#cut to later and shadow’s like how did you know??

[lovedrruunk]

'A Fresh Start 𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐[part ii]

When the mysterious new girl in town makes a lasting first impression, you make it your goal to befriend and welcome her to the town. [Part i] playlist!!!

self deprecating stalker jinx ill luv u 4eva & eva & eva...

"Hey."

"Hi!"

“. . .”

“. . . ?”

“. . .”

“. . . ???”

You blinked, waiting for her to say literally anything else, but nope. Just “hey.” and now she was standing there, looking like she was on the verge of shitting her pants while you wondered if this was how all her conversations went.

Surprisingly you didn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable, more so confused. Looking around, your eyes landed on your old neighbor who’s own eyes were on the girl in front of you. He was giving her this look of judgment. It wasn’t obvious or harsh but it was still there. And then it clicked.

This was her.

The newcomer who moved into that old cottage on the outskirts of town. The one Mrs. Van Dee Kamp couldn’t stop speculating about, the one Mr. Gallagher said “looked like trouble”, and the same one you were so curious about. 

It wasn’t long before your group started to shuffle awkwardly, clearly ready to move on. They glanced at her, the kind of quick, hesitant looks people gave when they didn’t want to seem rude but also didn’t want to linger. One by one, they made their excuses, mumbling something about needing to get back to their stalls. They took a couple of steps away, looking back once they realized you weren’t following.

“I’ll catch up with you guys later!” you called, waving them off.

Turning back, you realized she was already staring at you, her wide pink eyes locked onto yours like you’d just caught her doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

“Hi!” you started... for the second time now.

“Uh… yeah.” she said, her voice flat as if responding to a completely different conversation.

Not exactly the warmest start, but you continued. “You’re new in town right? People have been talking, but you know, nothing bad! They’re just curious.”

Her eyes glanced left then right as you were talking, like she was scanning for an exit. “Yeah. New.”

You tilted your head. “Well, welcome. I’m–”

“Okay.” she cut you off, her tone abrupt.

“...Okay?” you repeated, blinking.

“Yeah. Thanks. Bye.”

Before you could say another word, she spun on her heel and started walking… no, speed-walking, towards the dirt path that lead into the forest.

You stood there, frozen, your brain scrambling to process what had just happened. Did she seriously just… run away? Mid-conversation?

It took you a solid few seconds to realize your jaw was hanging open. Shutting it quickly, you looked around, half expecting someone to jump out with a camera and tell you that you that it was a prank.

But no. The mysterious girl who had everyone talking had just bolted, leaving you standing there like an idiot.

And for some reason, instead of being offended, you couldn’t help but laugh.

Who was she? And what kind of person walked away from a perfectly normal greeting? Mind you, a greeting she had started. You didn’t know why, but suddenly, you were dying to find out.

. . .

This feeling wasn’t technically new.

For weeks, you’d felt it, that weird sensation on the back of your neck, like someone was watching you. At first, it had been easy to ignore. You told yourself it was just your brain playing tricks. It was harmless. Whatever.

But now? Not so much.

The feeling wasn’t just there when you stood still like it was before, it followed you now. Around the market, down quiet streets, even when you stopped to chat with neighbors. You’d catch glimpses, a blur of blue hair disappearing behind a corner, the faintest sound of boots on the gravel.

More than once, you were so sure you’d catch them. You’d spin around at the sound of a shuffle or a shadow that felt too close. But by the time you looked? Nothing. Just an empty alley or a completely innocent looking street lamp.

It was driving you nuts.

You didn’t have to guess who it was either. You knew it was her. The girl from the square, Powder, or whatever her name really was. The way she’d bolted last time you tried to talk to her? That had to mean something.

Now it wasn’t just about being watched. It was about her. What was her deal? Why was she sneaking around? Why couldn’t she just talk to you?

You're own feelings about the situation were confusing you. You didn't necessarily... mind it. Unlike the other townsfolk, you didn't see her as a threat. She didn't seem like the type who would go out of her way to harm you. So 'why' was the question, and you were determined to figure it out.

Every time you caught a glimpse of her, something tugged at you. It wasn’t just the mystery of it all, though that was definitely part of it. There was something about her, it's like she didn't want to be seen yet wanted all of your attention.

And you wanted to know why. Why so secluded? Why so interested in your mundane countryside life?

It wasn’t like the townsfolk were any help either. They whispered about her, sure, 'the new girl with the blue hair and the weird vibes' but that’s all they did. Whispers. Speculation. None of them had actually tried to get to know her as far as you could tell.

Which left it to you.

The more you thought about it, the more determined you got. You didn’t want to believe she was some big, bad menace just because she didn’t fit into their little box of what people here were 'supposed' to be like. She was human, and just as deserving of a community as anyone else. So, yeah, you had questions.

And, apparently, she had no intention of giving you any answers.

It was almost funny how good she was at avoiding you. You’d be walking down the street, sure you'd spotted her near the bakery, and then poof. Gone. Like she had been a figment of your imagination. It was starting to feel like a game, except you knew something she didn't. How to cheat.

. . .

“Alright, I know you’re in there!” you yelled, leaning closer to the door as your fist continued to bang on the wood. “You can’t hide forever!”

Silence.

You squinted at the cottage, the place looked... interesting. It was still that run down creepy cottage you remembered always seeing whenever you passed by, but it was strangely... lively. Big scraps of metal and parts outside, colorful flowers (although wilted), and colorful graffiti that seemed to cover every side.

Snapping yourself out of your thoughts, you knocked again harder, this time raising your voice. “I’m not leaving until you open this door!”

Still nothing.

“Powder! Or... whatever your name is!” you shouted, hoping the use of her name might get a reaction.

From inside, you swore you heard a faint creak. A floorboard, maybe? It was hard to tell over the sound of your heart hammering in your ears. You leaned forward, pressing your ear to the door.

“I can hear you in there, you know.” you tried, softening your tone just a bit, stepping back from the door. “I’m not mad or anything. I just want to talk! That’s all.”

The silence that followed felt even more deafening than before. For a second, you wondered if you’d imagined the sound altogether.

And then, just as you were about to knock again, the door creaked open.

Barely.

A narrow space, enough for one pink eye to peek through.

“What do you want?” came a voice.

It wasn’t hostile exactly, but it wasn’t friendly either. Cautious. Suspicious.

You blinked, caught off guard by just how intense her gaze was up close.

“Uh, hi?” you started, scrambling for words that didn’t sound totally ridiculous. “We’ve been running into each other a lot lately- well, okay, more like you’ve been running away- but I just wanted to…” You trailed off, realizing you hadn’t actually planned this far ahead.

Her eye narrowed slightly, not moving to open the door any wider.

“...check in?” you finally finished, wincing at your own words.

The door inched shut a little more.

“Wait, wait!” you said frantically as you held up your hands.

“I mean it! No tricks, no weird town gossip or whatever. I just… I think we got off on the wrong foot. Can we maybe start over? I'd love to be friends.”

Her eye flicked to your hands, then back to your face. For a moment, you thought she was actually gonna let you in.

Instead, she sighed. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

Her voice was quieter now, laced with something you couldn’t quite place. Regret? Fear?

“Why not?” you asked gently, lowering your hands.

But she didn’t answer, instead she gave you this long silent look. And just as you were about to speak up again, the door shut and the bolt slid into place.

“Well, okay then.”

. . .

when i talk abt the town pls imagine a Minecraft village or something of the sort ...

this chapter was SOOOO SELF DIVULGENT btw lololol was totally laughing my ass off writing it. I hope the difference in the way i write their povs is noticeable!!! also its 2am rn ill make sure to proof read in the morning... maybe...

part 3 sometime this week probs! it'll go back to being in pows pov ≽^•⩊•^≼˚

notes r appreciated & thx 4 reading as aaalways XOXOXOXO

[Teensy taglist (ˊᗜˋ)]

@cattjull @kenqki @powderbomb-jinxed

[creamflix]

cw: reader death (multiple lives) but no explicit detail, my take on choso being a "curse"

choso had lived countless lifetimes, yet each felt like the same endless thread, woven with anguish and stitched with your face. the curse of memory clung to him like a shadow, unrelenting, never allowing him to forget. you were his constant, the cruel anchor to his torment, and each meeting was a bittersweet agony.

he remembered the glint of lantern light catching in your eyes, the sound of your voice weaving tales that charmed the village children.

always, he was the nameless, brave warrior in your stories, an unsung hero battling the darkness. choso had sat in the corner of the shrine one evening, his heart tight as he listened to your laughter.

“the warrior was so brave,” you said, your voice soft yet filled with admiration, “but he was lonely, wasn’t he? perhaps he needed someone to fight for.”

your words cut deeper than any blade. how could he tell you that it was you he fought for in every story? how could he explain that your imagined warrior was more real than you knew?

when the first frost of winter came, you fell ill. no offering to the gods, no prayer whispered under his breath could save you. he stayed in the shrine long after, staring at the empty space where you used to kneel, his fists clenched in helpless rage.

a lifetime later, he found you behind the heavy silk curtains of a grand throne room, a princess wrapped in gold and duty.

yet, it was your laughter, still as bright and free as ever, that made him weak. you would sneak out with him, skirt hitched just high enough to avoid the dew-laden grass, your hand clutching his as if the world didn’t matter.

“do you think i could run away?” you whispered once, your voice trembling with the weight of your station. “live out there? with you?”

“don’t,” he muttered, his jaw tightening. “don’t say things like that.”

but in his mind, he dreamed.

he dreamed of fields without boundaries, of nights without watchful eyes. it was an illusion that shattered when a marriage was arranged for you. he stood among the onlookers at your wedding, hidden behind a pillar, his heart burning as you smiled at another man.

your laughter was different this time — huskier, laced with the clinking of shot glasses and the hum of an out-of-tune piano. in the dim haze of the saloon, you played for a crowd that never seemed to appreciate your talent. but choso lingered, always. he would drop coins into the glass jar on your piano and request the same song every time.

“you like this one?” you’d ask, leaning closer with a teasing grin. “i’d think a man like you would want something faster.”

“it’s perfect,” he said, his gaze steady on yours. “play it for me again.”

you didn’t live long in that life either. a stray bullet during a brawl cut your song short. choso held your hand as you bled out, your voice fading like the final note of a melody. “don’t… let me go,” you had whispered.

but he did. again.

bright lights, neon signs, and synth music — this life was so different, yet you were still you. your smile was framed by pink lipstick and bubblegum, your hair teased high with streaks of color. choso sat in the corner booth every day, ordering the same milkshake just to see you glide over on those ridiculous skates.

“strawberry again?” you teased one day, spinning effortlessly to set the glass in front of him. “you know, for a guy like you, i’d expect something a little darker.”

he almost smiled. almost. “it’s not about the drink.”

“oh?” you leaned closer, resting your chin on your hand. “what’s it about, then?”

you. but the word stayed caught in his throat.

instead, he watched as you laughed, skating off to the next customer, always just out of reach.

now, in this life, he saw you again. modern clothes, a phone in your hand, but the same soul burning behind your eyes. you didn’t recognize him, of course.

you never did.

but he felt his chest tighten as he stood in the shadow of a crowded street, watching you smile at someone else.

“you’re cruel,” he whispered, his voice heavy with despair. “how many times do i have to lose you?”

your laughter floated through the air, untainted by the burdens of memory. you didn’t know the weight you carried for him, how many times he had watched you fade, how many times he had buried his heart.

for a moment, he let himself step closer, close enough to feel the warmth of your presence. when you turned, your gaze swept over him without recognition, and he felt his chest shatter.

“do i know you?” you asked, your head tilted in polite curiosity.

he swallowed hard. “no,” he said finally, forcing himself to step back.

“but i know you.”

this concept was inspired by my immortal lover sukuna post, which is a lot more soft than this one, if you wanna read that. thanks for reading 'till here <3 produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡

[mingi-s-dimples]

At his mercy - hj

KINKTOBER DAY 24, REQ. BY anon

~"hongjoong tortures y/n by strapping a vibrator onto her pussy and tying her limbs, causing y/n to squirm and stop for him to make it stop. hongjoong edges y/n by turning the vibrator off everytime she's abt to come."

pairing: dom!hongjoong x sub fem!reader

genre: 18+, bdsm au

summary: one broken rule of his would bring you on the edge of being desperate and begging.. for him

wc: 3.2k

warnings: bdsm au, dom/sub relationship, harsh dom!hj, whiny sub!reader, use of toys (vibrator), lots of edging, denied orgasms, crying (out of overstim), slight dacryphilia, use of restraints (he uses soft scarfs to tie her up, and the toy), kissing, neck holding, neck grabbing, slight choking, clit stim, some praising here and there, completely consensual, for sure forgot something, will edit later.

Author's Note: I love writing bdsm style fics sm... y all can see one of my personal kinks ups🧍‍♀️it s all good tho, I love conveying my thoughts whenever I write bdsm typa fics 🤭 I'm so so into the edging thing I'm going insane... anyways, anon, enjoy !!! 🤗💖

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the member in any way.

The soft glow of twilight filtered through the curtains, casting shadows across the room that felt heavier than usual. You had been home for barely an hour, your shoulders aching from the weight of the day, when the realization hit you like a jolt of lightning: your phone was dead.

You froze mid-step, the memory of Hongjoong’s firm words echoing in your mind.

“Keep your phone on, *always.*”

It wasn’t a casual request. In your relationship—both romantic and deeply rooted in the careful dynamics of trust and power—it was one of the fundamental rules. His rules weren’t arbitrary; they were meticulously crafted with your safety and the trust you had placed in him at their core.

But today had been a whirlwind. You’d been caught up in errands, lost track of time, and when your phone had died, you’d brushed it off. *I’ll charge it when I get home,* you’d thought. It didn’t seem like a big deal at the time.

Now, as you stared at the lifeless device in your hand, your stomach sank. You knew Hongjoong would already be home, and you could practically feel the weight of his disapproval before even stepping into the bedroom.

A deep breath did little to steady your nerves as you opened the door. The sight of him, seated on the edge of the bed, confirmed your fears. He was dressed impeccably, his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms, a casual elegance that only heightened the intensity of his presence. His head lifted as the door clicked shut behind you, his dark eyes locking onto yours.

“You’re late,” he said evenly, his voice calm but sharp enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted, your hands tightening around your dead phone. “I—”

He raised a hand, cutting you off. “Spare me the excuses.”

He stood, his movements deliberate, and the sheer authority radiating from him made your pulse quicken. As your Dom, Hongjoong’s presence carried an unspoken weight—a mixture of love, control, and safety wrapped in his unwavering confidence. Tonight, though, you could feel the shift in the air, the tension crackling between you like an unstruck match.

“You were unreachable for hours,” he said, his tone quieter now, but no less commanding. He crossed the room with slow, measured steps, stopping just in front of you. “Do you know how dangerous that is?”

“I wasn’t thinking,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No,” he agreed, tilting his head slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You weren’t. And because of that, you’ve broken one of my rules.”

The weight of his words settled heavily on your chest. Hongjoong wasn’t one to lose control or raise his voice; his power lay in his restraint, the deliberate way he handled every situation. You knew how much effort he put into crafting your dynamic, ensuring that every boundary, every rule, was there to protect and guide you.

“Tell me,” he continued, his voice deceptively soft, “what happens when you break the rules?”

You hesitated, heat rising to your cheeks. “There are consequences.”

“Good girl,” he said, nodding once. “Then you understand why we’re here.”

A thrill of nervous anticipation coursed through you, your body already responding to the subtle shift in his demeanor. This was no longer just about the broken rule or the dead phone. This was about his rule—rebuilding it, reaffirming it, and reminding you of the structure you had both agreed to.

“Strip,” he said, stepping back just enough to give you space.

You swallowed hard, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached for the hem of your shirt. There was no hesitation in his gaze, no flicker of doubt. His command wasn’t rooted in anger but in the unshakable confidence that this was what you both needed.

Piece by piece, you removed your clothing, the vulnerability of the act heightening your awareness of every movement, every breath. When you were finally bare before him, he gestured toward the bed.

“Sit.”

You obeyed, perching on the edge of the mattress, your heart racing as he reached into the bedside drawer. He pulled out the familiar length of silk—a scarf he often used during scenes—and the sight of it made your stomach flutter.

“Hands,” he instructed, his voice firm but not unkind.

You lifted your hands, palms up, and he moved closer, the scent of his cologne washing over you as he carefully bound your wrists. The fabric was cool against your skin, the knot secure but not too tight—a reminder of the balance he always maintained between control and care.

Once your wrists were bound, he stepped back, his eyes raking over you with an intensity that left you breathless.

“Do you know why this is happening?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

“Because I broke the rules,” you replied softly, your cheeks flushing under his gaze.

“More than that,” he said, leaning in slightly, his presence overwhelming in the best way. “Because you forgot what it means to me. To let me protect you.”

The words hit you like a bolt of lightning, your heart clenching at the weight of his words.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the sincerity in your voice evident.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your jaw as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. “I know you are,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “But sorry isn’t enough. You need to feel this—so you don’t forget.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, anticipation thrumming through your veins as he stepped back. Slowly, he climbed onto the bed, his movements deliberate and precise. He positioned himself above you, his hands braced on either side of your head, and the sheer proximity of him made it hard to breathe.

“You trust me,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent heat coursing through your body.

“Yes,” you replied without hesitation.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

A small, satisfied smile tugged at his lips. “Good.”

He leaned down, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed a kiss to your temple—a gesture that was both comforting and charged with electricity. Then, without another word, he began his work.

His hands moved with practiced ease, tracing a slow, deliberate path over your body. Every touch was calculated, designed to heighten your awareness and leave you yearning for more.

Hongjoong’s eyes gleamed with something primal as he pulled back slightly, his fingers trailing down the curve of your waist, leaving a path of fire in their wake. Without breaking eye contact, he reached back into the drawer. The faint hum of anticipation in the room grew sharper as he retrieved a small, sleek vibrator.

The sight of it made your breath hitch. He held it up between you, tilting it slightly, the light catching its smooth surface. His thumb hovered over the button, and with a soft click, it came to life—a low, teasing buzz that made your body tighten in response.

“This,” he said, his voice dripping with authority, “is for me to control. Just like you.”

A shiver coursed through you as he climbed off the bed, placing the vibrator down for a moment. He grabbed another length of silk, this one thicker, from the drawer and leaned down to secure your ankles to the bedposts. His touch was firm but careful, ensuring the bonds were snug but not uncomfortable. The vulnerability of having your legs spread and tied left you quivering.

With your wrists already secured above you and your legs now restrained, Hongjoong stepped back to admire his work. His gaze traveled over your body, appreciation and dominance mingling in his eyes.

“Look at you,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Completely at my mercy.”

You couldn’t hold his gaze, your cheeks heating as you squirmed under his scrutiny. But the sound of the vibrator clicking to a higher setting snapped your attention back to him.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered, his tone sharp enough to cut through your haze.

“Yes, sir,” you stammered, your voice shaky.

He smirked, the corners of his mouth lifting in that way that always left you breathless. Slowly, he climbed back onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he positioned himself between your thighs.

“I’m going to teach you,” he said, running the vibrator along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, just shy of where you wanted it most. “Teach you to listen. To remember who you belong to.”

The vibrations against your skin were maddening, a tantalizing promise of what was to come. Your hips instinctively arched toward him, but he pressed a firm hand to your stomach, holding you in place.

“Uh-uh,” he said with a click of his tongue. “You’ll take what I give you. Nothing more.”

“Yes, sir,” you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible over the hum of the vibrator.

The heat in his gaze intensified as he trailed the toy higher, stopping just at the apex of your thighs. The anticipation was unbearable, your body trembling as he kept you on the edge, never quite giving you what you craved.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice soft but full of power. “Now let’s see how well you can obey.”

The sound of the vibrator’s low hum filled the room as Hongjoong continued his torment, letting it hover just close enough to make your body tighten, only to pull it away at the last second. His precision was maddening, each pass over your skin deliberate and cruel in its restraint. You could feel your orgasm building—heat pooling deep within you, your breaths turning ragged—but just as you neared that peak, he stopped.

A desperate whimper escaped your lips as your body ached for the release he denied you.

“Ah, ah,” Hongjoong tutted, clearly relishing your reaction. His smirk was wicked as he trailed the toy lightly along your stomach, far from where you wanted it. “Did I give you permission for that?”

“N-no, sir,” you stammered, your voice shaky.

“Then why are you acting like you have control here?” he teased, his tone both sharp and teasing as he leaned down, his breath ghosting over your ear. “You don’t. Not tonight.”

Your body trembled as he brought the vibrator back to your clit, the sensations sharp and all-consuming. This time, he pressed it against it with just enough pressure to send your nerves spiraling toward that edge again. Your breaths quickened, your hips bucking against the restraints as pleasure surged through you.

But once again, just as you were about to topple over the edge, he pulled back, switching the vibrator off with a casual click.

“No!” The protest slipped out before you could stop it, your voice thick with desperation. Tears of frustration pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you pulled weakly against the silk holding you in place.

Hongjoong chuckled, low and rich, clearly enjoying your unraveling. “Oh, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement as he brushed his fingers gently along your jawline, tipping your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “You’re really not in a position to argue, are you?”

You bit your lip, unsure how to respond, and his smirk deepened. “Since you seem to need a reminder of your place…”

He reached into the drawer again and pulled out a silk ribbon. Your heart raced as he carefully tied the vibrator against your inner thigh, angling it perfectly over your clit, where every nerve felt raw and exposed. He secured it with meticulous care, ensuring it stayed in place.

“There,” he said, flicking the toy back on to a steady, teasing hum. It wasn’t enough to overwhelm you, but the constant stimulation was maddening, leaving you squirming in your bonds.

You let out a soft cry of frustration, your body both desperate for relief and overwhelmed by the unrelenting sensation.

“Comfortable?” he asked, his tone mockingly sweet as he knelt on the bed, watching you with that same unshakable confidence.

“Please,” you whispered, tears now slipping down your cheeks as the frustration became unbearable.

