

“Where are you taking her?” his voice echoed.

Seonghwa looked back with a cruel smirk. “Out of your reach.”

His grip tightened as he dragged you down the tunnel, away from Mingi’s reassuring presence. Seonghwa pulled you closer to him, his breath against your ear as he leaned in.

“I wonder if he knows how close you are to Yunho.”

Your eyes widened and you tried to push against his grip. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t answer.

“Hello?” you pressed on.

He only tightened his hold, dragging you faster as his pace quickened. The wind from the speed hit your face until you were shoved into what appeared to be a lavish bedroom. The abrupt stop made you cough as Seonghwa kicked the door shut and threw you into a chair.

You barely had time to process anything before the switchblade was back, its pointed tip now pressing against your forehead.

“Duke, don’t you think this is unnecessary?” you tried to reason with him, your voice trembling slightly.

“Oh, this is completely necessary,” Seonghwa spat, his face inches away from yours. “How could you betray the King like this?”

“What are you talking about?” You let out a frustrated breath. “You knew that I wasn’t on your side.”

“It’s bad enough being a traitor, but helping another one? In the Palace? Are you insane?” he snapped, his voice rising.

“You can’t possibly believe that we’d kill Mingi like that,” you said, irritated.

Seonghwa’s jaw clenched, his breathing becoming uneven. “Do you have any idea what this means for us?”

The blade trailed down to your chin, forcing your head up. “Every day, I watch more and more Eternals turn against the King,” his voice cracked. “Whether it’s Mingi or any other idiotic demon.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but his grip on the blade tightened as he continued. “And I can’t help but think that you’re the cause of all of this.” 

You stared at him. “Did you really think that this would all end well?”

“Yes,” he replied with no hesitation. “Everything ends well. For the Eternals, at least.”

The pause that followed was heavy.

His eyes blinked repeatedly when he realised how close he was to you - and for a moment, something unreadable flashed across his face. Seonghwa backed away suddenly, the blade lowering as he took a step back.

“I didn’t think you were stupid enough to help those.. pests,” Seonghwa said. “What would you even achieve from this? A badge? A trophy? You’re not a saint.”

“Come on,” you sighed wearily. “At this point, I have to beg you to open your eyes. Why are you so blind to the fact that the Halas did nothing wrong?”

“They’ve done many wrong things,” he scoffed.

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Stealing land,” he stated.

“No, that was you guys,” you denied.

Seonghwa’s brows furrowed. “They’re aggressive-”

“-They wouldn’t be that way if you guys didn’t attack them every century,” you cut him off.

“They hate us,” he said. “I’m sure they would harm us if they could.”

“Because the Eternals harmed them first.”

Seonghwa blinked. He brought the switchblade back to your chin, though his movements were almost hesitant now. “You think you’re funny?”

“Who told you all these things about the Halas?” you asked.

He paused.

“...The King,” he said hesitantly.

His eyes burned into yours as the silence stretched between the two of you. You would have felt pity for him if he didn’t hold a literal blade to your chin at that moment.

“Why would you believe him?” you asked softly.

“...Because he’s the only one that believes in me,” Seonghwa whispered, so quietly that you almost missed it.

His breathing slowed down as he lowered his knife completely, sitting on the edge of his bed. His shoulders slumped like he was beginning to see cracks in his beliefs.

You stood up, dusting off your cloak. “I’m leaving.”

He didn’t look at you, his brows furrowing as his thoughts spiralled. 

“I hope you open your eyes to see that the Halas aren’t the bad ones here,” you said, moving to leave. “Wake up, Seonghwa. The King is using you.”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⊹₊ִ ࣪𖤐๋࣭ ⭑⊹₊ 𖥔.

Wooden training swords clashed against each other in the training hall. You stumbled back, wiping the sweat from your face as you tried to hold your stance. Jongho stood infront of you, barely out of breath.

“How-” you gasped. “How the Hell are you so strong?”

A small smile tugged at Jongho’s lips as he watched you drop to the floor, sprawling on your back. The floor beneath you felt cool to your heated skin.

