#even if I do have to sit in the dark with everything on the lowest brightness. I'm kind of used to doing that anyway

[aajjks]

The Executioner (m)

synopsis. After all he was the only guy who would destroy everyone to protect you.

pairing. yandere jungkook x fem!reader.

warnings: vióléncé ánd gráphíc dépíctíóns óf hárm, psychólógícál ábúsé, mánípúlátíón., dárk thémes óf révéngé ánd páín., déscríptíóns óf ínténsívé cáréss, térrór, ánd prófánítý, mátúré lángúágé (prófánítý) ánd viólént áctíóns, YÁNDÈRÈ, RÈVÈNGÈ, 18+, búllyíng.

note. This is heavily heavily inspired by the glory, a.k.a. the Korean drama, which is a masterpiece so everyone should watch it I found this GIF on Pinterest so credit to the real owner and I just want to see on a serious note that if you’re ever being bullied, you have to stand up for yourself and no one deserves that kind of torture. So be kind. And if this flops? that is completely OK I just wrote this because I suddenly felt inspired. ENJOY BUT READ OUT YOUR OWN RISK.

•••

You stand in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection. It doesn’t look like you anymore.

The girl who used to cry alone at night?

Gone.

The girl who allowed people to walk all over her? Gone. Now, you are something else. Something stronger. Something darker.

They break you. They shatter you, piece by piece.

The mocking laughter, the cruel jokes, the whispered insults— they still echo in your head.

Every memory of their cruelty makes your blood boil.

You promise yourself that one day, you’ll make them pay. But you don’t just want revenge.

No, you want them to suffer. You want to watch them burn.

And Jungkook? He’s been there the entire time. Watching. Waiting. You thought he was just another guy—

Sweet, charming, maybe even caring, but you were wrong.

Jungkook’s darkness runs deeper than you could’ve ever imagined.

It all starts the night you break down.

You can’t take it anymore. You’re ready to end it, to just walk away from the world.

But Jungkook’s there, waiting. He pulls you into his arms, whispers soft promises into your ear.

“I’ll make them pay,” he says, his voice like a knife slicing through the tension. “We’ll make them suffer together.”

And you believe him. You should’ve been scared, but all you feel is relief.

Maybe it’s because you see the darkness in his eyes, the same darkness you’ve buried deep inside yourself. Maybe it’s because he understands.

Together, you’ll take them all down.

The first target is always going to be Minji. She’s the one who started it all.

That fucking bitch will pay.

the one who laughed the loudest when you were at your lowest.

She’s the one who makes you feel like dirt. Jungkook knows exactly how to make her suffer without touching her.

His mind is brilliant, twisted in the best way possible.

“We start with rumors,” he whispers late one night as you both sit together, planning. “Small lies. Just enough to get her paranoid.”

You don’t question it. You just watch as he works.

The first lie isn’t even about her—

it’s about her family. Jungkook makes sure to tell a trusted friend that Minji’s father’s involved in shady business deals.

The seed’s planted, and it spreads quickly. But it doesn’t stop there. Jungkook finds out every little detail about her. The places she goes.

The things she says. The people she talks to. It’s easy to turn them into whispers, into whispers that will ruin her life.

It only takes a few days for Minji to start looking over her shoulder, her confidence slowly eroding as the whispers grow louder.

You see the change in her eyes when she walks past you in the hallway.

The panic. The fear.

She doesn’t know who to trust anymore. Her friends start distancing themselves, not because they think she’s guilty, but because the rumors make them second-guess everything.

You feel the cracks forming. You feel her starting to unravel. And it feels good.

Jungkook’s eyes are dark with satisfaction as he watches her fall apart. “Isn’t it beautiful?” he whispers, his voice dripping with malice.

You don’t even have to respond. You just watch, enjoying every moment of her pain.

“Do you think she’s figured it out?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Not yet,” Jungkook answers, a grin spreading across his face. “But soon. She’ll beg for mercy when it all crashes down on her.”

The next target? Taehyun. That piece of shit who humiliated you in front of the whole school.

The one who laughed while everyone else joined in. Jungkook doesn’t have to say much. You know what needs to be done.

“You want to destroy him?” Jungkook asks, his voice quiet but laced with something dangerous.

“I’ll make him lose everything. We’ll start with his reputation, and then we’ll break him. Piece by piece.”

You can’t help but smile, a dark thrill running through your veins. Taehyun won’t see this coming.

Jungkook’s method is brilliant.

He tells one of Taehyun’s closest friends that Taehyun’s been cheating on his girlfriend.

A small, subtle lie, but enough to set things in motion.

Then, he plants more seeds. He makes sure Taehyun sees a text message from his supposed lover—something that’s carefully worded to stir up doubt.

It isn’t just the girl, though. Jungkook spreads rumors about Taehyun’s family, his past, things that could make anyone question their loyalty.

The next day,

Taehyun’s world comes crashing down. His girlfriend confronts him, furious, demanding answers.

His friends turn on him, unsure if they can trust him. The more Taehyun tries to fight back, the more the whispers grow. It isn’t just about the girl anymore. It’s about his character, his integrity.

Everything he’s worked so hard to build is falling apart, and he can’t stop it.

Taehyun finds you in the hallway, his face red with anger. “You think you can destroy me?” he spits, his eyes wild.

“You and your little boyfriend. You’ll regret this.”

You chuckle darkly, stepping closer. “You’re too late for regrets.”

Jungkook’s hand rests on your shoulder, his presence calming in a way, but also dangerous.

Taehyun looks at him, his eyes widening as he sees the madness in Jungkook’s gaze. Jungkook’s lips curl into a smile, but there’s nothing kind in it.

“You should’ve stayed quiet,” Jungkook whispers, his voice low and full of venom. “Now you’ve made it personal.”

Taehyun backs off, his confidence shattered, but it doesn’t matter anymore. He’s done.

The third target is Jiwoo. The girl who always thinks she’s better than you.

The girl who humiliated you just for the fun of it. She’s the last one you need to break.

Jungkook’s plan is simple: break her mentally. Make her think she’s being hunted.

He starts small—text messages that make her think someone’s stalking her.

I know what you did. I’m watching you.

At first, it’s nothing more than a few strange messages. But soon, Jiwoo’s paranoia starts to take over.

She can’t leave her house without looking over her shoulder. She can’t sleep without checking her windows.

Jungkook makes sure her fear is constant. Her world is falling apart, and there’s nothing she can do to stop it.

You watch her crack, and it’s delicious.

She tries to confront you one day in the hallway, shaking with fear. “You think you’re so clever, huh?”

Jiwoo spits, but her voice cracks halfway through. “You think you can just destroy me like you did with the others?”

You laugh softly, stepping forward with a smile. “Oh, honey. You’re already destroyed. You just don’t know it yet.”

Her eyes narrow. “You can’t do this! I’ll make you pay for this!”

You pause for a moment, then laugh again. “I’m sorry, Jiwoo, but this is just the beginning. You really think I’m afraid of you? You should’ve kept your mouth shut when you had the chance.”

Jungkook steps behind you, his eyes burning with a fire that makes Jiwoo back up instinctively.

He doesn’t even look at her, just stares ahead, his presence enough to crush her will.

“Your life’s already over. It’s just… no one’s told you yet.”

Jiwoo’s face turns pale as she stumbles back. Her fight is gone. She has nothing left.

And then comes the final step. The last target is everyone. Every single person who ever made you feel small. Every person who thought they could walk all over you and get away with it.

Jungkook’s plan is grand. He orchestrates everything, using all the pain and darkness to his advantage.

He spreads lies. He creates chaos. He makes sure that every person who has ever wronged you knows what it feels like to lose everything.

Their reputations are torn apart. Their relationships destroyed. Their lives shattered.

And you? You stand by his side. You’re no longer the victim. You’re the one who makes it all happen.

But even as the revenge consumes you, you can’t ignore the way Jungkook looks at you.

His eyes are always on you, his gaze dark and intense.

You can feel his obsession growing, feeding off the chaos you both create. It’s intoxicating. You need it. You need him.

One night, after the last of your enemies is taken down, you find yourself alone with Jungkook.

His eyes are fixed on you, his body close. The air is thick with tension.

“We’ve done it,” he whispers, his voice filled with satisfaction. “They’re all gone. It’s just us now.”

You feel the heat between you rise. His hand slides to your waist, pulling you toward him.

His lips hover over yours, and you can feel the weight of the moment, the culmination of everything you’ve done together.

“Just us,” you murmur.

He kisses you then, fierce and consuming.

His hands tangle in your hair as his lips bruise yours, claiming you in a way that feels both like salvation and destruction. It’s everything—the revenge, the passion, the hunger.

You lose yourself in it, in him.

When you pull away, you’re both breathless. But this is just the beginning.

“Together,” Jungkook whispers, his voice raw.

“Forever.”

•••

It had all started when you least expected it.

You were a victim of the world around you—silent, unnoticed, walking the halls of your school with your head down, trying to avoid attention.

The insults, the whispered names, the cold stares from people who didn’t even know you—

they were all part of your daily routine. You had learned to live with it. It was easier than trying to fight it.

But on that day, something shifted. It started with Jungkook.

You didn’t know him. Not really. He was just another guy who’d somehow managed to rise above everyone else.

The guy who seemed to have it all— charisma, popularity, a smile that could charm the world.

He was everything you weren’t. And, to be honest, you hated him for it at first.

Why should someone like him care about someone like you?

The first time he spoke to you, you thought it was just another joke.

It was the kind of thing people did when they wanted to make someone feel awkward, to point out how out of place you were.

But Jungkook didn’t look at you with pity like everyone else did. He looked at you with… understanding.

His eyes were sharp, not soft like those who tried to make you feel better.

No, his gaze was intense, focused. It made your stomach twist.

He had caught you off guard that day in the hallway. His hand had settled on your shoulder so suddenly, you flinched.

Your first instinct was to shrug it off, push him away, tell him to go back to his crowd of popular, perfect friends.

But he didn’t let you. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence like a wall you couldn’t escape.

“Hey,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “You alright?”

You weren’t. You were never alright. But you weren’t about to let him see that. You barely knew him. Hell, you didn’t even want to.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, your voice thin.

His eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in curiosity. “Are you?”

You hesitated, swallowing the lump in your throat. The truth was, you wanted someone to ask. But you also hated the idea of being vulnerable.

It was a weakness.

And weakness, in your world, was something to be exploited.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, with a little more conviction this time, though it didn’t stop the shaking in your hands.

Jungkook didn’t buy it. Of course,

he didn’t.

“You’re lying,” he said simply, his tone not judgmental, but certain.

It wasn’t the accusation that bothered you— it was the fact that he could see right through you, like your facade wasn’t even worth the effort.

His words hit too close to home, but you refused to let him know that.

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him to leave you alone, but for some reason, the words caught in your throat.

You couldn’t explain it, but something about him stopped you.

Something in the way he looked at you made you want to tell him everything, to unravel the tightly wound mess inside of you.

But that was insane, wasn’t it?

Why would you trust him? Why would you trust anyone?

“I’m fine,” you said again, almost pleading with yourself to believe it.

He watched you for a beat too long, and then, surprisingly—he smiled. It wasn’t some fake, pitying grin like the others. No, it was a smile that almost seemed… understanding.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” he said quietly. “I know what it feels like.”

You blinked, thrown off guard. “What?”

Jungkook shrugged, his eyes darkening slightly. “I know what it’s like. To be invisible. To be the one everyone picks on. To be ignored… hurt… because you’re not what people want you to be.”

The words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you just stared at him, trying to piece together what he was saying.

Was he messing with you? Was this some twisted joke? You didn’t know.

“I don’t believe you,” you finally said, taking a step back, wanting to put some space between you.

But Jungkook didn’t move. He stood there, looking at you with the same steady gaze.

“It’s true,” he said simply, almost like a promise. “I’ve been where you are. I still am. I’m not like the rest of them.”

That… made you pause. You didn’t know what to think. Was he just some rich kid playing at empathy?

Or was there something real in his words?

“I can’t help you,” you said, not because you didn’t want it, but because you were terrified of what it would mean. “You don’t know me.”

“You don’t have to trust me,” Jungkook replied, his voice low but firm. “But I can help you. And I want to. If you’ll let me.”

The doubt you felt was overwhelming. You had been burned too many times, left alone when you thought people cared.

No one had ever really seen you.

No one had ever truly understood what it was like to feel completely alone, to feel like you were nothing more than a shadow in a room full of people.

And yet… Jungkook’s offer felt different. He wasn’t offering to fix you. He wasn’t offering some false comfort. It was something darker, something raw that you couldn’t push away.

He understood the pain.

Maybe that’s why you didn’t push him away, why you didn’t shut him down completely.

But you couldn’t trust him. Not yet.

“So, what do you want from me?” you asked, your voice rough, a sharp edge to it.

Jungkook tilted his head, his eyes still intense. “Nothing, not yet. But I’ve been watching. I’ve seen how they treat you. How they treat people like you. And I won’t stand for it.”

You couldn’t tell if he was serious or if it was just some weird power play.

But there was something in the way he said it, something in his eyes that made you pause.

“You want to take them down?” you asked, more to yourself than to him.

He nodded slowly, a glint of something dangerous in his expression. “Yeah. But it’s not just about them. It’s about making them regret ever thinking they could do this to you.”

You looked away, unsure whether to be terrified or relieved. Maybe it was a little bit of both. “Why?”

“Because I don’t like seeing people get crushed under the weight of others. And I think you’ve been crushed long enough.”

The sincerity in his voice surprised you.

Maybe it was the fact that he had seen something in you that no one else had.

Maybe it was the darkness in his eyes that mirrored your own pain. You didn’t know.

But you couldn’t deny it anymore.

“Fine,” you said, your voice steady but unsure. “I’ll let you help me. But don’t think you’re saving me. I can handle this on my own.”

Jungkook’s smile softened, and for the first time, it felt like he wasn’t playing some game.

“I never said I was saving you. I’m just helping you get what you deserve.”

And that’s when you knew. It wasn’t about saving you—it was about destroying them.

Together.

[hgfictionwriter]

Discovery - Part Four

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie's feeling the lowest she has in a long time. Things are at the tipping point and she needs to choose to either confront things head on or lose you forever.

Warnings: G!P content. Heavy angst. Body image issues or even dysphoria; mental and emotional anxiety; internal conflicts; themes of rejection and self-loathing; self-sabotaging behaviours. Language.

A/N: Chapters one, two and three.

“I can’t believe you. I’ve waited all day to hear from you - and nothing. After everything that happened, you just leave in the middle of the night and just dead silence. Are you kidding me, Jess?”

“First you give me the cold shoulder all evening without any explanation as to why. Started by a conversation you began, might I add. I tell you I love you. We kiss and you literally throw me off of you.”

