#even though they have never helped me with anything and beaten me down in a hole; i still have my own morals that i cannot seem to let go of

[noroi-amaraciune]

My grief at this point is just anger because I'm in a cage made for me by others and I either kill myself or keep going. But people need me so I'm gonna be fucking angry about it. Then one day I Will kill myself

[mostly-imagines]

I Missed My Funeral

jason todd x reader

aka you learn what happened to jason

warnings: detailed discussion of how jason died, this is not so happy but i can promise you my jason angst will always have comfort

You wonder if your nightmares are accurate.

Your brain is probably just conjuring up every worst case scenario it can fathom, but maybe there’s truth to one of them. You hope not.

It’s something you haven’t been able to keep out of your mind these past few weeks, and everything seems to remind you of it. When you see his guns, when you’re using a knife to cut up dinner, when you see a car crash on the news, or even when you walk past a fucking pharmacy. The thoughts are everywhere, all the time.

Even as you lay in bed, head on his chest, your mind keeps on drifting where you wish it wouldn’t.

You know he died. He never said it out loud, but you’d seen his autopsy scar plenty of times. You’d always refrained from asking questions, he seemed nervous enough the first handful of times he was around you with his shirt off. Enough time has passed that he’s comfortable being shirtless around you, even okay when you touch his chest. The decrease in boundaries has granted you more solace in one another, but it’s also caused your mind to go wild with possibilities. 

Even now, as you lie against his bare chest, you can’t keep your cat-killing thoughts away.

“You’re being quiet,” He comments, not accusatory, just factual. 

You snap out of reverie, “Sorry, I—”

His hand soothes up and down your arm without pause, “Don’t be sorry. What’s going on?”

“I just…” you look down, thinking over your words. “What…what happened to you?” You ask quietly.

He goes still. 

You immediately regret bringing it up, sitting up from his chest to meet his eyes, “I’m sorry, I don’t need to—”

He shakes his head. The slightest response from him shuts you right up. “No, it’s…it’s okay. Probably should’ve said something by now.”

He nudges your head back down to his chest and you oblige, trying to relax your body against him again. It’s a difficult thing to talk yourself into when his isn’t any more relaxed.

“I…you know I used to be Robin?” His voice is low, hesitant.

You nod.

“Well…I made a mistake—a few mistakes. I wasn’t as careful as I should’ve been and I walked into a trap.”

You’re sure he’s placing more blame on himself than he should, though you don’t know enough to fight him on it yet. You wrap your hand around his forearm that drapes across your chest, a silent affirmation that you’re here with nothing but support and reassurance.

His breath stutters, “The, uh…the Joker set me up and…well, he killed me.”

You don’t want to ask how. You don’t want to know how. But you feel like you have to and it’s selfish and you know that but you can’t leave just it at that. 

It’s a barely audible whisper. You’re not even sure Jason could fully hear the word, but he understands the intent anyway.

His next exhale is shaky, “Yeah, um, that’s the rough part.”

Your head twitches. “That’s the rough part?” You breathe out, scared to hear what’s next.

You can’t see from this angle, but Jason’s eyes are welling over, trying desperately not to let tears fall. It takes him a moment to prepare himself to verbalize the next part. 

“He…he be—” he stops himself. “…He hit me with a crowbar. A lot.”

Oh.

You can physically feel your chest sink.

That’s worse than all the horrifying scenarios you’d built up in your head. That’s…he was beaten to death. For trying to help people. 

You don’t want to leave him in the silence for too long, so you ask the only thing you can think to. 

“How old were you?” 

He drops his head to press his mouth against your head, like he’s trying to ground himself. “Fifteen,” He murmurs into your hair.

Oh.  

You flip over so you’re chest to chest with him and hold him tight. “I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t expecting you to say that. The very very few times he’s had anything even remotely relating to this conversation, the revelation is always met by silence. Or worse.

But you’re sorry. No one’s ever said that to him before. About anything, but especially this. What does sorry even mean in this context? You didn’t do anything, are you sorry for asking? Do you…do you feel bad for him?

He swallows hard, “You’re sorry?”

“Yeah,” You say, furrowing your brow. “You’re a good person, Jay. You’re a really good person and…you didn’t deserve any of the shit that happened to you. Especially that. I hate that you’ve been through so much and I’m sorry.”

He refuses to blink but the tears are threatening to win anyways with nowhere else to go. 

He shakes his head weakly, “It was my own fault.” 

“Jason,” you say seriously. “It was not your fault. You were trying to help someone, weren’t you?”

It takes him a moment to respond to that. “I—yeah. Yes. My mom. My birth mom.” He takes a breath, “He, uh, he was blackmailing her and I tried to help her—I tried. But she gave me up to try and save herself…it didn’t matter in the end.”

While you didn’t know about the history with his birth mom, you’d been sure he’d died helping someone. That’s just who he is—whether he knows it or not.

“There was a bomb and it…” He lets that bit trail off. “I don’t remember the explosion. I think I passed out before it happened.”

He doesn’t remember the explosion. But…

He does remember the other part.

You have to drop your head into his neck so that he doesn’t see the way your eyes well up. 

“Please know you’re a good person. Please,” you plead. “You’re the best person I know.”

“But…” his breath comes out shaky, “No one…no one did anything.” 

The tears fall now, and in spite of the fact that he hasn’t let himself cry in front of anyone since he was ten, he doesn’t feel the usual burning impulse to hide. Not from you.

His voice breaks as he says, “He killed me and he didn’t…”

You sit up straight again and hold his face in your hands, looking him in the eye. “That’s not your fault. Whatever Bruce did or didn’t do, it has nothing to do with you. It’s all about him.”

You gently wipe his tears with your thumb as the weight of his head drops forward, leaving your touch the only thing holding him up.

You know he has…problems with Bruce. You know his death is a sore subject among them for more reasons than the obvious. You also know the Joker still lives and breathes today and there’s some sort of rule or agreement that Jason isn’t allowed out on patrol when he’s loose. 

There’s clear trust issues there, on both sides, but you’ve always had trouble figuring out what exactly Bruce had done to leave Jason so closed off. It pushed him away from his family and caused potentially irreparable scarring to his ability to trust other people. It actually makes a lot of sense that this is what caused the rift between them—you’d been thinking maybe Bruce was the reason Jason died or he couldn’t stop it, but this…this is a different kind of damaging. Fuck, no wonder Jason feels like he doesn’t belong in his family. 

You take a heavy breath, “You’re important. You’re important to me and whatever moral roadblocks Bruce couldn’t get over doesn’t change that—it has nothing to do with how good you are.” 

You’re definitely crying now but at this point it doesn’t matter. It’s more important for him to hear this than for you to pretend like this isn’t as horrible as it is.

He doesn’t look up at you but you can see his own tears dripping off his face. You don’t see him cry very much at all, and definitely not like this.

You sniffle, “Do you wanna switch?”

He nods against your palms and lets you out of his hold to sit up as he shifts lower on the bed and wraps his arms around your torso. You weave one of your hands in his hair and stroke softly. The other rubs soothing patterns on his back, feeling the heaviness of his breath under it.

You kiss the top of his head, “I love you. So much.”

He holds you tighter, murmuring “I love you,” into your chest.

It’s quiet for several minutes after as you both process the words said.

You’re the first to pipe up again, “How did…”

He exhales, “Ah…it’s a little complicated…”

He wants to talk about it another time. That’s fine by you.

Another silent minute passes before, “Bruce isn’t…he’s not a bad…we had a lot of problems after I came back. Both of us. Took a while to get over ‘em.” There’s a beat before, “Still getting over ‘em.” 

You nod, continuing tracing onto his back. His voice is clearer again, stronger.

“Is that why you don’t like being at the batcave?” you ask.

“No,” he murmurs. “It’s ‘cause he keeps the suit on display.”

You look down at him, frowning. “What suit?”

“The robin suit.”

You pause.

“That robin suit?”

He nods.

…what

for clarification bc i think i thought this was canon oh well

🔮🕯️the reblog witch bids you do her bidding 🕯️🔮

[suguru-getos]

Could you write a continuation of yandere satosugu where the reader lived and they try everything to help her get better and care for her?

| making up for mistakes | yandere satosugu x reader |

-> continuation of the first part: link 🔗

you had survived the almost suicide attempt you so carefully & yet so carelessly attempted. you were sure you weren’t getting up after this. damn it you made sure to hit your head hard, you could see blanks, you could see stars in your eyes until it all faded to a peaceful nothing-ness.

now, you’re awake again. nothing hurts. you know they must’ve told their friend shoko to aid in your injuries. you feel like you’ve woken up from a long slumber. unwanted as it may be… it does make you feel eerily refreshed. you stretch your limbs from the bed, they’re going to kill you for this. kill you for hampering with their property. oh well — at this point you’re fine with it. what’s it going to do? hurt you. pain is all there is they could ever offer anyways. maybe you can scream out and wish it gets over. that’s all you set your mind to.

you look to the side, the curtains are open and there is a little drizzle of snow. it brings a smile to your face. what if you hadn’t been kidnapped? it would’ve been so fun to hop into one of the lovely cafes you like & order some hot cocoa. put both your hands and wrap them around the ceramic of the hot cup and exhale in utter relaxation of the aroma the sweet cafe has to offer. oh… happy days.

its nauseating what your life is now, wrapping a blanket around yourself and checking down below. you are wearing clothes, decent clothes… not the sultry, slutty ones that satoru forces you to wear. you feel like you could throw up when the reminder occurs again. beaten up like you were nothing but an animal, throwing up in pain and anxiety--

"there we go! princess! awake! oh my god!" satoru comes in and hugs you tightly, his bulky arms wrapping against you, he doesn't let your mind have the time to panic. besides, satoru was... not the one who inflicted you that pain. even though he did nothing about it, in a moment of pure misery, your mind would latch on to him for comfort. "baby- you scared daddy, please don't do that ever again. fuck! i thought i lost you." you could hear the heartbeats on your snow haired man, they were ragged and reminded of the same panic you once bore.

"sorry." your eyes lack all emotions, just a soft murmur escaping you. the haunting realization that you were alive was eating you up. even so, it was your soul that had died. it's the dejected way you answered that makes satoru panic even more. immediately at your knees, leaning against your thighs and mumbling soft apologies, tears wetting your skin. "please baby, I'm so sorry, i should never have let that happen... you did a mistake that's all! you- you- pissed us off." he shakes his head, hugging you tightly.

your hands robotically landed across his hair, caressing. "it's okay, i did wrong, i understand."

your responses were making him nauseous, he hated seeing you in pain, but suguru always says its something that's needed. why is it needed? you're not an animal, are you? the ways with which satoru and suguru try to 'discipline' their toy they are delusional enough to call their lover is insane.

"i got breakfast, little one." now, your heart sinks. you hear the voice of the man who did this to you, mothering, now that his rage is faded into pure, eviscerating guilt. "you have no idea the joy it gives me seeing you awake." suguru hums, and you latch onto satoru, hugging him tightly. satoru's heart skips a beat. this was not the first time you had reached out to him, yet, you did it by your own. it gives him a sick sense of protectiveness. "he wouldn't do anything to ya baby, suguru loves you too." he reminds, looking at a devastated suguru.

"please don't hurt yourself again, angel" suguru hums, leaning in and kissing your forehead. it makes you sick to your stomach, how they treat you right now. you know that whatever you did yielded no results. and they are ever so careful about the same. you're pretty sure you'd have either of them by your side at all times.

"let's go and eat, suguru's made your favorite!" satoru chirps, happily holding you princess-style and going to the dining area. your eyes wandered to the other room on the way, the same room where this all happened, it's making you panic internally. the grotesque reminder of how they treated you. you're about to throw up again.

as soon as satoru puts you down, you run to throw up in disgust, nothing comes out except a few drops of water. your stomach is empty as is. a large, looming hand caresses your back. "I'm sorry, angel. please relax." suguru-- it's suguru...

"i'm sorry." you answered, "i am so sorry." you nodded to get back to the dining area, you should know better than to be with satoru. its not like suguru wouldn't do anything he wants anyways... you'd just like to have some comfort over it.

luckily for you, the breakfast went fine, you were eating quietly, while satoru just observed you. how uncomfortable you looked, the subtle shift in your demeanor. every tiny thing. suguru is essentially doing the same, gazing at your way and observing you. "you look beautiful." suguru comments, and you force a smile from the deepest pits of your psyche. "thank you, suguru."

you know he's ticked off, you need to call them 'daddy' and you're here, addressing them by their first names. sigh... they just have to help you heal, there isn't anything they can do about it really. they pushed you this far, and they should make up for it.

however, as days turn into weeks, satoru and suguru are forced to face the haunting realization that your mental and physical health is worsening. you barely eat, barely talk... you just, stare into the nothingness of empty spaces. satoru has avoided missions to take care of you. he is by your side, sleeps next to you, kisses your forehead, helps you take a shower. while earlier, you tried to at least pretend and work with it. answer however you could, talk to them, fake your smiles, now its nothing. you barely talk.

this time, satoru has a mission to take care of, but suguru is the one who's spending time with you. gently placing you on the bathtub, caressing your forearm, massaging it, decorating it with petals. "there we go little girl, there we go. feels nice?" he coos, and when you don't respond, sighs weakly. he wishes he could at least hear something out of you. when he sees you immersed in auto-pilot, he hums by himself; "yes, yes it is." he has to talk to himself in hopes that its you talking to him. "you know, me and satoru... we were thinking a trip to Italy sounds nice, or maybe Paris.." you used to love travelling, he hopes that would utter out a response from you. NOTHING comes out of you however. that makes suguru's heart break a little, "or maybe, anywhere that you like." he hums, sighing.

"angel?" he asks softly, leaning in and kissing your neck, maybe that would at least earn some leaning back. your resistance...

none.

"talk to me for fucks sake!" suguru snarls, glaring hard at you. you don't even flinch at that, contrary to your earlier flinching and tweaking. a sigh escapes him and then comes bubbling tears. he has truly fucked you up. the haunting realization finally hits him. he can't live with it anymore... it's choking the very fiber of his being.

the rest of the shower passes by in a haze, and suguru is quiet, tears dripping from his face. "what should i do so that you become normal again?" he asks again, pouting and begging with his eyes. no response...

he gets up after tucking you in bed. the dark circles in your eyes are an explicit example of how less you're sleeping. sometimes you wake up with irritating nightmares, screaming and crying. that's the only moment when satoru and suguru are welcomed by your affections.

suguru sighs, he needs to win you this time. or maybe... what's that called? stockholm syndrome?

or maybe, he needs to discuss with satoru about erasing your memory...

or maybe, he needs a curse that can shove your memory off and then they can date you.. from scratch...

either way, they're not leaving you. anytime soon.

[gracieheartspedro]

Propositio

pairing: marcus acacius x afab! reader (daughter of marcus aurelius)

word count: 6k words

description: after assembling an army to win back rome, you finally get to confront the traitor to your cause. general marcus acacius.

warnings: DUBCON. this is for 18+ readers ONLY. lots of blood mentioned, marcus is mean, talks of execution, physical violence, choking, name-calling, manipulation (reader is manipulative, he is too), betrayal, misogyny, proposing a horny ultimatum, nicknames (little dove), unprotected p in v, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), he finishes inside you, he leaves blood prints on you, talking you through it, you and marcus are unhinged. (please let me know if I missed anything or mistagged)

dedication: my sweet sweet @amanitacowboy !! thank you for helping me with this, lindsey! you saved my ass by helping me edit this and your encouragement really got me through writing all of this. *MWAH* forehead kiss

author’s note: you whores asked, and I delivered. now please be kind and share and leave a comment!! you guys rock!!

You never thought you would see the day when Marcus Acacius would be behind iron bars. But here you are, standing before the slated door, watching him with his face in his hands. He looked despicable, completely unknowing of the situation in the city's streets. 

“You care to stand for your Empress?”

His big brown eyes lift from his fingers, glaring at you. He easily recognized your voice, it was something that was imprinted in his mind. “Empress?”

You smirked at his absentminded statement, trying your best not to show your pleasure in hearing him call you that. 

“Rome has fallen, General. And you are here. Shameful that I had to do this all on my own when I inquired to you about a months time.”

He stands up slowly, his tunic and face stained with blood and dirt. He had wounds littering his arms and legs, all dripping blood onto the sandy ground. You could only imagine the horrors he experienced at the hands of the twin emperors. You had no time to grieve for him though, because he is now trying to size you up through the cell. It makes your lips curve up. 

“I would have been inclined to help you, but I was too occupied fighting for my life,” He bites, gritting his teeth. 

Your eyes rake him up and down, noting his beaten-down expression. You have spent so long resenting the man who lied to you, that finally getting to stare him in the face was gratifying. He was already paying for his consequences, and not even at your hand.

“I was, too, General. I put together an army of eight thousand strong. For a woman, I did well.”

He puts his arms through the rails, leaning forward. His hands are close to you, but not close enough to touch you. He looks so different from what you remember. Maybe it’s the new scars that litter his face, one particularly on his right cheekbone. The struggle for power and the war he waged seemed to have caused some fine lines as well. 

He is not the same soldier you knew years before. 

“Now that you rule Rome, what is your first move? Kill all the loyalists?” His voice is gruff, almost like he had something caught in his throat. 

You had pondered this day for so long. You were hopeful he was still alive so he could watch you do everything you had planned to do. You remember him telling you that you would make a great ruler someday, but that would probably never happen since you were a woman. He liked to remind you of that often. 

You felt the urge to get in his space and pester him, as you had done time and time again. 

You turn away from him, looking around the tables that surround you, searching for a way to get closer to him. You spot a ring of iron keys and snatch them up. You go through each one, finding one that matches the keyhole. You hear a click as soon as you turn it, the door sliding open. Instead of letting him come out, you stand in his space. All that occupies the room is a wooden bench, a small window, and a table with an empty bowl.

“These quarters meeting your standards?” 

The iron door shuts on its own, rattling as it locks itself. Marcus grimaces, annoyed with your words about him and his situation. “Are you planning on keeping me in here?”

You cross your arms, completely disregarding his question. You did not feel like appeasing him that quickly. “The bench should be a bit softer for your aging back. I am positive you are not getting good sleep.”

The Marcus you knew before was polite and calculated. This Marcus was tired and unhinged. As soon as he notes your condescending tone, he realizes how easy it would be to kill you in the privacy of his cell. You would never expect that from him, he thought.

He reaches out, grabs your shoulders, and slams you against the dirt walls. Luckily, your head does not slam against the mud, only your back. 

The air leaves your lungs as Marcus pins you. You were not expecting such a response, but you stayed unwavering in your expression. You already had your reasonings for being bitter towards the man. You were now ensuring he would never do another malicious thing towards you and that meant putting him in his place. 

“You evil conniving whore,” He seethes, as you try to push out a breath. When you finally bring air back into your chest, you laugh out, your breath hitting his face. 

“Talking dirty to me, General? I thought you were a gentleman.”

He grunts, wrapping his large hand around your neck. You know this is compromising, dangerous even, but you knew deep down that if he killed you, he would only be hurting himself. Rome needed you. He knew that better than anyone else. 

“What are you going to do? Tell me,” He seethes, his fingers squeezing harder the more the seconds pass. 

You try to speak, but he’s cutting off a lot of your air. You wedge your hands in between your bodies, pushing his chest back a bit. He was so warm. “Kill the loyalists. And for this, I may kill you.”

He grits his teeth, “You are not going to kill me.”

“You do not know me very well then, General.”

He removes his hand, knowing very well he bruised your neck in the process of getting information out of you. He is still very close to you as you catch your breath, fanning his sweaty hair off his forehead. He is trying to read you, but for some reason, your coldness informs him of nothing. Your intentions were usually blatant. Not today. 

“What good does killing me do?” He inquires, his arms still caging you in. You cannot lie that you check out his muscular arms as you think about your next statement, considering that he’s more built than he was when you saw him years ago.

Marcus was always enjoyable to look at, but in this very moment, you could not stand the sight of his conflicted expressions. You did not understand why he was rattled and confused. He had no right to be. 

Suddenly you are back in the juncture where you found out the Senate knew about your impending invasion. You had only told one person inside Rome of your grand plans and he was supposed to be helping you. 

But instead, he was the one who informed the council. Your blood boiled at the horrid information. You had to get revenge. The General needed to pay.

“I do not bode well with traitors, General. You betrayed me.”

He scoffs, his eyes trained on your lips, “You know well I did not intentionally try to eradicate your plan. It worked anyway, why does it matter now?”

“You told the Senate that I was raising an army, am I correct in that assumption?”

“No, I told one Senator, one I thought I could trust, that I was aiding you to raise an army. It got me locked in this hell.” He gestures to his surroundings, finally backing away from your space. “I did not want to intentionally ruin this. You know that I would have done anything to see another Aurelius guide the Empire into what it should be. You are the hope Rome still has left.”

Your family history was the only way you had a pathway to be the Empress. You were technically the last of your family and you knew that would be your path to the position of the Roman Ceasar. Plus, Rome adored your Father. He was the greatest ruler Rome ever had. You had his heart and his compassion, unlike your older brother who ended up dead in the middle of the Coliseum due to his hunger for power. Your sister was practically useless when she lost her son, so it was up to you and you alone. 

When the Twins took over Rome, you knew you had run away to farther lands to raise an army, appealing to every land that if you were not to aid them, they would get eliminated by Rome’s tyranny. Within 3 years, you had many countries and armies by your side, ready to take over the empire in your name. 