“You’re pretty strong too,” he shrugged. “If only you had more stamina.”

“That’s it,” You waved him off, panting. “I’m done.”

“Come on, one more round,” he clapped his hands together, a grin forming.

“No- I actually can’t,” you said, lifting your head slightly off the ground. 

Jongho crouched beside you, his arms resting on his knees. “I’m sure you can,” he smirked.

“Ask Wooyoung. Or San,” you suggested, still trying to catch his breath. “I’m sure San would be thrilled to spar with you.”

“Maybe,” Jongho replied, chuckling. “But it’s not as fun.”

You exhaled sharply. “I can’t-”

“Just one more round,” he said. “Please?”

You groaned, knowing that he was not taking ‘no’ for an answer. With a cough, you pushed yourself off of the floor. “Fine. But if you ask for another after this, I’m fighting you for real.”

The next round was brutal. Jongho didn’t even bother to go easy on you. You gave it your all, your muscles screaming in protest. By the time it was over, you collapsed to the ground once again.

Jongho sat cross-legged beside you. He looked over at you. “Sorry, I think I went too far,” he admitted, his eyes softening slightly.

“It’s okay,” you muttered between your gasps for air. “Just let me rot here..”

He chuckled, leaning back on his hands as the two of you sat in silence. After a while, you lifted your head to look at him. “You can go back if you want.”

Jongho raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I mean it,” you insisted. “I’ll be fine.”

Without a word, Jongho stood up and walked away, leaving the room. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on your breathing. But after a few minutes, you heard the door creaking open. You turned your head - and there he was again.

Jongho held up a few apples as he walked towards you.

“I don’t-”

“Just take them,” he cut you off.

You sighed but reached out, taking one. The bite was crisp and refreshing, something you desperately needed after that horrid sparring session. Jongho sat next to you, biting into one of them himself.

The two of you ate in silence. And after all these crazy things happening to you, you finally felt like you had a break.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖���₊ִ ࣪𖤐๋࣭ ⭑⊹₊ 𖥔.

Wooyoung rolled around in your bed, a little too comfortable for someone that just barged into your room. 

“I’m so jealous,” he grumbled, tossing his arms behind his head. “Why is your room as big as the barracks we sleep in?” 

You shrugged. “I’m just that good.”

He rolled his eyes, grabbing one of your pillows before throwing it at you. You were about to throw the pillow back when you suddenly heard a knock on the door. Both of you froze, staring at each other. 

“Who is that?” Wooyoung whispered. 

“I don’t know, but you’re not supposed to be here,” you gestured to the bathroom. “Hide.”

Without wasting a second, Wooyoung scurried to the bathroom, quickly shutting the door. You smoothed out your clothes and opened your bedroom door to reveal.. Yunho. 

“Hey..” you greeted confusedly. You peeked out into the hallway, checking if either Hongjoong or Seonghwa were around. “Are you okay? Do you need something?”

“I-“ he began, toying with the sleeves of his blazer. “I need to talk to you about something,” he said, though it sounded more like a question than anything. 

“Yeah, of course,” you said, leaning against the doorframe. 

He blinked. “Uh- I meant inside.”

You paused, your eyebrows shooting up. “Oh.”

Before you could invite him in, Wooyoung’s head popped out from behind the bathroom door. Yunho’s eyes narrowed immediately. 

“I see you have company,” Yunho coughed out. He took a step back. “Forget it, we’ll talk later.”

“Nonono,” Wooyoung said, walking over to the door. “I’m sure whatever you need to say to her, you can say to me as well.”

Yunho looked visibly annoyed. “I don’t think-“

“I think,” Wooyoung interrupted, putting his arm on your shoulder. “It’s perfectly fine for you to talk to her. As long as I’m here.”

Your eyes pleaded for Yunho to just go along with it. Yunho looked at you, then Wooyoung. “Fine,” he muttered.

As the three of you walked into the room, Yunho sighed heavily. “What is he doing here?”

