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bonewaryreblogs · 9 hours ago

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Ghosts 101

I wrote this as if Danny was giving a crash course powerpoint presentation to the Batclan or something, even if it has info he wouldn't actually have by this point in the story; I skipped the descriptions, reactions, questions, and "he said, she said" stuff because it was unimportant to my goal of putting all of the info I had about ghosts in a presentable format.

So yeah, have fun, I know I did :)

In almost any form they take, ghosts can be described as beings of emotion. Obviously, their fully living counterparts also have emotions but ghost emotions are generally more intense, always dialed up to 11, and drive the ghost to fulfill their obsession. A ghost obsession is the main reason that ghost sticks around on the living plane rather than moving on to the afterlife; for some, it’s because they had “unfinished business” like their murder was never solved or if they died in a particularly gruesome way; maybe they had an intense desire to protect their loved ones from whatever killed them or just generally wanted people to stay away from it; maybe they did move on but something disturbed their rest and they came back to rectify the situation so they could rest again. Each ghost is different and each situation is unique in its own way, even if there are common threads.

No matter what brought them here, ghosts feel intensely about their obsession and literally can’t not fulfill it; if they are prevented or have enough conscious thought to stop themselves, their already intense emotions go absolutely nuts and most will become violent until they can fulfill it again. The majority of ghosts will only have one obsession but it’s not impossible for them to have more or very nuanced obsessions.

A few examples:

My school had a lunch lady that worked there pretty much her whole life, like over 50 years, and that whole time the menu never changed, or at least not significantly. During my early days as Phantom, the school decided to add vegan/vegetarian options and this upset her so much that she came back to haunt the school; she just went by the name Lunch Lady, most likely because she’d been dead long enough to have forgotten her own name. Her obsession was to continue doing what she’d always done in life, serve kids lunch, and the change to the menu disrupted that.

Mine is a bit more broad and involves protecting people; if I see something wrong, something potentially harmful to others, it’s like an itch I can’t scratch if I don’t do something about it. It’s all I can think about and not helping drives me insane. Think of it like someone with really bad OCD that literally cannot help themselves; my sister is really into psychology and said the symptoms I described match. The most obvious scratch for that itch is stopping the bad guys in a dramatic fight to protect the innocent, but it’s hardly the only way; even working at, say, an animal shelter would do, though I would eventually grow restless knowing I could do more.

Which brings me to another point; fighting is not only common in ghost culture but it’s the best way to regulate our emotions since we don’t have a physical form anymore to keep those emotions in check. I’ve helped several ghost move on to the afterlife, and I have tried other methods, but the best I’ve found is confronting the ghost, figure out what’s keeping them here, fight them for a bit to release their built up tension so they can think a bit more clearly, then provide a solution to whatever their problem was.

Another example:

A couple decades ago, there was a kid at my school who was bullied horribly in life and the way they were able to pass on was to stand up to a bully and fight back like they always wanted to but never could. I played the part of the bully and one of my friends volunteered to play the victim for the ghost to stand up for, because no one did for them. Fulfilling that dream allowed them to rest, even if it was staged. Sorry, they were the first ghost I ever helped rest so the story is still kind of emotional for me.

Ahem, uh, let’s see, what’s next? We still have to cover haunts and types of ghosts. We’ll do haunts first, ghost types can get complicated.

A ghost’s haunt is the physical thing that ties them to the mortal realm; this could be an area that meant a lot to them when they were alive, like the school for the Lunch Lady and the bully victim, or maybe the house they lived in or the place they died; or it could be a specific person they had a strong emotional connection to, be it a loved one or several loved ones that they wish to protect or someone who hurt them that they want revenge on. Stronger ghosts have larger haunts and removing a ghost from their natural haunt is difficult at best, and even if they are able to claim a new haunt, they’ll still yearn for their original place. My haunt is pretty much all of Amity Park, whether I like it or not; I’ve been trying to accept Gotham, or at least Wayne Manor, but it’s been hard and I’ve been incredibly homesick since leaving. It’ll probably be easier once I’m allowed in the field and can fulfill my obsession to protect, but until then I’m just going to have to endure. Getting to know you guys and accept you as part of my haunt has helped, though, and talking to Sam, Tucker, and Jazz helps too, since they are very much part of my haunt. It helps me feel grounded, for lack of a better term.

Anyways, ghost types. I’ve been called a protector spirit but that’s not so much a type as a title, like everyone knows what you mean when you say “fish” but taxonomically it’s hard to actually define a fish without including or excluding things that logically should or shouldn’t belong in that category. There’s also a decent amount of overlap between types too, so it’s more like a sliding scale than anything concrete. Or the intersection of a couple sliding scales. Or something. Anyways.

What we would normally clump together as “ghosts” are usually the soul of a dead human that hasn’t passed on to the afterlife. They have varying levels of consciousness, memory of their past life, and control over their emotional impulses, from none at all to basically the same as a living person but dead. There are a few subcategories based on, for example, their level of malevolence, like poltergeist ranging between mischievous pranksters and downright evil sadists, and some subcategories can be split into further subcategories, like banshees are a poltergeist that are specifically feminine ghosts who wail and scream, but they all still fit within the broad category of “ghost”.

I could go into more detail, but then we’d be here all day and I don’t really wanna do that.

Amity Park had a higher concentration of people turning into ghosts than most towns, living up to its title of “most haunted town in the mid-west”, and many fall under the poltergeist category, but not all. Amity also has a lot of shades or shadow people, which is more of a psychic imprint of a traumatic event on ambient ectoplasm, but only if the victim doesn’t actually die; if they died, they would absorb the ambient ecto to become a more powerful ghost. Shades aren’t really alive, not in the sense of having a soul of their own, and generally just replay the traumatic event over and over until it runs out of energy. Will-o’-the-wisps, or just wisps, are also common, as a sort of pre-ghost entity; they don’t quite have enough soul power or emotional energy to become a full ghost but they try to stick around anyways, usually only a few days before they fizzle out and move on to the afterlife. They could potentially become a full ghost if given enough outside energy; from ambient ecto or magic to siphoning energy from the living to someone consciously giving them energy for the express purpose of making them into a full ghost.

As for me, I... call myself a ghost but that’s not entirely accurate since I do have a physical body. As far as I can tell, I fall under the category of “lich” which is closer to a zombie than a ghost. I don’t like thinking about what that means. The point is, I died in my parents lab, which was highly saturated with ecto, coupled with the ecto I’d been contaminated with my entire life, and ecto from the Ghost Zone as the portal opened up on top of me, with the bow on top of being traumatically electrocuted to death. I sucked up all that ecto at the exact moment I died, which brought me back to life and gave me a lot of power. I’m not super sure, and I don’t know if there’s any way to confirm this, but I think the power was too much for my body to contain, so it somehow stored the power in an alternate form. I still have access to some of my powers while in human form, but most of it I can only access in my ghost form.

Speaking of the Ghost Zone, it's inhabited by souls taken from Limbo and infused with extra ecto. They didn't have any reason to stay on Earth, which is why they were in Limbo in the first place, but after being supercharged they developed obsessions based on their emotions and what they remember of their past lives. Ghosts that are more powerful than average are called wights and are more on the same level as a lich if we equate an average ghost to, say, a revenant. A revenant is someone who was dead and brought back to life and still has a soul; if they didn't have a soul, they'd be categorized as a zombie, just a reanimated corpse. The difference between a revenant and a lich is the amount of power they have; revenants didn't have any connection to magic before but after being brought back they could potentially learn some, while a lich already had magic and it was usually increased by being brought back. They also didn't necessarily have to die first, so there's that.

Specific Types of Undead

Lich: a powerful magic user who becomes undead through any means. They still have a soul and access to their magic which, depending on the process, may have been enhanced. One avenue is a living mortal being exposed to the Fountain of Life or substances related to it, like Lazarus Pits or the ectoplasm of the Ghost Zone, though this may cause side effects.

Ra’s al Ghul - Ra’s has been around since at least the 1200s and already knew magic before entering the Lazarus Pit, which enhanced his powers. He will generally bath in a Lazarus Pit every few years/decades and has been doing so for centuries, getting close to a millennia. He has plenty of power himself but prefers manipulation, orchestrating elaborate plans from the background rather than getting his own hands dirty.

Vlad Masters - Vlad was exposed to Lazarus Water/ectoplasm once, for a short amount of time (a few seconds at most). Due to his preconceptions about ghosts and (mis)understanding of what happened to him, most of his abilities developed into what he expected of a ghost. After his initial exposure and recovery, he experimented with ectoplasm more and increased his exposure, though never again to actual Lazarus Water. His powers are comparatively weak but he has honed them to the point of still being a formidable opponent.

Danny Phantom - Danny had constant, but low level, exposure to ectoplasm for pretty much his entire life; he likely would have developed some kind of magic powers naturally, but the lab accident flooded his body with ectoplasm at the exact moment he was electrocuted to death, jumpstarting his powers. Due to his predisposition towards ghosts, most of Danny’s abilities are considered “ghostly”.

Pariah - As the first resident of the Ghost Zone, Pariah was exposed to the Waters of the Fountain of Life until it was corrupted into ectoplasm and has had constant exposure to ectoplasm for a long time, which flows differently in the Zone than on Earth or other pocket dimensions. He had no natural magic but had been touched with power from both Monitor and the Great Darkness, which influenced his power’s development.

Revenant: a non-magic user who becomes undead through any means. They still have a soul and have the potential to learn magic if it was used to restore them, even if they had absolutely no potential for it before. Exposure to the Fountain of Life or substances related to it, like Lazarus Pits or the ectoplasm of the Ghost Zone, is one way to bring a dead person back to life, but they can only become a revenant if their soul is also restored, otherwise they’ll become a zombie or ghoul. There will be side effects depending on the method, but dying is a traumatic experience on its own. A draugr is a type of revenant with the body of a giant. A Scandinavian term for basically the same thing is genganger. A kukudh is basically an Albanian revenant. A langsuyar is specifically a female revenant of Indo-Australia.

Jason Todd - Jason had been dead for a few months before Talia al Ghul managed to secure his body and submerge him in a Lazarus Pit, however Jason was angry and stubborn so his soul was still hanging onto his body by a thread and that was just barely enough. He was more zombie-like at first, but thanks to Talia’s magic and some less than gentle coaxing, Jason regained his mind. His trauma from dying in the first place was compounded by how slowly his mind was restored and the training of the League of Assassins of both his body and mind, once it returned enough to be trained.

Ghoul: an undead being with no soul connected to the restored body, and therefore no mind to direct them, regardless of method. They are easily susceptible to mind control but otherwise run on instincts and emotions, though they may or may not have memories from their time being alive. They are generally very violent and will attack pretty much anything that moves. The Turkish name for such a creature is orek.

Zombie: a reanimated corpse, possessing little-to-no free will or memories of their former life. If left alone, they just kind of stand around, maybe shamble a little, until given some kind of directive. Tibetans called them ro-langs and ancient Greece called them vrykolakas, somewhat crossing over with the old concepts of vampires.

Vetala: a ghost possessing a reanimated corpse; the ghost and body are usually unrelated.

Ghost: the disembodied soul of a once living creature (usually human but not always) that cannot or will not cross over to the afterlife. There are many subcategories and sub-subcategories based on a number of factors, like level of consciousness and malevolence. Ghosts have many names in other cultures that are basically synonymous with the general idea of a ghost, including bhoot, hortdan, hupia, shiryo, and yurei. They generally don’t have a physical form of their own but can possess humans, animals, plants, or objects to interact with the physical world.

Poltergeist: a catch-all term for ghost that range from mischievous pranksters to pure evil sadists, sometimes called a Vengeful Ghost. Poltergeists with vampire-like abilities or attributes are called strigoi.

Wight: a powerful ghost, usually fully cognizant even if they don’t remember their past life. Most of the souls pulled into the Ghost Zone became this when exposed to ectoplasm.

Will-o’-the-Wisp: a sort of pre-ghost entity that wants to stay in the living realm but doesn’t quite have enough strength to stay for long, usually lasting only a few days after the person’s death. Often shortened to just wisps. They can “graduate” to full ghosts if given enough energy from an outside source (even if that source is ambient magic/ectoplasm). Other commons names are jack-o'-lantern, friar's lantern, or hinkypunk, and are generally called hitodama in the East.

Shadow Person/Shade: they appear to be roughly humanoid masses of black material or literal shadows without a body to cast it. They are not a soul, they are the psychic imprint of a traumatic event that didn’t cause an actual death. The shade would basically play out the scene over and over again until the residual energy ran out.

Undead entities common enough in folklore to have a particular name

Ayakashi: a ghost that appears above the surface of a body of water. Why they’re there and what they do varies from luring sailors to join them in death to helping them avoid the hazard that killed the ghost. It may or may not fall under the “poltergeist” label.

Funayurei: an ayakashi specifically of the ocean.

Banshee: a generally feminine poltergeist associated with screaming and wailing.

Chang: the trapped spirit of a person who was killed by a powerful magic being, like a demon or vampire, and must “serve” the being by luring someone else to be killed and take their place, at which point they are released to the afterlife.

Dybbuk: while sometimes confused for the rare possession by a sex demon, a dybbuk is a human ghost that possesses a living human in order to have sex, either possessing the desired person or possessing someone else to have sex with the desired person. La Sayona is a specifically female version of this, potentially overlapping with a Virgin Ghost and Mavka. Hone-onna is a dead wife that appears to her still living husband, who looks like a skeleton to anyone but her husband.

Goryo/Onryo: the ghost of a noble or otherwise accomplished person who lost a power struggle shortly before death, or were killed so someone else could take their position. They are often resentful and angry at whoever succeeded them and generally fall under the “poltergeist” label, focused on whoever has the position they lost. A specifically female version is sometimes called a Kuchisake-onna. A similar concept was used in Harry Potter, where no one could teach Defense Against the Dark Arts for longer than a year after Voldemort was denied the position.

Virgin Ghost: a person who died before they could have a family of their own, generally young women but not always. They usually fall under the “poltergeist” label, targeting their still-living family members or those that fall into the same social category they were in when they died, which usually means young women.

Lemures: ghosts who are restless specifically because (they felt) they didn’t receive a proper burial, especially if specific funeral rites were important to their culture’s customs. They are sometimes called lietuvēns or lietonis, which are said to have been killed before their time and forced to wander until their allotted time would have been otherwise run out. They are sometimes called myling if they are just trying to convince someone to bury them properly, usually by leading someone to their body, which may be counterintuitive if their body is somewhere dangerous; they may act malevolently in order to gain attention but they generally don’t want to actually hurt anyone, they’ve just been stuck like this for a while and are frustrated because nothing else has worked.

Mononoke: a ghost that specifically causes their target to become weak or ill.

Drekavac: a catch-all term used in “South Slavic” areas that could refer to any number of undead-adjacent entities, including ghosts and zombies.

Some ghosts have specific forms that usually relate to how they died but are consistent enough to have been named in folklore. While their form is consistent, their temperament varies just as much as any other ghost. These include:

The self-explanatory Headless Horseman.

The Kuntilanak, Pontianak, or Yakshi of a pregnant woman who died in childbirth, sometimes called ubume.

Mavka or Nyavka appear as beautiful women to lure men to their deaths.

Noppera-bō are faceless humanoids that may or may not have others forms as well.

Pocong look like humans wrapped in funeral cloth; mummies are specifically ancient Egyptian variants. They are also different from zombies because they don't have a physical body like a zombie does.

Some ghosts possess animal as a host body for an extended period of time, like the Inugami that specifically uses a canine host body.

Yuki-onna are generally attractive female ghosts associated with snow and ice.

