#i don't know what else to tag this is something else-

[rainrot4me]

helli, I don't know if you take requests or not, but I saw your eyeless jack hc's and was wondering what if s/o actually was up to jack cutting into their abdoment? I thought that was a interesting hc but I liked it.

Have a good day/night/evening!

Please, please, please, please, please be cautious reading this. Remember it's fiction.

SMUT WARNING, MDNI

✦ . Characters: Eyeless Jack x Genderneutral Reader

✦ . Warning: THAT DOVE IS DEAD, scalpels, organ pleasure, paraphilia, internal organs, blood, I don't know how else to tag this besides Jack literally fucks your intestines through a cut in your stomach, pain and pleasure, mentions of needles and medical equipment, reader is a proxy/not entirely human

✦ . Words: 2.7k

✦ . Note: I'm not responsible for your personal enjoyment/disgust of this work so do not come complaining to me!!! ALSO, I’m in no way a medical expert, so take everything I write here at face value and not as what would actually happen (I hope none of you actually partake in this LMAO).

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“I’m not suggesting. If we’re going to do this, you’re going to listen to me.”

Jack counted, then recounted every inch of medical tubing that ran up your arms, checking once again that he had all of them flowing correctly. The medical table underneath your back wasn’t comfortable, but the giddiness you felt overran the complaint of stale leather and stiff wood.

It was your idea, after all, to follow through with this whole fantasy. The demon never brought it up again after he had let it slip once—the idea of fucking something other than just your holes—but you never let it slip your stingy mind. It came as teasing afterwards, breathless remarks about ‘sticking his dick in’ while Jack sewed up yet another bullet wound or knife attack. As a proxy, the sting of pain became secondary to the sting of disappointment you would get from messing up a mission.

“Love, I’m fine.”

You reassured him yet again, reaching a hand out to grip on his wrist, the tubing that stuck into your veins following with the movement.

“I’ll be the judge.” A stern remark. You were beginning to think this would make him more stressed than anything.

He adjusted the mask over his face, not the porcelain one, not today. Just a medical-grade surgical mask, as if that could sanitize what was about to happen. His gloved hands paused at your hips. Not out of hesitation, but deliberation. Measuring, calculating, and then recalculating again.

The scalpel gleamed beneath the low amber light overhead. He had used it a thousand times before, but right now, it looked like he wasn’t even sure how to hold it.

“You have to tell me,” he said quietly, not looking at you, “if anything changes. If your heart rate spikes. If your breathing changes. If you feel cold, nauseous, faint—”

“I know the list, Jack,” you murmured, voice warm despite the chill in the air. “You’ve made me memorize it every time I get so much as a scratch.”

He glanced at you then, the sockets where eyes should be were black and bottomless, unreadable, but you could feel the weight of his gaze settle over you like a second set of hands.

“This isn’t a scratch.”

You tilted your head, smirking just a little. “Then make it count.”

That shut him up.

Silence bloomed between you for a moment, taut and thrumming. Your pulse was steady, he was monitoring it on a tiny screen just out of your line of sight, but his? Jack’s breath was shallow, stiff, like his lungs refused to sync with the calm professionalism he wore like a second skin. His energy was thrumming against you, even as he leaned closer, even as his hands steadied over the exposed area of your gut.

Then the scalpel kissed your abdomen.

Just a line, not yet breaking skin. He dragged it slowly from sternum to navel, a cold whisper over warm flesh, and you shivered, goosebumps shot up like a warning.

“Last chance,” he said, voice a ragged whisper. “If you say stop, I stop. I don’t care what you promised or what you think you can take. My pleasure is not worth you life, love.”

“I don’t want to stop.”

You could see it: the twitch in his jaw. That flicker of restraint cracking.

“I want you, Jack,” you said, breathless now. “All of you. Even this.”

He exhaled through his nose, something feral and broken. Not quite relief, not quite fear, but things deep and old that stirred in him when you said that like you meant it.

The scalpel cut.

Not deep, just enough, just barely. A hot line of pain seared across your skin, sharp and bright and real. You gasped from the sheer thrill of it. Jack’s gloved hand pressed gently against your side, steadying you.

His breath caught.

“You shouldn’t look so happy,” he said, voice hoarse. “It’s fucked.”

You grinned up at him, eyes glittering with heat. “Then we’re both fucked.”

He leaned in, hovering over you, the warm wetness of your blood slicking his gloves as he spread you open, not cruelly, not recklessly, but with reverence. With trembling hands and barely-contained hunger.

The scalpel’s edge dipped beneath the top layer of skin. A clean incision. Shallow enough to avoid danger, but enough to make your breath catch and your limbs tense against the restraints. Jack felt it, the flutter of your pulse against the inside of your wrist, and watched, silently, as a thin rivulet of blood bloomed from the cut and curved down your side.

“Breathe through it,” he said lowly, almost beneath his breath, not a command, more like a reminder to himself. To both of you.

He set the scalpel down with reverent care, replacing it with gloved fingers that were soaked almost immediately in the warm slickness pooling from the wound. Your blood coated his hands, dripping between his knuckles, sliding down his wrists in long, slow trails. It made his mask cling tighter to his face from the heat radiating off both of you.

Jack’s hands spread you open gently, the pads of his fingers pulling the skin apart to expose the layer of fat beneath. Yellowish and subcutaneous, still undisturbed by damage, glistening under the low light.

Your body arched involuntary. A hiss of pain curled off your lips, and he watched it. Every twitch of your body fed into that overworked brain of his: breathing, color, responsiveness. You were straining, but you were there. You were with him.

“You’re handling this better than I expected,” he said, voice low and shaking with something that wasn’t fear. Not anymore.

Desire, tightly caged, pushed against the back of his throat. He hadn’t felt this much pressure in years, not since the last time he’d truly wanted. His cock pressed against the front of his jeans, hard and straining, but he didn’t move toward release. Not yet, not until he finished what he started.

He reached for the clamps.

One by one, he peeled you open. Just slightly, just enough to let the blood roll down your sides in thick, slow arcs, not pouring, but oozing, dark and rich and slick. He placed the clamps with exact care: one on each side of the cut, holding the skin parted so he could see deeper. The pale fascia layer shone beneath, the muscles flexed. Jack sucked in a sharp breath.

“This is insane,” he muttered to himself, but his hands didn’t stop. “You’re insane.”

Yet, he leaned in closer.

His fingers brushed the muscle wall, feeling the heat pouring out of you like a furnace. Blood coated the table. It soaked your lower back and ran toward the leather padding beneath your spine. Your poor clothes were beyond salvageable now. You were smiling through the pain, through the heavy ache blooming inside you.

Jack was trembling now. He leaned over you, lips inches from your temple, and whispered, “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

His voice cracked at the edge. You offered yourself like a specimen and a sacrifice, and he was fighting the line between worship and defilement.

One hand, just one, dropped to his belt. He paused, checking your vitals again, glancing at the monitors. Still stable, still strong. Your breath came out in uneven, heated bursts, but you weren’t crying. You weren’t begging him to stop. Tears were welled in your eyes, but nothing to be overly concerned about, yet.

You were thriving in it.

He pushed his hips against the table edge and groaned, muffled behind his mask, his other hand tracing the opened wound again, not pressing too deep, not enough to damage, just to feel, to memorize the heat and slickness of your insides under his fingertips. He could see everything, all the bits and pieces that worked together to keep you going, to keep the one he loved moving and talking and his.

“You’re perfect,” he breathed, head bowed, voice nearly broken. “Perfect and fucking ruined.”

The blood had soaked through to his thighs. He didn’t care. It dripped off the table in steady splashes, pooling on the floor beneath him. There was a feral gleam in his posture now, tempered only by the strict rigidity he had grown to master. No flinching, no frenzy, just precision, a steady hand with a throbbing ache behind his zipper and an unbearable tightness in his chest.

This was desire in its rawest, ugliest, truest form. And Jack had never loved someone more than he did when you moaned softly and whispered, “More.”

“Fuck.”

Jack adjusted the clamps again, delicately teasing the incision wider. The abdominal wall pulled apart under the gentle pressure, revealing a glistening tapestry of tissue, layers of pink and red, quivering slightly with every breath you took. The room smelled like copper and antiseptic, thick and sharp. Jack leaned over the cut, mesmerized.

He could see the coils of your intestines, slick and glistening with fluid, nestled like an offering inside you. Your liver, dark and velvet-smooth, sat tucked to one side, pulsing faintly. Your stomach curved beneath it, twitching slightly. You were a cathedral of blood and muscle, and Jack bowed before the altar of your anatomy.

“Fuck,” he rasped again, voice hoarse. “You’re so goddamn beautiful like this.”

The mask over his face was stifling. It kept him from you, from your scent, your breath, the warmth of your skin. He tore it off with one hand, flinging it to the side with shaking fingers, and exhaled shakily as cool air hit his skin. A bit of your blood streaked across his cheek. He didn’t wipe it off.

You were watching him, dazed, drunk on the adrenaline and pain, but your eyes stayed locked on his. There was no fear in them, just longing.

Jack climbed up onto the table with slow, deliberate care, straddling your hips so his knees bracketed your thighs. You could feel the weight of him now, the tremble in his legs, the tension in his gut. The bulge in his pants pressed against your stomach, just below the wound.

Even now, he didn’t move too fast.

One gloved hand reached for the drawer beside the table. The other tore at the buttons and zipper containing him, tugging his cock sharply with his latex palm. He fished out a packet, and tore it open. His fingers moved automatically, rolling the condom down with expert care. He held himself over you, head bowed, one hand braced beside your head, the other finishing the motion.

“I need to know,” he murmured, dipping closer, pressing a kiss to your cheekbone, then your temple. “You’re still okay? Nothing’s changed? Heart rate’s steady, no dizziness, no numbness?”

You nodded, breath hitching as he kissed the corner of your mouth. His lips were hot and slick with sweat, blood, and something unbearably tender.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, a quiet confession breathed directly into your ear. “Not to this. Not to me.”

Your hand, trembling, reached up and touched the back of his neck, encouraging, grounding. Jack let out a shaky sigh and leaned into it. His body trembled above yours, barely holding himself together.

“This isn’t about fucking,” he whispered. “It’s worship. I want to be inside you. With your blood on my hands and your body open to me like this. It’s not just pleasure. It’s—” He broke off, his voice almost cracking.

His forehead pressed against yours.

“—it’s communion.”

He rocked his hips gently, pressing himself flush to you, not yet entering but close, so achingly close. One hand ghosted down, stroking the edge of the incision, marveling at the way your body welcomed him even now. His other hand found yours and squeezed.

“You’re everything,” he whispered. “And I swear to God, I’ll bring you back from this. I’ll sew you back up perfectly. You’ll feel nothing but safe and loved.”

You gave a weak laugh, trying not to move around your open abdomen too much, but still communicating.

He kissed your mouth then, deep and slow, tasting of blood and desperation, while his trembling hips pressed against you, sliding his cock between the folds of opened skin without entering, just feeling, just savoring.

He could lose himself in this. But he wouldn’t. Because he had you.

Jack hovered, every inch of him taut and trembling like a cord about to snap. His cock, sheathed and slick, pressed flush to the line of your opened flesh, not thrusting, not breaching, but feeling. Just the heat, the proximity, the tension of muscle and blood and living warmth beneath him. Your body pulsed against his, and his breath stuttered in response.

The sensation of your split-open belly against him wasn’t grotesque to him. It was divine, sacred. The friction of skin slicked with blood, the twitch of exposed fascia under his thighs, the trembling strength still thrumming through your body despite the pain. You weren’t fragile, you were transcendent, and Jack was trembling like a devout man at the gates of heaven.

He kissed your mouth again, slower this time, mouth open, breath hissing through his teeth. When he pulled back, his lips were tinged crimson. Your blood was on him, in him now. He licked it without thinking.

“I need to go slow,” he whispered, voice cracked and guttural. “If I do this too fast, I’ll break. I’ll fucking lose it.” He was starving.

You tilted your face into his, mouth brushing his jaw. “Then lose it.”

His hips practically moved on their own.

He pressed forward — not into the organs, not through the surgical field, but just above. Carefully, Jack guided himself between the gap of your skin and insides, slick with your own excitement and the blood running from the incision. The mix of fluids made him groan deep in his chest. His hips rolled forward in a slow, measured motion, sheathing himself inside you with one shuddering breath.

Your walls gripped him, and for a second, Jack’s entire body seized up. He clenched the table’s edge, head bowed so low it nearly touched your collarbone. He contorted himself, trying to not let his size crush you.

“God—” he gasped, “You’re—so warm, so fucking tight—alive.”

He stayed still, buried in you, trembling with the strain of holding back. Around him, your body twitched with the dull burn of the incision, the clamps holding you open, the ache of fullness and restraint. Every breath you took stretched your skin and made the gap that much smaller for him to fit inside. But your hand found his jaw, and when you whispered his name— “Jack” —something tore through him all over again.

He moved.

Slowly, with measured control. His hips rocked into yours, shallow at first, grinding rather than thrusting, careful not to jostle the table or disturb the surgical site. But every stroke pushed him deeper, not just inside your body, but into something untouched by him or anyone else.

Your groans and gasps were like music, every jostle of your body making you react in ways much different than normal sex. This was more severe, more intense than anything the two of you had experienced, this was new territory. Scary or not, you were enjoying it.

His gloved fingers slid down to your lower abdomen, ghosting just beside the open wound. He didn’t touch the organs—he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Not during. But he let his palm rest just above, feeling the movement inside you, the tension, the way your body pulsed beneath him.

“You’re taking me so well,” he whispered, voice rough with adoration. “You’re incredible. So strong. So beautiful.” He kissed you again, your lips, your cheek, your throat, leaving smears of blood and sweat in his wake.

With every careful thrust, his body pressed more tightly against yours. The heat of your blood, your scent, the friction of his thighs against your hips, and the taste of your mouth sent him spiraling. He began to whisper again, soft mantras, barely audible between ragged breaths:

“I love you— You’re mine— I’ll put you back together— I swear— You’ll be whole— I’ll clean you— stitch you— worship you…”

His words were unraveling. His rhythm faltered, losing its precision as his desperation built. His mouth found your pulse, sucking gently at the skin, his hips moving faster now, grinding into you harder, needier.

And still, still, he never lost track of your vitals. One eye on the screen. One hand still resting near your surgical clamps. He was fucking you with every fiber of his being, but part of him remained the surgeon, the caretaker, the one who would never let you slip too far.

It only took his hips angling down just a bit for the head of his cock to slip from the valley of your wound into the folds of your intestines. The coils of organs housed his cock like they were meant for him, the warmth and deepness sucking him in hypnotically. Jack nearly snarled, your gasp loud as you both watched his cock slip in and out of your guts, each pass leaving the condom a deeper shade of red than the last.

He didn’t last another couple thrusts, the sensation absolutely breathtaking.

When he came, sudden, raw, tearing a broken sound from his throat, he locked his body over you like a man dying and being born in the same breath.

His mask was long gone. His blood-slicked face buried against your neck, he panted harshly, whispering, “I’ve got you— I’ve got you— Stay with me, sweetheart, stay awake— You’re okay— you’re okay…”

You felt the shift instantly from predator to protector. From desire to devotion.

He eased out of you with a groan, both of pleasure and urgency, already reaching for gauze, clamps, surgical thread. His hands moved fast now, gloved and shaking but trained, slipping back into medical command. He would sew you shut with the same reverence with which he split you open.

And all the while, he kept talking to you, even when your eyes grew heavy and your heart-monitor beeped just a little slower.

“You did so good… I’m gonna make it perfect, okay? I’ll clean every inch… You’re safe… I’ve never—never trusted anyone like this.”

And you knew, beneath the sweat, the blood, the trembling afterglow, he meant every word. That’s why, when your eyes finally shut, you didn’t fight it. Even when you heard muffled calls of your name.

── .✦

“A week??”

Jack nodded, stern.

“Love, come on, you can’t do this to me.”

“I can, will, and already have.”

Jack had turned your post-orgasm crash into a fucking hospital wing.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mumbled, watching him move around the room like a storm in latex gloves, reorganizing tools, labeling vials of your blood, adjusting dosage meters with that signature furrow between his brows.

The scent of antiseptic hung in the air, barely masking the copper tang that still lingered under Jack’s nails no matter how many times he scrubbed.

You lay flat on the medical cot, body bound by more tubes and machines than you could keep track of. A bag of saline hung above you, feeding steadily into your arm through a neatly taped IV. Two blood bags dripped slowly into the second line, another pump released a slow stream of antibiotics. The pressure monitor beeped softly with each stable beat of your heart.

“You lost two liters,” he replied sharply, not even looking up. “You’re on bed rest until your red cell count stabilizes. You were open, and you let me— We—” He paused, visibly tensing. “You’re lucky I was aware enough to stitch you before you passed out.”

“I didn’t pass out.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I moaned, Jack.”