“Well-” you began before pausing, glancing at Wooyoung. “Honestly, I don’t know. He kinda just appeared.”

Wooyoung sat on the chair in the corner of the room, tilting his head. “What’s wrong with two demons hanging out?” he asked, his eyes locked on Yunho.

“Nothing,” Yunho crossed his arms, glaring right back at him. “Except for the fact that you’re hanging out in her bedroom.”

“You-”

“-What do you need, Yunho?” you cut in, hoping that the two of them would stop. You sat on the edge of your bed and watched as Yunho stood stiffly, still fidgeting with his sleeves.

Yunho took a deep breath, pulling a folded piece of paper from his blazer. “Someone slid this under my door,” he said, handing it to you.

You opened it, raising an eyebrow when you saw elegantly written words on it:

‘Tell your girlfriend that I will assist her in reckless endeavours to help the roaches of Hell - under the condition that my actions will not bring harm to the King. If her plans stray beyond this boundary, my assistance will cease immediately, together with my tolerance for her life.

Do not make me regret this decision.’

“Seonghwa…” you breathed out. 

You looked over the note again, re-reading it to check if you were just seeing things. While you did find it questionable that he referred to you as Yunho’s ‘girlfriend’, something else bothered you.

“Wait-” Your head snapped up, narrowing your eyes on Yunho. “Why would he give this to you?”

Yunho swallowed the lump in his throat.

“I.. had a conversation with him two nights ago,” he confessed, his posture uneasy. “Trying to convince him to be more.. open-minded about loyalty.”

You leaned forward, urging him to continue. “And?”

Yunho sighed. “He kept going on about how we had no power, no plan- no way of getting away with this. I thought showing him the chambers would prove we’re smarter than he thinks.”

Your stomach dropped. “Are you serious?” you nearly shouted, standing abruptly. “You’re the reason I almost died.”

“Died?” Wooyoung exclaimed, rising from his chair. He cracked his fingers as he glared at Yunho. “Oh I knew you were shitty-”

“He wouldn’t kill her,” Yunho scoffed. “He’s not brave enough for that.”

“He was brave enough to hold a knife to my neck after realising Mingi was alive,” you shot back.

Yunho bit the inside of his cheek. “To be fair, I didn’t tell him that part.”

You groaned, your hands running through your hair as you slowly sat back down onto your bed. “I need a moment to think about this.”

A silence fell over the three of you before Wooyoung spoke up. “This is when you leave.” 

Yunho hesitated, reaching for the note before you slapped your hand over it. “Leave it here,” you demanded.

He nodded reluctantly, standing and walking to the door. Just before leaving, he glanced back at you - his eyes softening with concern. Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind you.

You heard a ‘tsk’ as Wooyoung walked towards you. “This is exactly why I don’t trust him,” he muttered, his voice bitter.

You glared at him as he picked up the note, reading it. You saw how his brows furrowed as something strange flashed in his eyes before he set it back down.

“Just saying, if that were me,” he added quietly, pointing to where Yunho just left. “I would never put you in that situation.”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⊹₊ִ ࣪𖤐๋࣭ ⭑⊹₊ 𖥔.

The quiet rustle of paper cranes filled the room, folding and unfolding in your hands as you sat at Hongjoong’s desk. Seonghwa was nowhere to be seen and Hongjoong was seated across from you, completely focused on the documents infront of him.

As you dropped the crane into the jar - you noticed something.

A ring. On the King’s hands.

There was something disturbingly familiar about it.

The piece of metal on his ring finger caught your attention. Was he married? From what you knew of the Royals, you were sure that he wasn’t. Also, the ring looked weirdly cheap and old. Would the King really wear something as inexpensive as that?

The longer you stared at it, the more your surroundings melted around you - your mind transporting you to a dream-like place. Or a memory.

The feeling of demons pushing past you came back. The sounds haggling grew louder as merchants and shopkeepers yelled for demons to come to their stalls.