Non-undead entities often mistaken for them

Vampire: a demonic being that feeds on the life force of mortals. They may have been human at some point but that is not always the case. A similar creature is the jiāngshī in china, a lugat in Albania, a wurdulac in Slavic folklore, and an upiór in ancient Eurasian areas.

Wendigo: a (technically still living) human either possessed or cursed with a demon-like body that grows in proportion to what they eat, leaving them perpetually starving. This may or may not have anything to do with cannibalism, like folklore suggests, but this was often a punishment for being selfish and greedy. Slightly more humanoid versions are the jikiniki, the bal-bal, and preta.

Batkaak: demons that hunt hunters, or other warrior-like humans.

Dullahan: a demonic fairy that fits the description of the Headless Horseman.

Succubus/Incubus: sometimes confused with a dybbuk if the sex demon possesses a human.

Ikiryo: another name for the spirit of a still living person sent to “haunt” a target person or area, often via astral projection and generally leaves the body in a coma until the spirit returns.

Moroi: vampires with ghost-like abilities rather than typical vampire abilities.

Pricolici: vampires with werewolf-like attributes and abilities rather than typical vampire abilities.

Shikigami: demon-adjacent entities used by “onmyōji” (basically someone who does eastern astrology for a living) or witches/other magic users to carry out blessings and curses; another name might be anichimayen. They may or may not be related to Familiars, which includes a wide variety of creatures.

Sluagh: a group of fairies that “kidnap” humans, often appearing like a classic ghost to scare people.

Chupacabra: a demon that drinks the blood of animals, usually livestock, but specifically named after draining goats of their blood. They may or may not be related to vampires.

Deildegast: a demon-adjacent entity associated with boundary stones.

Dhampir: the offspring of a human and a vampire, sometimes called a demi-vampire.

Gashadokuro: a demonic entity that takes the form of a giant skeleton.

Nachzehrer: a demon often confused for a revenant. They generally try to drag the living to the afterlife before their time, sometimes claiming to be a loved one of the victim who just wants to be close to them again.

Qutrub: a demon that prefers to feed on human corpses.

Rusalka: mermaid-like entities from Slavic folklore.

#danny phantom #dpxdc #phandom #phantom bat #non undertale #ghosts 101 #ghost lore #ghost culture #ghost types #info dump

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bookofmirth · 1 year ago

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I was trying to be positive about hofas for a while after it came out, have I waited long enough

#i violently disliked most of it #but I’ve also forgotten most of it already #tis a conundrum #sjm critical #hofas #hofas spoilers #just in case #I might turn my ask box on again for funsies #even though I am [redacted] asks behind #I like getting little treats

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asteria7fics · 1 month ago

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I may regret saying this, but I think my New Years Resolution will be to finish and post 10 one-shots, including EWILY Extras.

Really, that’s less than one per month. I think that’s manageable… yeah?

#ramblings #I never make resolutions but I think this is doable #I’ve also… sort of forgotten how much I enjoy writing #Momento mori really did remind me what it is that I enjoyed about writing these in the first place #so I’m hoping to recapture that…?#aaaanyway something for you goobers to look forward to #I was going back through my voice memo ideas and I think most of them are perfectly doable as one-shots #on top of a few I’ve already started #it’s the year that Teri learns to write short fics!!!

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campirebites · 6 months ago

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My birthday is Monday and I’m having a sleepover with my best friend this weekend and despite the fact that it’s just going to be me, her, and her fiancé (also my friend), they have an entire theme for my birthday with decorations and stuff I’m literally going to cry. The best part? I literally think it’s vampire themed bc my friends know and love me 😭❤️

#the last time anyone did anything for ym birthday was when my mom threw me a Peter Pan themed bday in like 2018 or something #I’ve always hated my birthday bc it always gets overlooked and nobody tends to care #my father and sibling have forgotten to say happy birthday to me multiple years in a row before #my bar for my birthday is so low and I’m pretty sure my two best friends are throwing me a vampire themed birthday #with creative on theme mixed drinks and I’m going to cry I love my friends they know me #I haven’t even seen what they’ve done for me but I already know this is the most effort anyone has ever put in for my birthday #and I’m really emotional about it it already #camshitposts #I love my friends so much #this is also like my first birthday as a boy as Me and that’s so crazy and I’m so excited

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chuluoyi · 6 months ago

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𝐍𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

- zayne x reader

he is your husband and you are his wife. but of course you know the bitter truth—you will never be able to replace her.

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—angst, hurt/comfort, unrequited love, drunken sex, mentions of injury, blood, hunter!reader (not l&ds mc -> l&ds mc is zayne's late ex-girlfriend here), spoilers! from zayne’s bond story nostalgic sweetness

note: wc. 8k ! i've been having these bits and pieces scenarios for zayne in mind and then i thought what if i combined it all into one angst joyride? :)) tagging per request: @kissxcore @rjreins @i2s2m @tom-pls-fuck-me @yueyoonie @sanriosatoru

07.15 p.m

Zayne would be getting off work soon. He had just finished an emergency surgery, and it had been exhausting. Now it was quite late.

“Dr. Zayne! Great job today!” Greyson exclaimed, suddenly strolling into his consultation room with a grin. “Want to grab dinner with us?”

Honestly, he was starving too. “Where?”

“Oh, you know, that new place that just opened nearby! They have the tastiest tiramisu, or so I’ve heard. C’mon, we’re inviting the nurses too!”

He knew he needed to head home soon, but fatigue and hunger blurred his thoughts at the mention of dessert.

“Alright.”

. . .

08.25 p.m

Getting together with the hospital staff was always nice. They were rowdy, but it was definitely a great way to unwind after a hard day.

The tiramisu was as great as Greyson said. Speaking of his assistant, he and Yvonne were having a blast. Other doctors were getting drunk. Zayne could only shake his head, and it suddenly dawned on him that he had been here quite a while.

It was only when he turned on his phone and saw the time that he realized, with sinking heart that—

He was supposed to meet you at six.

If you were asked how you felt about your life now, you’d be hard-pressed to say you were completely content.

You were a stellar fighter in the Hunter Association, more than content with your job, and you had a good husband. To some, you had what they would call the perfect life.

The wife of the Dr. Zayne. True, it was a flattering title, yet unbeknownst to everyone, also a humbling one.

And the notion struck you once again when your husband of almost two years stood you up on your dinner date without so much as a notice.

“Miss... we’re about to close now...” The waitress approached your table for at least the third time, and you nodded sheepishly, finally finishing your meal.

You paid for it and left the restaurant. The chilly night air hit your skin, giving you goosebumps as you walked home. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Granted, Zayne had a packed schedule, and you figured he might've had an urgent matter to attend to that he forgot to let you know.

Still... it hurts. Knowing you were not a priority in your husband’s eyes wasn’t a fun feeling.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket the moment you arrived at your shared home. Your husband’s name flashed on your screen. The time now was 08.40 p.m.

“Hello, Zayne?”

“Y/N?” Your husband’s voice sounded frantic. “Are you still at the restaurant? I’m going—”

“Ah, no need to. I’m going home.”

“I’ll pick you up then. Stay there—”

“I’ve already arrived.”

An awkward silence settled between you, and you could clearly hear the noise on the other end. Greyson’s laughter was unmistakable.

You forced a laugh, still trying to sound cheerful for him even when realizing that he had completely forgotten about you. “It’s totally fine, Zayne! Are you heading back?”

“Yeah...”

“Take care then. See you at home.”

You ended the call with a sigh, trying to shake off the sting in your heart. As you made your way upstairs to your bedroom, you passed by a large portrait on the wall, and a bittersweet sensation washed over you.

Your wedding photo. Both of you were smiling on what was the most wonderful day of your life. Zayne’s smile was reserved, but yours was radiant.

It is the most wonderful thing that has happened to you... but is it the same for him?

At that time, despite everything, you were convinced a lifetime of happiness awaited you, yet now... it got harder to fool yourself into believing it.

Your marriage has always been lukewarm.

Zayne wasn’t an overly excited person, and you were his opposite—but try as you might, some things between you just didn’t work out. As a result, both of you tended to keep certain things to yourselves.

Most days, this didn't bother him. He valued his privacy, so the way things were suited him just fine. However, several days later, when Greyson approached him with a worried expression and a news, even Zayne had to draw the line.

“Dr. Zayne? Uh, how do I say this? I think I saw your wife being wheeled in earlier with the injured from the hunt zones raid…”

. . .

“Your husband is a doctor here. Why aren’t you calling him?”

Xavier, your fellow Deepspace Hunter who was partnered with you in this mission, questioned you with a hint of annoyance as he observed your pathetic state on the stretcher and crossed his arms. “Why do you have to bleed out in ER when you can get him?”

You winced, pressing the bloodied cloth against your stinging abdomen as you felt yourself growing faint. “He’s... a surgeon,” you panted. “He’s busy.”

Above all, you didn’t want Zayne to see you like this. You could already imagine his angry face, and that mental image alone made you recoil.

“What sort of husband is busy when his wife is injured?” Xavier raised an eyebrow. “Did you at least notify him?”

You shut your eyes, feeling a migraine coming.

“I will then.”

“No.”

“Y/N, you—”

“Shut up, Xavier—”

The curtain was suddenly pulled back, and you braced yourself for whoever had come to check on you next. To your surprise, the cloth in your hand was snatched away, and you felt your uniform being torn open with urgency.

When you opened your eyes, you barely made out your husband’s figure through your hazy vision. “…Zayne?”

His expression was stern, unforgiving even, as he started to disinfect your wound. Despite the tension, you couldn't deny the relief that washed over you. You knew you were in good hands, even if you had to face his fury later on.

Your consciousness slipped away not long after that.

. . .

The next time you woke up, you found yourself in a private room, with a nagging itch where you had been injured.

You groaned, your limbs stiff and heavy, and the room slowly came into focus—along with your husband's face.

"Zayne?" Your voice came out barely above a whisper. He stood pristine in his white coat and glasses, assessing you with a scrutinizing gaze.

"Your wound is, thankfully, shallow," he said flatly, his tone lacking any real concern. "You'll be discharged tonight. I'll take you home as soon as my shift is over."

"Ah..." You blinked several times to clear your head. "Good then. Sorry for showing up out of nowhere. Xavier and I were on a rescue mission, and I accidentally—"

He walked away before you could finish, the abruptness snapping you fully awake. He was furious, that much was clear.

"Ha ha..." You forced a laugh, fiddling with your fingers, trying to ease the awkward tension between you. "It doesn't hurt much, actually. You're right—I'm fine..."

Zayne shot you a sharp glance. "You passed out due to blood loss."

"This isn't the first time it has happened and nor will it be—"

"And it didn't even occur to you to inform me at all. I found out that my own wife was wounded because Greyson passed by the ER and saw you."

His words left you silent, caught red-handed, but your annoyance was reaching its limit. You had imagined how nice it would be if he panicked about you, showering you with care when he found out. But instead, Zayne chose to rebuke you the moment you woke up.

“I’m not a child,” you reasoned, keeping yourself calm. “I’m a hunter. This is nothing new, and you should understand that.”

“The least you could’ve done is to tell me—“

“Do you know why I didn’t? It’s because I know how you’ll react!”

“—and it would do you better to prioritize your safety and not rush headfirst into danger.”

“Believe me, I do but—!”

Suddenly, Zayne spun around to face you, his eyes blazing with fury as he raised his voice. “I’ve told you so many times already, you have to stay back, or you’ll end up—!”

He stopped abruptly, leaving his sentence hanging in the air, but right at that moment, you knew all too well who he meant, and what the implication was.

His, without a doubt, greatest love. His childhood friend, a hunter like yourself, someone he had vowed to save but succumbed to her illness before he could do so, died on arrival.

The irony was sharp. You had become everything she once was. You knew her well, too. When she passed, the entire Hunter Association mourned her loss. And more than that, on the night she died, you had been with him.

Looking back, you should have seen it coming. Still, it hit you like a splash of cold water. Your husband was still preoccupied with thoughts of his ex-girlfriend, and worse yet, he saw pieces of her in you.

And you suspected he had for a while—perhaps even, from the very beginning.

For a second there, not for the first time, you felt your heart shatter.

“I don’t have Protocore syndrome,” you stated, steeling yourself against the heartbreak. “My heart won't suddenly fail because I get injured. I’m not that weak.”

You turned away as Zayne refused to respond, missing his look of disdain as he stormed out of the room.

That was when your first tear fell.

Right from the start, you knew you had to brace yourself for this. You knew that eventually, this tragedy would overshadow your marriage. Because while Zayne might be your husband by law, deep down, his heart still belonged to someone else.

To her.

You two are too much alike.

It wasn’t the first time he had noticed it. And it wouldn’t be the last.

On bad mornings, when his eyes were bleary and he hadn't had a good sleep, he would see her instead of you in your shared bed. And with that mistaken sight came a fleeting sense of relief... until his vision cleared and he remembered she was truly gone and it was you.

Zayne knew how wrong this was on so many levels. It was terribly unfair to you.

Still, his concern for you was genuine. Seeing you lying still on the stretcher brought back that very same nightmare, and really, he truly never wanted you to be hurt.

After his outburst and your clipped response, the two of you barely exchanged any words for the rest of the week. To make matters worse, he was sent on a business trip the following week, and all in all, you went two weeks hardly speaking to each other.

And before he knew it, her death anniversary was only a couple of days away.

. . .

"How much is this?"

"Ah, the bow is 50,000 Gold, sir!"

Inside the airport's souvenir shop, Zayne examined the intricate light blue and white bow clip. Made of tweed and adorned with small pearls, it looked nice.

He thought it'd suit you well.

"I'll get this then."

"Right away!"

As the clerk went to wrap the trinket, Zayne reflected on these past two weeks. A nagging feeling twisted in his gut as he thought about how curt he had been with you in text messages and how often you had left him on read.

Husband and wife shouldn't be this way. He wanted the unbearable air between you to end. Determined to resolve things, he planned to talk to you when he returned. He was on his way to the airport taxi when—

"Zayne!" He stopped in his tracks, recognizing the familiar voice, and turned around.

There you were, waiting by his car with a smile.

It was never in you to stay angry for long. It was a blessing and a curse, really, because while you no longer wished to give your husband silent treatment, a part of you still felt conflicted.

"How was your trip?" you asked as you started the engine, pushing the events of the past two weeks to the back of your mind.

Zayne didn't immediately answer, and you felt his gaze on you as you drove the car. "It was okay."

You hummed in acknowledgement, and he followed up with, "How is your wound? Do you dress it daily?"

"Mm-hm. It's getting better."

"I'll have a look at it later."

"Sure."

Silence. Usually you would ramble to distract him, but now, even you weren’t sure if you should.

Then, he said, "You really didn’t have to pick me up. I could have made my way home on my own."

To that, you pasted on a smile. “You always pick me up whenever I have to go on business trips. It’s only fair I do the same for you, husband.”

Ah. Was it the wrong move? The word had slipped out so easily that you didn’t realize it until after you said it.

But to your surprise, Zayne let out a chuckle and played along. "Well, thank you then, wife. It certainly felt quite off without a certain someone the past week."

So, he actually likes having you around...? The thought made you almost giddy. Despite his usual taciturn and sarcastic demeanor, you knew he was genuine in his own way.

"Bet you missed me," you teased, grinning.

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Are you sure it's not the other way around?"

"Nope. But I did miss getting new snowmen."

"...why do you like them so much? I've made plenty for you already."

"No particular reason. Snowman just kinda reminds me of you somehow."