He stopped, slowly turned to face you, arms crossed over his broad chest, his expression unreadable beyond the never-ending scowl.

“You are the most medically irresponsible human being I have ever met.”

You smiled sweetly. “And yet, I’m still your favorite patient. And you’re the one who agreed.”

He looked at you for a long moment, then sighed, finally stepping closer to the bed.

“You’re incorrigible,” he muttered, brushing your hair back gently. His hands, for all their violence and precision, were so soft now, fingertips moving across your temple, trailing along your jaw, checking your temperature like he always had.

“You stitched me up like a fucking Renaissance painter,” you teased. “Could at least let me walk around to show it off.”

“Out of the question. You’re not moving until your body starts producing again. Your hemoglobin is down, your BP is shaky, and if I catch you trying to stand—”

“You’ll what?” you smirked. “Strap me to the bed?”

Jack’s hand paused mid-adjustment on the IV regulator. Slowly, he turned his head toward you. There was that pause, the look he always gave you when he was trying to decide between scolding you or absolutely wrecking your shit.

“Don’t tempt me,” he muttered.

You grinned wider, triumphant, but your body betrayed you with a groan as you shifted. Pain flared down your abdomen, a dull, bruising ache around the tight seam of fresh stitches.

Jack was on you in an instant, hand on your shoulder, pressing you back down.

“Easy,” he said, voice gentler now. “You’ll tear something. The internal stitches need time to settle. You’re not indestructible, even if you proxies like to act it.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ve had worse.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to let you push it,” he snapped. “You’re mine. That means you heal right.”

You blinked, momentarily silenced by the possessiveness in his voice. Jack didn’t say things like that often, but when he did, he meant them.

“…Okay, Doc,” you murmured, reaching up weakly to curl your fingers around his. “You win.”

“I always do,” he said softly, entwining his fingers with yours and kissing your knuckles. “Now shut up and let the IV do its job.”

You smirked as he leaned in to check the dressing on your incision, humming thoughtfully under his breath. For all his fussing, his touch lingered more than necessary, fingertips trailing your ribs, his mouth brushing your stomach just above the bandages.

“You know,” you said lazily, “if this is the treatment I get for letting you cut me open, I might volunteer more often.”

Jack gave you a flat look. “Don’t even joke about that.”

You laughed, drowsy now, drifting in and out beneath the buzz of medication. Jack pulled the blanket up over your hips and leaned onto the cot, careful not to jar the tubing. His arm traced across your chest, palm resting onto your heart to feel the steady beat underneath.

“You’re infuriating,” he murmured, already sounding more relaxed.

“And you’re obsessed.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, grinning. “I am.”

꩜ .ᐟ

[bitters-n-sweets]

what survived the fire pt. 3 — jack abbot x ex-combat-medic!fem!reader When something triggers you and brings you back to the past, Jack offers a solution, and hope for the future.

warnings: PTSD, reader gets triggered, inaccuracies in the ER and military world, not proofread, mdni masterlist part one | part two a/n: okay, I know I said last time part two will be the last, but as I was writing some angst, I got inspired to write this, and it would only make sense as a part three. pls don't hate me. it's not directly tied to the previous part, but it's the same history etc yada yada—what I'm saying is, there might be more parts coming, because I think I want to focus on reader's healing journey, to find her own life again, like Jack would want. that's why we're taking it slow baby. please bear with me, im so sorry for any confusion. so if anyone wants to be tagged for any upcoming fics about these two, please let me know ❤️

PTSD happening right after the cut

----

You know better than to let your guard down on the trauma floor. But sometimes it isn’t up to you.

It wasn’t even a big thing. Just the sound of a metal tray clattering onto the floor in trauma two. It echoed. In the wrong way. Like the clang of chains on a locked door.

Then there’s the slam of a gurney against the metal doorframe. Someone screaming something that sounded like Farsi. Someone else yelling for blood. A monitor screaming. And someone grabs your arm—just to pass supplies—and it’s not him, it’s not the captor, it’s not the desert, you know that, but it doesn’t matter, you flinch. Step back. Your body reacts before your brain catches up. Cold sweat. Heart racing. The corners of your vision closing in like they did when you were locked in that basement room with the stench of piss and rot.

You pinch yourself hard to keep you grounded, but it’s not working. You duck into the nearest supply closet before anyone notices you spiraling. The second the door clicks shut, you slide down to the floor, knees close to your chest. Tile cold against your scrubs. Your breath comes in quick bursts, shallow and sharp.

You’re fine. You’re not there. This is the hospital. Pittsburgh. 5 thousand miles away. You’re out. You’re okay.

You whisper it under your breath like a mantra until your lungs stop hitching and your heart rate slows. You stay curled there until your hands stop shaking. Eventually, you push yourself back to your feet. You lean against the wall for one last breath before stepping out and walking like nothing happened.

Your heart is still a little fast, but you try your best to ignore it and act normal. Though, you’re not doing a very good job at it.

“Hey, you okay?” Lena stops you, “You’re pale.”

“I’m fine.” You offer a tight smile.

You grab a tablet and busy yourself with charting. Something easy. A scraped knee. A crayon stuck in a kid’s nose. Anything but the trauma bay. You just need something normal—something that doesn’t smell like blood or sound like war.

Lena lingers. She doesn’t buy it. And she glances across the hall—right at Jack, who’s already watching you like he knows something’s off.

You manage to stay on your feet so far. You’re only 3 hours away until shift is over, and now you’re sitting in the break room, head in your hands, sighing because you can’t wait for the day to be over. You don’t want to go home. You don’t even know what home means anymore. Your apartment is still half-empty, barely lived in. No photos on the walls. No softness in the corners. Just a bed, a lamp, some unopened boxes in the closet. You haven’t had time. Or maybe you haven’t wanted to. It’s easier not to try.

You just need out. A reset. A moment to breathe. But even that feels like running. And you don’t even know what you’re running from anymore. The memories? The noise? Yourself?

“Hey.”

You blink, startled. Jack’s hand is on your arm.

That’s when you realize your cheeks are wet. You didn’t realize you’re crying, tears falling from your eyes. You wipe it away immediately, but of course Jack has already seen them.

“You okay?” he asks, sitting next to you.

“I’m fine.” You repeat the words you said to Dana.

“You’ve barely said a word all day,” he says. No judgment. Just observation.

“I’m just tired,” you murmur. It's not a lie. Just not the full truth.

Jack folds his arms, studying you with that look he only gets when he's worried and trying to respect your space at the same time. “You’re not just tired.”

You stay quiet.

“Come over after shift,” he says, gently. Not a question. Just a soft request. “We’ll order food. Watch a movie.”

You glance at him. He doesn’t press. He just waits. That’s what Jack does—he never forces anything, never demands, never corners you. Just leaves the door open, like he hopes you’ll walk through it when you’re ready. So you don’t argue.

By the time your shift is about to end, Jack can’t find you. He’s already got his bag and waiting for you by the exit, but you’re nowhere to be found. 5 minutes go by, then 10, then he curses. He should’ve known where you’d be. He races to the roof.

It’s quiet upstairs. The sun is peeking through, birds are chirping, and the wind is nice. You’re sitting at the edge, legs dangling over the side, staring at the sky like it might offer answers. You hear the door open, and of course you know it’s Jack.

He exhales, like he’s been holding his breath the whole time.

“Why is everybody taking my spot these days…” he mutters, trying for lightness.

You haven’t told Jack everything about those weeks when you went missing. Just enough. Just the basics. You always downplay it—say it was boring, say you were fed, say the guys were idiots but not violent. You leave out the way they’d pace in front of the door like wolves. The constant dehydration. The helplessness. How you weren’t sure you’d ever get out. And the worst part? how, when you finally made it back, no one really cared. No rescue mission. No debrief. Just a few awkward glances and a couple of half-hearted “glad you’re back” comments in the mess hall.

That’s when you knew.

Years spent thinking the military was home. Believing you belonged there. And then realizing—when it really mattered—they didn’t even come looking.

“You don’t have to be here, you know.”

Jack just sits next to you, lays his palm over yours. “I’m worried about you.”

You smile bitterly. “Did I ever tell you they never sent a rescue team for me?”

Jack doesn’t say anything.

“I know I was only gone for a month,” You sigh, “Maybe compared to others, that was nothing, but I thought they’d at least look for me.”

Your voice drops. “I still have nightmares. Every day, something reminds me. I can’t escape it.”

“I don’t know who I am anymore, Jack.”

Jack softens.

He doesn’t rush to fill the silence. He just watches you. The wind moves gently through your hair. The sunlight’s catching on the curve of your cheekbone, your eyes glassy but he can see you’re still fighting back.

“I think,” Jack says slowly, brushing a stray hair behind your ear, “that you know exactly who you are.”

You turn your head toward him.

“You’re the girl who saved me even though she was badly injured herself. The one I shared half a bottle of whiskey with. The one who sat with me behind the supply tent after hard days. The one who gave me her shoulder, even when you didn’t need to. And after everything that happened to you, you didn’t let it change you. It didn’t make you hard, mean, or cold. You’re not just the girl who survived.”

His voice gets quieter.

“And… if you ever forget who you are again, I’ll be here to remind you.”

You blink hard. The tears sting, but you don’t let them fall. Jack’s hand is still over yours, warm and steady. You thread your fingers through his.

“I’m tired of being okay when I’m not,” you admit, voice cracking.

Jack shifts, closing the space between you just slightly. He leans in, forehead almost brushing yours.

“Then don’t be okay. Not with me. I’ve got you. Always.”

You tilt your head, just a breath’s distance from him, and Jack doesn’t move—he waits. But you can’t, not when you’re still figuring shit out. So you look down, and Jack smiles, understanding, pressing a kiss on your forehead instead, letting you know he’s still there.

“Wanna go?”

You nod, a small smile now on your face.

You’ve been to Jack’s place so many times it’s almost like a routine to you. You know where his shirts are, you can differentiate the cups and plates cabinets, and Jack loves seeing you so comfortable in his place. You might not realize it, but every time you wear one of his shirts, curled up on his couch with a blanket and a comfort movie, he can’t help but smile. Especially when you scoot a little closer and lean on him without thinking, just because you’re cold.

He still thinks about the night you fell asleep on him during Interstellar, your face soft and calm, completely at peace.

When you walk through the door tonight, everything falls into place like it always does. You order food, then shower, then pick a movie and pour something warm—tea or whiskey, depending on the kind of shift it’s been. It’s looking like a whiskey kind of night.

It’s easy and natural. But it’s also a little confusing—this thing between you and Jack. You’ve liked him since the day you met him in the field. It wasn’t just admiration. There was something else, something deeper in the way he carried himself, the way he looked at you like you mattered.

Jack steps out of the shower with his forearm crutches and pajama shorts, damp hair pushed back, steam still clinging to his skin. His shirt is folded on the back of the couch—he’s waiting to dry off a bit more before putting it on.

You’ve already drawn the blackout curtains and dimmed the lights, softening the room into something cozy and warm. You bring him his glass and tap yours gently against it in a quiet cheers. The whiskey burns as it goes down, but you welcome the warmth.

That’s when you realize—he’s not wearing a shirt.

Your eyes catch on the way the light skims over his chest, the faint scars, the solid lines of muscle, his dog tags clinging on his neck. You swallow hard, pulse kicking up just a little, and then you see the scar on his abdomen. Your fingers reach out without thinking.

“Is this…” Your mind lingers to when you were pressing his wound with your hands.

“Yeah.” He says before you can finish your sentence. “You did a great job.”

You chuckle, fingers still tracing the scar tissue. You try not to let your mind go back to the memory too much. He’s here with you now. He’s okay.

Jack feels a little shy, with you practically ogling and tracing his bare skin like that, so he decides to put his shirt on, with the excuse that he doesn’t want to remind you of what’s in the past. He sits down on the L part of the couch, bringing his legs up and gently tugging you with him so you’re curled at his side.

You play the movie, snuggling closer to Jack because it’s cold, and you feel him smile when he kisses your head. It makes you want to lean into him, lean on him. You can feel his heartbeat racing—or maybe that’s your own, you can’t really tell the difference.

“We’re watching ‘Notting Hill’?” Jack reads the title. “Isn’t this a rom-com?”

“Yep,” You nod, “Comfort movie.”

Jack just nods back, not really caring what movie is playing as long as you like it.

Toward the end of the movie, you find yourself curled fully between Jack’s legs, your back resting against his chest, his arms wrapped around you. It had started with you complaining about being cold, and Jack muttering something about remembering to leave a blanket in the living room next time. But he hasn’t moved to get one, and truthfully, you think he likes this better.

“I'm also just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.”

You gasp softly, just like you always do when the scene hits. When Will rejects Anna, again. You’ve seen Notting Hill a hundred times, and yet it still gets you every single time. Jack smiles against your hair, amused, watching you fall apart over a movie you know by heart.

“Why do you keep watching this if it makes you cry every time?” he asks, chuckling gently as he wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

You sniff, curling your fingers around his arm. “Because I have to cry. I don’t want to cry about today, but I still need to let it out. This... this is how I cope.”

Jack’s smile fades into something softer. He holds you closer, tucks you tighter into his chest like he’s trying to protect you.

“We can talk about it,” he says after a pause, his voice quiet. “If you want to.”

You shake your head. But the words come anyway. “I just… I just felt so alone.”

He doesn’t speak at first. Just strokes your arm with his thumb in slow, calming circles. Then he pulls back slightly—not away, just enough to reach for something around his neck.

You hear his dog tags before you see it.

“What are you doing?”

Jack slides the chain over his head and looks down at them for a moment, as if remembering something old, and smiles to himself. Then he gently loops the chain around your neck.

You hold your breath.

“Hold on to them for me,” he says quietly. “I can’t always be there for you if things get bad, unfortunately. If I could, I’d teleport to wherever you are whenever you need me, but… this is the best I can do for now. So they’re yours. For you to hold on to when I’m not around. So you’ll know you’re never alone, and I’m always here for you, even when I’m not.”

You stare at him, eyes wide in shock.

“You’ve carried enough weight alone,” he says. “Let me help.”

You hold the chain to your chest. “Will you keep mine?”

He nods, and you take off your own dog tags. Jack sits upright, and you loop the chain around his neck. He doesn’t take his eyes off you the entire time.

“Jack,” you murmur, barely louder than the hum of the movie credits. “I have to ask.”

He nods slightly, just enough to let you know he’s listening.

“Is this… sentiment?” Your voice wavers. “Are you doing this because you feel sorry for me? Or are we—” You hesitate. “Is this… real?”

Jack’s eyes find yours, and for a second he looks almost wounded, like he can’t believe you’d even question it. Then his gaze softens.

“Didn’t I promise you,” he says gently, “that it would just be us when we got out?”

You swallow hard.

“I’m not doing this just because I want to help you,” he continues. “I care about you. Maybe in ways you won’t understand.”

He pauses, thumb brushing lightly along your arm.

“This is real, sweetheart. I just… I don’t want to rush. Not with you. I want to do this right. But make no mistake,” his voice lowers slightly, “I want you.”

You don’t say anything else. You just nod once, barely, and curl closer into his chest. Jack wraps his arms around you without hesitation, his chin resting lightly atop your head.

The screen dims to black. What’s left is the sound of your breathing, the faint clink of your dog tags when you shift slightly, and the steady, calming rhythm of Jack’s heartbeat beneath your cheek. You hold his dog tags close to your chest, grounding you to the moment.

You hold each other in the silence, like it’s the only thing that matters. And for tonight, it is.

[mydrink-n-my2step]

YANDERE SLUT FARMER X TWITCH STREAMER READER : Part 2

A/N//: OMG!!! I've been tryin my hardest to write some good ol' smut, but I haven't written any smut since May of last year!!! Oh I hope this is as good as the first fanfic. But I tried, and that's great! Everyone's favorite farm boy is finally gonna get laid!

Shoutout to @sweet-flowering. I genuinely don't know how to tag, but this is for you <3

TW//: Exhibitionism, Tanner's a slut, you slowly fall in love with him, (you catch him in his barn neked ;)), Smut, P in V action, pronebone (SEARCH IT UP), protective sex, foreplay, oral, fem. receiving, misogynistic comments(Tanner needs new friends.)

5.3k Words

Dale wasn’t having any of it. 

Seeing his son exit the guestroom in only a towel, unaware of his disgruntled father watching him while he had piping hot black coffee in his hand. His hand jolted, twitching with disgust, seeing his son behave so erratically, so sinfully. And you, a visitor, are plaguing his mind with lewd thoughts. He’d seen the gazes Tanner bestow on you. You may not know those lewd and romantic stares, but Dale did! And he wasn’t having any of it!

Dale knocked on your door. He knows you’re in there, and he hates it! “Ms. Y/n, I need to have a word with you!” 

“Dale, what is going on, honey?” Amelia questions, entering her house from the garage. 

“You need to talk to your son! He’s acting all weird again.” 