Though despite this, a small shop caught your eye. A display of trinkets and jewelry, all made with cheap copper and brass.

Your fingers brushed over a simple copper ring, the metal warm to the touch under the blistering sun. It was small and simple - something that you knew wouldn’t get stolen by other demons.

“I’ll take this one,” you said, placing a few coins on the table. 

As you slipped the ring onto your finger, the world seemed to shift and you found yourself in the office, in the middle of folding a crane. 

You blinked, trying to brush off that memory of yours. It wasn’t that significant, was it?

But as you folded another paper crane, your eyes darted to Hongjoong’s hands again. The ring stirred a strangely intense feeling of deja vu.

“...Where did you get that ring from?” you asked, your mouth moving before you could think.

Hongjoong froze. The slight widening of his eyes betrayed his surprise, though he quickly recovered. He touched the ring briefly, almost unconsciously, as he lowered the file.

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing on you. “What happened to your chin?”

You instinctively touched the sore cut under your chin, wincing slightly at the reminder of your conversation with Seonghwa. “I fell-”

Before you could finish, a knock was heard. Seonghwa entered, though he paused when he noticed the tension in the room. He walked over to his chair, sitting down slowly. 

Hongjoong’s eyes shifted from you to Seonghwa. Without a word, he rose from his seat and walked over to the Duke.

In one swift motion, Hongjoong snatched the switchblade from Seonghwa’s belt. You held your breath as he turned the blade over in his hands, studying it intently.

Hongjoong walked back to you, his footsteps echoing softly against the carpet. Gently, he held your chin with one hand, tilting it upward so the light shined on the scar. The unexpected softness of his touch sent a jolt through your spine. His eyes darted between the wound and the blade, comparing the line of the cut to the edge of the weapon.

“Hm,” you heard him say as he stepped away. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the blade back onto Seonghwa’s lap.

Seonghwa managed to catch the weapon, his face filled with worry as his jaw twitched.

Hongjoong returned to his seat, his eyes lingering on Seonghwa for a moment too long before he shifted his attention back to you.

He nodded toward the sheets of square paper scattered on the desk, finally speaking up. “Fold.”

remember to like repost and comment! i love reading all of them, so feel free to comment as much as you want! any and all feedback appreciated <3

series taglist [OPEN] - @binchanluvrr @hiddlestandom @avantalem @hecateslittlewitchling @iara-ya @thunderous-wolf @jaerisdiction @mallielovssyou @syzygyweeb @dime29 @marsofeight @doitforbangchan @shotaswife @soulphoenix1618 @justalittlegirl27 @minakooo @nqyzhuo @symmieangela @miyaluvvsyou @pirana10 @arilevenatz @darkmiraclefest @eighttens @lightwxodd @non-return @yunhossilverlight @levishun @sunkissedchocobeauty @nuggiesnuggetdog04 @castingjinx @sparda1234 @choisanchwego

[thebunnednun]

For you

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

Summary: "My life is always better with you in it."

Katsuki's life really would be if you hadn't jumped in front of him.

Request: Found here.

The battlefield was a wasteland—once a city, now reduced to rubble.

Shattered concrete and twisted steel framed the scene of devastation, the remnants of skyscrapers lying in crumbling piles.

Heavy with smoke and ash, the sky was a sickly gray, and every breath felt like inhaling fire. Explosions echoed in the distance, like thunder rolling through the earth, but all you could focus on was the looming figure of Shigaraki.

He stood amidst the chaos like a nightmare come to life, his decayed fingers twitching with the promise of death. His grin was twisted, his eyes cold and dead despite the frenzy around him. The ground beneath his feet crumbled into dust, the very air around him feeling heavy with decay, as if everything he touched was fated to fall apart.

Screams rang out from somewhere, the city below was full of chaos and destruction. The sharp smell of burnt ozone and blood mixed with the nauseating stench of decay—Shigaraki’s touch spreading its corrosive influence.

You were barely holding on, your breaths ragged and uneven, eyes locked on Katsuki as he prepared to charge at Shigaraki once again.