“Yes, I was upset and I didn’t want to talk. But you just ghost me all day? I know you withdraw when you’re upset or overwhelmed, but you don’t even have the decency to check in with me or give me some kind of an explanation?”

Jessie sunk into her seat on the couch as she read your messages again. She’d been staring at them on and off for the past hour and felt paralyzed, unable to act.

She’d managed to make it to training this morning, but she was certainly worse for wear. Her eyes were bloodshot and she had dark circles under them from a mix of sleep deprivation and the time she’d spent crying. Her teammates immediately clocked her upset and some fawned over her trying to suss things out and help, but she was largely unresponsive.

She just wanted to do her drills to keep her mind off of you and the absolute disaster she’d created.

Coach recommended she talk to the sports therapist, and while she nodded her agreement, she had no intention of rushing. She already knew what they’d say and she wasn’t interested right now. If she was willing to do those things, guess what, she wouldn’t be in the fucking predicament in the first place.

So here she sat at home this evening, in self-imposed solitude and catatonic. The apartment was dead quiet as she flipped between scrolling distractedly through her phone and re-reading messages with you and looking at pictures of the two of you.

She needed to respond. But it seemed no matter how much she thought about it, she couldn’t figure out what to say. Nothing was remotely adequate. She let out a shuddering breath as she continued to remain inert.

Her heart raced as another message came in from you.

“I’d like to think we’d built enough of a connection and you have enough respect for me to at least acknowledge me and respond. I’ve been sitting here making up excuses in my head for you all day, but reality is, you just choose not to talk to me.”

She let her head fall heavily back against the wall with a dull thud. She closed her eyes and clenched her fists as she felt herself start to tear up yet again.

The end felt inevitable, but underneath all of her fear and anxiety it isn’t what she wanted. It would be easier perhaps. Just close herself off again. Be single again for god knows how long. She was exceptional at pushing people away and pretending it didn’t matter.

Then, maybe, when it felt safe again and the hardship she was currently experiencing was just a distant memory, she would hope to meet someone as incredible as you again. But for what? So she could compare them to you? Miss you? To fuck it all up again?

She released a slow, steady breath and brought her phone back up to reply.

“I’m sorry I didn’t write sooner. I was at training earlier and I guess I just didn’t know what to say.”

“She lives. Well, thank you for replying... So. Do you know what you want to say now?”

She sighed in frustration.

“No.”

She shouldn’t be so curt.

“I wish I did.”

“Well. That’s very helpful.”

“I have some things I want to say. But if you’re not interested in hearing them or trying to resolve anything, I suppose there’s no point.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek.

“I want to know.”

“Do you actually? Because, frankly, even if I told you how I feel last night, I’m not that interested in humiliating myself further or wasting my time if we’re not on the same page.”

Jessie’s chest constricted painfully as she read your message. She never used to consider herself a selfish person, but seeing the toll she’d taken on you, she couldn’t deny it. She wiped angrily at a stray tear at the corner of her eye.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. You shouldn’t have to feel that way and I’m sorry I’ve caused it. I do want to hear what you have to say.”

“I don’t want to do this through text. It’s going to fucking suck but I want to talk in person.”

Jessie sat forward to the edge of the couch and leaned her forearms heavily against her thighs as she studied your message.

She was scared. She didn’t want to do that. Still, she owed you that, the truth, and so much more. And even if you left hating her, she had to make sure you knew it really was all her - you’d been perfect and all of this rot branched from her.

And if it really was the end, she couldn’t resist seeing you one more time.

“Okay. Where and when?”

—————

Jessie’s hands were cold and clammy as she walked down the hall to your apartment. She breathed heavily before catching herself and steadying them. She compulsively opened and closed her fists as she waited for you to answer.

When you opened the door, your expression was a far cry from the one she was used to seeing greet her. Instead of seeing a bright or warm smile, you looked tired and weary.

Guilt radiated through Jessie; she caused this single-handedly. She was supposed to make you happy, bring you comfort, make you feel safe and loved. Instead, she left you looking like a shell of yourself. Slowly at first, small nicks here and there, before a catastrophic and now lingering blow.

“Come in,” you said with only the slightest inflection in your voice. You stepped aside but didn’t make eye contact as Jessie entered.

“I, um, got you this,” Jessie said after she set her shoes aside and took off her backpack. She pulled a vinyl record out of it and handed it to you. She met your discerning gaze briefly before dropping it to the record in her hand. “I know you’ve been looking for it, so…”

You tentatively took it from her, a frown on your face as you examined it.

“Thanks,” you said flatly.

She knew it wouldn’t fix things or make things up to you - not by a long shot - but she had the faintest hope you would be more receptive.

When she forced herself to look up at you again, she saw you still studying the record. Eventually, your frown deepened and you looked at her almost accusingly.

“I don’t get you,” you said. “You barely talk to me these past couple of days and you act all cagey but then you do this? It doesn’t make sense.”

Your face faltered briefly before you grew stoic once more. “Some days you seem to really like me. Really care for me and understand me and we connect so well. And then others it feels like you can hardly stand to look at me.” A flash of emotion appeared on your face and disappeared just as fast. Your voice strained vaguely before you steadied it. “Never mind touch me.”

Jessie swallowed and dropped her gaze in shame. You went on, your voice cracking.

“I’ve tried to be really patient. But after the other night…I’ve done a lot of thinking and I can’t help but admit how hard it’s been.”

You sighed heavily and set the record down on a nearby table before returning and folding your arms tightly against yourself and leaning back against the wall. Your brow was heavy with a frown.

“And I know you've been trying." Your voice grew taut. "Prior anyway. And that's probably what makes it the worst. It's been hard for you, too - to be with me." Your face fell and your lip trembled briefly as you looked away.

Jessie's heart ached as she watched you battle with your emotions. All of the fear and worry she'd let dominate her fell away, replaced with an overwhelming need to hold you and make you feel better.

"It hasn't been," Jessie beseeched, taking a step forward but stopping when your gaze flicked back to her, warning.

"Do you think I’m stupid?" You said sharply. "I know you can’t stand to touch me. At first, I kept trying to give myself, and you, the benefit of the doubt - but the other night really proved that not only do you most definitely not find me attractive,” you laughed acerbically, “I think I might actually even repulse you.” You stared at her a moment, letting your words hang in the air and feigning amusement before choking back a sob. You visibly clenched your jaw before you forced another empty laugh. “That’s a fun one. My therapist’s about to get a ton of business from me.”

You took a shuddering breath and your voice cracked as you spoke. "I already know how this ends.”

“That’s not at all what’s happening or how I feel,” Jessie protested. She pressed the heels of her palms firmly into her eyes and grit her teeth. Her voice strained with burgeoning emotion. “Jesus Christ. That’s not it at all."

Your face screwed up and you gave a sad shake of your head as you stared her down.

“Stop. Just stop with the vague excuses. Just be honest with me. I don’t need you to confirm it, but don’t lie and tell me otherwise. I can tell,” voice breaking at the end. “Every time you pull away. How uncomfortable you can be when we’re even remotely physical. You can’t stand to kiss me for any length of time. I can feel you just waiting to pull away, like you’re fucking counting down the seconds until it’s over.” You started sobbing. “It’s horrible. Knowing you don’t want me like I want you.”

Jessie took a step toward you and you recoiled. She couldn’t help but think - maybe much like how she had with you times before.

“And don’t give me this whole ‘you’re shy’ or ‘you’re awkward’ thing again. I deserve more than your excuses.” Your voice grew softer. “And it’s not your fault you feel the way you do. You can’t control who you’re attracted to. Sometimes there can be an emotional connection and the physical just isn’t there. I don’t blame you. But I do blame you for dragging this out." You sniffled, wiping agitatedly at a tear that rolled down your cheek before giving her a defiant stare. "So just do what you should’ve done from the beginning.”

“It’s not you,” Jessie started and immediately saw the way you tensed up, ready to argue. She spoke quickly and urgently, her voice pleading for mercy and understanding. “It’s not you. I promise. It’s me - and I know how that sounds. But you were never the problem. I need you to know that.”

You looked ready to explode and Jessie knew it was now or never.

"It's me. I-it's my body. And I've been terrified that you won't accept me," she stammered through, hands to her chest as her gaze remained rooted to the floor. Her lips parted and her shoulders rose and fell as her breathing began to quicken. She swallowed and found the courage to look up at you to see a scrutinizing, but perplexed expression on your face.

"I'm not like you," Jessie said softly, "or most girls. Physically." She held your gaze for a second, to let you begin to process, but to give her time to think as well. She could see you were confused, but you waited quietly for her to go on. "I-I," she started, before stopping to take a steadying breath, her shoulders relaxing as she did so. "I've always been different."

She was slow to proceed and you spoke tentatively, all accusations and harshness now gone.

"What do you mean? How so?"

Jessie swallowed, eyes transfixed on the floor once more. She scratched at the back of her neck so harshly that it hurt.

"The reason I can't be physical with you is because what you would see, and feel," she looked up at you as she exhaled, "isn't what you would expect." She studied you as you processed her words. "That's why I asked you if you'd slept with guys," she finished timidly, embarrassment and shame creeping in despite her efforts.

Your mouth fell open to speak, but nothing came out. You frowned and visibly struggled with what to say next. Jessie's mouth was dry, but she had to take the next step.

"Even though I'm a girl, I have...what a guy has," she said quietly.

Your mouth opened wider to speak, but still nothing came out. You held up a poised finger, cuing her to wait. Eventually you found your words. Jessie held your gaze despite how difficult it was.

"Are you telling me that you have...," you trailed off, your gaze settling on her crotch momentarily before looking up at her, a tinge of pink already on your cheeks, "...a cock?"

Jessie released a slow, shuddering breath through her nose as she continued to hold your gaze. She nodded.

"Yes."

She saw your eyebrows raise as you looked away and her words and emotions just came out in a torrent.

"So if you think I've been struggling, you're right, but that's why," she said bitterly, tears in her eyes already. "It really had nothing to do with you. You've been so perfect. And it's been killing me to lie to you. And to hurt you. But I've been so scared - and I just," she took a shaky breath, "I know I'm not what you signed up for. You didn't deserve any of this, but I was being selfish. I wanted you. And I didn't want to risk losing you, so I just kept lying and the longer I waited, the more impossible it felt to tell you." Jessie's voice broke and she wiped her nose before pulling her arms in tightly against herself.

"And in the end I fucked it all up. And I hate myself for hurting you the way I have. Hearing how I...," she trailed off, gesturing vaguely at you before clenching her jaw tightly. "Hurting you is probably the worst thing I've ever done." Her voice grew high as she fought through her emotions. "And I don't deserve your forgiveness. I would gladly take it, but I know I don't deserve it. You deserve far better than someone who would hurt someone they love the way I've hurt you."

Your brow furrowed as she finished and Jessie swallowed once more, clearing her throat before speaking. "I'm sorry I couldn't say it back the other night. I really wanted to." She gave you a desperate look. "I know it must seem like I have zero integrity, but, I couldn't tell you I love you without telling you," she paused, gaze falling briefly, "all of this." She looked back at you, taking in a slow breath. "I really do love you. And I want so much more for us, but I realize now that even if you were okay...with me...well, with the way I've gone about everything, I've probably ruined any chance for us."

Her face fell as more tears pooled at the corners of her eyes.

"I'm so sorry. I just need you to know that you shouldn't feel badly about yourself, because you were never the problem. It was always me."

"This is a lot for me to process," you said slowly, thumb grazing idly along your arm. You glanced over at the couch for a moment before glancing back at her. "Um, why don't we sit down."

Jessie sniffled, overcome with surprise that you'd invite her in further. It took her a moment to comprehend it, but soon nodded eagerly. She followed you wordlessly to the couch, remaining standing as you took a seat. You looked at her expectantly before gesturing to the spot next to you.

She was mindful of the space between you. She didn't want to sit too close and inadvertently imply that things were suddenly fine. She sat stiffly, back straight, hands on the tops of her thighs as she deferred to you on how to proceed. She glanced at you in trepidation, waiting, but when you didn't say anything for several moments she spoke again.

"I completely understand that this is a lot to process," she validated with a fleeting glance. "While I've been thinking about nothing but this for months, this is all new to you."

"Yeah," you said quietly, still very much in your thoughts.

"And I want you to know that you don't owe me anything," she said. "I completely understand if this is too much for you or not what you want. No hard feelings." She almost laughed at the last statement as she sat here, congested and teary-eyed. There would be a lot of feelings, but not hard feelings. She rubbed her forehead. "And I understand if there are hard feelings towards me. I'm sorry I was such a coward. I just-" she shook her head quickly, dismissing the thought. "Never mind."

She heard you exhale gently and she peeked over at you. You were initially still, but soon shifted, surprising Jessie as you turned subtly towards her.

"Don't get me wrong. I have a lot of questions. And I still have a lot of confusing feelings and hurt. But - I meant it when I said I love you. So it's hard to see you hurting like this." You scratched at your temple before looking up at her. "Did I do something to make it harder for you to tell me?"

Jessie turned to you fully, a stern look on her face. "No," she said adamantly. "You were," she shrugged listlessly, "you really were - are - amazing. I guess I just let old fears and baggage control me."

"What do you mean?" You asked tentatively before holding up your hands and speaking quickly. "And if I ask something that's too much - just say so. I don't want to make you more uncomfortable."

Jessie frowned deeper. "You're too good for me," she said simply. "You shouldn't give a shit about whether I'm uncomfortable or not. But, let me be clear - for once - I will answer any question you have for me. Some will be easier to answer than others, but I want you to know everything. If you want. That's what I wanted all along, but I was just too scared."

"Well, if you love someone - you care about their boundaries and how they feel," you said plainly. Jessie looked at you and you looked away nervously, clearing your throat before turning back. "And. Backtracking. You...love me?"

Jessie smiled for the first time today. It was an emotional, watery, sad smile. But it was a smile. "Yes. I really do. And it's been absolute torture the past couple of days not talking to you - I know it's all my fault though."

You frowned, thoughts almost visibly churning before you set your gaze on her again.

"Wait. But I'm not your first girlfriend. So...was it like this every time?"

Jessie's posture slumped slightly at your question; more-so, the reminder it triggered. That you were the best and she'd treated you the worst.

"No. No, it hasn't been," she admitted as she picked at the fabric of her pants. "I, um, was more open before. And, uh, I guess it backfired. And I've been pretty reserved and nervous about it since."

"Oh," you said quietly, still deep in thought. "But your teammates know, right?"

"Yeah, they all do. Hard for them not to. And they're cool with it, thank God. But otherwise I keep it quiet. It doesn't seem like it, but I'm actually pretty comfortable with that aspect of myself these days. It caused a lot of angst for me for years, but I'm happy with who I am. Relationships though...that's a different matter altogether."

"I'm sorry, Jess," you said gently, pulling a confused look out of her. Again, you shouldn't be worried about her. "That sounds really difficult. That said, do you mind telling me more?"