“Dale, he’s an adult now, you need to stop babying him. Now what’s wrong?”

You had opened the door. You were wearing only a nightgown. Dale instantly grew embarrassed, seeing you in your clothes, which were so intimate. He had covered his eyes, and a bright pink blush spread across his cheeks. “Is there something wrong, Mr. Jefferson?” You noticed his red face. “You look a little red?” 

“I-um, Ms. Y/n, please see me in the dining room?” You knew that tone, so he knows. “Yes, sir, give me five minutes.” You said, closing the door on him. 

“Dale, he’s 20 years old, stop treating him like he’s 5!” Amelia hissed, walking side to side with her husband, who tried to ignore her. As a father, it was his responsibility to keep his kids away from harm. Even if it was packaged as a guest or friend. But what if the so-called harm was within the family?

For years, Dale had tried to shape his son into a faithful, upright man. As a devout member of his church, he saw it as his responsibility to instill his beliefs in his children—especially Tanner, who had always resisted authority, even as a boy. There were times, in Tanner’s younger years, when Dale would stumble upon moments that didn’t align with his expectations—sneaking out, secret romances, late-night parties. Tanner, however, has always hidden parts of himself. But when the mask slips, even briefly, the truth of who he is comes into full view.

“Sir?” Your reply carried a submissive tone, reminiscent of a child who had found themselves in a situation of disapproval from a parent. Dale had gestured for you to sit across from him. You could tell by his stern gaze that he knew what was going on. Then you were seated, preparing yourself for a lecture from a parental figure. 

“Y/n, I appreciate your presence; it has brought this family great joy seeing Tanner come out of his shell. However, I know what you’re doing and need you to stop. I’m saying this because I care for you, stay away from Tanner. If he talks to you, that’s fine, but anything else, steer clear of him. He is not what he seems to be.”

Your naive ass decided to ask, “Is there something I should know Mr. Dale?” Something was wrong for your father to talk negatively about you. Before he could open his mouth and talk badly about his son, both of you heard a sneeze from the stairs. You could hear boots step down the stairs, sauntering to you. When the walking halts, you feel a hand ease up your shoulder. 

“Am I interrupting something?” His inquiry did not sound like one, more like a stern statement. His voice was low like he didn’t approve of what was said about him. Tanner pulls a chair out so he can sit next to you. When you looked back at Dale, he was fuming, yes, but at the same time, you could see the fear in his eyes. He was scared? And now it’s scaring you. You didn’t want to look Tanner in the eyes, his soft ebony eyes that he locked your soul in while you were giving him a handjob. Now a stark reminder that you were in the midst of turmoil. 

Dale sighs, rubbing his fingers against his thick mustache. He had adjusted his hat, his messy wavy chestnut hair falling against his forehead. “What was he doing in your room?” He asks you, pinching his nose while looking directly at his son. 

“He was showering, I was just listening to music.” You lied, and when you lie, your voice becomes high-pitched. Luckily, Dale didn’t know that fact.

“Is it true, son?” Tanner nodded, but that wasn’t enough for Dale. “I need words boy!”

“I was only showering in the guest room. Y/n wasn’t aware and tried to kick me out, okay dad!” Tanner lied, rolling his eyes at his father.

“Don’t give me no attitude, boy!” You looked at Tanner, who gave you a strong glance. It cut you like that knife the other night, but deep down, you assumed he wasn’t too mad. You were right. 

“Dale cut it out! Now, whatever our son and Y/n were doing in that room is none of your business! He’s fucking 20 for Christ's sake!” Amelia cursed in the living room. It was rare for her to curse at her husband. 

Now Dale directed his attention to his wife, leaving the room to go banter with her. You felt guilty for having your host yell at you. Scared that you would get kicked out. Now I want to stay? Oh my God! You thought, holding your head in your hands. Then Tanner nudged your arm, bringing you back to reality.

“What’s wrong? You’re really scared of my Dad?” He asked, smirking at you like a sinister little devil. His eyes watching you like Lucifer himself. 

“Um yeah! I don’t want to get in trouble with your family, Tanner!” You scolded, and now he was a little concerned with your outburst. 

“Don’t worry about that old bat, he’ll get angry if you change the football channel. I promise you, he’s not someone to be afraid of.” 

“I should’ve just ignored you the other night.” You muttered, groaning while you pinched your nose. Tanner only laughed, standing up to leave, “Like they always say, it was fate that brought us here.” He said, shaking your shoulders. 

“If you need me, I’ll be milking the cows.” He yelled, opening the front door and leaving. 

———

You were worried. Scared even. You were getting in trouble with Dale and his son doesn’t give a damn. Tanner’s adding fuel to Dale’s explosive fire. But you noticed something, Dale seemed to fear Tanner. Tanner, his flesh and blood that he raised for 20 years. He is afraid of him. There must be something about Tanner that instilled fear into his dad. 

You were disturbed by what was lurking inside Tanner, which could cause his dad to feel powerless over him. It made you want to avoid him, to leave abruptly. Take your things, hitchhike, and never return to the Jeffersons' manor again. But a notification on your phone told you otherwise.

Unknown Number: 

Y/nnnn, get dressed, I want to take you to meet my friends 🙂

“How the hell did he get my number?” You were going to investigate but decided you too needed a bath. You were still only wearing a nightgown. 

_________

When you emerged from the guest room, you wore a sundress that stopped at your knees, ivory, with a little design on the hem, and a pair of steel-toe boots that you ordered from the Boot Barn weeks prior. To assimilate with the rural area you were in. Now you were going to find Tanner. You grabbed your sun visor and exited the house. Apparently, Tanner had also shared his location with you. He was only half a mile away from the house. So you head west, where the blue barn with a rusty roof was. It was a brisk walk, you felt as though you had completed a quarter of your steps for the day. Once you reached the barn, you noticed Tanner had discarded his t-shirt on the dirt pathway. Your eyes trailed to his jeans, he left them on the ground? Then you heard something, Oh Fuck! 

You were standing in the middle of the large barn doors when your eyes wouldn’t leave Tanner’s buttocks. He was flexing in the back of the barn, the light shining on him like he was a nude angel. The cows and goats had ignored him, mooing and baaing as they ate. Tanner was feeling himself, touching his pectoral muscle, rubbing his leg as his hand was dangerously close to his half-erect penis, and posing in front of what seemed to be his phone. Though this wasn’t the first time(or last) that you’ve seen him in all of his glory, you could feel your stomach acid surge up your esophagus. The saliva in your mouth increased its flow as you turned around and gagged. As you were struggling to throw up, Tanner heard, running to you still naked to pat on your back. You were dry-heaving, praying that what was coming up would get out of your system. When it didn’t, you started to cough, choke on saliva even. 

Then, Tanner ran to his father’s fridge by the milk station. Normally, it would house some beers, but Amelia wanted to make sure Tanner or Dale weren’t drinking on the job. So there were water bottles in there. Tanner grabs a hold of two, taking it to you and opening them. You took the opened bottle the best way you could, chugging water down your esophagus. When you were situated, He grabbed his clothes and started dressing himself.

“What…the fuck, Tanner?” You questioned, broken-up words only formed as you tried to talk.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry Y/n! I didn’t know you would come here.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You asked in a soft tone, trying not to upset your now throbbing head. You saw how embarrassed he truly was. Or was he fronting? You honestly couldn’t tell. Either way, his heart was beating out of his chest, and he was hurrying to put his clothes back on. His phone propped on a block of hay and the barn wall tipped over. Now You are terrified. A sex freak has taken you to his house. You’ve touched him, and he has feelings for you. You’re doomed. 

“Y/n? Y/n, I know you're confused, and I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry!” Now he was on the ground, clutching your waist. His pants were nearly halfway down, you could see his erection imprinted on his jeans. Oh my goodness! 

“Tanner, hon it's okay, I'm ok now.” You half lied. If anything, you wanted to run and tell Dale and Amelia. 

“Are you sure? I know you were about to throw up.” He sniffed, snot running down his nose. 

“Yeah,” you console, tilting his chin up. Tanner had calmed his tears. He wiped them away, then rested his face against your belly. 

“Tanner,” 

“Yes, Y/n?”

“Get up.” You sternly said. Tanner stood to his feet. His bare feet crunching the hay on the ground. “Okay, now, how did you get my phone number?” 

“I have an iPhone too. I just pressed the screens together.” 

“So you didn’t go through my phone?”

“I don’t know your password, but, since we’re getting closer,” he responded, pulling you closer into his arms, “we’re allowed to share each other’s passwords.”

“No, we’re not close. I don’t want to be close with you, I just want to go home!” He rolled his eyes, he’s rolling his fucking eyes at me? 

“Okay, well, I’ll take your word for it,” he says, walking out of the barn. Out of the blue, you could hear Benson Boone’s music. Oh God! You noticed he still hasn’t put on his boots, and that his friends are pulling up. What the hell was he doing just sitting on the hay bales? 

You picked up his boots, taking them to him while he was still sitting. He thanked you, sliding them on one at a time. Suddenly, a dirty red Ford pulled up in front of y’all. In there, you estimated that there were seven people in the truck. I suppose these people don’t give a fuck about their lives.

“Tanner! What’s taking you so long! Hop yo’ ass in the back!” The driver yelled, throwing a beer at Tanner’s chest. 

“And bring that piece of ass with ya!” Then there was a series of laughter and screaming. You groaned out loud, Why am I put in this situation?! You thought your scowl spoke for itself. Knowing how Tanner is and now his friends, you felt as though you threw yourself into a pit of disgusting country bumpkins. Speaking of Tanner, you felt Tanner’s callous hand on your back, bringing you back to your tranquility. 

“Ignore them, they're just being dicks.” He consoled you. One of the only times he’s been serious. You were a little regretful of believing he would egg on his friends. 

He hops into the truck’s trunk. When he was in, he opened the trunk’s gate, pulling you onto his lap. For a moment, the two of you exchanged silent stares, and the ruby blush had dusted his cheeks. You had forgotten that twenty minutes ago, he was crying because you caught him naked in a barn. 

It wasn't until, without warning, the guy on the steering wheel had pressed the gas pedal, causing you to accidentally fall on top of Tanner. Your tooth scratched his bottom lip, causing a gash that wasn’t too serious to postpone the event(not like y’all could leave now). Luckily, Tanner had some tissue on him. Of course, he did. 

The girl that was sitting in front of you inside of the truck had opened the truck’s back window, showing her face. She had freckles that dusted her cheeks, nose, and forehead. Her brunette hair was tied in a bun by a green ribbon. She had extended her arm out of the window to introduce herself. 

“Hi, there stranger, my name’s Leticia.” You took her hand, shaking it. “Y/n, nice to meet you.” 

“Are you Tanner’s girlfriend?” She asks, causing the boy right next to her to turn and look at you. 

“Um, it’s complicated,” you said. And honestly, it was complicated. First, you were jerking him off, now you’re saying you will never get close to him. How complicated can you get?

“Ah, I see, well, have fun back there, don’t go too crazy.” She says, closing the window.

“Tanner, are you okay, hon?” You noticed he was still dabbing the napkin against his lip. You took it out of his hand, pressing hard on his lip. 

“Honey, you’re gonna have to press down on it to give it some pressure. It’ll stop the bleeding.” 

“Y/n, what do you mean by it’s complicated?” His voice has softened, yet he sounds confused. 

“I just…I don’t know. Do I like this thing we’re doing, or not?”  

“Well, I like you. And I want you to know what you want, 'cause I already know.” He says, holding onto your waist, not to touch you, but to keep you secure when his friend hits a bump on the road.

“Are you patient?” You asked.

“No, not really.” He replies with no thought. 

“Just give me a few days, when I see you again, I’ll let you know.”

——————-

The guy on the steering wheel stops by a local restaurant. And good for you, because your appetite has come back. You were hoping the establishment would have tap pay because you left your wallet in your room. When you entered, and asked the waiter, they told you no. 

Tanner heard(of course) and offered to pay for your food. You thanked him, offering to pay him back when you got home, but he refused. Saying you were okay and that he was okay with you. Okay? You would come to find out that, out of everyone in Tanner’s entourage, including you, you were the only one legally allowed to drink. You and another guy, who was allergic to alcohol. Bummer. So you were bombarded all night by his bitch of friends to buy drinks. If you declined, you weren't gonna go to jail tonight, tomorrow, or ever! 

You suppose this was going to be your dinner. A medium rare burger with steak fries and a Modelo. Something you weren’t expecting or proud of but didn’t care. You were still disgusted by Tanner’s friends. How could someone hang out with such vile, detestable people? The girl who looked like Wendy's mascot agreed with your resentment.

“Sure, Tanner seems like an independent guy,” she continued, drinking her mocktail, “but in reality, he’s kind of a pushover.“

“Oh?” That was all you said; you sat there and allowed her to talk. Talk about how dependent and docile he could be. You weren’t aware of how shy-natured he was, being that he normally bothers you a lot. The girl, whose name was Dana, would tell you about how much of a loner your Tanner was. Often ditched his friends to go play with his animals at the FFA club (Future Farmers of America). 

He was kind of a mama’s boy before being introduced to you and your streams. No wonder why Amelia never scolded him. He had her wrapped around his fingers. He knew how kindhearted she was so whenever Dale would lecture him, she would be at his rescue. This was something that was said by Dana, 

a girl who, besides you, was the only girl Tanner had invited to his house. The result of conservative parenting and losing interest in other girls.

“Really?” 

“Yeah, and he doesn’t “have time” for girlfriend stuff. He would be too busy talking about some Twitch Streamer or whatever.” You. He would talk about you to his friends? Though you were a little weirded out, even cringing, you were also flattered. You so enamored him that he rejected the idea of spending time with his friends and having relationships. It reminded you of what Elizabeth said the first night you came over. 

“He’s too shy around people.” Or does he purposefully push people away because he thinks you would show up in his life (which you did) unannounced and offer to be his girlfriend? Yeah, sure. Any possibilities could be right, and it intrigued you. What would a boy from the country want with a city girl, so badly, that he pushes people away for your attention? And if you hadn’t met him on the side of the road, would you still be brought to his life, or would he come to you? Like a hungry, lonesome tiger traveling thousands of miles for his tigress? You wouldn’t know for long.

After the get-together ended, it was time for y’all to head back. The guy who drove you and Tanner back home thanked you for having Tanner quote one quote, “come out of his shell again.” You didn’t care about what else he was talking about. He claimed that Tanner would lock you down one day, or he would put a ring on your finger before the year ends. Just utter bullshit from someone who called you a “piece of ass” hours ago. You wouldn’t let that go, and honestly, why would you?

Tanner unlocks his house door, allowing you in first. “Hey, we’re back!” Tanner called, “Hey!” He called some more. Something had caught your eye. It was a note on the foyer table. You picked it up, “Hey y’all, we’ll be out for a few hours. Our church is having a food drive. Dinner’s on the stove. Be back at 8! Love, Mom.” You recite. 

“So, I guess we’re alone for a few hours,” Tanner says, walking in front of you. Removing his hat, ran his fingers through his wavy hair, and he then turned to look at you, only you were gone. You had entered your room while he was feeling himself. It was late, and you just wanted to turn in, still full from dinner. Though he was somewhat content to have time with his friends, he wanted to spend the rest of the night with you. 

Meanwhile, you heard a knock on the door. You opened it. Tanner wraps his arms around you. You could feel his warmth, the sweat that he worked up from roughhousing with his friends. It took you a second to notice that you were being pushed away from your door. Hands-on your ass, you were lifted into the air. Taken to your bed, gently laying you down. He got on top of you, removing his t-shirt to wipe his sweat off his face with said shirt. 

“I miss you,” he whispered.

“Tanner, what’s up with you? You’ve seen me all day.” You asked, a teasing tone in your voice. This has become pretty common for Tanner to hold you as if you were his but never has he picked you up and placed you on the bed. You wanted to believe he was teasing you again, but you knew good and well what was up, especially when he allowed his fingers to caress your cheeks. Or when his thigh pushed your dress up, remaining against your clothed vagina. 

“I want you, I can’t wait any longer, I need you, Y/n.” he groaned, his thumb caressing your cheek, rubbing it oh-so gently.  

“Tanner, what if your family comes back?” you asked, genuinely concerned. You didn't want his loving family to walk in on y’all having sex, or whatever y’all were inching to do. Tanner got up from the bed. He walked to the door, locking the door knob so no one would open it. 

    “It’s fine, no one will know, this is between us and the four walls only.” He came back to his spot on the bed, taking your arms and hovering them above your head. He had unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants before getting up to pull them off. 

When he was only in his boxers, the ones that hugged his ass and dick so pleasingly, he noticed you sitting up to look at his goods. “You have a nice body, have you noticed that?” you ask.