His sweat-slicked hair clung to his forehead, dirt and blood staining his usual fiery expression. His movements were sluggish—he was running on fumes. Each explosion from his palms faltered, a shadow of their usual strength.

‘Katsuki!’

Your eyes locked on him, heart racing as you watched him push his battered body beyond its limits. His breaths came in shallow gasps, his chest rising and falling erratically, blood streaking down his arms from wounds he had no time to tend to. His hands were charred, trembling with the effort it took to summon even the smallest of explosions, but he kept going, his fierce determination burning brighter than his injuries.

You could see it—the blood dripping from his hands, the slight shake in his knees. He wouldn’t last much longer.

And Shigaraki knew it too.

With a twisted grin, Shigaraki raised his hand, the decaying aura sparking around him as his fingers outstretched toward your boyfriend. 

"Time to die, Katsuki Bakugou."

Time slowed.

He wasn’t fast enough this time. You could see it—the moment Shigaraki’s eyes gleamed with recognition, the sick satisfaction of knowing Katsuki was about to fall. Your heart pounded in your chest, an overwhelming sense of dread washing over you. You didn’t think. 

You couldn’t think.

In that moment, all you saw was Katsuki standing there, vulnerable, facing a death he didn’t deserve. 

Before you could think, your legs had already launched you forward, your heartbeat thundering in your ears. Time slowed to a crawl, every second stretching out in agonizing detail as Shigaraki's decayed hand shot toward Katsuki, the sheer force of it warping the air. Your voice tore from your throat, but it was drowned in the chaos.

“Katsuki!” 

Without a second thought, you launched yourself between them, throwing up a barrier of crimson energy, your body moving before your mind could catch up. You barely registered the crackle of crimson energy that flared from your fingertips, instinctively separating them.

Red light surged from you, forming a shimmering dome of protection, but even you knew it wouldn’t hold. Shigaraki’s raw power collided with your shield, and for a brief moment, the world was reduced to a blinding clash of red and gray.

The world trembled as Shigaraki’s decayed fist smashed into your shield. The barrier crackled, and you could feel it faltering. A shudder ran through you, pain lancing up your arm as you braced for the full force of the hit. The shield cracked, fragments of red energy bursting into the air like glass.

Then the barrier shattered.

The sound was deafening, like glass exploding into a million shards, and then there was pain—unimaginable pain. Shigaraki’s blow landed squarely on your arm, crushing bone and flesh like they were made of paper. The force of it sent shockwaves through your body, your ribs cracking as the blow slammed into your chest, knocking the air from your lungs.

You were weightless for a moment, suspended in the air like a limp doll before gravity seized you, and you hurtled backward, smashing into a crumbling wall with enough force to send debris flying in every direction.

And Shigaraki’s blow connected with you.

Your arm crumpled under the force, bones cracking like brittle wood as his attack crushed into your chest. The impact ripped the breath from your lungs, sending you crashing back, skidding across the ground until you slammed into a pile of debris.

‘Pain.’ 

That’s all you felt. A sharp, burning pain that made it hard to breathe, your vision blurring as blood trickled from your lips. You heard Katsuki’s scream, distant and muffled, like it was coming from underwater.

You heard Katsuki scream your name, but his voice felt distant, as if the world was muffled by the ringing in your ears. Darkness crept at the edges of your vision, blood filling your mouth as you gasped for air, each breath shallow and ragged. Your entire body throbbed, every nerve alight with agony, but even through the pain, your mind clung to one thought—

‘He’s safe.’

Through the haze of agony, you could see him running toward you, his face contorted with a mixture of anger and fear—fear you’d never seen on him before. His hands trembled as he dropped to his knees beside you, trying to pull you into his arms without hurting you further.

"Why the hell did you do that?!" 

His voice cracked, betraying the fear that lay beneath his anger. His eyes searched your face, as if trying to hold on to every detail, as if afraid that you’d disappear the moment he looked away. He was pressing down on your chest, but it didn’t stop the warmth of your blood from pooling beneath you or slipping through his fingers. You tried to laugh, but it came out as a wheeze. 