The tension between you had melted away, and you felt a sense of relief. Beside you, even Zayne couldn’t hide his smile. For the rest of the drive home, you chatted like you used to.

When you arrived back at your shared home, he suddenly stopped and presented you with a little box. "I got you something."

"Huh?" you paused, bewildered, as he took your hand and placed the box in it.

"Open it."

With curiosity, you lifted the lid, and were surprised at the sight of a pretty bow clip inside. "Whoa, how cute..."

Zayne eyed you expectantly. "Do you like it?"

Your eyes lit up with delight, and a smile spread across your lips.

"Yes!" you beamed at him with zero hesitation, and in that moment, something struck a chord within him. Zayne had always thought you were easy on the eyes—

—but when you smiled like that, you were truly charming.

"It's healing nicely."

You felt somewhat self-conscious as your husband examined your bare abdomen, where your injury was, as you lied on your bed. His hands, cool and practiced, tenderly removed your stitches.

It wasn't as if Zayne had never touched you. You two had been married for almost two years, and of course you had been intimate several times, but it wasn't as if you were a passionate couple to begin with—so you often found yourself flustered.

"Mm." Despite yourself, you squirmed. Noticing this, he looked up at you, his unfazed eyes meeting yours with a frown.

"Does it still hurt?"

"No, not really... It just feels as if you're tickling me."

He was positively unamused. "I'm not trying to tickle you."

"I know!"

Zayne wrapped your midsection securely with the bandage. When he was done, he let out a sigh and you felt like you had to show him your gratitude somehow.

“Thank you, Zayne…” you mumbled, avoiding eye contact. But in the next second, your heart skipped a beat as his hand rested gently on your head.

"You can thank me by being more careful next time." Your husband looked at you with the smallest of smile. "Your safety comes first, always remember that."

Without either of you realizing it, you both had tried to bury that argument from two weeks ago, yet it was still gnawing at you all the same. The thought that he too was bothered with it made you warm.

"Noted," you cheekily grinned. "If I'm not safe and sound, a certain iceman will get angry at me."

Zayne shot you an unimpressed look. “If you come to me injured again, I’ll start charging you fees.”

You let out a dramatic gasp. "How stingy! I'm your wife, not just some stranger!"

"A very uncooperative wife, you are."

You huffed, and he chuckled. You really thought all was well between you two now, until Zayne suddenly stood up and grabbed the car keys. “Well then, rest. I have to go.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to stop by the florist—”

And it hit you. In two days. The day everything ended three years ago.

Zayne seemed to realize it too, but you quickly masked your falling smile with a faux one. "O-oh, right..."

No matter how, it's still going to be an important day to him. You had nothing against it, really. Your husband's late girlfriend had once been your colleague too, and you mourned her just like everyone else did.

Still, even with that understanding, in your heart of hearts, it remains just as bitter.

You didn't want to, but you needed to find closure. You hoped that by doing this, it would finally put an end to all your insecurities.

"Let's go together, Zayne. I want to pay her a visit too."

Two days later, you and Zayne, a bouquet of flowers in hand, stood before the grave bearing many colorful flowers and postcards.

You supposed you knew already, but seeing it firsthand, you realized just how deeply she was loved still. The outpouring of respect from the Hunter Association was evident in the tribute left behind.

"It's been a while," Zayne, dressed in his most formal black suit, said solemnly, his gaze fixed on the name etched into the pristine stone.

You watched as he knelt to place his flowers and then brought his hands together in prayer. You followed his lead, placing your own bouquet beside his.

What should you even say to her? Your mind raced with countless thoughts, but none felt right to voice before the woman who had so deeply captured your husband's heart.

In the end, when you sensed that Zayne had finished with his prayer, you decided to remain silent and rose with him.

. . .

“Does it get easier?” you asked out of curiosity afterwards. “Three years has passed already.”

Although Zayne wasn’t one for drinking, even the need won today. He didn’t meet your eyes as he sipped his wine, humming thoughtfully. “Somewhat. As they say, time heals.”

You two stopped by a fine restaurant after visiting the grave. The cemetery had been a two-hour drive from Linkon City, and now it was already evening.

“She loved jasmines,” you remarked, recalling the pot of them you once saw on her desk and the flowers overflowing at the grave earlier.

“She did.” The alcohol seemed to loosen his tongue as he continued, “She loved old popsicles and macarons too.”

“And you like them as well.”

“To be honest, I started liking them back when we were kids…” Zayne had this pained, faraway look in his eyes as he had another sip. “She cried over her melted popsicle and it got me to wonder if it was really that tasty...”

The idea that you had to compete with a dead woman for your husband’s affection left a bitter taste in your mouth. You felt like you had failed thoroughly as a wife.

Despite hating yourself for asking, you needed to know. “Do I help you… in any way at all?”

Zayne was clearly taken aback by the question. His sharp, gray eyes locked onto you, mind whirred as he tried to grasp your meaning.

“Y/N, you...”

It was foolish, you knew. But you waited with bated breath for his response, even when one wrong word could shatter your heart beyond repair. You were ready for any sort of unfavorable answer, but then—

“I... am glad it is you.”

His words made you look up, and you found yourself caught in his gaze. Zayne’s ashen eyes were steady, piercing into you.

“You were there on the hardest days. And ever since, you’ve always stayed by my side.” He held your gaze firmly, voice was thick with emotion you couldn’t quite name. “I’m grateful for that.”

And then, with a sincerity that pierced through every uncertainty, he added, “What I want to say is... I’m glad I married you, Y/N.”

You have loved him for so long. Since the days when you know he isn’t yours to love, until now.

Your heart swelled with so much warmth that tears brimmed in your eyes. His acknowledgment of your presence filled you with a profound sense of belonging you never knew you needed before.

Was it the alcohol?

You suspected it might be, because in nearly two years of marriage, Zayne had never lost his control like this. As soon as the bedroom door was shut, he pushed you against the wall and devoured your lips hungrily.

“Mmph!” His hands gripped your arms while his lips and tongue pried yours open. The kiss was searing, almost forceful, with the faint bitterness of wine still lingering.

“Zay…ne…” you gasped between his kisses—teary, breathless, your voice trembling.

But your breathy grunts only seemed to spur him on. His dark eyes, clouded with lust, fixed on you as his hands slipped beneath your blouse, deftly unclasping your bra with a flick.

He is hot. Your husband was everything a woman desired in a man. Cool, handsome, blessed with hands that could do wonders—

In no time, he had you naked and wet before him, and with alarming speed, he too discarded his own suit and pants, throwing them away in flurry. And you could hardly believe what you were seeing next.

He spitted on his hand, ran it along his member—stroking himself with a practiced ease, never breaking eye contact with you. The next thing you knew, he yanked you into another burning kiss and made you topple on top of him—

“Ah!” his hands guided your hips with precision, positioning you and entering you. The instant he did, you whimpered at the sudden, sharp sting of pain.

“Does it hurt?” he asked almost in a growl when you clung to his shoulder with uneven breaths.

It was too sudden, and you hoped the discomfort would pass, so you timidly shook your head.

“If you don’t want this, tell me to stop.” Zayne tangled his fingers in your hair, turning your face to his. “Understand?”

There was always a distinct, almost commanding aura about him whenever the two of you were in your marital bed. Perhaps the way his voice sound lower, but it just hit different.

And you are a willing prey... whenever he becomes that beast.

He inched inside you slowly, making you moan with each instance. He was thick, warm, and taking him in was a challenge in itself. And when he finally sheathed himself fully, your nails had made its first scratch on his skin.

You felt full, and the way your womanhood stretched and clenched around him with each breathe you took made you dizzy. Panting, you finally met his gaze. Zayne’s gray-hazel eyes were still clouded with desire as he placed his hands firmly on your hips. Unable to resist, you reached out to caress his face.

"Hmm..." he subconsciously leaned into your touch, pressing his eyes shut together. "You smell nice," he huskily muttered.

Right this moment, all negative thoughts eluded you. It felt gratifying that your husband sought your touch like this as you towered over him.

And yet, despite that...

“Do you... finally see me now?” you asked, trailing your other hand down his toned chest and starting to grind against him. Zayne drew in a sharp breath and groaned, his fingers gripping your bum tighter.

Depending on his response, you would either find peace or face another heartbreak. You had placed your happiness on this pedestal more times than you could count, and it was a cross you had to bear.

But you never received your answer.

Your husband merely gazed up at you with a dangerous gleam. And oh, you could've sworn, this sight of Zayne eyeing you as if he were about to ruin you right then and there, would live-free in your mind for many days to come.

He then buried his face in your bosom, sucking on you with such fervor that your hands instinctively reached for his head to massage his scalp. The room was soon filled with your erotic groans and the squelching sounds from where your flesh were joined together— as he thrusted inside you over and over.

Right in this moment, you felt truly desired and wanted.

You are so happy. Incomparably so.

At the crack of dawn, Zayne woke with a start.

The first thing he noticed was how spent he felt, his limbs stiff and a throbbing headache pulsing at the back of his head.

Then he turned to his side, and the sight that met him twisted his gut in such a way that snapped him fully awake—

You were beside him, barely dressed and still deeply asleep. Your hair was a mess, and love bites were scattered across your skin, some on your chest looking almost like bruises.

It dawned on him that he, too, wasn’t decent. A sudden coldness gripped him, though it wasn’t just the morning air.

Him and you... last night...

Yesterday marked the third year. He meant everything he said to you, but the fact that he did this, with you, on the day of her death...

There was... nothing wrong with what he had done. You were his wife, no one could condone him for what he instigated. Yet, it still made him shiver.

And to make it worse, his thoughts from last night echoed back with vengeance, and—

He suddenly feels so immensely guilty.

. . .

It was the best sleep you’d had all week.

When you woke, sunlight had seeped through the window, and you discovered yourself already in pajamas, tucked snugly under a blanket. Still groggy with a dull ache in your lower belly, you relished the lingering afterglow, sighing in pure contentment, until you noticed Zayne wasn’t beside you.

Where did he go? You wondered amidst your haze. Sluggish, you stumbled out of the bed, flinching when your foot met the cold floor.

You eventually found him downstairs, sipping coffee at the dining table still with messy hair. "Zayne?"

He glanced up at you and nodded. There was something different about him, a subtle shift you couldn’t quite place. As you took a seat across from him, you hesitated, unsure of what to say.

Before you could find the right words though, he spoke first.

"I'm... sorry," he said, his tone laced with regret, causing a sharp pang of unease inside you.

"What?" you stared at him, feeling small and unsettled. "What are you sorry for?" you questioned as you gripped the hem of your shirt.

And then came the killing blow—

"Last night," Zayne muttered, avoiding your gaze. "I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. It was a mistake."

Mistake. The word echoed in your mind, but it was still hard to grasp its full weight.

"How was that—" you faltered, trembling, as the realization hit you like a truck and you gasped in disbelief. "Oh..."

Her. Again, and again, and again! Even when he was married to you, even when you were the one next to him each and everyday— even so!

Your husband considers that a night spent with you—his wife—a mistake!

The last of your patience snapped, as you broke down in sobs before him. "You're the worst!" you screamed at him amidst your mournful tears.

Zayne seemed taken aback at your outburst, his eyes wide. "Y/N, wait, you don't—"

"Screw you!" But you were beyond explanations at this point. You fled back to your bedroom. Zayne followed you suit, but you slammed the door in his face and locked it. As you collapsed onto the floor, the realization hit you with full force.

No matter what you did, you would always come second—or not at all.

The fracture in your marriage was undeniable.

Things had changed. Your home felt colder, and the tension was so stifling that you sometimes spent the night at the Hunter Association’s dorm just to escape it.

Zayne initially tried to reach out, but you were unwilling to listen, and eventually, he gave up. Before long, nearly a month had passed with this strain in the air.

You threw yourself into more rescue operations, using work as a distraction from the turmoil that lingered in your mind. Despite your best efforts to distract yourself, the unresolved thoughts and feelings clung to you.

"Xavier, am I lacking as a woman?"

Your frequent partner these days cracked open an eye despite his attempt to nap before today’s rescue mission. "What...?"

"No, forget it."

Things couldn't go like this forever. It was obvious by now—as long as he couldn’t let go of his past and you couldn’t accept him as he was, this marriage couldn't be saved.

Just as you headed towards the printer in the room, Xavier responded. "You talk a lot, eat a lot, and always bothering me when I'm about to sleep..."

You shot him an irked glance, disbelief evident on your face. "Hey!"

"But—" his clear voice cut through the air as he turned to you with half-lidded eyes. "You're exceptionally kind. If anyone can't appreciate that, then it's their loss."

At that moment, the ice inside your chest melted. To know that your own co-worker thought that kindly of you gave you a little boost of confidence.

But then Xavier added, "Sometimes you're stupid too. It's funny to watch."

"—?! You're so mean!"

A subtle smile curved on his lips as he turned to his side, ready to resume his nap. "Anyway, what are you printing?"

You feigned a huff as you gathered the papers and brought them to your desk. "Just something I need to submit when necessary."

A part of you wasn’t fully committed to it, of course—it was just that your emotions had no proper outlet even until now. As you pushed the drawer shut, a wave of bitterness washed over you as you reread the title on the blank form:

Petition for Divorce.

Zayne genuinely wanted to treat you well.

You were a nice girl. Too nice even. From the moment he laid his eyes on you some years ago, as a friend of a friend, he knew you were nothing but kind and cheery.

He still remembered that morning vividly: the hurt on your face, the tears welling up in your eyes, and then you breaking into inconsolable sobs. That sight inflicted something in him—it felt as though his own heart had been split in two.

Believe it or not, he cherished you too.

That night, even though he didn’t show it, he was still mourning her. When alcohol took over his mind and he saw you, you seemed like a perfect escape. He thought that even if he forced himself on you, there would be no consequences.

He hated that he had thought that way. He hated that how, in the end, you had become a means of relief for him.

Now you couldn't even look him in the eye, and Zayne didn't want to risk trying to coax you further. You were angry with him and rightly so, but when you ignored him and went home late more often, he was worried.

It was what drove him to volunteer for the rescue mission. When he saw your name on the hunter list, he felt compelled to make sure you were okay.

. . .

It was strange to see you on duty.

With your hunter uniform and your hair tied up, you were the picture of a very capable hunter. Zayne found himself unexpectedly following your movements as you came and went.

"Dr. Zayne, are you checking your wife out?" the EMT next to him teased with a grin. "Well, when you have a pretty wife such as Y/N, of course..."

He cleared his throat and the EMT giggled as he sauntered away.

So, you were also considered attractive here. Of course you were. Zayne knew it, but he just didn't expect that anyone here would blurt it out so openly.

But that wasn't the most surprising of all—

"Xavier, shush!" you playfully punched the blonde man next to you in the chest, your broad smile lighting up the moment. The two of you whispered closely, and Zayne found himself feeling uncomfortable, like being prickled by several needles.

He has never made you laugh so openly like that. The nagging feeling inside him grew stronger as he watched you—even if it was just in a platonic sense—with another man. It stirred something within him, making him want to pull that blonde aside, give him a word or two, and overthrow him altogether.

Amidst the growing storm inside him, you suddenly turned sideways and caught his eye, and Zayne could've sworn... he felt time stopped at that moment.

It was so candid that it took his breath away. The way your earnest, unclouded eyes met his. How natural you were while loading your gun...

Ah, they were right. His wife was exceptionally pretty.

But before he could fully appreciate it, you broke the eye contact and turned away, pretending as if you hadn’t seen him at all.

Zayne wondered then, why did he feel so hurt all of a sudden?

Battlefields were always a place of chaos, and Zayne was no stranger to it.