He chuckled, and you knew how shy he was getting. His little celebrity crush told him he looked good. He was eating it up. Just like he will be eating you up. You volunteered to pull your panties down for him, yet he was quick to take them off, almost like a hungry, horny vampire. “Be patient, honey,” you spoke with a sweet saccharine tone. So he would pull them down with patience. Then he would start devouring. 

When his lips made contact with your clit, you nearly jolted from the touch. Closing your legs as a response. Tanner pried them open with his man hands to continue. Something in you made you feel embarrassed for your reaction, and he would remind you of that later. 

As his lips found your swollen bean, kissing it with aching tenderness before sucking it into the heat of his mouth, a shudder rippled through you. His tongue worked in slow, deliberate circles, each flick sending sparks down your spine. You couldn’t help but grind against his face, chasing the pleasure he coaxed from you with every hungry pull of his mouth, every teasing swirl of his tongue. Your fingers tangled in his messy hair, anchoring yourself as your hips moved in rhythm with his touch, desperate and raw, needing more. 

Every touch felt like heaven. You felt hot and steamy from this man’s foreplay. And it had you thinking, maybe you should soften up to him. Not because he’s so good at oral, but because he’s the only guy that cares. Of course, he could be love bombing you at this moment to keep you close, but who knows? All that mattered was the thick pink fingers he was shoving inside of you. One at a time, he prodded his index and middle fingers into your vagina. Slowly teasing you. 

Look at how he watches you, in the midst of severe feral arousal, he had a caring visage. Like he knows that he should go slow with his girlfriend. You knew that look. Your former boyfriend had that look on the first night, your first night. You belonged to Tanner now, somewhat. And you felt that he would take care of you. Accept it, leaving will cause a stab in your heart and pussy. 

Tanner could feel you coming near to your orgasm, he could hear it in your voice as well. So he picked up the pace, both with his tongue flicking your pearl and his now slimy fingers going faster and faster on your poor girl. He licked the sensitive part of your pearl, then you orgasmed. Your face had contorted from his pleasure, mouth wide open as you screamed. Your jaw is throbbing from keeping it open too long. When you were finishing moaning, he was about to leave your mouth when you forced him back, making him lick once more as you rode out your high. Now, you were done. And now you can let go of him. 

As he got up from the floor, he laughed. Oh, so everything is a joke now? “What’s so funny?” You asked, sitting up from your position. He didn’t respond, only climbing into bed gently to not cause himself to cum. From the looks of it, he looks like he was close to cumming his damn self. He sat on your hips, still rubbing himself. You stayed silent so you could hear his whimpers. He was killing you, JUST PUT IT IN NOW! Your horny side cried. 

“Don’t move,” You spoke, rummaging through your purse to find a nearly old condom. You noticed he had scowled at the packaged rubber before fixing his face to let you know he was ready. “I’ll put it on,” you said, tearing it open with your manicured nails. You shoved it on his thick, pink shaft, and already, he was leaking precum. He had covered his mouth as he moaned. Oh hell no. 

“You were laughing b’fore, what’s wrong now?” You teased, smacking your hand against his cock, causing him to gasp(and nearly cum in his draws.) He had pushed you back against the covers, resting his hand in yours, interlocking them. “Now, why would you do that, baby? Playing with me like that?” Without you knowing, he had perfectly lined his cock. Slowly allowing his cock to kiss your lips. He gently held your jaw, moving your face so you could look him straight in the eyes as he fucked you. When he slid his cock deep insdie of you, you groaned. Groaned from the abrupt feeling of cock entering you for the first time in forever. And so it begins. 

You grind against the rhythm of his cock inside of you. Your legs wrap around his waist, one hand still interlocked with his, while the other finds solace against his neck. Your eyes cast a spell on him, causing him to feel queasy and nervous. You felt his stare becoming intimidating, and you told him to stop. “But who can I lay my eyes on? Who, when that minxy face of yours that makes me want to cum. You are so beautiful, baby.” He sighed, licking your jawline. You would’ve puked on his face from his freakish behavior, but at that moment, you could sense your endorphins rushing. 

Tanner rests his head against your forehead, he allows his fingers to intertwine with yours again. Touching you gave him some solace, knowing it was genuine, and it was you with whom he was making love. “You’re so beautiful, you make me happy, baby.” He whimpered, like a virgin who was making love to the girl of his dreams. Oh wait.

“You sound like a virgin, but keep it up, I love this from you.” You teased, running your nails against his back. Tanner would lean towards your ear, “It’s because I am,” he laughs, turning you around and picking up the pace. Everything was fast-paced. You were hoping he would get the memo and calm his ass down. 

“I love how smart you are, my Y/n. It’s like you read me like a book-ah.” He was pounding roughly into your pussy. You were out of breath from him yanking your arms and pussy pounding you. He had to stop. 

“Ta-TANNER, baby, I need you to slow down. This doesn’t feel right.” You stammered, and he slowed down. Lying on your back in the process. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he sounded so artificial right now. Suddenly, you could feel his bear hands grasp your breasts, your swollen nipples being pinched between his index and middle fingers. “I will go slow, for you.” You could feel his hip pressed against your ass. His cock penetrating your vagina as you cried. You could’ve cum right away, the way he was manhandling you still but with a gentle force, your wanted to right now.

“Tanner, Tanner…Ah~” You cried, he moved your head to the side, making you try to look at him. “I’ve always wanted to have you as mine, Y/n. The things I have done and will continue to do for your love.” Now you were scared, but your speeding orgasm was taking over your fear. 

“I love how determined you are to have me…fuck.” You groaned, he continued. Your breath fanning your face. His starving behavior forces the orgasm out of you. He felt your pussy tighten up, fluttering around his cock. He loved the way your spongy cervix kissed his red tip. He adored it, prodding back and forth into you just to feel you. Lying on your soft back, he rested his hot head against your face. You were obsessed with hearing his cock pound you, the plopping sound from your wet juices permeating his clothed cock. Your fingers clawed the comforter that you would sleep on later (Not at all). His breathy moans hit your face, causing you to sweat. And before long, you could feel yourself come undone to his pleasure. He moaned low in his chest, his back aching from leaning on you for too long. 

“I love you, my Y/n.” He cried. You thought he was teasing you; however, you also fell victim to the orgasmic thoughts. “I-I love you too, honey. You and your gorgeous ass. Please get off of me?” You moaned, feeling the extra 230 pounds leave your back. You sigh in relief, getting up from the bed finally breathe naturally. And of course, Tanner wraps his arms around you. Pulling you into his embrace. He kissed your cheek before taking your jaw and kissing your lips. You moaned into his mouth, accidentally allowing his tongue to enter your mouth. His hand cups your right breast, the other spreading your legs open so he could tease your vagina again. His fingers played with your wetness, allowing you to leak on the bed. 

You were so close, so close to having another orgasm, until you heard the front door open. “Fuck!”

“KIDS! WE’RE HOME!” Amelia called, “Mama, they’re probably asleep.” You heard Elizabeth, then some more hushed conversations before the door was slammed shut. You assumed it was from Dale. 

“Let’s stop,” You whisper, removing his hands from your body. “We have to go to bed.” 

“Well, you can’t sleep in with this comforter. There’s one in the linen closet, but we should bathe.” Tanner responds in a whisper. He took his fingers and sucked on them, suckling and licking on each digit as you watched him in disgust. Though you could feel your clitorus twitching from his slutty behavior. 

Now you must take a bath. 

Meanwhile:

Tanner when his longtime crush gives him some pum pum :

[geeky-politics-46]

John Walker Headcanons

Random thoughts I have about John Walker. I separated them into SFW and NSFW. These may be elaborated on and expanded on later. If there is a specific headcanon you really want a story about, let me know in the comments or an ask. This may also become an entire NSFW Alphabet as I love writing those.

SFW:

Definitely a control freak. Don't touch or move his stuff without asking first unless you want either a lecture or a very pouty annoyed super soldier. Part of this is due to military training. Part of this is just him desperately needing to be in charge. His room is by far the cleanest, and he will randomly start cleaning if he's anxious.

Rigid in his routines almost to a fault. If he's not following a routine, he doesn't know what to do with himself. His entire life has been about military structure. Now, even if he's not a military officer anymore, he still can't bring himself to move out of his established routines.

Very awkward when you first start dating. The last time he successfully wooed anyone was high school. To say he's a little rusty is an understatement. Expect lots of dorky flirting and bad innuendo. May even some frat boy-esque come ons that almost make your skin crawl.

He tries to show off extra in front of you. You can't reach something? All you have to do is ask. Can't open a jar? He's right there with his hand held out. Need help carrying in groceries? He can take them all in one trip. If you come into the gym while he's in there, he will stop what he's doing to pick up even heavier weights in hopes that you notice.

Has a bit of a dumb blonde streak to him. May actually be really intelligent but will say the absolute dumbest things sometimes. Things that leave the rest of the team staring and speechless. Prime example being his “we're running out of space?” comment at the end of Thunderbolts.

100% gets jealous of your celebrity crushes. He knows it's stupid and that you having crushes is completely normal, but he can't help it. He wants to be your number 1 all the time. He needs to be your number 1, your first choice. Even if it's some married A lister you would never meet in a thousand years. He can't stand the thought of you being with someone else. Of you picking someone over him just like so many others in his life have.

The Georgja boy southern drawl comes out when he's turned on or feeling frisky. The whole team has learned this against their will, and all it takes is an “ain't” or a “darlin'” and they are shooing you behind closed doors before things progress. It's created a bit of a Pavlovian response in you whenever you hear it.

At first, he doesn't want to be left alone with his son when he gets visitation. Somehow, the team is surprisingly good with kids and helps get him comfortable. Bob watches SpongeBob or other cartoons with his son. Yelena brings out the guinea pigs to play with. Alexei is the king of storytime and also trying to help make up for some of his own fatherly shortcomings. Ava gravitates towards the arts and crafts, especially crayons and watercolor. Bucky teaches him games he used to play as a kid. He may also start reading the kid on The Hobbit. After a while, John can do it by himself and feels more confident as a dad, but by that point, everyone is a part of the family.

He really wants more kids once he's learned he's not totally shit at being a dad. He grew up with the idea of the white picket fence and 2.5 kids in the suburbs or even a farm in the country somewhere. That's still what he wants, even if it didn't come as easily as he was promised. He desperately wants a happy family. You renewed his hope that maybe someday he could have it. This correlates directly into NSFW headcanon #9 - breeding kink.

Even though he received a dishonorable discharge and was stripped of his rank and benefits, he still has his Army dress uniform hanging in his closet and his fatigues along with his tags, medals, and other mementos in a box under his bed. Even his West Point diploma is in there. They were a part of who he was, and he still isn't quite sure of who he is if he isn't a soldier. He looks through the box a lot, especially when he's feeling down.

The only thing he leaves out in the open all the time as a reminder of that life is the photo of him and Lemar that Mrs. Hoskins gave him. He also still talks to Lemar when he's feeling depressed or just wishes he was there. He doesn't know if Lemar can hear him, but he hopes he can. He was raised in the church, and even if he's not sure he believes it anymore, he likes to think Lemar is watching over him. Still by his side even from heaven.

He hates it when he cries. It makes him feel weak. He tries to stuff down all his feelings, and this has manifested in the man we see in Thunderbolts. He tends to stew in his own emotions, and you have to call him out and confront him on it. Otherwise, he will not address it. It helps to remind him that that behavior is what got him there in the first place and that if he wants to grow as a person, he has to change. You will constantly be reminding him that failing at something isn't necessarily the end of the world and that crying or admitting his feelings is not failing.

NSFW:

His body count is low. I'm talking low end of single digits. Yes, he was married and has a kid, but he also married his high school sweetheart. If they both weren't virgins when they got together, he had probably only been with one or two other women. If he's been with anyone since, and I firmly believe that's a very strong if, it was a one night stand or two.

I firmly believe he probably hasn't had sex with anyone since the divorce. He probably avoided it for a while in hopes that he could win Olivia back, and he really only wanted her. After he realized it was really over, the depression took most of the desire he had left for sex. People also tended to avoid him like the plague after the flag smashers thing. So it's not like he had women lining up for the newly single dime store Captain America.

Because of his relative inexperience, you may end up having to teach him stuff in the bedroom. Especially if you are into anything kinky. I feel like him and Olivia were probably pretty vanilla when it came to sex. He will also get really flustered when you try to talk about sex with him. He's pretty game to try whatever you want. Just don't make him talk about it.

We've all collectively decided that he has a massive praise kink. Not just in the bedroom but in all areas of his life. This is not a new thing by any means, but he never really thought of it as a kink until you called it that. Tell him how good he fucks you and he'll start purring. Tell him he's such a good boy and worthy of it and his brain will completely melt.

Once you uncork the bottle, he will be pretty insatiable. He's been backed up for a while and has a lot of energy to expend on amorous activities. Thanks to the super soldier serum, he's also going multiple rounds every time. You will be sore after sex the first handful of times simply because he's so energetic.

I think there is a distinct possibility he's accidentally bruised your cervix when he forgot about his enhanced strength and speed in the heat of the moment. He didn't exactly have a ton of sexual experience after the serum. Especially not with someone new. He was horrified and a little proud of himself all the same time.

He loves you talking dirty to him and will encourage you to keep talking. Talking about sex can get him a little flustered in normal circumstances, but if you start talking dirty, he's immediately ready to blow. He still can't really believe all the filthy things that come out of your mouth, but he hangs on every fucking word. After a while he'll even start talking dirty in return.

Sucker for fancy lingerie, but he prefers you in just one of his shirts. He loves seeing you all wrapped up like a present in satin and lace, anything sheer he has a particular soft spot for, but seeing you fresh out of the shower bare legs in one of his old t-shirts makes him practically feral. He discovered this even before you got together when your mission bag went AWOL and you had to borrow his shirt. He swore he was so hard he nearly passed out from lack of blood to his brain that whole mission.

Once the thought is in his head, his breeding kink will go from 0-100 at light speed. Olivia was pregnant while he was in the midst of a depression, so he kicks himself for not letting himself enjoy it. Especially once you start showing his hand is constantly on your belly. Talking to you the entire time you're in bed about how sexy you are all swollen with him and how he's gonna be such a good daddy for you. Before you have the baby he's already talking about looking forward to knocking you up again. Although he may worry too much about hurting you during penetrative sex in your last trimester, he's happy to help satiate you with his fingers or tongue.

He is a bit of a pillow princess when he's feeling depressed. Normally, he likes being the one in charge and doesn't mind doing most of the work. When he's down, he just wants you to ride him and talk sweet filthy nothings to him. His praise kink is turned up a notch even higher than normal, too. Tell him how good he feels. Tell him how big his cock is. Tell him that you couldn't want anyone else the way you want him. Just let him lie there and enjoy it.

He's not a big fan of PDAs, but practically suction cups himself to you behind closed doors or no one else is around. When he discovers cockwarming, he wants it every time you are alone. Practically begging you to just let him put in. Promising he'll behave and let you finish your book when you know in reality he'll start humping you after maybe 5 minutes.

--------------------------------

You caught him watching porn and jerking off once, and he found it incredibly hot. He was a little humiliated but loved the way you teased him about how desperate he was and that he was a naughty boy for not asking first. How you would have helped him and maybe you should touch yourself too. He came in less than 2 minutes after you started teasing. He wants it to happen again but isn't sure how to bring it up. He is genuinely unsure if it was the humiliation or the thought of mutual masturbation that got him off so quickly.

There will probably be a part 2 to this once I think about it more.

John Walker taglist: @sareim123122

Back to main masterlist

[scorpioriesling]

but what about a poly smut/ angst fic with violet and xaden with female reader ? would love it

Blinding Love

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Xaden x Violet x reader

Warning(s): smut, mdni, 18+, angst, arguing, light injury

Summary: After a knock-down, drag-out fight with the two people you love most, the three of you are able to come to a mutual understanding. Not only with eachother, but also with yourself -- at the end of the day, it's your blinding love for one another that will prevail.

SR’s Note: Only thing I have to say is... happy pride month, everyone! Much love to all, and thank you once again for your patience as I work through all of my requests and WIPs. xoxo

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @bookofriverr @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @lreadsstuff @paintedbyshadows @freakishfandomfiend @littleemissperfecttt @loveofmychips @bodhidurrans (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

You paced nervously, your pointer finger and thumb pinching your chin. What could be taking them so long? They'd left nearly two hours ago -- surely, Panchek didn't have that much to say.

Sighing, you sat on the corner of your bed, deciding to redirect your worry toward something else. You reached beneath the covers, your fingers searching for the familiar hoop -- if you couldn't see them right now, you might as well work on your sewing and at least do something productive.

You'd barely run the needle and thread through the fabric before your two favorite people burst through the doors. Your eyes lit up, excitement welling as you caught sight of them. The excitement was short-lived, however; the two were in a shouting match as they thundered into the room.

"YOU SAID YOU WEREN'T GOING TO BRING IT UP, VI," Xaden roared. Violet scoffed, charging through the doorway after him.