Once the Twins knew of your plan, they sprang into action. They wanted your head. You had to fight to get into the walls of Rome and every soldier was directed to kill you at first sight. You had some close calls but you were decent with a sword and your guards were even better with theirs. Once you got to the steps of the palace, by some stroke of luck, the Twins were already dead. The rumor had spread that you were taking back Rome and the citizens took care of the last task you had without even asking. 

You raise your chin, not giving in to Marcus’ game, “You almost got me killed. For that, I cannot forgive you.”

He winces a bit, putting his hands on his hips. “You never were very forgiving.”

“Hm, you perceive me well,” You sneer, trying your best not to take note of the ache around your neck. You bring your hand up to feel out the irritation. Marcus zeros in on your motions, smiling a bit. 

“I was stuck looking after you for many years, remember? I know you better than you know yourself, little one.” 

You think back to the days of being an obsessive young woman who was looked after by many guards during your father’s reign. Your favorite was always Marcus. He would let you get away with the most chaos. He was about ten years your senior. He knew it would be easier to let your childish nature roll off his shoulders than try to reprimand you. The few times you remember, you begged him to let you hold his sword and he refused telling you, ‘Women do not carry such weapons’. So instead of giving up on the conquest, you snuck into his sleeping quarters and stole it. When you showed off to a bunch of drunk soldiers, you thought Marcus’ face could not get any redder. He was so mad at you that he almost cursed you in front of your father. 

You sickly enjoyed aggravating the man. Always have, always will. 

You were starting to realize that you had a very broad history with the soldier. How were you to kill him?

“Tell me, Marcus. How would you like me to do it?”

He is quick with his response, “Do what, exactly?”

“How do you want me to kill you?”

He shakes his head, recognizing the look on your face, which suggests that you are only toying with the idea and are in conflict with yourself. 

“You are not going to.”

You begin to realize you are showing too much honest emotion. He is too quick to notice such things about you, which annoyed you quite a bit.

You smile, trying to flip him off your trail. “But I am, General.”

“You are not going to kill me, girl. I will not die under your hand.”

He is not backing down, which only frustrates you further. You step past him, getting a big whiff of blood flooding your nostrils as you do. The unfortunate man has not bathed in weeks. The blood staining his body is probably of dozens of different men. 

You peek out the iron bars to see that you two are still alone. You had three guards standing by not too far from the exit of the cells, but you instructed them not to follow you in.

“Then how would you like it? Another man’s hand?” You are silent for a moment, turning back to him, “I have a whole army.”

“Are they here now?”

He glances around his quarters, pondering how he is going to get out of this situation. You watch him carefully calculate his next move. His hand palms his face and his growing facial hair. He finally eyes you and you can tell he is getting tired. He knows he has only one choice. 

“What do I have to do to get you to forgive me?”

You snicker, knowing he is going to have to do more than ask for forgiveness. You sickly want to watch him appeal for your mercy.  “Get on your knees and beg.”

“I am not begging.”

“Then you die.”

He saunters over to you, his dirty fingers reaching up and tracing the hair on your arms. You take note that he’s touching you more cautiously than he was moments before. “I told you that I did not intentionally betray you.”

You stare down at his movements on your bare skin. “And I told you I do not care of what your intentions were.”

He smirks, cocking his eyebrow up. He knows that you will show some mercy to him because deep down, you could not stand the idea of losing him. He was a part of you, whether you liked it or not.

“You will let me live. You are going to let me lead the army like I once did,” He remarks, very certain of himself.

You scoff, tilting your head back, “You sound sure of yourself, Marcus. I do not think you understand-“

“Do you not remember telling me that I was the only man you trusted with your mind, body, and soul? What happened to that woman?”

It was something you had told him years before after he finally gave in and fucked you. It was probably the best night of your life, having him ravish you and please you. In a lustful conversation, you informed him that you only trusted him with your entire being. Looking back, you were a bit too vulnerable. You visibly cringe remembering it. 

As you scan his face, your annoyance for him only grows as he uses that moment as a pawn in his appeal to get out of this.

“That was before, this is now.”

“So you lied, too,” His fingers drag up and down your arm, his nails leaving marks as he does, “Why would you lie to me?”

You know that he is trying to flip the circumstances back on you. While the manipulation was easily sensed, you could not help but continue to entertain it. Privately, you thrived on the disorder of it all. Marcus was the only man who could talk this way to you. He did know you very well. 

“You know this is not the same. The entire army of Rome had orders to behead me. That happened because of your gossip.”

He shakes his head, his dirty curls taking up space on his forehead again, “It is to me. You said I was the only man worthy of protecting you. If I were not held up in a cell, I would have ended this war before it even began.”

“I do not wish for your protection, not anymore.”

He did not anticipate you resisting his every advancement. You usually cowered your head and accepted whatever retort he gave back, but this time, you were ready with a riposte immediately. 

He coughs out a laugh, “You will when the entire Roman army turns against you. All I do is say the words.”

You knew that Rome would bow to you without resistance. His army had heard too many awful things about him by now. He was down in the pits for treason. You knew that he was only saying this to get back in your good graces. Deep down, you had already decided that this argument was useless. Marcus may have deceived you, but you know he would have never deliberately given you up. It would make no sense for his safety, also. By the looks of it, he fought for a long while to stay alive in the Coliseum. 

But you wanted to get him to believe that you still could not trust him, just to put him on edge. You desired some revenge after such emotional turmoil.

“They would never betray me,” You reply, bringing your hands together in front of your stomach. You wait for him to take the bait. 

Marcus notices your lip twitch. You are bluffing and he is unsure why you would be trying to stir up his emotions. You were good at bringing him no peace and since he was so exhausted and hungry, he was getting angrier than he was accustomed to. 

He sighs, trying to blow off some of the steam rising to his face. “They have gotten more loyal to me during this previous reign. They would be rather disappointed to find me dead by your hand. You will not kill me.”

You stare at him, your lips pursed in faux contemplation. 

“You are right. I will not.”

The response throws him off balance. He stumbles a bit. “What?” “Instead, I will have someone else do it. I will watch them as they give you a soldier’s death. A beautiful shining blade at the very top of your spine,” You walk closer to him, your hands still adjoined at the bottom of your abdomen. “Slicing you all the way down your midsection. I will enjoy watching the blood spill out, staining the marble floors of the palace.”

He steps towards you, his jaw clenched. He is sick of the back and forth when he knows you will not make good on your plans. He is peering at you suspiciously before his hand reaches up to your soft cheek. For some odd reason, you believe he will be gentle. But he is not. He grabs your face roughly, squishing your cheeks against your back teeth. “I am beginning to lose my patience. Are you sure you want to do this, little dove?”

The nickname. It was something he used to call you when you two were intimate all those years ago. He saw you as a delicate thing back then. The woman you had morphed into was foreign to him. You were more maddening than ever. 

“I will do whatever is good for the Republic, General.”

He uses all his strength to shove you backward into the bench. Your ass falls against the wooden plank that Marcus had been sleeping on for a fortnight. The wood is rough against your thin vein of fabric. 

The shock of his violence sends wetness pooling between your legs. You had only seen Marcus rough with you once and it was never to this degree. He may have given in to you with aggressive and unforgiving hips, but this was another level of hostility. Your heart begins to race as he stands over you, his tanned body heaving in frustration. 

He squints at you, “Good for the Republic, huh? What good is a dirty little whore to the Republic?”

You try your best not to give in at this moment. And Marcus knows it. Your face twists, your nose pointing upward like you used to when you were a young woman. He suddenly recalls a moment where you were being reprimanded by someone of higher rank and you had crossed your arms over your chest and crinkled your nose like you inhaled something awful. It was a facial expression he would never forget. A simple indication that you were wrong and someone else was correct. 

You are noticing the way his eyes are tracing your face and you try to keep yourself as still as possible. “You are speaking to your Empress, Marcus.”

His eyes rake your body, almost like he is looking for something. He smiles, “My Empress who I am aware has a dagger stored somewhere on her body and yet she has not used it on me yet. Why is that?”

You are not ready for what is next on Marcus’ mind. He pushes your thighs apart with his knee, forcing you to look at him again by aggressively holding onto your face again. You wince when his filthy fingernails dig into your cheeks. 

“Marcus-”

“Why have you not already plunged your dagger into my heart if you want me gone? Why do you need someone else to do your work?” 

He is mocking you, his tone not giving you a break in the slightest. Somewhere deep down, Marcus knows something is up. With the way your body is giving into his every move, he can tell your intentions were simple: to make him the fool. 

And you were doing a very good job. Because he is getting very antsy. You pull your head back, trying to add some distance between him and yourself. But his face is so close to yours, that you can smell the metallic scent of blood from his skin. Your eyes avert away, not wanting him to finally look inside and read your mind. 

You manage to muster up something. “Because I still very much enjoy watching you writhe under my thumb.”

He is seething, his face is beet red. The way you are positioned, so impurely before him, brings his hateful aggression to full-blown rageful desire. 

He is eager with his movements and you are fallen at his mercy. Within only a few moments, he is hiking up your stola moving the fabric away from your lower half. You groan out as soon as his fingers grope you. You believe every breath has left your body. 

He chuckles darkly to himself, “Me? Writhe under your thumb? Is that so? You only came here to watch me suffer?”

“Yes-” “You believe some impish whore, like yourself, can here and make me completely fall apart? Hm? How about I load myself in that pussy of yours and we see who truly falls apart first?”

He was not wrong with his words, but they were so unhinged. You had never heard Marcus talk like this to you. While he was quick with his language, he was still always very respectable. 

His proposition was not completely unwelcome. 

“You do not know what I want. Why are you doing this?” 

You try to manage as he spreads around your dampness with his fingers. You had not been touched like this in so long so you were easily swayed why the action. You lull your head back, making it pretty obvious that you did want this.

He hums to himself, watching your body squirm under him. “Do I not? Here you are, so easily taken down by me, a traitor. What kind of emperor falls to her knees for a man who allegedly betrayed her? What good chance will Rome have with a leader like that?”

You watch as he tears up the fabric, completely revealing your naked core up to your lower breastplate. He stares down at the state of you, grinning to himself wickedly. You can not think of a single word to say to him, so you just lament with your hands at your side. 

He strips off his tunic, leaving him in just his subligaculum. The cloth was tented by the strain of his hard-pressed cock. 

His body was covered in blood and dirt, the tunic not absorbing all of the fluids from his battles. His skin is splattered with it. He watches you stare at it intently, huffing out. 

“So what will we do, Empress? How about… If you fall apart first, I am free. If I release first, you kill me. How about that?”

You watch as he palms his cock over the cloth. Your mouth starts to overproduce saliva as you observe his action. You knew you were not going to win such a thing, and that is completely okay with you. Marcus knew this, too. The last time you two were intimate, he inserted himself into you for a whole minute before you were squeezing around him and begging for more. 

“That is a deal I can agree with, General.”

He nods arrogantly before he grabs your hips, kneading the flesh. You watch him spread his bloodstained hands all around your legs, hinging your knees with his forearms. 

“Do not even need to warm you up,” He uses his left hand to guide his cock through your seeping folds. 

You do not prefer the sound of no foreplay, but you do not think it is your time to say anything. As soon as your lips open, Marcus dribbles spit down between your bodies, landing perfectly right at your slit. It’s obscene, his actions. But instead of gasping at the immortality of it, you are breathing out in pleasure. His member splits you open, every ridge pressing against your insides. 

“Marcus, my Gods,” You whine, trying to gain some sense. “I need your fingers first.”

He scrunches his nose, guiding himself into the hilt. “No, you do not. You will take me like this first.”

“Marcus-” “And after I watch you fall apart on me, I am going to,” He pulls his cock out of you begrudgingly slow, “Make you fall apart on my mouth. And then when I get two out of you, I will fuck you again with my cock. When my seed spills inside you and leaks down your legs, I will send you out to the streets and have you clear my name.”

And then he slams into you again. He is very girthy, which is a lot for your untouched cunt. You had no formal stretching before he entered you, so it hurts a bit as he speeds up his incursion inside you. 

He plants his hands right on your hips, his hands expanding down your side. With the way your head is propped up on the wall, you are practically forced into watching him fuck you with such vigorous speed. He’s animalistic. His hands leave blood prints on your body, sticky and off-putting. 

You are so enamored with him, that you do not even begin teetering on the edge of your release. He notices this as your cunt squeezes his member, which encourages him to speed up his pistoning hips. 

“Oh, dove, I feel you,” He extends his thumb down to the very top of your slit, “Your flower is just seizing around me. You are about to cum.”

You try to tense up a bit, but your body feels weightless. “No. No, I can not.”

You can not stop what is impending. He rubs circles on your sensitive bud, sending your back lurching away from the wall. 

“Ah, yes, that’s right, dove. Release on my cock. You know you want to,” He is gritting his teeth, eyes gazing directly into yours. 

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, trying to hold back, but him grinding into you sends you over. A scream rips through your body as you careen forward towards his shoulders. You hold on to him like he is going to dissipate away, grabbing at his back. Your climax is white hot almost as if your entire body was lit on fire and quickly extinguished. 

“There it is…” He fucks you through it all, his thrusts slowing as you relax yourself against the wall again. “I win.”

His words set you off. The high of your release is now ruined by his statement. Your arms are still lazily around his shoulders. You glare up at him, seeing his smug smirk painting his lips. It’s truly sinful. 

You use all your strength and pull him down towards your lips. You capture him in a kiss that you almost believe he is going to pull away from but does not. You just want him to stop speaking for a moment so you settle with the reality of the situation. You would have to face Rome and tell them that the traitor is being let off for his crimes against you. 

You were still better than the alternate reality of Rome. Under the Twins, they would see no peace. With you, the only chaos you would pursue is General Marcus Acacius. You could live with that.

He tilts his head back, trying to pull away from your mouth. You lock your arm around him, holding him there a moment longer. His lips manage to trail away.

“You won this. But I won Rome.”

He chuckles at your statement before reminding you of his promise, “I am not done yet, Dove.”

His tacky fingers grab you roughly, lifting you off the bench and towards the table across the dirt floor room. He places your feet on the ground, your back to his much taller figure. His cock is still solid, pressing right into your buttcheek. 

“Bend over.”

You practically snap your neck trying to look back at the man. 

He does not take kindly to that, using his hand to push your face to look towards the wall again. “Do what I say. I already told you what I was to do.”

You lean your body over the furniture, holding onto the edge as you feel Marcus’ hands slide across your back, all the way down to your ass. You hear a commotion but you are too afraid of what he may do if you look back. You then realize he’s on his knees behind you. When he settles in the dust, he uses both hands to spread you open. He wastes no time, diving face-first into your dripping core. Your cunt is already so sensitive that when you feel his tongue flattening between your slit, you cannot help but squeal. 

Your sounds provoke Marcus to think back to the nights when he was alone on the front lines of war, lying in his tent, thinking about the first time he tasted you. You had never experienced pleasure like that, and he vividly remembers pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you with his tongue. It was his favorite thing about your intimate times together. The memory was enough to have him erupting all over his stomach night after night.

And now here you are again, right under his thumb. Or rather, his tongue.

“My Gods, Marcus, please.”

His ministrations change from eager licks to suckling on your most sensitive bud. Obscene wet noises begin reverberating off the walls, filling the room with such crudeness. His nose is pressed into you, sucking in your sweet scent. 

You silently prayed that no others heard you two. 

The warmth in your stomach fills again. Your legs feel like they may give out from under you. Luckily, Marcus has his hands right where your thighs begin, spreading you open, but also holding you up. When the wave of pleasure hits, your legs shake and your throat lets out a guttural moan. 

He licks up whatever your body offers him before he is back on his feet. His chest presses into your back as he traces the outline of your body with his digits. You feel so winded from your comedown, that you can hardly say anything. Marcus’ face creeps to the side of yours, nudging your cheek with his nose. 

“You taste like heaven, little dove.”

His words are such a drastic shift from what he was saying to you before. But while his words were charming, his actions were still brute. He reaches down to his swollen cock head and begins to drag it along your slick. You cry out, your body still recovering from the last moments of his stimulation. 

“Marcus-” “I am going to fill you with my seed now. You will take every last drop because of what you just put me through,” He slides himself back into your cunt, painfully slow, “You are so convincing when you want to be.”

You grunt, trying to prop yourself up on your elbows. When Marcus notices your movement, he takes the chance and grabs your arms in a very rough manner. His hands are gripping you so tightly, you anticipate another mark. He yanks your body closer to his, wrapping your arms between your bodies, locking you up. It was not the most comfortable position, but the feeling of his cock slipping in you further distracts you from the affliction. 

“You played me for a fool. You were always going to let me go. You just wanted me to fill this greedy pussy.”

He fucks into you, letting out his own passionate grunts. His words rattle in your mind as your whole body jiggles over the edge of the table. 

He had you all figured out. It was unnerving how well he could read you, but it was not surprising. He had been around for most of your life, looking after you and being your most trusted confidant. Even if he let something slip to the wrong person, he was still going to be the one person you looked to in every crowd. 

Now that you have experienced this side of him, you only love him more. He has always been intimidating, but never this all-consuming. 

“Need you always, Marcus,” You whimper, trying your best to not ruin his pace. His cock stretches you so deliciously, you wish to have it with you at all times. 

His release comes hurriedly, his body becoming heavy on top of yours. He slams your body down on the table, his arms breaking most of the fall. You can feel his seed emptying into your spent hole, warming you inside. The string of words leaving his lips, that’s right dove, take all of me, your greedy hole just missed me. 

You can not help yourself. You smile. 

You really wish you had watched him fall apart, knowing it was probably a sight to behold. There was always next time. 

He unwraps himself from you and stumbles back a couple of steps. You lift your tired body, turning around to face him. You know if you step forward, you may crash to the floor. Leaning on the table was your best course of action. 

He is smirking himself, his cock still half hard on his leg. “Need me, huh?”

You knew he would find time to hang onto those words. You breathe out your nose, a bit caught off guard. “Yes. I always seem to need you when I feel vulnerable.”

“Well, coming from the Empress of Rome, that surely means a lot. That you look to me in such times, I mean.”

You bite your cheek, contemplating your next big plans for Marcus. You did not want him to leave your side now that you ruled over him. You felt a gravitational pull from him. Now with him here in front of you, that was even more apparent.

“Well… General..” You try to find a way to word your next course of action. He looks at you earnestly as you speak. “You will be pardoned under my rule. But you will not be returning to your men. I will see you through as my personal protection.”

He furrows his brow at you as he picks up his abandoned tunic. “Pardon me?”

“You are directed to be my personal guard, Marcus. Your troops will now be under the rule of another. If you see issue with my ruling, I will happily leave you in this cell.”

He wants to be angry, but he simply cannot be. Truth be told, he was ready to retire from being the leader of the world’s largest array of soldiers. He was just not expecting you to allow him to do such a thing.

He cracks a smile at the thought of you leaving him in this cell.

“What you order, goes. I will happily take on that role, Empress.”

All he knew was to be strong and even-tempered when he directed his armies. Now in a time of peace, under your rule, he needed to find calamity somewhere else. And he knew that would be right at your side.

tagging all who wanted this: @layaispunk @tammythr @amanitacowboy @noladyme @kluvspedro @fangirlcentral1

[niningtori]

mad about you | oneshot

pairing: choi beomgyu x you, delusions of kang taehyun x you

summary: beomgyu is not only a spoiled, rich asshole whose whole life has been served to him on a silver platter, but he's also your student council vice president. things finally come to a head on your final trip as college students, but not in the way you would expect. or, beomgyu catches you, the student council president, smoking weed and tries to blackmail you for it

genre: romance, angst (only a tiny bit...? shocking i know), fluff (kinda...? shocking i know), SMUT (MDNI!!!), sub!idol, beomgyu enemies to lovers

warnings: bad writing, not proofread at all, smut (MDNI!!!), sub!gyu LMAOOOO, marijuana, dirty talk, praise, handjobs, oral (m. receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, lmk if i missed anything!

word count: 7.1k

notes: please... this took MONTHS for me to write i fear i am the worst request taker on moablr. this was really difficult for me to complete but alas... it is done. if you hate it, my fault! just please don't bully me i've got enough shit going on in my life rn 💀 i hate it too but that's okay!

being a straight-a student is hard. being the student government president? even harder. being both? hell on earth. but now, in your senior year of college, you’ve finally managed to get it down to a science. things run relatively smoothly, which is due in no small part to the blood, sweat, and tears you’ve put in to make the student body happy, never mind the lengths you've gone to for the faculty. you can confidently say you can cope with nearly every trial and tribulation that comes your way with a smile on your face. well, except for one recurring disaster: beomgyu.

at first, he was nothing more to you than a pest buzzing around for no real purpose other than to mildly annoy you. it was strange because he seemed normal at first, but then he would pick on your looks, every time you made a mistake in class, and even how you happened to wear your hair that day. this was annoying and, well, hurtful. still, it was of no real consequence, so you were able to ignore him when that was the case, but now you know better than to underestimate just how disastrous beomgyu’s presence can be. as the student government vice president, he should be your first and most trusted ally, but he’s nothing short of, for lack of a better term, a major asshole deadset on making your life even more difficult than it already is for reasons unknown to you.

you think it may be because you would have probably beaten him for the actual president’s chair, which led him to run for vice president, instead. you don’t know why he minds this, though, because he couldn’t seem to care less about the council, not to mention school in general. it’s not that he gets bad grades, because he doesn’t. in fact, when he gets called on in class, he always gets the answer right even when he clearly wasn’t paying any attention. still, you work twice as hard as anyone else and yet your grades are only rivaled by his own. even taehyun, your (probably unrequited) crush, can’t help but be beaten by beomgyu as if the hand of god itself smacks down on everyone else every time you all take a test. 

getting good grades should be an admirable thing, right? it helps with potential internships and jobs and all that, but the thing is: beomgyu doesn't need any of it. even if he fails all of his classes, he's set for life as the son of a formidable CEO of a company whose profits are more than you could ever dream of attaining. there is absolutely no doubt that beomgyu will succeed him, and there is even less doubt that he'll undeniably be very, very good at it. what’s worse is that even if he failed to meet expectations, he’d still get the position, anyway. 

that, in comparison with your family’s laughable financial circumstances, would be enough to make you secretly hate the boy just on principle; but jealousy is ugly, no doubt, so you’ve kept your feelings to yourself. you would have fallen into a pit of self-loathing and guilt had beomgyu actually been kind, and you may have even grown to like him if that were the case, but no. beomgyu is not kind. he’s a total prick. you see it in his smug little smile when the test papers get handed back and he annihilates everyone — other than you — in class, especially taehyun. you see it in the smirks he sends you when you catch him making out with whoever his new girlfriend of the week happens to be, and in the way he openly mocks you by calling you a prude in front of the entire student population. and most importantly, you see it in the way he watches you struggle to stay afloat while he cruises on by without a care in the world.