He was on standby at the makeshift hospital as patients surged in, continuously aiding first-aid. Some were hunters on duty, and his heart was in his throat the entire time, anxiously hoping you wouldn’t be among them.

"Doc... it still hurts," a little girl sniffled right after Zayne wrapped her injured arm with the gauze. Despite the anxiety, seeing this tearful girl softened his frown.

"It's just going to take a while, hmm?" he patted the kid in the head. "It's going to be better soon enough."

"My mom is still inside..." she said, her eyes welling up with tears. "Doc, will they get her out?"

Zayne hesitated, his thoughts briefly drifting to you. He managed a reassuring smile. "Don’t worry, they’ll—"

Crash! —all of a sudden, a loud explosion shook the hospital, the sound echoing through the chaos. The little girl clung to his coat in fear.

"Call for retreat!" someone suddenly shouted from outside. "Alert all personnel immediately!"

Retreat. The thought that you might be safe soon brought him a sense of relief. He turned to the girl, trying to keep his composure.

"Look, the hunters are retreating, it means most are already evacuated." Zayne managed a reassuring smile. "Stay here. I'll help you find her later, okay?"

He went to the survivors' camp outside, attending to the wounded and keeping a vigilant eye on each returning hunter. Even until 30 minutes later, he still hadn't seen you. Thinking to contact you, he reached out for his phone.

"Who hasn't gotten out?" Jenna, your team leader, demanded the receiver with a stern voice, standing tall several feet away from the camp, and Zayne overheard the snippets of her conversation.

A frantic voice responded, "Xavier is still inside! Y/N too!"

"Those two! They are always—!"

What?

Zayne almost dropped his phone when he heard your name. Terror gripped him instantly, and then suddenly, again, it was his greatest nightmare realized.

You are still inside. You could be hurt. It was possible you had no means to get out of there.

He didn’t register letting go of his coat or crossing the police line—all that mattered was getting to you. He sprinted away, ignoring the shouts of those trying to stop him.

No. Not again!

Debris flew everywhere, and the roars of Wanderers grew louder as he neared the building wreckage. As a splinter was about to hit him, ice shot through his palms, creating a barrier that shattered it.

"Y/N!" he shouted your name, his voice cracking with panic. "Where are you?!"

All he could think about was the memory of you bleeding out in the ER. Zayne never wanted to see that again. Should anything happen to you now...

He didn't want you to be hurt. He hated seeing you cry. For the past weeks, it had torn him apart to see you so unhappy. He wanted to be the one who made you smile, the one you looked at with love.

The realization washed over him like a tidal wave. Yet it wasn’t an epiphany but a simple truth he had always known but never fully grasped until now.

If he lost you now, it'd destroy him.

He continued screaming your name over and over. And then, after turning several turns, he finally saw you, standing alone in the middle of the wreckage—

You turned to him in surprise when you heard your name in his shout, and were rooted to the spot, in disbelief that your husband was right before you.

Zayne felt a wave of relief wash over him, until a hollow croak from above caught his attention. He squinted—

A glass panel had crumbled and was falling directly towards you.

A sense of dread so great overwhelmed him, a lump formed in his throat, and the smoke made it hard to breathe. He sprinted forward, and with everything he had, he pushed you out the way.

The next thing he knew, everything went pitch black.

"Zayne? Zayne!"

A memory flashed in his mind's eye. The one memory he wished he didn't have to relive ever again.

Sitting on the deserted hospital bench, his eyes were vacant. Utter hollowness choked him, leaving him motionless. It was over. There was no blood on his hands, yet it felt as if there were.

Your grip on his shoulder was tight, shaking him. "Zayne, snap out of it!" and only then he brought himself to meet your eyes.

"She died." That was the only thing he could mutter, pain woven in each word. "She really died."

Your eyes widened in horror, an inaudible gasp left your lips. "Oh..."

He didn't really know what happened next, but he remembered the warmth from when you pulled him to your arms, when sobs wracked his body as he thought the world was ending.

Since then, you have always been there.

And subconsciously, he may have regarded you as his lifeline.

. . .

Another memory.

"Are you awake...?"

His mind was hazy, but he recognized your voice. He blearily opened his eyes to find you placing a cool compress on his forehead.

"Who would have thought the great Dr. Zayne can get a fever?" you said with a soft laugh, patting his hair. "Don’t worry about me. Go back to sleep."

You came to see him. He remembered telling you not to. But you still did, and the fact thawed the ice in his heart.

Just as you were about to leave, his hand reached out and pulled you closer. "Don’t go."

"Are you trying to make me catch your cold too?" you teased with a soft laugh.

"Hmph. Who told you to come here...?"

"Ah, so you're whiny when you're not feeling well," you observed with a smile. "Okay, I'll stay! But only if you agree to nurse me if I catch your cold!"

You were noisy, but endearingly so.

. . .

"Don't pay her any mind," you fidgeted on your seat, a frown on your face. "My mom always does that."

There was never any talk about the nature your relationship between the two of you, but it was clear to everyone nevertheless. You were always around him, and he seemed to enjoy your company just as much.

And not for the first time, your mother pushed him towards marriage with you.

"People are always getting the wrong idea," you grumbled. "Sorry, Zayne..." you lowered your head, seemingly in regret.

He was puzzled, because to him, it wasn't necessarily false. All things you did together lead to this.

"What if it isn't a wrong idea at all?"

You looked at him with slight surprise. "Huh...?"

Your presence was a gift. That tragedy was devastating, but having you constantly by his side made it bearable. He was fond of you, and the thought that if it's you, then surely...

In this memory, he was more sure than ever. What he said then, it came from the truest place in his heart.

"What if I told you... as of right now, I can't imagine being with anyone but you?"

The side of his head was throbbing with pain. Everything hurt, the hard asphalt was bruising his face as the headache set in. He could smell the scent of blood and sweat, but more than that—

"Zayne! Ah, hah— Please, please! No!"

Your voice, choked with tears, blared in his ears as you desperately shook him. You sounded so heartbroken, so utterly panicked, and your voice gradually pulled him back to consciousness.

Opening his eyes took tremendous effort. At first, everything was a blur, but then it came into focus—the sight of you disheveled, smeared with soot, with tears streaming down your face. But still you— the woman he had married two years ago.

Yet his heart lurched. You're crying again... why is it that whenever with me, you're always crying?

"Are you... alright?" he rasped, lifting his hand to touch your face.

"Why did you—" You were startled by his question, your gaze fixed on the blood pooling on the side of his face. "Your head is bleeding!"

Ah, so you're fine. The sheer knowledge brought him relief, a faint smile forming at his lips. "I'm glad..."

"I'll help you get back! Hold onto me—" you said after brushing away your tears, lifting him up and draping his arm around your shoulder. "Can you walk?"

"I'm... fine..."

"You're not!" you refuted harshly, voice trembling. "You have to go back!"

You made him lean on you as you made your way back to the makeshift hospital, each step accompanied by your sniffles as you supported his waist.

Zayne glanced at you, feeling a warmth in his chest despite the migraine. "D-Don't cry... I'll be fine."

"You're an idiot!" you choked out, struggling to hold back your tears. "Why did you even come out here?"

"I... have to find you. They said you haven't returned."

"There are still civilians inside! I'll return eventually!"

"I can’t wait for that. I... have to know you're safe."

His response only fueled your frustration. "You don't have to—!"

"You are my wife—" he snapped, turning to you sharply, his eyes flashing with anger. "How can I not worry— for you?"

The forceful tone in his voice went straight to the most tender part of your heart. It really struck you at that moment that he had come out here for you, that his concern for you was that profound.

And that after all these weeks, he still keeps you in his thoughts.

He had pushed you out of the way, even at the cost of himself, barely missing the fallen billboard in that violent crash. If he was in the wrong position, he could've lost his life.

You stared at him, tears glossing your eyes.

"That's enough... Don't cry again." Zayne reached out to wipe your cheeks. His hands, however, were smeared with his own blood, leaving streaks on your face. "Ah... I got blood on you..."

But in that moment, you couldn’t care less. There was this indescribable sting of grief, but also paired with a sense of relief so great in your chest the very second you realize that now, he sees you.

You threw yourself into his arms, hugging him tightly as you sobbed, calling out to him in broken voice. “Z-Zayne...!”

“Why are you crying again...?” he let out a resigned sigh, but still embraced you regardless. “What a crybaby...”

You buried your face deeper into him, shaking uncontrollably. “You... saved me...” you managed to say amidst torrent of tears. “Y-You... got hurt...”

“I’ll be fine,” he retorted in your ear albeit in a hoarse voice, holding you close, even as blood trickled down the side of his face. “And I’d do it again. I refuse to see you hurt.”

You cried harder, and he pulled you tighter, his chest aching at the sight of you so inconsolable. And in that moment, he made the decision right then and there.

He will protect you so long as time will allow him to.

It was as if the invisible wall between you had crumbled to dust after that incident. You stayed by Zayne's side night and day, monitoring his condition.

And one night, several days later...

"Here, don't move..."

You carefully dressed the wound on Zayne's temple, sitting close beside him. He quietly observed your worried eyes and trembling fingers without a word.

"You even need stitches..." you lamented, biting your lip as you wrapped the bandage around his head. Tears pricked your eyes, overwhelmed by the concern you were pouring into the task.

"I'm telling you, I'm fine," he gruffly insisted in an attempt to erase your mournful expression. He felt the delicate, almost hesitant touch of your fingers on his face. "It'll heal with time."

Even as he said that, a part of you was still troubled at the sight of the wound on his head and cheekbone. No matter what he said, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was somehow your fault.

"I'm done. Now go rest," you said softly, your voice tinged with bitterness after tying the gauze. You rose to put the kit away, but even after you finished, Zayne remained upright on the bed, so you leveled a frown at him.

"What, why aren't you— Ah!"

Before you knew it, he pulled you by the arm, and you tumbled into his chest in surprise. "What are you doing?!" you yelled at him, clinging to his shoulder and looking up at him with ire. "You could've hit your head!"

He looked down at you with a flat expression, or is that a hint of amusement glinting in his eyes? “Can't a husband cuddle his wife?”

You blinked dumbly, caught off-guard. “Yes, you can, but...”

His arms then enveloped you, fitting you on his chest and he sighed against your hair. “Then there’s nothing wrong with it. Let’s just stay like this for now.”

And so, that was how he decided to sleep throughout the night—with you on top of him, held close. You felt self-conscious as Zayne had never initiated this closeness with you since that night.

"Are you sure you want to sleep this way?" you wriggled a bit in his grasp.

He draped an arm around your waist, pressing his eyes shut. "Mm-hm."

"You..." A part of you recoiled at the vulnerability but decided to ask anyway. "Won't this be… a mistake...?"

That caught his attention, as Zayne's eyes fluttered open. He looked down at you, who avoided his gaze with a pout and a torn expression, making yourself small in his embrace.

It dawned on him then that this persisting issue in your marriage was thoroughly his fault. His past was something he could never—and would never—trade for anything, but right now, you were that sense of peace that grounded him.

At one point, he has to let it go. These feelings inside him… they drive him to.

He softened, his gaze full of understanding as he gently brushed your hair back. "No," he said quietly, his voice tender. "We’ve come too far for it to be one."

Your clear, innocent eyes reluctantly met his, and at that moment something akin to clarity resonated within him.

He once thought nothing could ever mend the hollowness in his heart. And once, he indeed hoped that being with you would provide some form of relief or replace what he had lost.

But right now, feeling how vulnerable you were in his arms like this, he understood that you were not, and could never be, a replacement for anything else. Even before he realized it himself, what he felt for you was something entirely different— something dear that had grown and evolved into a genuine affection different from what he had felt for anyone else before.

Those times spent with you, wanting to protect you... Now that he reflected on it, it was never about filling a void, after all.

“I... want to treasure you better.”

Oh. Your heart thumped loudly as those words left his lips, warmth spreading through your entire being. Overwhelmed by the sincerity in his voice, you clung to his chest, feeling a surge of love and a profound sense of being freed from the chains of insecurity that had taken you hostage all these years.

Most precious. Zayne smiled at you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“This time for sure... I will.”

And at last... he could say it without any lingering guilt.

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wonderjanga · 3 months ago

Note

How would the League react to learning that Marvel was in the war? (Or have you already done something on this-)

I don’t think I have ever written something on this. The only thing similar would have to be the one where he started out in the 1940s as a hero and was there for almost every major war. And if I have, I don’t think I’ve gone into much detail about Billy in the wars. So anyways.

Flash: “You were in a war??”

Marvel: “I was in wars. The nineteen hundreds were so war filled now that I think about it.”

GL: “Which ones?”

Marvel: “All of the major ones besides the first Great War.”

GL: “So World War 2, Korea, Vietnam, and everything else?”

Marvel: “Yeah.”

Flash: “Wait, where were you during WW2…? I remember hearing about you in all the other ones but that one.”

Marvel: “I was mostly on the home front because of Hitler’s magic spear.”

GL: “What…?”

Marvel: “Hitler had this magic spear that could control superheroes so Roosevelt kept most heroes away from the front lines. I wasn’t apart of the All-Star Squadron, and I technically wasn’t supposed to be there, but I did wanna hang out with my buddies so I would go and fight there too.”

Flash: “You talk about hanging out with your buddies like you wouldn’t be hanging out in a war zone. Also, Hitler had a magic spear???”

Marvel: “Yeah? You didn’t learn about that in history class?” *forgot that’s supposed to be classified information*

GL: “No??”

Flash: “Does Germany still have it?”

Marvel: “No? I think the Blackhawks do. Or maybe someone else?”

GL: “You don’t know where it is?” *sounds extremely concerned*

Ever since this interaction, Hal and Wally have now seen their buddy in a new light. Like every time his face goes practically emotionless, (Ref to this post) what if he’s experiencing war flashbacks or something?

Villain: *laughing maniacally and holding someone hostage*

Marvel: *face blank, thinking how to do this*

Flash: *thinks he’s having a PTSD episode* “Cap.” *zips over* “Cap, breathe.”

Marvel: *pauses his thinking and looks over to him confused* “Huh?”

Flash: “Breathe, buddy. Breathe.” *doesn’t really know what he’s doing but is trying his best*

The villain was just awkwardly standing to the side, having been forgotten. Meanwhile, Billy’s just completely confused, but he did go along with the breathing thing Flash wanted him to do for whatever reason. That seemed to make the speedster stop worrying about… whatever he was worried about.

Martian Manhunter accidentally over heard GL and Flash talking about this and as someone who probably has PTSD from watching a lot of his people die in the war against the white Martians, he now invites Marvel at have tea with him because he heard it can calm human nerves. …the Captain is human, right?

Some of the other GL’s were also a little happy at this because this means Cap is technically a military man and they’re military men and women so yippee. Or at least it was a yippee until Hal told them about Marvel having PTSD. Again, Billy doesn’t, it’s just that after the breathing thing that he went along with, it confirmed for Flash that he did have shell shock.

When heard about this he actually went to ask Marvel if he wished to join a veterans group

Batman: “It’s for people who went through war the same as you did.” *gives Marvel a little brochure*

Marvel: “Thanks…? But I can just talk to the JSA, All-Stars, or the Squadron of Justice if I have to.” *sounds confused*

Batman: “Then I guess you could use that for your civilian identity.”

Marvel: *shrugs* “Maybe.” *doesn’t think they’ll accept someone who looks twelve but is just going with it*

#billy batson #shazam #dc captain marvel #captain marvel dc #fawcett city #fawcett #fawcett comics #batman #bruce wayne #the flash #wally west #green lantern #green lanterns #hal jordan #and the rest of them #j’onn j’onzz #martian manhunter

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gloomwitchwrites · 1 year ago

Text

Missed Hints

King Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): fluff, light angst, humor, pregnancy, suggestive themes, fade to black, established relationship

Word Count: 1.8k

With the pregnancy confirmed, you decide to drop little hints until Thorin makes the connections.