“Please, what?” he prompted, his voice softer now, almost tender.

“Please, sir,” you choked out, your voice trembling.

He leaned down, brushing a thumb across your cheek to catch a tear. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, his voice rich with satisfaction. “Desperate. Completely at my mercy.”

The hum of the vibrator against you was relentless, the teasing just enough to keep you teetering on the brink without ever letting you fall. Hongjoong’s eyes burned with intensity as he watched you writhe beneath him, the control firmly in his hands.

“Let’s see how long you can hold on,” he said, his voice a mixture of warning and promise, leaving no doubt that he was far from finished.

Hongjoong climbed over you, his presence overwhelming as he hovered above, his knees bracketing your hips. His face was close—so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. The intensity in his gaze was magnetic, holding you captive as he leaned in slowly. When his lips finally met yours, the kiss was firm yet teasing, a tantalizing mix of control and tenderness.

His fingers trailed down your sides, deliberate and unhurried, until they found your thighs. He pressed his palms into the soft flesh, his touch both grounding and electrifying. Without breaking the kiss, his hand drifted lower, brushing over the vibrator tied against you. He pressed it gently against you, just enough to amplify the sensation.

A soft, breathless moan escaped your lips, and Hongjoong broke the kiss just long enough to chuckle—a low, amused sound that sent shivers down your spine.

“You’re so responsive,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Every little touch drives you wild, doesn’t it?”

You nodded weakly, your body trembling beneath him. His fingers resumed their journey, tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, leaving goosebumps in their wake. When he reached the vibrator again, he paused, applying just enough pressure to make you arch into him.

“Easy,” he murmured, his tone both commanding and soothing. His touch softened, his fingers now trailing upward with featherlight strokes that left you aching for more.

When his hand finally settled over your wet cunt, he didn’t rush. Instead, he teased, tracing slow, deliberate circles on your clit, each movement precise and controlled. You gasped at the sensation, your body straining against the bonds as he continued his careful exploration.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice firm but intimate, as if sharing a secret meant only for you. His fingers continued their torment, each movement designed to draw you closer to the edge without letting you fall.

“Say it,” he commanded softly, his fingers pausing just enough to make you desperate for their return.

“I’m yours,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

A satisfied smile spread across his lips as he leaned down, pressing another kiss to your lips, softer this time, but no less consuming. His touch remained relentless, a masterful mix of restraint and precision, leaving you completely at his mercy in the best possible way.

Hongjoong’s fingers moved in circles, his touch relentless yet measured, keeping you balanced right on the edge of release. The vibrator’s steady hum against you combined with the pressure of his skilled fingers made your entire body tense, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak.

You felt it coming—the moment your body would give in, the flood of the orgasm you so desperately needed. But just as you reached the brink, Hongjoong’s hand stilled, and he pulled the vibrator away ever so slightly, leaving you hanging in exquisite frustration.

A cry of anguish escaped your lips, tears of desperation welling up and spilling over as your body trembled beneath him. Your head fell back against the pillow, your breaths coming in shaky gasps as you looked up at him, pleading silently with your tear-filled eyes.

Hongjoong’s expression softened, but his smirk remained. He leaned in, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his thumb catching a stray tear on your cheek.

“Poor thing,” he murmured, his voice rich with mock sympathy. “You’re falling apart, aren’t you?”

You nodded, your voice breaking as you whispered, “Please.”

“Please, what?” he asked, his tone deceptively gentle as he tilted his head, his gaze boring into yours. “Say it. Use your words. Tell me exactly what you want.”

Your cheeks burned with humiliation, but the desperation in your chest outweighed any shyness. “Please, sir,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please let me…”

Hongjoong chuckled, the sound dark and intoxicating. “Oh, sweetheart,” he said, leaning closer so his lips brushed against your ear, his breath sending shivers down your spine. “You’re going to have to beg better than that.”

Tears slipped freely down your cheeks as you swallowed your pride, your voice trembling. “Please, sir, I need it. I can’t take it anymore. Please, let me come. I’ll do anything.”

His smirk faded slightly, replaced by something deeper, more genuine. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You did so well for me.”

With a flick of his wrist, he brought the vibrator back against you, his fingers resuming their work, but this time his touch was more focused, more demanding. The build-up was immediate, the sensations overwhelming as he guided you closer and closer to your orgasm.

“Cum, darling… isn't that what you've been asking for?” he said softly, his tone commanding but tender.

The tension in your body snapped, and your irgasm hit you like a tidal force, your body shaking as you cried out in relief. Hongjoong didn’t stop, his fingers and the vibrator easing you through the intensity, grounding you as you came down from the high.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his free hand smoothing over your thigh in a comforting gesture. “Breathe, mhm… this is only the start..”

As your breaths began to steady, the room still thick with the remnants of your pleasure, Hongjoong shifted. The comforting caress on your thigh was replaced by a firm grip on your chin, gently tilting your face to meet his gaze. His dark, smoldering eyes held yours with an intensity that made your stomach flip.

“I hope you’re not under the impression that I’m satisfied yet,” he said, his voice low and velvety, carrying a teasing edge. He leaned closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his breath warm and deliberate. “We’re just getting started.”

Before you could respond, his hand slid to your neck, his fingers wrapping around it—not enough to hurt, just enough to command your attention, to make you feel utterly claimed. The weight of his touch sent a new wave of heat through your body, an unspoken promise hanging in the air between you.

“Next time,” he said, his voice a blend of a growl and a purr, “if you push me like that, you won’t get to cum so easily. Do you understand me?” He tilted his head slightly, studying your expression as if savoring the moment.

You swallowed hard, the mix of his authority and care electrifying. When you managed to nod, his thumb brushed softly against your jaw, a stark contrast to the intensity of his grip.

“Good,” he murmured, his lips curving into a satisfied smirk. He released your neck, his touch trailing down to your shoulder, and leaned back just enough to take in your flushed, breathless state.

“Now,” he continued, his tone playful yet resolute, “we’ve got a long way to go, darling. I’d suggest you keep up… for your sake.”

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @arki-sha @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @peachy-bell26 @atiny1 @cursed-eastern ?, I can't find your acc 😞

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 11

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ ��𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending, but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, drug addiction, violence.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind, and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

A bitter taste in your mouth and the pulsing in your head were cruel reminders of the hangover. You sat on the bed, holding your slightly warm forehead as the room spun gently, flashing disjointed glimpses of the previous night in your mind. All you could recall was asking to stay home alone after having a few drinks with your friends.

A groan escaped your lips as your eyes landed on the grotesque mess of your room—of your house in general. An absurd urge rose to deal with the unpacked boxes still holding your belongings and the suitcases stuffed with clothes.

There was no point in keeping those bags packed as if everything could return to how it was with the snap of a finger. You needed to accept that this was your new life, and there was no use fighting it.

After stepping out of the shower with a towel wrapped around your head and a toothbrush clinging to the side of your lips, you searched for clothes amid the piles on the floor. Tossing skirts, dresses, pants, and socks into the air, you paused when your fingers brushed against a T-shirt at the bottom of a box. Closing your eyes, you caught its scent—it hadn’t changed. Slipping it on felt like being wrapped in his arms again, if only for a moment.

A few items later, you found a locked wooden box. Glancing around, you spotted pliers among your nail accessories and pressed the tip against the padlock until it popped open. Inside were hundreds of printed photographs—every single one of just the two of you.

It had been so long since you smiled like that. If you didn’t know every detail of his face by heart, you might have thought those weren’t even the two of you in the pictures.

Old napkins with autographs scrawled on them—every one you’d signed for him after bar performances. He’d kept them all. Your fingers traced the messy handwriting you used to have, and a silly smile graced your face.

“So this is what you’ve been wanting back,” you muttered to yourself before putting everything back in the box. “Should’ve burned this crap when I had the chance.”

You had thought that burying the box deep beneath your clothes would also bury the memories that came with it. Ever since he turned his back on you without even hearing what you had to say the night before, you’d tried to think about anything but him.

"Alright, Noah. You did the right thing not listening to me," you grumbled, heading to the bathroom to spit out the toothpaste, rinse your mouth, and stare at your reflection in the mirror. “I do everything better on my own anyway.”

Gerard was still a weight in your life, a burden you wanted to cut loose as quickly as possible. But to do that, you needed to act, no matter the cost. Bad Omens had no shadow of new material for the album, which meant more time with him hovering over everyone.

That had to change.

Barefoot, feeling the cold floor beneath you, you walked down the hallway, fingers sliding along the banister, which echoed with that odd, creaky sound. You began pacing back and forth, pen in hand. A kind of anxious energy grew inside your chest, but ideas slipped away like sand through your fingers.

There was nothing. No melody, no line worth keeping. As if nothing inspired you anymore—unless you were high.

The thought was a spark. You knew what you needed to do.

The instant the first line disappeared beneath the swipe of a card, the world transformed. First came the heat, spreading through your body like a controlled wildfire. Then, space seemed to stretch, as though the walls were made of rubber, and your perception opened up like an infinite fan. The world was no longer the same.

Now you could see sounds.

The first sound came from the simple scratch of fingers against a metal surface, a tiny rhythm that echoed and vibrated in your head like thunder. That was all you needed. You sat cross-legged on the floor, pulling paper toward you. A melody began to take shape, hesitant at first, but soon you were sketching each note with precision.

With each new line of powder, the music gained another dimension. The beat in your head morphed into something visceral, something real. I watched you turn into it... The phrase seemed to emerge from somewhere deep inside, and you scrawled it with such force you nearly tore the paper.

Another line. Another phrase.

Every moment you returned from the haze, something new took form:

"This life was all it had to be Designed but not for you and me..."

The lyrics spilled out like a confession, something you might not even have known was there until that moment. Every chord you strummed on the guitar in your living room, every word you breathed out with your cigarette smoke, felt more intimate, more deranged. The riff grew intense, and you let yourself dance alone, fingers gliding over the strings.

The rhythm of the pen against the paper merged with the pounding of your heart and the sway of your hair as the melody gained its identity. It felt as though you were carving out a piece of yourself, tearing it from raw flesh to transform pain into music. The ending came like an explosion.

"The empty husk of a flawed design There is nothing else left inside Within the silence of this illusion Is there anything more than human?"

Slowly, you let go of the pen, leaning your head back, breathless, as sweat dripped down the back of your neck. At that moment, the front doorbell rang. You had a song. This time, a real song, not the trash you had presented at the label. You definitely had a song.

"Anything human..." Jolly seemed to toy with the words that named the song for a moment. You got excited as you gave a quick demonstration, and he looked thrilled with the idea from the start.

“What do you think?” you asked, nodding toward him as you removed the guitar from your lap. “There are some elements that could be interesting to add to the final result, like a slightly more electronic base. You know?”

“It’s a damn great song!” he exclaimed enthusiastically, raising his eyebrows, and your shoulders finally relaxed. “But I’m a little concerned about your creative process…” His eyes swept across the mess in the room before landing back on you. “Okay, we’re way behind on delivering the album, and we don’t have much…”

“We don’t have anything,” you interjected to correct him. “We have nothing yet, and Noah doesn’t seem too worried about it since all he ever does is criticize what I make.”

“But the problem is, every time you get hyped during a creative process, it messes with your head. And I’m no idiot, girl—I know your little tricks to keep yourself inspired. If having a quick album is going to cost me a band member, I’d rather stay at square one!” he warned, pointing his finger at you.

“I can handle it myself, okay? Now let’s get back to the music and the band!”

“It really is a good song.”

“I need you to tell Noah that it was your idea and that you wrote it alone.”

You barely finished the request before Jolly adjusted his posture on the sofa, looking confused.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you know that when he’s sulking about something, he manages to turn it into nothing more than a pile of garbage in his eyes. That’s what he’s been doing with me,” you explained, trying to suppress a smile. “If you say I wrote this song, he’ll definitely discard it, and we’ll be back at square one. And I doubt that, like me, you don’t have your own reasons for wanting this album to be finished already.”

He considered your words for a moment. Reluctant as he was, he had to admit you were right, knowing his friend as well as he did.

“Of course, I’m not going to let him discard a song like this, but even if I go along with your suggestion, I still think it’s a ridiculous idea,” Jolly said, rolling his eyes as he grabbed the sheet of paper again to analyze your work. “Did your idea of talking to him not work?”

“He’d rather face the devil in his true form than see me in front of him, Jolly.” Propping yourself up on your hands, you stared at him with a pout. “Noah decided that I don’t exist, not even within the band’s boundaries. It’s like I’m really not there, and that’s fine.”

“Fine?” he asked, tearing his attention from the sheet again.

“I feel like the best thing he can do for himself is stay away from me. We can deal with it, right? But if he thinks I’m going to leave my band because of him and our personal issues just because he’s decided he can keep interfering in my life, he’s dead wrong.”

“You’re so stubborn I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if you two were made for each other.”

“You’re wrong. Terribly wrong, Mr. Joakim!”

He clearly didn’t believe your words, judging by the ironic huff and eye roll he gave before returning his attention to the song’s lyrics on the paper.

The studio was enveloped in a comfortable dimness, with faint lights reflecting off the perfectly aligned instruments. The silence preceding rehearsal was almost ceremonial. Noah stood before the microphone, adjusting his headphones while the others exchanged glances, aligning themselves to start.

“Alright, let’s go.” His voice cut through the air with firmness, but there was something in the way he held the stand, in his eyes avoiding direct contact.

The first beat was like a held breath, the bass pulsing gently before the smooth guitar chords emerged, as if asking permission to exist. Noah tilted his head, closing his eyes for a moment, feeling the music flow within him before he began to sing.

His voice was hoarse, laden with emotion, every word cutting through the silence like a blade. He held the notes with precision, but there was a controlled desperation, a longing that was impossible to ignore. The others instinctively adjusted, following his lead. The drums entered like a racing heartbeat, while the guitar intensified, driving the music to something more visceral, rawer.

“That was fucking good!” he said with what seemed like the shadow of a smile at the end of the song, giving Jolly a quick handshake. “You nailed it, but I didn’t know you had something in mind; we could’ve worked on it together.”

Jolly’s gaze darted between Noah and you, and after taking a deep breath, he simply shrugged. “I was just as surprised at how quickly this song landed in my lap.”

“With a few adjustments, we’ve hit the tone for the new album. It feels like it’s finally easier to know where we’re heading,” Noah declared, still with his back to you. You rolled your eyes at the sheer amount of obviousness he spouted. From this angle, it was amusing how flustered he got when he wasn’t the first to figure something out.

“I have another idea!” You raised your hand, waving it enthusiastically, the excitement coursing through you undeniable. You shifted your weight back and forth, catching everyone’s attention except his. “Each track’s intro could contain a coded message, like clues to the central story. Since you love being a trailblazer, I thought of using your voice, Noah. What do you think?”

From this distance, you could see his hand clenching the microphone tighter than necessary. He recognized that euphoric tone and the insatiable urge to provoke him—he knew you were high.

“I think it’s a good idea!” Ruffilo chimed in.

“Me too. Actually, I already have an idea for how it could start,” Jolly added, pulling the same thoughtful face he always did when brainstorming.

“I’ve never heard a dumber idea in my entire life,” Noah said softly, placing the mic stand back in its spot, still refusing to look at you. “Don’t tell me you want to burden us with this melancholic nonsense like the last thing you produced?”

“I asked for your opinion on the idea, not your permission,” you retorted sarcastically.

Noah grunted as if hearing you was physically painful.

“You’re right—some projects shouldn’t see the light of day, like that song of yours. But I don’t get why you’re so offended when creating useless things has always been your specialty.” You shrugged, sitting atop the sound output box. “Just look at your desk drawer—how many songs has Bad Omens released, and how many were actually written by me, Jolly, or you?”

“What the fuck are you talking about!” he snapped. “You talk like you’ve done everything by yourself all these years!”

“Guys, I think that’s enough for today, right?” Folio chuckled awkwardly, jumping off the drum set as he noticed Noah tense up.

“The math doesn’t add up, Noah!” you mocked. “So, every time you refer to something I wrote, just open your drawer and count how many of your songs actually made it out of there.”

Silencing him in his moments of arrogance was one of your greatest talents, and nothing satisfied you more than that. “Honestly, Jolly’s voice would work much better for this intro idea. Who’s in favor?”

Your neck stretched as a triumphant smile spread across your face when everyone, except Noah, raised their hands immediately. He glanced at each of them, as if silently promising vengeance, and the sweetness of defeating him was palpable.

“Then it’s settled, folks!” you cheered, clapping your hands with a satisfied grin.

Gradually, your smile faded as he slowly turned around, his expression dark, especially around his eyes. His breathing came in measured scales, as if it was difficult for him, and as his eyes locked with yours, you stood up. You were ready to stand your ground if necessary, but there was no way he’d win this time.

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

All the guys said simultaneously. “Man, I’m starving. Catch you later.”

They disappeared in the snap of a finger, leaving her alone with the very reincarnation of the devil in the form of a man. Noah approached with slow steps, and the wind deliberately brought his scent. Even at this reasonable distance, he seemed to emanate enough electricity to make the hairs on her arms stand on end.

“Well, look who broke the little silence game.

“You’re pathetic.”

“That line is mine, hey!” you pointed out.

Another step, and Noah was too close, leaning his body down so they were at the same height. He braced one hand against the wall. You tried to step back, but the speaker right behind you limited your movement, forcing you to step to the side—nothing that stopped him from following you like a bloodhound. If he cultivated a good sense of hearing, he could probably hear how your heart was pounding against your chest from the proximity of your faces.

“Every time I’m talking to you, I want you to look at me,” he ordered, lifting my chin so that my gaze left his sculpted lips and locked onto his blazing eyes. “Congratulations.”

He said in a whisper that churned your stomach.

“I understand that liars have difficulty speaking while looking into someone’s eyes, but in time you’ll learn. Just like you’ve been learning to lie better and better.”

“Do you want me to thank you for the compliment?” you retorted in a biting tone as low as his and almost managed to crack the smirk on his rigid posture if he hadn’t corrected himself in time.

“They might all fall for this ridiculous talk of yours, but I know the song is yours.”

“So you admit you were praising a work done by me?” you asked, reducing the distance between you two. Your tongue moistened your lip as you heard him gasp from the short space between your bodies, and you couldn’t help but feel your skin tingle at the sensation of his eyes analyzing your face. “Still my number one fan, Noah Sebastian?”

He looked feverish, battling between gritting his teeth at your insolence and resisting being so close. Noah took another step forward, planting a single hand on your jaw, and your back collided with the wall, your hair scattering across it.

“Stop,” he growled without much confidence.

His closed eyes brushed the tip of his nose against yours as the compression of your bodies became stronger. You gasped as his leg pressed between yours and the pressure he applied to your jaw while dragging his face along yours was about to make your body explode.

Struggling against his hand and the alternating temperature of your body, you tilted your chin so that your lips came closer together. You could taste the flavor of his lips on yours, always soft and perfectly fitting as if they were made for this. Gently, the moment allowed you to brush against each other slowly, feeling the texture of his sculpted skin that seemed to remain the same after all this time.

But something pulled him out of the trance suddenly, and Noah grabbed your jaw again as he pulled you closer to deliver a message into your ear.

“Don’t seek me out with an intention like this again unless you’re capable of remembering what happened the next day,” he said in a rigid tone as he released you.

Your body cooled so quickly that you guessed you were a little stunned.

“And that shirt is mine. What happened to the story that you’d gotten rid of everything that belonged to me?”

You were furious. After the ecstasy, the excitement, and all the strange things that messed with you whenever you wore this crap, fury was the stage that seemed to linger the longest when it took over your body. Arms crossed, you watched him walk away as if nothing had happened. In fact, he was satisfied with having tied the score.

He had managed to humiliate you.

“Want it back?” you asked and saw him glance over his shoulder.

“Of course I do.”

Nodding and biting your lips, you uncrossed your arms, and without breaking eye contact in his direction, you grabbed the hem of the shirt and pulled it off completely. Luckily, you were wearing a matching lingerie set, and your sweet smile only deepened as you crumpled the piece and threw it against his wide-eyed face.

“Wait!” he called out, trying to follow as you strutted out of the studio. “Where do you think you’re going like that?”

“Home!” you replied as if it were obvious, shrugging as you stepped through the door.

Outside, the guys were eating, and their jaws dropped, along with slices of pizza from their mouths, as they saw you walking around in nothing but your underwear and boots.

“HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?!” Noah roared, trying to keep up. “Get back inside and put some clothes on, now!”

“Or?” you challenged him, the wind sweeping the strands of hair from your face as you walked backward and flipped him off when he didn’t move. “Like I said: You’re pathetic.”

“What are you laughing at?”