Jessie turned to you more fully, your knees nearly brushing now. "I'll tell you anything you want to know. You were right that I was far from an open book, but I don't want to be like that anymore. I want you to know everything, if you'd like." She shrunk into herself a bit and waved a hand aimlessly. "And just because I tell you these things, it doesn't mean that I think you'll forgive me or something. I understand that, you know, things could end. But I still want you to know."

Surprise flooded Jessie's system as you took her hand and gave it the faintest squeeze, continuing to hold it after.

"Jess. It's okay. I want to know."

She mustered up a tight smile for you and squeezed your hand.

She proceeded to tell you her story. Filling the gaps she'd craftily navigated during previous conversations. The embarrassment she'd felt. The otherness. The ridicule she'd experienced over the years. The rejection. The objectification. And the eventual defeat; of feeling like no one would get her or love her the way she wanted to be loved.

By the time she finished, a new set of tears had finished falling, but what she noted most of all was how you now held her hand in both of yours.

"Baby," you said softly, as you lifted her hand and kissed it tenderly. Jessie looked at you in surprise as she sniffled.

She'd expected the worst, so when you looked at her with warmth and compassion, it caught her off-guard to not see disgust or rejection.

"I'm so sorry you were made to feel like that. You didn't deserve that at all. Some people are so fucking close-minded and terrible. I'm so sorry you had to experience that," you told her.

Her shoulders hitched as she rode out the dying waves of her emotion.

"Thanks," she managed, her voice still congested and strained. "Now you know how hypocritical and truly horrible it was of me to make you feel the way those girls made me feel."

You tilted your head slightly and gave it a slow shake. "No. It's not the same. I mean, yes, I felt terrible, but you weren't trying to hurt me. And now I can understand where you were coming from."

Jessie shook her head in return. "It doesn't make it right though. So...if you let me, I'll do everything I can to try to make it up to you and try to rebuild the trust I've broken. Totally understand if that's off the table though."

"I," you started, chest rising as you took a large breath before relaxing once more, "still love you. So...no, it's not off the table. I still have to process a lot of this and reconcile some things. And, yes, reality is you hurt me, but everything makes so much more sense now. So. Thank you. For finally telling me."

Jessie nodded. "Thank you for hearing me out."

You fidgeted slightly and she watched you carefully. You felt her eyes on you and spoke hesitantly.

"We, um. Didn't exactly address my initial issue though. I mean, I understand now why you've been so closed off and flighty. But, you know, none of this necessarily means that you, um, find me attractive. Because that could still be a problem."

Jessie gave you a disbelieving look. "Of course I find you attractive. Well, okay," she slowed herself down, "I understand why you thought I didn't. But, now that you know everything else, my attraction to you is exactly why I couldn't be remotely physical with you. It was...a bit too much for me. Let's put it that way," Jessie finished as she looked away sheepishly. When she braved a look back your face was tinged pink.

"Oh. Okay. Well..., um. That's nice to know, I guess," you responded awkwardly.

"I'm sorry. That was probably too much information," Jessie mumbled. She cleared her throat before speaking more confidently. "So, no, you have nothing - at all - to worry about there. I think the bigger question now is if you would find me attractive. Now that you know that my, um, anatomy is different."

You blushed deeper and cleared your throat as well.

"Oh. I mean, you're still you. And, I'm curious-" you held up your hands quickly in defense, eyes closing as you corrected yourself, "-not like those other girls. No. I would never use you like that." You opened your eyes once again, calming yourself. "What I mean is. I'm still interested."

Jessie felt an ember of hope flickering in her chest. You were still blushing, giving her fleeting glances until you fully faced her, now serious and prim.

"You get one more chance," you told her firmly, holding up a finger. "I know a lot will be new and there'll be things to navigate, but I won't put up with you being distant and cagey again. Do not lie to me again."

Jessie nearly beamed. She straightened up eagerly and nodded her head rapidly in agreement.

"I won't," she promised before she took a second look at you. "Are you sure you want to try again?"

Your face scrunched up adorably as you shot her a look.

"Are you trying to talk me out of it?" You asked, affronted.

"No," she refuted, shaking her head adamantly. "I just want to make sure this is what you truly want. I know I dumped a lot on you just now, so...you are more than welcome to take your time to think. And I definitely don't want you to feel guilty in any way."

"I don't feel guilty," you told her. "And," you exhaled quickly, "as you were telling me about all of your experiences and how you've been treated, all I could really think throughout all of it is that I wished there was some way I or someone could go back and protect you from all of that." You picked at your nails idly. "And, I don't know, that I just wanted to hold you. And kiss you." You gave her another stern look, but it was mild at best. "You're not entirely forgiven yet. But I understand you so much better now. So, I do want to try again."

That heavy, horrible ache in her chest she'd been carrying with her the past while was replaced with a sensation of warmth and lightness.

"You're the most incredible woman I've ever met," she told you unwaveringly. "I promise I'll do everything in my power to make things up to you. I'll make sure you never have a doubt about me, or you, or us, again."

"That's a bold promise," you warned with a hint of a smirk.

Jessie smiled at you undeterred. She gently cupped the side of your face and leaned in, stopping momentarily to speak before giving you a soft, slow kiss.

"And it's one I intend to keep."

A/N: Next up…smut.

Tag requests: @multifandomlesbianic @marvelwomen-simp @kathleenmikaelson

[m0chisenpai]

Mochi what do you think about 90s model reader (think brandi quinones) and loumand (they 100 percent watch fashions shows in modern days)?

Its cannon that they like people who capture attention (*coff coff* lestat). I think they would meet her in a show and would send her flowers and letters to court her and all that jazz

Sorry if this is weird :/

vogue

˚｡⋆ louis de pointe du lac x black!fem!reader x armand

in which your pefermonce off and on the runway catches their attention

author note: I ate this up so much, I literally scoured Pintrest and fell down a rabbit hole and have to fight every desire in my body to do another multipart series for this

The production people move like flies past your eyes while you sit in your regal beauty. Eyes unblinking, legs crossed perfectly, your hair now braided pulled up into a bun with a few pieces falling and curled.

You hold the hand of Armand, his finger runs over and over. You've come to learn this calms not just your nerves but his as well. Louis remains off to the side, he is weary of cameras these days. Preferring to leave you and Armand to such matters.

But when you pout those lips and flutters those ethereal eyes he relents to sit to the sides.

When the interviewer settles in the chair he has your attention and your back straightens.

"Runway, Vogue and Dior, red carpets, music videos. But your most recent appearance in the critically acclaimed rock star The Vampire Lestat's music video put's you back in the public eye when you should look much more...different." That breaks your picturesque facade with a light giggle that crinkles your dark lined eyes,

"That damned name'

'Calm yourself my love.' You catch Louis' fleeting gaze.

"How does the face of the 80s and 90s reappear in the 2000s rained in blood and completely untouched by age?"

"Hmm I think I have my wonderous loves to thank for that, there are only so many things that can hide the thief of the night that is time. But I seem to be lucky to have escaped its grasp." Armand places a languid kiss to the back of your hand while Louis raises his glass from the side.

"I believe the Gift only encapsulated the beauty she had from the moment we first met." Armand speaks up.

"And this would be during your rookie years as an athlete may say?"

"Yes at the beginning of my runway career in my early 20s, though I would not turn till 30. Around the mid 80s I was found by my lovely companions when I was at my lowest. Watching from the sides. And I did everything to ensure not to fall in love."

"Cheeky." Louis coos in your mind.

"Let's go back then, how were you back then? You say you were at your lowest but your face was desired by so many."

"Beauty, fame, money, sex is all so fleeting. And the fashion industry sucked every bit out of you till you were a husk for them to drag along until the needles and knife was needed to hide any evidence of your decline."

Armand will never admit it out loud but he was particularly fond of the 80s and 90s. He loved the fashions o each era, but he fell in love with runway. It was theatre in an entirely new facet. Louis can recall, though his companions face was stone cold, the glimmer of warmth in his eyes that watched each and every model. Catching every small finite detail.

Louis was more than happy to donate and invest in the ocassional piece for Armand who returned the favor. Until one evening they are encaptured by a beauty amount the sea of tall skinny legs.

This angel that graced the runway one evening of Paris Fasion week. It was dull, Armand confided in Louis as they dressed for the show they and and a few exclusive members were invited to.

One by one Armand began to count them like sheep until she entered. A sheer black tube tob pencil skirt dress with a billowy white blouse beneath. Your eyes are smoky and sharp and your lips a bright chery red. When you walk, you lack the stiffness the other girls move with, no no you glide. The runway is your stage, you dance so beautifully.

Armand sits up as you walk past. He neded you then, he neededyou now.

When you are off you brush past the fussy designers who bark orders in French that is too fast and English far too broken. All you care to know is you have a period of relief to indulge in a smoke and soon after a bump from one of your acquaintances.

You slump in your seat, a cigarette warms you up as you enjoy the momentary silence until you are up again. You grow tired, bored of this. You see it boiling in your eyes, past the makeup, the eye liner and rouge.

From your side one of the assistants carefully moves to your side.

"For you ma'am a gift from some of our most generous investors of the arts."

"M' not sleeping with them" you mumble around the still lit cigarette which dangles from your lips as you open the card tucked into the dozens of fresh roses.

"A rose for a rose." You grumble putting out your cigarette on the card and getting up to squeeze into the sheer scandalous dress though you would hardly call it that with the pièce de résistance being an intricate veil that twists and covers and is encrusted with diamonds around your face and binding in the back.

As you go to line up, standing still for any changes and a quick make up touch you are nudged to get in line. But a thought lingers in your mind.

When you walk you can't help but wonder, which one of you wants to sleep and tell the tale, hm?

"On the contrary my dear." You almost falter when you turn to walk back. That man's voice sends shives down your spine as you carefully make sure not to falter. "We would prefer to have you more than just in the flesh."

His partner to the left flashes you a cocky smile. He's lucky you are being watched otherwise you would have scowled.

"Aw, don't scowl like that chere."

They follow you to London. Your picture is in all the tabloids and paprazzi is stationed outside of your hotel where you quckly find the bar. In an act of defiance, and trying to add your flare, you stopped during midwalk to kiss the collar of your mysterious suitor leaving a perfect red stain.

Since then your manager has been bombarded with numerous calls for editorials, spreads, and interviews.

"Another glass for her please."

Your eyes cut to the beautiful man whose eyes look enchanting through the fog of smoke he carefully clows away from your direction. A black turtle neck tucked into a pair of slacks to battle the chill.

But no words can describe the work of art that are his eyes which stare deep into your yours,

"I don't sleep with fashion fanatics, not anymore at least" you mumble into the dirty martini before a new one is placed in front of you.

The corner of his lips twitch into a mix of a smile and a smirk.

"Nah I'm not into the whole art of fashion. Just a simple collector is all," he watches how your luscious lips leave a red imprint along the rim of the glass.

"Oh? And do I fit your collection?"

He hums, "I'd dare to say you outshine it."

"Let me guess," you rest your cigarette in the ashtray to give him your undivided attention. "Your wife wants to watch doesn't she?" Your eyes look pass his shoulder at the women and some of your fellow workers.

"Your far off. Got no wife, but my companion does enjoy to watch ocasionally." Louis leans forward, his chin on your shoulder and his cold lips touch your ear. "And he's been watching this entire time my dear."

Your head quickly turns and sure enough, a man watches at the end of the bar. A gass half filled, his both arms rest on the counter and his eyes remain unmoving on you both.

"Put her tab on my card will you?" Your mysterious heart throb drops a card that clanks and you catch a glimps of the name.

"Louis de Pointe du Lac" you read it to yourself as he stands to walk languidly to the man. Placing a hand don his shoulder and sitting beside him.

You should be unnerved by their constant appearances, but you enjoy this game of cat and mouse. Sharing words at afterparties, drinks at hotel bars, and one night together in the satin sheets of Milan.

Your room is always filled with flowers when you arrive. Champagne and chocolates await by your bedside. You never fail to find their eyes in the crowd, you dare to say this is what love must feel like.

You keep the notes and letters from Armand. His way with words are what bring the light back in your eyes as you walk and model.

Whatever it is, your agent tells you one day, keep it up. because you begin t see a spike in your career and appearances. Leading you to walk your first large red carpet event.

When you step out of the shining vintage car immediately you are met with flashes, clinging to your sur shrug for comfort imagining their arms as you walk and pause for questions and for photographs.

"Can we be under the assumption you have a special someone?" Your interviewer asks over the roar of paparazzi and photographers at a red carpet event.

"Hmm, I guess you could continue to speculate." You give a cheeky grin to the camera as you walk off with a flurry of questions at your leathered heels.

When you enter the museum hosting the charity event they await you. Your drop your shrug into the arms of one of the attendants while Armand takes hold of your clutch. You walk in between them looking at the beautifully restored and donated pieces. The theme is very rococo and you adore it, the artwork, pottery and ceramics and the beautifully restored gowns on display.

"Oh my goodness look at this one, it reminds me of a Monet" you coo as you stand before the water lily pond. Your hand on your chest as you pause. You wish it were yours. Though it is not the original you want it still.

And that's enough for Armand to place a red sticker near the artists name.

"Oh you didn't have to, Armand." you pout at him as he cups your jaw looking into your eyes.

"You clearly desired it, did you not?" When all you do is nod he hums. His thumb begins to stroke the soft skin of your jaw. "Then you shall have it."

"We would travel the cities I was in. And during the off season I spent here or in the comforts of one of our other homes. I believe Berlin will be our destination this year for the holidays, right my love?"

And how can Armand no to those eyes.

They gleam with mischief, golden flakes sparkle in your bright eyes. "Whatever her hearts desires I have assumed the duty to fulfill each ofthem, we both do."

You shush him, had you still been mortal you swear your cheeks would be flushed.

The interviewer

"But I believe this Gift would have to be my most treasured one."

[spidermans-l-o-v-e-r]

Home Alone, 1990

Pairing: Reacher x Reader

Word count: 2.6k

Notes: Hi!!! It’s time for Kinkmas!! I’ve been preparing for weeks for this….and still didn’t finish everything 😀😀 it’s fine. It’s fine I just forgot they had to be in order it’s fine

There’s something special about tying Reacher up. 

You sit on his waist, humming softly as you tie his wrists back to the headboard. He can get out, you both know that, but he’s giving you control and that’s what makes it hot. 

He’s got a funny little smirk on his face, while you wrap him up in the brightly colored garland and boop his nose. You fix the Santa hat on his head and pat his chest. 

“You look good” 

“Do I?” He flexes his wrists a little as you toy with the band of his red boxers, teasing both of you. 

“Mhm…” You toss your hair over your shoulder, displaying your perky tits in the pretty red lace bra you’d greeted him in when he came home. You took his hand, pulling him toward the bedroom with a mischievous glint in your eye, he immediately knew he was in for it and eagerly followed you back. 