"Couldn't... let you die." You gasped for air, wincing as another wave of pain surged through your chest. You managed a weak smile, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. Your lips trembling as you coughed, tasting the metallic tang of blood. 

"Couldn't... let you die." 

Your voice was barely more than a whisper, each word a struggle. Despite the agony, you managed a soft, lopsided smile, your hand weakly reaching for his. "We both know... you’d do the same."

"Besides... I’m stronger... when you’re safe."

"Shut up," he muttered, his voice thick with frustration. His grip on your hand was tight, almost painfully so, as if he could anchor you to the world through sheer fucking will alone. His hand was shaking as he pressed harder on your wound, blood staining his palms. 

"Don’t say that. You're not... you're not supposed to get hurt like this!"

You blinked up at him, your vision swimming as the world began to tilt. "You’re safe... so it’s okay."

But it wasn’t okay.

“Fuck,” he growled, though his voice was softer now, his forehead pressed against yours, the heat of his skin a stark contrast to the cold creeping through your body. 

"You're not dying, ya hear me? You can’t."

Shigaraki’s voice cut through the air again, dark and mocking. “How touching. Sacrificing yourself for someone weaker than you.”

Katsuki tensed, his hands clenching into fists. You could feel the heat of his rage boiling beneath his skin, his entire body vibrating with barely restrained fury. "Shut up!" he roared, his voice tearing through the battlefield. But he was shaking, and you could tell—

he was scared.

"Kats..." Your voice was barely a whisper, but it got his attention. You tried to push yourself up, your body screaming in protest, but you forced it. "I’m... not done yet."

The energy within you stirred, burning hotter and hotter, wild and uncontrollable. You could feel it coursing through your veins, the red light surrounding you growing brighter, warping the very air around you. This was the full potential of your quirk—a dangerous, volatile force tied to your emotions. And right now, with everything on the line, you were willing to risk everything.

But it came with a cost.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the energy writhing inside you, threatening to consume you entirely. Every time you pushed it this far, you felt a little more of yourself slip away, the power darkening your thoughts, twisting your mind. But you didn’t care. 

Not now.

With a final surge of strength, you jumped up and ran. You unleashed a pulse of crimson energy, sending Shigaraki flying backward. The ground beneath him crumbled as your quirk warped reality itself, distorting everything around you. Your body trembled under the weight of the power you were wielding, but you kept going, forcing Shigaraki back with every ounce of strength you had left.

But your vision was going dark, your limbs heavy. You could feel the corruption setting in, the darkness tugging at the edges of your mind.

In the midst of your fading consciousness, something deep within you stirred. The raw power of your quirk, the energy that had always been just beyond your reach, was now surging forward, fueled by desperation, by love, by pain.

You could feel it, like a wildfire racing through your veins, burning brighter and hotter with every passing second.

Scarlet energy crackled at your fingertips, your entire body thrumming with power. It swirled around you, dark and menacing, tendrils of crimson light warping the air as the sheer force of it distorted reality itself. This was the full potential of your quirk, the untapped well of power you had always been too afraid to unleash.

But now, with everything on the line, you didn’t care.

It felt like the world was collapsing in on itself as your power surged. The ground beneath you trembled, the air thick with tension as you rose to your feet, every step leaving a crack in the earth beneath you. The energy pulsed from you in waves, your vision blurring as the strain of it began to take its toll.

You knew what this meant. You knew what would happen if you used this much power—if you let it consume you. But all that mattered was that Katsuki lived.

With a primal scream, you unleashed the full force of your quirk, a torrent of scarlet light exploding from your body, slamming into Shigaraki and sending him flying back, the ground disintegrating in his wake. The air rippled with the intensity of your power, warping the space around you as reality itself seemed to bend under the pressure.

But your body couldn’t handle it. You could feel the corruption setting in—the darkness that came with overusing your quirk, the way it clawed at your mind, twisting your thoughts. Your vision flickered, black spots dancing at the edges of your sight as your strength drained away.