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lma1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline

[south-sea]

shadow might have a good poker face but the trade off is he can’t control his ear movements worth a damn even if it’s to his own detriment. dude could be getting interrogated and his ears are waving around like he’s flagging down a plane

[iraprince]

gonna show u guys a little opalescent highlight hack i threw together today

rainbow gradient above your main figure (i usually have all my main figure folders/layers in one big folder, so i can clip gradient maps + adjustments to it!). liquify tool to push the colors around a bit. STAY WITH ME I KNOW IT LOOKS STUPID RN I'M GOING SOMEWHERE WITH THIS

THEN: set it to add/glow (or the equivalent in ur drawing program), lower the opacity a bit, and apply a layer mask. then u can edit the mask with whatever tools you like to create rainbow highlights!!

in this case i'm mostly using the lasso fill tool to chip out little facets, but i've also done some soft airbrushing to bring in larger rainbow swirls in some areas. it's pretty subtle here, but you can see it better when i remove the gradient map that's above everything, since below i'm working in greyscale:

more granular rambling beneath the cut!

u could also just do this with a brush that has color jitter, but what i like about using layer masks for highlight/shading layers is how simple and reversible it makes everything. i can use whatever brushes i want, and erasing/redoing things is super low stakes, which is great when i often approach this stuff with a super trial-and-error approach.

example: have u ever thrown a gradient w multiple colors over an entire piece, set it to multiply etc, and then tried to erase it away to carve out shadows/highlights? it's super frustrating, bc it looks really good, but if u erase something and then change ur mind later, u basically would have to like. recreate the gradient in the area u want to cover up again. that's how i used to do things before figuring out layer masks!! but masking basically creates a version of this with INFINITE undo bc u can erase/re-place the base layer whenever u want.

anyway, back to rambling about this specific method:

i actually have TWO of these layers on this piece (one with the liquified swirls shown above, and another that's just a normal concentric circle gradient with much broader stripes) so i can vary the highlights easily as needed.

since i've basically hidden the rainbow pattern from myself, the colors in each brushstroke i make will kind of be a surprise, which isn't always great -- but easily fixable! for example, if i carve out a highlight and it turns out the rainbow pattern in that area is way too stripey, i can just switch from editing the mask to editing the main layer and blur that spot a bit.

also, this isn't a full explanation of the overall transparency effect in these screencaps! there's other layer stuff happening below the rainbow highlights, but the short version is i have all this character's body parts in different folders, each with their own lineart and background fill, and then the fill opacity is lowered and there's multiply layers clipped to that -- blah blah it's a whole thing. maybe i'll have a whole rundown on this on patreon later. uhhh i think that's it tho! i hope u get something useful out of this extremely specific thing i did lmao

[bi-writes]

cw: protective!ghost, allusions to civilian!reader being (physically) assaulted at work (18+)

"l-lieutenant?"

ghost is nearly startled by the little voice that practically squeaks behind him. he's been huddled in his office for too long, driving himself mad with paperwork and sergeants too stupid for their own good. he blinks, turning around, and he blinks when he sees you there in the doorway, hands shaking as you try and collect yourself.

when he looks carefully under the fluorescent lights, he can see there are tears in your eyes. it's then that he notices how you look, really look. there's a bruise blossoming on your jaw, the skin swelling a bit where there's a cut on your lip. your shirt is askew, and you're panting and sweating, like you've been running. he's never seen you this way. fuck, he barely sees you at all, except when he goes out during drills, and he's only ever spoken to you once or twice, just to receive some papers or to excuse himself as he tries to get around you in a crowded hallway. you are always quiet, always shy, smiling at him if you are near and trying to keep out of the way.

he doesn't know why it enrages him to see you in this state, but it does.

"the fuck happened t'ya?" he rasps, and he realizes it comes out harsher than he means. he isn't used to being nice.

the slamming of a door against a wall keeps you from answering. just like that, you're moving, about to scramble away, run, when ghost reaches out and grabs your wrist. he tugs you towards him, just quick enough that whoever is coming for you skids into the doorway.

it's a sergeant he recognizes. cocky, full of shit, who never hits his target. he's big, but not as big as ghost. he pauses when he realizes where you are and who you're with, skidding backwards as he tries to contain his anger.

"wot the fuck is goin' on?" ghost snaps, and you sputter, not able to make out your words properly.

"'m sorry, lieutenant," the sergeant huffs. "i'll take care of this."

when he lunges for you, ghost shoves you behind him, tilting his head to the side as he stares down at the little shit.

"did i fuckin' tell ya t'move?" ghost growls. "this how ya answer ta y'r superior, you fuckin' knob?"

"no," he spits back, but his eyes flash when ghost puts a gloved hand against his chest and pushes him back far enough to put appropriate distance between them.

"did y'hit this civilian?" ghost asks, a humorless laugh leaving him. when the sergeant doesn't respond, ghost turns finally, looking at you, and he clicks his tongue to get your eyes on him. "did he put his hands on ya?"

you tremble a little, moving the back of your hand over your eyes before nodding. you don't really register what happens next. you see blood on the tips of your kitten heels one moment, and you cover your eyes the next.

in the bathroom later that evening, ghost is careful as he dabs at your lip gently with a cool cloth. he has taken the gloves off (they were soaked with blood), and you try not to shiver as he holds your face with one big hand and cleans you up with the other. you can see the shadow of tattoos peeking out from under his sleeve.

"why'd y'come t'me?" he asks after a few minutes. you blink up at him, swallowing hard, and he stands back a little to get a better look at you.

"i've read your file," you whisper, looking down, a bit ashamed. "i just thought...you'd understand."

or maybe you wondered what he would do if he found out.

he hums a little, and you miss the feeling of his touch as soon as he lets go of you, washing his hands at the sink. you fixate on his stature, his size. the thick of his thighs, how the holsters there bulge and stretch to try and hold onto him.

just as he starts to leave, you stand from your seat, making your way to him. he hears you, stopping, and you hold onto his bicep gently as you get on your toes to kiss his cheek. he flinches a little, but he relaxes finally, leaning in for you to kiss him there again. when your eyes meet again, you think you see something there.

he kicks the door closed with his boot, trapping you in the room with him. you smile when the lock clicks.

[terrestrialnoob]

Harley crawled into the apartment. It was organized, but it looked like the occupant didn't have a lot of time for cleaning. She walked softly through it, taking it in. There were photos of her target and what had to be her family, but no friends or romantic partners. Some had a pair of older adults, matching traits meant bio-parents. More of the photos were of the target and a younger boy - a little brother, the highest likelihood of becoming another target if things go bad.

Harley continued forward, following the light to where her target was. She stood in the doorway, looking in.

Dr. Jasmine Fenton, Arkham Asylum's newest psychologist, just got her degree and everything. She did what most newbies do, actually thinking she could get through to the Joker. Harley didn't want to say it was impossible, but everyone who tried ended up in a new job or dead. Harley would try and make sure it was the former and not the later.

Harley watched as the redhead read over a file as she ate from a takeout box. She didn't want to scare the girl, yet. The scaring her away from Joker came later. So, she had to wait for the perfect moment to-

"I know you're there." Jasmine didn't look up from her file, but held out the last box of Chinese food in Harley's direction. "There's plenty if you want some."

"Awe, you ruined the surprise." Harley walked out of the shadows of the hallway into the girl's home office. She snatched the offered box of food and took a few bites as she jumped to sit on the desk.

"I'm hard to sneak up on." Jasmine said, closing her file and finally looking at Harley. "So, Dr. Quinzel, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit this evening?"

"Oh, call me Harley!" She laughed, she wasn't called Dr. all that often any more. She tapped her chop sticks on the file Jasmine just closed. "I thought you'd like a consult on your new patient, Dr. Fenton. I've got a lot of experience with him."

"I prefer to go by Jazz." She said with a smile, "While I appreciate the offer, I'd like to see how far I can get on my own. And, sorry, but I'm pretty sure your license was revoked."

Harley nodded as she swallowed to get the noodles out of her mouth. "I get it! You're new, fresh outta school, gotta prove yourself. But Joker ain't the guy to do that with. He eats people like us for breakfast, and in all the years he's been in Arkham, no one's been able to get anywhere with him."

Jazz sighed, "I don't like to believe people are lost causes. There's always something we can do to help."

"You can't help everyone, especially when they don't want it. And it's not just a question if whether or not he can be saved or whatever." Harley set down the now empty box, Jazz pointed to another one that still had food in it, but Harley declined. "If you keep it up, he'll think you're worth his time to torment. There's no telling what he'll do when he inevitably gets himself out again."

"I'll be fine." Jazz said, but Harley had to cut her off before she said something stupid.

"It's not just you! You've got family out there he can target, your parents. Your Brother! Anyone you date will become a target! He'll do everything in his power to make your life miserable!"

Jazz chuckled. "If he wants to target my family, his funeral. My parents are - were supervillains. They've really only become less- well, hyper-focused on eradicating an entire race of being- in the past few years. And my brother - I'm pretty sure he's conditionally immortal. So that's nothing to worry about."

"If it's conditional, Joker will find a way around it." Harley said, but she had to admit, this might have been an unnecessary trip. "You sure y'ain't got nothing to worry about? What about you? How conditional is your mortality?"

Jazz smiled. Her mouth seemed too wide and with too many teeth. "Oh, I am nowhere near immortal. But..."

She stood up and the room was suddenly a black void. Toxic green eyes and mouths filled with glowing white teeth opened around them. "I doubt anyone could get close enough to test it."

The room was suddenly back to normal, but whatever that thing was was still there. Harley could see its eyes watching her with amusement from inside Jazz's oversized cardigan.

"Well, I guess this really was a wasted trip. You've clearly got it covered."

"Not entirely." Jazz said, her hand wend up to her neck to rub nervously, "Well, you see... I don't really have a lot of friends. People tend to get - uh, creeped out, you know? Or chased off by my parents or brother or whatever..."

"You wanna be friends?" Harley laughed so hard she almost fell over.

Jazz's face turned bright red and the shadow eyes looked way less amused. "Yeah, stupid question. You've clearly got your own things going on."

"No! No, no." Harley had to take several deep breaths before she could look Jazz in the face again. "I 100% wanna hang out with you!"

"Really?"

"Oh yeah." She took another deep breath, "I mean, I really should have made a support system before trying to take on the Joker back when I worked for Arkham. This" she pointed between them "can only end well."

Jazz's face turned brighter than the sun. "Oh my gosh! This is amazing! We should - I have Thursday's and weekends off - What - what kind of things should we-"

Oh man, Jazz was like an excited kid. She must have had a really lonely childhood... they can psychoanalyze each other later. "Come over for girl's night next week. I'll tell my gf and bff to expect an extra person... Does the-" she motioned to the cardigan creature "-go everywhere you go? Does it need food?"

"Oh, don't worry about Jet, they only eat who I tell them to."

Harley barked out more laughter. "You're going to fit right in!"

Now featuring a Part 2

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Daisies and Haircuts

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> Usually, Logan can get a read on everybody. Except, when it comes to you, he can't. So he makes it his mission to find out the truth, but when he does...he doesn't exactly know how to take the news.

Disclaimer: Mostly fluff with a bit of angst, some steam towards the end. Descriptions of blood, casualties and aftermath of a tornado. Not Proof Read.

If there was one thing Logan prided himself on, it was being able to tell when people were lying or telling the truth. 

However, from the minute he met you…he didn’t have an explanation for it. 

Most of the time, he could hear people’s heartbeats or their breathing. Both would quicken when they were lying. Even the best liars couldn’t hide from him. 

But there was something about you he just couldn’t shake. Your voice didn’t change or shake, your heartbeat didn’t speed or falter - neither did your breathing. 

And yet he didn’t believe a word you said when it came to you being human. 

Professor Xavier had reached out to you to fill in one of the teaching positions when he met your cousin. And from his knowledge, your entire family was mutant. From grandmother, to grandfather, to cousins, to even siblings. 

And somehow, you were the only human. 

No mutant gene detected. 

And even if his school did have a reputation for having mutant teachers, you were the first human to attend the school in any manner. 

“Logan, if you’re gonna just stand there all day, you might as well offer to help.”

Your back was completely turned to him. You had been writing on the whiteboard for the last five minutes, not once looking anywhere near the door where he was leaning. 

“How did you know it was me?”

You chuckled a little as he walked inside, picking up a pile of books on the way in. “Please, I could smell the cigar smoke.”

Logan shrugged, placing two books at the end of each desk as he made his way to you. “You know, I can scare Storm, Jean- even Scott. But never you. I wonder why that is?”

Logan stood beside you as you turned. He was looking at you like how he always did. A knowing smile (maybe it was a smirk), but a look of wonder and curiosity in his eyes. 

You just smiled up at him. “Logan, I grew up with over twelve cousins. There wasn’t a day when you didn’t have to have eyes in the back of your head, and still at least one kid ended up hurting themselves.”

Walking around him and back to your desk, his eyes followed you. 

“That’s not the only thing.”

“What ‘thing’ exactly?” 

Sometimes it felt like this conversation between you and Logan happened every other day. You had been working at the school for a little over a year, and before that had shadowed for at least six months to understand how to truly help your kids. 

He had been like this since day one. 

Maybe a little more gruffer and scarier in the beginning…he had made you jump just a little when you closed the fridge door and found him standing there with that sceptical, over-protective look on his face. 

“You know what ‘thing’.”

You shook your head. “I really don’t, Logan.”

He walked closer to your desk and leaned his hands against it, coming face to face with you. “You’re a mutant.”

As he was so close, your eyes scanned his face and around his body. “You need a haircut.”

“It’s not something to be ashamed of.”

“I can cut it for you. Just take a little bit off the sides.” 

“Why do you keep avoiding the subject?” Logan asked with a laughing smile as he stood back up. 

“Because you seriously need a haircut, Logan.” You moved your fingers through the top of his hair. “You look like a crazed mountain man who’s just escaped from Frankenstien’s lab.”

Logan stepped away from you during your analogy. “Are you calling me a green monster?”

“Frankenstein is the Doctor.” 

“Huh.”

You shook your head. “Either way, you need a haircut.”

“Fine, but I will get it out of you sooner or later.” 

“Goodbye, Logan.”

Those were Logan’s final words before he left your classroom, but not before taking a final look at you as your head was turned. 

The next time he saw you was just before lunch when a couple of kids were playing a round of football outside. And for a while, Logan’s eyes remained on you as you read your book. It was like the world didn’t exist outside of your book. 

And yet you were tuned in to everything that was happening. 

Logan heard one of the kids shout before the ball went flying past the posts and it was heading straight for you. He could barely finish shouting your name before…

You caught it. 

Without looking up, you had caught the ball in your hands, simply looked up and then threw it back. “Be careful!”

“Sorry!”

Logan was a little in shock as he stood at the top of the stairs, his arms folded across his chest. He’d seen your reflexes a few times before. You had caught plenty of mugs that were about to fall off the side of the counter, just as you walked into the room. You’d also stopped piles of books crashing loudly to the ground, opened windows just as tennis balls came flying at them, as well as catching them and throwing them back. 

And now you had caught a football without even looking up. 

You hadn’t been at the school two years and yet Logan practically had a list tallied in his head of the things that had happened that simply couldn’t just be explained away. 

Could they?

“Oh, come on. Just admit it. You’re a mutant.”

Your lungs were tired of sighing. “Logan. I’m not a mutant.”

“Your entire family has the mutant gene.”

“So,” you shrugged, twisting some pepper into the pot before replacing the cap and setting it on the side. “It skipped me.”

“Your reflexes are barely human.”

“Logan, like I have told you a million times, I grew up around a lot of kids. A lot of mutant kids who had no control over their powers. I had to get good reflexes just to save on the amount we spend on broken windows.”

Logan moved out of your way as you walked across the kitchen, taking a couple of things from the fridge. 

“You never get scared.”

You looked back at him. “Are you calling me brave?”

“Nobody can scare you, Y/n. Last Halloween it was like you knew when someone was hiding around the corner.”

“It was Halloween. Everyone tries to scare each other on Halloween.”

Logan closed his eyes in frustration for a moment. “Not even Halloween. Nobody can scare you. Even today, you knew I was standing by your door.”

Stopping what you were doing, you looked at him. “Logan, when it comes to you, I can smell the cigar smoke a mile away. And, besides growing up in a household where it was normal to try and scare each other, nobody in this school is exactly going to be the next Prima Ballerina.”

Logan’s arm practically shot out. “That’s another thing! Your sense of smell.”

You rolled your eyes. “Is this about the cigar smoke? Are you becoming nose blind to it?”

“You smelt Scott’s burnt breakfast before the rest of us did. You knew when Rogue had changed her shampoo. You even knew Storm had planted some new flowers in the garden.”

You went to open your mouth but Logan cut you off. 

“And don’t say you saw the flowers because you were with me that whole afternoon and didn’t see Storm until after dinner.”

You sighed. “It wasn’t because I saw the flowers. I was going to say I saw the dirt on her hands when she walked inside. Plus, I knew she was looking to plant more flowers in the garden beds.”

Logan leaned forward. “Did you have a conversation about it?”

“About the flowers?”

“Because I don’t remember her telling us when she was going to plant them because she wanted them to be a surprise.”

You shrugged. “The dirt still gave it away.”

Logan shook his head. “That’s another one right there. You know…how do you know what we’re all thinking? I know you’re not reading our minds because if you were, it would be like when the Professor or Jean does it. No…it’s something else.” 

Logan was truly watching you. Studying you. Listening to your heartbeat. Listening to your breathing. 

“I was a psych major. I studied my ass off and read up extra things in my time. It’s not so hard.” You explained to Logan. “Most of the time it’s just body language. And remembering the small things. They go a long way in getting to know who a person is.”

“I don’t think it’s just that. Maybe it’s part of it.” Logan sat up straight. “But that’s not your whole story.”

“Why are you so fixed on my story?”

Except, rather than explain, Logan gave you that smile again and walked towards the door. “You’re the psych major, you figure it out.”

“You still need a haircut!”

And like clockwork, Logan was watching you and then questioning you everyday. He’d done it since day one. 

When would he finally realise you were telling him the truth?

A couple of weeks later, you found yourself inside the Professor’s office with Logan and a potential new student and their parents. 

Only, it soon became clear that as much as their child was finally happy to be somewhere where they didn’t stick out like a sore thumb because of their powers, the parents couldn’t have been more uncomfortable. 

“But what about…what about his mutant…problem?” 

You felt your back become straighter as your feet carried you forward, only to feel a small tug from the bottom of your jumper where Logan’s hand was pulling you back to stand beside him. 

“I can assure you, Harry’s mutation is not a problem.”

“Yeah? Tell that to the three teachers he had quit because of him. You know we can’t even walk down our street without parents judging us for letting their kids' favourite teachers walk out on them.”

Harry seemed to fall into himself. “I already said sorry. I didn’t mean for them to-”

“Harry, it’s quite alright. Sometimes people don’t fully understand what it means to teach a mutant like us. Luckily, we have some of the best teachers right here.”

The father looked at both you and Logan. “These are the best?”

“We have a full staff, however most are teaching right now. Harry, this is Professor Logan. He will be your new History teacher and this is Professor Y/n. She will be teaching you some English, but mostly Social Sciences. She is also our school councillor, so if you ever feel you wish to speak to someone, she is the most qualified for the job.”

Harry gave both you and Logan a small smile. 

He moved into his dorm a week later and started classes almost immediately. 

“Okay, fine. Let me ask you this then.”

Logan hadn’t left you alone all day, so you had finally put him to work. Carrying the pile of books you were pulling from the shelves as you rolled along on the ladder. 

“Why give a human a job of school counsellor in a school filled with mutants?”

“Other than the fact I’m qualified for the job.”

Logan shrugged. “Isn’t it better to put someone into the job who understands what the kid is going through? Rather than just put a diagnosis to it?”

You turned round and he looked up to you. “It doesn’t matter if your human or mutant, everyone has gone through something at some point. Maybe I don’t know what it’s like to be able to walk through walls, or have metal grow out of my knuckles. But I do know what it’s like to feel like an outcast. To feel lost. To feel alone.”

Logan just listened as you slowly turned back and started pulling the desired books from the shelves, adding them to the pile in his arms. 

“I might have gone to a normal school, but everyone knew my family was different. I was too mutant to fit in at school, but too human to fit in with my family. They love me, and I love them. But there were times when topics would come up and…I’d feel alone. Like because I wasn’t one of you, I wouldn’t get it. Eventually, everyone grew up and went on with their lives. Of course it wasn’t easy for them, but they still had each other. Even if every other ignorant asshole pushed them away, they still had each other. But some days it felt like…like I had no one.”

Logan just continued to listen. 

“So, I get your point. What would a human know about being a mutant? But sometimes that’s not the question that needs to be asked.”

A moment of silence passed between you both before finally Logan spoke up. “The kids…they’re lucky to have you.”

“Thank you, Logan.”

“And just so you know,” he added. “You’re not alone anymore.”

Looking down at him, you smiled. “I’m glad.”

Twenty minutes later, you were finished collecting books. Yet, just as Logan laid down the pile, half should have fallen onto the floor. 

Except they didn’t. 

Instead they glided off the top and landed in a semi-neat pile beside him with a soft thud. Logan turned around, shock clear on his face. But you weren’t looking at him, or at the pile. You were closing the doors to the outside balcony on the opposite end of the room. 

“One day,” Logan told himself. “One day.”

“What?”

Logan looked up. “Nothing.”

You just shrugged and walked to stand beside him. “Thanks for helping me.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Without looking at him, you flip over the cover of a book in your hands. “You still need a haircut by the way.”

“Don’t mention that, either.”

Two weeks later, as you and Logan were eating lunch together whilst marking some papers, there was a knock at your classroom door. 

Taking a bite of the chicken salad you had made him a bowl of, Logan flipped a paper round and handed it to you. “What does that say? I swear this kid just writes in scribbles.”

You took the page from him. “This is Rogue’s. Isn’t she your little sister or something? Shouldn’t you be fluent in this by now?”

“She’s not my sister. We just came here together. She was a runaway. Found me when I was a cage fighter and stowed away in the back of my trailer.”

Your eyes practically bugged out of your head before you tried your best to hide your smile. “You were a…cage fighter? You? Logan Howlett, as I live and breathe? You sat opposite me with your feet on my desk? You were a cage fighter?”

Logan rolled his eyes with a smile. “Okay, okay. Alright. I get it.”

You shook your head. “I mean, you’ve got the physique for it, I just…” you laughed. “I just never pictured you as a cage fighter. A cage fighter, really?”

“Are you done?”

You bit back another laugh. “I’m-” It came out. “Okay, yes.” You laughed again. “I’m done. Okay, okay,” you breathed through it. “I’m done.”

Logan just gave you a look and raised his eyebrow. 

You nodded with a wide smile. “I’m done. Finished. Promise.”

You even made a cross above your heart. Logan smiled and turned back to marking the papers as you read Rogue’s. 

“What did you picture me as?” 

You hummed a questioned response. 

“You didn’t picture me as a cage fighter.” You held in a laugh. “Stop it.” You tried. “What did you see me as?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. A lumberjack? Bodyguard? A cowboy? Your tags say ‘Army’ but your personality says ‘Macho Man with a Protective Streak’.”

Logan hid his blush well as he turned his head away, the smile on his face not going unnoticed by you. “Alright.”

You loved seeing Logan smile. It wasn’t often he did it, but when he did…you wanted to take a picture. 