-

honestly? beomgyu knows better than to bully the girl he has a crush on just because he wants her attention, but who told you to make it so damn hard on him? it’s not like he didn’t consider being nice at first, but your aloofness to his charms only caused him to believe that he was nearly invisible to you, and he simply wouldn't stand for that. naturally, the best course of action was to get you to hate him — at least that means you’re actually paying attention to him. that’s what he tells himself as he’s sticking one of his spindly legs out as you walk past him, effectively tripping you in the process and making the entire class erupt into laughter. your nostrils flare as your head whips up to meet his condescending gaze. once again, your eyes are completely on him. check and mate.

that's what it feels like, at least, until you’re hurriedly pulled up by a concerned taehyun and he’s frantically asking if you’re alright while fixing up your (now) fucked up hair. your eyes, which were just brimming with anger and contempt for him, are now overflowing with lovesickness and infatuation for the other boy. well, never mind about the whole “checkmate” thing, it’s like beomgyu doesn’t even exist in the same world as you anymore.

-

“you need to relax,” taehyun says, gently closing the notebook in front of you and sliding over a few of your favorite snacks. 

“th-thank you, tyun,” you reply, shyly. he grins when he sees he’s succeeded in distracting you.

“no problem, we wouldn’t want that pretty little head of yours to break from thinking too much, now would we?” he teases. you feel heat rushing to your cheeks at his words. he doesn’t really mean them, he never does, but that doesn’t stop your heart from racing when he says things like this to you. 

having a crush on taehyun is only natural. that’s what you tell yourself, but the way you have a shrine dedicated to notes he’s passed you and polaroids you’ve taken together sitting prettily in your room is most definitely unnatural. he doesn’t need to know about that, though.

“my head’s not going to break,” you huff with a playful roll of your eyes. “i just need to finish outlining the major stops on the trip and i’ll be done, i promise.” 

it’s true that all you have to do is outline where you’re going to stop on the council’s senior trip, which doesn’t sound like a big deal in theory, but in actuality, you have to clear each stop with the faculty and make sure you stay within the budget in spite of beomgyu’s insufferable attempts to exceed it. he’s made light of the finances and talked up special events to the rest of the council members, even taehyun. you tried to snuff out these suggestions with realistic arguments about how expensive it will be, but his response was to call you a killjoy. simple and straightforward, but effective, nonetheless. everyone, even taehyun, was so excited to try everything he hyped up, so how could you say no when taehyun turned to you, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and practically begged you to relent? you, unfortunately, didn’t and don’t have the heart to deny him, so you caved, and now you’re stuck trying to figure it all out. 

“you promise?” taehyun asks, snapping you out of your spiral, with his cute cat-like fangs showing ever so slightly.

“i promise,” you nod and he cheers triumphantly. again, you can’t help but feel your cheeks warm, and you’d bask in the moment if your gaze didn’t happen to catch beomgyu’s scrutinizing one at this very moment. he looks at you like he’s watching a monkey putting on a show, and your happiness is instantly replaced with a sense of embarrassment. you’ve never told a single soul about your feelings for taehyun, but eerily enough, beomgyu seems to know something the rest of the world does not. he seems well aware of your deepest secret. why he doesn’t just expose you in order to humiliate you, you have no idea, but you do know you don't like how much he knows.

-

you really, really shouldn’t be doing this. and certainly not here, of all places, but you just can’t help it. smoking weed is terrible for you, and you of all people should know, seeing as how you led a presentation on its ill effects in front of the entire student body in your freshman year. but it’s hard to truly care when you’re wound so tightly you feel like you’re about to burst. 

beomgyu is getting his way again, as always, and you’re worried about having to make yet another last minute change to your trip’s itinerary for tomorrow because he called today’s stop boring, which led to the rest of the council silently agreeing. so here you sit on the top of the hotel building as the rest of the group are out sightseeing, taking a long, lung-scorching drag from the blunt in between your fingers. 

“didn’t take you for the smoking type, madame president,” a voice cuts in from out of nowhere. beomgyu. fuck. 

you try to keep your cool, but you end up choking on the smoke as you hurriedly go to flick the blunt away, but beomgyu’s hand grabs your wrist before you can quite make it there. his touch feels like a brand searing itself into your skin, but you’re too overstimulated to notice. 

“i didn’t tell you you had to stop,” he muses condescendingly as you rip your wrist away from his grasp. he winces. you don't catch it. instead, you can’t help but roll your eyes at the presumption that he has the power to tell you to do anything.

“i’m not one of your little minions,” you snap in spite of yourself. “quit acting like you can boss me around.” 

“is that so?” he questions, not without an air of smugness. alarm bells blare in your ears as you try to sniff out where his confidence is coming from. sure, he caught you smoking, but it’s your word against his. that’s right, there’s no need to be scared. if he says anything at all, you can just feign innocence and say you were the one who caught him sneaking out to smoke.

“yep,” you answer with a grin at your new plan, popping the “p” with the same obnoxiousness he usually terrorizes you with. you’re no match for him in terms of popularity, but you will never lose to him when it comes to credibility.

“you’re not afraid that i’ll snitch on you? you’re not scared of me telling everyone how little-miss-perfect spends her alone time?” 

“you can try,” you reply with a shrug. he’s silent for a few moments, as if he’s in deep thought. 

“you know what? you’re right,” he concedes with a sigh, and shockingly so. the beomgyu you know and loathe would never give up that easily. “you don’t have to listen to what i say. nobody would believe me over you, right?” 

you eye him suspiciously before giving a slight nod.

“and most times, you would be absolutely right. like, just imagine if i told them you faked being sick and flaking on everyone else just so you could get high. nobody would believe me. i wouldn’t even believe me,” he continues. you have no idea why he’s going on and on about this, but you don’t like it. 

“what the hell are you playing at?” you ask through clenched teeth. 

“i mean, i’m just saying that nobody would believe me. not unless i showed them something like, i don’t know, this?” he says with a grin, holding up his phone and showing you an alarmingly high resolution photo of you taking a hit of your blunt. your eyes widen in sheer horror and you immediately jump to try to retrieve his phone from his hands, but beomgyu is quicker. he tauntingly holds it up in the air with one arm and stops you from coming any closer with the other. you try to jump to reach it, but you’re no match for his stature and long limbs. damn him for being so fucking tall.

“delete it!” you shriek, but all he does is click his tongue and shake his head like the insufferable asshole he is. 

“oh, sure,” he says nonchalantly. your eyes widen even further as he lowers his phone and fiddles with the screen, still keeping you at arm’s length so you’re helpless to grab it for yourself.

“r-really?” you ask incredulously, sincerely taken aback by his compliance. stupid, stupid you. he tuts in response.

“you don’t really think i’ll make it that easy, do you?”

“fine,” you relent, jaw tense and eyebrows furrowed in an almost comically exaggerated way. “what the hell do you want from me?”

“nothing much, just lemme smoke with you,” he answers with a lopsided grin, showcasing a dimple in his cheek you had never noticed until now.

“w-what?” you ask dazedly. 

“god, you’re slow,” he tells you with a roll of his eyes. “smoke with me and i’ll delete the picture. i won’t even mention it again.” 

“are you being serious?” you whisper. 

“dead serious,” he smirks. 

“... fine,” you find yourself relenting, yet again. you don’t know if you necessarily trust him to actually follow through with his words, but what choice do you have? why he wants to smoke with you, you have no idea, but if it gets him to keep his mouth shut, then you really can’t ask for much more than that.

you sigh and take a seat, walking over near the entrance of the rooftop and propping yourself up against the concrete wall behind you. surprisingly, he stays planted in the same spot as if he didn’t hear you. you pat the ground next to you impatiently in light of his hesitation. he snaps out of his daze as he sits next to you so tentatively it’s like you’re a stray cat he’s afraid to scare off. well, good. it’s best for him not to get too comfortable around you. you hate the guy, after all.

you take another deep inhale and he watches you with a gaze that can only be described as lovesick, but you’re too preoccupied to pick up on it. when you exhale, you find yourself starting to pass the blunt over to beomgyu before thinking better of it. 

“wait,” you say, pulling your hand back before he can grip the blunt. 

“what?” he asks, genuinely confused.

“am i gonna catch something from you if we share this?” 

“oh, fuck you,” he grunts, effectively snatching the blunt back and putting it to his lips.

“it’s a real question! i’ve seen the girls you mess around with, and i’m not trying to catch anything from you!” 

“i’m careful,” he argues with a roll of his eyes. “a lot more careful than you think.” you pout at his reaction, but for some reason, you believe his words. 

“if i catch anything, it's on you,” you reply, hackles still raised. shockingly, he doesn't press the matter any more than that. 

“... so,” he says after exhaling a deep drag. 

“so what?” you ask. 

“so why are you out here smoking instead of going out with everyone else?”

“do you seriously think you have the right to ask me that?” you scoff. there’s no way in hell beomgyu is trying to get you to be vulnerable right now.

on beomgyu’s end, he can’t help but feel slighted, even though your reaction is definitely his fault on account of how he essentially antagonizes you at every given opportunity. 

“i’m just saying that it’s weird how you’re here instead of, you know, actually enjoying the trip.” 

“oh, please. as if there was gonna be any possible way for me to have fun on this fucking thing,” you bitterly reply. 

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he asks without any malice, but with genuine curiosity.

truly, honestly, sincerely, you do not know why you say your next words. maybe it’s because you’re high, or maybe it’s because you need to tell someone — anyone — how you really feel, for once. all you really know is: you can’t stop yourself.

“i mean, how could i possibly enjoy myself when i’m left to figure everything out on my own? everyone only cares about having fun with no actual idea how we’ll do it while realistically staying within the budget and our timeline, and my vice president is deadweight, so it’s not like he’ll help,” you complain, taking a jab at beomgyu in light of your waning self control. you’re prepared to verbally spar with him after that last comment, but he surprises you.

“is that how you really feel?” he asks.

“yeah, it is,” you tell him. “that’s how i always feel,” you can’t help but add, more to yourself and less to him, but he hears you, anyway. 

“i’m sorry.” you whip your head around to make sure you’re not having some sort of auditory hallucination. did beomgyu just apologize to you? it can’t be. there’s no earthly way.

“i’m sorry. i really am,” he repeats. your whole world feels like it’s thrown off of its axis when you see how somber and genuinely apologetic he looks. 

“it’s… it’s fine,” is all you can really muster up the words to say. 

“no, it’s not. i’ll help you as much as i can, i swear,” he earnestly insists. you nod in bewilderment at his earnestness — feeling too awkward to do much else.

things are quiet for the next few minutes while you two are passing the blunt back and forth. beomgyu can feel the high finally hitting him in full force, and it takes every brain cell within his clouded mind (as well as every ounce of his courage) to finally get out his next sentence. 

“why him?” he mumbles so lowly, you don’t quite catch his words. 

“what?” you lazily ask. 

“why taehyun?” once again, you find yourself choking on the smoke. god, you’ve really got to get a grip and stop letting beomgyu surprise you — your lungs would thank you for it.

“w-what do you mean?” well, you always knew that beomgyu knows about your feelings for taehyun, but hearing him directly ask about them is enough to throw you off.

“i mean, why do you like him?” he asks, devoid of all the confidence he usually oozes. 

“what’s not to like?” you say offhandedly. if you cared enough to pay attention to his reaction, you’d see how he withers at your words. even more so when you continue.

“he’s really, really funny. plus, he’s handsome. not to mention smart and —” 

“so what? i’m all of those things,” beomgyu interrupts, irritation bitterly lacing every edge of his words. “and if you call him smart, anybody can be.” oh hell no. you’re so indignant at him calling taehyun stupid, you don’t even catch beomgyu’s childlike envy towards him, let alone why he feels it.

“just because his grades don’t compare to yours, doesn’t mean he’s stupid,” you argue.

“then what does it mean?” he asks with a roll of his eyes at your obvious bias for the other boy.

“it… it just means that he’s —” 

“a real genius. yeah, i’m sure you think so,” he snarks.

“what the hell is that supposed to mean?!” you snap, despite your better judgment to just let it roll off of your back. if he were talking about you, you may very well have done so, but this is taehyun he’s talking about. your taehyun. 

“it means he can’t compare to me,” he says, more as means to convince himself rather than convince you, but you’re so angry, you don’t even notice.

“and what makes you think you’re so goddamn special?” you ask, sarcasm absolutely dripping out of your voice. 

“i’m funnier, hotter, smarter, richer. how can he compare to me?” he snorts. if someone were to ask you why you feel so defensive at this moment, you would be unable to say why, but if you had to guess, you’d say it’s because taehyun is so good it’s impossible to see him any other way. your frustration builds up, hotter and hotter in your chest until you’re on the brink of exploding.

“you say that, but he will always be something you’re not,” you spit.

“and what, pray tell, might that be?” he cockily challenges.

“nice,” you say with conviction, and it may be cheesy, but you mean it. “he is really, really fucking nice and considerate. that’s why i like him.” well, that one went straight to his gut.

“i can be nice!” he exclaims. “i tried to be nice, but you just didn’t care! it was like i was invisible to you!” all you can do is stare, but he’s not finished. “you act like you’re some fucking angel, but i saw the way you looked at me like i’m some stupid, rich asshole who isn’t worth a damn.” 

finally, you realize that something is wrong. 

“beomgyu, why do you even care about what i think about you?” he doesn’t give a fuck about what you have to say in any other context, today’s example being only the latest in the litany of times where he’s shown you that exact sentiment. 

at this, he’s silent, which you truly did not anticipate in lieu of his tirade mere moments ago. you take a good look at the boy, and you finally register that the tips of his ears are a bright red under the fluorescence of the lone light shining next to the doorway. 

“i just… i always care about what you think,” he mumbles, face growing redder and redder under your scrutinizing stare as he breaks eye contact with you.

“you could’ve fooled me,” you snort. “you’re always undermining everything i say and do. it’s almost like you’re doing it on… purpose…” you trail off, puzzle pieces finally fitting together in a way you would never suspect. 

“beomgyu?” you ask.

“mm?” he murmurs, still refusing to make eye contact. 

“do you… do you like me?” and the question sounds so silly you can’t believe you even asked it. this guy fucking hates you, you’re sure of it, but you grow less and less sure of this sentiment with every moment he hesitates to answer.

“... yeah. yeah, i do. but so what? you don’t even care,” he mopes, and just like that, everything makes sense. his teasing, his contrarian nature, and his obnoxiousness are just part of his ruse. he’s just like a child begging for attention by acting out, but to what end? just so you’ll pay attention to him? well, he was on the money when he said you didn’t like him even when he tried to be kind, so maybe, in his own sick little way, he was right. 

but that doesn’t mean you don't feel completely blindsided by this revelation. 

“what the hell?” is all you can manage to say.

“shut up!” he demands with no real heat to it, just embarrassment. 

“i… i can’t believe your solution was to be an asshole,” you say incredulously. “if you had just been nice, or even just normal, i would have warmed up to you. i know i was being childish, but goddamn, you’re worse.” 

if he was blushing before, and he was, he’s absolutely blood red now. 

“i-it’s your fault for being so judgmental!” he sputters, but even you know he’s just grasping at straws. it all makes the worst kind of sense to you now, and you’re very much shocked at how oblivious you were mere moments ago.

“i can't believe this,” you whisper, bringing your hands up to your temples in an effort to straighten everything out in your muddled head. “you hate me.” 

“you’re so dramatic,” he huffs with a roll of his eyes, which would convincingly come across as disdainful, if only his words weren’t so shaky and unsure.

you take a good look at him now, and he can feel it. he’s a very handsome guy, and he knows it, but he can’t help but feel vulnerable. he clears his throat and straightens up his posture when he thinks that you may be comparing him to taehyun... you are not.

none of his actions escape you, which is a far cry from what usually happens, but now that you've discovered his true feelings, it’s almost impossible not to catch his tells; you even wonder how you missed them. his awkward handling of the situation is endearing, in a way. you like watching him squirm, which you realize must be the way he felt about you all those times he teased you. it just makes you wanna push him more.

you’re not exactly known for your impulsivity. in fact, you’re known for the exact opposite. you take things slowly, steadily. you plan every minute detail in consideration of every possible outcome, but as for right now? right now, as you sit and watch beomgyu pout, you just want to let go and do what you really want, and what you really want is to watch him break.

you grab his face with your hands and turn it towards you, and he scowls for just a moment before blinking his big, reddened eyes in curiosity at your unreadable gaze.

“w-what are you doing?” he asks, too exhilarated by your touch to think about batting you away.

this is a bad idea — a horrible one, even — but that does nothing to deter you. how can it when his skin on your palms makes it feel like there's pure electricity thrumming through your bones? fuck it, might as well.

you don’t realize it yourself, but you look incredibly focused as you pull him in, his lips meeting yours. you’d think with the shock he must feel that he’d be taken aback for a second, but beomgyu, as always,   does not abide by your rules. he immediately grabs your face and presses his lips even harder against yours. you’re surprised at how much heat is behind it — how much frustration.

it’s incredibly interesting to watch his reactions as you kiss him, which would be weird, but he’s far too engrossed in this newfound pleasure to notice your stare. his eyes are shut, but they tremble with every passing second, making his long eyelashes quiver. you never noticed how long they are before now. you chalk up the swiping of your tongue against his chapped lips to sheerly wanting to study his reaction, and oh man, it does not disappoint. he whines against your mouth, eyebrows furrowed like he’s pleading for something. you want to find out what that something is. cruelly, you take his bottom lip between your teeth and lightly bite. he whines even louder, his eyes fluttering open, and he pulls away and says his next words in a tinny voice.

“c-can i touch you?” he pants, forehead pressed against yours, lips cherry red.

“no,” you say with a smile against his mouth. he would whine again if he could, but he can’t quite do it at the moment, not when your hands have moved from his cheeks in order to explore the rest of him. you curiously run your fingers through his long, silky hair, and he can’t help but moan when you experimentally tug at it. it’s breathy and light, and you’re intrigued, to say the very least. 

you don’t have the most experience in the world when it comes to the, uh, matters between men and women, but you are a fast learner by nature, so it takes no time at all to figure out where he likes to be touched. his lips, obviously, and his hair. his ears, so flushed and pink and cute, must be particularly sensitive, and you test this hypothesis by dragging your teeth along his earlobe. he lets out a loud, broken moan when you do, and anyone else in the world would have been embarrassed by making such a noise, but not beomgyu. he’s so pretty and pliable underneath your touch, which feels so tantalizing that all shame escapes him.

“do you like that, beomie?” you whisper teasingly, employing a nickname you’ve heard from a few of his ex-flings, and another strangled cry leaves his pouty lips when he feels your breath touch his ear. 

“mhmm, i like it! like it so much, princess,” he babbles, eyes screwed shut as you trail your lips from his ear to his unblemished neck. 

“princess?” you can’t help but question. “where’d that come from?” 

“think about calling you that all the time,” he moans as you suck on a previously unmarred patch of skin on his neck. “think about you all the time.” 

“and what do you think, beomie?” you whisper encouragingly, as if he’s a stupid boy squirming under your thumb.

“th-think about how much i wanna fuck you,” he admits. “h-how much i want to fill you up, make you m-mine.” honest to god, your panties were already feeling a little sticky just from teasing him alone, but his words make your core heat up tenfold. you shift your legs while trying to make yourself more comfortable, but you fail miserably.

“you’re delusional,” you snort, as you pull away from him, but his lips try to chase yours before you lightly push him away.

“i’m not! i-i jus’ wanna make you feel good,” he slurs, and oh god, you simply can’t be saved.

“well, wanna make your delusions reality?” you can’t help but ask before you can think better of it, but when you see how his eyes light up in hope and pure, primal lust, you realize you don’t regret it.