"What in Dunne's name did you expect? For me to just let the Colonel speak for us? Are you really, of all people, okay with something like that?"

Your eyes widened as you stared between them, watching Xaden's cheeks redden and the vein in Violet's forehead pulse.

"Oh don't act like that's what I'm saying; it's not, and you know that," he griped, dropping the bag he carried from his back to the floor. It landed louder than you'd expected, and you jumped at the sound. Violet payed no mind as the threw her hands in the air.

"I never know exactly what you're saying, Xaden! I can't always tell what you mean or what you're thinking -- you forget, not everyone can read minds like you," she spat. Xaden's eyes widened as she crossed her arms gruffly, and at that you stood from the bed.

"Violet! Why would you say such a thing so... loud?" You glanced at the still-open doorway, thanking all the Gods that no one was passing by. "You know such a thing could get him killed-"

"Yeah? And what happens if he gets you killed?" She sneered. "Did you consider that, maybe, I'm fighting for you right now?"

Your head reared back as though she'd just slapped you.

"W-what?" You asked quietly, turning to look at Xaden. His gaze was downcast, and damn near shameful. Violet laughed humorlessly.

"Yeah! Go ahead, ask him -- ask him why, of all the meetings we've had with leadership, this one was so damn hard for him to defend you at." She glared at the male. "Go on; ask."

Your eyes roved over the male's face, contorted with discomfort. He looked angry with his furrowed brow -- but beneath that hard exterior, you could sense something wasn't sitting right with him.

"Xaden?"

He glanced up at your whisper of his name, his eyes watery. You'd never seen your boyfriend cry, and you hadn't suspected today would be the first. That look, that one look though -- it had your heart aching for him.

He cleared his throat before he spoke, every word measured and calculated.

"Panchek called the meeting with leadership to discuss this week's assignments," he began quietly. Violet stood firm, her arms still crossed as she studied him. "They wanted to go over rotations, and... who would be leaving the vale for the outer posts."

He paused, and Violet shrugged.

"Yep. Go on," she urged. He glared as her, continuing his explaination.

"Panchek's idea was to send a few of the third years out to Hedotis. He wanted riders with more experience to go, thinking they'd be able to better withstand the flight." He continued. Violet shook her head slowly.

"Yeah, which makes the most sense," she interrupted. You looked to her again, meeting her pleading stare. "We should send the most experienced riders. Especially ones without ties to that region-"

"Anyway," Xaden took control of the conversation again. "When he considered sending Dain, Bodhi, and Imogen, I knew that was going to be a disaster. So, I forged an idea I thought would be best."

Violet's hands balled into fists. "A stupid idea! Xaden, your mother is not exactly at the top of any of our lists right now-"

"Which you so kindly reminded Colonel Aetos of -- thanks again for that," he bellowed. "That's why the prick was so quick to agree with me, all because you couldn't keep your mouth shut-"

"I was trying to change their minds!" She shreiked. Your eyes began to well with tears, watching them fight like this. However, you stood frozen as they continued settling the score before you, nothing but a small whimper coming from you.

"Guys, please that's enough-"

Violet continued. "You can't tell me for one second you truly believe that the three of us should go instead-"

"I think we're more than prepared to go!" Xaden's voice rose in octave. "Y/N's been honing her signet, you're one of the strongest women in the wing, and you've got me-"

"Oh yeah, right," Violet griped, matching his pitch. "We have you, so we'll be fine. Sure! Again, I bring up the fact that Y/N's never actually fought yet-"

"I said ENOUGH!"

Both parties gasped and covered their heads as wind blew forcefully through the window panes, shattering the glass and scattering it across the floor. You remained still, knowing this would happen; and you'd been in a relationship with the other two that you'd figured they'd know it, too.

"What is wrong with you?" You asked to neither of them in particular, breathing heavily as tears began to run down your cheeks. Both of them turned to look up at you, and in that instant you registered the small cuts the glass had left on the both of them.

"You both are always making decisions for me, deciding what I am and are not capable of, and speaking for me in that sense too." You said defiantly. Violet's lips parted, and Xaden only gazed up at you shamefully. They both remained quiet as the wind ripped through the room, sending your embroidery to the floor as well as the various papers strewn about.

Sniffling, you quickly reached to wipe your tears, not feeling guilty for the hurt on both of their faces.

"You need to understand I am a person too -- just because I can't weild lightning," you looked to Violet. "And I'm not the Duke of Tyrrendor," you looked to Xaden again, who dropped his head. "It doesn't mean my words are any less; not in life-threatening discussions, or any discussions for that matter."

You turned, a fresh wave of emotion coursing through you. Behind you, the sound of Violet moving to stand was heard, her boots crunching on the shattered glass as she chased after you.

The bathroom door was tossed open in an instant, and you stepped inside. Her hand braced the wood before you could shove it closed, and you met her worried gaze as she stared at you.

"Please Y/N, we just want you safe-"

"I need to shower."

It was all the explaination you offered, your tone clipped, as you shut the door behind you.

･ﾟ: *✧

The water had been running for fifteen minutes before the door opened again. The bliss you'd allowed yourself to enjoy was halted, a cool breeze brushing past the doorway and beyond the curtain of warmth you'd been enjoying.

"Ugh - go away," you grumbled, letting the stream of wet run over your face. Your tears had been since washed away, your mind beginning to clear a little. But, instead of leaving, the curtain was drawn back, the familiar greenish gray eyes gazing to you once more. You rolled your own, turning your back to the curtain.

"I don't want to talk right now."

Violet didn't seem to care as she stepped onto the tiled floor behind you. The curtain rod squeaked as she tugged the fabric back into place, and in a moment you felt her ragged, uneven breaths hitting the back of your neck.

"Fine. Let's not talk."

You loosed a sigh as her fingers brushed your skin, cold to the touch at the tips. She must not have weilded today as your usual concern for her singed digits wasn't present this time. Her touch began at your waist, her fingers brushing over the dampened skin; that was, before her hands travelled around your front, stroking up and down your abdomen.

Though you still had so many words, so much to say not only to your girlfriend but to Xaden too -- this was what you needed. This was your temporary fix.

Your lips parted as her palms rested beneath your breasts, the cool touch causing your nipples to harden. Her lips came next, gently kissing the side of your neck as her hands travelled further north, cupping and kneading you as you leant into her.

Water fell around the two of you like a curtain, trailing over your collarbone and running down the valley of your breasts as her hair was drenched in turn. Her kisses became harder, needier -- and when you turned to face her suddenly, looking right into her eyes, you could see it. She needed this too.

Feeling more confident, she pressed you against the shower wall, her thigh slotting between your parted knees. The silky smoothness of her skin elicited fire as it pressed just right against your core, and she smiled softly as a breathy moan escaped your lips. Her hands left your upper body in favor of sliding slowly to your ass, cupping a cheek in either hand. Her fingers guided you, pressing your hips forward and back as you began moving them in time with her.

Your eyes fell shut as you continued rocking your hips against her leg, and she chuckled softly at the way your jaw hung open. She leaned in, her lips to your neck once more as one hand reached to pinch and roll over your nipple. You gasped sharply as the pending sensation within you threatened release, especially with the added friction of her fingertips against your chest.

"Vi..." you breathed, your hands reaching to brace her shoulders. Her teeth came fast and sharp, biting lightly near the column of your throat. You squeaked at the delightful sting, your release coiling near the base of your spine.

"Let go for me," she whispered, her suggestion sending you over the edge. Your eyes widened as you released upon her thigh, your lower half shaking as the sensation coursed through you. You clutched her shoulders, gasping as you rode out your high -- but, even then she didn't stop.

"I want you in our bed," she panted, leaning down to take your other nipple in her mouth. You moaned, loud this time, and shook harder as her palm cupped your leaking cunt. "Now. Please," she added, her pleading eyes looking to you once again. You nodded, reaching behind you to shut the water off. In seconds, the two of you had toweled off, stepping out one after another and making for the doorway.

The sight before you had you halting in your tracks, emotion swelling in you once more. The glass that had scattered around the room had been completely picked up, a small pile of it lay atop your shared vanity. Next to it, a fresh bouquet of lilies sat in a vase -- your favorite. Yoru gaze settled on your bed though, where Xaden lay, securing the starch-white gauzy wrap around his palm. He was shirtless, clad in only sweatpants as he sat on the edge of the mattress, his long legs hanging off of it.

"I figured it's the least you deserved, after all we said and did," he said softly. You glanced sidelong at Violet, who met you with a knowing nod. Your eyes followed her naked form as she strode for the male, her knee bending as she braced the mattress beside him. His fingers immediately found her waist, tugging her up next to him. She straddled him, glancing over her shoulder at you in an effort to entice you.

It worked.

"Come here, baby." Xaden suggested lowly, reaching to brush Violet's dampened strands over her shoulder. You prowled closer, watching as she moved from his lap in favor it sitting next to him. His hands lightly took yours, pulling you close until you stood between his parted knees.

A single tear slipped as your fingers brushed the gauze covering his palms, surely cut from picking up the glass you'd shattered with your wind-weilding outburst earlier. His brown eyes gazed up at you lovingly, as his thumb reached to brush the fallen tear away.

"Hey, hey," he cooed, lifting you to sit on his lap. You obliged, sniffling as he gently cupped your jaw. "It's the least I could do. We can both be better towards you, and today was a prime example of just that."

You nodded slowly, taking in his words. Violet moved to her knees beside you, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. Xaden's fingers inched you closer, until finally your lips were on his. You sighed, the feeling of his mouth pressed to yours once more so refreshing.

Unable to ignore the elephant in the room, you instinctively began swaying your hips once more, excited again by the feel of his hardening cock beneath you. He groaned, kissing you harder, sweeping his tongue past the seam of your lips in an effort to explore deeper. You let him, nearly so caught up in the moment that you didn't register Violet running her fingers lightly through your hair. Xaden's hands found your hips, settling there as he relished in the way your hips rocked atop his lap.

"We'd do anything for you," Violet whispered. "Anything you'd ever ask."

Tears stung the back of your eyes as Xaden broke the kiss, breathless.

"We love you, Y/N," he said, his voice raw. "More than anything."

You had to fight to keep the tears at bay, working to express the emotion beyond the lump in your throat.

"I... love you guys too," you choked out, your heart warming at their soft smiles. Xaden's hands gently repositioned you once more, setting you on all fours near the edge of the mattress. Violet quickly shimmied beneath you, her eyes gazing up at you prettily as your hands braced either side of her head. Xaden palmed your ass from behind, moving to stand at the edge of the mattress.

"I would warm you up but... it seems we have Vi to thank for that," Xaden chuckled. You giggled at the humor, watching Violet wink up at you from below. Biting your lip, you braced for the stretch -- but the feeling was far more pleasureable that you'd remembered.

Xaden entered you slowly, his cock sliding inch by inch along your gummy walls. Violet reached a hand down, her middle and ring finger connecting with your clit. She rubbed slow, tantalizing circles there as Xaden continued pressing into you, all the way until his hips became flush with your ass.

You breathed out slowly, your bottom lip releasing from it's hold as you spoke.

"More... please, more."

Xaden was quick to draw back and re-enter, grunting as you clenched your pussy around him. Violet sighed as she rubbed her fingers faster, her wide-eyed stare adding to the increasing slick as she gazed up at you. You moaned as you leaned low to kiss her, Xaden's thrusts becoming more and more frequent. You stayed there, your chest pressed against hers as she pleasured herself with her free hand, the hand once pressed against you now moving to circle your waist. Your breasts bounced as Xaden fucked you, the movement small as your nipples pushed against Violet's.

"Oh Gods Y/N... you're fucking perfect," Xaden breathed, his grip on your ass firm as he pounded into you. You squealed in delight as his hips snapped against your butt, the light feeling of his balls spanking against your clit driving you wild.

Your attention was turned back to Violet as she gasped, the fingers she'd been working against herself finally bringing her to the brink of release.

"Oh Y/N..." she moaned prettily. "So pretty, baby -- you're gonna make me cum."

You grinned slyly at that, your teeth catching her bottom lip and nipping at it. She cried out, announcing her impending release.

Xaden groaned behind you as he pressed forward, ramming into you at a new, deeper angle. You cried out, the sensation bringing you closer and closer to the brink.

"Xaden... oh Gods, Xaden-"

"Cum for me baby," he insisted, his voice thick. "Cum all over me, please Y/N -- let me paint your walls white."

At that, you released, screaming as the built up tension finally clawed its way through. Violet panted heavily below you, her fingers running up and down your spine. Xaden followed soon after, calling your name as he came. The instant warmth filled you as he spurted cum deep within your pussy, gasping as he spilled every last drop.

Once he was sure he'd released everything, he collapsed on the bed beside you. Violet wiggled to lay on your other side, and you fell forward, lying comfortably on your stomach. You found Xaden's warm gaze first, his fucked-out expression gazing sidelong at you as though it held a million unsaid words.

You swallowed, preparing for the conversation you'd dreaded having. "I wanted to... apologize. I was way out of line-"

"You need to apologize for nothing," Xaden assured, reaching to brush your cheekbone with his fingertips. "We -- I -- was in the wrong today for speaking on your behalf without talking to you first. I shouldn't have done that." He said honestly. Violet piped up from your opposite side, and you turned to glance at her.

"No no no -- I should've thought before speaking. I was only thinking for myself, and truly just wanted your safety is all. I hadn't considered your opinion, or that it may be different, because I didn't ask you first." She admitted, ashamedly. You leaned in, kissing her cheek as you gave her an assuring look.

"I appreciate your concern for my safety -- you're always looking out for me, it's one of the things I love most about you."

Her cheeks pinkened before you turned, finding Xaden's eyes again.

"And, you always think so highly of me, and value my strengths as though they're your own -- that is one of the things I love most about you."

You leaned in to kiss his cheek, but he turned to catch your lips instead. You melted into him as his abs flexed beneath the weight of your ribs, and before you could think more of it you pulled yourself away slowly, smiling at the slow grin spreading across his face.

"We have a lot to discuss, that's for sure -- starting with what you want," he said softly. His mouth widened as he yawned, his arm stretching all the way until his hand slid beneath Violet's head. You took the memo and slotted yourself between the two of them, lying on your back as they both turned inward to cuddle you.

"Tomorrow, please -- for now, let's sleep," Violet said dreamily. You let out a soft yawn, following Xaden as you closed your eyes, nestled between both of their bodies.

"Sleep," you agreed groggily, beginning to drift off. "For now, lets just sleep."

✧･ﾟ: *

[queerical]

i believe part of the reason tag replies became common was becuz back in the day, as you'll recall, adding a comment caused each comment above it to "stack", with all those lines coming down from urls (idk the actual terminology for that style of conversation formatting) which could make posts difficult to read, so it was considered common courtesy to not add a comment unless it REALLY mattered.

personally, that has somewhat informed how i do reblogs and tags today. if i believe what i have to say is is truly valuable to the conversation and i actively want other ppl to see/react to it, i will reblog with a comment.

otherwise, my "tag essays" are, in fact, FOR ME (and for any followers who read all my tags), since i routinely re-read posts on my blog. they aren't meant to be replies or to continue the conversation, they are just my own thoughts on the matter that i want to share without becoming part of the conversation.

if they "pass peer review" and get added, i'm flattered, but i'm not bothered if they don't. if i was bothered that what i had to share was not included in the post, then i would have added it as a comment.

personally i "overuse" tags becuz i find it fun! if a post gives me thoughts and i want to get them out but i don't want to engage in a dialogue or i don't think my thoughts add to the dialogue, i can put them in the tags. if it's a silly text post and i want to go on at length about a random anecdote that's semi-related but i don't want everyone who follows someone who reblogs that post from me to see it, i can put it in the tags!

i do also use tags for their organizational purposes, but i actually think "tag essays" are fun, and i also think it's fun to decide if someone else's tags are worth adding to a post or if someone decides mine are.

tl;dr: if i want to be involved in the conversation or i feel what i have to say adds something to conversation, i reblog with a comment. otherwise, i use the tags as an extra "whisper space" for my own enjoyment and that of my followers.

[a further thought i just had becuz i remembered the original topic of this thread: i think conversationality on tumblr was partially harmed by how the reply feature was changed. back in the day, if someone made a comment on your post, hitting the reply button made it into a whole new post! then they could comment on that new post, and when you replied, it made another new post, etc.

in this way you could carry on a (generally) easy to follow conversation with more than one person based on a single starting point, and other people could pop in if they wanted. then staff took that away. and if people wanted to talk, they had to start a reblog chain that would grow longer and longer and which their followers would repeatedly have to scroll past.

eventually they gave us comments/replies back, but in its current form (altho without the threading) which made conversing with even one person extremely confusing. they did eventually give us dms, but that could feel far more intimate than just replying to a public post and having a semi-public chat, which i'm sure stopped some people from using them for conversations they might have otherwise had.

you CAN still do replies the old way if you have xkit, but it seems to me that most people don't. if i comment instead of reblog, it's with that old way in mind. i want to talk, but i don't feel a desire to have the post on my blog or have that conversation in front of all my followers, i want it to be between me and OP.

if it's someone i don't know well, i'd feel awkward going to dms, and even if i do know the person well, tumblr isn't consistent on informing pp that they have a new dm. so i comment and see if they reply, but i don't like it.