Unbeknownst to you, Logan loved it, too. Maybe he wanted to keep up his reputation for how you saw him, as well as for how others saw him. But one thing he was glad of…most of the time when he did smile…it was with you. 

However, as you both shared a laugh, a knock came from your classroom door where you looked to find one of your cousin’s standing by the door. 

“I…there may have been a tiny accident.”

Pulling your own feet from your desk, you sat up and met your cousin half way across your classroom just as Logan pulled his feet from your desk and turned in his chair. 

“Show me.”

Your cousin held out their hand to you. A deep gash was in the middle. 

“Oohhhh kay.” You looked around you. “Logan, open up my top drawer in my desk. There should be some bandages.”

Logan did as you instructed and threw them to you. You caught them and turned back to your cousin. “How did this happen?”

“We were walking through the clearing. I slipped and tried to grab onto a tree branch.”

“And that caused the cut?” You asked as you wrapped their hand.

“Not exactly. I kinda…missed. And grabbed onto a rock instead.”

Logan stood beside you. “You must have found the sharpest rock in the forest.”

He said what you were thinking. 

“How long will it take to heal?”

“That’ll depend.”

“On what?”

“On if you’re thinking about trying to climb the tree again.”

Your cousin panicked. “B-but we weren’t.”

Logan detected a lie. 

“I have known you, your whole life.” You leaned in a little closer. “You need to stop climbing trees after it’s been raining.”

“Okay, fine.”

You took in a small breath. “It should be healed in a couple of hours. Just…wait until it’s dry before you do any more climbing.”

“Thanks, Y/n,”

As your cousin left, Logan remained fixed on his spot as you walked back to your desk. Pointing towards the door your cousin had just walked out from, Logan turned around to you. 

“That was a pretty deep gash. That’ll take more than a couple of hours to heal.”

You looked at Logan for a split second before looking back to the papers in front of you. “It’s part of their mutation. Small things he can heal from, just not as quickly as you. We don’t all have super-healing, Logan.”

Logan gave you a soft smile, but it was still questioning. He walked over to your desk. “But their mutation gives them the ability to control water. Nowhere on their file does it say ‘heal’.”

Your heartbeat jumped. 

Logan leaned up a little from your desk as you looked at him. 

He’d caught you in a lie. 

“Well, it’s not his primary power. My aunt mustn’t have thought it was important.”

Your heartbeat was normal. 

So was your breathing. 

Logan decided to drop it, but it was constantly on his mind. 

Your heartbeat had jumped when he got closer to your desk and mentioned the mutation. 

Either that was the very first lie you had told him, or your mask was slipping. 

For the next two days, Logan practically watched you like a hawk. It was rare his gaze was somewhere else other than you. 

He did question going to the Professor again, but considering he was adamant you weren’t a mutant, Logan considered it wasn’t worth the time. 

He wanted to know why you had lied to him. Or why it was now he’d only just detected it.

However, it was at least another month before he would come to find out the truth. 

“So why are we being called up?”

Scott turned towards the Professor, his arm across his chest. “Because last I checked, aren’t the fire departments meant to help with this kinda thing?”

“Usually, yes. However, we’ve been called personally. There are too many risks for just the average human being.”

A tornado had ripped through a small town, demolishing almost everything. From the brick buildings to houses to even schools. Some people were still trapped under rubble and others were hurt, if not worse. Except, the hospitals could only take so many patients at a time and the nearest hospital was at least two towns away. 

“You’ll be working alongside the departments already stationed there but the main priority is helping people out safely.”

Twenty minutes later, they were headed for the jet. 

And you caught Logan walking down the hall. “Where are you going?”

“There’s been a tornado-”

“In Oklahoma? I saw it on the news.”

“We’re going to help.”

You turned watching Logan walk further down the hall. “Wait, I’m coming with you.”

“What? Why?”

You threw your books into the nearest classroom, letting them softly slide against the desks and into their places. “I can help.”

Logan stopped and looked around. “They’ve already got too many casualties. We’re going because we’re less likely to get hurt.”

You sighed with a look. “Logan, I’ve seen at least half of the casualties. They’re gonna need more than just the X-Men. I can help.”

“Let her go with you, Logan.” The Professor rolled around the corner. “She knows what she’s doing.”

Logan took the Professor’s word for it. “Come on, before they leave without us.”

Passing your room on the way, you grabbed your jacket and a bag from under your bed. Logan looked at you curiously as you shut your bedroom door. 

“Medical supplies.” 

Logan just nodded and placed his hand at the bottom of your back guiding you down the hallway before you both set off running towards the jet. 

Upon landing, everyone got to work. 

Scott and Logan started helping those who were trapped under fallen buildings whilst Storm helped lift most of the rubble away as well as brush away most of the debris from larger areas. 

Jean began setting up medical areas for people to be treated and seen to, and you helped her. 

Thirty minutes later, you heard shouting. 

It was a kid. 

“Help! Please!”

Turning around, you yelled for Logan and he came running. 

“Hey, it’s okay.”

“It’s my leg. I-I’m stuck. Please.”

“Okay, just stay calm. Logan help me lift it.”

Before Logan could even touch the wooden boards holding the kid down, the last half of the house shook. 

“Okay,” you looked from the house to Logan. “We have to move. Quickly.”

From the count of three, you and Logan lifted the boards from the kid, except, as Logan helped the kid out, the rest of the house began to fall. 

“Watch out!” A could firemen shouted. 

Logan barely had time to react, covering the kid with his body, waiting for the impact of the house. Except it never came. 

Slowly opening his eyes, Logan was met with a semi bright light of blue and when he turned around, he was more than shocked at what he saw. 

Coming from you was a safety barrier. The house had fallen but it had fallen onto whatever blue dome you had created. 

Despite the fact you had stopped the house from falling on yourself, Logan and the kid, there was a sting inside of you. How Logan was looking at you…pure shock and hurt…that stung you to your core. 

“Get the kid out of here.”

Logan slowly jolted back into action, pulling the kid out as you turned around and pushed the house back and up before lifting it to a safe distance away from the rest of the people. 

And Logan just watched you. 

“Thank you, sir.”

Logan looked around for the voice after a moment, realising the kid was still beside him. “No worries, kid. How’s the leg? Think you can stand on your own?”

The kid nodded before looking down and paleing. “It’s bleeding.”

“Whoa, hey, okay. Take it easy.”

Logan helped him sit down on a cinderblock just as you got to his side. “Let me see.”

The kid slowly lifted his leg. “I don’t like blood.”

You knelt down and examined his leg. “It’s okay, buddy. Just close your eyes so you don’t have to look.”

“What are you gonna do?” 

You looked at Logan who was all manners of concern, confused and intrigued. 

Looking from him without answering, you allowed your hands to slowly ghost over the kids legs. Before his eyes, a blue light emitted from your palm and slowly healed the cuts on the kid's leg.  

“Okay, you’re all sorted buddy.”

The kid opened his eyes and looked at his leg. The blood stains were still there, but the cuts weren’t.

“Thank you.”

“Do you know if there are any other kids around here?”

The kid pointed you in the direction of where a couple other houses had been standing only the day before and you and Logan went back to work. 

Over the next couple of hours, Logan’s gaze towards you had gone from shock to confusion to anger. 

You had lied to him. 

Not only that, you had lied to all of them. 

“Did you know?” Jean asked, standing beside Logan as he watched you with a little girl who had been crying. From nothing, you conjured up some daisies and whisked it into a flower crown for her hair. Logan’s heart was warm at the sight. The girl had gone from red and puffy eyed to smiling and hugging you. 

Then he remembered. 

“No. I didn’t.”

“Why wouldn’t she tell us? Why lie?”

“I don’t know.”

The girl almost skipped away from you and towards some of her friends she had spotted. You were still crouched down and as you turned, you spotted Logan and Jean. 

One moment of eye contact with you and Logan started walking away in the opposite direction. 

Jean watched as he walked away and you lowered your head, standing and looking around to see if anyone else needed help. 

A firewoman approached you and asked you for help moving some old pieces of the school building. 

When you returned an hour later, the only person you could find was Storm. 

“Those were some pretty cool things you did earlier. My only question is, why not tell people about it?”

You looked at Storm as you helped her hand out small baskets of food for people. “Easier to keep to myself.”

“You know, the first day the Professor told me about you, he said you were something else. I thought it was just because you were the only human in your family. But clearly he saw something else.”

“I’m sorry, for not telling you all.”

Storm shook her head. “You never had an obligation to. It’s your life, Y/n. You get to decide how much you share with the world.”

You sighed, spotting Logan helping a couple of people out by the broken swings in the park. “I wish others could see it like that.”

Storm nudged your shoulder. “He’ll come around. He’s like a walking lie detector. He’ll be more mad at himself for not figuring it out.”

You gave Storm a thanking smile before going back to handing out supplies. 

By nightfall, most things had been cleared up and the hospitals were less packed with patients thanks to yourself and Jean. 

On the ride back you could practically feel the anger radiating from Logan. He would barely look at you. Jean and Storm seemed to be the only ones not pissed at you for not telling them. 

By the time you landed, Logan was the first off the jet, his feet heavy against the stairs as he made his way back into the school. 

“Is there anything else we should know, or do you have more lies stuffed up your sleeves?”

“Scott.” Jean warned. 

“What? You can’t tell me you’re not pissed that she’s lied to us.”

“Scott, she didn’t have to tell us if she didn’t want to.” Storm told him. 

“Still would have been nice to know.”

As Scott walked away, Jean touched your arm. “I’ll deal with him. He’s just hurt, he wasn't the first to find out.”

“How come you two aren’t mad at me?”

Storm and Jean looked at you with a faint smile on their faces. “The power you displayed today…we know what it’s like to want to hide that.”

“And we also know what it’s like to want to keep a secret. You didn’t have to share that part of your story with us, but you did because you wanted to help someone. No one can be mad at you for that.”

“Thanks, guys.”

Jean and Storm smiled as they hugged you. “Anytime. But this does mean you are making us all flower crowns. I wonder if we can get Logan to wear one?”

The three of you walked side by side back into the school. “He needs a haircut, first.”

The next day, you found yourself in the Professor’s office, the rest of the team already there.

And Logan didn’t seem any calmer. 

Just eerily quiet as he watched you from the window, walking inside and standing in the middle of the room. 

“I understand there is something you may need to share with the class?” 

You nodded. “I guess you saw it on the news?”

The Professor nodded, but he didn’t seem mad. “That, and Scott was the first to come and see me this morning.”

You looked at Scott but he just scoffed. “They have a right to know we’ve got Class 4 mutant-”

“Class 5,” you corrected. 

They all turned and looked at you with shock. Logan just stood, his arms still across his chest. 

But the Professor smiled. 

“It seems we have quite a lot to discuss. Everyone, please excuse myself and Y/n.”

Slowly, albeit reluctantly, they all left one by one. 

Your eyes followed Logan but he didn’t look at you. 

With your eyes still on the door he’d just closed, the Professor rounded his desk. “He’ll come to his senses. They all will. Please, have a seat.”

Logan didn’t see or hear from you or the Professor in over three hours. And by the time dinner rolled around, the only person he did see was the Professor. 

“Where is she?”

“Gone.”

Logan nearly shot out of his seat as he looked from the library window to the Professor. “Gone? Where-”

“Relax, Logan. She’ll be back soon enough. I told her it was best if she went and got a little fresh air. You could use some, too. Your brooding is practically stinking this place out.”

Logan fell back into his chair. “She still lied.”

“And she had good reason, too.”

Logan looked back to the Professor. “She comes from an entire family of mutants, Logan. Her childhood was spent being surrounded by those trying to manipulate powers to be something greater than they already were. If she had shown who she truly was, I fear she wouldn’t have become the person she is today. Her family, for as much as they care for her…half of them would have wanted her to stay and have her powers trained into something for their own gain. The other half would have shipped her off to hide out in a country, alone for the rest of her life. They would have been frightened of her, Logan.”

“But why lie to us?”

The Professor sighed. “Logan, if you had spent your entire life being one thing, how long do you think it would take before you feel comfortable and safe enough to share a whole other side of you to someone?”

Logan was silent for a minute. “She said she’s a Class 5.”

Charles picked up the hidden question behind Logan’s statement. “I’ve read her mind, Logan. She’s not like Jean. She’s in full control. Always has been.”

The Professor waited for a couple of minutes. “I know you care for her, Logan. Try and find a way to forgive her for not telling you sooner.”

He made it to the door before looking back at Logan. “Maybe take a walk. It might clear your head. I hear Ororo planted some Evening Primrose. They should be opening up soon.”

With that, the Professor left. 

And somehow, ten minutes later, Logan found himself taking the Professor’s advice. 

Zipping up his hoodie, Logan placed his hands into his pockets as he walked down the steps towards the gardens. It was still a little warm but there was still that hint of chill in the air that let him know Fall would be closing in soon. 

As time passed, Logan felt his mind working around the idea of you and the things you had told him, or rather hadn’t told him. 

And the Professor was right. 

The primroses had begun to open. 

Logan had never really understood why people would watch flowers or do anything with them other than plant them and pull out the weeds a few months later. But as he was contemplating about flowers and why these off all things the Professor told him to look at, he looked up and spotted you. 

You were sitting on an old swinging bench, watching the water softly ripple under the moonlight. 

Logan watched you for a moment. You were calm. You weren’t writing or scribbling in a classroom, you weren’t buzzing around the kitchen or the hallways. 

You were sat, alone, letting your mind concentrate on nothing but the constant movement of the water and the stars in the sky. 

After a few moments, Logan noticed the soft blue glow by the ground around the water. Within a second, he watched as daisy’s and some other wildflowers started to push up from the ground. All the while, a blue wisp, almost like glitter, circled around them and then died away. 

Then stems of grass began to lift before they stretched into what Logan figured out to be lilypads as they glided down onto the water. 

“Figured you’d kicked down a few trees by now.” 

Logan turned and looked back at you. Of course you knew he was there. 

“Trust me, I thought about it.”

Slowly, Logan started walking towards you. 

More flowers grew by the water's edge. 

“You should open your own flower shop.”

You smiled a little. “Would you believe me if I told you I was allergic?”

“I don’t know. Is it the truth?”

You looked up at him. “You tell me.”

Logan could hear your heartbeat. 

And he could hear your breath. 

Both steady. 

“I’m not hiding anything else from you, Logan,” you assured him. 

Logan just raised his eyebrows and clicked his tongue as he moved to sit beside you. “Hard to tell these days.”

“I know you wanted to know but it was easier to keep it hidden.”

Logan nodded. “The Professor explained it to me. But everything you said in the library…”

“I was living a normal life, Logan. To my family I am human. To everyone else I was the only human in a mutant family. What I said to you that night…I meant it. I know what it’s like to be alone and to feel lost.”

“And now?”

You shrugged a little. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On you.” Logan looked at you. You turned in your seat and looked back at the water, your fingers picking at your own hands. “And Scott. And the others. The Professor wants me to stay on, but I don’t know if I can-”

“You should stay.”

You looked back at Logan. 

“You should stay,” he repeated. “The kids…they love you. Besides, who else is gonna be able to read Rogue’s handwriting.”

“What about the others?”

Logan gave a slight nod. “They’ll come around. Scott will come around. Jean will see to that.”

“And what about you?”

Logan didn’t know what to say. 

“I care about you, Logan. I don’t know if I could carry on working here knowing you hate me for lying to you. Even worse…not being able to trust me. I am sorry for not telling you the truth, but I hope one day you can see why I did.”

“I think the Professor explained most of it.” Logan told you. “And I get why you didn’t tell us. It still hurts, but I get it.”

Your gaze fell on Logan’s face as he watched the forest come alive under the stars. 

“I care about you, too.” 

Finally, Logan’s gaze held onto yours. 

Part of you was held in suspense for when he would look away. Your heart braced itself for him to turn away. For him to say something your heart didn’t want to hear and for him to leave. 

As Logan looked at you, your heartbeat was like an echo of his own. Faint in the background, drowned out by his own rushing through his ears. 

“Promise me…” Logan tried to find his words as his own hand found yours on the bench. “Promise me you’ll keep talking to me. That you’ll tell me things. That you won’t have any more secrets with me? Good or bad…I want to know them.”

You nodded. “I promise. So long as you promise me something, too.”

Logan gave a slight smile. “Don’t think you’re in the right area to ask for promises jus-”

You sat up and turned your body towards him, your hands enveloping his hand. Logan remained silent the minute he saw your relaxed smile. 

“Promise me you’ll talk to me, too. And that you won’t try and hide your smile from me.”

Your hand grazed Logan’s cheek and he practically smiled into it. 

“I like seeing your smile.” 

Logan smiled. “I like seeing yours, too.”

With his elbow propped up against the back of the bench, his fingers slowly brushed your loose hair from your face to behind your ears and down your neck. Logan turned his head for a moment, his other hand coming to hold yours against him before he pressed a kiss to your palm. 

From there, he simply placed your hand over his heart. 

And you smiled. 

His heart calmed at your touch, and he could hear yours. 

With a soft smile that was very quickly turning into a smirk, Logan leaned forward, holding you steady before he finally kissed you. 

He wouldn’t notice until the next day but the wildflowers that bloomed by the waters edge, just as he kissed you, dug their roots permanently. Even when questioned why they could grow so close to the water without any other explanation than it being a fluke, Logan knew the truth. 

And it anyone was to question their origins and their symbolism: Eternal Love

It might finally provide an explanation. 

Pulling back to catch his breath, he heard you let out a small laugh. 

“What?”

“You seriously need a haircut.”

Logan groaned. “Still?”

“Just a little.”

A few weeks later, Logan found himself being pushed into a chair in his room as you wrapped a towel over his shoulders and pulled out a pair of hairdresser scissors and a comb. 

“You know, you could have just asked to cut my hair. You didn’t have to trick me into it.”

“Logan, I have been asking you for months. Be lucky I didn’t ask Hank to knock you out and drag you here.”

“Do you even know how to cut hair?”

You started the first couple of snips. “One of the first things I learned to do. Besides learning how to cook. People can only take so many bowl cuts and parsnip soup from Great-Aunt Vi.”

Logan smirked. “Sounds delicious.”

“Sure, if you love parsnip water with cabbage.”

You moved around to stand in front of Logan, his legs opening for you to step into them. It wasn’t long before his hands found your hips. 

Your heart jumped a little. 

“Stop it.”

Logan looked at you innocently enough. “I’m not doing anything.”

His hands glided a little higher before you whacked his knuckles with your comb. He tried his best to hold back his smirk. 

“Tease.”

It was your turn to hold back your reaction. “I’m trying to cut your hair. Distractions don’t help.”

“Don’t look distracted to me.”

You smirked a little, continuing to comb through and cut his hair. “Believe me, I’m plenty distracted.”

Logan chuckled and his hands moved back down to your hips before making repetitive strokes up and down your thighs and back to your hips. 

Time passed slowly, albeit calmly. 

“Okay, all done.”

You held a mirror in front of him. “What’d you think?”

Logan nodded before pushing the mirror down and pulling you closer to him before you found yourself sitting in his lap. “It’s nice, but I think I prefer this view.”

You blushed before kissing him, his hand raking through your hair, his breath pulling you closer. 

It wasn’t long before you were straddling his lap, his hands holding you steady by your ass and thighs. 

“Shouldn’t we,” Logan kissed you. “Be getting ready,” He kissed you again. “For dinner?”

“Good thing it starts at seven.”

You giggled a little as Logan smiled before his lips made their way down your jaw line and down your neck. Your own arms wrapped around his neck as you rocked forward on him a little, a groan coming from the back of his throat. 

“That’s in an hour.”

“Gives us plenty of time then.”

You smiled. “To do what?”

A small gasp came from you as Logan stood up with you, your legs wrapping around him. “To get ready.”

With a suggestive eyebrow raise and a small bite of his lip, you let out a small laugh before kissing him again, his chuckle vibrating against your lips as he walked you towards the en-suit bathroom. 

A small wisp of blue turned on the shower, letting the water heat up, all the while Logan set you down on the sink counter, the blue wisp locking the door, and him slowly removing your clothes before his lips left a trail in their wake, your own hands working to remove his clothes. 

By a stroke of luck, neither of you were late to dinner (this time) but there wasn’t much time left for drying your hair. Logan was still towel drying his before you both reached the dining room. 

“I see someone finally got a haircut.” 

Hank was dishing out mashed potatoes onto each plate. 

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh. honey.” Your hand pressed against Logan’s chest before you kissed his lips. “It was.”

“Didn’t hear you complaining afterwards.” Logan mumbled to you through a smirk.

You blushed brightly. Logan’s smirk prominent on his face,  his hand trained down your back and over your ass before coming to pull you in by your hips. 

Soon, everyone else piled into the dining room, you all finding your designated seats. With Logan’s beside yours, his hand remained on your upper thigh for most of the meal. 

However, no one seemed to notice that with each squeeze Logan gave you, a small row of daisies planted themselves outside, just below the windowsill. 

[kentopedia]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ safe haven — levi ackerman

summary: all you've ever wanted to do was take care of levi.

contents: fem!reader, established relationship, 18+ mdni, baths, fluff, soft!levi, light angst, takes place in early seasons, love, handjobs but the smut is very brief and not graphic — 2.1k

notes. i am so emotional about him

the bathroom door opens, cracks of light filtering through the shadowy space, causing beams to bounce off the soapy water. you don’t hear levi enter, but you feel him, just as you’ve always been able to.

he’s so silent, so careful as he steps, like he’s still expecting a titan to be around the corner at any moment, even when he’s home safe and sound. 

the door shuts, and the flash of yellow fades, the room glowing only by the few candles you have lit around the tub. 

levi says nothing, and you finally open your eyes, lazily trace your gaze across his frame, blurred by the grainy vision of darkness. he’s still wearing his uniform, the straps tight across his chest, though he’s already removing his cape, the emerald, billowing cloth resting loosely in his arms. 

there are swirls of dark colors on his face, deep scarlet cuts and blackened violet bruises. his hair falls over his forehead, thick strands stuck to his forehead from sweat and grime. the shadows under his eyes have only gotten worse, his cheekbones more prominent under his pale skin. 