Through the haze of pain, you saw him—Katsuki running toward you, his expression raw and desperate in a way you had never seen before. You fall to your knees in agony, your bones feeling like they were being ripped from your hot flesh and eroded into nothing. You could feel the wound in your chest opening further.

His eyes were wide, panic stark in their depths, his breaths coming in sharp, uneven bursts as he skidded to his knees beside you. His hand hovered over your broken form, trembling, uncertain of where to touch without causing more pain.

And then everything went black.

The next thing you knew, you were being cradled in Katsuki’s arms. His face was blurry, but you could make out the frantic expression, the wild look in his eyes as he held you close.

"Stay with me,"

He pleaded, his voice cracking. You could feel his hands trembling as he secured your broken arm, as if holding you tight enough would stop you from slipping away. 

You could feel the tremble in his arms as he tried to press down on the wound in your chest, the blood staining his fingers. His hands were shaking, his breath hitching in his throat, and you could hear the faintest quiver in his voice—a crack in the armor he always wore.

"You can’t die here, damn it!"

Your lips twitched into a faint smile, even through the pain. "You’re yelling again," you whispered, your voice barely audible. 

"I’m not going... anywhere."

He didn’t respond, just pressed his forehead against yours, his breath shaky. The chaos of the battle had faded into the background, but all you could focus on was the warmth of his touch, his soul wrapped around you like a lifeline.

The energy within you flickered, ebbing away as you slipped into unconsciousness, feeling Katsuki’s presence anchoring you to reality.

“I love you. Please don’t go. Don’t leave me here.”

The world was quiet when you awoke. The sterile, antiseptic smell of the hospital greeted your senses, the sharp contrast to the battlefield jarring in its serenity. You blinked slowly, your body feeling impossibly heavy, the weight of bandages pressing against your chest and arm. Your mouth was dry, and your head throbbed with a dull ache, but the pain that had once been overwhelming was now just a distant echo.

You were alive.

You blinked groggily, turning your head to the side. It took a moment for your eyes to focus, but when they did, you saw him. Katsuki was sitting slouched in a chair beside your bed, his arms crossed over his chest, head bowed slightly as if he’d been waiting for hours. His face was pale, shadows dark under his eyes, and his hair was messier than usual, like he hadn’t slept in days.

His hand, however, was still wrapped around yours, his grip firm even in sleep.

A small smile tugged at your lips. You squeezed his hand gently.

"Hey," 

You croaked, your voice hoarse. Katsuki jolted awake, his red eyes wide with surprise, quickly masking the fear that had flashed in them. Relief then washed over his face, though he quickly scowled, masking any softness. His brows furrowed, and his grip on your hand tightened as he leaned closer, his lips pressed into a thin line. 

"You’re awake," he muttered, the relief in his voice palpable even though he tried to hide it.

"Looks like you... ended up protecting me after all," you teased, your voice weak and horace but laced with warmth.

“Stop that,” he grumbled, his eyes flicking away for a moment before settling back on you. But the hard edge to his words was gone, replaced by something softer, something vulnerable. His hand never left yours, his warm thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. 

“Just... don’t do something that stupid again.”

Your smile grew, though it hurt to do so. You could feel the exhaustion pulling at you, the warmth of his presence making your eyelids heavy. Katsuki glanced up from your joint hands to squeeze your smaller one in his rough palm. 

The look he gave you was one of complete nakedness and transparency. It was just you and him right now and forget everyone else. 

"I couldn’t let you die," he whispered. 

There’s nothing here to ease the quiet except the beep of the machines you’re connected to and the hum of the monitor he’s hooked up to. You want to open your mouth and tell him everything was fine but something inside your tummy pulled at you to just let him talk so you did. 

"You make everything... feel better."

You didn’t respond right away, but Katsuki caught the faintest twitch of your lips—just enough to let him know you heard him.