A/N: for @protosslady

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

“You’re pregnant, your majesty.”

Those two little words are enough to make time freeze. You are cold, a bit hesitant, and completely unbelieving of what you’re hearing.

“Are you sure?” you ask slowly, needing to know if you’ve heard her correctly.

The midwife, Lena, smiles broadly. “As sure as the sun rises in the morning. I’ve been doing this for close to thirty summers now. Rarely am I ever wrong.”

Lena’s assistant, Petal, matches Lena’s smile with one of her own. It is radiant and sunny, a stark difference from your sudden anxiousness. “This is wonderful news,” she exclaims. “King Thorin will be so pleased.”

“Indeed,” agrees Lena. “And so will the people when it’s formally announced.”

Both women sigh at the same time, but you are not nearly as excited as they are.

You and Thorin did try for a child many times in the beginning of your marriage. It was enthusiastic—and constant—but nothing ever came of it. While it bothered you, Thorin never seemed to care. He told you that all he wanted was you and that anything else was a bonus.

That is still true. Thorin loves you.

But Thorin is being pulled in a different direction. Erebor needs attention, and Thorin throws himself into service attempting to tackle every obstacle and difficulty on his own. Most nights, he comes to bed late—usually when you’re already asleep. When you wake, he is usually gone, off to take care of his abundant duties. They are piling up, becoming a burden. Thorin does too much, and while you admire him for his dedication, you miss him.

To know that you’re pregnant is a surprise. It’s not that you and Thorin haven’t been intimate, it’s just that it hasn’t been nearly as frequent as in the past. While Thorin is gone, you have your own duties and responsibilities. When the two of you do have quiet time together, intimacy is brief but passionate and almost always followed by the two of you falling asleep in each other’s arms.

“How far along?” you ask, trying to place exactly when it might have taken.

When your cycle never came, you didn’t think much of it. That happens sometimes. But then didn’t occur during the next expected timeframe. With its absence came irritability and random bouts of sudden crying you couldn’t explain. Certain foods smelt odd, and while you weren’t emptying the contents of your stomach, constant nausea made it difficult to complete daily tasks. You knew then that something was different. And now the midwife has confirmed it.

But even with an answer, you’re not sure how you feel.

“I’d place you at about ten weeks. Perhaps eleven,” answers Lena with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

“That far?” you squeak, wincing immediately with how upset you sound.

Lena and Petal’s smiles start to diminish. Their enthusiasm melts away, replaced with furrowed brows and soft lines of concern.

“Is everything all right? You look a bit faint?” Lena places her hand on your shoulder.

“Yes,” you reply, though it sounds like you’re gasping for air. “Surprised is all.”

Their smiles return but it’s subdued.

This is supposed to be a happy occasion. A child means an heir, and it also gives the people hope for the future. Much of Erebor is still in pieces from Smaug’s habitation. That doesn’t even begin to include all the damage and death from the battle. Dale, which was once abandoned and forgotten, is starting to see life again as well. The races of Men are returning to it, hoping to rekindle its long-extinguished flame.

A royal child is a symbol of hope. It’s a moment of celebration for everyone.

“I think a bit of rest for the remainder of the day will do you some good,” says Lena softly. “We will prepare some ointments that you can use to relieve any aches or pains. Bloating is likely, and as the body makes room for the little one, you’ll have some discomfort.” Lena taps her bottom lip and then turns to Petal. “We’ll need to prepare some liquid supplements to take with meals.”

“Of course,” nods Petal. She begins packing up their supplies.

Lena squeezes your shoulder before letting go. “I’ll come check on you in a few days. Bring a few things with me. We’ll talk more then, preferably with the father present.”

“Yes,” you reply, absently rubbing your belly. “That would be best.”

The two women bow and depart quickly, leaving you alone in the royal bedchambers. The room is quiet and your breathing sounds too loud in such a large space. With hands clasped, you twist them over and over again in agitation, needing to move but unsure of how to quell the anxiousness. It’s stubborn like the deep roots of a tree that refuse to give up the dirt.

How are you to tell Thorin? How do you approach this when you rarely see him. It’s just one more thing to burden him with. Perhaps, if you dropped a few hints? Covertly toss the pregnancy in his direction and see if he picks it up?

You know deep in your gut that you shouldn’t worry over this. Thorin will be happy. He will be.

You spend the rest of the day as Lena instructs. Reclining, resting, and reading. Thorin is supposed to return tonight for evening meal. Whenever he promises an early arrival, Thorin means it. Rarely does he make promises he cannot keep.

As dinner is brought in, and the table is set, Thorin walks through the door. There is a bit of soot on his cheek like he’s been in the mines, and his cheeks are slightly flushed. When he notices you, he beams, and there is so much love there that you simply want to melt into a puddle on the floor.

“My love,” he says, moving toward you swiftly. The embrace nearly sweeps you off your feet. He plants a kiss on your forehead and draws back.

“You’re filthy,” you laugh, looking him over. Thorin has been in the mines.

Thorin shrugs sheepishly. “I had to help dig. Structural issues.”

“Wash your hands at least,” you playfully tease.

“Not interested in eating a bit of dirt?” he asks with a laugh.

“Go,” you giggle, pushing away from him.

Thorin disappears and you take a seat at the table. He reappears a few minutes later, face and hands clean. The clothes he wore before are also gone, replaced with simple, fresh attire. He takes a seat next to you, gaze darting over the spread.

“I’m starving,” you begin because it’s true even though you’ve been consistently snacking all day. “It’s like I’m eating for two.”

First hint dropped.

Thorin laughs, and the sound is sweet like honey cake. “I promise, love. You couldn’t eat for me. My appetite is insatiable.” When Thorin says insatiable, he pointedly glances at you with a heated stare.

You perfectly understand his meaning.

You attempt a different angle. “I’ve also been having the oddest cravings,” you say, starting to load your plate.

“What do you mean?” asks Thorin before he pops a chunk of bread into his mouth.

“Different foods. Things I’d never eat together otherwise.” It is common knowledge that pregnant women will often crave highly specific foods and food combinations.

But Thorin doesn’t appear to pick up on the hint. He frowns, then shrugs, continuing to eat without making a comment.

Sighing, you pick up one the freshly made rolls. “I think these buns need a bit more time in the oven.” You stare hard at Thorin, mentally sending message after message. “What do you think?”

Thorin glances up at you then down at his own plate that has five of them. “I think they’re perfect but if you’d like them more done, I’ll let the kitchen know in the morning.”

“Thorin,” you say flatly.

“Yes, my love?” His head slightly tilts, and his gaze becomes pointed. He’s starting to pick up on your agitation. You don’t mean to be cross, but you were hoping that he’d figure it out so you wouldn’t have to tell him outright.

Setting the roll down on your plate, you promptly divert the conversation to a different hint. “We’ve never talked about where we’d put the nursery.”

Thorin’s brow rises toward his hairline. “I didn’t think you wanted to discuss that until we crossed that hurdle?”

Does he hear himself? Does he understand the context of what’s coming out of his mouth?

“You’re right, Thorin. I didn’t want to discuss it until we needed to.” You repeat his words back to him, slightly leaning toward him as you speak to emphasize the point.

Still, it brushes right over his head.

“Some of the advisory council members have brought up financial concerns. Rebuilding Erebor is important but the needs of the people are pressing. Food. Proper housing.” Thorin begins slicing into the chunk of roast on his plate.

Maybe you are going to have to say it outright.

Licking your lips, you ignore Thorin’s change in conversation. “I did receive a few inquiries about baby clothes. Offers to knit a few items,” you shrug.

“That’s kind of them,” says Thorin slowly. “But why—” he pauses, “you’re not—"

Thorin’s features suddenly shift, becoming almost unreadable. His jovial expression is gone, replaced with a stern consideration.

Are you going to have to shout it at the top of your lungs?

Thorin’s lips part. Promptly shuts. Opens again. “Are you…” he begins but does not finish.

You start to nod, urging him on.

Finally, like light igniting in the dark, Thorin’s face transforms into one of shock, then pure joy.

“Truly?”

“Found out just this morning.”

Thorin abruptly stands, pushing himself and his chair away from the table. He is moving toward you, grasping your hands, bringing them to his mouth to kiss your fingers.

“Why not say anything?” he asks.

“I did,” you laugh. “Many times.”

Thorin momentarily frowns before his mouth turns up into a soft smile. “Clever.”

“You’ve been busy and I was unsure of how to tell you.”

Thorin’s thumbs rub little circles over your knuckles. “You can always tell me anything. Whatever is happening. Whatever is on your mind. I wish to hear it.” He kisses the tops of your hands. “Especially something like this.”

“Are you happy?” you ask, voice cracking at the end.

“Happiest I’ve ever been.”

Thorin pulls you up from your chair, his large, muscled arm sliding behind your waist. He drags you to him, his eyelids lowering seductively, all gentleness leaving him to be replaced with desire.

“Are you up for a bit of celebrating?” he asks.

“What kind of celebrating?”

“The kind that landed us here.”

“Thorin,” you gasp, lightly slapping his chest. He snatches your wrist, kisses the pulse point there.

“The food can wait,” and his voice ends on a soft growl.

“Thorin,” you repeat, this time with a rasp to your tone.

He seizes it, draws you even closer. “The food can wait?”

You nod. “It can wait.”

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @cherryofdeath @mrsdurin @therealbloom @ninman82 @thewulf @ferns-fics @beebeechaos

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qwimblenorrisstan · 5 months ago

Text

Lesson Learnt | John Price x Reader

Summary: Your good-for-nothing boyfriend won’t help you change out your flat tire in the cold, soaking rain, but luckily someone else comes along to assist, and teaches your boyfriend a lesson while he’s at it.

Word Count: ~ 1.6k

Warnings: annoying boyfriend, toxic relationship, platonic!gaz being a cutiepie, price being the greenest flag known to mankind, fem!reader, I’ve never changed a tire before in my life and it’s glaringly obvious…

A/N: been in a major writing slump lately+school kicking my butt+I think I’m getting sick, but full credit to @ceilidho for this idea, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Masterlist | Next

Your day hadn’t been the shittiest so far, but it certainly hadn’t been great.

You’d been off that day, but your boyfriend had called, needing you to pick him up early from his job for whatever reason. He only worked at some little restaurant in town with a decent salary, enough to get food and rent paid for combined with your money anyway. Something about his shifts being moved or the schedule being off, but whatever it had been had been enough for you to hop into his truck, drive over to him, and pick him up.

“Did you cook for dinner tonight?”

He asked from the passenger seat, the seatbelt not even on, despite it already being dark because of the early winter months, and the rain coming down against the windshield. Your lights were on, but still.

“No, wasn’t thinkin’ about it.”

You replied with a small mumble, and he sighed. You were the one who cooked and kept the housework up, and he earned most of the money. It would be balanced, except for the fact that you earned almost the same amount of money as him, and also worked full-time. It barely left any time for meals, most just being pre-prepped on weekends, or thrown together.

“Guess we can just get takeout then.”

He said, tone holding a bit of disappointment. You sighed inwardly, turning your turn signal on as you went down the road to one of the nearest places there. It was a run-down chicken joint that you were pretty sure was a front for some sort of illegal activities, but they had delicious chicken at cheap prices, so you weren’t complaining.

Your mind began to wander when you thought about the restaurant, and what you’d order. You hoped your boyfriend had brought his card because you’d left your wallet at home, ID and license long forgotten. Well, I guess you were just hoping to not get pulled over tonight, or come in contact with any cops.

As if whatever gods there were had heard your thought process, a small ‘thump’ caught your attention, and then a light squeaking sound as the air pressure in your front right tire began rapidly decreasing. With a sigh, you pulled over onto the side of the not-too-busy road. Your boyfriend gave an exasperated exhale.

“We’re gonna have to change the tire.”

You said, and he gave you a withering glance, jerking his chin towards the back of the truck.

“Spare’s in the back. Got a few tools back there to get ‘er done.”

A small pause for a moment as your hand reached for the handle of the door, and he didn’t move at all. You just stared in pure shock.

“You aren’t going to help?”

He gave you a look as if to say you were being ridiculous and illogical right now. You hated that look.

“I just got off work. I’m tired and hungry, and your poor driving skills aren’t my problem.”

He said with a shrug like it was obvious. Your mind still reeling, you searched for the little umbrella you kept near the console, only to find it missing. Great, just great, you thought.

With no other option, you stepped outside, immediately being pelted by the cold raindrops, and skin being lashed at by the harsh wind. You walked around to the trunk, opening the back, and finding the spare tire there, and a toolbox as well. Your shivering hands sorted through the cold metal tools, eventually finding a lug wrench, and a screwdriver, and behind the toolbox you found a jack.

You advanced towards the flat tire, rolling the spare behind you, and you knelt, skirt already soaking wet, your white shirt soaked through and not leaving much to the imagination as it was practically see-through and sticking to your form. The lug nuts didn’t come off easily, but somehow, your fingers got them.

Right when you began using the screwdriver to try and get the hubcap off, something else caught your attention.

Another car, beat up, but well-loved on and taken care of pulled up behind you on the side of the road. It stopped, and two men stepped out. One was taller, with a beard, a thick cigar in his mouth, and a hat on. He might’ve been one of the owners of that chicken restaurant. Whatever it was, he looked familiar. The other man had pretty brown skin, was less tall but still had some muscle in him like the other man, and wore his hat.

The taller one strode up to you just as you managed to pry the hubcap off. His brows furrowed as he looked at your boyfriend sitting in the car, and you, drenched in rain, changing the flat tire of the truck he assumed probably wasn’t even yours.

“Gaz, come help ‘er out wit’ this.”

He said, his voice brusque but also warm at the same time. Realizing he hadn’t introduced himself yet, he gave a nod of his head to you.

“John Price, that there is Kyle, but we call ‘im Gaz.”

You blinked, and Kyle walked over, crouching down next to you and offering a polite smile. One that didn’t quite meet his eyes, but it wasn’t rude. Price must’ve noticed your shivering form or the sheer white shirt that was clear because of the rain because he took his brown jacket off and put it around your shoulders. The insides were fuzzy and warm, and it was oversized, but enough to keep the heat insulated and the wet cold out. A bit surprised, you simply said your name.

“Oh..thanks. Y/N.”

You offered, for some reason trusting these strangers enough to give them your real name. Something about them felt right. Price nodded, then raised a brow at your boyfriend in the car, who still hadn’t noticed them, too preoccupied with his phone.

“What’s a pretty birdie like you doin’ changin’ wheels out here?”

John asked, and you weren’t sure what overcame you, but you cast a glance up at the boy in the car.

“He wasn’t going to help.”

Gaz and Price both looked slightly taken aback by that, exchanging glances, as Price opened up the door where your boyfriend was (avoiding hitting you or his sergeant's heads with it, of course) and pulled him out by the collar.

“Hey—what-“

Price shut him up real quick, then moved to hold him by the scruff of his neck.

“Now you listen here, why’ve you got your girl ou’ here doing all this work in the soakin’ rain, when you should be the one doing this, yeah?”

He asked, and your boyfriend turned a light shade of pink that wasn’t fully visible in the dark of the night.

“Well, I..”

“I’ll show you how a real man provides for his partner. Garrick, move over.”