“levi,” you say, in a voice that’s barely above a whisper, hesitant to break the peaceful silence. 

he glances over, severe blue eyes softening as they take in your relaxed form, glistening under the soapy water. your head rests on your forearms, and you gaze up at him from under wet lashes, the droplets of water sticking to each one. 

for a moment, he says nothing, contemplating as he gazes at you silently. then, he takes a step forward, kneels down to cup your cheek softly, a version of him no one else has ever seen emerging in the comfort of the darkness. 

you lean into his palm, his long, slender fingers rough and callused from all of the fighting. though there’s a comfort in that, in knowing that despite all he’s been through, all that the both of you have been through, you’ve made it home to one another. 

“sorry, the meeting ran late.” he says, studying you before tracing his thumb over your lips, watching the delicate skin bend with the pressure. “some people don’t know how to stop running their mouth.” 

you exhale a short breath, something akin to a laugh, and tug on his wrist, your hand soaking the sleeve of his white button-up. “come get in the bath with me.” 

levi makes a face at you, yanking his wrist loose from your grasp as he reclaims it for himself. “not after you’ve just washed off three days worth of grime. you’re sitting a tub of filth.”

“it’s clean, levi,” you sigh, sitting up so you can reach over the side of the tub for him once more. “i drew another bath, just for you.” 

a snort leaves him, but when he glances back over, he’s distracted by the droplets of water running over your chest, down the soft mounds of your exposed breasts. “i’m sure your intentions were nothing but pure,” levi remarks, but he’s already tugging at the leather straps that support the odm gear, unbuttoning his shirt. 

you laugh, and relax back into the tub as levi folds his clothes up neatly into a pile, despite needing to wash them later. his arms flex as he pulls at the straps of his boots, plains of corded muscles exposed from years of training. 

it’s stupid, really, that levi can’t see how beautiful he is, how he is a work of art, molded from the hands of gods. though they have treated him kindly in appearance, their generosity did not extend to other areas of his life. you try to remind him every day that he is loved, even if he is still uncomfortable about it, if he still shies away when you spout sappy, emotional words at him. 

levi dips a finger into the bath, testing the water, before he climbs in, the tension draining from his shoulders as he sinks into the tub. you’re upon him in an instance, maneuvering him so that he is between your softer thighs, his scarred, tense back on full display. 

“what are you doing?” levi asks, the words leaving him with a sigh as you trace his biceps, muscular and lean, a testament to the fact that levi is the strongest. 

“i’m washing your hair,” you say, but you focus instead on kissing his spine, dragging your fingertips across his hips. 

levi grabs your wrist, yanks hard, before his grip loosens. he twines his fingers with yours, peering over his shoulder so that your eyes meet.

“after all that work to get me naked, you won’t even let me kiss you.” 

you laugh, resting your forehead between his shoulder blades as he presses circles into your palm, relaxing the tendons. “you’ll get a kiss eventually.” 

levi huffs, but releases you, and lets you do as you please. you spill water over his head, the droplets running down the planes of his back, his dark hair turning an even deeper shade of black. 

as his breathing evens out, he grabs your knee under the water, lifting it so he can run a delicate touch down your calf. although, it’s soothing, distracting, you still manage to focus on massaging the soap into his scalp, the strands untangling as you run your hands through them. 

levi hums and leans further into you. it reminds you so much of a cat; he will always shirk away from affection, but he hate it even more when you stop giving it to him. 

you dig your fingers into the base of his skill, releasing the pressure there before massaging his shoulders. fists roam down his back, kneading out the muscles that so rarely get a break. the facade he puts on as captain of the survey corps fades away, and he becomes a softer version of himself, one who is still afraid to love but has always yearned for it even more. 

your hand drifts around him, around his waist, before you reach for his cock under the water, stroking it firmly as you rest your head on his shoulder. 

a stuttered exhale emerges from his chest. “what happened to pure motives?” he snorts, but his eyes flutter closed as you feel him grow harder in your palm.

you kiss his shoulder, up his neck, smiling against his skin. “i just can’t help myself when it comes to you.”

levi huffs out a sound of amusement, and though you can’t see his face, you don’t need to, to know that he is rolling his eyes. “you still haven’t let me give you a kiss,” he says, and you laugh into his back, feeling careless and happy and so full of love for the man who doesn’t let anyone treat him gently but you. 

“fine.” you sit straighter, lean forward so that your lips are the only thing levi sees when he turns his head. you curl them into a gentle smile, pucker them foolishly, but all of his attention is already on you. he craves you so deeply, he doesn’t bother to offer a snarky retort.

levi shifts into you, puffs of air leaving his lips before he kisses you, blue eyes a smokey color, grey with desire. he swipes his tongue along your mouth, tasting the soap that lingers on your skin, devouring you whole. while he kisses you, you stroke your hand up and down his cock, listening to the little sounds that leave his throat, the hoarseness that grows in his voice. 

it doesn’t take much to get levi to turn to putty in your hands; he hides his lust well, his devotion for you, but it is there nonetheless. perhaps he is a strong soldier, but he is a weak man when it comes to the affection of those who love him. 

“fuck,” levi mutters into your mouth, swallowing down his groans as you swipe a finger over his slit. he’s close, obviously so, and you run your other hand up his stomach, feel the ridges of his abdomen that are tense, even under the warm water. “feel so good,” he rasps, lazily kissing across your face. “you’re so pretty.” 

you smile, preening from the compliments that don’t come often, but are always so genuine. 

levi rests his forehead against yours and spills into your hand a moment later, his breathing off-kilter.

there is darkness in his stormy irises, but it clears around you, and that’s all you want, really; to be able to free levi of everything that plagues his mind, if only for a fleeting moment. 

he says your name, whispers it into lips that catch it, the word like honey in his deep voice. 

“hm?” you close you eyes, hearing the soft sounds of his breathing, the heart that beats beneath his ribcage. and it will continue to beat, until you can fight no longer, because you’ll never let a titan or anything else take him away from you.

levi cups your cheek once more, traces his thumb softly across the harsh bones. “you do know i love you… right?” 

the admission of affection catches you off guard. he’s said it before, but he uses it sparingly, and that’s always been okay with you. you know he is afraid of what might happen to you, and you know him too well to try and convince him otherwise. 

“i know. i’ve always know,” you say, kissing him again softly, his lips warm and plump. “you don’t have to tell me.” 

disbelief contorts his face, his dark eyebrows pinching together as he studies you. though you aren’t always the best at convincing him, you stroke his arm, massaging the muscles that are perpetually tense. it’s difficult to avoid the smattering of tender bruises that he can no longer hide under the military uniform. 

“i’m afraid i’m not good at showing it,” levi admits, and you soften, watching as uncertainty infiltrates his normally steadfast eyes. “but i hope—”

“levi,” you say, and you know the tenderness of it makes him cringe, but you can’t help it, not when your heart aches at every moment for the man before you. “just because you don’t show your love in the same way as me, doesn’t mean that i don’t feel it.” 

he stares, blinks once before nodding, letting the words seep into his soul. even though you know it won’t be the last time he admits his self-doubt, you don’t mind reassuring him. you’ll tell him as many times as it takes, repeat the words every moment you’re together for the rest of eternity, if only to make him realize how loved you feel by him. 

you lean back in the tub, your fingers wrinkled and pruned from sitting in the water for so long. but when you try to climb out, levi grabs you wrist once more, stops you with a gentle touch, and guides you back into him. 

his arms wrap around you tightly, nearly crushing your naked, warm bodies together with the force of his embrace. though he not one to let his vulnerabilities show, he still buries his head into your shoulder, lets you see how weary and broken down he has become. 

your nose digs into his dark, wet hair, the scent of shampoo lingering as you melt into him, hugging him back as closely. tension that you hadn’t realized you were hanging onto finally drains from your body, and you feel lighter than you have in days. as if your body has, at last, realized that you are no longer outside of the walls, and this is not a dream, but you truly are home, safe and sound. 

his fingers dig into your back, and you rest against him, never able to resist a moment wrapped up in his arms. 

levi sighs, dragging his nose across his neck. the water will turn cold soon, but you don’t mind. you’ll do whatever levi needs, wait here with him until you are both a shivering mess. 

“i’m glad you’re here,” levi says, just above a whisper as he kisses your collarbone. 

you smile. it’s not exactly another i love you, but you know that’s what he means.

[meiieiri]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐚 [gojo satoru]

synopsis: you got married to gojo satoru at the edge of a frozen lake in summer.

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

warnings/tags: heavy angst, a love that’s TOO LITTLE TOO LATE if one can even call that a tag, unrequited love (kinda).

Marriage is a golden ring on a chain whose beginning is a single glance between two unsuspecting souls that ends with eternity.

Twelve years. You’ve loved him through twelve springs. It’s bittersweet to think how a person could give another their youth for free. But then again, the only things that you truly keep are the things you give away. That’s just life, isn’t it? And besides, you take a step towards the blue peony littered aisle with a wistful smile on your face as you picture a certain arctic-haired man standing at the other end, when it comes to matters of the heart, keeping ledgers of the love you give and the love you receive is a futile effort.

You should probably put that in your vows later. But ah, what did it matter? Satoru’s probably just gonna wing it later, arguing that expressions of love should be light-hearted and candid much like the love you share.

“Y/N-chan~!” He steps in front of you, his tall form towering over you as he catches you by the student lounge’s vending machine. Shoko smirks behind you, pulling Suguru ahead of you to leave the two of you alone. She nudges you forward and you cast her a betrayed look to which she only replies with an innocent shrug. It’s common knowledge to everyone in Tokyo Jujutsu High how you feel about the Gojo clan’s illustrious little starlet.

Well, it was common knowledge to everyone except Satoru Gojo.

And you don’t know if you find that comforting or saddening.

Comforting that he wouldn’t find out about your feelings from someone else, though you’re still working up the courage to fess up, you wholeheartedly believe that this is something he should hear from you and you alone. Saddening that maybe the reason he’s been all blissfully ignorant of how your breath becomes shallow whenever he’s around you is he’s actually already aware of your feelings towards him and he’s only deflecting it.

“We’ll go ahead, Y/N,” Shoko says in a sing-song voice, taking your cursed tool from you. “Come see me if you have any injuries!”

“But if it’s a broken heart, she probably can’t fix it,” Suguru chimes in, winking at Satoru as if to say: ‘Go talk to her.’ before turning to follow his girlfriend.

A hush falls between you and Satoru, unspoken words swirling around the two of you like a symphony of longing. Both of you seem to be saying the same thing:

Should I tell her?

Should I tell him?

What would she say?

Would he leave?

If the truth is meant to set you free, then he is your jailer. Why is he content with never uttering those words aloud? Why are you so eager to stay in the hedge maze of your mind, seeking his shadow at every corner? This was a tiring game of hide and seek.

But Satoru is completely fine with letting it drag on if it meant he’d never risk losing you.

And you were fine with that too. You were fine being a prisoner to your truth as long as he was with you in this jail cell. You were fine.

Whatever fine means.

“Wanna go to the arcade?” Satoru looks at you with a shimmering bittersweet look in his eyes.

You smile and a breathy laugh falls from your lips causing his face to light up even more.

“That depends, you gonna let me win?”

“Never.”

“Y/N! There you are.”

You turn around to see an older Shoko, her youthful bob cut having outgrown its juvenile flare. She looks out of breath, she must have run around the venue looking for you and judging from the way she keeps glancing at her watch, and the exasperated look she was throwing your way at the sight of you still in your silk robe, you needed to get moving.

But your feet remain planted in the middle of the empty aisle, your gaze trained on the arch.

“You feeling okay?” Shoko asks, her hand finding yours in a tender display of solidarity. “It’s okay to be nervous, you know.”

You flash her a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I know. Just…deep in thought.”

“Yeah.”

Weddings are always so beautiful, you think to yourself as Shoko steps back giving you some space as you contemplate the day ahead. Your fingers trace one of the satin linens adorning the trellises much like your heart traces the contours of a love too delicate to verbalize, too powerful to ignore. Your gaze dances over the elegant arrangements of blue, white and gray, the scent of grapefruit-quince adorning the air, mixing with the scent of peonies, jasmines and white musk.

Everything here speaks of the imminent union of two souls finding their way to each other. And how comforting it is to know that no matter where you wander, all paths inevitably lead to Satoru Gojo. And you have your drunk cartographer heart to thank for that.

“He loves you,” Shoko finally says, catching your wrist to bring you over to the gazebo to get touched up.

“…I know.”

You look back at the empty aisle, with all but one question in your mind.

What happens when simply knowing is no longer enough?

“Do you believe in love at first sight or should I walk by again with my sunglasses off?”

You nearly choke on your yogurt drink when you see yet another stunningly familiar light blue sticky note on your desk. Satoru fucking Gojo is going to be the death of you one day. Your touch grazes over the hastily scribbled note, a small smile playing at your lips as you take out a white pad of sticky notes from your school bag. After collecting your thoughts, you decide to play along with his little game, your heart fluttering when you realize that this back and forth could actually be considered flirting.

“There’s no such thing as love at first sight. And sorry, pretty boys like you aren’t exactly my type.”

Satoru finds the white sticky note plastered on his stool in Jujutsu Tech’s science lab. Despite the playful jab in your reply, Satoru is hyperfixated on the fact that you just called him pretty. Did you really mean it? He bites the inside of his cheek being careful not to grin too much in fear of Suguru catching wind of what’s happening — the strongest sorcerer of this generation being caught off-guard by his little crush? Detestable!

“You think I’m pretty? ;) I knew it.”

Shoko looks at you funnily, you’re practically red as a tomato with how you’re fuming from the ears and sputtering about how ridiculous Satoru is being. “He’s just so…so…!”

“You really should work on finishing your sentences now~”

You are interrupted at the sight Satoru practically hopping down the steps leading to the training field with a convenience store bag tucked under his arm and you sigh exasperatedly, turning away as if he was a bug that’s hovering over your ear that you really shouldn’t be paying attention to. All of his six foot two form plops down next to you and you jump when he presses a cold ice cream bar to your cheek.

“You’re awfully generous today, Satoru,” you smirk, accepting and lifting the ice cream bar in silent gratitude, suppressing the blush creeping onto your cheeks.

Satoru blushes himself, his hand coming up to rub the back of his head as a comfortable silence falls between the two of you. Shit, say something, Satoru thinks to himself. Was he being too obvious? Did you somehow piece it together now that he has feelings for you?

In his internal dilemma, Satoru settles for undermining the deliberate gesture.

“I only needed two more stickers to get this really neat toy,” Satoru explains, reaching into the convenience store bag and pulling out his new tamagotchi. “Pretty worth it, I would say. The one I saw in Akihabara is being sold for 7500 yen, but that’s the angelgotch variety, so I kinda get the whole roadside robbery thing.”

Of course, he steered the conversation elsewhere. You’re not even surprised at this point that he’ll always only stay at the surface when he treads these long drawn out conversations with you, too afraid to say anything more — do anything more — than what was necessary as your friend.

Keyword: friend.

He had no obligation to you other than being your friend. And you don’t blame him. You’re not angry at him that he’s only willing to stay in shallow water with you, it’s just…

“Hey, I have to go, Yaga’s calling me.” Satoru casually interrupts your train of heartbroken thoughts, but you do not miss the unease in his voice, he almost sounds sorry that he has to bail again.

But you already send him off with a reluctant thumbs up. As you look at his retreating form, he stops for a bit at the stone tori gate, his head bowed in thought, you don’t know why you held your breath. He reaches into his pocket, but thinks better of it, and he paces two hesitant steps forward.

Then, he looks back to meet your eyes from afar.

And his heart clenches in a mixture of affection and exasperation when you are the first to blushingly look away.

The ten feet separating the two of you is very reminiscent of how you began: running in opposite directions to outdo the other in your competition to see who can act that they care less, placing more distance between your flustered hearts. Satoru gazes at you as if he’s seen the divine incarnated into a single beautiful being. He wipes a tear from his eye, sniffing momentarily, watching you gracefully float down the aisle with an equally smitten expression on your features.

Clutching the bouquet in your hands, you don’t break eye contact and everything seems to unfold like a motion picture before your very eyes, your and Satoru’s life together in vivid cinematography: your first dance later tonight, your first trip out of the country together for your honeymoon, your first time, your first year, your first child. Everything. You’ve imagined Satoru to be your first in everything. And as you make your way to the aisle, tears glistening in both your orbs, you stop to meet in the middle, the two of you standing on fate’s edge together.

He casts you a look, and you offer him a melancholic smile.

This was it.

…

…

…

…

The doors open and his bride arrives, and you move to the side, taking your place next to Shoko, painfully leaving the space you and Satoru briefly shared, a space that was never meant for you in the first place.

Which begs the question again: what happens when knowing is no longer enough?

Or is it…the two of you never knew at all how the other felt?

No, you and Shoko watch as Satoru stares at you from his peripheral, his heart fragmenting into irreparable pieces at each step his bride makes towards him.

Should I tell her?

Should I tell him?

What would she say?

Would he leave?

The answer is clear now. He wouldn’t have left. Things were just left unsaid, never admitted — the words that you longed to hear from one another never fell from your lips. Not once in the twelve years you secretly held him in your heart. And thus, fate then decreed that love is for the brave, and not for cowardly souls like you and Satoru Gojo.

And with whatever strength you have left, uncaring if this would cause you to look scandalous: a bridesmaid going after the groom, you mouth the words: “I love you.”

A pained smile appears on his lips, an allegory to the goofy grins he used to flash you when you two were young, and he nods, tears in his eyes.

This was twelve years too late. But it’s better than never.

“I knew it.”

[lidiasloca]

azriel apologies

azriel x reader

"Harder." You strike him again, putting all your strength into the blow. But he remains unmoved.

"I said harder," Azriel remarks.

"And I hit harder," you retort.

"You did not," he barks, anger painting his serious demeanor. He was crossing a line he should know better than to cross.

But you kept your chin up. "I did." And you punched again.

But he was too swift, almost as if he could foresee your movements. "Faster."

You hit again. And again.

You’ve failed so many times now that your arm feels sore.

"Again," Azriel demands.

You shake your head, walking away, leaving him to his fury. You can’t understand what’s making him act this way today.

You know your mate is a little different in the training room than in the comfort of your home. He’s more serious, more severe—he’s your teacher, after all. But this? This was something else entirely. You’d confront him about it later. Right now, you needed rest.

"Y/n, I said again," he says, following you across the room.

"And I said no. I need a break."

He steps in front of you, hands on his hips, watching disapprovingly as you sit on the floor.

"You’ve worsened. You’ve gotten weaker," he states, his words hitting harder than any punch.

You eye him sharply, not sure how to respond to this version of Azriel.

"I’m serious," he continues, growing angrier at your lack of reaction.

"What is going on with you?" you finally ask, trying not to cry at the way he looks at you. There's no pity, no kindness in his eyes. No trace of love. "Are you mad at me?"

Despite trying not to, there’s a childish vulnerability in your voice. You’ve never felt like this with him before. Never.

"I will be," he says, his voice cold, "if you keep slacking like this."

You shake your head and rise from the floor, staring at him in silence, holding back tears and words you wish you could scream. When he says nothing in return, you leave without a word.

He doesn’t follow.

…

You’ve been locked in your room the whole day, and Azriel hasn’t come to find you. No sign of him. No apology.

Your eyes feel dry after hours of crying.

You’d almost given up hope when you hear a knock at the door. It’s him—not because you hoped it would be, but because his shadows reach you first, gently brushing your face—the soft apology he hasn’t spoken.

Then he’s standing in front of you, his eyes unreadable.

Who is this man?

"Y/n," he murmurs, walking towards the bed where you sit. You say nothing, so he continues. "I... I don’t know what to say..."

"You should," you cut in sharply.

"I’m sorry," he says quickly, as if remembering why he’s here. "I’m so sorry." You stay silent. "I was rude back there," he continues, sitting uncertainly beside you. "I’ve been rude these past few days during training."

"Yes, you have," you murmur, your earlier anger now replaced with a quiet exhaustion. This was Azriel.

"I’m sorry," he says again, tears welling in his guilty eyes. "I’m just... worried," he confesses.

"Why?" you ask softly.

"Because of my job, and how it puts you in danger. I... so many people want me dead, Y/n. And hurting you is the easiest way to hurt me."

You take a shaky breath. "Az, we’ve known that all along. It’s a risk we’ve chosen to take."

"You don’t understand," he whispers, his voice breaking.

"Then tell me," you urge him, moving your hands to his shoulders, afraid he might break.

"I got a threat the other day, from the Court of Autumn. They said they were coming for my loved ones. You, Y/n."

Your hand trembles as you stroke his cheek. "Az..."

"Rhys is already tracking the person down, trying to find him, but... if—if something ever happened to you... if I couldn’t defend you... or if you couldn’t defend yourself..." His voice breaks completely, tears finally spilling.

And you understand then. His desperate need for you to train, to know how to defend yourself.

"Azriel, they won’t get to me. They never have. I’m safest here with you, safer than anywhere else."

He finally looks up at you, but says nothing.

"Azriel, it’s okay," you whisper. "I’m safe here. No one will get to me."

He nods, but you can tell he’s not entirely convinced.

"Do you forgive me?" he finally asks.

"Of course," you say, trying to show him a small smile. "I love you."

"I love you too," he whispers back.

-Characters by Sarah J Maas

azriel masterlist

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOR ─── jonathan crane ✧♤

ೃ⁀➷ “Finally, a sin worth hurting for, a fervor, a sweet--you are mine.” — ‘Postcolonial Love Poem’, Natalie Diaz.

pairing. yandere!jonathan crane x reader

summary. a few months ago, you found out about your close friend’s… habit, of “cleaning up” creeps who hung around you. you use this to your advantage, but can you deal with the repercussions when your words backfire?

warnings. swearing, stalking, jonathan being creepy & delusional, manipulative but naive reader, mention of murder, p in v, creampie, breeding kink/forced breeding/babytrapping, unprotected sex, mild somno, oral sex (f), panty kink, forced cockwarming, drugging, heavy dubcon/noncon, SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 6.1k

a/n. this is definitely the darkest thing ive ever written. pls read w caution everyone!!! this is also inspired by these headcanons by @babybluebex and this alphabet by @scorpiussage !!

i.