"Shut up," he muttered, sitting up straight, but his hand never left yours. He glanced away, his jaw clenched. "Just... rest, idiot."

You chuckled softly, the sound weak but warm. "You make everything right, you know that?"

He didn’t respond, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. 

Neither of you had to say a word. The silence between you felt full, a soft understanding that words could never quite capture. Your eyes met his, and in that shared gaze, you knew—everything you had been through, all the pain, the fear, the sacrifice—it was worth it.

No words were necessary. In the quiet of that sterile hospital room, amidst the beeping machines and distant echoes of footsteps, you both knew what the other was thinking. There was no need to say it aloud.

‘I am safe here.’

‘I have you.’

And that was more than enough.

Taglist for Bakugou: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, @raendarkfaerie If you wanna be added lemme know!

I own none of the images or art!!!

Be sure to check out my other works and leave likes and comments, they really help. I have a post war Aizawa x Prohero/Teacher Reader here in the master list. I also have a Pro Hero! Bakugou x Sugar Baby fic.

Drop a follow as well if you please. Don’t be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!!

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

[gumims]

something worth celebrating | geto x reader

tldr: birthdays with geto suguru if he never defected

wc: 528

“happy birthday, suguru.”

geto blinks, momentarily caught off guard as he steps into the dimly lit common room of jujutsu high. the soft glow of a few candles illuminates the space, their flickering light casting shadows across familiar faces. gojo leans against the couch, wearing a smug grin, while shoko sits cross-legged on the floor, lazily sipping from a can of beer.

and then there’s you—standing closest to him, hands clasped behind your back, eyes warm with something softer than the teasing amusement the others carry.

geto exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “you guys didn’t have to do all this.”

“gojo did most of it,” shoko mutters, gesturing vaguely at the table, where a cake—slightly lopsided, with uneven frosting—sits in all its imperfect glory.

“gojo, huh?” geto eyes his best friend suspiciously.

gojo only shrugs, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. “what? you think i’d let your birthday pass by without making a big deal out of it?” he tilts his head. “and i totally helped bake the cake. right, shoko?”

shoko, without missing a beat, deadpans, “he almost set the kitchen on fire.”

“hey,” gojo protests, “it was one tiny flame!”

you snort, shaking your head before reaching for geto’s wrist, tugging him toward the table. “come on, birthday boy. at least make a wish before the candles burn out.”

he follows without resistance, letting himself be guided to the seat in front of the cake. it’s not perfect—some of the frosting is smudged, and the candles are mismatched—but there’s something undeniably warm about it. about this.

“what should i even wish for?” geto muses, resting his chin on his hand.

“gojo not burning down the school would be a good start,” you suggest.

“or a year without an existential crisis,” shoko adds.

gojo gasps dramatically. “you guys are so ungrateful.”

geto chuckles, the sound low and amused. he casts a glance around the room—at gojo’s exaggerated pouting, at shoko’s lazy smirk, at the way you’re watching him, waiting patiently.

there’s something in his chest, something warm and lingering, and for a moment, he forgets about the weight of the world outside these walls.

he closes his eyes, inhales, and makes a wish.

when he opens them, gojo is already shoving a knife into his hand. “cut the cake before i eat it whole.”

geto rolls his eyes but does as he’s told, slicing into the cake with practiced ease. the first bite is—surprisingly good, even if a little too sweet.

“see?” gojo grins. “told you i’m a natural baker.”

“you didn’t even make it,” you remind him, shaking your head.

“i contributed with moral support!”

shoko snickers. “yeah, by standing there and making dumb jokes.”

gojo places a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “you wound me, really.”

geto, watching the banter unfold, feels something settle in his heart. he takes another bite of cake, savoring the moment, the laughter, the presence of the people who make this place feel like home.

he never really cared for birthdays, never made a big deal out of them. but here, surrounded by the people who know him best, he thinks—maybe, just maybe—it’s worth celebrating after all.

happy birthday to suguru geto, you will always be loved no matter what<3

might be my last work for a while or maybe forever who knows ahahaah