“You comfy?” 

“Sure am… you like what you see Peaches?” 

You nod slowly and grind against him gently, rolling your hips seductively. He struggles against the restraints slightly, wanting to hold your hips.

“Well shit” He looks up at them and tugs a little harder and you swat at his chest. 

“Hey! You said you’d be good!” 

“I don’t know how long I’m gonna be able to keep my hands off you, but fine” He lets his hands hang again and you stroke his cheek, your hand looks so small against his face. He turns his head to kiss your hand and you gently pull away. 

“So what’s your plan, hm? " he asks lazily. Though his body betrays him, you can already feel him hardening underneath you. 

“I’m glad you asked” You reach over for a red velvet bag with gold drawstrings. You pull them apart and wriggle your eyebrows playfully at him. He raises an eyebrow as you slowly pull the device from the bag and present it to him. It’s a purple wand-looking thing with a large marshmallow-looking tip, you set the bag to the side of him and smile wickedly.

“I thought…maybe it was your turn to feel what you put me through every time you want one of your little marathon sessions” 

“You fully enjoy those” 

“Shut up, that’s not the point! The point is-“ You narrow your eyes at that stupid smirk he always seems to have on his face “The point is, I think it’s your turn to suffer” 

He tests his bonds again, they tickle his skin but he feels comfortable. He settles into the bed and grins at you as he bucks his hips. You squeak and slap your hands on his chest, bouncing on his cock.

“Do your worst” 

You frown at him, your little nose crinkling as you stick your tongue out at him, of course, he’s trying to still be in charge…. It’s fine, you’ll change that soon. 

Reacher's eyes widen as the vibrations from the wand send jolts of pleasure through his aching cock. He lets out a low groan, his hips bucking involuntarily.

"Fuck, Peaches," he growls, his deeply strained with need. 

"That feels...intense."

The thin fabric of his boxers does little to dull the sensation, the vibrations seeming to penetrate right to his core. His cock throbs, growing even harder as you tease him with the toy.  Laughing evilly. He rolls his eyes at you but lets you continue your little torture session. 

"You're gonna make me bust in my damn underwear if you keep that up”

You smirk and leave it at the base of his cock for a moment 

“Maybe that’s what I want… maybe I wanna see you cream your pants like a lovesick bitch.” 

His chest heaves with ragged breaths, his abs flexing as he fights the urge to thrust into the vibrations. His blue eyes are dark with lust, boring into yours with an intensity that makes you shiver. 

“You’re treading on thin ice, Y/N” 

“It’s on the lowest setting you big baby” 

You turn it up a notch, stroking his cock slowly with it through his underwear, you lick your lips when you notice the wet patch of precum on the front of them. You lean forward and lick it, your tongue dragging along his boxers as you moan softly. 

Reacher lets out a guttural moan as you turn up the intensity of the vibrations, the toy sending shockwaves of pleasure through his hard cock. His hips buck involuntarily, seeking more of that delicious friction. 

Suddenly these stupid little restraints feel like metal shackles as he fights the urge to rip them off and grab you to pull you down on his throbbing cock. 

His breath hitches as your tongue drags along the outline of his shaft. The sensation is driving him up the damn wall, and he can't help but thrust his hips forward, seeking more of that wet heat.

"C'mon, Peaches baby, don't tease me," he all but pleads, his blue eyes staring into yours with a level of intensity that makes a delightful shiver run down your spine. 

"Wanna feel that sweet little mouth on my cock. Wanna fuck that pretty face till you choke on it." 

He doesn’t miss the way you squeeze your thighs together. 

“I like it when you do that, fuck my face”

Your cheeks flush as you suck on his cock through his underwear. It’s just enough to keep him on the edge but he can’t feel your mouth with his underwear in the way as much as he desperately fucking wants to 

He gasps as your hot mouth envelops his cock through the thin fabric of his boxers, the vibrations of the wand adding to the intense pleasure. His hips buck upward, seeking more of that wet heat, but the stupid freaking barrier of his underwear keeps him from feeling your lips directly on his skin.

"Fuck, baby, that's it," he growls, his voice deeply strained with need. "Suck that cock like you mean it. Gonna fuck your pretty face till you're gasping for air."

He watches you through heavily-lidded eyes, drinking in the sight of your flushed cheeks and the way you squeeze your thighs together again. It turns him on that much more knowing you’re enjoying this just as much as he is, he can hardly stand it anymore. 

"You're killing me here, Peaches. This what you wanted? Reducing me to a moaning mess while I cum in my pants??” 

“It’s exactly what I wanted”

You purr seductively as you keep sucking him through his underwear. The front of his boxers are soaked in his precum and your spit as you put the vibrator on his balls and leave it there. 

Reacher's body tenses, his muscles straining to not rip those wimpy little tinsel restraints as your words push him to the brink. The vibrations from the wand buzzing against his balls, the wet heat of your mouth on his soaked boxers, it’s almost too much to bear.

"Fuck, baby, you're gonna make me cum" he moans, his deep voice strained with desperation. 

He bucks his hips, grinding his throbbing cock against your face, smearing his precum and your spit across your cheeks. The scent of his arousal fills the air, musky and strong.

"C'mon, darlin', don't stop," he pleads, sending a shock straight down to your core. "Wanna see that pretty face covered in my cum. Wanna mark you as mine."

His chest heaves with each ragged breath, his abs flexing as he fights the overwhelming urge to cum. 

"Gonna- fuck...baby," he pants, his voice barely above a whisper. "Gonna cum for you"

With an animalistic moan, his cock pulses, spurting thick ropes of cum into his boxers. The fabric turns warm and wet as he empties himself, his hips jerking wildly.

You pull his messy boxers down as he comes down from his high and scoop up his cum rubbing it over your pussy as you finger yourself, rubbing fast little circles over your clit. You wanted him to finish first, wanted that moment to be about him, but now you want load after load from him.

“Fuck baby you did so good” you pant softly as you touch yourself, your head falling backward as you roll your hips against your fingers “So so good” 

"You're so fuckin’ hot," he watches you with wide eyes, his deep voice teeming with a new growing desire. 

"Playing with yourself like that, rubbing my cum all over your sweet little pussy."

Even if he’s just cum, his cock twitches, already starting to harden again at the dirty show in front of him. The tinsel restraints dig into his wrists as he tugs at them, desperate to touch you, to feel your wet heat around him.

Reacher's hips buck again, his half-hard cock sliding against his stomach, smearing his cum over his torso. 

"I just wanna fill you up, baby. Wanna pump you full of my seed till it's dripping down your thighs."

He licks his lips, his gaze fixed on your fingers as they work your clit. 

"You want that, don't you? Want me to fuck you senseless, make you cum on my cock over and over again."

You swirl your fingers through the messy cum, spreading it all over your pussy as you listen to him try to convince you to finally ride him.

“I don’t know… maybe.. maybe I want something else first… like, your mouth?”

His eyes light up at your hesitant little suggestion, he can work with that, fuck can he work with it. 

“That sounds good to me sugar, I’ll eat that pretty little pussy until I’m suffocating and you’re screaming” 

His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he watches your fingers keep working, the little cogs in your brain turning. He can’t help imagining the taste of your arousal mixed with his cum. 

"Come on Peaches, perfectly good seat right here just waitin’ for you” 

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You climb over his torso, hesitating for just a second as you settle on his face, his head securely between your thighs. You roll your hips against his lips for a moment, letting your head fall backward slowly as you moan. You grab the headboard, thighs shaking as you press your forehead against the headboard.

“Ooh my god” You mumble softly, giggling a little as you grind against his face “Holy shit” 

He’s had enough of playing good for you as he snaps the tinsel and grabs your hips, pulling you down harder against his mouth. 

You shriek and grip the headboard as he laps at you eagerly, his tongue dipping deep inside you. 

“Fuck you taste so damn good” He moans, His voice muffled by your body. 

"Gonna eat this sweet little cunt till you're screaming."

His tongue swirls around your clit, flicking your sensitive nub as he sucks it between his lips.

His nose nestles in between your lips as he buries his face deeper, inhaling your musky scent. He licks and sucks at your pussy, his tongue diving as deep as it can go, trying to reach your womb.

He seals his lips around your clit and sucks hard. At the same time, he slides a finger into your tight hole, pumping it in and out as he finger-fucks you.

Reacher adds a second finger, stretching you open as he curls them up to rub that spongy spot his fingers reach so perfectly. He can feel your walls fluttering around his digits, your arousal dripping down his chin.

"That's it, baby," he growls "Cum for me. Wanna taste that sweet honey on my tongue."

Your body falls apart as you cum on his tongue, grinding against him wildly, your hips rolling, you know he can take it. You know that he wants to take it. You scream his name, gripping the headboard with all your strength as you cum in his mouth, splashing down his chin and soaking the sheets. He keeps his fingers pumping in and out until you fall off of him onto the bed, your body shaking as you pant into the pillows. 

He reaches down, stroking his aching cock a few times to coat it in your mixed fluids. Then he lines himself up with your entrance, the head of his cock nudging slick folds.

"Ready for me, darlin'?" he asks, his voice a low growl.

You shake your head no, unable to even answer him you’re so overwhelmed by the force of your orgasm. 

“Oh… that’s too bad” With that, he thrusts forward, burying himself to the hilt in your tight heat. You both moan loudly at the sudden fullness and the way you clamp around his cock like a vice. 

He sets a brutal pace, pounding into you with powerful strokes. The headboard slams against the wall with each thrust, the vulgar sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

“Look so pretty when you’re crying” He pants as the overstimulated tears fall down your cheeks, enjoying the dazed look in your eyes.

He grips your hips bruisingly tight, his fingers digging into your soft curves as he pulls you down on his cock over and over. He leans down to capture one of your nipples between his teeth, biting and sucking at the sensitive bud, thoroughly enjoying the way you keen loudly and scratch at his shoulders. His other hand snakes up to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.

“That’s my good girl, so willing to be fucked raw” He pistons his hips faster, the bed creaking beneath you as he fucks you into the mattress. His balls slap against your ass with each powerful thrust, stretching you wide with each hit to your cervix. 

With a guttural moan, he pushes himself inside you all the way to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he fills you with his hot seed. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place as he empties himself deep inside your womb.

“Jesus fucking Christ” He pants heavily, collapsing on top of you, he thrusts shallowly as you cum again, falling apart underneath him messily. He buries his face in your shoulder, kissing your neck gently as he keeps his weight on you. Sure he’s crushing you but he’s so big and warm and you’re so delirious you don’t give a fuck. 

“You did so good” Reacher shifts slightly, mindful of his softening cock still buried inside you. He rolls you both over so you’re sprawled on top of him, your head resting on his chest. His large hands splay across your back, one dipping lower to cup your ass possessively.

“You okay?” he murmurs, his fingers tracing little patterns on your skin and you nod slowly, curling into him more. He nuzzles into your hair, breathing in your scent, and smiles

“You gonna say anything? Miss hearin’ that cute little voice of yours” 

You look at him, your chin resting on his chest and he smirks 

“I don’t think I’m gonna be able to walk for a week” 

He squeezes your ass in his hands, jiggling it a little “Mmmhm that was the goal I had in mind… make sure you can’t run from me” 

Your mouth drops and you swat at his chest as he snickers and pulls the blankets over you two.

“You know what this means right?” 

“Nuh huh” You shake your head and he grins absolutely wickedly, sending a nervous shiver down your spine.

“It’s my turn to tie you up next time” 

[gilmorenights]

Do you guys remember the episode of tts where Rapunzel lost her memories and is reverted to the version of herself who was still trapped in the tower?

I need an episode (or a fic technically but ykwim) of that but with Varian losing his memories.

If Varian lost his memories, he’d be reverted back to the version of himself who had just lost his father, hates Rapunzel, and is plotting to take her down. Idk if it would be pre-Saporian Varian or Saporian Varian, but either way he’d be reverted to his villain days. Hugo, obviously, is freaking out because this is how he finds out Varian is the Alchemist and he’s in wayyy more danger than he thought he was, so he has to play along. When Varian asks who he is, he lies and says Varian recruited him to take down Corona because they’re both alchemists/engineers.

Like Cass did with Raps, Hugo claims to be leading Varian home so they can get started on their revenge, but in reality, he’s looking for the soup ingredients to get V’s memories back. Varian eventually find out Hugo is lying, flips out, and goes on a rampage because yet again he trusted someone and was betrayed.

When Varian finally gets his memories back, Hugo explains everything and V is mortified. They have a moment where Varian is full on sobbing while explaining his past to Hugo and how he hoped none of them would have to find out about/see that side of him, and Hugo is just sitting there like um??? What do I say??? Because he’s never seen Varian so open and exposed before, and it’s a jarring contrast to who he had been just minutes ago. When Varian is finally done explaining, we get a “I’m sorry” “You have nothing to apologize for, you don’t owe anyone an explanation” moment and Hugo promises not to tell the others.

Cuz like ajsbjshsksksj I love the idea of Hugo being the one to see Varian at his lowest because up until this point Hugo’s had this idea that Varian is just an annoying know it all who’s taken up the role of leader and despises him cuz it seems like he has everything together, it seems like his life was perfect before this (best friend is the crown princess of Corona, he’s the Royal Alchemist, he has ties to the Dark Kingdom’s family, etc), but now he’s forced to face the fact that (like him!!!) Varian’s put-together personality is just a facade to hide his dark past.

And then him promising not to tell the others and Varian believing him- which is a big deal because we all know Varian’s past with promises- is such a vital step in their relationship because of all people he’s choosing to trust with a promise, Hugo is the first one (which makes Hugo’s betrayal even worse hehe).

Sigh I love them thanks for coming to my ted talk🫶🏼

[asce-of-hearts]

Okay yandere robin HSR, like she was In her lowest after Sunday case and now he was with astral express, robin get scared that the reader will leave her alone too so she do anything to keep the reader even to extreme way (sorry bad English) okay how about just those manhwa? A tree without roots, I thought it would fit for robifly tho (robin x firefly) but firefly is the top

Anything at all

Contents: Yandere!Robin drabble (gn!reader)

more Robin content here

TAG LIST

A/N: Haven't read that manwha but I definitely think that Firefly tops in the relationship between the two of them, in general I think Robin is very much a pillow princess lol

WARNINGS: SOFT YANDERE, DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND DEATH, ROBIN BEING IN LOVE WITH READER BUT READER NOT KNOWING.

Loneliness leaves you with the time to do a lot of things.

Practice singing, read books you never got around reading, and also, think. You're left with a lot of time to think about everything that happens and has happened.

And that is making Robin feel like she's being eaten from the inside out.

There's people who care about her, sure. You, for example. and her brother, who is currently imprisoned, or dead. She tries not to let her thoughts wander too much to that dark place. Think positive thoughts, sing positive songs. Anything really, as long as it takes her mind off the fact that her brother could be dead, and if she isn't careful, you could die anytime as well.