You covered your face with your palms, sniffling. “Maybe I’m just being overdramatic. I was always too nice to him, y’know? Maybe I did lead him on.”

Jonathan’s head snapped to you, swiftly stepping toward the couch and kneeling down in front of you. “No, no, that’s what he wants you to think. You did nothing wrong,” he assured, pulling your hands away from your face and wiping a sneaky, non-existent tear from the corner of your eye. 

You pouted at Jonathan, big doe eyes glistening with grief. “I just don’t know what I’m going to do tomorrow… and everyday after that,” you lamented, “because it’ll be so - upsetting, seeing him.”

Jonathan’s large hands clasped around your own, delicate and warm. “Does it scare you? Him being there?” he murmured softly, peering deeply into you with an indecipherable look.

You nodded pitifully, looking down at his hands wrapped in yours so your hair would fall in front of your face, hopefully shielding the glee sparkling in your eyes. Thank god Jonathan had taken the bait -- it was only a matter of time before your dear, obsessive friend would get rid of your competitor for you. 

It was late evening, and you’d called Jonathan, pretending to rant about a coworker who confessed and got slightly violent at the fact you did not reciprocate his feelings. In truth, none of that had happened at all— said coworker was vying for the same promotion opportunity as you were, and it was just your luck that a few months ago you discovered your sweet friend from college had made it a habit to “clean up” any creeps and freaks hanging around you. 

What kind of ambitious career-woman would you be if you didn’t take advantage of that, huh? So there you were, crying on the phone so devastatingly that Jonathan would have no choice but to come over, comfort you, and later, be your knight in shining armor and kill, kidnap or maim your coworker. 

You didn’t think it immoral to do so, y’know, even though it clearly was. To you, it was just… indulging his little hero-fantasy, while also making your life just that much easier. It made you happy, and it made Jonathan happy. 

It was all harmless (to you, anyway), because you knew how reserved Jonathan was… how logical he was. You were positive he’d never cross that line, go too far; stray out of the shadows with that possibility of losing you still hanging over him like a cloud. 

You wrapped your arms around Jonathan’s thin neck, hugging him tightly. “Thank you for coming tonight,” you murmured, your lips ghosting the shell of his ear. He shuddered under your touch, and you knew you had him whipped; probably already so deep within a plan to kill your coworker nothing could stop him.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said, pulling away and letting his hand come up to the hand-print sized bruises on your shoulder. “I can’t believe that - that monster hurt you.” Jonathan shook his head aghast, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes moved from your bruised shoulder to the strap of your lacy bra, trailing down your breasts before snapping back up to your face.

Your coworker hadn’t actually hurt you, obviously, but you had asked him to knead out a knot in your shoulder at lunch, and made him pinch harder ‘till you knew it would bruise. You’d known him for a couple of years now, coming from the same training batch, and had been involved in plenty of tit-for-tat exchanges, “scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” type of deals. 

So you were close enough to be comfortable massaging the other-- but you’d be fucking damned if he got the promotion and you didn’t. 

“It’s not that bad,” you murmured, ducking your head like you were ashamed. 

“You don’t need to downplay it -- least of all to me,” Jonathan tutted softly, two fingers tilting your chin up to meet his gaze again. 

You pressed your lips into a thin line, brows knitting. “I know, I’m sorry, I just…” you blinked rapidly, as if you were trying to do away with on-coming tears, “I thought you wouldn’t believe me. He said… he said that nobody would believe me.”

And just like that, it was like a shadow had passed over him. Jonathan’s expression contorted almost frighteningly quickly, and gone were the delicate, comforting sweetness of his sharp features; thus came the darkened eyes, clenched jaw, frown digging into his cheeks. 

“…He said that?” Jonathan whispered, voice low, barely containing the rage seeping into his words.

“He said that - he could do… do whatever he wanted to me, and I’d never convince a soul.” You confided, letting your face get weepy, tear tracks running along the curve of your cheeks. 

At that, you suddenly pulled Jonathan close to you, pressing your face to his chest and making anguished cries leave your throat. His hands shakily came up to pet your hair, and you could hear his heartbeat; skipping beats and growing faster the longer you clutched onto him. 

“I believe you,” Jonathan insisted, and went from petting you to holding you so tight you could barely breathe, “I believe you.”

ii.

You never saw your coworker again. He’d sent in a notice of “vacation” that nobody could really object to… considering he also informed your boss he’d already gone, and was sending said notice from his hotel.

Sure, that was incredibly suspicious anywhere else, but that’s the thing— you weren’t “anywhere else”, you were in Gotham. If your coworker had actually gone on a split-second vacation, nobody would blame him; everyone you knew who lived in Gotham had snapped, at least once, and had to get away. Most temporarily, some permanently -- in which, chalking his fate up to Jonathan, your coworker was definitely the latter. 

Honestly, you weren’t very surprised when you found out Jonathan was, for lack of better word, murdering people. Specifically, people he deemed a “threat” to you. 

Jonathan had always been… a touch too overprotective. Territorial, even. It was far subtler in college, but you supposed that was because you’d seen him everyday; with both of you trekking through your hellish career aspirations, you couldn’t see each other as often as you had back in school. It was like that saying-- absence makes the heart grow fonder. 

You’d first met Jonathan in GSU’s large community library, after you dropped a book on his head. You were on one side of the bookshelf, he on the other, and you were trying to grab a book on a too-tall ledge. Instead of getting your measly grip on it, it went backwards and smacked Jonathan right in the rimless frames. It was a meet-cute, sort of, with you apologizing profusely, him brushing your worries off with that irritatingly charming smile of his, and then helping you with any books you needed (a clear advantage of his height) for the rest of the day. 

From there you became close friends. He always knew the right things to say, had various fascinating interests (half of them coinciding with your own), and was always, without fail nor doubt, an absolute darling. He never poked or prodded into information you didn’t want to tell him (at least not yet), constantly staying polite, respectful, eloquent, and patient. 

You knew now why and how your relationship had escalated like so: you suspected he’d been one of those “creeps” hanging around you, long before the library incident in your early college days. You first began adoring him for the most part because it felt like he understood you perfectly, unknowingly adhering to all your creature habits, liking all your hobbies, and knowing every word that could make you let your guard down like you’d been friends for years. It all made sense now-- he’d collected said information just from watching you for so long. 

Thus the “meet cute, sort of”; Jonathan had probably been planning the moment for months. Polite, respectful, eloquent, patient. 

Why you? Well, you didn’t know either. Getting psychological about this, you probably reminded him of a relative he adored - some Freudian aspect coming into play, y’know? But it all boiled down to one constant fact: he was obsessed with you. 

It should’ve scared you, and it probably would’ve, back in college, but it didn’t now. His type was a dime a dozen, incredibly hard to come by; the kind of guy who you know you can trust, rely on, know without a doubt he will never leave. 

Even if you and Jonathan were just friends, you suspected in his sweet, beautiful, sick and twisted mind he’d long since considered you his — and, similarly, since finding out his secret, you began thinking of him as yours. Perhaps not yours romantically, but more like you owned him. He was the ever-present lucky charm in your pocket, the one who reminded you that you’d been loved before so you’ll be loved again, your constant support. 

“How’re you feeling?” Jonathan’s worried voice crackled out of your beat-up phone, startling you back to reality. You were hiding in your car while on break, not keen on talking to any of your coworkers or bosses in the cafeteria, when you’d gotten a call from him. 

“A lot better, actually.” You said, taking a bite of your lunch and trying to sound relieved rather than giddy. “…He went on vacation.”

Jonathan hummed on the other end of the line. You could hear the grin in his tone, but he quickly coughed, smoothing out the cheerful jitters in his voice.  “Really? That’s rather… well-timed.”

You shrugged, as if Jonathan could see you, “Whether it’s about me, or not, I’m just… glad I don’t have to see him.”

“Know that I agree wholeheartedly– the thought of him being near you made my stomach turn.” He let out a sigh, like his nerves were finally relaxing, “How about you come over tonight? I can make us a nice dinner, you can stay over if you want-- I regret leaving you alone last night… you were terrified.”

You bit your lip. When it came to Jonathan actually getting, well, romantic, you hesitated. Did he really want you, or was it his obsession kicking in? You knew he loved who he thought you were: a frail girl he needed to protect, not knowing you’d been using him to your heart's content since you found out his dirty little secret.

You were running out of fingers on your hands to count how many people you’d directed him to… clean up. First it was little targets, like the barista at your usual coffee place who’d flirt and always take too long making your drink, causing several lates at work. More recently it was the landlord of your apartment, who’d raised the rent three times in one month; after she died, the ownership went to her absent-minded son who reset the prices to the original, more-than-comfortable regular rate. 

But… you supposed you could humor him. A reward of some sorts; an unknowing treat to your obedient, sweetheart guard dog. “I’ll stop by, then,” you responded delicately. “I… didn't want you to leave either, Jon,” you murmured, before quickly hanging up. 

Later, after work, you’re driving to Jonathan’s with a bottle of white wine. You did these kinds of things for eachother -- little gifts, you mean -- often. Yesterday, he visited your flat with pastries from a bakery you liked all the way down in Old Gotham. 

“Chardonnay,” Jonathan commented when you arrived, ushering you through the front door with a squeeze to the thigh and gently inspecting the bottle. “You know me so well.” 

“Dare I say the best,” you grinned, pressing a friendly peck to his cheek and handing him your evening coat before traversing into his house’s large kitchen, swiping a finger-dip into the various dishes he had laid out in the middle of cooking.

“At least don’t touch dessert,” he pouted, quickly hanging your coat in his entry closet and trailing behind you. But his expression still cracked into a loving smile when he saw you sneak your pinkie-finger into a chocolate custard. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll be patient,” you backed off with a cheeky smile, arms up in the air and opting to hoist yourself on an empty counter and watch him resume cooking. 

“How thoughtful of you,” he responded sarcastically.

It didn’t take him long at all to finish up, and your eyes were trained on his sinewy figure the whole way through; the careful way he cooked, the absolute attention to every detail. 

Sure, you could say that was because Jonathan was a detail-oriented person (because he was), but you also knew it was because he was nervous, fumbling to impress you-- you noticed these kinds of things a whole lot more after finding out. Like how he gave you his coat when you went out together late at night and it was cold, how he often kept you close with a hand to the small of your back, how intently he listened to your every word, like it was the last thing he’d ever hear. 

“Like what you see?” Jonathan joked when he was done, urging you to sit down across from him and handing you the chardonnay poured in one of his wine glasses. 

“M’just admiring your cooking skills,” you explained sweetly, taking the glass and sipping it mildly. 

Jonathan’s eyes crinkled, lips curling into a sheepish smile. He didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to: he radiated delight. You swore you could see pink dusting his high cheekbones, a feverish blush burning from his ears to his pale neck. 

From there, dinner went on with some friendly chatter, his skillful dishes, and several more glasses of chardonnay. Nothing ever got old with Jonathan-- he listened well and he spoke gently and he revered your every word; you felt important just by being near him, he was so devoted. 

By the end of the night, however, you were feeling rather light-headed- veering on the edge of unconsciousness: “I think I’ll - take you up on that offer, Jon…” you murmured, trailing off and getting up from your seat. It was odd, surely, how quickly a mere white wine had gotten you drunk, but then again you’d been housing a nearly-full glass every few minutes. You lost your drink count ages ago. 

Jonathan, ever the gentleman, stopped tidying up immediately. “Good judgment,” he nodded agreeably, coming to your aid and picking you up bridal style. Your head swam at the sudden movement, his feet swiftly heading down the hallway, but his gentle voice quickly aided the dizziness: “Don’t force yourself and don’t worry, just sleep…”

“M’sorry,” you whispered, holding him tightly by the lapel, more words on the tip of your tongue, but he just shushed you, “didn’t help.”

“That’s quite alright, my love,” he replied lowly, entering his bedroom. He pressed an uncharacteristic kiss to your forehead and let you down onto his cushy mattress, watching how quickly your eyes dropped. You were certainly feeling the effects of the glass he laced now-- and then you were out. 

Jonathan needed to have you now, under his protection, and he’d achieve that through any means necessary, be it liquid melatonin or anything else…

“You’ll have plenty of time to help later. You’re home now.”

iii.

“Sorry about… last night,” you said the next morning when you got up, rubbing your eyes sleepily and padding into Jonathan’s kitchen. 

You found him leaning against his marble countertops, gently sipping down a mug of black coffee within his calloused grip, and he raised a brow amusedly. “You said the same thing in your sleep.”

Your gaze darted away from his own at the sudden embarrasssment. “Nonetheless… thanks, Jon. I’ll be out of your hair immediately-- I’m actually rather late for work. I kept a dress here last time, right?”

He set down his mug with a dull clink, and in your rambling, he’d made his way right in front of you. “No need,” he murmured, to which you tilted your head in confusion. 

“I already called in for you. You’re not going to work today.” He explained, a thin smile coming up to his face, eyes gleaming.

You laughed awkwardly, suddenly feeling trapped at the way he took slow steps forward, making you backtrack into the wall. “What are -- Jonathan, what are you talking about?”

“I can’t, in good conscience, let you leave.” Jonathan insisted with a nod, expression knitted in a way you knew he thought he was doing the right thing. 

‘“Let me’ leave? Is- is this a joke? Because it’s… it’s not a funny one,” you stuttered, heart beginning to hammer in your chest at the way he looked down at you. It was like he was watching a wounded animal-- in a way, you felt like it… and Jonathan was clearly your predator. 

“It’s not a joke, dear. Gotham’s gotten too dangerous for you,” he informed you softly, hands coming up to hold your face lovingly. His steps stopped, and you felt it: he’d finally pinned you against the wall, and there was no escape. “That coworker of yours was the last straw. My heart aches at the thought of what he could’ve done to you.”

“I - that wasn’t…” You trailed off, cringing at the way he leaned in further, his hot breath fanning on your cheeks -- how helpless you were against his advances. 

You knew something was going to happen when Jonathan couldn’t just stay on the sidelines anymore, but you didn’t think it’d happen like this. You thought it might end with him professing his love to you, pleading and begging you to indulge him fully. That he’d fume and sob at rejection… that he’d let you go. 

But Jonathan was like a ticking time bomb: with every victim you gave him, moments were ticked off his clock. It seemed that your coworker was the last second… and that he’d had enough of his frail darling being surrounded left and right by threats to take care of. He knew it’d all be so much easier if he could keep you safe in one spot, a place only he could enter.

“That wasn’t what? My god, I knew I couldn’t leave you all alone like that anymore… you’re too sweet, too innocent to know what’s gone too far,” he shook his head pityingly, unaware how hypocritical his words were. 

“Jonathan,” you looked up at him, breath catching at the way his fingers dug into your neck, “what are -- what are you going to do to me?”

He let out a sharp laugh, “Do to you? Oh… no, my love, I won’t be doing anything to you… no, I’ll be keeping you safe.”

“Safe?” you repeated incredulously, “but what about - my life? My friends? My family? My job?”

He shushed you, not unlike he had done just the other night, or the night before that, “You don’t need to worry about any of those trivial things anymore. You have me. I’ll give you anything -- no, everything you want.”

Your lips parted and closed, unable to come up with a response that may cause him to realize the sheer insanity of what he was saying. He’d gone too far… had slipped too deep into the infatuation while you weren’t looking.

Then, Jonathan wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pressing your face into the crook of his neck and immediately invading your nostrils with the scent of his cologne. It had been nice, once, but now it sickened you: how quickly that scent made your head swirl and your stomach clench… how quickly Jonathan had went from a darling pet of yours to a terror of unimaginable size. 

Fuck, you thought, fuck, you’d been playing with fire this whole time-- you had been playing with fire while being naive and underestimating and wholly stupid. 

You’d completely underestimated the depth of his commitment; how Jonathan was the kind of man who loved one and only one, and that there was no letting go with him. That once he had his claws in your skin, there was nothing that could stop him. 

But then, you remembered your thoughts from just two days prior-- you had him whipped. It was like a lightbulb went off; you knew you could use that, use his mindless, adoring obsession to you…

“Jonathan,” you murmured under your breath, too quiet for him to hear as he hummed lovingly above you. “Jonathan,” you repeated, louder this time, pushing him away and startling him.

He blinked rapidly, fixing his glasses that had gone askew in your sudden movement. “What is it, my love?”

“You -- you love me, do you not?” you asked, swallowing the cowardly dryness in your throat.

Jonathan nodded vehemently, inching closer, desperate to have you in his arms again. “Nothing in the world could compete with my love for you. Nothing.”

You exhaled shakily, putting your hands out in a poor way of creating more distance between you two. “I - I love you, too. I love you.”

You saw Jonathan’s face light up at your sudden confession, saw how his demeanor changed from hesitant to beaming. “You love me?”

“Yes, yes, I do,” you insisted, panting as beads of sweat rolled down your back, “and I’m telling you… I won’t anymore, not if you keep me here. If you truly love me, you won’t trap me here.”

“It’s because I love you that I plan to keep you here,” he frowned, before grabbing you by the extended wrist, pulling you close and wrapping his arms around you in a deathgrip. 

“But you love me,” he repeated in amazement, pressing rough kisses along the side of your neck that had you whimpering, “so you’ll understand. God, how I’ve longed to hear those words leave your mouth.”

Jonathan had gotten tunnel vision at this point, barely registering your pleas, and when he began pawing at your clothes, apparently in some kind of delusion that your “confession” was a lustful one… you jumped ship. 

He thought your confession meant he had permission to have a taste of you, and while it made your knees buckle and your throat burn, if it meant he might finally fucking listen, let you convince him to let you leave… so fucking be it. 

The two of you then stumbled back down his hallway to the bedroom, tugging at each other’s garments while pressing hungry kisses on one another. You played along dutifully, trailing your hands along his back while tugging off his jacket, and other articles of clothing. 

Entering the bedroom at last, Jonathan gently pushed you down onto the springy bed, having long since undone you-- you were left in your lacy underwear from the night before: black bra, black stockings, lacy thong hidden beneath it. 

You wore thongs because they didn’t leave any panty lines under your thin pencil skirts, but you were quickly regretting the choice when Jonathan crawled onto the bed and roughly tugged down your stockings, surely leaving holes and runs in them, and let out a lecherous groan at the sight. 

“God, I love your body,” he purred, hands hungrily groping your thighs and throwing your ruined stockings off to the side. “Can’t believe how long I waited for this.”

You closed your legs on instinct shyly, but he just as quickly pried your legs apart, leaning in and pressing sweet kisses along the soft flesh. “Jonathan…” you whimpered, trying to act needy, like you wanted him so bad-- in reality, you wanted to get this over with. 

You reckoned if you let him fuck you, get him pussywhipped, you could promise you’d adore him wholeheartedly if he just fucking let you leave his house. You couldn’t deny how his ministrations made you feel, though; his plush lips brushing along your clothed cunt made tingles run up your spine, made your heart beat in a way that was anticipatory rather than terrified. 

“Let me take care of you,” he promised, slipping off your panties and leaving your lips bare. You would’ve hissed at the cold, but the noise died in your throat as you saw Jonathan ball up the lace and press it to his face, inhaling deeply. 

“Fuck, you smell so good,” Jonathan groaned, and you almost gagged. “Wonder how good you’ll taste…” With that, he pressed his face between your legs and began lapping up your wetness, and you felt a gleeful smile tug at his face. 

You gasped at the sudden action, bucking up into him on instinct. Your cheeks burned with shame, but you still choked on an unwarranted mewl when Jonathan’s tongue slipped inside your sticky hole and felt along your velvet walls. 

He couldn’t exactly speak, with his mouth trained artfully on your cunt, but he let out an unintelligible noise of approval. All of this made you nauseous, your insides twisting in disgust, but your body reacted the opposite, pussy pulsing and clenching around him. 

It was just -- fucking criminal how skillful he was with that long tongue of his, licking long stripes up and down, suckling on your clit, searching for the spongy spot in your cunt that he knew he couldn’t find without his cock, but wanted to make you squirm anyway. 

You felt that familiar pressure building within you, his tongue going down on you faster, making shameful squelching noises echo around the room. He was hitting every pressure point, something you hadn’t felt in… well, honestly, you weren’t sure you’d been eaten out like this ever… 

The thought you were enjoying this, that he might actually make you come made you queasy, and your hands tangled through his locks, pulling him away. “Want - want your… your cock,” you panted, shaking your head when he tried to bury himself in your sex again. 

Jonathan frowned, going from all fours to sitting on the backs of his heels. “Baby…” he said, hesitant. You knew he wanted to take his time, worship you, treat you lovingly, but you were getting confused… losing yourself to the pleasure, forgetting you were doing this to stop him from holding you captive, not because you actually wanted it. 

You pouted, and, to prove your point further, you pressed one of your feet onto his extremely noticeable bulge, fondling it softly. He nearly doubled over at the much needed friction to his neglected cock, and then Jonathan finally let go of all his inhibitions, giving into his primal needs. 

He quickly undid his belt buckle and fly, slipping out of his suit trousers. Your heart sank at the reveal of his size; the imprint of his cock looked extremely intimidating, and that was beneath his boxer shorts. 

It seemed your thoughts showed on your face, and he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple, leaving an embarrassing amount of your wetness on the skin. “It’s okay, my love,” he reassured, “your pretty pussy can take me.”

You nodded hesitantly, your teeth capturing your bottom lip and nipping at it nervously as you watched him completely undress… his cock wasn’t very thick, but boy, was it long, coloured a delicate pink hue that was pretty and aching, but you knew he wouldn’t be using it delicately at all. 

The way he looked at you, almost feral, eyes dragging over every curve and practically melting at how your hole gaped for him had you wanting to cover up, run away-- but you held still and forced yourself to brave through it. 