This is probably because I am Internet Old (41 years of age)

And because I grew up with message board/forum/blog/LJ culture...

but it seems like many younger people do not want to converse; that any response other than 'THIS' - anything that reflects, responds, adds, comments upon, etc a post is seen as adversarial/disagreement.

I'd love to have a conversation about this trend, especially as it relates to tumblr, which USED to be a much more conversational website than it currently is.

replies vs. reblogs definitely exacerbated this hugely; the tiktokification of 'person who creates content' and 'person who consumed that content' rather than 'human beings having a conversation'.

[gothamite-rambler]

Nightwing (shrugging): Baby bro, I thought we were brothers. I thought you loved me.

Red Hood (elbowing a goon): What? What? Don't call me 'baby bro' in any context, but also what?

Nightwing (walking over to his brother and ignoring the attacking goons): Don't act dumb. You and Ravager, a couple and nobody told me. I can't believe you and Ravager were dating and never told me. What gives?

Red Hood (lying): We're not... Dating. I hate her. Dating? Her? Gross.

Nightwing (crossing his arms): Red Hood, you have a terrible poke face as it is. You know, I don't like receiving a frantic call from Batman telling me this.

Red Hood: He's lying... To get back at me for... Something. As soon as I remember it I'll tell you.

Nightwing: Red Hood. Come on, be honest.

Red Hood sighed, turning away from his brother. Nightwing smiled, a dry chuckle leaving his lips.

Nightwing: Chill, I'm not mad at you guys for dating. I'm mad that Batman fought Deathstroke after finding out and I wasn't there to tag team in the fight. Deathstroke being horrified at you two dating isn't only funny, but makes me proud of Ravager. She picked a goody two shoes to be with.

Red Hood: Kill me again.

Nightwing: I'm happy about this. Just wish you told me before everyone else found out. I'm the last person to find out, you made me look like a dunce.

Red Hood: Seriously? Most of the Titans already knew, I thought one of them would squeal.

Nightwing: Nope. They had a good laugh at my expense, but I don't care. You and Ravager... I didn't expect it, but you've both been enjoying each other's company for however long you've been dating.

Red Hood (kicking a goon): And you're not mad or disappointed or freaking out?

Nightiwng: Nope.

Red Hood (worried): Not going to mock me?

Nightwing: Nope. You're dating Ravager, not Deathstroke himself. She's come a long way. If I had an issue with it, I'd be freaking out like papa right now.

Red Hood laughed, nodding in agreement.

Red Hood: Since you're not in the dark about this anymore... I need advice about dating a crazy woman who I think I'm... Really liking.

Nightwing: You want advice from me? Yes!To start, if she asks you to do something that makes you uncomfortable you can tell her no.

Red Hood: Good to know, this leads to five other questions about positions in the bedroom. What the hell is a "pretzel" and does the kama sutra hurt people?

Nightwing: You really are innocent to all stuff. This is going to be a whole night conversation. Let's walk.

[ninus9607]

To love a witch pt2 - Wanda Maximoff

Pairing(s): Wanda Maximoff x Female! Vampire reader

Word count: 6.1k

tags: l content: Soulmate AU, Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Vampire!Reader, Slow Burn Romance, Dark Themes, Blood & Violence, age-gap, Morally Grey Protagonist, Supernatural Abilities, Blood Drinking

The story contains graphic violence, dark themes, and slightly possessive behavior

AN: Hiii guyss! here's the second parttt i hope u liked itt, alsooo sorry about every mistake I finished this at 4am ahhahah alsooo 3rd part asap.

xx

Avengers Tower, a few weeks later...

The mood in the Avengers meeting room was terrible.

Thick glass and steel walls couldn't contain the storm that was rising between those who sat around the long table.

Steve walked the length of the room, his heavy boots slamming against the floor with each step,

"She's gone too far this time," Steve muttered, eventually pausing with his palms firmly planted against the tabletop. "Another building has been destroyed. Twelve men died. Three of them are security guards with families. "How long are we going to let this happen?"

Tony Stark leaned casually against the wall, a glass of bourbon in hand, but his eyes lacked the typical glint of irony. "It's not like she's taking out Girl Scouts, Cap," he observed dryly. "Most of those men had deep ties to Hydra, were protected by fake firms, and had clean records. Do you think the government would have intervened in this situation? We both know they won't."

Steve turned, "She isn't a vigilante, Tony. She's a murderer. And every time we let her slip past our grasp, she leaves another body behind."

Natasha pulled away from the window, having remained silent up to that point. "He's right," she admitted, folding her arms. "I warned you the night we saw her at the gala- she doesn't stop. It is not in her nature."

"She's hunting people worse than monsters," Wanda said finally, her voice calm but alarming. The tension in the room increased like static before a thunderstorm. "People who have done unbelievable things that will keep you awake at night. She is cleaning up messes that your governments pretend do not exist."

"By burning down half the city in the process?" Steve shot back.

"Because no one else will."

A deep, strange hush settled over the room. The team had always understood what you were: a beast that formed centuries ago in bloody warfare, improved into something both deadly and beautiful. They knew when Wanda stood for her that they were betting on more than just politics. They were gambling with their lives.

"I got a call from Ross this morning," Tony explained gently, swirling the dark liquid in his glass. "They are putting together an operation team. And, before you ask, it's not one of ours."

Steve muttered under his breath.

"We have to find her before they do," Natasha replied, looking at Wanda.

Wanda tightened her grip on the chain around her neck,

"I can reach her," Wanda said quietly.

"She's not going to listen to you," Steve warned.

"You're wrong," Wanda murmured softly, but her confidence was fading.

"She's had weeks to come here. She has not. You think that was an accident?"

"She's confused," Wanda said.

Tony snorted. "Kid, this is exactly what she is. The question is whether we can use it to our advantage or if we will end up burying a teammate."

Wanda's stomach twisted. No one else saw how her fingers trembled as she placed them against the table's edge.

"I still believe in her," she murmured, sounding more like a prayer this time.

Steve shifted his gaze away. Natasha just sighed.

"You're acting as if she's the problem," Pietro hissed, his Sokovian accent wrapping around the words like a knife. "You forget the kind of people she's taking out."

"No one's forgetting anything," Steve said, his tone strict but not harsh. "But there is a line, Pietro. And she crossed it."

"She's doing your job for you."

"And people are dying," Steve explained solemnly. "People who don't deserve it."

Natasha sighed and leaned back in her chair. "She is unpredictable. Unstable."

Wanda's voice sliced across the room, "She won't hurt me."

Tony scoffed, "Okay, witchy. Here is my question: What is your genius plan? What, you're just going to walk up to her, bat those pretty eyes, and poof... vampire killer becomes house pet?"

"I'll find her," Wanda stated, her Sokovian accent increasing with the weight of her words.

"And then what?" Steve inquired, calmer now. "Wanda... I need to know you've thought this through."

"I have," she replied, and her expression softened for a short period. "I know what she is. But I also understand who I was. A threat. A liability. Dangerous. You did not give up on me."

"That was different," Steve remarked.

"Was it?" Wanda replied quietly. "Or did you just decide I was worth saving?"

Steve took a moment to stare down, his jaw hard, before returning his gaze to her. "You are. You still are."

"Then trust me when I say she is, too."

Pietro grinned as he leaned against the wall. "Well, isn't this touching?"

Tony pointed his finger at him. "Don't push it, Speedy."

"Fact is," Pietro said, ignoring him, "everyone in this room has blood on their hands. But because it is hers, you are prepared to fight."

"She's not stopping," Natasha replied. "You don't understand it. She will not."

"I'll make her,"

Tony sighed and rubbed his palm across his face. "Look... as much as it physically pains me to say this, she's got a point."

Steve lifted his eyebrow. "You're siding with Wanda?"

"I'm siding with not having half of NYC demolished by a pissed-off woman," Tony quipped. "If Maximoff's the only one who can reel her in, we let her try."

Wanda's lips formed a stiff, humorless smile. "Stark, don't get comfortable. I still hate you."

"Wouldn't dream of it, " Tony replied, raising his glass in a false toast.

Steve exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. "Wanda, you have one shot at this. One. But if you go too deep"

"I won't."

"Then go," Steve said softly.

Wanda gave him a small nod, and without another word, turned for the door, Pietro on her heels.

With a slight push, the door clicked open, and Wanda walked inside, shoulders sagging from yet another disagreement. Steve's disappointed sighs and Tony's angry words were still playing on repeat in her thoughts, as was the tension she had felt earlier. All she needed was silence so she could think about the plan.

But, of course, fate would not let her do that.

"Finally," a familiar voice said from the direction of her bed. "Took you long enough, сестрa."

Wanda blinked, surprised to see Pietro spread out lazily across her bed, one arm behind his head, a smug grin written across his face like a bright light.

"What are you doing in my room?" she groaned, throwing her jacket onto a chair.

He let the stillness last, his hitting stare never leaving her face, looking at every flicker of emotion she tried to hide. Then, in an almost sadistic tone, he said:

"Y/N?"

Wanda scowled instantly, her cheeks burning up wildly. "Pfft. What about her?"

Pietro's grin spread like wildfire, slowly.  "Oh, come on. That was the worst acting I had ever seen. And I've seen you pretend to like Vision's cooking."

"Shut up."

He laughed and sat up, elbows on his knees. "I knew it. I knew you had a thing for ladies; don't attempt to deny it. But a vampire assassin, сестра? That's bold, even for you."

Wanda crossed her arms, attempting to fight off the flush creeping up her neck. "She's not just"

"A total stranger you've shared maybe three conversations with?" Pietro finished for her while grinning. "Yeah, no, sounds like the perfect base for a relationship."

"I never said"

"You did not have to. I can see it on your face. "It is written on your soul, little sister." He smiled widely, with a taunting glitter in his eyes. "You're gone for her."

"I hate you," Wanda whispered.

"Love you too."

For a moment, the joking faded into calm sibling harmony. Then Pietro cocked his head. "So... what's the plan?"

Wanda paused, biting on her bottom lip, her defenses down.

"I'm going to find her," she said, her voice low. "And when I do... I'll bring her back."

Pietro snorted. "Figures. You've never been good at letting things go."

"I'm serious."

"I know," he replied, rising up and ruffling her hair as he passed. "That's what makes it fun."

"So," he drawled, "are you going to tell me what brilliant plan you've created, or should I just guess?" Let me see... stalking your vampire girlfriend?"

Wanda grumbled and flopped onto the bed alongside him. "She's not my girlfriend."

He grinned. "Yet."

"Pietro."

Wanda glared at him while he chuckled.

"I'm serious," she mumbled. "I have a lead."

That made him sit up a little straighter. "Oh?"

"There's a gathering tomorrow night in the old district. Arms dealers, black market traders... and a contact swears she'll be there. Alone."

Pietro took a deep breath. "That's risky."

"I can handle it."

He snorted and shook his head. "You always were stubborn."

Wanda smirked. "Runs in the family."

He stood and ruffled her hair before she could slap him away. "Okay, alright. But if you get yourself murdered, I'm going to be annoyed."

"Noted."

When he looked back, he was about halfway to the door. "And for the record — still terrible taste."

"Goodnight, Pietro."

You hear quiet footsteps behind you before she speaks. You don't have to turn around to recognize her.

"You're late," you say, your voice quiet and slightly mocking.

Wanda reaches view, hands put in the pockets of her jacket, face guarded but not cold. You can see nervousness in her eyes, despite her best efforts to seem calm.

"Didn't realize you were waiting," she says.

You smirk. "I always know when someone's looking for me."

There is a moment of silence between you that neither of you seems willing to break. The tension remains thick and biting, just as it has since that night. You try not to think about how good she looks under these streetlights, but you do. Of course you do.

"I didn't come here to fight," she explains.

"They could have fooled me. I expected you and your small team would have kicked in my door by now."

"I came alone."

You narrow your eyes. Brave. Or foolish. Perhaps both.

"Dangerous choice, sweetheart."

She shrugs and takes a step forward. "I can handle myself."

That makes you smile. God, she's stubborn. And for some reason, you enjoy it.

"Then why are you here?" you ask.

"I want you to stop."

This takes you off guard more than it should. You raise an eyebrow. "Stop what exactly? Doing what I am good at?"

"You're not like them."

You gave a quiet laugh and shook your head.

"I think you've got me confused with someone else, Maximoff," you comment, resting against the wall as if you have all the time in the universe. "I don't do the hero thing. I don't play nicely. And I definitely don't take commands."

Wanda does not flinch. If anything, she moves closer.

"I'm not asking you to be a hero," she explains calmly. "I'm asking you to stop killing people who don't deserve it."

You tilt your head and study her face. That beautiful accent wrapping around her words. Her jaw tightens when she tries to remain calm. It's frustratingly charming.

"And who decides who deserves it, huh? You? Stark? The government?" You smirk. "I have seen enough of the world to know that no one is innocent. Not even you"

Wanda's eyes spark with a mix of rage and other emotions. It causes a rise in your pulse.

"I never said I was."

You grin. "Good. Would've hated to ruin that perfect little illusion."

There's a long pause, tension thick between you. You should leave. She should leave. Neither of you moves.

"I'm not here to save you," Wanda says after a beat. "But you could be more than this. You don't have to be their weapon."

"I'm my own weapon," you shoot back. " I like it that way."

And you do. The blood. The freedom. The chaos. You've made peace with it a long time ago. There's no guilt left in you. Only hunger.

"You don't have to trust them," Wanda continues, her voice lower now, her gaze fixed on yours. "Hell, you don't even have to trust me."

You raise an eyebrow. "Then what exactly are you offering, Maximoff?"

She hesitates for a second. It's short, so most people would miss it. But you do. She's good, but you've been reading people longer than she's been alive.

"I'm offering you a choice," she continues. "Stop running. Stop hiding behind whatever nonsense you are telling yourself. Do you want blood? Fine. But use it for something important."

You huff a laugh, shaking your head. "And what, I join your little club of morally confused misfits? Fight for some cause I don't believe in because you asked nicely?"

"I'm not asking nicely," Wanda says, stepping in close now. Too close. "I'm asking because whether you want to admit it or not... you're tired. Of all of it."

You clear your throat, and the grin slides back into place. "You talk like you know me."

"Maybe I do."

"You don't."

Another beat of silence. Her lips curled into a knowing scowl.

"I'm starting to."

You look aside, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, then return to her. "Say I'm considering it. What makes you think I won't turn on you the moment things get boring?"

"I don't," she responds casually. "But I'm willing to take that risk."

God, she's reckless. Stupidly brave. And you kinda love it.

You gave a quiet, humorless chuckle, your eyes narrowing as you closed the gap between you and Wanda again. She was close enough to feel the icy edge of your power sliding in the air around her if she looked closely.

"I could kill you right now," you say quietly, a wicked smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "Right here, without anyone even hearing you scream."

Wanda does not flinch. Does not even blink.

"If you wanted to," she tilted her head to the side, "you would've already done it."

And it's frustrating because she's right.

You stare at her, jaw tight, a hundred conflicting things racing through your mind hunger, anger, that goddamn spark of something you can't name or get rid of when it comes to her. She isn't afraid of you. And that's dangerous.

Your fingers flex at your side before you step back with a frustrated scoff, running your tongue across your fangs like it might bite back the irritation.

"Maybe," you mutter, the word foreign and reluctant on your tongue. The closest thing to a concession you've given anyone in centuries.

Wanda's lips twitch like she knows it, too.

You reach for her hand. Take it gently, you place a lingering kiss on her hand, your eyes fixed on hers the entire time.

"Goodbye, Miss Maximoff," you say softly against her skin.

Then, like mist in the night, you vanish.

That night, you and Wanda couldn't sleep....

2:03 AM, Avengers Tower... two days later

The alert sounded as if the world was ending. Red lights flashed across the peaceful tower's walls, and doors slammed open one by one as half-asleep Avengers flooded into the corridor, guns ready.

Steve was already in full Captain mode, shield raised.

"Who the hell is breaking in at two in the goddamn morning?" Tony grumbled, his suit half-deployed and his hair sticking up as if he were in a dream.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.," Steve said. "Where?"

"Kitchen level, unauthorized entry detected."

"Kitchen?" Wanda mumbled, falling into stride with Pietro, whose hair was a jumble, and his eyes were drowsy yet keen.

They turned a corner.

And there you were.

Leaning against the kitchen island as if you owned the place, hair perfect, a wonderful expensive satin shirt half-unbuttoned, legs crossed at the ankle, sipping red wine as if you'd just walked in from an underground jazz club. The refrigerator door was open, and a trail of food was scattered across the counter, including several luxury pastries, a stolen bottle of Tony's best whiskey, and a blood bag from medical storage.