She hates herself for being so paranoid, for being such a loser at times. The thought of never being able to talk to you, to feel your warmth when you hug, to never hear your voice or laughter again makes her feel like she will go insane at any moment. She stares at the thousand pictures you and her have together, her mind wandering to places it shouldn't. Between your face and body, sometimes the way your hands wrap around her waist. She sighs, lovingly, defeated, smitten.

She desires nothing more than to be close to you all the time, so close you can no longer tell where she ends and you begin. Even worse, she wants to trap you, cage you like a bird. Keep you cradled between her delicate hands in such a way you'll never be able to escape, she tries, she's trying to not succumb to that. To not succumb to the thought of tying you up and leaving you to rot in her room just so you won't escape, of building a cage with the money she has spare so she can trap you there, make you dance to her singing. Or a thought she doesn't like so much, she hates it to the point she has to bury her head in the pillows whenever it comes to her. The thought of actually killing you, of using her own two hands to take your life away from you. Imprisoning and killing, there's Sunday in her mind again. What a joke.

A knock to your door in the middle of the night startles you. You open it enough to peek at the delicate, petite silhouette standing behind it.

"Robin!" You say, surprised as you let her in. "Can I... help you? Is something wrong?"

She shakes her head, forcing herself to put on the most genuine smile she can.

"No, it's nothing. Just... just had a feeling something was going to happen to you, and came to check." You smile at her as well, and shake your head.

"Nothing wrong with me," You answer, and sit over the bed and invite her there with you. "But if it eases your mind, you can stay here with me. That's what friends are for, right?"

"Yes, of course," Her eyes darken as she lays down next to you, closing her eyes as you let her wrap her arms around you, and you do the same. Tangled like rope, a mess of limbs and body heat. "Friends..." She murmurs. "How much are you willing to do for a friend?"

You hum as you think, staring at the wall as you think about it. The smell of her hair, strangely floral, easing you.

"Well, depends on the friend," Its a simple answer, one that makes her feel uneasy. "For you for example... a lot of things. Because you're important to me." You smile, and she does as well. Her hands come to cradle your face.

"I would do a lot of things for you too, ___," She whispers, a dark glint in her eyes. "I would do anything to make sure you're safe and happy. To make sure we're together forever."

"Anything at all, ___."

i should do a more in depth character analysis for Robin as a yandere i actually think shes a very interesting character.

hope you enjoyed this!!!

have a great day night!!!

COMISSIONS INFO

TAGGING: @eeelieschariot @exactlyzealouslady

Want to know when I release another fic? Join the TAG LIST

[wanna1be0]

part i - goodbye

synopsis: you and vi grew up together in the undercity. you've always admired her and didn't realize your true feelings until she left. when she comes back with an enforcer, sure you're hurt, but you work with her for the greater good. when cait leaves vi, you're there for her. cw: female reader, vi x reader, emotional hurt, mention of caitvi's relationship, alcohol mentioned, slow burn, spoilers s2

Vi is at her lowest. Being hit and reduced to a monster by the person she thought she could trust broke her. She resorted to the one thing she knew. Fighting.

Vi's vision has gone blurry. She's sweating from the alcohol in her system, and the black of her hair dye is running down her skin. She can tell by the smell of your perfume that you're there, and by the feeling of the big arm under hers, Loris is too.

"Can you just leave me alone?" Vi grumbles, pushing both you and Loris away as you were leading her towards the door. "No Vi, we are here to help you," you say as you put your hand back on her shoulder and continue leading her inside. Pushing you off her once again, this time even more aggressively, she starts to yell.

"Can't you see I don't need your help? I never needed your help. Not when we were younger and not now. And you Loris, I don't need your help either. Both of you should just leave."

Taken aback by her words, tears fill your eyes. When you were younger you did everything together. You were inseparable. When everything went down at the warehouse, you thought she had died and mourned her loss as if it were real.

You look to Loris for help, but he looks defeated. He shrugs his shoulders at you, while giving you a sort of knowing look. She won't change.

She is still hung up on Cait.

You consider Loris a close friend, and with that you opened up to him. About what life was like when Vi left. About what happened to Powder, to Jinx. You and Ekko kept in touch, but you weren't much of a fighter. Thinking Vi had died caused your eyes to open regarding how you really felt about her. Sure you admired her growing up, but you also grew to love her. She was strong willed, protective, someone you could count on. You were left to mourn the love of your life in solitude. And now, she was pushing you away after you had just gotten her back.

Loris and you have been doing this night after night. Sitting with Vi in the bar until she can no longer function without the two of you holding her up, walking her back to the small room she lives in, and slowly getting more and more hurt by her. "I don't know about you, [y/n], but I think I've had enough of her bullshit," Loris says pointing to Vi. And just like that, it is you and Vi. Vi and you. Alone in a dark alley.

"You don't mean that Vi, you're drunk," you say softely. Vi scoffs and begins stumbling to the door. You reach for her shoulder, but she shrugs you away, raising her voice once again, "Leave it [y/n], I don't need you." You blink the tears away, the hurt and sadness becoming searing anger.

"You know what Violet, I will leave. Lets see how long you last with this. Coming back drunk every night to a room you can barely call livable with no companion besides your fists. You know, I mourned you for years when you left. I thought you died. And then you come back, with an enforcer who you eye fuck every chance you get no less, and act as if everything is normal? Well it's not normal Vi. It never has been. And I thought maybe we could be... normal again without Cait. But I should have known better. Goodbye Violet. Have fun fighting your life away instead of facing your feelings."

The corner of Vi's vision begins to fade into black as you walk away. With tears streaming down your face, you mourn the loss of Vi all over again.

© wanna1be0 ★ do not copy, translate, repost or share this work as yours on other platforms ! consider leaving a comment, liking, or reblogging <3 also send me a request for what you want to see next! read part ii here

[alittlegiraffe]

Not really a 'wish you would write' but the fluff,, cuddles, kisses, just fluffy mushy stuff, it's one of my favorite genres(?) From you BUT it's even better when it's angst to fluff,, like just sweetness and apologies and crap, my favorites are the ones where yn/you and marshall fight but then make up a while after, love those 🤌,, just an appreciation ask I guess?? Also drink water eat food, and get some sun:)!!

A/N: if you knew what I was writing when I read this..... It'll be out later I think and you'll laugh at how different it is.... And also maybe blush a bit.

Anyway here's the fic you inspired my dear! -Gracie, who's a little less dehydrated than usual thanks to your reminder because my husband was working all weekend and unable to hydrate me as he normally would.

---

Title: "The Calm After the Storm"

Marshall paced around the living room, his fists clenched, chest heaving with every breath he took. The argument had escalated faster than he'd expected, and now, it was like the walls were closing in on him. His wife had stormed off, tears streaming down her face as she shouted things that were meant to cut deep, things she knew would hurt. And they did. They hurt like hell.

He grabbed his bag from the bed, stuffing clothes into it with shaky hands. His mind was racing, still too angry to think straight, but knowing he needed to get out—get some space. If he stayed, he was sure he'd say something else he'd regret, something that might truly break them.

He moved towards the door, his heart hammering against his ribcage. But then, he froze.

Through the hallway, he saw her.

There she was, sitting on the couch, staring blankly ahead, the glow of the lamp casting shadows on her face. Her shoulders were slumped, her eyes hollow. It was like all the life had been drained from her, and it gutted him. Every inch of his anger dissipated in an instant, replaced with an overwhelming sense of sorrow.

This was his girl. His wife. The one person who meant more to him than anything. She was the one who had seen him at his lowest, the one who held him together when the world threatened to tear him apart. She’d been with him through everything—the pain, the darkness, the triumphs. She deserved so much more than this fight. More than the hurtful words they'd thrown at each other.

His grip on the bag loosened, and before he even knew what he was doing, he dropped it to the floor. His feet moved on their own, as if they were leading him to her.

He didn’t say a word. He couldn’t. He didn’t have to.

He knelt down in front of her, his hands reaching for hers, pulling her into his arms. She didn’t resist, but he could feel how stiff her body was. She wasn’t crying anymore. The tears had stopped, leaving only the quiet echo of pain between them.

"Baby…" His voice was barely a whisper, hoarse from the argument, from the emotions that had been building all night.

Her head dropped onto his chest, her breath shaky, and he could feel the weight of her exhaustion. He didn’t need to ask what she was feeling. He already knew. She was as torn up as he was.

"I’m so sorry," he murmured, pressing his lips to the top of her head, "I should’ve never said all that shit. I... I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to lose you."

She didn’t speak right away, and for a moment, it felt like the world had frozen. All the rage, the hurt, the words—they were all gone, replaced by this unbearable quiet.

Finally, she pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes, her voice so soft, fragile. "You scared me, Marshall. You said things… things that made me feel like you didn’t even care anymore."

His heart shattered at her words. "I do care. I care more than anything in this world. You’re everything to me. Don’t you ever think that I don’t love you."

She nodded, as if she was trying to believe it, but the uncertainty still lingered in her eyes.

He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs gently brushing away the remnants of her tears. "I can’t be the one to leave you like this. I can’t. I will make things right. You’re my world. You’re mine."

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The only sound was the steady rhythm of their breathing, syncing together, as though their hearts were trying to find their way back to each other.

Finally, she sighed, her shoulders relaxing. "I’m so damn mad at you, Marshall. But I’m also scared. Scared of what happens when we keep doing this... fighting like this."

"I know," he whispered. "But I swear to you, we’ll figure it out. I’ll do whatever it takes."

She nodded again, her arms wrapping around him, holding on as if she was afraid he might slip away. And for the first time in what felt like hours, he felt a flicker of hope.

They didn’t have all the answers. They still had a lot of work to do. But in that moment, he knew—they were worth the fight. And he wasn’t about to give up on the one person who meant everything to him.

Marshall held her tight, never wanting to let go.

[sol-consort]

So uhm... any thoughts on Johnny you would like to share (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

I'm torn between enemies to lovers, slow burn romance, or completely off the bat toxic abusive relationship that just spirals into hell

It has the potential to become the greatest codependent relationship ever where your souls intertwine, minds merging into one. To love someone so much, you become them and they become you.

And the long treacherous road to achieving that when we're already started in the gutters? God tier journey of building trust, hastly given compliments through gritted teeth, and seeing each other at the lowest points yet prevailing through the dark together.

If Cyberpunk had an affection meter, Johnny's would be in the red negatives before V even opened their mouth.

(Also, keep in mind I've yet to see much of this character, I paused the game just after V takes their medication when Johnny is first introduced)

But... on the toxic side:

tw: dubious consent, manipulation, sadism, unhealthy coping mechanism, dissociation, trauma.

The first thing he does when you see him, is ask for a smoke. Establishing early on that Johnny has urges, he still craves.

The second thing he does is say, "What kind of a joytoy are you then?" When V informs him that they don't smoke.

Establishing the following

He views V as attractive

He views V as lesser than him

His attraction to V is predatory and objectifying, as if you were one of his chasing fans back in band days who "waste their life following him around like a dog"

It's your first ever interaction, and he's already attempting to use you to sate his appetite and calm his nerves. Even as you're bedridden and bandage wrapped, he couldn't care less.

He only ever seems to care when you ignore him and attempt to leave the apartment, shoving you back inside, belittling your attempt and overpowering you to the ground. Mocking you as you crawl towards the pills, stepping near them with his shoe just as you reach over with trembling fingers for a single pill like it's your salvation.

If he can't use you, then he expects you to sit by his side quietly like an obedient dog, mere eyecandy if not a cigarette dispenser, and if you don't and attempt to flee, he drags you back kicking and screaming.

He treats V as his personal bitch in everything but spelling the word itself.

With V's weakened physical and mental state, they're inconsolable. Still mourning the loss of your best friend, still in shock at seeing Viktor almost cry as he delivers the news of your soon approaching demise, still processing the whole coming back from death thing and having your barely living corpse dragged out of piles of garbage.

You have too much on your plate, you won't put up much of a fight, and Johnny can clearly see that. He smells the weakness in you, digging his heel into your still-fresh wounds.

The biggest mistake you could ever make in this critical state is to make a move on him in any shape or form. Even merely glancing at his lips in the middle of the argument would give him all the motivation he needs to slam you against the nearest wall.

He's beyond pent-up. He needs a release. He's waiting for the smallest hint of approval from you to completely let go and have his way, be it a lingering touch on his forearm or a wanton look into his eyes.

But once he latches once, once he discovers this route, he is never letting go.

And you're incredibly lonely, more lonely than you've ever been.

At the end of the day, he's still a warm body.

If fucking him means putting a temporary stop to his vocal insults and threats, then this peace of mind is worth the steep price.

There's no aftercare. He's never gentle, but part of you feels like you deserve the roughness. It's what you're used to, the comforting familiarity of aching pain, bruised knees, and a sore body.

You're not always into it. Sometimes, you only sleep with him because it's the only thing around to do that isn't just doing other people's dirty work, the only thing that gives a resemblance to having freedom.

But how willed can a choice truly be when it's the only choice offered?

You don't finish during those times, he notices it but doesn't care.

Your mind wanders during them. You don't try to stop it. Recalling the vile smell of the rotting garbage—his grip tightens around your hips, just as bruising as the one that dragged your limb body to the car.

You think back to the view of the sky just before the truama team shuttle came into view—Johnny's thrusts are relentless, knocking the breath out of you.

The spark of gunpowder, the feeling of a glass rooftop shattering underneath your body—his nails scratch your back, glass shards cutting through your suit as relic suitcase flashes red.

Bite marks litter your throat. The sound of Johnny's grunts and groans is ever so distant despite his face buried into the teeth-marked crook of your neck.

You think of Jackie.

You always do, no matter where you start and travel through memory lane, his memory is always the last stop.

Crystal clear. Shining bright, a ray of sunshine warming the freezing corners of your heart better than any naked body tightly pressed against you ever could.

You miss your best friend.

Your arms reach out, and a vision of him is at the tips of your fingers, just out of reach. You wrap your arms around his ghost, enveloping Johnny into a fragile hug.

Pull him closer, desperately clinging to Jackie. Press your face against that stupid haircut he always loved, gently kiss the temple of his head, vision clouding as you blink away the tears.

Just like a leash, Johnny tugs you by the hair to look him in the eyes. Everything else he can overlook, but this? Thinking of someone else as if he can't literally read your mind? The audacity.

It grinds his gears. You've wandered too far away, and now he needs to force you back into the present whether you like it or not.

He will remind you where you belong, below him as you stare him in the eyes. He'll have you repeat his name like a prayer with a breathless voice.

The familiar pleasent smell of your bedsheets below, the sound of the TV still on in the background, the faint chatter of tenants outside in the corridor.