You only need to do this once, you repeat mentally, only once, and you can convince him to let you go. 

Jonathan didn’t waste any time touching himself or anything like that, he merely crawled atop of you and slotted himself between your shuddering lips. “So wet,” he grunted, slowly pushing his cockhead in. 

Despite his words, and the terrifyingly glaring feeling of your wetness, you still winced at the stretch; your back arched at the intrusion, your arms wrapping around his neck and digging your fingernails into his back just from the pain of his tip at your entrance. 

He slid the rest of the way in jiltedly, and you let out a pained gasp, then a helpless whimper, and finally, his name, your voice weak and raspy as he laid his weight on your torso, panting at how you soaked him. His unruly length was going deeper than you thought possible, and your mind went fuzzy with fear at how it’d feel when he actually started thrusting in and out. You could only pray he didn’t break you. 

“You did it, dear,” Jonathan announced proudly, pressing a kiss to your lips this time. You shuddered at the intimate gesture, but he didn’t seem to notice, and slowly pulled out, before slamming back in. 

You swore you saw stars, tears welling in your eyes at the rough action, and Jonathan placed his hands on your hips to soothe you by rubbing circles into the skin. “Full,” you choked out simply. 

Apparently, he thought that was praise, and he repeated the action, falling into a steady rhythm of slow but brutal thrusts. It had you gasping for air each time, the sting in your lower-half almost unbearable, but you suddenly felt yourself falling into a morally muddled, puzzling state of mind: he was practically torturing you with his length, but he was also whispering sweet nothings in your ear, gently massaging your rear. 

“You’re so -- fuck, thats a tight pussy -- beautiful,” he’d murmur, hanging his head low into the dip of your collarbone, “so beautiful.”

But, as you had to keep reminding yourself, you didn’t want this-- this was just the only way you’d escape. You didn’t want to be fucked by him, and most of all, you didn’t want him.

That train of thought was thrown out the window, however, when Jonathan’s hands suddenly hooked under your thighs and wrapped your legs around his waist. You were pulled further beneath him, and his cock went even deeper, punching up against the spongy spot in your pussy. 

You moaned; feverish, loud, wanton, and Jonathan drank it in fiendishly. From there, he knew where to thrust, pounding in and out of your cunt and hitting that spot everytime. The pain fell away into a sickly pleasure, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at how deliciously he was fucking you. 

“Jonathan!” You mewled, digging your heels into the small of his back. He was relentless, ruthlessly rutting his hips into yours and gripping your thighs so tight there’d be hand-shape sized bruises littering your body later. 

“You like that, darling?” he groaned proudly, pushing your hips further down his cock. “God, you love it, don’t you? I can feel you squeezing me…”

Your fucked out mind couldn’t discern between your lustful thoughts and your logical ones; you couldn’t help how you nodded, how you pleaded for more, despite the terror swimming in your gut -- despite how the sober part of yourself weeped. 

Then, it was like a tight rubber band around your stomach snapped; the pleasure that had been building in your gut burst, sending electric shocks of ecstasy running through your entire body. You saw white for a moment, your toes curling along his back as your thighs shook, your moan coming out terribly loud and sounding every bit his name. You didn’t mean to, of course, not again, but your mind filled in the gaps: Jonathan was fucking you, so Jonathan deserved the praise.

“Fuck!” Jonathan growled, “You came so hard… all because of this cock, all because of me.” Then, he began slamming his cock into your quivering hole quicker, desperately chasing his orgasm. 

It was only then in your foggy, post-high mind did you realize he’d never used a condom… you weren’t on anything, you hadn’t been for years, and the way Jonathan was fucking into you gave no indication he was stopping. The thought of him coming inside made your blood run cold; there’d be no escape, you’d be fucking finished— 

“Jon-- Jon, pull out,” you instructed weakly, trying to push him off you and watching how his focussed face tensed and tightened with the oncoming orgasm. 

“Sweetheart,” he panted with a frown, “what’re you talking about?”

“Please,” you whimpered helplessly, “just - just please pull out… don’t come inside, please!”

“I’m afraid not, my love,” He grunted, baring his teeth and hammering into you faster, “m’gonna paint your walls white… get you nice and pregnant, fuck, no-one’ll have to question who you belong to…”

“Don’t, no, no -- Jon, please,” you begged, struggling to get away from his assault on your cunt as he pressed his weight further onto you, pinning you down against the bed. 

But Jonathan wasn’t listening to you, not anymore. “Gon’ come, fuck, gon’ come,” he repeated, his thrusts stuttering, and you could only let out a grievous cry when you felt his cock twitch, hot spend spilling deep within you. 

Jonathan laid on top of you for a moment, pressing his forehead against your sweaty chest, before leaning back and pulling out of you. The painful stretch was reawakened, and your tears really came this time, large sobs exiting your mouth as you crumpled into a ball on the mattress. 

“Oh, my love,” he called your pet name with a furrowed brow, crawling closer to you, “what’s wrong? Was it too much? I know how delicate you can be…”

God, you could’ve screamed. He was still treating you like his little lamb… but you were beginning to feel that way, too; feeling like someone helpless he needed to protect. With the way you bunched up devastatedly beside him, it felt like Jonathan had fucking broken you, and then put you back together again with that doll image in mind. Not all the pieces fit the way he wanted them to, but Jonathan had time and brute force to fix all that…

“You -- you… I’m ruined,” you weeped, unable to explain properly with how terrified you felt, bringing your hands up to your face to shield yourself from him. 

Your plan had no future of fruition, not anymore… you’d fucked him so you could convince him you were trustful enough to leave and still be his, but you’d fallen into his trap; fucking him was the way he attached a ball and chain to your ankle.

His hand curled around your wrist roughly, pinning it to the bed and letting his other brush a tear from your eye.  “No, no, you’ll be the most gorgeous mother I know… your tits and your stomach all swollen like that? I won’t be able to keep my hands off you.”

Jonathan said that like you wanted him to be all over you, and it only made your cries wrack through your body harder. He then pulled you close to him, pressing your tear-stained face to his chest, letting you sob into him like he brought any comfort at all. 

You suddenly felt him press up to your entrance and your tears stopped momentarily, a fearful whine exiting your mouth instead. 

At your noise, he pet you gently, reassuringly, “Don’t worry… I’m just keeping us warm… keeping my come inside, my love.” With that, Jonathan slowly slid his length past your aching lips, until he was seated so deep within you his cockhead brushed up against your cervix.

His cream squelched within you and coated himself, feeling terribly slick and sticky between your thighs; you wanted to throw up there was such a large amount of it marking you from the inside.

“God, how d’you already feel brand new… need to do this more often….” he grunted the praise, and you felt shame colour you entirely.

But despite that shame and the terror swelling in your chest, the fact him within you was a surefire way none of his seed went anywhere but inside, his cock resting there did feel nice, like his rough fuck molded your pussy to fit him perfectly.

It was confusing… all of it very mind-boggling; how his actions petrified you while still making you feel nice and appreciated and loved… how his obsession was possessive and toxic but all at once delicate and thoughtful… how you felt yourself cry because he’d come inside you but was slowly succumbing to a sweet and comfortable sleep within his wiry arms. 

There was much time to make sense of your amalgamated terror and love later, however. Nine-months long, to be exact: you later woke up to Jomathan pummeling his leaking, hard cock back into you. All you did was whimper, keep limp as he used you-- there was no choice fighting back, not anymore; not since he’d fully marked you… impregnated you… made it so there was no way you were ever leaving him. 

[etheraltides]

BENEATH THE NOISE ᯓᡣ𐭩

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x College!Reader

Summarize: It’s hard to deal with deception when you’ve given your best. Luckily, Rafe knows how to get to you.

Warning(s): self depreciation, a hint of anxiety.

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love in my works <3

The grade wasn’t supposed to define you. That’s what everyone says: “It’s just a number, not a measure of your worth.” But as you sit staring at the email on your screen, the words blur, letters and numbers melting together until you can only feel one thing: failure.

The exam’s grade - the one you poured sleepless nights, early mornings, and everything in between into – sits there in stark black and white, unchangeable, final. You can’t look away, even as the panic bubbles into shame and then into the familiar, relentless self-criticism. Even as the salty tears begin to blurry your vision.

“How could I have been so stupid?” you think, teeth pressing into your lower lip. “All those hours… wasted. What’s the point if this is the result?” The thoughts spiral faster, slipping away from you. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this. Maybe I’m just fooling myself. Everyone else makes it look so easy.”

With a shaky breath, you shut your laptop and curl up on your bed, tugging the blanket over yourself as if it could shield you from the whirlwind in your mind, from the world and those mocking numbers. You feel your phone buzz, but you ignore it. Then it buzzes again, and again. It’s Rafe, no doubt, checking in, but you can’t bring yourself to reply. You’re not in the mood for talking and pretending to be fine, or worse – the pity you know will be laced into his voice if he finds out how badly you did.

But Rafe isn’t one to be easily put off. He leaves message after message, each one laced with growing concern and slight irritation.

“Hey, baby. Just checking in. How’d the test go?”

A minute later, “Everything okay? Call me when you get this. You’re working me, baby.”

Another text, his humor slipping through: “I’m gonna assume you’re just taking a nap and ignoring the world like you usually do when you’re stressed.”

And then, finally, a call. You glance at the screen, seeing his name flash, but even though part of you aches to hear his voice, you can’t bring yourself to answer. Instead, you turn off the phone entirely, sinking further into the blanket cocoon, feeling more alone and defeated with every minute that ticks by.

Rafe spends the better part of an hour trying to reach you. First, it’s gentle check-ins, then some light teasing, then a note of worry threading through his texts. When all his messages stay stuck on “delivered” with no response, he throws on a jacket, grabs his car keys, and heads out the door. He’s had enough off of it.

The drive is a blur, his hands gripping the steering wheel as he runs through what he’ll say to you when he gets there. He’d scold you for being a brat and making him worry when all you had to do was type some goddamn words on your phone. It wasn’t so hard. He didn’t even want to think about the possibility of something actually happening to you.

By the time he arrives at your place, it’s late enough that the lights outside are dim, casting long shadows across the driveway. He knocks once, twice in your bedroom’s door once your mom lets him in.

“She’s been there for hours.” Your mom sighs, looking up at the stairs as she puts your untouched plate of dinner in the refrigerator. “The results of her exam came in and well… You know how hard she can be with herself.”

Rafe rubs hand on his neck, he had completely forgot that the result would be today and he knew how hard you’ve been studying.

He knocks on your door once and when there’s no answer, he gently turns the knob, letting himself in.

It’s quiet inside, save for the faint sound of your breathing as he steps into your room. He sees you there, huddled under the blankets, your back to the door, your shoulders slightly shaking. His heart clenches in pain and worry as you look so small hiding in the many blankets. Wordlessly, Rafe slips off his shoes, walking over to your bed. Without a word, he lifts the edge of the blanket and slides in beside you, his warmth immediately seeping through the layers of fabric that separate you.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, letting his presence speak for itself. Slowly, he wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his chest. You stiffen at first, your pride fighting the comfort he’s offering, but then the dam breaks, and you lean into him, hiding your face in his shoulder.

He strokes your hair gently, his voice a soft murmur. “I’m here. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.” He presses a light kiss to the top of your head, letting the silence settle for a few moments longer before he speaks again.

“Want me to talk to your professor?” he murmurs, a playful edge creeping into his tone. “Because I could pay a visit, you know… straighten him out, remind him that no one messes with my girl.” He squeezes you a little tighter. “Just say the word.”

You can’t help the small, broken laugh that escapes you, muffled by his shirt. You know he’s kidding – or at least, half-kidding – but there’s a part of you that believes he might actually show up at your professor’s office if you asked him to. That thought alone lightens the weight on your chest, even if just a little.

“You don’t need to go after my professor, Rafe,” you mumble, a hint of sarcasm breaking through the sadness. “Even though… I wouldn’t mind seeing the look on his face if you did, it wasn’t his fault.”

Rafe chuckles softly, squeezing your shoulder. “If you change your mind, I’ve got my car gassed up and ready.”

The laugh fades, and you fall silent again, the weight of the failure still pressing down on you. After a few moments, you pull back slightly, looking up at him. “Rafe… what if I’m just not good enough? What if I’ve been trying so hard for nothing?”

You wrap your arms around his torso, fingers absently tracing random shapes on his t-shirt as the words left your trembling lips. “Maybe I should just quit it. Spare myself all the deception.”

He keeps his hold on you, his voice staying low and gentle. “Baby, you’re one of the smartest people I know. This grade? It doesn’t change that. Not even a little.”

You start to protest, but he shushes you, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “No, I’m serious. You’re so hard on yourself, and I get it. But you need to remember that one test doesn’t undo everything you are, everything you’ve done. It’s just one small thing in a million great things about you.”

The words come out softly and so certain, almost like a confession, and you see the shift in his expression as he meets your gaze. He lifts a hand, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes soft and steady. “Then you try again, and again, if you have to. But you’re anything but ‘not good enough.’ You’re brilliant, and hard-working, and stubborn as hell. I’ve seen you tackle way harder stuff than this.”

You shake your head, unable to accept the kindness in his voice. “But I… I feel so dumb, Rafe. Like all this effort is just… wasted. Like I’m not cut out for this.”

Rafe’s expression softens even more, and he tilts your chin up, making sure you’re looking into his eyes. “Baby, listen to me. One test, one mistake – none of that changes who you are or what you’re capable of. You’re allowed to be human, to mess up sometimes. It doesn’t make you any less amazing, okay?”

His words linger, breaking down the wall you’ve built around your pride and pain. For the first time since you got the grade, you start to believe that maybe, just maybe, he’s right. You were being too harsh in yourself.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as you place a kiss to his cheek.

“Always,” he replies, giving you a small, reassuring smile. “Now, let’s stay here as long as you need, but when you’re ready, we’ll go grab some terrible takeout, or watch that show you like. Whatever you want. But for now… just let me hold you.”

You nod, settling against him, the rise and fall of his chest calming the storm in your mind. And as you lie there, surrounded by his warmth and steady heartbeat, the self-criticism starts to soften, the harsh thoughts fading, leaving only the quiet reassurance that you’ll be okay.

As you lie curled up against him, letting his warmth seep into you, Rafe’s hand gently runs along your back in soothing circles. You can feel the steady beat of his heart, grounding you, pulling you away from the spiral of self-doubt. After a long silence, you finally lift your head, your face inches from his as you meet his gaze. There’s no judgment in his eyes, just quiet understanding, and something even softer.

Slowly, he reaches up, brushing a thumb across your cheek, and you feel yourself lean into his touch. His eyes flicker down to your lips, and after a beat, he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s soft, gentle, like he’s pouring all his reassurance into you without a single word. His fingers slip to the back of your neck, his hold gentle but certain, as if anchoring you to the moment, grounding you in his presence and pulling you away from the loud thoughts in your mind.

He pulls back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, and you feel his breath, warm and steady. “I’m here,” he whispers, his voice barely more than a murmur. “No grade, no test can change that. You’re more than enough, and I’m not going anywhere.” His thumb grazes your cheek again, his eyes filled with warmth and conviction, and in that moment, the weight on your heart feels a little lighter, the storm in your mind a little quieter.

[jinkiezzsstuff]

Hey! I really loved your Covkwarming with Alastor Story. Would you maybe want to make one where Alastor is busy and reader wants his attention? Maybe he even snaps at her only to later search for her and make it up to her? With lots of fluff and maybe nsfw?

Hope you have a nice day

-🌸🦇

BRODI! You waited a whole month for this and I AM SO SORRY. I love and appreciate you and your request so much thank you very much for being patient, i really really loved this idea but dang april has been a crazy month for me, i hope you’re doing well and enjoy this fic it’s a longer one!

i’m actually really happy with how this turned out

warnings: SMUT 18+, angst, fluff, mean alastor, you guys fight, gaslighting girl boss alastor, established relationship (you were together before he went missing), loyal reader described, codependency kinda, some horror aspects?, descriptions of alastors dead food, alastor admits his emotions and issues in an alastor way, brief descriptions of reader having self sabotaging habits- drinking smoking/potsmoking too, GN reader although clit is used, penetrative sex, slow sex, swearing, alastor doesn’t like pillow talk lol i think that’s it but let me know not proof read

5.1K words

Alastor was locked up in his radio tower, exhausted as he sifted through various forms of media coverage from his battle. Vox, the little electronic weasel, had his entire affair with Adam recorded and broadcasted around, which was frightful for Alastors image. Not only had he been gone for seven years, but he’s helping with a hotel that endorsed goodness. Needless to say Alastor wasn’t doing okay, his ears were constantly pulled back, smile strained, and he kept blowing the lights up and down. Hell, his static was so violent it even gave him headaches.

Even his shadows at this point began causing chaos, his own anxiousness and frustration bleeding off into them. Alastors isolation caused you to be extremely worried, you weren’t there while he fought Adam, you should’ve been, because since then he’s not been the same. You saw it on TV, the one Vox had broadcasted. Try as he may, Alastor didn’t keep it away long enough for you to not see, there was always someone else putting it back out there.

You didn’t bring it up to him- not that you could; he was too overly consumed in his tower. Incessantly shutting down broadcasts, throwing out power, attacking minor demons for spreading the information. It made you feel so very many unfortunate emotions, never in your many years of being dead have you ever seen him so erratic and emotionally disturbed.

Alastor would play pretend in public but you knew him, as did Husk, the two of you could tell he was tense, strained, constantly ready to snap, his poise was harder to keep. Lucifer presence in the hotel didn’t help at either, constantly trying to get into it with Alastor, which only furthered his isolation. You began to feel extremely lonely, it was rare in hell anyone was a good shoulder to cry on, or ear to hear, but you got used to going to Al after a long day, laying your head on his lap as he caressed your face and hummed you tunes, now you were alone most the time. None of his silly jokes filled the air, no you barging into your shared room and him attempting to hide his messy eating, no soft jazz playing next to you as you slept, no shadows trying to scare you, nothing.

It was incredibly lonely and the time without him showed how emotionally dependent you were on him. You wondered if he felt the same lonesomeness without you around, or if he didn’t even want you around? Maybe he was too wrapped up in his feelings to realize you weren’t around him? Did he have the same need for you as you did him? Did he miss little things about you as you did him.

Throwing your body off the couch and standing pin straight, you cut your thoughts off by marching towards Alastors tower on the far end of the hotel. You hadn’t been up there once since the battle, so this was bound to be interesting, and anxiety inducing. You could already feel the worry prickling your finger tips, making you even more uncomfortable. Knocking at Alastors door was, well, underwhelming, there was no sound, no movement, no indication he was even in there. Even shouting out at him normally would’ve gotten him to at least respond by now, it was rare he left people hanging like that, it wasn’t how he was brought up.

So you decide to cross the boundary you knew he loathed; intrusion. You entered with your breath held tightly making your throat clench, walking in you meekly hummed out his name. “Al? It’s been a long couple of days, I was wondering if you wanted some down time?” Your eyes bounced around the dark room, papers on the floor, radio frequency buzzing harshly in your ears, the low buzz of what sounded like hospital lights, it was all very creepy

Wringing your hands you came up toward his large table connected with cables and speakers, on the table was cups of coffee empty and half drank, corpses and bones of unfinished mutilated deer, and the smell of blood was something that suddenly hit you nearly knocking you back. As you covered your nose with your wrist, you back up and bumped into something, turning around with incredible speed. Alastor was there, taller than usual with his bones looking sharp and broken in his skin, his smile was stretched gruesomely making you nearly grimace, his eyes as well, wildly glaring down at you black and soulless. “Uh, I missed you.” You squeaked curling into yourself just at the sight of him.

Alastor hasn’t ever looked like this in front of you ever, it was such an abnormal and alarming look for you to set your eyes on. Alastor let out a jagged breath, his antlers growing in size with a nasty crunching sound to accompany it. “You disturbed my work, and snuck in, all because you missed me?” Alastor bent down to grab your attention, your eyes flickering to meet his own. You nodded at him, and he only hummed in return, standing tall and walking around his desk to sit at his chair. You turned on your heel to follow his movements, biting your lip with worry. Sure you were anxious before as you typically got with anybody, you weren’t confrontational and you weren’t one to cross the boundary, although you never expected him to look so angry with you.

“Perhaps, if that’s the case, you should find yourself another demon; I cannot be surrounded by the meek and emotionally stunted. My work, my image, will always come first my dear. Now, get out.” Alastor enunciated every word with his hands rested under his chin, and his head cocked to the side. Your stomach dropped and your cheeks watered like you were about to be sick, immediately your eyes widened, noises falling out of your mouth as you attempted to grasp at the words you were trying to say. “S-You’re breaking up with me?” Your voice was a wreck, struggling to expel the words past the sob that wanted to rip out of you, the disbelief evident in your tone. Alastor stood from his seat and leaned toward your face over the table, your lip quivered as he did so, trying your hardest not to cry.

“Heavens no! I’m simply saying if you can’t handle being a secondary priority perhaps you should take some time alone, remember what it is to be your own person! I will not bend my rules for some silly relationship.” His tone dripped with condescension and he finished his sentence with a boop on your nose. The only thing your mind could conjure was ‘how dare he?’ you never felt so insulted by him before. You always put him first, you waited seven years for his return defending his role in hell, and he sees you as secondary to himself. Does that mean he would save himself before you? Was this relationship only about his own desires, his own cravings and you weren’t important? You must be too sensitive about this?

“So you won’t spare me a moment because some stupid TV proved you aren’t invincible? Grow up Alastor please,” You could help the rage that slipped out in between your words, fists clenching, eyes narrowing. Alastor hissed statically at you. “Don’t for a second get it twisted up in your pretty little head that you are special, you are just like every other disposable sinner, i suggest you monitor your tone with me, dear.” Alastor crackled, his voice more electric than you’ve ever heard before. Your frown was deep, the tears silently falling down your cheeks. You didn’t even know what to say, instead you just shrugged with your head low, and turned around silently leaving him behind.