He shoved your boyfriend back into the grass, and Gaz scooted more to the right, letting Price take the left side. Price carefully grabbed you by the hips and moved you back, out of the way, but to where you could still watch and hear him talk.

“Can’t believe it, ‘at’s ridiculous.”

He muttered, and Kyle shook his head.

“Can’t help but agree, sir.”

They used the jack to jack the car up, strong arms easily placing the spare tire in place, Gaz holding it up while Price screwed the lugnuts back on. While putting the hubcap back on, John began talking to you.

“You oughta find you a man, someone that would provide for you, that lil’ boy you got isn’t it. We’d never treat a woman like that, now would we, Gaz?”

“Never, sir.”

“Look at ‘im, two complete strangers are here, changing out his tire, and he ain’t offered a lick o’ help.”

He said, shaking his head, not even glancing back at your boyfriend who still was sitting in the grass behind you all. The hubcap was put back into place, and they both stood, lowering the jack before removing it. Price offered you a hand up, and you took it, surprisingly enjoying how his burly callouses felt against your soft skin. Kyle put the tools and jack back in the trunk, before again being at Price’s side.

His eyes met Kyle’s, and Kyle took out a small notepad and pen, scribbling something down, before passing it to John who did the same. They tore the paper off, handing it to you. It was their numbers, Gas’s having a little smiley face next to it, and Price’s having a simple ‘Call me’.

“If you’re ever in trouble, give us a ring.”

Price said, and Gaz nodded as if to confirm this. You took the piece of paper and folded it in half, putting it in your pocket to protect it from the rain. Price gave you a little pat on the back, and Gaz brushed his hand ever so slightly against yours, before they both walked back to their car, getting in, and driving off with nothing more than a wave.

With a judgemental look down at your boyfriend, you got into the car, throwing his things that were still inside out at him where he was still sitting in the grass.

“We’re done.”

And with that, you drove off before his angry cussing started.

It was only when you got home that night (to the shared apartment, which you would very soon be leaving) that you noticed something. Price hadn’t ever taken his jacket back.

#john price #captain john price #john price x reader #writers on tumblr #price x reader #cod fanfic #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod modern warfare #cod

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where-does-the-heart-lie · 4 months ago

Note

I love Sabo as a character so much! However something about his introduction into the story has bothered me for a while. Oda is a master story teller but it truly feels a bit like Sabo whole existence was dropped into our laps out of nowhere. What's your opinion on his introduction? And if you could, what would you change?

Thank you so much for all your amazing art! Always sparks joy.

Hello hello! I also love Sabo a lot and as such theres a lot that I’ve had to come to terms with and work out with myself. I’ll let you in on my brain worms and what they’ve concluded with this subject though so hopefully some kind of weight is lifted off your shoulders, cuz right now, i think his introduction was done really well.

So first off, All Of Luffy’s family members’s whole existences were dropped into our laps out of nowhere, to be fair.

Luffy is not one to talk about his family or his past at all. So i dont blame him for not telling us directly about sabo when he barely told us about ace as he stood in front of us in Alabasta. But even if he doesnt talk about his family, for me, it’s very easy to see what Sabo’s influence on and especially what the loss of him taught Luffy before we even officially see him. We see it especially in water 7/enis lobby/sabaody arcs. During the course of the story up to that point, we don’t really see the world government, but even so, we see Luffy’s complete understanding of the cruelty and heartache it creates. We see his utter determination to not let a single other person he loves be taken away by the world government, too.

Also in Arlong Park! We see him understand what someone’s sacrifice on his behalf looks like. He knows how it ended last time. He’s not going to let it happen again and seeing it happen again in arlong park and water 7 and sabaody and Marineford absolutely kills him. Omg not even to mention Shanks losing his arm, too. This man is completely surrounded by people sacrificing themselves for him wtf. But like Shanks’ situation didnt give him that patented World Government Hatred, babeyyyyyy

And with how he was reintroduced officially in dressrosa, i think it was very artistically done. Like having all those themes and parallels to Luffy’s childhood, even going so far as him pointing them out, himself. That, and the Mera Mera No Mi coming back into the story, it gets you thinking back on Luffy’s backstory and what his brotherhood meant to him. So like Sabo’s already in the back of your mind from that and then youre also thinking “well who the hell is gonna get this fruit once Luffy wins it??” So when Sabo comes back i just feel like “of course. Of course it could be no one else but you.”

Also E S P E C I A L L Y with introducing Sabo, famous Amnesia Patient, back into the story during an arc that explores the absolute horrors of being forgotten and being the one forgetting???? Like truly the most opportune moment to get him back in there. I really love the Dressrosa arc, i think it’s all done very well.

I feel like if it was just Ace and Luffy, it would feel incomplete. Like Sabo’s part in their backstories just adds such a delicious spice to the age old dynamic of “older brother who dies for younger brother who he loves a lot.”

Like tell me Ace’s Death would hit the same if Ace didnt already know what it felt like to lose a brother.

His passing is already beyond tragic but like Sabo’s whole part in it just makes it so much more tragic in a way thats just 😚🤌 mwah~❤️ 𝕷𝖎𝖋𝖊 𝕽𝖚𝖎𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌.

Sabo’s presence also adds a very personal level to Luffy’s understanding of the world he lived in. Like the big picture. I really think that if sabo wasnt occupying that space, Luffy wouldnt try to even know about the WG or class warfare or bother with any of that shit. Sabo is Luffy’s draw to the world around him me thinks. Like of course he would have to face that stuff when he went pirating, but those lessons would not have been taught to him before he got out there without Sabo.

This is the same in present day, like why would Luffy care at all about the Rev Army if Sabo wasnt in it? He’d be very thankful that they took Robin in, but like he wouldnt be actively asking about how the Rev Army was doing if his big bro wasnt a big part of it.

Also on that note of Sabo being in the Rev Army, I think that before Ace’s death and Sabo regaining his memory, Sabo wouldve been sneaky and largely unseen. Like yeah he barges into marine fortresses to take them down, but usually there isnt any survivors to tell the tales of him doing so. So before the timeskip, Sabo is out of the public eye. Out of any eye, really. But in my mind, when he regains his memory, i think he would do his level best to get his name out there. Thats why we see all those people in the colosseum/dressrosa be like “:O!!!! ITS THE CHIEF OF STAFF OF THE REV ARMY NOOOO” its cuz all his inhibitions left him. So like his face would be in news papers but luffy doesnt read news papers to find that Sabo’s alive and doing shit.

I think that Sabo took so long to let luffy know he was alive because he was scared luffy would hate him. I think he was scared of the potential scorn from his little brother he feels he wouldve been justified in getting. I think that if luffy was not put in a position where he wouldnt be able to fight in the colosseum anymore due to Law Getting Shot And Taken Off circumstances, Sabo wouldve let Luff keep going all the way to the end. But in that moment, Sabo knew that the fruit was no longer in his little brother’s capable hands and had to take matters into his own. Like we see him thinking about this in the episode of Sabo. We see him slowly following luffy around, listening, waiting, understanding the complexities of his situation, and ultimately making the decision to swap places with him.

I could literally talk about this forever i love talking about this forever and ever theres so much to discuss.

I’ve heard criticisms that Sabo’s amnesia story feels like fanfiction, but like,,, I just cant stop thinking about the hilarity of it all. Like why do you care that all this is all convenient, when it’s kinda funny. Like image you’re explaining your tragic backstory to someone and like you have to be like “now i know this sounds really. Really. Convenient. And ironic. But it’s My Life and I’ve had to Live Through It so please dont laugh.” Like idk!! ITS KINDA FUNNY!!!!!!!!!

I dont think i would be able to change anything about Sabo’s presence in the story without someone being out of character if im being honest. Like Luffy doesnt bring up his past, Ace doesnt like bringing up things that cause him pain, and we dont meet anyone else who knew he even existed until we see Luff’s backstory.

There’s a panel in the logue town arc though, that kinda looks like Sabo standing in the crowd. I think that maybe in the reanimated show or even the life action, if we could get a closer visual on him, just to see that he exists there, i think that would be neat.

Thanks for the question and kind words! Hope you enjoyed the long rant, i could rant for 2000000 more paragraphs but I’ll cut it there for now.

#sorry for any typos #whery qna #@ammo-never-runs-out-of-knives #sabo talk #op spoilers #marineford spoilers #one piece spoilers #dressrosa spoilers #long post #sabo #monkey d. luffy #asl brothers #portgas d. ace #sabo the revolutionary

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peachiejeongin · 2 months ago

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Hi!

Can you please make a fic about yang jeongin. Let’s say he has a tongue piercing and teases the HELL out of to y/n, like he makes y/n EXTREMELY flustered/excited and just pure torture. It’s pretty steamy like dom-ish, foreplay etc. let’s just say y/n is SPENT after all that teasing from him.

Please add your own ideas/thoughts it makes it more thrilling and exciting and also please make it really SPICY!?!? 🥵

Ps (tbh I’ve been craving this fic for sooooooooooo long!! Please make it come true!!!! Thanks a bunch 🙏🏽🥺😩🫶🏽🩷🤭)

Tongue Tied | Jeongin

Synopsis: You cannot stop thinking about your friend's new accessory, for lack of a better term. Particularly, how it feels in one certain aspect...

Pairing: dom!Jeongin x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (18+ Recommended), friends to lovers, teasing, marking, biting, pet names (good girl, sweetheart, etc), oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (please stay safe, darlings!!!)

Notice: Oh. My. Gosh. Darling!!! This request may just be my favorite I have ever received, and it was a BLAST to write! I hope I made your dreams come true! Enjoy the fiction, my darling!

Smut under the cut!

You were not exactly sure how you had ended up in this situation—laying on Jeongin's couch, a film half-forgotten playing in the background, and his lips locked on yours.

Ironically, the night had started innocently enough; it was a casual movie night for just the two of you, with snacks scattered between you. It was all smiles at first, the two of you making dumb jokes and either cackling until your stomachs ached or throwing popcorn at the other in response.

Somewhere in between the opening credits and the first act, however, the air had shifted.

Now, Jeongin was lounging far too closely, his hoodie sleeves pushed up and his long fingers resting just beside your thigh—close enough to brush against it every time he shifted. You tried to focus on the screen, yet his presence was magnetic. When he teasingly leaned over your lap to grab more popcorn, he lingered for a while, causing you to shift in your seat; his lips quirked into a knowing smile.

"You're staring," he teased, his voice soft but smug.

You blinked, heat rising to your cheeks. "Am not." He chuckled, leaning back.

"Sure you're not," his voiced was laced with playful skepticism. Then, he did it—the move that had been driving you insane all night: he darted his tongue out, the silver glint of his piercing catching the light as he toyed with his lip. You swallowed hard, your gaze flicking to the piercing before tearing away.

You had been fixated on Jeongin's tongue piercing since the moment he got it. He had casually strutted into a hangout session one night, casually flicking the jewelry against his teeth like it was the most normal thing in the world. You had tried to keep your mind off of it, but it was impossible. Something about the way it glinted when he spoke, paired with his already devastatingly teasing nature, had set your imagination on fire. Your mind had began to conjure up the dirtiest, thigh-rubbing scenarios imaginable; you knew it was downright unholy to think about your friend like this, but you could not help it.

He had noticed, of course—he had always noticed. Once he realized the effect it had on you, he never let you live it down. Hence, how you found yourself here, your body heating up with every movement of the boy.

"Caught you," he murmured, leaning closer, his voice dropping an octave. "I knew you liked my piercing."

"What?" you stammered, trying to sound unaffected. "No, I mean, it's just..." Jeongin tilted his head, feigning innocence, but his eyes sparked with mischief.

"It's just what, y/n? Use your words." You did not give a response, feeling a meek lump caught in your throat from his behavior.

He did not let up after that. You could only describe the next twenty minutes as pure torture. Every time you thought you had escaped his teasing, he found a way to pull you back to him; whether it was brushing his fingers over yours as he passed you the popcorn or leaning in to whisper something absurdly unnecessary about the movie's plot, his every action sent your pulse racing.

"Jeongin, just what are you trying to do here?" You crossed your arms, finally calling the devious boy out. His response made your stomach flip:

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, his tone mockingly pure, accompanied by a slow, deliberate smile. "You're the one getting all flustered, not me."

"Sure." You attempted to scoot away from Jeongin, your body already overstimulated from its continuously rising emotion; you had hoped moving away from Jeongin would cause him to bore, but instead, he persisted.

He shifted closer to you, his thigh brushing up against yours. You could feel his warmth through your clothes, his presence gradually overwhelming you. His hand made its way to ghost over yours, his touch light yet deliberate.

"You're so tense," he murmured, his voice a low drawl. "Do you need my help?"

You froze, your breath catching as his fingers trailed up your arm, barely touching you but leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

"Jeongin..."

"Hm?" He tilted his head, his lips quirking into that maddening smirk. "Something wrong?"

When you did not respond, he leaned in closer. You could feel his breath against your neck, his lips brushing just shy of your skin.

"Relax, y/n," he whispered. "You're so easy to tease. It's cute."

You tried to push him away, still feeling the guilt of enacting such unholy behaviors with your friend; however, your attempt was half-hearted at best. He chuckled, grabbing your wrist effortlessly.

"Don't push me away, darling," he commanded, his tone playful yet firm. "I'm not done with you yet."

Upon him saying that, he swiftly pinned you against the couch, his hands bracketing your sides as he hovered above you. His expression was both smug and something darker, his eyes locked on yours.

"You've been staring at my tongue all night," he stated bluntly, his lips quirking into a grin when you gaped at him. "Don't think I didn't notice.

"I wasn't—"

"No, no," he confidently teased. "You most certainly were. What's that little mind of yours thinking about?" Your heart skipped a beat as he dragged the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip, the metallic coating of his piercing glinting.

"Tell me what you want to know," he commanded while slowly trailing his thumb over your jawline, tilting your chin up just slightly.

"I," you stammered, the words stuck in your esophagus. You deeply exhaled before confessing: "I wanna know how it feels." Jeongin smirked, pride prominent as he relished in how he was making you feel.

"You're so easy to corrupt," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "Don't you think?" Before you could answer, Jeongin leaned down, his lips brushing against yours; the teasing was too much to bear. You were absolutely spent by that point, and thus, you pulled Jeongin flush against your lips.

The kiss was slow at first, his lips soft against yours as the both of you took your time. Then, you felt the cool press of his piercing as he deepened the kiss, his tongue gliding over yours. The sensation sent a shiver through your entire body; you were unable to prevent the small whine that escaped, causing Jeongin to chuckle against your lips.

"You like that?" he asked, his voice low and gruff. You could not answer, not with the way he was already pulling you closer, his hands sliding to your waist. One of his hands slipped under your shirt, his fingers splaying over your bare skin. The touch was possessive, grounding, but his lips never left yours; he was kissing you as if he had all the time in the world to unravel you.

"Hey," you whispered when he finally pulled back for a moment, your chest heaving.

"Yeah?" he questioned, his tone laced with faux innocence. "What's wrong? Too much for you?"

You glared at him, weakly at best; he tilted your chin up once more, pressing a teasing kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"I can stop," he told you, his lips kissing down your jawline to your neck. He paused there, biting down gently, just enough to make a mark and cause you to arch into him. "Unless you want more."

Your breath hitched, and you could barely muster the courage to respond, yet you were able to utter out: "Don't stop."

That was Jeongin's breaking point.

Within a flash, Jeongin had you trapped beneath him on the couch, his hoodie discarded somewhere on the floor. His hands were everywhere, exploring, teasing, worshipping, as his lips and tongue worked to mark every inch of your skin. His lips sucked shades of red and purple into your neck, collarbones, and jawline, eliciting sincere noises from your end.