-

the walk to his hotel room is silent, so unbearably silent that you can’t help but second-guess yourself. are you really gonna do this with beomgyu of all people? but it’s been so long since you’ve let go, who will it hurt just to have fun for once? maybe you, probably you, but who cares? it can't be any worse than it is now. besides, you're graduating soon. if things go as badly as you’re pretty sure they will, you’ll never have to see beomgyu again after the fact. plus, things really can’t seem to get any more embarrassing than the humiliation ritual you put yourself through every day that you spend pining after taehyun.

and so, you enter his hotel room, which is easily double the size of yours (sans a roommate, no less) with a look of determination. beomgyu completely misses it, though, as he shuts the door behind you and immediately tugs you towards his bed, quick to rekindle the atmosphere you two had on the rooftop. surprisingly, it’s not hard to do so when he’s back to kissing you so desperately it’s like you’re his lifeline.

he impatiently swipes his tongue across your lips, mirroring what you did earlier, silently asking for entry. you oblige. he groans at the feeling of your warm tongue brushing against his own, savoring the way you taste, which yes, does have notes of weed, but there’s something sweet in there, too. something he’s only ever fantasized about with his hand down his pants.

one of your hands is currently tangled in his hair, just the way he likes it, while the other one exploratorily finds its way down his lithe body. you’ve never done what you do next before, but he seems so incredibly sensitive, it feels like a matter of course to put your hand up his shirt and tweak one of his hardened nipples. he lets out a strangled cry, which only makes you certain that you’ve done the right thing. 

“is it good, beomie? is it everything you wanted it to be?” you tease. he nods like an idiot.

“y-yes, even better,” he moans. “feels s-so good.” 

in the dim lighting of his hotel room, you can see that he means it as the tent in his pants gets harder and harder to ignore. the poor thing is so wound up by your caresses that he may just cum untouched, anyway, but what fun would that be? so, before you can think too much about it, you palm him through his jeans. 

“ah!” he cries, eyebrows furrowed. you palm him again, rougher this time, and just like clockwork, he cries even louder.

“want me to keep going?” you ask, studying and soaking up every reaction of his. all he can do is nod.

he unzips his pants and he’s all too willing to help you slide them off of him, tossing them on the floor before hurriedly grabbing one of your hands to meet his barely clothed bulge. it’s big, because it’s beomgyu and of fucking course it is. as if he needed another reason to be conceited. 

it doesn’t seem like he’s very conceited, though, as he moans like a whore at you hooking your fingers under his waistband and tugging his boxers off of him. his cock is very obviously leaking, and it’s as bright red as his ears were earlier, completely flushed with beads of precum drooling off of it. there are angry veins running up the sides of it, which sounds gross, in theory, but you can’t help but feel like they make it even prettier. you gulp when you imagine how they’ll feel when they’re dragging in and out of your pussy.

“don’t stare!” he says, breaking you out of your reverie. honestly? he knows it’s pretty, just like every other part of him, but he feels incredibly scrutinized under your gaze. you don’t listen, still very much staring as you take your thumb and experimentally swipe it over his thick, reddened tip. then again. then again.

“s-stop teasing me, please,” he whimpers, but you’re so enamored with his reactions you can’t help yourself. you spit on your hand and grab the base of his cock, which is no small feat considering how thick it is, and you give it a harsh tug. he bites his bottom lip to try to stifle his moans as you start to jerk him off, applying pressure exactly where he needs it most, but he quickly gives up on being quiet when you bend over and lick his tip. he tastes salty, but not unbearably so, and in a way, he’s almost sweet. that could just be your imagination, though.

beomgyu is no longer trying to bite back his moans, but he's stuck in another dilemma: he can't seem to unscrew his eyes for long enough to fully appreciate the sight before him. one of your hands is gripping the muscle of his thigh as leverage while the other aids in squeezing and pulling the parts of him you can’t quite fit in your mouth. you’re not looking at him, which would normally be disappointing, but it’s impossible to be anything less than satisfied when you’re hollowing out your cheeks to suck on him even harder. you take your hand from his dick and ghost your fingers over his balls, and he has to push you off of him so he doesn’t blow his load right then and there.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, wiping some spit and precum off of your lips. he’s enchanted by the way your lips are swollen from sucking on him, so much so that he almost forgets to answer.

“‘m gonna c-cum,” he says shyly.

“and?” 

“i don’t want to yet. i wanna make you feel good, too,” he argues petulantly.

“oh? is that what you do in your dreams? you make me feel good? i’m surprised, i figured you’d like me to do all the work and —” 

“shut up!” he hisses, and you can’t help but laugh. 

“let me eat you out,” he offers, trying to distract you from his evident embarrassment. it’s tempting, very tempting, indeed, but you’re so hot and bothered that you kind of just want to get to the main event. especially since you just know it’ll feel good to finally have him inside of you. it’s been so long since you’ve been with somebody, after all. 

“no, thanks. do you have a condom?” you ask, ignoring his suggestion, and he’d be humiliated if only your question weren't so damn exciting.

“n-no…” he stammers. your face falls for a second before he rushes to get out his next words. “b-but i can pull out!” 

“sorry, this was fun and all, but i’m not letting you fuck me without protection.”

“please?” he begs. “i’m clean, i swear! i told you i’m more careful than you think. i really don’t sleep around that much, honestly,” he admits. 

“what?” you ask, genuinely bewildered before calling his bluff. “bullshit. i see you with a new girl all the fucking time. quit lying.” 

“i’m not! i promise — i promise — i don’t sleep around a lot. i only act like i do ‘cause of you!” 

“because of me?” and it actually makes sense when you think about it. he acts out, bullies you, and pretends he’s involved with a lot more girls than he actually is just to try to get you to look his way. oh man, what are you gonna do with him? 

“you’re so pathetic,” you sneer before hiking up your skirt and mounting him. 

“w-what are you —” 

“shut up before i change my mind,” you spit. and just like magic, his mouth is snapped shut.

you start by rubbing your clothed pussy against his bare cock. your slick has already ruined the fabric beyond salvation, so you don’t really mind ruining it some more. beomgyu is absolutely in awe at your actions, rutting against you feverishly. he’s greedy, if nothing else, so he impatiently moves your soaked panties to the side and tries to seek relief in your warm hole. you let him grab your hips as he tries to ease himself into you, but he’s stunned at the resistance he’s met with as he tries to push himself in. 

“s-so tight,” he groans as his fat cock breaches the tight rim of your pussy. the muscles contract as they stretch to accommodate his widened tip. 

you were right about how good you anticipated the feeling of his veins scraping against your insides would be, and you revel in the feeling as you sink down inch by scorching inch. beomgyu, on his end, looks absolutely devastated as you slowly take him in. his mouth is twisted open in a silent scream, and his eyes are watery, tears threatening to spill over at any moment. when your ass finally meets his hips, you can feel his length pulsating all the way up to your cervix. it’s a snug fit, too, and it takes everything in him not to hump you like a fucking dog. 

slowly, you raise yourself up again, almost completely off of him, before slamming yourself back down. then again. then again. he whimpers when you do it, grabbing your hips to help steady you as you ride him for everything that he’s worth. he’s enraptured as your breasts bounce with each movement, and he can’t help himself now — he begins to thrust into you wildly, matching your rhythm and making you cry out. if you were in your right state of mind, you’d feel sorry for the poor souls who are on the same floor as him. 

“pussy so f-fucking good,” he grunts as he feels you squeezing around him, and you’re about to smirk before he pushes you onto the bed then turns you on your side so you’re facing away from him. he tries to slide back into your needy cunt, but the new position makes you feel even tighter. still, with the combination of his slick and yours, he’s able to push himself in again before rutting into you. he presses one of his big hands against your stomach while the other one hastily grabs one of your tits, and suddenly he's back to fucking you like a wild animal. 

you've never in your life felt so wanted, so needed, but beomgyu needs you in a way so carnal it makes you feel even more turned on. he nips your ear, mimicking your actions from earlier, and begs for your praise. 

“a-are you feeling good? you’re feeling good, right?” he chokes out as he hits a particularly deep part of your pussy. 

“so good, beomie,” you moan. “you’re fucking me so good.” those words would normally never leave your lips, but he seems desperate for your validation, and you know he’s too far gone to mock you.

“oh god, this is w-what i dreamed about,” he babbles as he takes the hand that was pressing on your stomach and uses it to massage your clit, earning a strangled scream from you. “th-this is what i’ve always wanted.” and if you could see his face, you’d notice how his eyes roll backwards in sheer ecstasy. 

“i’m gonna cum!” you cry, all self-restraint gone.

“m-me too, princess,” he moans. “c-can i cum inside?” it’s a pipe dream if he’s ever had one, and you can believe that he’s had one, but your response floors him.

“yes, yes, yes! do it inside, i want it!” and that’s enough. he spits out a curse as he hammers himself into you, making you almost sob as you come undone with him inside of you. the feeling of your pussy sucking him in even more as it wildly contracts around him pulls him over the edge, so he paints your walls with his seed and fucks you through both of your highs. 

he stays there until he goes soft, slowly pulling out and watching in awe as the cum spills out of your hole. he pulls you flush against his body and sighs as he tenderly fixes up your hair. 

“i really, really like you,” he earnestly whispers into your hair. 

“i —” 

“it’s okay if you don’t like me yet,” he interrupts. “i can wait.” you’re glad you’re not facing him, because you actually feel a little awkward at his sincere words, but you can’t deny that it makes your heart flutter to hear them.

“okay,” you say.

“okay?” he asks, just to be sure he heard you correctly.

“yes, i-it’s okay. you can wait.” he’s so excited that he throws himself on top of you and turns you to face him, lips greedily meeting yours, putting every ounce of yearning into the kiss. 

honestly? with the way things are going right now, he probably won’t have to wait very long at all. 

notes pt. 2: yeah... i'm so sorry that this is bad i'm just used to writing angst angst angst and this def veered more into cute territory but whatever just don't bully me

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[wrr000]

"Small gestures"

The Destined One x reader - headcanons about communication +really short oneshot at the end

Notes: it's basically @szynkaaa idea!!!!!!!!!!!! go and check their blog NOW!!!!!!!!!!! i'm currently working on another headcanons with the destined one and more serious oneshot, hope y'all will enjoy this

Warnings: fluff, kinda fanon the destined one? english is not my first language so i will prob make some changes later! i also exaggerated the situation in oneshot for the fluff, forgive me

travelling with silent destined one was difficult, but soon you realized that sometimes gestures can express more than words

at first it was hard to communicate, this barrier seemed insurmountable to you

but you quickly noticed that he wasn't trying to push you away or left you behind because of it, no - he tired to show you with small gestures that he actually cared

it started with slowing down a little so you could catch up or glancing at you to make sure you were still walking next to him

gently poking you with his hand or tugging your clothes to get your attention

stretching his arm to prevent you from walking further and signaling you to hide behind him. he always made the same gesture then

finding you a safe spot to hide when he knew a tough fight was coming

when an enemy apeared unexpectedly and you were in the middle of the fight, he bought you some time to escape somewhere safe

grabbing you by forearm to make sure you didn't get hurt (you have to tell him several times that you're fine, boy is worried)

all these little things made you understand him more and at some point you learned how to read his body language, gestures and face expressions; scratching his ear when impatient or confused, characteristically touching his nose when he's thinking and all those kind of things

you just knew what he wanted to say (but couldn't)

during this time, you didn't even notice how much you were getting closer and how much you cared for each other

he never made you feel like a burden and you always tried to help him as much as you can

you could talk to him about anything and he would listen to you carefully, making sure you feel comfortable

the destined one never would have thought that he would meet someone like you(and fall in love) during his journey

of course it isn't a flawless relationship because it's still a cheeky monkey that cannot stand 5 seconds without getting into a fight, but it's a story for another time

---

Leaving that cursed land of rats was something you had been waiting for a long time. Almost from the moment you arrived there. Sandstorms were hard to survive, let alone the mad rat king and his two sons. However, you quickly missed the sandy landscapes, because the next stop was a land covered with ice.

Journey to the next Relic wasn't easy. The snow was falling heavily, limiting your vision. The horizon disappeared, you could only see The Destined One figure forcing his way through the high layer of snow. You felt that your shoes were already soaked along with the lower part of your clothes.

Even though you were following the path beaten by your companion, you were moving slowly. You sighed heavily at the thought that you probably still had a long way to go and you could only dream about a break. How nice it would be to sit by the fire and warm yourself. Suddenly various memories started coming back to haunt you here, in the middle of nowhere.

You were pulled out from your thoughts by the familiar warmth. You looked to your left and met his shining eyes, staring into your red face. The Destined One was standing next to you, wrapping his arm around you. A slight smile appeared on his face.

"Sorry", you said quietly. "I'm slowing us down"

But he just shook his head as if he wanted to say that you were talking nonsense. With a firm move, he pulled you closer to him. Your bodies touched even more, you felt a pleasant warmth radiating from him. His hot breath spread across your frozen place. Even know you could feel his unique, but nice scent.

He noticed your tiredness and how chilly you were. You had been shivering from the cold for a while now. He wished he had something to cover you with, but all he could offer was his arm. You appreciated his concern and looking out for you. That alone made you not feel so poorly anymore.

"Thank you, much better now", you said with a smile. "We can go"

He nodded, clealry pleased with the answer. You to were walking together now, hugging each other. The road didn't seem so hard anymore and the snow slowly stopped failing. The horizon became clearer, revealing hugh mountains and old temples. You finally felt like you had made progress. Previous difficulties became only unpleasant memories.

The closer you got, the more the weather was getting better. It was still snowing, but it wasn't even that cold anymore. And yet you still walked together, hugged to each other, neither of you thinking about pulling away. While admiring the views, you told him some old story from your childhood about a hard winter in your village. When you weren't looking, he was admiring you in silence, enjoying the moment.

[endless-ineffabilities]

The Bolter (part eight) (18+)

Steve Rogers x f!reader / Bucky Barnes x f!reader

synopsis : Steve carries out his decision to return to Peggy, aiming to live out the rest of his days with her. But this means he's leaving everything behind - he's leaving you. Did he make the right choice? Will there be anything left with you to come back to?

in this chapter : The reader, Bucky, and Sam embark on a mission to find the Flag Smashers. We see what Steve and the reader went through in the years following the snap.

themes/warnings : pining, angst, allusion to trauma, language, some smut

word count : 3.1k

main masterlist ▪︎ series masterlist

2024, seven months after Steve’s departure

Being with Bucky back in the field isn’t how you thought it was going to be.

When Steve left, you figured it would be up to you to keep Bucky grounded, to be there when the weight of his past threatens to drag him down. You imagined yourself watching for the cracks, being the steady presence he needs. Even though you are just as broken, and you need the same help to keep from slipping, reluctant as you might be. 

It turns out, it’s Bucky who watches over you more. 

You feel his gaze every time you move, that soldier instinct kicking in the moment things get tense. The moment you both accepted the mission, he’s perpetually hovering at the edge of your vision, making sure you’re ready. That you’re okay.

Never mind that this is the life you’ve always known. Jumping from city to city, going after the supposed bad guys, getting bruised and beaten but doling it out just as hard. You knew it was about time – recuperating in New York and playing at living a normal life was never going to last long. 

You gave up on normal a long time ago. The normal you dreamed of – lakeside house, dog, him – that was gone. And you just never had another vision to replace it, coming to accept the truth that always was, and always will be. 

That you will never be able to leave the Huntress behind. You are the Huntress. Your ledger drips red.

But with Bucky, you didn’t expect to feel this… protected. It almost catches you off guard at times, but then there’s Sam, who thankfully keeps things moving. The three of you make a strange team, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“You good?” Sam asks as he glances at you both. “We’re almost there.”

Bucky turns to you, awaiting your answer too, so you give a terse nod. The low hum of the aircraft vibrates through your body as you stand, the wind whipping from the open door, howling in your ears. Sam stands at the edge, completely at ease. The Falcon is no stranger to taking flight – jumping off of a fast-moving aircraft must be like child’s play for him. 

“Alright, kids,” Sam says over his shoulder, smirking. “You ready for this?”

You shoot him a wry glance. “Not like we have much of a choice, do we?”

Bucky, deadpan as ever, mutters, “I hate this.”

Sam shrugs. “Then maybe don’t jump out of planes.” With that, he’s gone, wings deploying as he soars out of sight. 

“What’s the plan?” you ask Bucky. He steps to the edge, glancing down at the forest far below. “I don’t need a plan.” Then he just drops out of the damn plane. No parachute.

“Are you kidding me?” you hurriedly peer at his figure, free-falling with his arms spread wide. “Fucking super soliders.”

With a resigned sigh, you check your own gear once and take a leap. The rush of wind hits you like a wall, and for a split second, you feel like flying. You spot Bucky below, just before he crashes through the trees. You brace yourself and land more gracefully, rolling through the bush. 

You find Bucky sprawled on the forest floor, glaring at Red Wing which hovers over him. “You okay?” he croaks at you.

“Am I okay?” He’s going to be the death of you. “I’m not the one who jumped off a plane with no chute.”

You offer him a hand, and he stands abruptly, closing the distance between you. He’s so close that you can feel the heat radiating off him, his chest rising and falling with laboured breaths. For a moment, neither of you move. His gaze flickers down to your lips, then back to your eyes. 

“Buck,” you murmur. “We have to go.”

“I –” he responds, his voice hoarse. “Be careful out there, okay, doll?”

Before the words can leave your lips, Sam’s voice crackles sharply through Red Wing, cutting through the moment. 

“Hey, this isn’t a date, you guys! I might actually need backup.”

You both snap out of it, the heat between you quickly doused by the cold reality of the mission. Bucky pulls back, his expression shifting into a tight, almost annoyed glare as he steps away.

You shake your head, trying to refocus. “Right. Let’s go.”

“Get that thing out of my face, Wilson,” Bucky glowers, running a hand through his hair. “Before I break it in half.”

Your brows raise at his annoyance. Grandpa Buck needs to tone it down a notch. 

Bucky says, “Send the bird ahead. We’ll see you in a minute.”

Sam’s voice patches through, “You two better not be slacking off back there –”

“Send it.”

There’s a sound of reluctant compliance as Red Wing flies off toward the warehouse, leaving the two of you alone in the quiet moment that follows. 

You turn to Bucky, a smirk tugging at your lips. “I think you scared him.”

Before you can say anything else, Bucky grabs your wrist and pulls you in, so quickly you barely register what is happening until you’re pressed against his chest. His breath is hot and ragged, and then his lips crash against yours. It’s sudden, urgent – like he’s been holding back for too long and something just snapped. His hand cups the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. He tilts your head back to deepen the kiss, his tongue invading your mouth. 

He moans softly against you, and the intimacy of it leaves you breathless. You grip his jacket, fingers curling into the leather as if you’re afraid letting go will end the moment. 

But it’s over just as quickly as it started. Bucky pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing heavily. His eyes are dark, conflicted, but still burning with that raw need.

“We don’t have time for this,” he murmurs.

You bite back a smile. “Hey, you’re the one who kissed me.”

His lips twitch into that charming, crooked smirk of his, his hand dropping from your waist. “I know. And I’ll do it again. Later.”

“Later.” You nod once, tilting your head towards the warehouse and walking away.

But you stop in your tracks when his metal hand gently wraps around your wrist.

“I’m here, okay?" he says. "Whenever you need me.” He’s here, and you know it means so much more than this mission. He’s here, and Steve no longer is. He has seen your faraway looks, he has felt you closing yourself off to him since that night you shared. And he’ll be damned if he won’t do anything about it. 

You smile knowingly, his genuine sentiment not lost on you. “I don’t need looking after, Buck. I can handle myself.”

“I know you can, doll. But I’ll always be here.”

2020, two years after the snap

After the snap, the world fell apart. Half of everyone in the universe was gone, vanished in an instant. The weight of that loss followed all of you, an ache that settled in your very souls. It took a while before you got back to work, and missions became a way to forget, a way to escape the unbearable nothingness. 

Natasha stayed at the compound, keeping things together, but Steve… Steve disappeared. 

He would check in from time to time, brief and distant, his voice hollow over the phone. It wasn’t enough. You missed him more than anything – more than anyone, and he wasn’t even one of those taken away by the snap. You craved his presence, the way he made the world feel less heavy. But you understood. Steve was tired of being Captain America, of being the one to make things lighter for everyone. 

Everyone needed the Captain, the guidepost, the symbol of hope. But no one had thought of Steve. 

The pain in his voice was always clear. He couldn’t face what happened, not yet. 

So you drifted. Side missions took you all across the world, each one a temporary distraction. You spoke with Natasha when you could, exchanging updates, but Steve was always on your mind. She mentioned in passing that he was keeping an eye on you from the shadows, watching your progress, making sure you were alright. 

It comforted you, even just a little. You wished he would reach out, because it broke your heart. Knowing he was out there, struggling just as much as you were, but still not ready to come back. 

A year or two passed, and you found yourself in Alaska, far from everything. The cold, the isolation – it felt like the right place to be. 

The cabin you shared with Steve had become a safe haven, tucked away from the rest of the world. For two months, you stayed there, lying low.

Until one night, when the one you’ve been waiting for finally came back to you.

The knock on the door was soft, almost tentative. Your heart lurched at the sound, knowing instinctively who it was.

After all this time, what was there to say? Before you could overthink it, you opened the door.