The moment you existed his tower you ran, your brain screamed to get away before somebody could question what was wrong or what happened. You couldn’t stomach the idea of being seen like this, and you didn’t want Alastor to come out and catch you, so you took off. You exited out the back without a trace, wandering into the streets of the pentagram. Eventually you found yourself back at your old apartment, which you still paid for as you really don’t plan to continue living at the hotel. When you got there you were finally able to let everything settle in you, it felt like the sadness slipped into your bones and weighed you down further into your sofa.

You didn’t move for hours, and eventually you ended up falling asleep. You left without a word, without your phone and without any of your stuff. Of course Alastor was very aware he made the choice to say the things he did, but he didn’t mean them, and after a short bit of reflection he could understand it was just an emotional response to the fear of being vulnerable. As well as the anxious thought dancing in his mind about the what ifs, what if he were to die, what if his plan fails and the deal goes wayward and you’re left with the pieces of his mess? What if Vox targets you, what if others do, do the citizens of hell see him as some weak mush because he’s dating you?

It’s all what led him to exploding; insecurity. Even the thought of having such a low tier emotion made his blood boil, but as long as nobody knew about it, he would find a way to quell it. Alastor waited, not wanting to impose while you were still going through thee emotions. However things started getting worrisome by the next day, nearly thirty hours into being gone and the patrons had begun to question him. Obviously Alastor didn’t know, and instead opted to sway the topic away from you and instead to something else.

The week came and gone like a blur, Alastor hadn’t seen you since you came into his tower and the rest of the hotel had set out to look for you with no luck. Alastor kept to his tower, telling himself if you wanted to be away that was your choice; he wasn’t chasing you like some lost puppy. Though he did find himself briefly wondering if you were still alive, after all Vox was out there watching through cameras on every corner and Adam’s corpse went missing and wasn’t accounted for, there was many threats to your safety he hadn’t thought of before.

With a sigh of static frustration, Alastor flicked his hand giving the okay to his right hand shadow to go find you, he couldn’t stand his thoughts anymore. And so it did, within seconds the shadow zipped and zoomed knowing exactly where you were, not that you were trying to hide. It slinked up against the paint peeling wall of your apartment, watching you on the couch, news softly sounding out as you read a book. Your home was a wreck, looking as though you’ve had fits upon fits of rage and lacked to clean after. Dishes piled, laundry scattered all across the linoleum floors. Alcohol, pot and cigarettes were a hefty scent in the room, it didn’t accompany the damp mold smell well at all. Oh what a thing you’d become without Alastor! The shadow watched like a fly on the wall for varying moments, studying you and your state before vaporising into the floor and taking off back to its master.

Honestly, you weren’t expecting Alastor to come knocking at your apartment door, so when you swung it open expecting your usual delivery guy, you were shocked and you didn’t bother fixing your depressed appearance. “Goodness gracious my little dame it looks like you’ve been dragged through mud!” Alastor laughed boisterously using his microphone to push you aside and barge in. You stood aside speechless, watching as he stepped inside with his hands rested just above his tail, surveying the room around him. His neck cracked disgustingly, his body forward while his head faced you, his grin tamed. “What happened here?” The words were simple but his tone was confusing, you couldn’t tell if he was angry, suspicious, or worried. You sneered at him, lip twitching upward as you slammed the door and wordlessly returned to your spot on the couch.

“I didn’t expect you to search, work come first yknow.” Oh yes, you planned to milk the words he said against you to berate him and his attempts to make up, you were in hell for a reason after all. Alastor huffed- like a buck would, something uncharacteristic for him to do outside of being alone with you, which sickeningly made your heart flutter, he still trusted you in a way, did that mean you were still his? You always told him he was more deer then he’d like to admit and those huffs were one of those deer attributes. “Hm yes, but you’ve been quite the work, I hope you know.” You clenched your teeth, trying not to snap instantly, but you did send him a glare.

You muttered about how that didn’t make things any better when he snapped his fingers, all things garbage vanishing in a pinch, mold included. “Ah, much better! My mother always said the state of the house is the state of the mind!” A round of applause sounds from his microphone as he laughed, rounding the couch with a slow stride. “Tell me, would you like to talk?” It felt more condescending then genuine, the way he was bent forward with lidded eyes and an eased smile, like you were some child having a tantrum. “No, Al, you made what you said pretty fuckin clear, i don’t wanna be with you if I am some chore or job, or secondary whatever!- i wanna be your partner and you want me to be a pet? Yeah, no thanks.” You punctuated your sentence with a dramatic scoff, flopping back into the cushions with your arms folded protectively across your chest.

“Ahhh my little doudou,” Alastor chided, sitting himself flush to you, arm around the back of the couch to trap you near him. “I want you to listen to me, and listen to me closely because i will never admit this again!” Alastor exclaimed this with what sounded to be false confidence and a slight hint of exasperation. He pinched your chin in between his claws forcing you to look at him, and of course you did, what else were you to do? “I have become a fool, all across the pentagram, I’m held by ball and chain— the devil my dear! The devil is- some frazzled little nitwit with all the power and no ambition!” Alastors fist clenched at the mention of Lucifer, abandoning your chin to do so. “I was feared my dear, nobody dared to test my authority, and now i’m an assumed bellboy for the princess and her gaggle of misfits. You,” Alastor paused leaning in so close your noses touched.

“My dear, were the only one i actually wouldn’t mind being weakened for.” You couldn’t stop the comical ‘huh’ that gargled straight from your throat. “What does that even mean Alastor.” You whine throwing your head back bumping his arm as you did so, an unknowing invitation to slide it down, hand caressing your shoulder softly. “It means dear, I didn’t mean what i said, because i’ve already done those exact things in the past! I’ve missed countless radio shows from you, refrained from eating deer around you- for your sake. I’ve held you to me on every block knowing Vox could see us perfectly! You were my chosen weakness, darling, but with all these other useless sinners belittling my role in hell, i took it out on you,”

Pausing Alastors static faded in and out, you watched his eyes closely, but the real give away was the way his ear subtly tilted to the side looking like a sad puppy. “I felt what i said, I felt weak and I knew you needed me and didn’t want to feel this weakness anymore, so logically-” You scoffed with a small smirk, mockingly muttering ‘logically’ back at him. “-I had to try to appear as though I am what I originally intended to be.” He finished giving you a pointed look. Shifting your body to face him more, you analysed his body language and face. Typically- no matter how long you’ve been together- he was amazing at hiding his emotions, always seeming to be happy. It seemed like he let his guard down however, his eyebrows were furrowed and pointed upward, his smile tight, shoulders rigid and his breathing shallow. Anticipation was evident by the way his hoof tapped against the floor with beat.

You finally let you emotion reignite, the tears slipped down your face like rivers as you gently shook your head. “What did you intend to be?” You asked softly, an unattractive spit bubble forming as you opened your mouth. “A ruler of sorts, i suppose. Emotionless, cruel, untouchable. I tried to reaffirm to myself by being cruel to you my dear, that i was still a demon, not the altruist teddy bear they all dubbed me as.” Alastors form had finally slumped, sinking into the cushions alongside you, his head falling back gazing up at the ceiling. You caved just slightly at his admission, and rested your head on his chest near his armpit, your body sinking into his. Suddenly he perked up, looking down at you, you reflexively shooting your gaze up to him.

“Yknow they made a mockery of my speech as well my dear! Preposterous, darling, many sinners posted about me being ‘cringe’, my speech was ‘corny’, my dearest can you believe that?” You almost took offence to the fact he sounded more distraught over being made fun of rather than hurting you, but you reminded yourself that Alastor was trying to open up, and you weren’t gonna ruin that. “Is that why you were killing randos instead of overlords?” You asked feeling more relaxed than you had before, obviously there was many words in between you two unsaid, but you wanted to bask in the small talk you craved for so long from him just a little longer.

“Precisely. I’m proud you noticed.” You hummed with a small smile, your head resting back on his chest. “Why did it take so long for you to come?” Despite not even thinking he would, you now had the knowledge he didn’t actually hate you, and if he didn’t why’d he drag it out? “Pride,” What would’ve been a hoarse voice to any other demon, was a staticy robotic sound that crackled out of his chest. “This is way out of my comfort my dear, i didn’t and still don’t know what to say or do, and i don’t like being out of control.” You whimpered at that, curling up into him, your legs slinging over his thighs so you could cuddle up next to him. Immediately his arms engulfed you, pulling you into him with a happy hum, his neck craning to kiss your head softly.

“i missed you, you really hurt me, bad. Don’t do it again.” You state firmly though it was muffled by the fabric of his coat, the one you had your face nuzzled into. Alastor hummed out softly petting you on your head, just like he would before. “Never again doudou~, you have my word, and i promise to make it up to you.” Tiling your head upward you yanked at his colar, and he immediately ducked down meeting your lips at will. The kiss was soft and Alastor could feel the dampness from your tears on your chin against him. After a moment you both pulled away, although not far from eachother your lips were practically still touching.

“Why don’t I give you some attention my sweet doe.” Alastor cooed against your lips, you could hear the mischief in his tone as his hand pawed your hips. You blinked slowly at him, an instant twist of desire appearing low in your gut. “How?” Alastors grin widened for the first time since appearing at your door, and you feared you’d truly be in for it tonight. “Oh my, have i neglected your needs so long you need to inquire how?” Alastor question was rhetorical only furthered by the way he kissed his teeth with his index finger coming up to shake side to side. “That simply will not do!” Standing suddenly, with you in his arms, made you gasp and clutch onto him instinctively. You smacked his chest playfully, muttering to him about being too heavy, he however ignored you, walking toward your old room with his head held high.

The room in question was a mess, and a thick layer of dust coated every object that wasn’t being continually used, like the nightstand, and the lamp. Alastor didn’t care much though, he never did care whether you were messy or super clean he’d always snap his fingers to assist you, and that’s exactly what he did. Slowly around the room things cleared up, his shadows slunk into the room with strange looking candles setting a romantic tone for the room. The bed was remade neatly when he set you on it gently, watching your doe eyes stare up at him with a familiar intensity that always made him fidgety. You let him flop you down without complaint, after all it wasn’t always that Alastor seemed so interested in getting down and dirty.

Standing above you, Alastor grinned down at you with lidded eyes, letting his long fingers dance down his chest to undo his buttons. He wasn’t really a fan of trying to appear sexually appealing to those around him, he’d never admit how out of the ordinary, and awkward it felt, but he knew you. You were his. You were loyal. You waited seven years just for him, never spilling a single secret. Secretly, he was way more comfortable with trying to appear “sexy” for you, because he knew no matter what, you wouldn’t look at him any differently. Alastor shrugged off his jacket, his button down shirt open exposing his chest to you. “Y'know dear,” A bit of southern drawl slipped out, as the mask he wore slipped away with his jacket. “You give me a very special outlet i do not think i’d have with any other sinner, you’re too kind to me.” Pulling off his shirt, he folded it and set it aside, kicking off his slacks right after, leaving himself in his boxers and long socks.

You watched him undress with wide eyes, you wanted nothing more then being pressed against the warmth of him, absorbing his touch. You however stayed still, letting Alastor relax into the mood as he rid himself of clothes. Alastor sat on the edge of the bed, right beside your hips, his hand traced lightly up and down your torso, occasionally dipping down to your thighs. You felt tense at the touch, both anticipation and insecurity making you feel stiff. Suddenly his claw hooked around the band of both your undergarments and pants, his eyes flickering up to inspect you when he did so. “May I?” His voice was soft, the usual uncertainty present as he felt out of his realm. “Yes, please.” You sigh, your tone nearly whiny. “I missed you so much Alastor,” You admit hushed as his claws brushed down your thighs with your clothes. Once off, Alastor leaned down, giving soft pecks to your thighs, eyes staring up to you through his red lashes. “Yes dear, my life been painstaking without you.” He whispered against your flesh, sharp teeth dragging up past your hips, nose bumping the cloth of your shirt. Sitting up slightly, you were preparing to slid your shirt over your head when Alastors body slid between your legs, claws coming up to pinch and lift the fabric exposing your chest.

With him now face to face with you, leaned over your body, you caved. Your hands slid around his neck guiding him toward you slowly, your lips met instantly like two magnets being held just inches apart. It was a sweet kiss for the most part, your lips meshed against his as you let him control the pace, it was nice with Alastor you always had enough time for the heat to simmer and grow, making foreplay unnecessary most times because he naturally took his time. You raked your fingers through his hair, nails scratching up his scalp causing ripples of goosebumps down his arms. Alastor slipped his tongue delicately licked at your lip, brushing as soft as ever. You were a bit shocked at this, typically he wasn’t into french kissing, lamenting that the whole tongue thing was messy and disgusting feeling. However you didn’t fight him, only allowed him access, which he immediately took with ease slipping his tongue against your own.

His body collided into yours, nose bumping your cheek as he angled his head. Your hands slipped down his back, smiling against his lips at the feeling of his tail wagging back and forth making small gusts of wind against your fingertips. Alastor nipped at your lips in retaliation, hands roaming your body as he pushed his hips up to softly grind his hard on into you. You hummed at the feeling of him against you, angling your hips back and up pressing your wetness against his briefs. Your body was buzzing while Alastor slowly grinded himself down on you, his clothed head travelling between your folds and back up to poke at your clit. The kiss had broken as he continued on, your breathing shaky as you enjoyed the slow motion of him above you, his teeth scraping down the length of your neck.

Alastor couldn’t help the groan that bubbled out of him. Not only could he smell your arousal but he could smell just you. He pressed his face to the nape of your neck, kissing and inhaling, loving the smell you had naturally on your skin. He also got quite the kick out of hearing the blood rush through your veins, it made him feel feral knowing you would bare yourself to him so willingly, he had you around his finger. Alastor let his lips glide down your body, leaving bite marks down your chest and neck as he did so, hips still moving slowly against you. You had soaked his briefs making the fabric feel absent, clinging to every ridge and vein of his cock slide through your folds. “Please Al, I need you.” You whined pathetically, pressing your hips up into his. Alastors choppy breath warmed your collar bone, his forehead rested on your shoulder, eyes closed as he slipped his hand down, yanking himself out of his boxers.

Sometimes he felt like an untrained dog, he couldn’t help but want to hump into you without restraint, but that wasn’t him, that was desire, and he knew how to hold back. As he sunk into you, slowly, he breathed out the quietest of noises against you shoulder, basking in you. You could hear his quiet noises clearly since he was so close, you bite your lip at the sound of him, loving how he always let you see him so wrecked. When Alastors hips were flush with your own, your legs came up around his hips, his tail stiff, while your arms wrapped around his neck, your right hand dragging up his scalp to his ears. “I like hearing you, Alastor,” You gasped as he jolted into you, like an involuntary reaction to your praise. “It makes me feel you.” You finished breathlessly. Alastor hummed against you, setting his pace slow and deep, barely pulling away before he pushed hard back inside you.

Your eyes were wide as he continued this rhythm, to you it was incredibly overwhelming, he never left you vacant always hungry to fill you right back up with him. His pants against you were also adding to your arousal, his eyelashes fluttered against your skin ever now and again as he attempted to contain himself. You knew he was sort of embarrassed with himself feeling pleasure, so you never egged him on when he did start making noise, but lord you wanted more. You tugged Alastors hair softly, pulling him up for a sloppy opened mouth kiss. He barely opened his eyes as he mushed his lips against yours, snaking his tongue against your own, bucking up faster into you at the warmth of your mouth. “I missed you, i love you,” You cried against his lips pathetically, your body’s both rocking on the bed as Alastor hurried his pace.

Alastor let out a low guttural noise, something from the back of his throat making your toes curl, pulling at his hips with your legs. “I couldn’t- stand you being away, dear.” Alastors face was inches from your own, forehead rested on yours, lips brushing against each other as he spoke. “Never again will i be such a fool, you’re mine forever.” Alastor growled through his clenched teeth, claws ripping into the mattress as he spoke. Your mouth hung open, eyebrows raised as you tried to from some sort of praise, but now his eyes were open looking down at you with such intensity and emotion, and his pace fast hard putting your body straight into the mattress. You didn’t even feel your orgasm coming on when it did, your body arching up into his, crying out his name alongside pleas.

The display of you in front of him was so pornographic, something he wasn’t fond of seeing but now understood why people were. You were gorgeous right now, your face red, your eyes watering, your body folded up towards his, all the scars, folds marks on your body, all for his eyes only. Groaning loudly, he fell back into his favourite place, your neck, and let out a deep breathless static moan as he came. You clutched him the entire time through watery blurred eyes, enjoying the feeling of him inside you post orgasm. Pulling away, Alastor was quick to pull out and away, snapping his fingers he began to clean you with a cloth. “Disgusting of me,” He muttered, seemingly angrily. “No, it was good Al, you’re allowed to. You’re not disgusting and neither was the sex, believe me.” You coo, sitting up from your position, a dopey look on your face. In a snap, Alastor was redressed as were you, in leisure clothing. “We’re going back to the hotel to sleep my little doe.” Alastor spoke softly, lending his hand to you, humming you took his hand letting him take you through his magic, back to the hotel. You knew Alastor didn’t like to lay sticky in the remnants of sex like many others, and probably would push you to shower before getting in his bed. But that way okay, you loved him regardless, and you really missed having his attention.

[misswynters]

Toxic Devotion

Jacaerys Velaryon x gn!reader

[warning: toxic relationship, yandere behavior, implied non-con touching, murder

[synopsis: You will do anything to protect jace and so does he. Getting rid of anyone who even looks at you wrong. It should be easy, right?

[note | pls don’t just like, reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned

The torches flickered along the walls of the narrow corridor, casting eerie shadows as you moved with purpose. Your blood was still boiling from the encounter, the venomous words of the your once handmaiden echoing in your mind.

"Bastard prince," she had hissed, her eyes filled with contempt. "Not fit to sit the throne, not fit to touch such noble blood like you."

Rage had surged within you, swift and deadly. Without a second thought, you had grabbed the nearest sharp object, a ceremonial dagger, and silenced her vile tongue forever. Now, as you made your way back to your chambers, the weight of your actions settled over you like a shroud, but you felt no remorse. You had done it for Jacaerys, and that was all that mattered. Nothing was more important to you than protecting his beautiful self from any harm. Pushing open the heavy door to your quarters, you were met with a sight that sent a cold shock through your veins.

Jacaerys stood over the lifeless body of your kingsguard, blood dripping from the blade in his hand. Your eyes widened, and you took a step back, but Jacaerys's gaze was fixed on you, a mix of protectiveness and ferocity in his eyes.

"He touched you," Jacaerys said, his voice low and dangerous. He was glaring at the body with disgust. "He had no right."

You looked down at the body, remembering how you had woken earlier to find the kingsguard in your bed, clearly drunk, his intentions unclear. You had been too disoriented to react, but Jacaerys had come in just moments later, his rage instant and deadly.

"He was in my bed when I woke," you whispered, the horror of the situation sinking in. "I didn't-"

"I know," Jacaerys interrupted, stepping closer to you. "I know you didn't invite him. But he dared to overstep, and he paid the price.”

You met his gaze, the intensity of his emotions matching your own. "I killed the handmaiden," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "She called you a bastard, said terrible things about you."

A dark smile twisted Jacaerys's lips, and he reached out to cup your face in his bloodstained hand. "You did it for me," he said softly, his eyes gleaming with a twisted kind of pride. "Just as I did this for you."

The silence between you was heavy with the weight of your actions, but it was also charged with a dangerous kind of devotion. In that moment, you both understood that your love was a double-edged sword, cutting down anyone who dared to come between you.

"We're bound together," Jacaerys murmured, his thumb tracing your cheek. "By blood, fire, and death. No one can tear us apart."

You nodded, leaning into his touch, feeling a strange sense of solace in his words. "No one," you echoed. As Jacaerys pulled you into his embrace, you knew that your love was as destructive as it was passionate. But in this world of treachery and betrayal, it was the only thing you could trust. And so, with bodies lying in your wake and blood staining your hands, you clung to each other, bound by a love that was both your salvation and your damnation.

The storm raged outside, lightning illuminating the dark skies over Dragonstone. Inside your chambers, the atmosphere was equally charged. You and Jacaerys lay in bed, the events of the day replaying in your minds. His arm was draped possessively over your waist, his breath warm against your neck.

"I can still see the look in her eyes," you murmured, staring at the ceiling. "The fear, the hatred. It felt...satisfying to silence her."

Jacaerys tightened his hold on you, his voice a low growl. "They all think they can judge us. They don't understand what we have, the lengths we'll go to for each other."

You turned to face him, your fingers tracing the contours of his face. "They will learn. Anyone who dares to come between us will meet the same fate."

He captured your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. "We are unstoppable, my love. Together, we will claim what is rightfully ours." The fire in his eyes mirrored your own, a shared madness that fueled your ambition. "Tomorrow, we must deal with the aftermath," you said, a hint of worry creeping into your voice. "Questions will be asked."

Jacaerys's expression hardened. "Let them ask. We'll have our answers ready. We protect each other, always."

A scream could be heard from a distance, another handmaiden must’ve founded the poor girl lying on your bed, lifeless. The sound of footsteps in the hallway made you both tense. Jacaerys sprang from the bed, moving silently to the door, his sword in hand. You followed, your heart pounding. A knock echoed through the room, and Jacaerys opened the door a fraction, revealing your most trusted servant.

"My lord, my lady," he whispered urgently. "The bodies have been discovered. The court is in an uproar." The servant was shaken up, nervously fidgeting his fingers. In fear of doing anything wrong and that also lead to his untimely demise.

Jacaerys glanced back at you, his eyes cold and calculating. "Well, i guess we don’t have much of a choice now do we."

You nodded, steeling yourself. "Let's face them, it can’t be that bad." You walked towards him reaching towards his hand, your eyes softly looking towards his, which were the opposite. Darker than they usually are.

Hand in hand, you stepped into the corridor, ready to confront whatever awaited you. The court might rage and whisper, but you and Jacaerys were a force of nature, bound by a love that was as fierce as it was toxic. And nothing, not even death, would come between you.

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