What is the best part? You were chewing something.

"What the actual hell," Tony began.

You stuck up a finger, still chewing, and took a plate off the counter. "Who cooked this?"

You asked casually, pointing with the fork to a strange, gelatinous gray mass that smelled of damp paper and despair.

"That'd be Vision," Steve mumbled.

"Figures," you exhaled deeply, spitting the bite onto a paper towel. "Jesus, you guys let a robot cook? "No wonder you're all so tense."

Pietro snorted before Wanda elbowed him again.

"Why are you here?" Natasha replied, her tone so harsh it could cut glass.

You didn't even flinch, simply finishing the rest of your wine. "To chat," you said with a smirk. "Maybe a snack. You know how it is."

"You broke in," Steve hissed, moving forward.

"I do that," you said with a shrug. "Don't act so shocked."

The alarm finally turned off, leaving a strange silence as the red lights faded back to normal.

You slowly set down the wine glass, your stare fixed on Wanda like a hunter who has just spotted her favorite prey. "Relax, Miss Maximoff," you murmured. "I'm not here to kill your friends."

"Could have fooled me," Tony murmured.

"Oh, if I wanted to," you told him with a harsh grin, "they'd be dead before the alarm went off."

You sighed, as though you were already bored. "Let's remove the dramatics. I am here because you would not stop sending people after me. It's becoming annoying."

"Then stop murdering people," Steve shouted.

You tilted your head, mockingly offended. "I only murder extremely cruel folks. Or extremely boring ones. Which, depending on how this conversation develops, may include you."

A beat of quiet.

Wanda moved forward, her Sokovian accent softly curling over your name. "Y/N."

And, God, the way she said it. It instantly triggered your hunger and long-buried humanity. You despised it and loved it at the same time. You may have drowned in it.

"Save it, I don't give speeches."

"Then what do you do?" Natasha asked coldly.

You grabbed another piece of Vision's weird culinary experiment, sniffed it, made a face, and hurled it straight into the trash without a word.

Pietro outright laughed this time.

"Conference room," you said, swiftly rising up as if you hadn't just insulted half the team's cooking and threatened to murder the other half. "Now."

Tony lifted an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

You flashed him a lazy smile. "Or I will begin renovating your beloved tower with the guts of whoever is nearest. Your call, Stark."

Natasha moved first, which was typical. Silent and threatening, with a careful regard in her eyes.

The others followed one by one, complaining or frowning but with a tinge of curiosity on their faces. Wanda lingered in the doorway as you passed, her eager green eyes tracking your every movement. You did not look at her.

With a loud thud, you dumped an overstuffed black leather folder onto the table. A few stray photographs and bloodstained documents flew across the glass surface, including crime scene photos, ledgers, coded communications, and the faces of those who had died by your hand.

"Here," you said simply.

Then, like the total threat you were, you dragged a chair back, kicked your boots up onto the table, pulled a blood bag from your jacket pocket, and took a casual sip via a straw, as if this were a brunch date.

Steve grimaced.

"Dramatic," Tony mumbled.

You tilted your head. "That," you motioned to the pile of paperwork, "is the complete inside story of the Donaletti family—human trafficking, arms smuggling, contract killings, underground operations in five countries. Or should I say was? They won't bother you anymore."

Wanda blinked. "You... took down the Donalettis?"

"In a night," you replied, comfortably twisting the bag between your fingers. "Boss, soldiers, hired muscle, and the accountant- poof. "As if they never existed."

"Why?" Steve's voice was low.

You grinned, your teeth slightly sharper than usual. "I was bored. And you guys wouldn't quit following me."

Natasha sorted through the files, inspecting them. "This is solid data."

"Of course it is. I am many things, sweetheart, but sloppy is not one of them."

Steve's voice was harsh. "Why are you giving us this, Y/N?"

You did not respond right away. Before reaching for your blood bag, take a cautious, deliberate sip. The squish of the plastic in the dead quiet room caused Tony to move in his chair.

You slapped the bag down on their clean conference table, putting a smudge on some unfortunate intern's printed report. Then you smiled.

"Because," you said softly, "this isn't the end, lads and girls. Not even close."

Tony lifted an eyebrow. "You gonna explain, or should we just assume you're here for dramatic effect?"

"Oh, goatee," you groaned, "While taking apart Donaletti's small playhouse, I stumbled on something worse. A cult. The kind of thing your government likes to pretend doesn't exist. They're here, in this city. And trust me, you want them dead."

"Why bring it to us?" Steve demanded.

Your eyes glowed, "I need something. And you're the only ones foolish enough—or desperate enough—to give it to me."

Tony furrowed his brow. "What kind of something?"

You allowed the silence to last a beat too long. Then you spoke, your voice velvet-soft yet ice-cold.

"Diplomatic immunity."

Steve's face stiffened. "You're out of your goddamn mind."

"I want to be untouchable," you continued, still calm, still smiling. "I want every bounty, every warrant, every record of me erased. I want access to your protected databases and the freedom to kill whoever the hell I please, as long as it isn't one of you. And in return, I'll hand you the biggest threat this world's ever seen. You'll get your cult, your conspiracies, your bloodless little world peace... and I'll get my freedom."

Tony actually laughed, a short, humorless sound. "Jesus Christ. You're asking us to hand you a goddamn license to murder."

You stood, slow and smooth, gathering your files and blood bag. "Oh, Stark, I don't need a license. I just like watching you suffer."

"Forty-eight hours," you whispered, your gaze moving across the strained faces in the room. "Decide if you want your world burned... or cleaned."

You slid a sleek black card out of your pocket and onto the table. The number shone under the light. No name. No hint of identity.

"For when you're ready to beg."

Steve scowled. Tony rolled his eyes.

And then you turned to Wanda. The room felt heavier, as if the air had thickened. You took out a single blood-red rose, a thin black ribbon wrapped around its stem, and a short letter hanging from it.

You took a step closer, the brush of your fingertips intentional, and placed the flower in her hand.

"Para ti, mi amor," you said softly.

(For you, my love)

Wanda's breath caught, and her gaze met yours - no fear, no hesitation.

You smirked and took a step back, saluting everyone in the room with two fingers.

"Tick-tock, Avengers."

And then you were gone.

The stillness was dense until Pietro smirked at his sister. "Ты попaла, сестра," he teased.                                       (You're screwed, sister,)

Wanda said nothing but stared at the rose, tightening her fingers around the stem.

In the weeks that followed, everything changed...

You were officially a consultant - an external resource, according to the documentation. In practice? You were the person they called when things were so bad that no one else wanted to touch them. Assassinations, sabotage, and covert activities unrelated to the Avengers. You handled the dirt as if it were nothing.

A compromise has been made. The offer is accepted. They didn't want to, but they had no choice. You'd presented them with something they couldn't pass up: the leader of a crime empire on a silver platter, along with knowledge on a violent underground cult that made Hydra look like amateurs. You made yourself indispensable.

At first, the team barely spoke with you. You were a ghost in their universe, always present when they needed you, but gone before they could decide how they felt about it. But things gradually changed.

Natasha was the first to crack. She appreciated effectiveness, and you were nothing if not efficient. You'd cross paths in conference rooms and hallways, exchanging dry remarks as a wordless understanding developed between two people who'd seen and done far too much.

People who had witnessed and experienced much too much.

Tony despised how good you were. Hated the fact that when no one else could provide results, you could walk into a room and have it done in minutes – violent, brutal. "She's a walking PR disaster," he complained one night, sipping whiskey. However, he still invited you to his lab when he needed old-world expertise about cult symbols or ancient blood rituals.

Steve was cooler. Every time you walked into a room, you could feel his suspicion. You did not blame him. You did not care either.

And then there was Wanda.

God, Wanda.

She surprised you. Not only did she look at you as if she could see every broken part of you, but she also did not flinch. She was not afraid. Even when you casually mentioned cutting out a man's throat in an alleyway, she simply arched an eyebrow, as if challenging you to surprise her.

Late-night planning meetings were your favorites. Most of the team would be asleep or avoiding you, leaving only you and her in the conference room, paperwork spread out, blood bag in your hand, and coffee in hers.

Wanda mocked you about your fascination with classical literature. You called her a youngster because she didn't know what a phonograph was. She accused you of dramatics; you accused her of terrible taste in movies.

There was tension. Thick. Electric. Not just because you were meant to be on opposite sides of the moral range, but because, despite all odds, you found yourself yearning to be near her.

You've stopped avoiding the tower. You started leaving your blood bags in their refrigerator. Tony protested, Clint made vampire jokes, and Natasha simply shook her head.

And Wanda? Wanda kept popping up.

Some evenings, you found yourself on the Tower's balcony well past midnight, feeling the world change under you. Wanda would show up as a ghost by your side, no words necessary.

Pietro, of course, noticed first. He'd nudge Wanda, smirking and mumbling jokes about her "little vampire problem." She hexed him frequently.

The invitation to Tony Stark's infamous party had arrived wrapped in as much glitter as the man himself.

You arrive at Stark's gala dressed in shadows and silk, every step precise and every movement showing the confidence that only power and money can provide. You want to be noticed on your own terms.

Heads turn as you glide through the room, but you're too used to having eyes on you to be afraid. Wanda is easy to spot—her posture is rigid, her eyes flit uncomfortably to Pietro, who is sitting at the bar with that terrible sneer on his lips. Pietro always manages to rile her up.

Wanda gives him a pointed glance, her cheeks swollen slightly, but you can see a little spark of curiosity in her eyes.

Before you can take another sip of your wine, Wanda approaches, strolling purposefully but with a tinge of nervousness.

"Miss Y/N," she adds, her voice soft but full of weight, "I believe I owe you a dance."

You bend your head and allow that slow, seductive smile to spread across your lips. "Is that right, Miss Maximoff? I don't think I could turn down a request like that."

She gently grabs your hand, and the world narrows to just the two of you. The music builds, and you allow yourself to be drawn onto the dance floor.

You're not sure when one dance blossomed into two... Then four, then the whole night.

Maybe it was because Wanda's hand lingered just a second too long against your shoulder. Perhaps it was the teasing look you wore as you drew her closer during a slow waltz. Or perhaps it was because neither of you wanted to admit what this was becoming.

The party around you kept spinning: drinks poured, laughter rang, and glasses clinked. But for you, there was just Wanda.

You'd exchange scathing remarks between turns, quietly enough for only the other to hear.

The music eventually faded, the guests walked away, and the Avengers were the only ones remaining, sprawled across couches in different states of tiredness and tipsy contentment.

You lie out on one of Stark's extremely priced couches as if you owned it -  because, why not? Wanda plopped down next to you, Pietro nearby, Tony nursing a drink, and Steve loosening his tie as if it were the most rebellious thing he'd done in years.

"So..." Tony started by elevating his brow. "I guess we survived another party. Barely."

"Speak for yourself," you said, smirking as you reached for the glass someone had left behind. "I could go another round."

He slapped his hands together with a way too big grin for the hour, his tie loose around his neck, and a drink in his hand. "Alright, kiddos," he proclaimed, standing up a little too dramatically, "I say it's time for a game."

"Oh god," Natasha murmured, half-laughing and burying her face in her hands.

"What kind of game?" Steve asked

Tony shrugged and smirked. "Something fun. Something damaging. Something slightly illegal in at least three countries - like everything I do."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Now you're speaking my language."

Pietro grinned as he slouched on the arm of a chair. "If it involves shots, I'm in."

Thor gave out a loud laugh. "Yes! A test of will and strength—I welcome this challenge."

Wanda drew in toward you, her voice low, amusement in her eyes. "I probably should warn you..." His previous 'games' resulted in arrests.

You grinned and said in a dark, mischievous whisper. "I've broken out of worse."

Tony pointed at both of you. "See, this is why you're my favorite threat to national security, Y/N."

"Flattered, Tony."

He spun towards the group. "All right—truth or dareBut no wimping out, no playing nice, and if somebody throws a punch, you replace my coffee machine."

Steve moaned. "Do we have to?"

"Cap, come on," Tony said, smirking. "Let loose and live a little. You may even smile."

"I smile plenty."

"No one's seen it since '42," you teased.

The crowd burst into laughter as Steve rolled his eyes and grumbled, "Fine. I'm in."

The first few rounds were exactly what you'd expect from a group of emotionally disturbed, augmented people with no supervision.

Pietro quickly challenged Tony to shotgun a can of beer while upside down. To everyone's dismay and small surprise, he did—only to tumble straight off the counter and take a lamp down with him.

"Worth it, tho," Tony said from the floor, holding the empty can in victory.

Natasha coolly won every truth round by flat-out refusing to answer and daring people to test her. No one did.

"Alright, alright," Tony clapped his hands, moving whiskey over the rim of his glass. "Y/N. Your turn. "Truth or dare?"

You took a slow sip from your drink, smiled over the rim. "Truth."

A series of loud gasps filled the room.

"Booooring," Pietro mocked, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table.

Tony's eyes glinted, indicating that he was already planning something. "Okay, vampire queen — here's your question: what's the most messed-up thing you've done to someone... y'know, before you joined our lovely dysfunctional family?"

"Well..." you began, swirling the blood-red wine in your glass, allowing the expectation to hang in the air for too long. "There was a duke. 1894. "Arrogant little thing who used to hunt people like me for fun."

Wanda's brows rose with interest, and you caught her gaze.

"I let him think he was winning for weeks," you said, your voice slick and incisive. "Then, on the night of his wedding, I drained the entire wedding party. I left him alive. Tied to a chair. Made him watch. "And when the sun rose...you can guess the rest."

A brief and startled hush.

"Holy shit," Sam said.

Thor gave a strong, slightly unpleasant laugh. "Remind me not to cross you, Lady Y/N."

Pietro's grin grew like a child on Christmas morning. "Okay, сестрa...Truth or dare?"

Wanda squinted her eyes, hating her birth with a twin. "Dare."

The entire room gasped and cheered.

"Oh, she's brave," Sam laughed, raising his glass.

Pietro tapped his chin impressively before snapping his fingers. "Okay, okay — I dare you to... use your powers to convince Thor to give Captain America a lap dance."

The room has lost it. Sam doubled out laughing. Tony nearly fell off the couch while gripping his chest. Natasha only smirked and murmured, "This I gotta see."

Wanda's jaw dropped. "You're an idiot."

"I'm a genius," Pietro said

You were amused by the situation: "Now this is comedy."

"Come on, Wanda," Tony taunted, elbowing her. "You're not scared, are you?"

Wanda groaned and hid her face in her hands for a moment before sighing. "Fine. But if I'm struck by lightning, I'll haunt you all."

With a flick of her fingers, a soft crimson glow flashed around her hand as she turned to face Thor, who was already chuckling, utterly oblivious of what was about to happen.

Thor's look slowed for a second before brightening with a grin as he clapped his hands. "Captain Rogers!" he exclaimed.

Steve suddenly appeared terrified. "Wait, what's happening—?"

Before anyone could blink, Thor began bouncing his hips and making his way toward Steve.

"Oh my God," Sam exclaimed, pointing. "It's happening!"

"Wanda, stop him!" Steve yelled, attempting to stand up, but Thor was quick.

Wanda cackled, letting go just as Thor arrived.

Thor blinked, perplexed. "Why am I...? Why do I feel like I'm about to—?"

"Nothing!" Wanda called swiftly, laughing so hard that tears welled up in her eyes.

Steve scowled at Pietro. "You're dead."

Pietro only shrugged, smirking like a proud evil. "Worth it."

You lifted your drink to Wanda with a mischievous look. "Impressive, Miss Maximoff."

Wanda performed a fake curtsy. "Thank you, malysh."

The night dragged on after the chaos of the game. People began to leave one by one, with headaches or outright shame. Thor left first, complaining about Midgardian customs being weird. Sam and Pietro quickly disappeared, most likely to plunder the kitchen again. Steve fled, grumbling about decency. Even Tony, half-drunk and yet beaming, went off to his floor.

You stayed.

Not because you couldn't sleep—you didn't have to. However, there was something quietly pleasant about how the Tower felt at night. The hallways are empty.

Then you heard it.

Faint at first, but your senses sharpened without permission. A voice—strangled, sobbing. Another scream muffled behind a door, somewhere down the hall. Wanda.

Something inside of you moved before your thoughts could catch up with the harsh and broken scream. The book dropped from your lap, pages fluttering shut. You were already out the door, the gentle click of it closing behind you drowned by the beating of your own dead heartbeat.

You didn't think about it

Only her voice did.

You were on her floor in seconds, your steps soundless on the slick flooring. Another stifled sob pierced the air, and you did not hesitate.

"Friday," you said, your voice low

A gentle chime rang above you, the AI's tone polite. "Miss Y/L/N, Miss Maximoff's room is locked." Should I ignore security?"

You did not pause. "Do it."