Steve stood there, snow clinging to his hair and jacket, his eyes dark and tired. For a long moment, the two of you just stared at each other, unspoken words hanging heavy.

“Hi,” he said, voice low and broken.

You stepped aside, letting him in. He entered, lingering near the door, and for a moment, you wondered if he’d regret coming there. 

“Steve…” you started, but the words faltered. What could you possibly say to him? That you missed him? That you understood why he left, even though some part of you resented him for it?

But then, he collapsed into your arms. 

The weight of him hit you all at once, his body trembling as he buried his face against your shoulder. His arms wrapped around you, desperate, like you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart. You felt the sobs wracking through him before you heard them. The tears came hard and fast, his entire body shaking with the force of it, and you held him tighter, grounding him to you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, angel.”

“Shhh,” you soothed, your hand gently rubbing circles into his back. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be sorry, Steve.”

He didn’t listen. “I failed you,” he said, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “I failed everyone.”

The torment in his voice was palpable, and it cut deep. You knew this wasn’t just about the snap. It was about everything he’d carried, the guilt he felt for not being able to save the world, for not being able to save you from the aftermath.

“You didn’t fail anyone,” you murmured, even though you knew he wouldn’t believe it. “You did everything you could.”

It didn’t matter. He still blamed himself.

This wasn’t the Steve Rogers the world saw – the stoic, unbreakable Captain America. This was a man who had lost too much, and for once, couldn’t carry the weight of it anymore.

The days that followed were quiet, but not uncomfortable. Steve stayed, though he never said how long he planned to be there. A routine developed quickly – small, domestic tasks that gave structure to the silence. 

Mornings were spent in front of the fireplace, sipping coffee and staring out at the snow-covered landscape. Afternoons involved gathering wood, fixing small things around the cabin, and sharing brief conversations that never quite touched on what either of you really felt. 

At night, the silence felt louder. Steve sat on the bed, his hands clasped together, staring at the floor as if it held all the answers he didn’t have. You knew he was hurting, but he wouldn’t let himself show it. Not yet.

It wasn’t until the fourth night that the tension between you finally broke.

It started with a touch – your hand brushing against his as you passed him a cup of tea. The contact was brief, but it sent a jolt through you both. 

Steve’s eyes lifted, meeting yours, and for the first time in days, you saw something other than guilt in them.

Desire. Longing. The same raw emotion you’d felt for months.

He set the cup down, standing slowly as he stepped closer. “I missed you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I tried to stay away because I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought… I thought I didn’t deserve to come back.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Steve…”

“I’m so tired of running,” he finally admitted, his voice breaking. “I just want to be with you.”

The space between you disappeared in an instant. His lips crashed against yours hungrily, like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough. You responded just as fiercely, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. Everything melted away in that single kiss, and all that remained was the frantic, aching need you both felt.

Steve’s hands were everywhere – on your waist, sliding down your back, cupping the curve of your ass. The kiss deepened, and you stumbled into the bedroom, your bodies tangling as you fell onto the sheets. 

“God, I missed you,” he rasped against your lips, “I thought of you… of this… every night.” His hand slid beneath your shirt, calloused fingers brushing against your skin, and a shiver ran through you. 

“Steve… don’t stop,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I need you.”

He growled softly, his eyes dark with desire as he hovered over you. “You have me, angel. You always had me.” His lips moved to your neck, trailing heated kisses down your throat, and you moaned loudly, your hands gripping his sturdy shoulders. 

Steve’s breath hitched as he pulled your shirt over your head, followed by your sweatpants, and underwear. His eyes raked over your body like he couldn’t get enough. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, his voice filled with reverence. 

He hurriedly rid himself of every piece of clothing. You felt his hard, thick cock slapping against your pelvis as his mouth found yours again, hot and insistent, all tongue and teeth. He pulled away to pepper nips and bites along your jawline, all the while the slick of his tip left a trail across your torso, causing a rush of torturous heat in your stomach. 

Your hand slid downward, guiding him to breach your entrance, and the slightest nudge of his hips forward was enough to drive you wild. 

“Fffuck, angel,” he cried out.

“Language,” you teased, biting your lip.

“Oh, fuck it all to hell,” he retorted, his breath warm against your neck as he pressed kisses along your collarbone. You giggled at the fervour in his voice, and at the way he seemed to lose himself in you.

“Fuck everything but you, angel,” he murmured, lowering his head to suck at your breast, wet and eager. The sound of his lips popping free echoed in the room. “Fuck everything but us.”

“My, my, the mouth on you, my Captain,” you replied, your heart racing.

“Aw, shut up,” he grinned, his tone endearing.

“You’ve got something that can shut me right up,” you shot back, your voice dripping with flirtation.

“Tell me what you want,” he breathed the command against your lips, his eyes locking onto yours, filled with intensity.

“... want you, Steve,” you whispered, the words barely audible but laced with longing.

“Good answer,” he growled, and the world blurs away, as he suddenly thrust into you, his length burying deep inside your wanting pussy, your walls stretching around his sizeable girth.

His pace was unforgiving, a primal rhythm that made you gasp each time he hits home. “You feel so fucking good,” he rasps, each word punctuated with lust.

“Just like that, don’t stop,” you urged, your nails dragging along his shoulders, his thick arms, his back. 

“Never gonna stop,” he promised, his voice rough as he picked up the pace. You could feel every inch of him deep inside you, pounding relentlessly, igniting all of your nerves. 

“God, you’re everything,” he breathed as he slumped against you, his forehead resting against yours. 

You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting to drown in the intensity of the moment. “And you’re mine,” you panted, every ounce of longing pouring out in those words.

“All yours,” he promised, capturing your lips once more in a sloppy kiss. 

The tension built until you could hardly breathe, and when you finally fell over the edge, it felt like the fragmented remains of the universe collapsed, leaving only bliss in its wake.

You lay entwined in the sheets afterward, your bodies still humming with ecstasy. You turned to face him, your heart still racing as you prepared to ask what you had been wondering.

“Why’d you come back?” you asked softly, your vulnerability shining through as you searched his eyes for the truth. 

“Do you even have to ask?” he replied.

You waited, holding your breath, hoping for the words that would ground you. 

“I will always come back to you, angel,” he whispered, his gaze earnest yet shadowed by a pain you both felt. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” The world was whole again, pieced together by the man in front of you.

He was broken, and you knew it. But in that moment, you held onto the hope that his promise was true – that he would always return to you, no matter how far he drifted. 

For the next month, the cabin became your world. You and Steve healed, or at least attempted to, together. The nights were filled with whispered words and soft touches, and the days passed in a blur of quiet contentment. But you both knew it couldn’t last forever. Reality waited for you outside those cabin walls.

Eventually, the time came to leave. You both drifted apart, returning to your missions, but the cabin became a place you’d return to, a refuge when the world felt too heavy again. 

And Steve – he found himself again, slowly but surely, returning to Washington to help the survivors rebuild. 

Until everything changed once more. Thrust back into yet another war, a switch flipped inside him as he faced even more losses, including Tony and Nat.

In the chaos of battle and grief, you lost him to a web of memories and the pull of his past. To the promise of a life of peace, a life without a fight waiting just around the corner. 

The cabin, once a haven, became a ghost – a haunting reminder of what was and what could have been. 

I will always come back to you, he promised. 

And he did. Until he couldn’t anymore. 

Read part nine here ~

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Some notes in the margins...

I know I promised more Bucky, but we had to see what happened with Steve and our heroine during the lost years. There was so much to cover, but I condensed that time here. So, the reunion will actually be in the next part!

Steve is going to keep his promise after all! That tortured bastard almost made me cry while writing 😭

But it's going to be far different this time. Bucky is here to stay, and there's nothing anyone can do about it <3

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Eddie gets beaten on by Jason and his crew and Reader (who has a crush on him) sees him limping to his van and she walks over to him and helps him into the van, drives him home and then does her best to patch him up and help him, maybe ending with a sweet kiss? Request by @somethingvicked

Mentions of violence, blood. Little bits of angst sprinkled with fluff and a speechless Eddie. mdni.

Eddie x fem!reader.

🖤

Not canon compliant because Jason is alive in this for story purposes, Vecna is gone for good though. Bye bye you grinchy ass looking bitch 💁‍♀️

🖤

The first hit came before Eddie could even dodge it. Jason's fist hits his face with precision, then another blow to his stomach doubles Eddie over.

"We all know you killed Chrissy and the others, you freak, I don't give a shit what the chief of police said, you did it" Jason's face is red with fury, lost in a haze of violence. One of his friends holds Eddie's arms around his back, so he can't defend himself.

Which is when Eddie has the extremely dumb idea to use his head to smash into Carver's nose. It works in the fact that it sends him stumbling back...doesn't help the pain he's already feeling though, the force of the hit sends another wave of agony through him.

Fuck, did he actually break his nose on Carver's face?

He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, he did not survive almost getting eaten alive by demobats to get killed by Jason and his friends. Jason stumbles to his feet and the grip on his shoulders tightens courtesy of David and Liam.

"Tell me what you did to her, Munson! Say it, you fucking asshole" Jason screams at him, Eddie wants to tell him everything, everything that went down during Spring Break, the Demobats, The Upside Down, Vecna. All of it.

But he can't. Nda's were signed and let's be real, Jason wouldn't believe him even if Eddie did tell the truth. He was still trying to wrap his head around it himself. "I didn't hurt her man. I didn't hurt any of them I swear it" Eddie chokes out. His ribs are aching and he's sure his bandages have come loose.

There's another thump that catches him off guard, hits the sensitive spots where the bats tore into him and he's blinking back tears of pain.

He expects another blow to knock him off his feet but when he looks up Jason's fist is cocked and he's in position to hit Eddie again but the hit doesn't come. Instead, Jason's face crumples in pain and he drops his hand, within seconds Eddie is tossed unceremoniously onto the floor and Jason and his friends are gone.

What the fuck?

He doesn't know how he does it but he manages to drag his ass up into a standing position and limps all the way to his van, tries to calm his racing heart and figures a smoke might settle his nerves.

His fingers are shaking as he tries to light up, then he almost drops it when a soft voice comes out of nowhere.

"Are you okay?"

🖤

You saw Eddie limping to his van just as you were ready to bike home. Even from where you were you could see the blood on his shirt. Jason and his friends must have caught up to him, you have no doubt about it.

Everyone knew what happened at Spring Break, at least with the murders. How Eddie was blamed then cleared, Hawkins finding the real culprit Henry Creel, a deranged serial killer.

To be honest you never believed that Eddie had anything to do with the murders in the first place, there were rumours about the state of the bodies, bones broken and twisted in ways that couldn't be natural, eyeballs sunken in and jaws broken. It was the stuff of nightmares.

Some idiots thought that Eddie was a vessel for satan and that's what Dungeons and Dragons was about, a satanic ritual. It was ridiculous. Your friend's cousin played D&D and it was just a fantasy game. Nothing satanic about it.

Without thinking you head over to Eddie. Maybe you could help? You were a whiz with first aid and he looked like he needed patched up and like he could use a friend. Quietly you approach him as he tries to light his cigarette, his hands are shaking so you reach out to steady them.

"You okay?" He peers up at you, big brown eyes wide and kinda like a deer in headlights, he really was beautiful. Normally being this close to someone you had a crush on for almost the whole school year would be mortifying but you were more worried about his injuries than your racing heart right now.

"Hi Eddie" you murmur and he's still gawking at you but accepts your help to light the cigarette, watches you curiously as he takes the first drag.

"Uh hi sweetheart" you and Eddie talked a few times, every time you did he would have a cheeky smile (all dimples) and a cute nickname for you. It did not help with your crush one bit, even though he probably called everybody some sort of nickname, it still made your heart skip a beat.

"Carver did a number on you" you wince as you take in the cuts and bruises on his arm, the blood on his face "I can drive you home, take a look at the injuries?" He nods and tosses you his keys.

You help Eddie into the van as best as you can then head inside. He gives you directions to head to his trailer and you get him there and inside with minimal fuss.

"Okay, you'll need to take your shirt off" you murmur as Eddie points you in the direction of a first aid kit. Eddie grins, "Trying to get me naked or something princess?" he teases and you do your best to hide how flustered you are.

It wasn't your fault, his eyes were so pretty and the way his voice deepened at the end of the sentence gave you butterflies. Shit. This was so not the time.

You locate the first aid kit and get out new bandages, wipes and plasters, scissors and painkillers.

When you head back into Eddie's room he's propped up on the bed. He's shirtless, tattoos on full display and from your vantage point you can see some scars where his bandages have fallen off, silvery scars that look a lot like bite marks...

Eddie looks nervous which is rare for him so you don't comment on the scars, you're curious though but don't want to push. "Do they still hurt?" you ask quietly and his smile dims just a bit.

"A little, not as bad as when it first happened though, fucking bats" he curses then his gaze widens as it meets yours. Bats?

"Bats?" you probe gently and make sure that his bandages are secure again, from the small peeks that you can see, the bite marks are healing but still red, some are healed or are silvery scars. It looks like he was mauled, the thought makes your hands shake.

He sighs, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you princess" your heart skips a beat again but you ignore that, still curious what he means.

"Yeah? Try me. Any person in this stupid town can see that it's cursed or something isn't right" Eddie bites his lips and he looks like he wants to tell you, he really does.

"I wish I could sweetheart but it's uh complicated, nda's and cover-ups and shit" Oh. Well shit. "But yeah bats, big bats, not cute ones either but ugly little shits with super sharp teeth and claws. I can let you know that much"

You're stunned but then some of the things that you've heard Dustin say to Jason and other people who don't believe that Eddie's innocent come back to you.

"He's not a murderer. He's a hero. You stupid assholes don't deserve what he did for you"

So Eddie was protecting the town? Dustin too and maybe other people were involved? You smile and begin to clean up Eddie's cuts. "Hmm, Dustin's right then" Eddie looks confused and you lean forward to clean the blood on his nose.

"Oh yeah? What did the little butthead say?" he asks with a fond expression, you giggle at his tone. Like Dustin is his little brother or something, it's sweet. It's sweet how he looks after people in Hellfire Club, and it pisses you off that people just think he's a freak and don't look past their stupid prejudices to see how good Eddie is.

"That you're a hero. I believe that Eddie Munson, then again I've always thought you were a hero" it's Eddie's turn to be speechless as he gawks at you.

"You think I'm a hero?" he looks like he can't believe that anyone would ever think that about him and it hurts your heart so much.

"Well yeah, anyone who takes lost sheep under their wing and protects them like you do? Or risks his life for a town that can't see past their own stupid prejudices to see what's really happening? Yeah, I think you're a hero Eddie" your speech is impassioned and a bit of a rant so you're breathless, eyes sparkling at the end of it.

Once again Eddie is speechless but not for the reasons you think. "You're beautiful" he murmurs awed and you're flustered once again. Damn it.

"Maybe the hero gets the girl?" he asks softly and there goes your traitor heart again. Does he mean you? Or some other girl maybe. The thought hurts your heart but you plaster a smile on your face.

"I'm not sure any girl could resist those pretty eyes Eddie" a faint blush coats his cheeks at your compliment and he fakes a swoon, smiles at you all dimples and cuteness.

"Flattery works with me princess, not only am I a hero but I also have pretty eyes" you giggle at his overdramatic gestures.

He's all patched up now so he puts his shirt back in and a funny tension hangs in the air. "So, uh would you like to hang out again? when I'm not all beat up and shit. Maybe Friday?" Oh. You beam and nod feeling shy all of a sudden.

"Like a date?" you ask hopefully and he's still blushing faintly. It's so cute and you're sure tonight you're going to be squealing over every interaction the two of you had.

"Yeah, a date princess, he moves closer and the way he's looking at you is sending your heart into overdrive. "can, can I kiss you?" He asks and you nod, wanting nothing more than to press your lips against his plush pink ones.

He strokes your cheek and then his lips meet yours, it starts off gentle and hesitant, then it deepens and you gasp pulling him closer. You both come away a little bit dazed and you giggle as he flops dramatically on the bed.

"Now that was some kiss sweetheart, he beams at the sound of your giggles, when you sober up you bite your lip and decide to tell him a secret.

"I never thought you'd notice me" you say it quietly but he still hears it and gapes like you've truly stunned him this time.

"Seeing your pretty smile dragged me out of bed most days sweetheart, even more than d&d but that's our little secret" he winks and you make a zipping motion. Before you leave Eddie pulls you into another kiss then another.

Okay, so maybe you could be a little late to return your movie at Family Video if it meant kissing Eddie some more.

🖤💌

[mvlders222]

𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

pairing ; hazel callahan x fem!reader

wordcount ; 1.3k

summary ; After Hazel's attempt to recover after her grave mistake of getting beat down by the school's star wrestler, you assume the role of her caretaker in an attempt to show your affection for her. Don't worry, your actions do not go unnoticed.

warning ; fluff galore, mentions of blood, hazel's nose injury, headaches, painkillers mentioned (let me know if i missed anything!)

Humiliation perfectly describes how Hazel must feel after getting beaten up in front of the school—by its number one wrestler, no less.

However, it's hard to experience secondhand embarrassment when you're so proud of Hazel for doing what she did, regardless of her confession that she thought she was going to fight PJ (and rightfully so).

The self-defense club is currently on break, and you can't help but worry about Hazel. Her nose is in a cast, and she has several battle scars.

On this warm, humid night in her cozy home, Hazel rests her head gently on your lap, the couch cushions cradling your weight as you share a quiet moment.

The soft chatter of static conversation lingers in the background, from a movie playing, in the low light of the living room. You can't help but focus on the occasional snores from Hazel. She can't help it. She's comfy around you. Besides, maybe it's the pain meds that make her drowsy, and get her heart all fluttery.

Though, the flutter only happens when you're near, for some reason.

You sat up straight on her couch, Hazel’s head resting over your lap as she emitted light snores. You look down occasionally, ensuring she’s still peacefully napping and not in any pain. You gently play with the ends of her already short hair, letting your touch softly put her to rest.

Hazel twists in your lap, turning her head away from the television in front of you and into your stomach, her nose poking into your abdomen. You look down due to her sudden movements and you pull your hand away from her scalp.

She moans at this, preferring your light touch to soothe her aching head. It only ever stops when you give it some attention.

You flush at this, as she buries her head impossibly further into your tummy. She must’ve woken up, unless she was never asleep because she lightly pulls at your shirt, like a child asking for attention. She mumbles something incoherently, the sound of it being absorbed by the fabric of your shirt.

“What did you say…?” You whisper to her as if speaking any louder would break the soft moment held between you two.

She just barely tilts her head to look up at you, glancing up at you with those deep blue eyes. The bruising under her eyes accentuated her pitifulness.

“Please, don’t stop…” Hazel mumbles, the grogginess in her voice makes her barely coherent. How could you say no to her?

“Okay, Haze.” Oh, how she loved that one. You might as well have come up with it, every time you say it, it feels like she’s heard it for the first time. She feels like she sees you for the first time. Again and again.

You place the palm of your hand on her forehead, letting the coolness melt into the warmth of it. She moans once more, breathing at the unexpected and contrasting feeling. You let your hand move across her head and into her scalp, allowing your fingers to scratch at her tensed nerves.

She hums in blissful content, taking in every singular movement your digits make. She quickly unwinds at this, physically relaxing further into your lap.

“Is that better?” You smile at her reactions. Having her like this, under your care, at her most vulnerable, lets you know just how much she trusts you.

“Mhm… yeah,” she mumbles and closes her eyes. On the contrary, how much you care for her, especially in soft moments like this, gives her butterflies in her stomach even at just the general thought of you.

As you let your gaze linger, you notice how she seems to unravel in your presence. The slight furrow between her eyebrows, and the small frown that paints her expression, shows how pained she really is. “Poor, baby,” you mumble.

She lets out a hum at the pet name you give her, taking it with ease. It’s a slight step up from your previous “Haze.”

Hazel gets comfortable enough to show you as much, if not the same, amount of affection as she can. She pulls her arm up from hanging off the side of the couch and lets it worm its way between your middle and the back of the couch. She effectively squeezes you, pulling both of your souls closer in proximity.

“Hazel,” you whisper her name and giggle at this. You pull your hand back out of habit, leaving her to yearn for your touch once more. She just responds by leaving butterfly kisses along your abdomen, the softness of her lashes tickling your skin. “Don’t hurt yourself.” You lightly tug at her hair and tilt her head so that she’s facing the ceiling, looking up at you.

“I wouldn’t mind,” she mumbles. A smirk begins to dance on her face, showing off her perfect teeth.

“Well, I would.” You push her bangs out of her face, getting a better and more clear look at her features. Light pink stains of blood from her recent fight stay prominent around her nose. You bite your tongue at this, having nothing to say but how perfect she remains.

Her expression softens as you continue your staring contest. Her smile never ceases, however. “You’re so pretty…” She mumbles so you can barely hear her.

Your brows furrow and you laugh dryly, trying to make a joke out of it. You don’t want to believe that there’s a possibility of real feelings coming from her, only seeing things like this happen in the movies. “How many painkillers did you take?”

“Do you like me?”

Her question catches you off guard, but you don’t let up on the “friendly” banter. “Of course, I like you, Haze.”