There is no wonderland to retreat back to, you're here, you're yourself, in this grim bitter reality. Your legs hooked over the hips of death himself, the sadistic grin on your murderer's face—the AI who saved your life—only grows as an unwarranted climax washes through you. The orgasm so intense yet so hollow, devoid of any real resemblance of pleasure.

[justpoliteconversations]

Comfort [Mer!Warriors + Reader]

All it takes is a single moment for everything you think you know to flip on its head.

I originally had different plans for this AU continuation, but I came across a post of someone asking for a comfort fic and thought I'd try.

Masterlist

Part: 1 / 2

TW: Maybe? Hard to tell sometimes.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise. Linked Universe is the fan creation of jojo56830.

---

It had been a long day. Between back breaking work and the weariness of too long spent fighting to maintain your composure, the weight of all your hardships seemed to have finally caught up to you. You were just so tired, but even the promise of escape sleep offered seemed impossible to achieve.

Not with this overly spoiled creature screeching (elegantly, somehow. God damned elegantly. like a fully accompanied angel's choir) for your attention. As though this was something you two routinely did (for the record, it wasn't. you didn't know what his damned problem was). And ignoring him wasn't working, as it was going on the second hour now and he had somehow only gotten louder.

You honestly just wanted to cry. You just wanted to sleep.

You just wanted a break that didn't make you feel guilty. Guilty for not wanting to live up to everyone's expectations for once. For just wanting to sit down, eat something horrendously unhealthy, and then maybe nap for a few hours before dinner. And then go right back to sleep without everyone expecting you to fix every damned problem that blew their way.

The perfect day (but it wouldn't be. not really. because you couldn't even imagine closing your eyes when there was still so much to do). And it was being thoroughly destroyed (it was never something that existed anyway) by the unceasing, unholy (ethereal) screeching of the Center's resident golden boy.

How the mer knew just when to start acting up when no one but you was around, you'd probably never know. But it was damned concerning, and annoying. Especially when he decided to be difficult. Like now (oh God. why'd it have to be now when you were at your lowest).

You'd give in eventually, you knew. It was inevitable, and both him and you knew this. You couldn't afford to leave him to his own devices for too long, especially when he had a habit of taking out his frustration on your co-workers when ignored (and not even in an obvious way either. but underhandedly. like 'accidently' splashing water on their phones and equipment during his more enthusiastic performances).

You heard his screech again, but this time you could hear the low edge that entered his cry. Like the threat of a blade gliding delicately under a silk cloth, smooth and lilting and deadly in its sharpness. A dark, foreboding promise all wrapped up in a beautiful symphony of sweet nothings.

"I'm coming! Just give me a moment!" You finally called out, wincing at the way your voice nearly wobbled. Frustration and exhaustion mixing together into a singular moment of weakness.

It was silent then, and a form of primeval dread filled your stomach at the sudden stillness in the air. Because there was no way he hadn't heard the shake of your voice, nor the emotions that caused it. There was absolutely no way he didn't realize how vulnerable you were at the moment.

Numb. Suddenly, you were numb all over. From your ears to your toes, you could feel the cold pinprick of tingling nothingness itching just below your skin. But through it all, even as your feet took you to the bottom of War's tank ladder, you felt oddly detached from your body.

Ah. You were afraid. As tired and as emotionally drained as you were, you still somehow managed to drudge up enough self-preservation to be afraid of Wars. And you weren't sure how to feel about that. You hadn't really thought about it in a long time. Just how much power he now had over you, after that fateful day you'd come to his tank and cut him a deal.

You still didn't want to think about it. You just wanted to get this over with and go to sleep. You didn't even care that you'd regret this later, when you could finally think past the numbness that had settled over your limbs.

And there he was, from one step on the ladder to the next. Quiet, still as death and submerged up to his eeriely shining, dilated eyes in the dark water of his sleeping tank. The inky blackness of the night around him fading the long, billowing ends of his fins into a smoky wisp of shimmering starlight.

You'd forgotten how beautiful he was at night, when the faint luminescence of his fins and scales ran golden fireflies across the darkened navy of his elegant blue fins. How his enchanting, predatory eyes caught even the faintest hints of starlight and built entire galaxies along the darks of them. How he smiled so prettily when he rose from the water, even if you knew it was a lie (fake. dangerous).

The smile was different this time though. There was something sharper about it, so similar yet so different from the charming upturn of plush lips he so often used to entice the unwary into his clutches.

It was enough to unnerve you, this unknown expression that had settled so distinctly upon his pretty face. Enough even to pull you from your exhausted haze and into something almost approaching alertness. Your nerves firing with renewed unease, even several meters above the water and (allegedly, though you didn't believe that for a second) out of War's reach.

And then he lifted a single, elegant hand. Raised a single, elegant finger. And beckoned you to him in a gesture so human it nearly drew a blush to your cheeks (much to your shame).

If you ever discovered who taught him that gesture, you'd skin them yourself. You swore it. But that was for later, because right then you were frozen in shock. Not even because of the connotations behind such a gesture while an attractive male such as him was behind it.

No. It was the meaning behind the gesture.

"No." You said, so pumped full of adrenaline you didn't even feel the exhaustion that'd been weighing down your bones just moments before. "I'm not that far gone, Wars. No matter what you think you heard."

His eyes narrowed just the slightest bit, condescending and frustrated both. Flickering. Dilating. Contracting.

It would be almost funny, to see a mer as smug and put together as Wars showing anything other than slight annoyance (and honestly, it usually is). But right now, with the darkness closing in from all sides and the weight of everything haunting your every step, it was a reminder. A reminder that for all you had managed to keep your composure around this predator, you were still afraid.

You were afraid. And you always had been. From the moment you set eyes on him and knew (just knew, when no one else could see it) that this creature was hunting you and everyone else around him. Even bloodied and mangled and trapped as he was, he had never stopped hunting. That he watching you, just as you were watching him. Always.

He gestured again, tilting his head slightly. Another gesture that sent warning signals straight into your brain, causing your breathing to pick up and a light sheen of cold sweat to start forming on your shoulders, back and forehead. His eyes had fully dilated by now as well, adding an even more alien quality to his unnaturally beautiful features.

You swallowed, trapped between your self-preservation instincts screaming at you to turn tail and run, and the logic of your mind quietly reminding you that this predator would have killed you already had he wanted (that he could kill someone else too, if he felt the need to call your bluff). Because he would. You knew that. Accidents happened all the time. What was one more? (He'd probably fake tears too. the bastard.)

You glanced off to the side, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end under his unnatural stare. "Wars I- You know that's not how this works."

You were met with silence. You were too shaken (too compromised) to even think of meeting his gaze. The sharp, unfaltering, stunningly inhuman gaze.

The faint rippling of water. A slight swoosh. And then.

A great, echoing splash. The catwalk under you shaking and nearly tilting as a great weight was suddenly upon it. The flash of shimmering gold across a sea of dark blue. And suddenly he was in your face, so close you could see the ring of blue, blue, blue encircling the dark pools of his eyes.

You couldn't move. You couldn't scream. You couldn't even breathe. Not when he leaned further into your space (so close now you could see the glitter of scales under his eyes. like gold dust). Not when a clawed, webbed hand came up to your fear stricken face. Not when your skin touched for the first time (warm. soft. supple. nothing like your mind had always imagined it).

Not when his powerful (deadly. predator's. killer's) arms gently (so gently. almost tenderly. but that can't be it because he's him and you're you) pulled you into his chest. Not when he pulled you both down until he was laying along the catwalk with you laying flush on top of him. And not when he buried his face (his mouth. his lips. his teeth. teeth. teeth.) into your hair and just...breathed.

In. Out. In. Out. Steady. Even. Inevitable. His large, warm hands on your back, claws delicately kneading into your clothes. His chest rumbling, so faint you'd have missed it entirely had you not been tucked up under his chin (had he not been pressing you into the place in his chest the vibrations were strongest).

Slowly, your breath returned to you. You began to calm. Your mind begun to clear. And you realized, with sudden clarity, what it was that was happening. What this behavior was.

The gentle nipping at your hair. The tender kneading of his (sharp) claws into the thick ruffles of your clothes. The way he had cradled your significantly smaller body into his larger form and curled his silky (thick, powerful) tail fins around you as best he could with so little space.

The way his whole chest seemed to vibrate. The sound so low it was nearly nonexistent. An action you hadn't known Wars was even capable of, let alone willing to utilize. For a human of all things.

You swallowed, not daring to take your eyes off the gleam of his collarbone (shimmering, even in the dark). "Are you trying to comfort me?"

He pushed you harder into his chest, under his chin. His face nuzzling deeper into your hair, until his mouth was pressed softly against the shell of your ear. His hot breath fanning against your sensitive skin.

"Mine." He cooed (disjointed and raw, unnatural but hauntingly beautiful), one hand having found its way up into the fine hairs at your nape. Just holding them between gentle fingers, thumb caressing your exposed neck. "Strong. Brave." He hummed.

He nosed at the delicate lining of your ear. Nuzzling you. "Beautiful." He purred, pulling away just enough to force you to meet his eyes. His gaze so black you saw yourself reflected in them. "Always mine. Give me. Everything bad."

Looking into his liquid night, blue-mooned eyes. Feeling his hands cradling you protectively, possessively, trying to separate you from the world beyond. You finally understood. Everything.

Wars was territorial after all. Of his space. Of his food. Of his resources. Of anything, everything that was his. That he'd claimed.

Knowing that, how could you have forgotten the most important resource a mer can ever possess? When it had been staring you in the face this whole time?

Warmth began to build behind your eyes, and try as you might, you felt the gates you had held so tightly closed for so long beginning to slip from your grasp. And you just couldn't believe it. That this was really about to happen.

In front of Wars of all creatures. The one predator that had everyone fooled.

But that was the thing, wasn't it. From the very beginning, for all his smiles and sweet nothings, never had he truly tried to hide his fangs from you. Never you. Even as he kept the rest of the world at an arms length away.

He had let you in (had reeled you in). He had let you see (had forced you to see) the dark shaded colors of his heart. His truest self.

Honesty, completely and utterly, from a creature that thrives off deception. How could you have been so blinded by your fear you'd not noticed.

The first few tears finally escaped down the curve of your cheek, and when a gentle, tender, loving thumb came to wipe them away. You broke, and it all came pouring out. In the arms of the predator you still feared so much, but knew, without question, would never allow harm to befall you.

Because he is a territorial mer. And there is nothing a mer covets more than their pod. Their family. Their reason for everything else that follows after.

And Wars, the mer who never wanted to leave. Who, after all was said and done, was still a mer like any other. Had no one but you. Only you. By choice. By fate.

By design.

You'd been hunted. And you'd been caught. And now he would never let you go. And he would protect you from everything.

For as long as he lived.

---

Back to the shadows.

[transchesters]

inspired by this post. couldn’t stop thinking about it so i had to write this <3 ends abruptly but i could be persuaded into writing more 🫢

sam winchester was cursed to be an abomination before he was even born. the fates, or perhaps god himself, decided long ago that the youngest winchester brother would be lucifer's perfect vessel. sure, it was mary who made the deal with azazel — her youngest for john's life — but azazel would have wound up in little sammy's nursery, dripping his rancid blood into the baby's mouth.

somewhere down the line, sam accepted this about himself. he was an abomination, only a slight step away from the demons he hunted. when he drank from ruby, he believed it was worth it, that it was the right thing to do. he was saving lives here! but then, ruby was dead, and lilith was dead, and lucifer rose from hell. all because of *him*. he had let himself grow blind enough to be manipulated by the lowest of the low, all because she told him it would make him powerful. and if he was powerful, then he could do anything, save anyone.

how stupid he had been. he had let everyone down. dean, bobby... castiel. castiel, who should have killed him the moment they met. who forgave him each time he fell. who picked him back up, rescued him from the cage, and took on the burden of his memories. like sam was something worth saving, or protecting.

it's well past midnight when sam wanders into the main room of the bunker, rubbing at his dark-circled eyes, unaware of the angel sitting at the table who is leafing through old men of letter's records.

"sam. you look unwell."

sam blinks, though he isn't startled by castiel's presence. if anything, he is grateful for it. grateful and undeserving.

"shouldn't you be sleeping?" comes castiel's voice again, his brow furrowed as it usually is. his blue eyes are sharp and curious as sam walks his way, soon sitting down in the chair across from his.

"probably. doesn't mean i can," sam replies, peeking over to see what castiel is reading, but the angel closes the book before he gets a chance to. when sam looks up with a raised brow, the expression on castiel's face is unreadable. "what?"

"why is it that you still torture yourself, sam?" castiel questions suddenly, leaning forward as he rests his arms on the table, lacing his fingers together in front of him. when the only response he gets is a confused look from sam, he tilts his head and continues. "you have such a low opinion of yourself. even after all the good you have done, all the lives you have saved, you still think of yourself as the boy with the demon blood."

sam's face falls flat, and he stiffens in his chair. why did castiel have to be so perceptive, and so straightforward? "i dunno, man. we don't need to get into that right now," he mumbles eventually, averting his eyes from the blue ones that see right through him. he runs a hand through his hair, trying not to think about the last time his insomnia kept him up for so long.

"yes, we do. if it will ease your troubles and allow you to heal, then yes. we do."

sam thinks about that response for several seconds before he finally looks at castiel again, heaving a sigh. "why do you even care, cas? you said it yourself, the day we met. i'm the boy with the demon blood. that's what i am, above being a hunter, above being dean's brother, above everything." something about castiel's eyes urge him to spill his guts, and he suddenly can't stop talking. "i'm unclean. unholy. even after all this time, i still feel it in me. every time i kill a demon, i think about how good it would feel to drink it's blood, and then i hate myself a little more. i'm a monster, cas. i'm no better than them."

their eye contact is unwavering, and as sam falls silent, they are both still. castiel, who has become as precious to sam as dean, stares at him with a profound sadness in his eyes. sam deserves none of it.

"you could fix me," sam says suddenly, the idea hardly formed in his mind before he's latching on to it, leaning forward suddenly so he's closer to castiel. "you, you're the opposite of me. you're pure and just and perfect."

castiel blinks owlishly, his head cocked to the side in a way that makes sam want to weep. how can an angel sit before him like this and not feel anything but revulsion?

"sam, if i could heal you, i would. but there is nothing to heal. there is nothing wrong with you." castiel frowns as sam scoffs at his words, almost pouting. "there isn't. the demon blood within you is just a part of you. there is nothing to be done about it. you can fight your urges, and you can do the right thing. that's all that matters, in the end."

perhaps he means to sound reassuring, but sam just feels sick. he's shaking his head before castiel even finishes his sentence. "you're wrong. i’m wrong, on a molecular level. but you can help me!" without thinking, sam reaches out, grapsing castiel's hand in his own. he's surprised to find that castiel's skin is much cooler than that of a normal human. he's also surprised that castiel doesn't recoil from the touch. instead, their hands twine together like they have done this before. like their hands belong together.