"You're so sensitive," he mumbled, his manner heavy with amusement and lust. "I've barely touched you and look at you already." He brushed a piece of hair out of your face, chuckling at how blown your eyes already appeared.

You wanted to retort, but all that came out was a shaky moan as he nipped at your collarbone, his tongue soothing the sting. His fingers managed to slide lower, teasing your waist slightly.

"Tell me what you want, y/n," he asked of you, his tone mixing between demand and tease.

"You," you breathed out, unable to keep the desperation out of your voice. Jeongin's grin widened, his hand dipping lower.

"Good girl." The cool of his piercing against your skin was the last coherent thought you had as he continued to tease and take his time with you. Each touch, each kiss, each flick of his tongue left you trembling beneath him; you were completely at his mercy. You stifled a moan as Jeongin continued to make use of the jewelry against your skin, the added pressure overstimulating you.

"Don't hold back," he whispered against your ear, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "I want to hear every sound you make."

With his lips grazing downwards, you completely let go, releasing a string of gasps, whines, and moans at Jeongin's actions. He chuckled at every reaction, the sound low and complacent, as if he was thoroughly enjoying his effect upon you.

Which he was.

"Stay still for me," he commanded, his fingers hooking under the hem of your shirt, slowly pulling it up. He stopped just before he took it off completely, his eyes locked on yours. "This okay?"

You nodded in desperation, biting your lip.

His smirk widened as he slide the fabric over your head and tossed it aside. His gaze swept over you, dark but appreciative; the intensity of it made your skin heat up farther. His eyes fixated on your chest as one hand moved to cup your breast.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his thumb rubbing over your nipple before his lips followed, pressing open-mouthed kisses onto your breasts, occasionally intensifying to suck at the supple skin. He splayed and flicked his tongue against your nipples, his piercing making the sensation even more sensual. You squirmed under his touch, the anticipation building up with every second; you could feel the wetness pooling in your underwear.

"Innie, please."

"Hm?" he glanced up at you, his tongue peeking out over his bottom lip; the piercing made itself visible once more and caused your brain to further go numb. "What is it, Sweetheart?"

You let out a frustrated whimper, leaning into his touch.

"Stop teasing."

"Oh, but it's the best part," he responded with a grin. His fingers inched their way down to the waistband of your pants, tugging them down delicately and watching your every reaction as he did so. You were left in nothing but your underwear, making his grin turn wicked.

"You've been thinking about this, haven't you?" he inquired, his gaze fixated on the wet patch of your underwear. His hands trailed up your thighs, his thumbs rubbing over the sensitive skin that was just shy of where you needed him most.

You opened your mouth to deny his question, but the words caught in your throat as he dipped down, his lips ghosting over your inner thigh.

"Don't lie to me," he commanded softly, his voice a low purr. "I can see it. You've been dying to have me like this."

His tongue darted out before you could formulate a reply, the chill of the piercing against your burning skin sending a jolt of pleasure through you. He kissed his way up, his mouth hovering above where you needed him, but he did not move further. Not yet.

"I need you," you whimpered, your hands gripping the couch cushions as your patience wore thin. Jeongin laughed softly, the sound vibrating against your legs.

"Say please," he directed you in one last teasing measure.

"Please," you breathed, your voice shaky with need.

"Good baby," Jeongin cooed. He gently pulled down your underwear, and he finally pressed his mouth against you, his tongue first working on your clit with slow, accurate precision. The added sensation of his piercing added a new feeling that made you moan instinctually, your hips bucking harshly into Jeongin's face; the small, metallic ball added additional pressure with every suck, lick, and kiss, bringing you more pleasure than you had ever felt.

Jeongin's hands gripped your thighs, holding you firmly in place as he licked through your folds, albeit torturously slow; he was determined to unravel you, taking his time to explore every reaction, every sound you made.

"You taste so good" he groaned, against you, his pace picking up slightly; his voice was rough with desire. "I could do this all night." Without warning, his tongue began playing at your entrance, slowly dipping in and curling upwards. His piercing slightly snagged at your walls, causing you to unintentionally clench around him.

Your fingers tangled in his hair and tugged lightly as the tension built higher and higher, your body trembling beneath him. Before you knew it, you felt a knot tightening within your stomach, much swifter than you had ever; perhaps it was the added intensity from his piercing or the prior foreplay that had riled you up beyond belief. Whatever it was, you were coming undone faster than you could comprehend.

"Jeongin, I'm..." You could not finish the sentence, the words dissolving into a cry as one last languid dip pushed you over the edge, his pierced tongue working together to pull every last bit of pleasure from you and the gem's pressure aiding in riding out your high.

He did not stop until you were completely spent, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath from the intensity of the orgasm. When he finally pulled away from you, his lips were glistening and his grin was pure satisfaction.

"You look so pretty like this," he told you, leaning up to kiss you and letting you taste yourself on his lips.

He did not give you time to breathe before his hands were everywhere once more, eventually settling on your waist as he hovered above you.

"Still with me?" he quieried against your lips softly, yet laced with anticipation. You nodded, though your body was still shaking from the first round of his attention.

"Yes," you managed to whisper through shaky heaves.

"Good," he replied, his lips curving into a smirk. "Because I'm not even close to being finished." His lips found yours again, but in a different manner this time; his kiss was less teasing and more consuming, his tongue shoved deep within your mouth as the chilled flick of his piercing sent sparks down your spine. It was not just a kiss, you thought; it was a promise of everything he was about to do to you.

"You're perfect," he uttered, almost to himself as his hands traced the curve of your waist, back down to your thighs. "Do you know how long I've wanted this? Do you know how long I've noticed you've been staring at my tongue, knowing you wanted the same thing?"

His confession sent a shiver through you; you had a pretty good idea as to what he meant, since you could feel the heat of his body pressing against yours and the hardness against your thigh. There was no doubt about how much this boy wanted you.

Yet, instead of answering his rhetorical question, you ran your hands over his bare chest, your fingers tracing the lines of his toned muscles. He groaned softly at your touch, his hips pressing into yours as his self-control began to waiver.

"We're friends, Jeongin," you finally admitted. "Should we really be doing this?"

"Friends don't do this, y/n," he giggled as he responded. "Besides, don't you think it's a little late to be asking that?" You chuckled slightly at his response, leaning into press another kiss to his lips; this one was softer, full of feeling.

"You don't know what you do to me," he mumbled, your confidence igniting under his praise. He lowered himself back down, brushing softly against your shoulder before he shifted his attention lower, his lips and jewel-adorned tongue leaving a trail of heat down your body. When he reached your thighs, he paused, his hands spreading your legs as he looked up at you.

"Think you're ready?" he questioned teasingly as he reached for the waistband of his sweats. You could not find the words to respond, but the way your eyes locked onto him, full of need and anticipation, was all the answer he needed.

He hooked his fingers around the waistband of his sweatpants, dragging them as well as his boxers down in one swift movement. Your imagination had not done you justice when it came to his size; he was perfect, not too long but not short either and just the right amount of thickness.

He leaned down, his forehead resting against yours as he positioned himself, his hand cupping your cheek as he whispered, "I'll be gentle. promise." You nodded desperately as he pushed himself in without a hurry, allowing you to adjust as your body stretched to accomodate him. The both of you moaned deeply, Jeongin's lips brushing against yours as he praised you.

"So good," he groaned as he began to move; each thrust sent waves of pleasure through your entire body. He set a slow sensual pace at first, savoring the way you gasped and moaned beneath him; at certain moments, his tongue dipped out, causing you to fixate on his piercing once again, the sight of the surprisingly arousing piece of jewelry causing your senses to heighten. You clenched around his length each time, causing Jeongin to instantly catch onto the situation, once again beginning his relentless teasing.

"All of this over my piercing," he cheekily remarked as his rhythm built. "I can't believe I have you ruined over a tongue piercing." His degredation had a slight fondness to it; nevertheless, your brain was haywire. You comprehended what he was saying but did not have to capacity to formulate a response.

Jeongin's movements became more urgent as he lost himself in you, whispering your name like a sacred mantra and his lips and hands never leaving your body as his high crept up on him. You felt your respective orgasm begin to approach as well, your head tilting back from the overwhelming amounts of pressure you were feeling.

"Look at me," he commanded with a bit of adoration. "I want to see you." He gently grasped your cheeks tilting your head down to meet his gaze. The intensity in his eyes sent your spiraling; to top it off, he flicked his tongue out once more, toying with the metal ball in between his teeth.

That was the end for you.

Your hips bucked into his sloppily as the tension inside of you reached its peak, your second orgasm crashing over you like a floodwave, more intense than the first.

"That's it, baby," he praised, his voice rough with pleasure. "Good job, sweetheart. Let go for me."

Just moments later, Jeongin followed, your name tumbling from his lips as he buried his face in your neck, the force of his orgasm causing his legs to shake; white streams of cum coated your insides as the both of you came down from the high.

For a moment, the only audible sound was your combined heavy breathing. Jeongin slowly pulled out of you, rolling to the side and pulling you into his arms. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

"You alright?" he asked, his tone adorned with concern.

"More than okay," you nodded, resting your head against his chest as you tried to catch your breath, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Jeongin chuckled, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back.

"I guess you really liked my piercing," he chuckled teasingly, causing you to laugh softly.

"Can you blame me?" you inquired. "It makes you look hot."

"Oh, you think I'm hot?" Jeongin amped up his teasing once more, daring to slightly hover over you from the side once more, making you roll your eyes in response.

"Don't start," you murmured, pressing a soft peck to his lips.

"Why not? I don't think I'm done spoiling you yet," he replied with one last daring dart of his tongue out to lick his lips.

It was going to be a long night.

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids oneshot #stray kids scenarios #skz #bang chan #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #han #felix #seungmin #jeongin #jeongin fluff #jeongin smut #jeongin imagines #jeongin oneshot #jeongin scenarios

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dixons-sunshine · 10 months ago

Text

Breathe With Me | Young!Daryl Dixon x Young!Fem!Reader

Summary: With you and Daryl being in a good place, kissing coming naturally to you both and cuddling no longer awkward, it was inevitable that your make out sessions would start to heat up into something else. However, in the heat of what should’ve been a hot moment, Daryl’s mind started to wander to it’s usual self deprecating depths. Luckily, you were there to help him through it.

Genre: Kinda angsty but mainly fluff

Era: Pre outbreak.

Part of the Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams universe.

Warnings: Swearing, suggestive themes, self deprecating thoughts, hyperventilation/panic attack.

Word count: 1.2k

A/n: Another young!Daryl fic in a span of not even two days? Who would’ve thought it was possible? It’s mainly because I’ve been enjoying writing for young!Daryl recently, and I'd be happy to get any requests for this au. Also, I’ve never personally experienced a panic attack myself and this is all based off of what Google told me, so if any of it is inaccurate, please let me know so I can fix it. Other than that, I hope you enjoy!

“Shit, girl. Yer gon’ be the death of me.”

“Oh, fuck.”

You giggled against his lips, allowing him to push you down onto the bed. He followed soon after, moving to hover over you before reattaching his lips to yours hungrily. He used one of his hands to hold his weight up, the other one wandering over your exposed stomach. Your shirt was already disposed of and long forgotten, leaving you clad in only your shorts and bra.

To your surprise, when your hands wandered under Daryl's shirt, he only hesitated for a quick moment before withdrawing from the kiss and tugging his shirt over his head. Old and new scars were on display for you, leaving Daryl completely vulnerable under your gaze.

You smiled at him and pulled him down for another kiss, a silent way of thanking him for trusting you. It wasn’t the first time that you had seen his scars—you had helped him with his wounds too many times too count, leaving you familiar with all of his scars—but you always tried to make sure that he knew you didn’t judge him. You loved every part of him, scars and all.

You gasped against his lips when he let his hand trail down, his fingers lightly tracing over your clothed cunt. His tongue entered your mouth and he groaned at the taste. He pulled back momentarily to look at you, his pupils blown with lust.

“Fuck, yer so perfect,” he whispered, leaning down to leave a trail of kisses from your jaw to your neck.

You moaned when he kissed a particularly sensitive spot, leaning your head back to grant him better access. Your mind was starting to get cloudy, the only thought on your mind being how good Daryl was making you feel. Admittedly, you were also nervous, since this would be your first time doing something like this, but you trusted Daryl. He wouldn’t ever hurt you.

Daryl was thoroughly enjoying himself. However, when he felt you subconsciously grind your hips against his, his mind zoomed in and focused on one thing—you would regret this. You would regret giving your first time to someone like him. He would be terrible at this and you’d finally kick him to the curb after figuring it out. He didn’t deserve to have you in this way, in your most vulnerable state.

In an unexpected move, you managed to roll you both over. Daryl’s eyes slightly widened in wonder, before smiling and leaning up for another kiss. His hands settled on your waist, allowing you to take the reigns for the moment.

You would regret him.

Daryl’s breathing started becoming erratic. Although you could’ve easily misinterpreted it as him simply getting more turned on, something told you it wasn’t that. You pulled back from the kiss and looked at him, noticing the slightly pained expression on his face. His breathing was quick and choked off, and he seemed to be in some sort of daze. You instantly knew something was wrong.

“Daryl, hey, look at me,” you whispered, cupping his cheek and gently urging him to look at you. When his blue eyes met yours, you could very clearly see the panic in them.

Instantly, all previous lustful thoughts left your mind, concern for your boyfriend taking root in their place. You knew exactly what was happening; Daryl was busy having a panic attack. You helped him into a seated position, still straddling his lap. You grabbed his hand and placed it on your chest right above your heart, hoping to divert his attention away from whatever negative thoughts were plaguing his mind.

Still looking deeply into his eyes, you gently caressed his cheek with the hand that wasn’t holding his over your heart. “Try to breathe with me, okay?” you whispered, starting to breathe in a controlled rhythm.

Daryl nodded and began to copy your breathing, his sounding more choked up than yours. He tightened his grip on your waist with his hand that was still resting there, desperately trying to ground himself back to reality. It took a while, with you soothingly rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone and breathing with him in a controlled rhythm, but soon he was calming down.

Daryl felt ashamed of himself. There the two of you were, half naked and sharing what should’ve been a blissful, enjoyable experience, and he let himself get into his own head. He let his own insecurities get in the way. He should’ve just sucked it up, but instead he just had to ruin the moment.

You frowned slightly and gently grabbed his face with both hands, urging him to look at you. “Hey, it’s okay,” you assured him. When he shook his head in denial, your grip became more firm. “It is okay. Don’t blame yourself for something that was out of your control, alright? Do you wanna talk about it?”

“M’sorry,” he muttered, looking down to avoid what he thought would've been a disappointed stare.

Daryl hesitated for a moment, but nodded slowly. “I jus’ got into my own head. I was nervous and convinced myself ya would regret givin’ yer virginity to me. Started feelin’ overwhelmed. M’sorry.”

You pressed a kiss against his forehead, giving him a reassuring smile. “Don’t be sorry. I get it. I was nervous too, you know? But I wouldn’t have regretted anything. I trust you. There’s no one I’d rather do this with. But it’s okay if that doesn’t happen right now. I’m ready whenever you are.”

Daryl gave you a small smile before leaning forward to rest his forehead against your shoulder. “M’still sorry. I was lookin’ forward to this.”

“Me too, but it can wait. Let’s get you taken care of, okay? And I don’t wanna hear any buts, mister.”

Daryl nodded. “Alright,” he agreed, but made no effort to lift you off his lap. Instead, he pulled you closer to him, hugging you tightly. “Thank you for understandin'.”

“Of course.”