“But do you, like, love me?” After a beat, she unravels her arm from around your torso and slowly sits up from her previously horizontal position on your lap. She speaks through your silence. “‘Cause you’re, like, so cool, and I feel like I’ve known you forever, even though I only met you this year. Also–”

You effectively cut her off, leaning in to place a hand upon her cheek and your mouth on hers. She lets her eyes shut and immediately shuts her mouth, letting you take over for her. She puts her arms around your torso and pulls you two closer together with the little strength she has. It’s still enough to shock you, however.

You attempt to pull away, only to have her lean into you further. “Hazel,” you hum as you try to get her attention. At the sound of her name, she decidedly pulls away from you. You open your eyes to see her blue ones staring back up at you.

“I love you.” You reference what she was saying before you decided to interrupt her. “Sorry, I didn’t say it sooner.”

She smiles at your words, any previous pain dissipating from her face. “Me too,” she responds. Hazel leans in once more, tilting her head to meet yours. You bring a hand up to meet the side of her head, pulling her impossibly closer.

She pulls back in an instant. “Ow,” she mumbles, bringing a hand up to her nose. Your face is painted with a concerned expression, tilting your head to get a better look at whatever damage you might’ve caused. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry.” She blushes, feeling embarrassed as if she ruined the moment. “Did I mess up?”

“Oh, god, no.” You smile at her softly, hoping to come off as comforting. You bring that same hand up to caress her head. She lets her own, hand drop into her lap as she stares back at you deeply. “This is good.”

You smile and speak again, softly, “This is perfect.”

[youraverageaemondsimp]

“My darling.” // CelticSlave!Aemond Targaryen x VestalVirgin!Reader

THIS FIC CONTAINS DARK CONTENT, READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

MDNI.

block the tag #MAE:DARK!CONTENT to avoid seeing dark content from me.

Summary: Fetching water a little later than usual shouldn't really affect much of your life right? You're wrong, and you wouldn't find out until you found a celtic slave in a bad condition named Aemond.

WARNINGS: extreme noncon to dubcon, unprotected p in v sex, blood kink, degradation, breeding kink, violence, blood, murder, slight angst, stockholm syndrome(?), reader basically falls in love with Aemond even though he nonconned her, manipulation. not exactly historically accurate, this is just fiction so do not take it heart, hoping it isn't offensive, + not proofread // requested by @slytherincursebreaker !!

WC: 3.5k

You were an illegitimate daughter of a politician in your country, taken away from your mother to keep the scandal underground, you never had an easy life and your father only did the bare minimum, and to say your step mother and half siblings did not like you at all, they saw you as a pest more than anything, when the pontifex maximus was choosing vestal virgins to serve the goddess vesta, he had eyes for your family, specifically your sister but she did not want to go, and so they sent you instead, seizing the opportunity to get rid of you.

It did not mean you were fully free from their clutches however, as you grew in the monastery you were always slightly discriminated against but the other 5 priestess, having heard the rumours about your bastardised birth. But you still managed to get by, you remember how earlier this morning your half sister came to visit you, telling you that she is to be married soon, she came to rub it in your face because you were sworn to celibacy, and you could not engage in activities like such. She even bought her suitor along, who you swore looked at you with such lust, and you felt very creeped out.

This is why you deliberately didn't go and fetch water from the spring earlier today, he often came to visit the temple and watched you perform your duties to the goddess vesta.

Choosing to fetch water at such a late time shouldn't have any repercussions right? I mean, you did not do it earlier because you had a reason not to, not wanting to entertain the eyes of your half sister's suitor, so you're doing it now.

Wrong.

You didn't realise the threat back then, when you found Aemond being beaten up by a bunch of other men, kindness was something that came to you naturally, seeing him in such a state made your heart wrench, you shooed off the other men, reprimanding them for their behaviour and used your status as a vestal virgin to scare them off before looking down at the man who was covered in mud, and seemed to bleeding.

He had silver blonde hair, with only one eye as the other socket seemed empty, you wondered what had happened to him.

“Are you alright?” you ask and you he groans, turning over unto his back, you should leave, you shouldn't help him, but here you are picking him up, leaning his body weight against you and bringing him through one of the secret tunnels in underneath the infrastructure of the building, it was connected directly to another country, was made to use it in order to escape from war or to invade other lands, none of the common folk knew about this, and the people who knew didn't come here often either, as there was no such need for it anymore.

You sit him down in one of the 'rooms' which is just a big spacious squared tunnel, he plops down unto the ground weak and tired, breathing heavily, you quickly went back outside and fetched the water you forgot about and gave some of it for him to drink, you watched as he whimpered, swallowing in pain before he finally looked at you.

“T-thank you.” his voice was so weak, he was barely able to get any words out.

You gave him a gentle smile, and you realised that it was probably late, you had many questions for him but you kept it to yourself for now because you didn't want to bother him anymore, so left back to the temple where you resided.

“Why are you up so late?” you heard the head vestal ask, raising an eyebrow as she took in your appearance, mud covering your prestigious clothing, “I went to fetch the water head priestess, but I fell down on the way back.” you lie looking down, hoping she believes it, and to your surprise, she does believe it, she tells you to go to your quarters after putting the water down, so you do just that.

You visit the badly hurt person from yesterday once again, you knew you were not supposed to have any type of contact with a man, to remain pure as they will taint you, but you really could care less when its about helping others, you found him lying on the ground, likely sleeping, but your footsteps woke him up and he looked at you curiously, you gave him a small smile before giving him the bread you managed to sneak out without anyone noticing, along with water, you gave it to them and sat down, he reluctantly ate it before drinking the water. “Why are you doing this?” he asked you and you shrugged, “Is it so wrong to help a fellow human out?” you question back and he goes quiet, “You i never really got your name, or how you ended up in that situation.” you tilt your head as you watch him purse his lips.

“I am a celtic sex slave.”

You froze, he was a slave.

“My mistress threw me out, and I ended up on the streets without any shelter, and those men just wanted someone to mess with.” he sighs, swallowing the bread. You felt pity for him.

“Till you found me of course, I am extremely indebted to you my lady.” he says and you shake your head no, “I’m no lady, I am a vestal virgin that title is not of my belonging.” You said, and he tilted his head, not understanding what you had meant, he nodded but then his eyes widened “This is such an honour to be in the presence of such a being, sorry you must see me in this state, and… You had to touch me as well.” he apologises and you look down, you shake your head and tell him that it's okay and you did not mind.

You and Aemond had grown closer, he would tell you about his life before he became a sex slave, how he was treated, how you felt extremely bad, how your people treated the Celtics. And so you shared your problems in return as well, he provided you comfort which you lacked all of your life, for the first time you felt wanted, and you could not ignore the feeling that was starting to bloom inside you.

But you pushed it down, you are a celibate, you should not be feeling such things.

Aemond had taken a liking to you, you had a pretty soul as well as a pretty face, the way you looked in your white clothing, and whenever you would fix your scarf over the head afraid that your hair or skin would show made him more curious to see what is underneath the thick robes of clothing even more. He knows damn well that he isn't the first man to ever lust for a vestal virgin, there were many depraved others.

After Aemond recovered, you had showed him around the tunnels and dungeons, various routes that if something happens he can use them to escape, and you also showed the route which led to his country, and he noted it, telling you that he can use this to go back to his own people again and you gave him a small smile.

Though the thought of him leaving makes your heart wrench.

“Aemond, I have to go and attend to my duties now, I will meet you later okay?” you say quickly before leaving.

Though the later never came.

“She was caught sneaking around with a slave apparently, she kept him hidden, surely she committed adultery as well.” you heard the voice of the chief priestess tell the priest.

“That is utmost dishonourable, as a vestal virgin you are sworn to celibacy, how can you do this?!” He yells at you and you flinch, tears streaming down your face.

“I promise! I promise on the flame of vesta that nothing happened between us! I was just helping him out.” you plead on your knees.

“How can I believe you? That you are not ruined? You were helping a sex slave out? you want me to believe that?” he questions and you shake your head.

“Order her death by live burial, she will be buried underground with no food or water.” he commands, tone final.

You watched as one of the virgins who snitched on you, she smiled cruelly and your face turned into a scowl. She was the one who wasn't a virgin, yet you kept her secret knowing what would happen if others found out, but the moment she discovered something about you? She had gone straight to the chief priestess and told her, even fed her lies.

“No! No! Please listen to me! Nothing happened between us! You can check for my virginity if you want! Please.” you cried, at the priest and he simply dismissed you.

You were grabbed by his guards and were being led to your doom, dragged out of the temple forcefully and then the trial was processing when you heard a commotion, accompanied by panicked screams.

“There has been a rebellion! The celtics have rebelled against us!” You hear someone yell, and everyone panics, the guards that were holding you quickly let go before rushing off to fight, you run after them and go to the temple as well, eyes widening in horror as you saw the blood and how few of priestesses were being violated brutally by the rebels, their clothes were being torn by the celtic soldiers and you were spotted by two men who came over to you, grabbing you by your hands and shoving you onto the ground.

“This one's pretty, let me have her cunt first.” you screamed at them to let go and they fought against them, kicking one of them in the shins cause the man to stumble and fall, “This bitch–”

“Stop.”

They both immediately froze up and turned around, and you froze as well, recognizing the voice. “This one is mine, unless you want your heads fucking cut off, fuck off.” he spits harshly at them, and they bow their head before scurrying off and you furrow your eyebrows, Aemond looks at you with a smirk, the empty eye socket from before now held a blue sapphire in its place snuggly.

“This would not have been possible without you, I shall spare you for this.” he begins, pulling you up on your legs by the hair.

“W-why are you doing this?!” you asked in fear and Aemond shrugged before explaining, “For the benefit of my people of course, you Romans have treated us as nothing but barbarians, however I do not blame you for that, you are a kind soul.”

“I threw my life away for this, let myself get touched by filthy hands for this moment, and finally, it was all worth it in the end.” he chuckles cruelly, and you scrunch your face in a scowl, “The emperor—” you begun but you are quickly cut off by him yanking your hair and making you face where a body was laying, head detached from the body, he tuts, “This one?” he pulls out a head and shoves it right up into your face and you push it away, screaming, he lets gos of the head and it falls to the ground rolling away.

“He was nothing but a coward, running off in the secret tunnels, letting his people die, unworthy of ruling over the people, so instead, I became the new emperor.” he clarifies.

“If you are going to kill me, just do it already.” you spit, and he looks surprised at this.

“Doll, if I wanted to kill you, I would have done it long ago, besides I said that I would already spare you, since you were a kind soul, and once again, without you, I would not be here.” he smiles cruelly and you feel your stomach twist.

His grip on your hair leaves before it's attached to your forearm, hand gripping the skin cruelly as he drags you somewhere, and you noticed that it was the head priestess room, the nearest one in the temple. You quickly realised what he wanted to do, so you started struggling, annoyed by this, he picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, before carrying and entering the room inside, securing the curtain shut before he threw you on the bed.

You try to get up and run away but he pushes you on the bed, gets on top of you, and yanks your clothes away, tearing at your robes harshly, revealing your body to him, you quickly hide yourself but he pins your hands to your side and takes in your body, he groans at the sight of your chest heaving up and down, you wriggle underneath him, trying to kick him off but he captures your legs and pushes them apart before planting himself in between them.

“No! Please! No!” you cry out but he shuts you up with one of his hands, the other one quickly undoes his breeches, revealing his hard cock, he gives himself a few pumps and lines it up against your entrance. His tip prods at your entrance, he doesn't wait a second before shoving his cock inside of you, ripping your walls apart, making you scream in pain as you struggled beneath him, he watches as your blood leaks onto his cock, and his smiles at that before he looks at you, watching tears stream down your face as he takes what he wants, he immediately sets his pace at a brutal one, ramming his cock in and out of you.

Each movement was painful for you, your cries and screams muffled by his hand, your body jolting up the bed as he brutally thrusts inside, traumatising your walls, the free hand grips your breasts cruelly before he pinches your nipple harshly, causing you to arch your back, and whine loudly.

Using the least amount of strength you have you push him heavily off, and to your luck it works cause he is caught off guard making him fall next to you, and before you could get up and run, he grabs your waist and pushes you back onto the bed again, getting on top of you and choking your neck with both his hands.

“I was going to spare you, but it seems you do not want that, take it or fucking die.” he spits on your face and you wince, crying out once again as he enters inside you.

Your body betrays you, you know it when it suddenly starts to feel good, his tip hitting a certain spot inside of you, and soon you're moaning as well, unable to process this foreign sensation. “Yeah, that's more like it, my brave girl.” he coos and bends down to kiss your neck and you whimper when he bites down at your sensitive area.

You grab onto his shoulders for support, and he hums in satisfaction, one of his hands travel down to your clit before rubbing fast circles it, and you felt your stomach tighten at that, before something snapped and you were moaning extremely loudly, nails digging into his skin as the pleasure hit you like a huge wave.

You cried out his name, and he hushed you and continued to thrust inside of you, grunting, you felt his thrusts become more sloppy before he halted, pushing himself into you as far as he could go, and moaned as his seed spurted out of him, he slowly rode it out, painting more of your walls white.

“I want to see you pregnant.” his hand rests on the lower part of your abdomen, as he caresses it gently with his thumb, before pulling out and leaning down to pepper kisses on the area, as if a kiss will ensure your pregnancy.

His hands fondle with your boobs, thumbs flicking the nipples as he massages the flesh, “they will be filled with milk..” he says in a daze.

You saw him getting hard again and your eyes widened, before you could get up on your elbows, he pushed you down once again again, holding your legs apart and pushing them up, making the knees bend, touching your chest.

He lines his cock before shoving it brutally inside again, he trapped you in a mating press while he thrusted above, your walls drummed with pain at the overstimulation, you were whimpering.

“Fucking it take it you slut, look at how your expression matches that of a whore.” he degrades you, hips snapping at each words, you felt a sting in your heart at his mean behavior.

“This is what you were made for, to be a fucking whore that men can use, not a vestal virgin, having this much of a perfect cunt and wasting it is unbelievable.” he groans and you feel tears start to fall down at his insults.

He pulled back and groaned at the sight of how there was still blood covered on his cock, your blood which coated him so perfectly, and he felt him nearing his edge, his hand gripped your cheeks before forcing your mouth open and then he spit into it, “Swallow, you whore.” he commands and you obey scared.

“Fuck, you're my whore aren't you? my pretty little whore who will let me fuck my children into.” he moans. “I can't wait to make you mine, my empress who will rule along with me, give me children, my darling- oh fuck—”

You felt the familiar feeling of heat arise in your stomach again, as he hits the same spot again and again, and soon enough, you're once again reaching your peak, arching your back at the intensity, he then finishes inside of you again.

That night was a nightmare, he took you multiple times, he made you take him in your mouth, and he did the same, lapping at your cunt for hours on end as he relished in your taste.

You remember passing out, unable to take anymore as exhaustion weighed upon you.

You woke up groaning, you slept like a baby, that's until you moved a little bit and your body aches like hell itself, and you get up, stretching to relieve the pain, you looked over to your side and spotted Aemond fast asleep, completely bare and then you remembered the events of the night prior.

You saw the sheets which were now covered in your blood, your virgin blood, and you were pure no more. You felt doom settle in your core but you felt relieved in a weird sense of way.

Suddenly there was a commotion outside, you gathered whatever was left of your robes before covering yourself with it, hiding your intimate parts and exiting the room.

You gasped as the scent of blood hit your nostrils, and almost threw up, but then what caught your eye made you surprised, you noticed how the head priestess, and all the people who have wronged you in the middle, tied up as the guards lazily kept them in check.

When they spotted you, they screamed insults at you and you winced, anger coursing through your veins at such an intense rate.

“My empress, look at them, look at the people who wronged you.” you heard Aemond whisper in your ear from behind you, and you got startled, you turned to look at him and you watched as he was almost naked except the sheets which were loosely held together by him on his lower body, hiding his intimate part, the same sheets which were covered in your blood.

“Look at them, see how they are still blaming you? What do you want to do huh? Does it not make you mad?” he asks and you turn your attention back to them again, it frankly does make you mad. “I would never treat you like that, I love you. My queen.”

“What do you want, my little empress?” he asks and you make up your mind.

You collect the water in a small dish and Aemond watches you in confusion, but then you make your way towards the flame of vesta, and pour water over it, putting it out and the head priestess' eyes widen in horror.

“Kill them all.” your voice was more clear than ever.

“Spare the head priestess, and that one, for they shall be buried alive.” you say coldly before you walk back to Aemond, who welcomes you in his arms.

“You heard your queen, do as she commands.” he orders his men before he escorts you away from the scene and into the room once again.

He pushes you on the bed and crawls atop of you, “I wasn't joking when I said I want you pregnant, doll.” he coos and you gulp.

“Impregnate me, my king, I want to carry your heirs.”

And that was enough to make Aemond go insane, before he took you once again.

And soon, you fell pregnant.

Giving birth to a girl, who Aemond adored.

Life seemed to be well and perfect.

Maybe you don't really regret this at all.

———

GENERAL TAGLIST ;

@watercolorskyy @cl-0-vr @chompchompluke @namelesslosers @snowystark @spookyaemond @sweethoneyblossom1 @this-isnt-madness @persephonerinyes @eltherevir @sidni3003 @aleidag1rly @cryingforlife @fan-goddess @hannaeditzs @grungegrrrl @thekinslayersswordhand @aemondsbabygirl

Bold is who I cannot tag, DM to be removed!

[diejager]

We need more Dark!Captain Price please!!

Behave, Love

Pairing: Dark! Captain John Price x fem!reader

Cw: implied smut, DARK, IMPLIED NON-CON, possessive behaviour, kidnapping, kinda Stockholm syndrome, captive reader, mean Price, punishment, basement wife?, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 2.6k

“We have guests tonight, love,” he told you this morning before leaving.

That was a warning, the only one you needed to understand what you were told - ordered - to do. You spent the morning cleaning up, wiping off the nonexistent dust from the shelves, washing off the clean tables and surfaces around the house that you’d cleaned yesterday after he called to tell you that he was coming home. The following hours were spent vacuuming the wooden floor and mopping up any nano-spill of some kind. Only after the long hours you took to clean every speck of dust in your shared home, did you start cooking.

Price was a simple man in the things he liked, he might’ve been strategic in his plays and his decisions, down to the smallest aspects of each mission, or preferring his gun or knives maintained in a specific way that was his only, but anything at home, he liked simple. Perhaps it was a blessing for you, never spending time learning how to cook or bake, your training took up all your time and any free time you had was spent resting or on extra training. He liked well-rounded meals, having meat, vegetables and a bit of spice on his plate with rice or fries on the side.

You dread the moments he leaves as much as the giggle of the knob, leaving meant that he’d be watching you remotely, from the small screen of his phone with alarms and countermeasures against your escape - to which you’ve tried and failed many times, the severity of his punishment racking up from an hour in the dark basement to being tied up and tortured to overstimulation of a fake cock moulded to replicate Price’s cock - and his return would leave you at the mercy of his prying eyes and hungry mouth, letting his hands trace the scars that littered your skin. Any sign of disgust: shuddering, flinching or freezing would get you some time in the basement. 

He pulled you from years of training, the result of your blood sweat and tears gone with the flick of Price’s wrist. He had you discharged and had you move in with him - how fortunate you’ve been living on base without an apartment outside of the compound, you saw no use for it if you’d rarely be home - even though you fought against him, tooth and nail. Yet that only landed you in time out - or so he called it. 

“We’re going to get married, love,” he told you, a bright smile hidden under his beard, a wishful gleam in his eyes. 

You weren’t only getting married, you were signing off your body and soul to your captor to become a glorified housewife. From a private to a housewife, how saddening, you couldn’t help that self-deprecating attitude rather than the confidence and strength that were beaten into you during training. 

Any connection to the outside world was cut off, Price made sure that you wouldn’t have any way to contact your family without his supervision - he had you call them once a month to reassure them that you were safe and happy with your new life - or the authorities, not that they’d listen to you with The Captain John Price and his decorated background. Granted, you had a TV to entertain yourself in moments of boredom or the book-filled wall in the living room, even a few recreational activities he wanted you to practise: knitting, sewing, cooking and baking.

Naturally, you turned to cooking and baking as a way to pass the time, leaving the radio or the TV on as background noise to fill the depressing atmosphere. With time, you’d grown more comfortable in the kitchen and Price could trust you with more complicated dishes, even being excited to eat a homemade dinner when he came home. He liked meat, so you read about different meaty dishes - especially with the notion of the other coming over for the afternoon - with good portions of vegetables. 

You moved around the island, setting the table with plates and cups, knives, spoons and forks on the sides with a bowl of fries in the middle. The steaks were almost done, sizzling besides the warm sauce you were boiling after cracking the can. The beans and mashed potato were already set on each plate, waiting for the juicy meat and sauce you worked on, hoping that you’d be finished on time for Price to get home. You hoped Price would be nicer to you while the men ate, nothing too rash or possessive from him during their stay.

The lock clicked as you placed the final piece, the rattle of keys and the familiar steps of Price’s heeled shoes were - unless you missed his soft “I’m home, love.” - the usual sounds you’d hear when he came home, the only indications that you were never truly able to relax.

“Welcome home, John,” you returned, greeting him with a small kiss on the corner of his lips, his bushy beard irritating your cheeks. 

He leaned down, chasing you for a second, deeper kiss, his teeth catching your lower lip before he moved aside to let his coworkers enter. 

“Ma’am,” Gaz jumped in, lowering his cap in a mock bow to you.