"i want to help you," castiel says in a quiet tone, briefly looking down at their hands, feeling an unusual flutter in his chest. "what can i do for you, sam? i will do anything in my power." devotion is clear in his tone, but sam doesn't notice. he's too far gone into hating himself and trying to fix himself.

"it's angel blood. it's your blood — don't you see? you're the only one who can save me and make me right. because, despite everything, you're still here. you let me hold your hand and you heal me after hunts, even though i'm... me. but if you let me have your blood... it would cleanse me." sam isn't sure, really, where the idea came from. if he's been thinking about it for awhile, or if it all just clicked rather suddenly. but he is without a doubt that it will work. that castiel can save him.

castiel looks up from their joined hands and meets sam's eyes again. he takes in the human before him, tainted but lovely, cursed yet trying his hardest. perhaps he is right. demon blood is what ruined sam in the first place, so why shouldn't angel blood be the antidote? and even though castiel tries to rationalize it in his mind, he knows there is no point. because either way, he would say yes.

"of course, sam," he agrees quietly, an angel blade suddenly appearing in his hand.

"wait — not here. i don't want dean to..." sam trails off, because the thought of his brother walking in on this is simply too terrible to speak.

with a ruffle of invisible feathers, they are suddenly seated on sam's bed, in his simple room, devoid of personal touches that would make it truly his. castiel casts his eyes around, noting the differences between this room and dean's, who filled his with memories and mementos the moment they claimed this as their home. he returns his gaze to sam, sitting beside him so their shoulders brush. "it'll be okay, sam," he promises as he begins rolling up the sleeve of his trenchcoat, and then his white shirt, exposing his pale forearm.

sam stares at the soft flesh — unmarked unlike his own which is covered with scars — with a strange feeling in his stomach. he watches with apt interest as castiel drags the silver blade across his skin, a red line of blood following. the angel and the boy with the demon blood lock eyes again for a lingering glance, before sam takes castiel's arm in his hands and pulls it up to his lips.

[inkyrainstorms]

i've had this scene in my brain ever since i first came up with the Sea Awaits hyde concept. however my hands cannot agree today. however my brain requires me to put it out. so i'm tap dancing in your askbox again (does the tap dance equivalent of dropping dead over piano keys) (characterizations might be slightly off i just wanted to write hyde's visual and vibey weirdness) (this might also be the lowest quality Thing i've written in a while but i forced myself to write context around the central point of the scene) (the central point is the part where i start properly capitalizing everything) (eugh i might rewrite this later idk it's 1:30 am) it's evening. there's crew members going about their business on deck and off-deck. there's the sound of the waves, of loud, muffled laughter off somewhere else in the ship, and the creaking of inventions. there's the mingling of moonlight and starlight overhead, distant and permanent, a guide and a beacon for all those floating above the waves.

and there's the lanterns. smaller than the stars, way less impassive and permanent, but constant in their own way. they hang on the walls beside the door to the captain's chambers.

Ito knocks four times. the captain's job nowadays is simpler and less intellectual than it used to be, back when he first took her in as a student, but he still had the knowledge of a mentor. he was beyond useful as a source from time to time.

"Captain?" she called. "I ran the tests you recommended, but the results were... Unexpected. I'd like for you to review these."

there was a moment of silence.

then, from inside, a quiet "Come in." there was nothing unusual about it, not immediately- perhaps the captain had been more direct and to the point than usual, but that wasn't a concern. nothing but research was a concern until the moment the door creaked open.

Inside the Captain's quarters, it was dark. As dark as it gets in the middle of the night, when all doors are closed and all lanterns extinguished, when the only assistance for one's eyes is a window on the far wall and the stars shining from behind it. It made no logical sense - there should be warm light spilling in from the doorway, flickering and pulsing from the lanterns that were /right beside it/, but it was as if all photons died the second they crossed the threshold.

That way, she had to squint to see into the room, her brow furrowing at the increasing oddity of the situation. It was unlike Jekyll to just sit in the dark like this, unless he was asleep.

And surely he must have been asleep - as her eyes began to adjust, she could make out faint outlines: the equipment to one side of the room, the bed and its drawn curtains right across, a glinting mirror in the corner, assorted trinkets and papers and clothes strewn about, the table right in the middle where a man sat backlit by faint moonlight.

A man with a sort of presence that made all the oddity of the room suddenly make sense. A man with a smallish frame who, diguised in shadow, looked as if he had a writhing, twisting mane of tentacles around his head in place of hair. They moved subtly, slowly, as a trick of the eye tends to do in the middle of the night.

Even in blackness, the smallest glimmer like that of two gems where his face should be gave away the location of his eyes. And especially in darkness, their stare was unnatural. Unnerving.

Jekyll hadn't responded to her knocking.

/He/ had.

Once she was familiar with the oddly growing dread, Ito's mind raced to remind her that this was only a man- only Hyde, the strange man surrounded by even stranger circumstances. He was no large animal, no immediate threat; there was no particular reason to have such an immediate reaction to his presence. No particular reason.

...it must have been a trick of the light. Maybe some new artifact Jekyll had picked up.

"...is he asleep?", she asked.

"Something like that. He's not coming out anytime soon." He rasped, so quiet he was nearly whispering. "Is it urgent?"

She hesitated, growing discomfort tugging at her chest. Something in her mind begged her to just walk away. The strange movement of his hair - she assumed it was his hair - forced her to squeeze her eyes shut and reopen them a few times, trying to blink the illusion out of existence or find out if it was real. Each time she blinked, she reached a different conclusion - one time, it looked perfectly normal; the next time she blinked, she swore she could see suckers along the corners of the twisting mane; and the next after that, it just looked like it was swinging with the wind, if there was any in the room. So it went, every time she blinked, making Ito second-guess herself repeatedly. She didn't like it one bit.

"...no," Ito responded, less assertive than she would've liked. "It can wait until tomorrow." She hesitated. "Tell him to look for me as soon as he can. It's a research matter."

"Jekyll will know."

She wasn't sure she could trust his word, but it was enough to direct their conversation to a close. Whenever he spoke, he moved, swinging slowly to one side or the other, leaning toward the right or the left and tilting his head at slight angles. He looked like a drunk swaying with the tide. An.. unnatural drunk that still looked like he should be underwater and not above it.

"Good, thank you," she said, the hurry transparent in her tone.

"Of course." A smile split his words.

Ito clutched the handle, shut the door and turned to leave. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

What an uncomfortable exchange.

The lanterns by the door flickered more than usual as she made her way back to the labs.

SEA AWAITS FIC IN MY INBOX???? LETS GOOOOO <33

I love Ito she’s so incredibly real. The descriptions were so so cool, and the visuals of Hyde presence literally staring the light from the room, preventing it from entering and leaving him in shadow? God, it’s so unsettling and cool.

Hyde <33 the drunk and confusing as hell mascot of the Society <333 god the way he’s so vague and the way apparently Itos eyes couldn’t settle on what he even was is so cool. He’s so!! Creepy and otherworldly, Ito is right!! Guards, dunk that man in the sea

“Jekyll will know” <- so ominous I’m killing him with hammers he’s like this On Purpose.

[brimbrimbrimbrim]

I wrote a Hellblade 2 fic for Senua/Thórgestr because I have a problem. Rated Explicit (as everything I write) and it’s kinda a love story?

Summary: Thórgestr is brought back to Sjavarrisi to heal from his wounds, while Senua avoids him by the sea. As a storm rolls in, she finds herself alone with him in the longhouse, where she decides that the Northman is everything else but what he once was, and there is room in her to feel love again.

‘He’s coming.’

‘Thórgestr. He shouldn’t be, though. He’s still too weak.’

‘Hurt… dead… almost dead. Should be dead. We saw him.’

From the wooden vardhus overlooking the cliffside seas where Senua sits aloft the briney spray of crashing waves, Thórgestr’s figure approaches. He is a black shift of shade ambling through fog and winter—a Draugr if not for time and the healing touch of the læknir. It had taken many a day and night to drag the dying-dead Northman to Ástríðr’s settlement against the shoreline, where the promise of someone—anyone but the viciously seething healer of the Borgarvirki—could save Thórgestr, for he’d shown Senua the rock beneath the moss… his soul beyond the flesh.

And, it was on those passes of moon and sun during their trek back to the sea cliffs of Sjavarrisi that she spoke to him. Of love—of Dillion—of home, fathers, mothers, and the hidden folk who still talk to her now. It had been easier then, back when he could not speak for the blood in his lungs and the infections that came and went without Thórgestr leaving for Helheim. But even in the nights, when time stretched long between the rattle of his inhale and the wheeze of his exhale, his eyes watched her. Those blue, odd depths, wet and red-rimmed, wait for Senua to speak again.

… and so she did. She spoke on small things, great things, and hidden things until Ástríðr brought them—at last—to her home by the cliffs.

The læknir that Ástríðr promised bore skills to bring back that which was nearing death and, in doing so, shook Senua.

‘Happily so.’

‘The tyrant that nearly pierced his heart. His own father. He, too, deserved to die…’

‘At first. Before. But not any longer.’

Now, the Northman lives, and with his voice returned, Senua speaks less. It is different when the audience of her tales and trials cannot comment in stride. It leaves her guarded now… distrustful, as though his winds will change and Senua will be a madwoman again, not a seer—not special.

She watches him from the lowest platform on the smallest vardhus as Thórgestr draws near, plodding on weakened legs with nothing but determination urging him forward. His ferocity to see her—to seek Senua out in the dark, in the cold—nourishes that distrust his waxing voice began.

Though it is winter, and though sea spray sprinkles from the crush and crash of waves upon the rocks below, Thórgestr appears chin held high, in bandages, leather brók… and little else. The muscles in Senua’s thigh—dangling from the platform overlooking the skerry—tense at the sight of skin and blood-daubed dressings. It is not like it was with Dillion… and yet…

‘He is nothing like her lover. Dead. Gone. Dead Dillion.’

‘No, nothing like him. Isn’t bad. Doesn’t have to be.’

Senua looks at the whole of him, then the pieces: strength beneath skin overgrown by vessels, rivers of moisture that coat curvature with love, a freshly shaven jawline with the raised welt of a shaky hand. She takes in these parts of him, then looks away as Thórgestr’s mouth curves upwards. He knows how her eyes linger in places, or perhaps it is that pleasantries are oddities, things Senua is unfamiliar with. These smiles, words, and looks freely given… as though he feels more for her than Senua does him… yet doesn’t mind—is patient—content to wait.

‘He will wait for her. She knows he is changed. She has changed him.’

‘And he likes to wait… they all do.’

‘You’re just a prize to be won now. A souvenir, like the Goði said.’

‘No. Senua is special…’

“It is cold,” Thórgestr says, a brisk tremor that is hot where the world is cold. He leans against the vardhus’ wooden post, unashamed—it would appear at first glance—of the weakness his wound lays over his shoulders, “Only getting colder.”

‘He doesn’t want you to freeze out here, Senua.’

And then, when Senua refuses to look at him, Thórgestr continues, “You know, as a boy, I would find the highest rock and sit, contemplating my purpose. Even then, my father found love in power. Control. I would do anything to be away from him then…”

‘He’s trying to reach out. Shared experiences… camaraderie… why does she push him away?!’

‘It’s no use. She doesn’t like him. Hates him!’

“I do not mind the cold,” Senua tells him, harsh and finite.

‘Tell him to go away. You don’t need him, Senua.’

She looks to the sea where the remnants of the giant’s fall have left the sea brackish and tumultuous with new disruptions that send foamy droplets up the landslip, wetting the cliff’s edge. Jagged, hunched rocks split waves like the onslaught of a raid, filling the coast with Aegir’s horrible lullabies. Only after a disagreement begins on the horizon between sea and sky does she look back to Thórgestr, whose gaze has not left Senua, though his eyes shift to meet hers.

‘Where was he looking?’

“It is you who should worry,” she scolds, “Unless you prefer to freeze. Bound to your sick bed.”

‘Look. He is warm, though. Not cold.’

‘Let him warm you, Senua.’

I’ve got the rest on AO3 cause it’s like almost 10k. Feel free to check it out HERE.

[writingwisterias]

I kind of want to request era leons reacting to his s/o coming out as trans... 👉👈

- 🐇

(also im ftm thats why im so happy you write for trans 🥰)

Hi 🐇!

I'd love to do this for you 💕 and you are always welcome here! I'll keep it in mind when writing if you have any other requests you want related to this topic or not!

Warnings: Fluff, Comfort, Coming out

Trans Masc! Reader

RE2:

He might need you to explain your feelings at first but he's all for it

It's a period where there's not a great deal of knowledge on the matter but he'll support you

He'll make sure you get the stuff you need to fully transition

Help you tell other people if he's the first person you go to

He will be the rock you need as you take that first step

Would also love it if you sit down and talk to him about what you need from him in terms of care and when you are out in public

We all know some people are dickheads

RE4R:

Again the early 2000s it's not really spoken about a whole lot so he would need you to explain your feelings in more depth

But once you have he's all over you and helping you again in anyway he can

His wardrobe is yours

He'll learn how to bind properly so he can make sure you are doing it safely

When it comes to telling other people I think he will insist on being there but won't overshadow you or force you to do it if you back out

Like if you get there and you feel like you aren't ready he'll give you a hug and smile to let you know he's not bothered and will help you when the time is right

Infinite Darkness:

Social media is starting to form with YouTube and things (I made myself feel old by this cause it's only 2006 during id)

But he will do as much research as he can as he doesn't want you to feel like you have to explain things

If he's still unsure or needs guidance he'll ask for help

When you do tell him he's got the biggest smile on his face like he doesn't care but in a good way

He's also there to support you in anyway you need so he'll learn anything you want him to

It can be from binding to make up or how to dress/present yourself

Damnation:

Overall very supportive but might need some help with terms etc

He's fighting anyone that doesn't respect you he doesn't care if they get hurt...they hurt you

You can have his clothes and if they aren't your style have his credit card

Will get you the healthcare you need but you just have to let him know

He's very happy that you chose to tell him and will feel proud in himself that you feel comfortable enough to talk to him about it

RE6:

So since this game is set in 2012 he knows about it but probably knows the basics

Give him time and he'll understand everything

He's over the moon tho that you trusted him enough to tell him though and would celebrate it with you

He'll help with everything/ anything you need like he's got you don't worry

Pretty laid back at this stage so I think it will be a similar situation like you told him and he's just chilled out about it!

Vendetta:

First off he's amazed you actually tell him, even in his lowest state you still care enough about him to tell him.

He's googling everything he needs to know

I think he would use the chance to help you to also help himself

You trusting him enough with this second of vulnerability is already helping him step out of his brooding cloud, whenever he would admit that to you or not remains different.