There was a lot of things going through Daryl’s mind at that moment. Despite your reassuring words, he still felt awful for what happened, his mind continuing to shame him. However, with your hands now gently threading through his hair to bring him some comfort, not giving a damn that you were still half naked and straddling him, he forced his mind to shut up.

And in that moment, it was confirmed in his mind—Daryl Dixon knew that he was never letting you go.

©dixons-sunshine 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified, adapted or translated to any other site or platform without evidence of my given consent.

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p0orbaby · 6 months ago

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Not Nineteen Forever

summary: co-parenting with two kids? light work

warnings: are exes a warning ?

a/n: i smell reconciliation in the air…

word count: 1.1k

“He’s forgotten his boots? What time is his lesson? No sorry don’t answer that, I’ve got meetings for the rest of the day, I can’t leave the office. Can he play in his school shoes? Can I just ask, have you tried getting in contact with Alexia? No, you just called me, got it. Well it looks like he will have to miss football then doesn’t it. Yes, it’s such a shame! Okay, thank you, bye”

You hang up and smash the phone back into its receiver, frustration boiling over. This is the third time this month something has come up with the kids while you are at work. Balancing a full-time job and single parenthood was taking its toll. You sigh, running a hand through your hair, and try to refocus on the mountain of tasks waiting for you.

It has been a year since you and Alexia divorced. The decision was mutual, borne out of necessity rather than any particular wrongdoing. Her career had always been demanding, but as she rose to greater heights, the time she could spend at home dwindled to almost nothing. The distance, both physical and emotional, had grown insurmountable. You had drifted apart, slowly and painfully.

The kids have taken the separation surprisingly well. They are resilient, adapting quickly to the new arrangement of split weeks and alternating weekends. But despite their brave faces, you can see the strain it puts on them. You miss the days when the four of you were a team, tackling life’s challenges together.

As you stare at your computer screen, trying to immerse yourself back into work, the phone rings again. It was the school. Again.

“You should have Alexia’s number on file but if you need me to confirm-“

“I’m sorry?”

“Luis’ boots. If it’s that much of a problem I’m sure my wife- ex wife, can drop them off”

“Apologies Ms Putellas, but I'm ringing about your daughter. This is the school nurse…”

You arrive at the school to find Alexia already there, uncharacteristically nervous as she waits. Despite everything, she always manages to be present when it truly matters. It’s one of the things you admire most about her, and also one of the most frustrating – her ability to show up at the critical moments, even if she couldn’t be there for the day-to-day.

Silently you’re both ushered into the head's office, where your daughter sits with a bandaged arm and teary eyes.

“How did this happen?” you ask suddenly, directing your question to the principal as you crouch down to inspect Liliana.

“She was climbing on the monkey bars and lost her grip,” the older woman explains. “It was an accident. She’ll be fine, but we thought it best to have you both here, given the circumstances”

“An accident?” Alexia echoes sharply, her voice edged with anger she normally only reserves for the pitch. “She’s only four! Why wasn’t she being supervised properly?”

The principal shifts uncomfortably. “We do our best to keep an eye on all the children, but sometimes with kids these things happen. We deeply apologise for any distress this has caused”

Alexia’s face tightens with frustration. “My daughter could have been seriously hurt!”

You place a calming hand on Alexia’s arm, feeling the tension radiating from her as she fizzes on the spot. “Ale,” you say softly. “We can talk about this later”

Alexia finally takes a deep breath, her eyes softening as she looks at Liliana, who is now clinging to her like a lifeline. “Are you okay, Cariño?” she asks, her voice gentler for your daughter's sake.

Liliana nods, though her eyes are still wet with leftover tears. “It hurts, Mami.”

The principal nods. “She’ll need some ice and rest, but otherwise, she should be okay. We just wanted to make sure you both were informed and could decide if she should go home for the rest of the day”

You glance at Alexia, your mind racing. It’s been a long time since you’ve had to make a decision like this together. “Do you think she should come home?” you ask.

Alexia looks down at Liliana who hugs at her leg, thinking as she strokes the top of her head. “I have the afternoon off. I can take her and keep an eye on her”

You’re surprised. “You have time off? I thought you had training”

“I managed to get the rest of the day cleared,” she says, her eyes meeting yours. “I wanted to be here”

For a moment, the tension between you eases, replaced by a shared concern for your child. You nod, before turning to the woman sitting behind her desk. “We’ll take Luis with us too”

The principal smiles, relieved. “Thank you both for coming in. We’ll make sure her things are ready to go”

“I finish at five, I’ll come straight here after” you say as the kids run past you into Alexia’s house. Liliana magically healed at the thought of being able to miss the rest of the school day.

Alexia watches them go, then turns back to you with a look that’s hard to read. “I know it’s been… different”

“Yeah, different is one way to put it,” you reply, trying to keep your tone light, inoffensive. “But we’re making it work”

She nods, her gaze drifting to the door where the kids disappeared. “They seem happy. That’s what matters”

You follow her eyes, watching the kids through the window to where they’ve migrated to the garden. “They’re stronger than we give them credit for. It’s us adults who complicate things”

Alexia laughs softly. “Isn’t that the truth?”

There’s a moment of silence, filled with all the words neither of you have dared to say. Eventually, Alexia breaks it. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot lately, about everything”

You feel a twinge of something you can’t quite identify, hope maybe, but you push it aside. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says, her eyes meeting yours in a way that makes your cheeks flush. “I miss them. And I miss… us”

You swallow hard, trying to bat away the emotions rising hopelessly within you. “Alexia, we’ve talked about this. Your career, my job, it just didn’t work”

“I know,” she replies, frustration creeping into her tone. “But just because it didn’t work then doesn’t mean it can’t work now. People change. Situations change”

You sigh, rubbing the back of your neck. “I don’t know, Alexia. It’s not that simple”

She steps closer, a dangerous move. You can smell the lingering scent of her soap, the gum she chews. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be complicated either”

You look at her, feeling the familiar pull you’ve tried to ignore for the past year. “I need to get back,” you say finally, peeling yourself away from her.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #fcb femeni #fcb femeni x reader #espwnt #espwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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hoodoo12 · 7 months ago

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Sweltering

First and foremost, fuck this heat. I've always preferred colder to warmer, and nowadays the summer is just a hellscape. Therefore, a story.

It's too hot outside, and The Ghost with the Most thinks he has a way to cool you down. NSFW.

It was stupid hot. Inside with no air conditioning was worse, so you were out on the patio in your backyard in nothing more than the thinnest tank top you owned and underwear. You’d brought a fan that was specifically labeled “for indoor use only!” out, plugged in by multiple extension cords that also said to only use them indoors, and had it going full blast right at your body.

You were sweating through what little clothing you had on. Your brain felt melted. The ice cream sandwich you thought would help cool you down did nothing.

Without warning or fanfare, Beetlejuice appeared at your side.

You hadn’t called him. You just never re-said his name after the last time you’d summoned him, and now this was the arrangement. He just came and went how he pleased, like a tom cat. You hoped he didn’t fuck around like an unneutered cat, but you were also realistic. There was never any label to the thing you had with him, although there was something to be said in that he kept returning.

“Jesus! You’re wearing that suit? It’s over 95 degrees out here!” you complained at him. Then you took a lick around the edge of the ice cream, because it was melting faster than your brain.

The ghost looked down over himself.

“Well fuckin' good day to you too,” he grumbled. “And what’s wrong with my suit?”

“I already said it was so damn hot! How can you wear that in this heat?!”

He rolled his eyes. “Because I’m a dead guy, sweetcheeks. I don’t feel the heat. I don’t feel the cold. It’s all the same to me.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, in both disbelief and a titch of jealousy. “Must be nice.”

He shrugged. “I suppose. If you mean not feeling much of anything.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “You don’t feel much of anything? Then why’re you sporting a boner behind your fly?”

Instead of being embarrassed, a reaction that would have surprised you, he rubbed his palm over his crotch as he leered down at you. “My dick’s hard because you’re laying in front of me basically nude, baby, with sticky white stuff dripping all over your hand.”

Your ice cream! In the seconds you’d forgotten about it, it melted just as he said, leaving trails down your hand and wrist. With an inarticulate cry of surprised dismay, you immediately started to lick the mess off your hand, mostly managing to smear wet sugar over your skin instead of actually removing it.

“You know, I’ve got something just as chilly that’d fit in your mouth.”

Your tongue still in your palm, you flicked a glance at him. You’d expect nothing less from the ghost watching what you were doing with keen, hungry interest. Beetlejuice hadn’t stopped rubbing himself through his trousers and you saw him give himself a squeeze that was none to gentle.

“Oh?” you replied innocently. “You think something like that’d cool me down?”

“Fuckin’ heat you up, more like,” he growled. “I know how much you like suckin’ my cock.”

This hadn’t been on your agenda today, but his unexpected arrival did make you think dirty thoughts. Shoving the remaining bite of the ice cream sandwich into your mouth, you gave up trying to clean off your hand and spun in the lounge chair so he was between your legs. Looking up at him, you grinned even as you reached for the button and zipper on his trousers.

As your fingers undid the fastenings, you said, “This is all for me then, huh? Sucking you off is all for me, because you don’t feel much of anything?”

You dug into the front of his pants--he never wore underwear, so you didn’t have to contend with that barrier--and eased his cock out. Grub-pale and heavy in your hand, it did have a distinct chill that wasn’t unpleasant in this blasted heat.

Beetlejuice looked down at you with half-lidded eyes, drawing a thumb over his lower lip. “I think you know the answer to that, babydoll. Now you just gonna sit there? That sandworm isn’t gonna suck itself.”

Even as you rolled your eyes again that he called his dick a sandworm, you obediently opened your mouth and he rocked his hips. Because you were holding him by the base of his cock, it was the perfect position to slip between your lips and onto your tongue. You loosened your jaw; you knew he tended to pop himself forward once in your mouth and--

Beetlejuice thrust, his cock filling your mouth almost to your throat.

--yep, there it was.

The second he was encased in your mouth, you sucked him hard.

He groaned. A hand went to the back of your head and fingers entangled into your hair. You gave him a few sucking strokes, and on one of the outward pulls, he yanked back a little so your face tilted backward.

“Look up at me,” he ordered.

You barely contained another eye roll. Instead, you concentrated on doing as he asked, keeping your eyes trained upward as best you could bobbing on his cock. Along with the movement, you alternated swirling your tongue around him and applying heavy solid suction. He’d been correct; his cock was chilly in your mouth, although not quite as cold as the ice cream had been and nowhere near as tasty.

The ghost continued to groan and now gasp at each sensation you wrung from him. He tipped his head back, and you saw his throat work as he swallowed.

Without warning, you pulled off him. He gasped again, for a different reason, and dropped his gaze back to you. His mouth was open and he looked a little stuporous, as well as surprised.

“Look at me,” you ordered him.

He swallowed again and nodded quickly. You quirked an eyebrow at him as if to silently say he better not forget to keep his eyes trained downward. Then, keeping your eyes locked on his, you went back to work with even more vigor.

There was a little more intimacy, with direct eye contact. As much intimacy as sitting outside in basically nothing, sucking a basically fully clothed ghost’s cock could be. You laughed as best you could with that cock down your throat at what you must look like and what the neighbors would think if they happened to see you. Beetlejuice continued to moan and tightened his hand in your hair, as if he thought you were laughing at him. His hips rocked forward to shove himself in a little deeper.

The head of his cock choked off your air supply and cut your chuckle short. Now it was his turn to cock an eyebrow at you, daring you to say something or stop. Without taking your mouth off him you narrowed your eyes and worked him even harder.

You sucked, your swirled, you didn’t swallow any of the thick spit blowing him built up in your mouth. It ran out of your mouth and soaked your chin and neck; when you deep throated him it drenched his rat’s nest of pubic hair and trousers. Pulling back after keeping him fully inside you raised your eyes again. He locked eyes with yours even as drool beaded on his own lower lip. It became too heavy to remain there, and a thin droplet of it fell.

He licked his lip then. “Your fuckin’ mouth baby,” he muttered.

“Uh-huh,” you were able to reply, since that was easier than actual words. He seemed to want to choke out some words, however, so you slowed.

“Told you it was better, didn’t I?” he reminded you. “Nice isn’t it, something that’s cold in that hot mouth of yours that doesn’t melt right away? Fuck, baby, you gonna edge me so you can keep going? You gonna want to keep my cock in your mouth as long as possible--”

That was exactly what you didn’t want. Already his babbling grated on your nerves, like he was the one in charge here. You took him as deep as possible again, with your nose pressed into the wet hair over his pubic bone. Beetlejuice interrupted himself with an open-mouthed groan. You’d have smiled at the power you had over him, but that would break the suction.

Keeping his cock exactly where it was, you used your tongue to press it up against your hard palate for some variety in sensation and paused a second to breathe through your nose. You couldn’t tilt your head up enough to look him in the face again, but from the now involuntary jerks his body gave and the rhythmic tightening of his fingers in your hair, you didn’t need to see his expression to know that he was damn close to blowing his load down your throat.

As if on cue, he rasped, “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come--”

You left off the heavy suction for a second.

“Down your throat or on your skin, baby?”

His come would have a distinctly different taste in the back of your throat than the ice cream you’d eaten, so you answered him by releasing him and pulling back a bit. You caught his eyes again, dark even in the sunlight, and grinned up at him. His hand left your hair and went to his own cock.

Beetlejuice gave a slightly different groan at seeing you displayed in front of him. His hand stroked his length easily due to the amount of spit you’d laved him with. You gathered some of the spit that had dripped to your chest and smeared it, making yourself shiny. With the breeze from the fan, your nipples peaked. The grin didn’t leave your face.

The ghost jerked himself off, and broke the rule about keeping eye contact with you. His eyes were riveted to your chest. That was okay; you couldn’t help watching his cock disappear and reappear in his own hand, his pace increasing the closer he got to finishing. When he leaned over and used your shoulder for balance, you knew his end was inevitable.

He squeezed the head of his cock between his thumb and forefinger, then gave another frantic jerk and cried out as he came. Thick, off-white come spurted onto your upper chest, and it was just as chilly as his cock had been. You gasped as it painted you, and you couldn’t help taking one hand to smear it thinly over your skin. It was only slightly less tacky than the ice cream that had melted earlier. His nails dug into your shoulder, and you shrugged it to remind him that you were still a breather and didn’t really appreciate the pain.

Once his cock stopped pulsing and the last of his ejaculate dribbled out, he blew his breath out like he’d run a marathon.

The spunk you’d smeared was even cooler when the air from the fan hit it. You knew the sensation wouldn’t last long, but it was nice for the moment.

“You’re pretty hot, baby,” Beetlejuice complimented.

You gave him a look. “Yeah. I know. That’s the whole problem.”

He smirked and took your upper arm, hauling you to your feet.

“Why don’t I try to cool you down--now gimme a chance to explain, baby!” he said over your attempt to interrupt him. “My entire body is just as chilly as my dick, sweetheart, so me laying on top of you or you laying on top of me is gonna help. And when I say my entire body, I mean my tongue too, so just imagine what that’ll feel like tickling up between your legs. Cool you down from the inside out.”

When he put it that way . . .

Beetlejuice grinned as your expression softened into compliance.

“Come on baby,” he continued. “Let’s get inside where I can really concentrate. Unless you wanna continue to give the neighbors a free show?”

“What?!” you squawked, scrambling for your bra to cover yourself.

He laughed and didn’t let you grab it, pulling you along with him into the house and up to your bedroom. As far as a sweltering day went, at least a corpse-cold lover helped make it better.

fin!

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice x reader #repost of an old story #writing #fanfiction

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