Being called ma’am made you feel old and married. While you were married, you were a year or two younger than him with him having an authority over you on base. You didn’t necessarily know him before your discharge, only catching a few glances when either of you were passing through the gym or shooting range, or when you crossed paths in the halls or mess hall. Perhaps in another universe, you would’ve been friends or teammates by chance. You swallowed down a sigh that threatened to slip from your pursed lips.

Soap followed closely behind Gaz with a boisterous greeting of his own, his smile infectious and giddy. How couldn’t you smile back at him when he seemed so happy to be here, you couldn’t bear to break his heart, his puppy-like joy. You shook his hands, they were as firm as the last time, his fingers more calloused and harder on the tips from the many deployments between their last visit. Ghost was a step behind everyone, giving you a quick but welcoming nod, his eyes softening at the dark bags under your eyes. 

“Come in, I was just about finished.”

Without so much of a complaint, they sat down, watching you pour the brown sauce over their plate. Price - as always - sat at the head of the table, watching you and his team from his vantage point. Ghost sat to his left with Soap beside him and Gaz on the opposite from him, taking the seat to your right. The seat to Price’s right was always reserved to you whenever you were present, a rule he imposed himself. He could easily hold your hand while it rested on the table, he could sneakily place his firm hand on your thigh, or he could send you a quiet message through the corner of his eye, something so discreet that not even Ghost noticed.

Dinner with 141 was always animated, with Soap and Gaz throwing jabs at each other and Ghost jumping in with a few jokes of his own - though they were the usual dark and morbid humour that he thrived on - while Price watched over it all, a proud smile adorning his face as his thumb brushed your knuckles. You could see the fatherly joy in his eyes whenever everyone was at the table, this joy that almost made you happy that you were part of this small family - almost. You couldn’t forget the pain and harrowing sadness that clouded your mind every day, Price’s influence on your life becoming the looming shadow that kept you locked away from the freeing sun.

“It was tidy, bonnie!” Soap thanked you, collecting the plates while the rest helped around.

“Thank you, Johnny.”

While you washed the dishes, burly arms reached around your waist and locked fingers, pushing his chest to meet your back. He hummed a comforting tune, peppering your neck and shoulder with kisses, playing the loving and caring husband he was to the rest of the world. Laying his head on your shoulder, he was content with watching you work, ears listening to the chatter in the room and your beating heart, a calm and soft beat that soothed his nerves. 

“A right delight,” Price breathed out, hips swaying side to side in a drawl dance, rocking you along with him. 

He pressed his lips to your ear, mumbling praises for your behaviour and playing the husband he wanted to be - was. He was gentler with you, his strong arms holding you lovingly and expressing his devoted obsession with you with kisses and whispers. It was a side you saw often, Price being the ever-loving man he vowed to give you on the day of your marriage, the other one was the possessive and obsessive man who wanted your everything, your mind, body and soul. That side of him was given to you when you misbehaved, when you did something to displease him or when he deemed you worthy of punishment.

The other rarely saw their captain acting so soft and loving, even toward them, his little, ragtag of a team. Although it was something to be proud of, unendingly happy because at least one of them finally settled down, who were they if they couldn’t jab at Price, just a bit.

“Growing old, Cap’? You look like a romantic sap,” Gaz snickered, watching Price narrow his eyes in mocked anger through squinted eyes.

“Aye, I dinnae yer were a bodach,” Soap elbowed Gaz, failing to hold back his cackle, head tilted back and arms around his abdomen.

“English, Johnny.”

Price huffed, shoulders shaking with his own laughter.

“Oh, sod off,” he spat, lips stretched in a snarky smile. “Am I an old sap, love?” 

He clung to you, hands slipping under the hem of your shirt

“ ‘Course not, John. Maybe romantic, but not old.”

Calling him old wouldn’t do him or you any good, especially since you were married to him, a man over a decade older than you; and calling him romantic would be a lie thrown to the face, at least to you. Price would call himself a romantic man and preen about his rugged, yet gentlemanly character, his hands calloused and loving, his mouth praising and biting, his eyes ravaging and devoted, his acts protective and possessive. How Price would proclaim himself as the perfect husband - he said he was the day he dropped you the discharge letter - and how lucky you were to wound yourself with him rather than any boy your age. 

Price chuckled, his chest rumbling against your back as he tightened his hold around you. He liked your reply, that wide smile pressed to your throat with nipping kisses made you aware of his joy. You rocked back against him, dancing along the lazy sway of his hips, you were catering to his whims to stay safe and alive. His training wasn't for nothing, carved into the seams of your mind with every thrust of his cock or the silicone mimic of his cock. You learned quickly that if Jonathan Price was happy, you’d be safe and unharmed, so you aimed to please him and keep him happy.

If it meant playing the reciprocating and happily married wife to their captain, you’d do that. There wasn’t any loss of dignity and pride in wanting to feel safe, wanting to ignore how his hands gripped you too firmly or how your skin was littered with painful bruises after a rough night. To the Task Force, you were a willingly discharged soldier who became a housewife for their hardworking captain and your loving husband. The gold band carved with curved and intricate words added to the illusion of your perfect life. 

It made you want to scream and pull your hair out at how trusting they were of Price. All and any man had his darkness, that ugly need buried under the mass of duty and morality that made them who they were, but if let loose, they could be like Price, another monster wearing the skin of a man.

You couldn’t help squinting your eyes in a silent plea to the men, watching them drink and laugh merrily without a fault. Being a witness to their bountiful smile and full-bellied laughter when you were glued to your captor by the hip, his arm looped around your waist, pulling you to him. Laying your head on his shoulder as the bottle of whiskey grew lighter and lighter over time, the golden liquid rolling down their throat with a comforting burn after a long week at work. The little glances Price sent your way were reminders for you to behave until the end, his fingers curling over a healing bruise from when he held you too tightly, pussydrunk with his head between your thighs.

You smiled and nodded, going along with whatever they were chatting about, from meaningless affairs to slightly classified subjects. Nothing was off the table with you, they trusted Price enough to trust you with sensitive subjects and they all liked you, someone who could relate to their cause and understand their pains. Perhaps that played a part in his obsession with you.

Even when they stood on your doorstep with slurred speech and hooded eyes, they were always aware of their situation and minds sharp, but they were blind to your plight. Gaz and Soap shook hands with Price, the darker Brit bowing to lift his cap in a familiar salute: “‘Night, ma’am.”

“Thanks fer the meal, bonnie.”

“It’s always a pleasure having you over, Johnny.”

Ghost waved at you from the driving seat, he drank less comparatively to the other men, being designated as the driver between them. You send him a tired grin with a wave of your own, still within Price’s grasp. You looked on beside him as Ghost drove off, returning to base with two drunken sergeants in his custody. With them gone and the door shut and locked - bolted down with keys and codes only he had access to - he pulled you to his chest, rumbling out praises with his deep, soothing voice. 

 “You were so good today, love,” he pressed his lips against yours, hand cupping your nape with a slow lave of his tongue to deepen the kiss. “I’m so proud of you.”

He dragged you away, feet hanging on your toes to follow his movement while letting him press for more kisses, growing passionate and stealing your breath. You clung to him, fingers clawing at his form-fitting shirt as you walked backwards, stepping into your shared room. He blindly kicked the door shut, throwing you to the bed with a rough push. He stared at you through lidded eyes, bouncing on the bed as you scrambled to get your footing before he straddled your hips between his thick thighs, rutting his covered hardness against your stomach. 

His leaky head trapped under the tightness of his briefs and pants drenched his clothes, his chest rising with deep and laboured breaths. In the silence of your privacy, Price became handsy, wanting to grab and touch every part of you, cradling your face and wiping the drool on your lower lip with his thumb. He brought it to his mouth, sucking his thumb with lust-hazed eyes as he peered down at you. His brown hues were darker in the dim lighting, nearly black with lust and need as he grappled himself over you. He wore a crooked smile on his perfect lips.

“You deserve a reward for behaving so well, yeah?”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs

[starryjiung]

of pleasure and pain

day 16 of piwontober

shower sex / fingering with yoon keeho

NSFW - 18+ MDNI

wc: 1.6k

tags: superhero au, villain!keeho, hero!reader, scars, blood, wounds, weapons, mentions of murder/killing people, fingering, shower sex, pet names, praise, degradation, reader uses she/her pronouns and has a clitoris and vagina, keeho refers to reader as girl

a/n: omg my smut debut look at me go! here is my little thanks to section, because I have to mention @enbyjjunie who has been helping motivate me, brainstorm with me, and beta read!! of course a huge thank you to @sxfterhearts and @kisseobie for managing this whole event, and bringing all of us together. and to all the other amazing writers who are part of the project, I am so excited to be publishing my fic alongside yours ♡

Blood stained the white shower tiles, mixing with the soap bubbles to create intricate shapes as it swirled down the drain. The water rinsed everything off, every bit of blood, sweat, and grime that could be found on your bodies. If anything stuck in the corners, it wasn’t your problem, since this was Keeho’s bathroom. His white tiles, his cleaning headache. Not that you paid it much mind in the moment, with your back up against the cool glass of his shower doors, Keeho’s hands and mouth all over you.

“Fuck, careful where you place your hands,” he mumbled in your ear, shrugging your hand off his shoulder. You glanced over to see a fairly new bruise blossoming right where you had grabbed him, and couldn’t help the smirk that overtook your features.

“Got you good today, didn’t I?” you asked, the amusement short lived as you immediately felt a sharp stabbing pain on your hip in retaliation.

Keeho had pressed down on a fresh slashing wound from your fight earlier, making you yelp and instantly grab onto his arms for support, as your legs wobbled under you. Even though you had ended the night on a high, Keeho having to retreat from the city beaten and bruised, it was not like you had made it out completely unscathed. Keeho was an expert at wielding his signature twin poignard daggers, the many cuts on your body being evidence of this.

“I like it better when you shut up.”

“Someone’s a sore loser,” you mumbled, slowly trailing off as he leaned back into your space, caging you in between his arms against the now steamy glass door. He looked down at you with sharp eyes, and you noticed another bruise forming on his left cheekbone, no doubt the result of you hitting him with the blunt end of your glaive.

You and Keeho were the perfect match, two sides of the same coin in every way possible. The first time you had gone head to head, both of you had been left in awe of the other’s abilities. Not that any of you would ever admit it. Keeho’s teleportation powers and your super speed balanced each other out so well, one was never more than half a step ahead of the other. This resulted in fights purely being decided on combat skills and luck, as you wounded each other at a speed too high for the onlookers to perceive.

You turned your head slightly, pressing your lips firmly to his pretty bruise, making sure he both felt the warmth of the kiss, and was reminded of the earlier impact with your weapon. Your kisses softened as you trailed down the side of his face, your hands leaving his toned upper arms to explore the expanse of his naked upper body.

“I could have killed you today, you really should be nicer to me,” you said in between open mouthed kisses at his jawline.

“Oh yes, imagine those headlines. “Darling hero of Metro City commits murder on open street!” You can never kill me sweetheart, there would be an outrage,” he replied, eyes closed as you worked down his neck. “And your heart is too soft to do it.”

You decided to ignore his statement, not wanting to agree with him, and instead grabbed his hips to push up against. As soon as your front came in contact with his hard cock, Keeho let out a low groan, one you could feel vibrating in his throat as you had your face buried right in the crook of his neck. Not a second later, Keeho’s arms were back around you, holding you close in order to maintain the friction between your bodies.

As you were grinding against each other, you felt a shiver down your spine, the water on your body slowly drying and giving way to the cold air coming in from below. Before you even had time to adjust, Keeho was already pulling you back under the hot stream coming from the showerhead.

Standing even closer together now, in order for both of you to enjoy the warm water, Keeho rested his forehead against your temple, his face only a breath away as his hands travelled down the sides of your body. His hair was dripping down onto his collarbones, where you saw a paper-thin scar, long healed, but no doubt your doing. Most of the scars littering your body were left by him as well, reminders of every fight, every battle, every night spent together afterwards.

“How come you have never killed me?” you thought out loud.

You felt Keeho’s hands stop, just for half a second, before continuing to glide over your skin, his right pointer finger tracing a newly healed gash along your outer thigh, the skin raised and still pink. His doing.

“I mean, you’ve had the chance several times,” you continued, not satisfied with his silence.

For a few seconds, the sound of water hitting skin and tile was the only thing you could hear in the bathroom. Then you felt Keeho smile against your cheek.

“Yeah well, keeping you alive is way more fun, means I get to do this.”

His hand quickly moved from your leg to in between your bodies, his finger finding your clit and beginning to rub small circles without a moment’s hesitation. You immediately grabbed onto his shoulders for stability, all thoughts of the forming bruise there gone for now. A choked moan got stuck in your throat, which made Keeho giggle.

“Look at you, already struggling to stand and I have barely touched you,” he said, lips right next to your ear as his hand kept moving at the pace he knew you liked. “Wonder what the good people of Metro City would think of their precious hero, if they knew she was whimpering like a slut in my shower.”

“Oh fuck you,” you managed to gasp out, throwing your head back to rest against the wet tile behind you. This got a proper laugh out of Keeho, who now had a much better view of your upper body, taking full advantage of your new position.

“Later, maybe. For now I want you to beg for my fingers, can you do that, angel?” he asked.

You did not want to give him the satisfaction of begging, but the way he was rubbing circles on your clit also felt too good to object. Just then, his fingertips went further down, teasing at your entrance and making you inhale sharply.

You were dripping wet, more than one could expect you to be after such a short amount of time with Keeho’s hands on you. But just as he was to blame for most of the scars on your body, Keeho had also become responsible for the vast majority of your orgasms. He knew exactly what to do to have you moaning and begging for him, and in that moment you felt every ounce of pride and composure leave your body. You knew the pleasure he would reward you with was worth so much more.

“Please-” you started your sentence, cutting yourself off with a high pitched whine as Keeho’s fingers moved back up to your clit.

“Sorry could you repeat that sweetheart? I can’t hear you over all that pathetic whimpering,” he said, tilting his head slightly with an amused smile, as he watched you lose yourself to the feeling of his hands on you.

“Please! Please please I want you fingers inside me so bad Keeho, fuck, please,” you cried out, the grip you had on his shoulders becoming so tight, it would surely leave marks for the day after. None of you paid it any mind, however, used to much more permanent reminders of each other.

“That’s my good girl.”

Keeho slipped a single finger inside your wetness, quickly realising that you were turned on enough for him to add a second one immediately. The feeling of him inside of you, slowly stretching your walls, was enough to have you moaning uncontrollably. When he started curling his fingers up towards himself, you could feel how close you were already.

“You’re taking my fingers so well, being so obedient for me. Everyone else sees you fight, but only I know how good you are at giving in to me,” he said, eyes focused on where his fingers were pumping in and out of you.

You could do little more than nod, your breaths coming out as a mix of whines and sharp exhales. Both of you knew you were not going to last much longer.

“I want to feel you cum around my fingers, angel. Cum for me.”

He had barely finished the sentence, before you cried out, your orgasm hitting you as soon as he gave permission. Keeho could feel you clenching around him, coming undone as he continued to curl his fingers inside you. He had seen your face in complete ecstacy like this more times than he could count, and yet he craved it like a drug. The knowledge that he could have this effect on you too, the cuts on your body telling a story so different from the pleasure painting your features in that moment.

As you came down from the high, Keeho slowly removed his fingers again, letting the water rinse away your wetness, just as it had cleaned you off your blood.

Pulling yourself closer to him again, you leaned your face on his shoulder as your breathing returned to normal. Small crescent shaped indentations were left in the reddening bruise, and you found yourself leaving small pecks on each one, as Keeho brought his arms around you under the water.

How were you ever supposed to kill each other, when being alive together felt so good.

[baby-tini]

Hellooo, may I ask for how Tokyo revengers guys would be with a Bimbo reader??? :)

you sure can :)

Ken Ryuguji-

He's so sweet to you, he gets things are hard for you too understand. So, he'll never tease you about anything, always helping you with whatever you need. He takes his time with you, going step-by-step with the things you don't understand. Now, he does get a little irritated with you, but he never yells or gets visibly irritated with you. Always telling you too take a break, so that he can calm down, but he is very encouraging with you, praising you for the things you do get right, rewarding all your correct questions. You want a kiss baby? You'll have too figure out how too tie your own shoes. I genuinely don't think Ken minds this though, with him being around Mikey for long and having too do a lot for him, he's frown too take on a more caring role for you. Always taking care of you, cooking you food, tying your shoes, brushing your hair, footing you bills, anything you need just ask him and he'll take care of it, but he does want you too learn at least some sort of independence.

Keisuke Baji-

He's a mix of nice and mean about it. He understands not being smart in certain... aspects, but he'll still make fun of you for it. When you do get genuinely upset about it, your nose all leaky and red. He'll pull you to his chest and kiss your head, apologising, stating that he was joking and that he didn't know it would make you cry. He's soft most of the time after that, rubbing his thumbs over your swollen, sticky cheeks as he presses soft kisses on your lips. While he does tone the teasing comments down a bit, he's the only one that can tease you. He will- and has, gotten pissed when people tease you, whether it be in a playful way or not, it doesn't matter. He had gotten into a fight with a guy that thought it would be funny too call you stupid when you couldn't figure out a simple question. He had beaten the man so bad, that he has too be rushed to the ER before he took you out and got you ice cream.

Sanzu Haruchiyo-

This sick fuck loves you a bimbo, he loves it more then anything. You're so stupid, so willing too do anything he asks, whenever he asks. He fully uses this to his advantage, through and through. His innocent little princess is so stupid, huh? All he has too do is say jump and you do, you don't even ask how high, you just do. He's constantly so mean to you, making you cry, even though you cry over the smallest things possible, he still makes the comments stick and hurt. He's so manipulative, whenever he wants too fuck you and you're just.. not in the mood, he plays the "if you loved me, you would" card, and it works, every single time, without fail. Whenever he feels like you're not sucking his cock good enough, he'll take things into his own hands and he'll shove your head down his cock, making you choke on it, before he laughs in your face, as you cough up his pre and there's fat, salty tears dripping down your cheeks.

[marril96]

Casually Cruel

Chapter 2: Cruel for the Sake of Love

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: set in WandaVision 1.09. After Agatha’s defeat, you beg Wanda not to brainwash her.

Previous chapter.

It was only when you could no longer see Westview in the distance that you dared lower yourself and Agatha to the ground. You'd started getting tired what felt like an eternity ago, but you kept going, kept flying; the further you were from that town, from Wanda Maximoff, the safer Agatha was.

She was powerless now. Vulnerable. It was up to you to protect her.

She'd noticed you were struggling and had asked you to get down miles ago, but you'd told her it was fine. You were fine. You could do this.

You landed amidst a thick forest you didn't recognize, in a small clearing that seemed relatively safe. There were no people around. No witches. If a wild animal were to pounce, you could take care of it with ease.

As soon as you caught your breath.

You doubled over, taking in deep gulps of breath as if you'd been held underwater. It's okay, you kept telling yourself. It's okay. It's okay. I'm okay. You were far from, but the more you repeated it, the more likely it was that it would become true.

Agatha rubbed your back, softly, gently, light as a feather. "It's okay, angel."

The familiar warmth engulfed you; her touch always did that. You used to think it was her magic bringing you comfort, but now you knew it was her. Just her.

Hearing it from her mouth was enough to believe it.

You were okay.

You could breathe now.

The danger had passed.

Straightening up, you turned to Agatha and said, "Let me look at you."

Your hands were on her cheeks, cupping them, grabbing them. Too harsh, too forceful, but you couldn't help yourself. You needed to make sure that this was real. That she was real. That this wasn't some trick Wanda had played, a spell that had trapped you in your mind, giving you false hope that everything was normal. That you and Agatha were safe.

"Are you okay?" you asked, more for your own peace of mind than hers.

"I'm fine," Agatha said, even though she was clearly not.

Your eyes burned again, welling with tears. Your grip on her tightened. "Did she hurt you?"

She pulled at your hands, trying to pry them off her face; uselessly so for the more she fought you, the stronger you held on.

The black from her fingers was fading. Dark magic abandoning her as her regular magic had.

It sent another pang of pain through you.

She'd lost everything she'd worked for for centuries. All the power she'd amassed, collected, stolen, was gone, just like that.

She'd been beaten. Defeated. Humiliated.

You'd almost lost her.

Why hadn't she listened to you? Why did she have to be so fucking stubborn?

Why did she put you in a position to beg for her life, for her mind?

Why did she break you without laying a single finger on you?

Why did she have so much power over you?

"Stop that," Agatha commanded.

She didn't get to do that. Not after what she'd put you through. "Did she hurt you?" you demanded, fingers digging into her face.

"No," she said in that no nonsense tone that always told you playtime was over. She was serious, and you were going to hear it. "You are hurting me."

The realization shattered you. You instantly released her, brimming with guilt. With pain.

You had hurt her.

It was the last thing you'd wanted to do, yet you still did it. You had caused her pain.

You were just so angry.

At Wanda, for taking her power. For wanting to take her away from you.

At Agatha, for starting this shitshow in the first place.

At yourself, for being unable to help her. For being unable to do anything but watch her get drained, and then beg for her mind.

"I almost lost you!" you snapped, no longer able to hold it in. Not wanting to hold it in anymore. She wouldn't listen to you then, but she would now. She had to. "Do you realize that? I almost fucking lost you!"