Death Island:

I imagine he is the one to know and understand what you mean right off the bat, it's 2015 at this point he knows about pride etc

Would offer to go to any event you want him to, I'm sure he would even let you put face paint on

His wardrobe is yours, he'll even lend you his favourite jacket if it's a special occasion

Huge on complimenting you afterwards, like he's flirting nonstop in a way that makes you feel comfortable

I think it would be things like "pretty boy" or "handsome"

He's there with anything you need help with

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Stranger 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Destroyer!Chris

Summary: A stranger buys the farmstead nearby and disturbs your sleepy village life.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Your grandmother waits for you on the porch. She has a book in hand as she sits on the wooden swing, nose scrunched beneath the wire of her glasses. She looks up as you near the bottom of the steps, the wagon rolling and rattling loudly behind Chris.

“Gramma,” you’re nearly breathless as you step up on the lowest step, “I got the groceries.”

She looks up over the frames of her glasses and closes her book. She clears her throat as she sets it beside her on the flat cushion and fixes the kinks around her ears. She stands with her slight hunch and tugs at the front of her handspun blouse.

“And who’s this?” She preens, “I wasn’t expecting company, sir.”

“Um,” you hesitate, waiting for him to answer. He doesn’t, “this is Chris?”

“Chris, ma’am,” he echoes at last, “I’m new around here. Just bought some property down the way. Wanted to come by and say thanks for that pie. Lucky me, we ran into each other in town.”

“Oh, gosh, that is so sweet,” she fawns as she comes to the top of the stairs, “I’m Sadie, I hope you enjoyed the pie. I didn’t have much left in the pantry, I know rhubarb’s not for everyone.”

“It was delicious,” he pushes the handle up and lets it stand on its own, “please, don’t trouble yourself.” He steps past you up the stairs, “very nice to meet you at last. I’ve heard a lot from your granddaughter.”

He offers his hand and she takes it gently. They shake as she smiles. “You have?”

“Please, sit,” he insists and gestures her back to the swing. 

“Oh, thank you,” she swoons, “I just had my hip done, you see? Only just back on my feet.”

“Then it’s a good thing I came by, isn’t it? Looks like you two could use a spare pair of hands.”

“Um, I’ll get the groceries inside–”

“So, you two… talk?”

“Yeah, she was nice enough to deliver that pie and I guess we just hit it off. She didn’t say?” Chris sits beside her. You watch, dumbfounded. What is he talking about?

“No, she didn’t say she was sneaking off with some handsome man,” your grandmother trills.

“You are too nice, Sadie,” he grins, “I didn’t even get a chance to ask her out… you know, I know things are real old-fashioned around here so I thought I better check with you first.”

“Me? Oh, of course, of course!” She nearly claps her hands as she clasps them together, “my granddaughter… it’s about time she went out and had some fun. The dear helps me out so much–”

You grab a bag from the wagon and keep your chin down. Really? She doesn't call it help when you're alone. She tells you you're nagging or useless or irritating.

Chris clears his throat, “so I have your blessing?”

“Oh, certainly you do,” she squeals, “oh, honey, that’s so adorable.”

You look up as you climb the steps. Your stomach is doing somersaults. You can tell she’s already hearing bells. He has her in the palm of his hand and why not? She's only ever wanted you to finish the job your mother left undone. She wants someone she can boast about to the ladies at the quilting club.

“Woah, woah,” Chris stands as he glances over, “let me get that.” He stands and strides past your grandmother’s knees, “I’ll get everything sorted and you ladies can take it easy.”

“Now, that is just too much, sir.”

“It’s not enough,” he insists as he takes the bag from you, “Sadie, please call me Chris.”

“Chris,” she repeats, “you are a sweetheart, aren’t you?”

“Well, you know, it’s why I left the city. People don’t got much manners anymore. Out here, you all are so nice,” he turns and nears the front door, “can I get you something, Sadie? Water, tea?”

“I’m just fine, honey,” she chimes, “my, my, been so long since we had a man around to help.”

He nods and lets himself in through the screen door. You chew your lip and furrow your brow as he disappears inside. Your grandmother hisses your name.

“Dear, come here,” she points you next to her, “you didn’t say he was so handsome.”

“Gramma,” you groan as you drag your feet towards her.

“Oh, don’t you spoil this,” she grabs your wrist and tugs you down, “we’re gonna fix up one of your old dresses, do your hair nice…” she starts to pick at you.

“Gramma,” you drone again, “please–”

“Don’t be embarrassed. You’re a pretty young lady and he’s…” she makes a face, “well, isn’t he a certain kind. Never saw no men in my days with a jawline like that.”

You try not to cringe, forcing a smile again, “alright.”

“Try to be a little excited, dear! It’s your first date,” she exclaims, quickly tamping down her voice as the door opens squeakily. 

She giggles and watches Chris as he goes to haul two more bags from the wagon. You watch him sheepishly and he looks over, sending you a grin that neatly hides away the sinister gleam in his eyes. You swallow and focus on your fidgeting hands as he once more passes through the front door.

“It’s not too late for you,” she pets your cheek and you flinch, “why don’t you go inside and ask him to stay for dinner.”

You stand and don’t say a word. As you go to the door, you hesitate. Your grandmother was never so happy about anything you did. No, but a complete stranger can walk up and have her singing his praises with just a ma’am and a smile.

[murmaiderii]

A BETTER WORLD CHAPTER ONE: NOWHERESVILLE, MAINE

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Winter and its winds are always unkind to Stan’s boat. The ship wasn’t in great shape 30 years ago when he bought it with what little money his brother gave him. But now, after decades of wear and tear, Stan is getting worried that the old girl is on her last legs. Sailing will be out of the question for the rest of the season. If he wants his boat, his home, to stay intact, he’ll have to hunker down at the nearest port in a shitty little town in Maine.

His boat pulls into the sparsely populated port. He hoists the rusty anchor into the water, grunting heavily as he does. If he had someone to help with that task, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard on his back. “Fuck…” He rubs his aching back through his thick sweatshirt. It isn’t enough to keep him warm in the cold of Maine, but he just doesn’t care enough to even bother grabbing his only coat. The thing is falling apart at the seams, anyway. He locks up his cabin and jumps onto the splintered dock, aggravating his knees in the process. He needs a drink.

Everything in this town is so gray. He’s seen more than his fair share of bleak sites, but this place is just depressing, even for him. Obnoxiously bright street lights pollute the sidewalks, illuminating cookie cutter houses. No lights are on in anyone’s windows. It isn’t even midnight yet. This town must be so dull that people have nothing better to do at night than sleep. Luckily, there’s a bar not too far from the dock, located in the perfect spot to attract the rare sailor who’s unfortunate enough to stop here.

A bell rings when he opens the door to the bar, startling the distracted bartender. The young redhead behind the counter looks up from her phone to greet Stan. “Welcome. Don’t get too many customers at this hour,” she says. “What’re you havin’?” He sits at a stool right in the middle of the counter.

“Gimme whatever will get me drunk fastest for the least amount of money,” he requests. She cracks a small smile.

“Got a real crappy whisky that’ll do the trick.” She grabs a clean glass from under the bar and fills it with an unusually dark whisky from the lowest shelf. She slides it across the bar to Stan. He throws half the glass back and shivers from the bitterness. 

“This is disgusting,” he complains. 

“Want something else?”

“This is the cheapest thing you got?”

“Yup,” she confirms. He swallows the rest of the glass and slides it back towards the woman.

“I’ll take another.” She leans over the bar and fills the glass back up to the brim. His eyes flicker to the cleavage pouring out of her black dress shirt. She sure is showing the girls off, probably in an attempt to get better tips from sad saps like him. She’ll be sorely disappointed to find that Stan is too broke to leave more than a couple bucks for her. She leaves him to his drink, focusing on cleaning up a tap.

He sips his second round more leisurely. He’s in no rush to get back to the faulty heating of his ship’s cabin, and he sure as hell can’t afford a hotel. The familiar bug of nicotine cravings crawls through his body. He pulls a cigarette and lighter from his pocket. The bartender whips her head around when she hears the flick of the lighter.

“Ya can’t smoke in here, buddy,” she tells him.

“C’mon, kid. Ain’t no one else around.” She shakes her head at him.

“Federal law, and I don’t want this place to reek of tobacco.” He sighs and slips the contraband back into his pocket. “Hey, mind if I pour myself a drink? I’m not supposed to drink on the job, but as you said, ain’t no one else around.” He nods at her. She grabs herself a glass and fills it with cheap vodka and cranberry juice.

“Your boss ain’t gonna fire you when he sees ya drinking on the security camera?” Stan asks.

“Bosses are my parents. They won’t do anything besides give me a quick lecture.” She leans on the counter across from Stan. Her big breasts stare him in the face. Keeping his eyes away from them is a struggle. “The hell brought you to this wasteland? Hope you’re not staying long, for your own sake.”

“My boat ain’t doin’ too well. I gotta stay in one spot until spring.”

“Damn, you chose just about the worst spot to stay in. Might be worth the risk to sail to the next port. Drowning is a way better fate than living here,” she complains. 

“If it’s so bad, why don’t you get up and leave?” He questions.

“I’ve been plotting my escape since I was a kid, but I always end up being too lazy to run. That’s the issue of this town. Breaks your spirit so much you don’t even have it in you to escape its clutches. You should get out before it takes you, too,” she warns.

“Can’t be that terrible if it produces women as beautiful as you,” Stan flirts. Her lip briefly twitches up, just long enough for Stan to catch it.

“If only the selection of guys was as good. You’re about the most attractive man to walk into this garbage joint.” Stan chuckles at the compliment.

“I find that hard to believe.” He polishes off his second glass. She pours him another. “Kid, I don’t think I can swing another drink. I’m pretty strapped for cash here.” “On the house. I just wanna talk to someone who isn’t from here for once.” He lifts his glass in a cheers to her.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Marty. Yours?”

“Stan. Marty’s a pretty manly name for such a sweet young thing like you.”

“I’m more salty than sweet,” she jokes.

“Why don’t ya let me taste so I can see for myself?” He leans closer to her face. She leans closer to his in return.

“You’re a real dirty old man, you know that?” She pats him on the cheek.

“I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t at least shoot my shot. Haven’t seen a woman as gorgeous as you in forever.” He finishes his third drink. There’s enough booze in his system that he feels like his problems are a little further away. “How much do I owe ya?”

“For that swill? $10,” she tells him. He pulls a 10 and two 1s from his pocket.

“Thanks for the drink, sweetheart. I’ll get outta that pretty red hair of yours now.” Stan staggers across the bar. Being this drunk will make it a little easier to sleep in the freezing cabin of his boat tonight.

“Night, Stan. Don’t come back. You’re too good for this place.”

“So are you, kid.” She waves him off. As much as he wants to heed her warning, he doesn’t have the choice. He’s stuck here for some time. If he gets to see her again, then maybe it won’t be so bad.

The booze is not enough to keep him from shivering. Maybe he can call that rich bastard brother of his for a little financial help. He owes Stan as much after exiling him to do his dirty work. All he needs is for him to cover a few repairs and maybe get him a heavier blanket and new coat. But that would mean contacting the asshole for the first time in three decades. The man got rich and famous with his dumb science shit and never even thought to track Stan down and see if he needed help. He’ll freeze before he’ll talk to his brother again. 

He needs to get out of this cold. He can probably swing another glass of whisky at that bar if he skips a meal tomorrow. The longer he can stay in the warmth of the bar, the better. He pulls his hood over his head and power walks back to the establishment. When he gets there, the door is locked, but Marty is still inside, seated at a table and scrolling on her phone. He turns around when the door doesn’t open for him, but she unlocks it for him.

“Everything good, buddy? It’s after hours,” she calls to him. He enters the bar and she closes the door and locks it again.

“I was hoping you’d still be open. It’s damn cold on my boat. Don’t think I’m getting any sleep tonight,” he explains. 

“Well, I can’t let you stay here when I leave. Can’t risk you robbing the place.” She thinks her options over. “There’s a shelter a couple of miles from here.”

“Nah, forget it. Thanks for tryin’.” He tries to leave again, but she puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“There’s a room in the back with a bed. Remember that there are cameras if you try to rob us.” She leads him past the employees only door to a small room with a single bed and a few boxes left there for storage.

“Ya ain’t gotta do this, kid,” Stan protests.

“Don’t make a mess, alright? And no helping yourself to the booze.” She ignores his pushback and starts to leave.

“Hey, Marty?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” She gives him a salute and walks out, closing Stan’s door behind her. He lays down and stares at the ceiling. This simple gesture by this young girl has to be the first nice thing anyone has done for him in years.

Marty sits in her car and contemplates what she’s done. Trust has never been one of her strong suits, so she surprised herself by letting Stan stay in her bar unsupervised. There was something about him. It’s hard not to pity a man whose life is in such a state of disarray that he’s forced to spend any amount of time in her town. She feels that the effects of her one drink have worn off enough for her to drive home.

Though her family home is across the street from the bar, she doesn’t want to spend too much time with those people. The ten mile drive to her studio apartment is worth the peace it offers. She thinks about Stan through the drive. She’s almost tempted to pay for repairs to his boat in exchange for hitching a ride anywhere but here. She parks in her designated spot, next to the car of the neighbors she always hears fighting through the walls. They’re even going at it when she walks through her front door.

She rips off her work clothes and flops into bed in her bra and panties. She’s going insane here, and Stan's presence really brought those feelings to the surface. She’s sick of the human waste around her. The awful marriages and the town drug epidemic and all the teen parents throwing away their chances at college. The blinding light pollution and the abandoned structures crowding the streets because most businesses can’t survive here. She needs to get Stan out of here before the place swallows him like it does everyone else.

The yelling next door gets worse. They’ve done this nearly every day since Marty moved in almost two years ago. The thread finally snaps for her. She shoots up and starts banging on the wall she shares with the couple. “Shut up! Shut the fuck up! I’ve had it with you people! Get a divorce if you hate each other so much!” She screams.

“Mind your own business, bitch!” The man yells back.

“You bastards keep everyone in this damn building up every night!” She bangs harder. She hears both of them swear and barrel out of their front door. They begin banging on her door.

“Come out and say that to our faces, bitch!” The woman yells.

“Fuckin’ shit,” Marty hisses. Unless she wants her neighbors to bust her door down and lose her deposit for her, she won’t be able to keep them locked out forever. She isn’t going to be able to stay here tonight. She tosses her essentials into a duffel bag and throws an ex-boyfriend’s oversized t-shirt over her underwear. Then, she snatches a small canister from her desk. She takes a deep breath, swings the door open, and blasts the neighbors in the face with pepper spray.

“Dammit! You bitch!” The neighbors clutch at their reddened faces and stumble around blindly, trying to grab Marty. She slams her door shut and dashes past them, straight to her car, and books it out of there. She’ll have to spend a night or two at her parents’ place.