Agatha flinched. You never talked to her like that. Even when you were pissed beyond belief, you never lashed out at her. You never fired the gun with the intent to hurt her.

Tough luck. This time, she hurt you first.

Payback was a bitch, as she damn well knew.

"This isn't exactly a walk in the park for me, either," she retorted.

"And whose fault is that, huh?!"

The words stung as soon as they left your mouth. You didn't mean to be that harsh. You didn't mean to twist the knife. It hurt to be hurting her. Salt to the wound; not just hers, but yours, as well.

At the same time, there was no other way to go about this.

This was her fault. She had gone after Wanda first. She had manipulated her. Played with her. Attacked her.

You'd begged her not to, to leave it alone. Something had felt wrong from the very start.

You were overreacting, she'd told you. You should just relax and enjoy the show.

Some show it was.

It shouldn't have been a surprise, really. Since when did Agatha listen to reason?

That didn't make it — didn't make this entire fucked up situation — hurt any less.

Agatha recoiled as if slapped. "You're out of line."

"No, you are out of line!" Angry tears spilled from your eyes. Your cheeks were on fire, your heart a drum abusing your chest. "Why didn't you listen to me? I told you this was a bad idea. I fucking told you!"

She was silent for a moment, at a loss of words. She knew you were right. Knew there was no argument she could possibly provide that would beat your words. "What can I say? Listening to people isn't my strong suit."

"Clearly," you said with more venom than you'd intended.

"Newsflash, sweetheart: I came exactly as advertised. You knew what you were getting into."

That was the saddest part of it all. You knew, from day one, what she was like, and you'd still allowed yourself to fall in love with her. You'd allowed her into your life, into your heart, and now she was here to stay. And the worst of it all was that you wanted her to.

You couldn't imagine your life without her.

Agatha continued, "If I'm such a burden, you should've let Wanda have her way with my mind and been done with it."

It was your turn to flinch. Shots fired right back. She knew exactly which buttons to push, which bleeding wound to poke. "You're not a burden." She could never be.

"Aren't I?" Her eyes lowered to her dress, the last keepsake of her once great power. To her nails, iridescent purplish-blue, attached to fingers that used to be black.

"Never." You grabbed her hands, gently this time. Entwined your fingers with hers. "I don't care how much power you have. I never did. You are all that matters."

You squeezed her hands like you always did when she was under the weather, letting her know that you were here. That you weren't going anywhere. Not ever. No matter what.

"You're the most important thing in my life. That's why I'm so fucking pissed at you. You do things like this, and you don't care that you could get hurt. And I can't protect you if you do. I don't have that kind of power."

Agatha finally looked at you, surprise etched over her face. Still, all these years — decades, centuries — later, she couldn't believe you had her back. No matter how many promises you made, how many risks you took, she could never get it through her head that someone could love her. That someone could put her first.

That she deserved that kind of devotion.

If only she knew how much she meant to you. Mere words and actions couldn't express it.

It needed to be felt.

"I don't know what I would've done if she didn't let you go." You were bawling now, the mere thought of what could have been enough to send you over the edge. "She-she would've had to kill me. I wouldn't be able to let her do that to you. So don't you dare say I should've let her have you. I would never."

You expected Agatha to put on one of her nonchalant masks and act like your words didn't matter. You expected her to call you an idiot. You expected her to sigh and roll her eyes and tell you not to be so dramatic.

Instead, she pulled you to her and enveloped you in a hug. She was warm and tender. Safe. Loving. You melted into her embrace, sobbing into her chest as if your life depended on it. As if this was a farewell instead of the middle of your journey.

"I never think before I talk, do I?" she said, more to herself than to you. "I don't know how you put up with me."

You resisted an urge to chuckle and utter a snarky retort. "You're not that bad."

"Mmm. So you say." She sighed. "I'm… sorry. For putting you in that position. It wasn't fair to you."

You would sooner get blood from a stone than an apology out of her. Agatha Harkness didn't apologize. She usually just kissed you or offered sex as a way of making up.

Wasn't this a unicorn?

"Please, don't do it again," you said softly. "I don't mind going on these… escapades with you. I just don't want you to go against dangerous witches."

Silence befell you for a moment or two. Then, "Okay. Done."

You didn't buy it. "Just like that?"

"Let's say I've learned my lesson."

What a lesson that was.

"And stay away from Wanda Maximoff. I don't want you anywhere near that woman," you told her.

An even longer pause. "Done."

"I'm serious." You pulled away and looked her in the eyes. Made it loud and clear that you meant every word. "I'm as pissed at her as you are, but this is not a battle you can win. There are other witches. You don't need her power."

"Like I said: done."

"Promise me."

Because she never broke a promise to you. Not a single one.

Agatha gave a small nod. "I promise."

And, finally, you believed her.

You let out a sigh of relief. Another concern lifted.

"You're sure you're okay?" you asked, wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt. Why did the tears keep coming? What was wrong with you?

"I'm peachy. All things considered."

"You're here. You're alive. You're safe. That's all that matters, " you said. "You can replenish your power."

"And how long's that gonna take?" she retorted, frustrated at the situation she'd found herself in. Frustrated af you for making sense when all she wanted to do was rant and whine.

"However long it does, you'll get it back."

"And until then, what? I'm supposed to frolic around, cosplaying as a human?"

"It's not like you'll be alone." If she thought you were going anywhere, she was gravely mistaken.

"Without my power, I'm a target."

God knew she had plenty of enemies — as well as a toxic ex — to hide from.

You raised a hand, fingers wiggling as magic crackled between them. "Like I said, you're not alone."

Agatha allowed a small smile to creep onto her mouth.

You returned it. "I won't let anyone hurt you."

That was your promise to her.

You had every intention of keeping it.

"I know you won't." She hated saying it, hated being the one being protected instead of the protector, but she knew she could count on you. She knew you would do anything for her.

You'd shielded her from the Scarlet Witch. You were terrified, scared to the bone, but you did it because you loved her. Because you wanted to keep her safe.

You were ready to die for her.

She couldn't have been in better hands.

"If you want, I can give you some of my power," you offered.

It was a risk; Agatha couldn't control herself when she siphoned, couldn't stop until she drained her target dry.

Maybe she could learn. Maybe you could stop her.

You were willing to take that chance.

Apparently, she was not. "Absolutely not!" She said, appalled, mortified at the mere suggestion. Her face contorted into what looked like pure, unadulterated distaste. "Are you out of your mind? I would kill you!"

"Maybe I can stop you."

"How? With the power of love? Will there be rainbows and unicorns and sprinkles of fairy dust? Will we hold hands and sing Kumbaya while I'm sucking the life out of you?"

Maybe.

Who was to say that wouldn't work?

"We'll figure something out," you said, shrugging as if this didn't bother you a single bit. As if it would be easy to change part of Agatha's nature that she'd never gotten under control in all her centuries on this earth in a few short days.

"Yeah. I'll find witches to drain. There, I figured it out," she said sternly.

"I don't like the idea of you being powerless." Even if it was her fault. Getting her ass kicked for it, for involving you in the shenanigans against your will, you could deal with. But this was too much.

It hurt to see her like this.

"I'm not awfully partial to that idea, either, but the prospect of killing you doesn't lift my spirits as much as you might think."

"Fine," you relented, defeated. Agatha may not have her power anymore, but her tongue remained as sharp as ever. You doubted even the Scarlet Witch's brainwashing would have dulled it. "When you say it like that."

"Y/N, I mean it. Do not blast me."

"I won't."

"If you do, I won't be able to stop, and I will kill you."

"I know, Agatha. I've seen you do it. I know what happens."

"I would hope you would after two centuries, but obviously I need to paint a clearer picture."

"You don't get to be mad at me," you said petulantly. You were one step away from stomping your foot. "I'm still mad at you. And I want another hug, but I'm not gonna ask for it because you're being a bitch."

She gasped dramatically. "Oh, no. Whatever will I do now?"

You rolled your eyes. Then, with a thought of, Fuck it, you threw your arms around her and held on for dear life. Life was too short to stay angry for long. Especially when you were with Agatha. No time in the world would ever be enough to have her in your life. Why waste it on petty arguments?

Her hands were on your back instantly, an instinct she'd grown into over the centuries of your relationship. When you held her, she leaned in. When you needed her, she reached for you. When you hugged her, she hugged back.

"I love you, you silly girl," you said softly, each word straight from the heart.

"Right back at you, angel," she said. Equally earnest. Equally honest. "So stop this talk of giving me your power."

"I just wanna take care of you." That was all you ever wanted.

Having her be so vulnerable, so exposed was killing you. What if something happened when you were away? What if someone hurt her and you weren't there to protect her?

"You already have," Agatha told you. "I wouldn't be here now if it wasn't for you. That's more than I could have ever asked for."

"I couldn't let her have you."

The mere thought of the Scarlet Witch was enough for your fingers to crackle with magic. You willed it back, shoved the anger down. There would be time for a tantrum later. Preferably when you didn't have your arms around a magic siphoner who couldn't control herself.

Offering her your power — your life — was a terrible idea. You didn't want to risk your life. You didn't want to die.

All you wanted was for Agatha to be okay. You wanted her to be that powerful witch whom everyone feared again. She'd worked too hard to earn that reputation for it to go to waste.

What could you possibly do for her? You were an average witch, at best. Nobody feared you. Few people even respected you.

How could you look after Agatha like that?

"I know, sugar." She pulled back from the hug, then pressed her forehead to yours. Her lips curled in a smile you knew all too well, the kind she always flashed when the mood was low and she wanted to bring it up for there was no use dwelling on the bad when there was so much more good ahead — figuratively speaking, of course. "That was you taking care of me. Now, leave the rest to me."

"Okay." You still weren't a hundred percent on board with this plan, but you trusted her. Agatha had never let you down before. If she wanted to take charge, so be it. Within reason. "But I still volunteer as your bodyguard. Until you power up again."

"I was thinking more in terms of you being my pet," she teased.

Two could play this game. "Considering the roles you choose in the bedroom, I'd say you're more my pet than I've ever been yours."

"Keyword being choose, honey. I can just as easily make different choices."

Color you intrigued. "Is that a promise?"

She smirked wickedly, like she knew you liked. "It's a threat."

"Consider me properly terrified," you played along.

She lifted your chin up with a finger, her nail grazing your skin. Gentle, yet firm. Hot and cold. "Good girl."

That alone was enough to send a shockwave through you.

God, you wanted her. Here, on this dirty ground. In muddy puddles and piles of leaves and branches. Just like back in the day, when you'd first gotten together.

Back then, the location didn't matter; what mattered was the moment, and that you'd used it to the fullest. Dirt, filth, taint, all irrelevant, ignored.

What a honeymoon phase that was.

Fuck!

Agatha may have been powerless, but she still had you under her control. She always did, and always would.

And, to be honest, you didn't want for that to change.

That power was what attracted you to her in the first place.

It wasn't her magic that made you want her, desire her, crave her like an addict chasing their high.

It was her.

Just her.

"I suppose being your pet isn't that bad," you conceded. Understatement of the century. "Honestly, anything is better than being your daughter."

Agatha shrugged. "Our options were limited."

"I'll never let you forget you made me do that."

"Made you? I made it perfectly clear that you could stay inside."

"And do what? Play hide and seek with that weirdo you cast as your husband?"

The truth was, you wanted to stay by her side to make sure she was okay at all times. You didn't yet know what Wanda was, but you could tell she was bad news. Her magic just smelled like trouble.

So you kept Agatha safe, more for your piece of mind than hers.

Until she'd told you to stay back and had ended up humiliated and defeated.

Agatha raised an eyebrow. "Is that jealousy I'm hearing?"

What was there to be jealous of? The guy was hot, you had to give him that, but he was nothing to her. It was strictly business. No pleasure for anyone involved. "Annoyance, actually. I couldn't stand that guy."

This prompted her to laugh, heartily. A stereotypical witch cackle you always teased her about, that she loved bringing out for the sheer drama of it.

"Speaking of," she said, cutting the laughter short, "someone needs to go get Señor Scratchy."

Right.

Her rabbit.

You knew you'd forgotten something.

"I'll go get him tomorrow," you said. You held up a finger in warning. "By myself."

Agatha raised her hands defensively. "I promised I'm not going back there. I'm a woman of my word."

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical.

She pouted. "I resent that implication."

You pecked her on the lips, which prompted her to curl them into a smile. One of those cute ones you could never get enough of.

"Come on," you said. "Let's go rent a room."

There was bound to be a hotel nearby. It didn't have to be rated highly, or be in the best neighborhood. All the two of you needed was a safe place to sleep for a few days, until you figured out what to do next.

Until Agatha felt comfortable in her skin again.

She could play nonchalant all she wanted; you knew it was killing her that she didn't have her power anymore. That she was this close to losing her mind along with it. She was one wrong step, one wrong word away from a full-on breakdown, and you needed for that to happen somewhere warm and safe. You needed for there to be a bath you could run for her, and a bed you could hold her in.

You needed for there to be a soft place for her to land on.

"Slight problem: you suck at mind control," Agatha said.

You gave her a look that threatened murder.

"No offense."

All possible offense.

She wasn't wrong, though. You'd ever quite gotten the grasp on it, no matter how many times she'd showed you how to do it. The few times you'd managed to get it working, it hadn't held for longer than mere hours.

It was easier for everyone involved for Agatha to do it.

And now she couldn't.

"I have a credit card, remember?" you said.

"It will eventually run out," she pointed out.

"I just need it for a few days. Until you teach me how to do proper mind control."

"Those lessons never stuck."

"Well, now they'll have to, won't they?" There was no better time to learn a new skill than when you had no other options. Desperate times called for desperate measures. "Until we find you some witches to drain."

Agatha sighed dramatically. "Honey, what would you do without me?"

You would probably be under much less stress.

But you didn't mind it. You loved your life with her in it. Even when she got herself into life or death situations, and put you in positions you never wanted to be in.

You loved her, through thick and thin, and good and bad.

You loved what the two of you had.

You wouldn't trade it for the world.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @miss-moon-guardian @hermslore @uniquelesbianidiot @natashamaximoff1 @alsoknownasmel @swan-queen-is-magic @tardisesandtitans @ahintofchaos @fruityhahn

[witchthewriter]

𝐒𝐢𝐡𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

Warnings: some spoilers for the series xx

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

ISTP

Hufflepuff

Chaotic Good

Scorpio Sun, Sagittarius Moon, Cancer Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・The most sweetest, most gentle and most loyal husband you could ever imagine.

・Exactly like the ones in the romance novels - you are his world.

・And he would do ANYTHING for you. Sounds cliche but he would literally climb the tallest mountain, ask Uhtred to help him bring down the moon, Sihtric is crazy in love with you. And it doesn't stop after the honeymoon phase.

・Any part of your body that you dislike, Sihtric is the first one to be like "what? I don't get it. You are ... the most glorious person to ever walk on midguard."

・Has cried while alone when he's away from you.

・Not when he's been asked by Uhtred to spy though - he just thinks about you when it's safe to do so (he takes caring for his friends very seriously. He's big on loyalty.)

・Further with the loyalty comment; it's actually hilarious that it was he and Uhtred who set up that ruse in season 3. Sihtric would rather die than actually be that person

・Buys you any and every kind of jewellery; bracelets, rings, earrings, necklaces. If you follow his religion/way of life, then he buys you your own thor's hammer pendant.

・When he places it around your neck, he tugs you forward and leans his head against your forehead.

・Calls you, "sweetheart," "my love," "beautiful/handsome". But also likes to call you cheeky ones too: "troublemaker," "danger."

・Puppy god eyes, puppy dog eyes, PUPPY DOG EYES. He doesn't even know he's doing it. It was practically beaten out of him when he was younger by his father and half-brother.

・But when he realised he was doing it, Sihtric thought, 'I have never felt safe enough to act like this. With anyone.'

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Calm bf (Sihtric) x Hyper gf/bf/non-binary partner (You)

Gives Jewellery (Sihtric) x Tries To Wear Everything Every Day To Make Them Happy (You)

Black Cat (You) x Black Bat (Sihtric)

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Enemies to Lovers

You first saw Sihtric when he was living with his wretched father. You never expected to find him tied up under Uhtred's command.

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Lady of the Dawn by Peter Gundry

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞 No one under the age of 18 past this point.

・When he first gets back from being away from you, he's hungry - like a dog in heat, he's rough, he needs to feel you, all of you.

・Sihtric's favourite thing to do is go down on you. Your juices, your smells; it drives him mad.

・After he's made you cum thrice, he rubs your cum/juices on his clothes just in case he has to leave again. He wants to be able to smell you.

・It has become a ritual now - if he doesn't then it's bad luck in his mind.

・If Sihtric is home for a while then his fucking turns into love making. Gentle, loving, slow, passionate.

・Long strokes, in and out of you while kissing every part of your face from above, nuzzling his face into your neck.

・Has a massive breeding kink (even if your body does not have the means to create a child); he likes to talk dirty while pumping into you.

"That's it, let me cum inside you my love. I want to put a child in you."

・When you agree with a whimper, it sends him over the edge. Hot ropes of cum shooting inside you.

・Sihtric keeps pumping though. The fantasy of having a large family with you made his cock hard again.

[remarcely]

Batmanfic Prompt: WHAT IF Superman heard Jason come back to life?

The coffin, unfortunately, was so comfortable that when Jason woke up inside it he’d been tempted to roll over and go back to sleep. It was only when he knocked his elbow onto something hard and way too close that he opened his eyes. He didn’t see anything, they hadn’t exactly put a nightlight in for him, but he could still feel and his hands scrambled to touch everything inside the box. He knew that he was wearing a suit buttoned all the way up, which was weird because he never did the top button, and there was a slab of something solid laying flat above his face.

He had to bend his arms to press his palms against it, not having enough space to do much else, and shoved. It didn’t move so he shoved again and then again, the third attempt using his knees to try and force it open. No matter what Jason did, it wouldn’t budge.

It was as he laid there, panting, and growing dizzy for some reason, that he began to remember. He had no memory of crawling in a box or getting stuck under his bed, but he could recall a warehouse. There had been laughter, blood, and a steady beep as the countdown of a bomb grew ever closer. Jason swallowed hard as panic started to take hold. He hit the lid again, frantically this time, and thrashed his entire body in his desperate bid to escape because he knew where he was. He was packed underneath six feet of dirt and trapped in a box that no one had thought about putting air holes in.

Somewhere in his lashing out he’d begun to cry and plead to closed in air. He shouted for Bruce, begging to be let out and that he was sorry, and screamed for Alfred to find him. Jason even called out for Dick, even though they’d barely gotten on for the last few months after years of nothing but bitterness from the older boy.

His chest heaved as he hyperventilated with little oxygen to take in and, with his list of potential saviours running low, he recalled something Bruce had told him. If he was ever in trouble and Batman or Nightwing were too far away, then he should always shout for-

“SUPERMAN!” Jason wailed, slamming his head into the coffins lid and clawing at the wood. His nails ached and bled, but he continued to scratch away “PLEASE, SUPERMAN! BRUCE! HELP ME!”

His movements grew weaker and his head pounded. Jason slumped against the cushioning and, with his limbs too heavy to lift, sobbed. His tears rolled down his face, trailing over his cheeks and past his ears, to soak into the pillow beneath his head. He was dead. He was dead and no one was coming for him.

At least when he’d been half-beaten to death and inhaling smoke, he’d held onto hope that Batman would find him in time.

As Jasons eyes slowly closed and his inhales and exhales felt as if they were minutes apart, he heard something. It was muffled and hard to make out but, for a moment, Jason was sure he could hear someone calling his name.

-

It was midday in Metropolis and Clark Kent was on his lunch break. He was three bites into a disappointing BLT sandwich with far too much mayonnaise when he heard a voice, far outside the bounds of his city, call for Superman. That wasn’t rare in itself, neither was how young and distressed they sounded unfortunately, it was after the second time they called for Superman that Clark flinched.

“SUPERMAN! BRUCE! HELP ME!”

By the time his sandwich landed on the breakroom table, he was gone.

The voice had stopped screaming for help but Clark could hear them crying uncontrollably and that was enough to track down the source. He broke the sound barrier as he flew into Gotham and the ground was dug a few inches deep as he landed. Clark whirled around for the crying child, drowning out every other noise in the world to focus on them, and looked down with dread. They were underground. In a graveyard.

Clark raised his eyesight to the headstone planted above the child and stumbled. In expensive marble, carved in swirling font, was a familiar name and all of a sudden, the person screaming out for a ‘Bruce’ made alarming sense.

‘Here Lies Jason Todd’

Before he knew what he was doing, Clark was tearing away at the earth in chunks, throwing it behind him without care (and hopefully avoiding the surrounding headstones). As he moved deeper into the ground he lost the need for his enhanced hearing. While it was faint, Clark could make out the sound of Jason weakly crying out. He reached the coffin in a matter of seconds and didn’t hesitate to tear the lid away, breaking through its seal with ease.

Laid out on white satin lining, stained by red where his hands rested at his sides, was Jason Todd- oxygen deprived and passed out, but alive nonetheless.

“It’s going to be alright.” Clark whispered to the boy as he knelt down and carefully lifted him into his arms “I’ve got you, kiddo, you’re going to be just fine.”

As soon as Jason was securely tucked to his chest, Clark launched upwards and in the direction of Gotham’s nearest hospital.