"Access granted."

The door slid open with a hiss, and you slipped inside before it even completely opened.

The room was dim, with only a gentle glow from a bedside lamp throwing long shadows on the walls. Wanda lay tangled in the covers, her face contorted with misery even while sleeping, tears streaming down her cheeks. The tiny red flicker of her abilities danced wildly at her fingertips, and her breath came in loud, uneven gasps.

You crossed the room, dropping to a crouch beside her bed, your hand hovering just above her shoulder. "Wanda," you called her name softly, "Wands... wake up."

But she didn't. The nightmare had her in its grip, powers crackling faintly.

Your jaw clenched.

"Wanda," you whispered, voice barely there. "It's me."

Her eyes widened, glassy with panic, and she lost sight for a second. She shrank back, confusion on her face.

"Shhh, it's fine, little witch. It's me. Y/N." Recognition showed up, bringing with it something raw. She nearly threw herself into your arms, burying her face in the crook of your neck while her body rocked with tears.

"I...I dreamed you were gone," she gasped out, her voice trembling. "They killed you. And I couldn't stop it."

Your throat clenched. You hugged her closer, one hand caressing her hair and the other around her waist. She was warm and delicate in a way that no one else saw, including her brother.

Your throat clenched. You hugged her closer, one hand caressing her hair and the other around her waist. She was warm and delicate in a way that no one else saw, including her brother.

"I'm not going anywhere, darling," you said softly into her hair. "I am alive. I can't die, remember? I'm cursed, immortal,  whatever word makes you feel better."

It provoked a weak laugh from your throat, and you smiled softly, brushing your lips against her temple.

"You'll have to do a lot worse than a nightmare to get rid of me."

"Promise?" She whispered, so little and afraid.

"Promise."

You could feel her fingers pressing into the fabric of your shirt, as if she was frightened you'd vanish if she let go.

"Stay," she said quietly this time.

"I'm not leaving," you said again. After a while, you could feel the way her breathing slowed, she fell asleep again..

You gently pushed your lips to her temple, allowing her warmth to soak into you.

And in a low, soft murmur meant just for her, you muttered, "You have no idea how long I've waited to hold you like this."

She shifted, burrowing her face more into your chest, and even though she didn't say anything, the way her lips curved against your skin gave you the impression she was smiling.

"I'm yours," you said quietly into the darkness, stroking your hand through her hair. "Always. "No nightmare, war, or death could separate me from you...."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blurred Lines 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your relationship with your boss takes an unpredictable turn.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The hotel room is nice. Two beds, a couch and chairs, a bar, a large TV mounted on the wall, balcony, full bath... every amenity you could never afford. You're sure Nick will expect a big thank you. Or at least many. 

Joey goes to the bar as you feel along the lapels of Nick's jacket. You forgot you were wearing it. You lower yourself into a clam shell armchair. You sigh as the adrenaline drips from you. She clucks as she nears and puts down two glasses. 

"Looks like you need a drink," she sits in the other chair and pops the cork of the mini wine bottle. "Hell, so do I." 

You lean your head on your hand as you watch her, "I don't think--" 

"Long night," she insists as she pours, nudging a glass closer to you. You lean forward to take it. You pinch the stem and stare into the golden nectar. 

"Honey," you begin. 

"I'm okay," she assures you. "Mom, it could've been worse. So much worse but..." she pauses to drain half the glass, "you sent in the goon squad." She scoffs as she hunches, leaning her elbows on her thighs, knees wide. "Mom, who the hell do you work for?" 

You chew your cheek and sip. You look around the suite which probably costs as much as your rent for one night. You lean back as the tension racks your back. 

"CIA, I think. I saw his badge once," you say. 

"CIA?" She echoes in awe. 

"Plus, they had it stamped all over that work event," you scoff. You look down at the deep vee of the dress and try to pull it closed. 

"He took you on a date?" She asks. 

You flinch, "no, no," you shake your head and drink again. "He's my boss. And I'm a bit old for that." 

"Never too old, mom," she cooes. 

"He's too young for me," you counter. 

"You know," she sniffs, "dad only ever wanted you to be happy." 

"Joey..." you exhale. 

"I'm just saying. Seems a bit much for a boss to do. Take you somewhere in that dress, then come to my rescue with his CIA henchmen..." she sucks her teeth. "I stick to women because most men, don't put in that much effort." 

You chuckle, "Joey." 

"Or they're creeps. Old creeps," she gives an exaggerated shudder. "Oof. Nasty." 

You frown, "honey." 

"It's over with. I'm moving on," she looks at the glass of wine in her hand. "I gotta find a new placement." 

You nod, "Nick said something about that. Maybe he can help." 

"I wouldn't want that. It's my problem." 

"Sweetheart--" 

"Look, I'm so thankful about everything you did. Him too but... I'm an adult." 

"I know that, honey," you say. 

"So let me figure it out." 

You sit back and nod. You know what she means. Ever since your husband died, you can be a bit much. 

"Mom," she says gently. "You don't need anyone else to take care of. You need to take care of yourself. For once." 

"I do--" 

"No, you work yourself to the bone to look after everyone else. When's the last time you took a vacation?" 

You feel like a scolded child. The reversal of roles has you off-kilter, more so than the rest of the night. You shrug. 

"Right, well, it's been a long day, night, whatever," she yawns behind her hand. "I'm going to crash out. Please try to do the same." 

"Yes, Josephine," you answer meekly. 

"Oh, don't," she points a finger in your direction. 

"Sometimes..." you stand slowly. "You remind me too much of your father." 

"Good. He always did keep you sane," she chuckles. 

🩵

"Hmm, well, I didn't expect all this." You mutter to yourself as you look at your reflection. You turn amd cringe at the wrinkled dress. 

"Still look hot," Joey whistles. 

"Hey." You stick your tongue put at her as she passes, "not exactly dressed for the train. Or bus... I haven't heard from Nick." 

"Huh? Really? I'm sure you will." She slithers.  

"We're not having this conversation again." 

"Fine, but denial isn't that deep of a river. You can't hide forever." She laughs and you shake your head. 

You go into the bathroom, dejected by the full body view. You tame your hair as best you can and pause to examine the wrinkles around your eyes. Age isn't so bad. Lonelier than you expected. 

"Speak of the devil..." Joey appears in the open door and you stand straight. "Looks who's calling." 

You turn to her and grab the phone. You arch a brow at her and answer. She always loves to tease you. Nick? He's your boss. And he's as close to her age as yours. Probably. 

"Hello?" You say. Joey tilts her head as she leans on the door frame. 

"Hey, Nick," you daughter calls out. 

You hush her with a wagging finger. 

"Hi, ladies." He returns smoothly. 

"So," you try to ignore Joey. "I can find my way home--" 

"No need, I'm downstairs." He interrupts. 

"Downstairs?" You echo. 

"Sure. You know. I had some loose ends to tie up so I hung around and got that done. No point driving home in the dark." He drawls. "Figured I'd give you a lift back to town." 

"Right, eh..." you rub the back of your neck. "Sure. Makes sense." 

"I can take care of myself, mom," Joey trills. "You got... 'work'." She gestures with her fingers. You roll your eyes. 

"I'll get myself together," you say. "Won't be lomg at all." 

"Take your time, honey." He says. 

"Alright. Bye." 

You hang up and turn to sneer at Joey. "He's my job-- my boss. It's funny but not that funny." 

"Chill, mom. It's a joke. Come on. I just think it's cute. Thinking of you dating... anyone." 

"Because it will never happen," you approach her. "Now," you put your hands on her arms. "I have to go home. As much as I'd rather stay but... law school ain't cheap." You pull her into a hug. "I'm so so happy you're safe. So happy." You pull back and look her in the face. "And thank you for calling me. You know you can do that always." 

"Yes, mom. Better count on it," she grins. 

"Oh, if you don't. You'll hear from me." You pinch her cheek playfully. "Love you, kiddo." 

She snorts. "Kiddo? Only dad called me that." 

"Well... You've always me my kid. Always will be." 

"Alright, mom." She makes a face. "Love you too." 

"Oh, don't let me keep you from that lovely girlfriend of yours. Hope you two have fun," you chirp.  

"Oh, you too," she counters sharply. 

You sigh and shake your head. You squeeze her hand then make yourself let go. You head for the front room of the sweet and grab Nick's jacket off the back of the chair. You'll use it for cover until you're out of the hotel. 

You groan as you slip into the heels. Your arches are still aching from the night before. You snatch up your purse and look back one last time. Joey winks and waves.  

“You message when you’re back home safe.” You warn. 

“Oh, you too. Can’t have you out riding in cars with boys too late.” 

You scoff and leave her. You definitely raised her right. You head down the hallway on what feels like a walk of shame. The deja vu to the years you were Joey’s age is almost paralysing. 

You stand in the elevator with a family of four. The parents are yawning as the kids can barely keeping from hooting and jumping. You always wondered what it would be like to have more than one but then again, you only wanted what you could handle. Josephine was always enough. 

You smile at the mother as she sends you an apologetic look on ground level. You wait for them to go first before you step off. You can’t imagine that you give off the best impression. Slightly disheveled and worn out. 

You check your phone as you cross the lobby. As you get to the doors, you slow. Nick’s outside; waiting.  He surely got a lot done as you tossed and turned in the hotel room.

Unlike you, he has a fresh set of clothes; dark blue slacks, a lilac button-up. His hair is styled and he hides behind a pair of dark sunglasses. His head tilts as if he's taking in your measure.

“Sir,” you greet him as the automatic doors set your free. He smirks. He must be amused to see you this out of sorts. As his maid, you're typically the one keeping things in order.

“Morning. You look well-rested.” He puts a hand on his hip. 

“Oh, very,” you agree dryly and touch the front of the jacket. “Um, sorry about the jacket. You can take it back.” 

“Suits you better,” he waves you off. 

“I’ll have it drycleaned,” you assure him. 

“Not worried about it, honey. Let’s get home first.” He steps back. “Got us a rental.” 

You nod and step forward. He turns to walk beside you. He points you toward the silver blue car. A two-seater with an oblong hood. The expensive kind. Ostentatious. 

“Here,” he jumps ahead of you. He opens the passenger door. “Got it.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Fowler.” You duck down and sit. 

“What happened to Nick?” He looms above you, his hand on the top of the door. 

“Nick,” you correct yourself. “Habit.” 

“Mr. Fowler makes me sound old,” he tilts his head. 

“Nope, just me,” you chuckle lackadaisically. 

He hums and clucks. He gently shuts the door then round the car to the driver’s side. You sit patiently, content enough to laze away the drive home. If he doesn’t mind, you might even close your eyes. 

He settles in as the faint scent of his cologne wafts off the jacket. You shift around as he gets the motor humming. You pull down the seat belt and peek over at him. You’re surprised to find him watching you. 

“You okay?” You ask. 

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” He says. 

“Oh?” 

“Why don’t you get some sleep? I’m sure you and Joey were up all night catching up.” He sets his sights straight and puts the car in gear. “Be a couple hours.” 

“I won’t say I didn’t think of it,” you stifle another yawn. 

You shimmy in the seat as he steers round the lot. You stare through the windshield, your eyes rolling with motion of the car. You let your shoulders relax as your eyelids grow heavier. 

After all the fear, the adrenaline, the panic, and the uncertainty, you’re completely drained. The night kept you awake in disbelief and anxiety. Now, you’re on your way back to normalcy. When did you become so adverse to change? You thought you learned to deal with that a long time ago. 

[berryliciousjam]

☀️Midas' Blessing☀️

To tell you the truth, I always loved

The golden warmth that embraces us.

Even if we had to expose the skin and sweat,

To bathe in the artificial blue. If the sun

Explodes, I hope we melted into one.

Hey everyone. It's good to be back after being gone for a long time. So much happened during that period, but to summarize: Academics + Personal Issues = No time.

When I saw that there'll be a Morph thing like before, something came over me I was like, "I HAVE to participate in this. Even if I have so many plans during my summer, I will do this!"

I don't know what else to say other than thanking those who waited for my return—especially my mutuals here in the Morpherine fandom. Every now and then, I think of you all. 🫶💕

See you in the next post! Thank you again, and it's good to be back!!! 😚💗✨️

Tag: @morphpride-2025

[weirdsht]

Stereotypical . Pretermit - LoTCF & Venion Stan! Reader

a/n: please read the tags in detail and proceed carefully. If you are going through something please contact your local emergency hotline or talk to someone about it. I do not condone any of the toxic/harmful behaviours shown in this fic, but rather I'd like for this to serve as a message of how suicide affects everyone involved. Also holy fckin hairball this is 18 pages with 5400+ words

tags: PLEASE READ CAREFULLY AND BE WARNED! semi-detailed aftermath of suicide attempt, gore?, amnesia, inspired by freud's concept of repression still hate the guy tho, hints of depression, insomnia, hints of eating disorders if you squint, hurt/comfort, angst only lasts for a bit tho dw, isekai, yandere everyone if you squint really hard, everyone is trying to deny that they like reader (platonically), Taylor is the best brother

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

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@areaderspov said:

Hello hello!

I just read your fanfic of Venion!Reader aND I LOVE IT SO MUCH😭 I ACTUALLY TEARED UP ANYWAYS—

Did you ever thought of making and alternative version? —or angst sorta? Like, imagine if reader just gives up on life BUT WITH A PLOT TWIST.

THey could either go back to their world or suddenly be brought to Cale's world again BUT they just like, had a feeling of what happened, but nothing cleared, they mostly confused on what's going on but are trying to be… Chill, in a way. Like everything was only a nightmare and they had no recollection of it.

Maybe they could even sorta recognize Taylor? Like the feeling of their hyung but not really knowing why the connection.

Imagine that Raon is the first to recognize them, and they are in a way very happy since they looked so content, so different.

They don't have the "shackles" anymore so, I'm not sure how everyone else might play it.

Hope you like this idea though!<3

“Hey, wake up. Class ended already.”

You feel someone shake you awake as you groggily open your eyes. Looking around the lecture hall, you see that there really is no one else in the room aside from you and your friend.

“Where should we eat? I think I'm craving something sweet…”

Slinging your bag over your shoulders, you ask your friend for food recommendations. Your friend hummed as you guys walked out of the lecture hall onto the busy hallways of your university.

“There are no classes after this, so we can check out that new cafe outside the campus. Are you craving something specifically?”

You hummed as the two of you exited the building successfully. The two of you walk towards the gate to get away from the busy campus and be on your merry way towards the cafe.

“I weirdly want to eat apple pies…”

“Apple pies? You've never even had one before. Why are you craving something you've never eaten?”

Your friend stopped walking for a second to look at you weirdly before leading you to where the cafe is.

“I mean, you can crave something you've never had. But hmm, it is a bit weird because I feel like I've eaten it plenty before.”

After a few minutes of more banter and walking, you finally reached the newly opened cafe. The interior was minimalist, taking into account aesthetic pictures for social media. Their colour scheme was beige and black, and there were some plants and paintings on the wall.

The cafe seating looks like an open area. No booths can be found, but the seats are still comfortable-looking couches. 

Your friend asks you what else you want aside from pie as you eye which seat would be the best for the two of you. You tell your friend your order before making a beeline for the couch seat in the corner of the cafe beside the windows.

As you sit on the couch, you can feel your body physically relaxing. Weeks of sleepless nights and early mornings are absorbed by the comfortable plush of the seat. Thankfully, those days are about to end as today marks the start of your summer break.

Few more minutes passed by before your friend finally arrived with both of your orders. After finally settling, the two of you continued your light talk while eating your well-deserved sweet treats.

* * *

Summer break was absolutely the best. No deadlines to think about, no group mates to accommodate, no professors to chase for requirements. It's just you, your bed, and your phone.

Six weeks into the vacation and you're still bedrotting. You even go as far as to refuse whatever plans your friends present to you. Well, you didn't mean to spend the entire vacation just lounging around the house; actually, you initially just planned to spend a week and a half catching up on sleep before going out with friends. However, for some reason, your body felt incredibly heavy, and your mind was exhausted. Leading to you spending a month and a half at home to sleep.

Life of a slacker is nice. You actually enjoyed doing nothing. It’s just that there seems to be one problem… you feel more tired after sleeping.

It wasn’t always like this. In fact, you’re usually a good sleeper. Everything just started after that one time you fell asleep during class before the start of summer break. After that time, it was like no amount of sleep could quench the tiredness you felt.

Was it because of that weirdly realistic dream you had that day?

But you could barely even remember it, so it couldn’t be.

‘Well, it was just a dream, so it feels silly to give it this much meaning.’

You thought to yourself as you finally got up to prepare your first meal of the day. It’s already 5 pm, and you are just now starting your day. Well, you live alone anyway, so no one’s going to scold you. Plus, you’re still eating, so you’re still living a healthy life.

With that justification in mind, you finished eating the small portion of food you prepared for yourself before going back to bed.

Days passed until there was only one week left until the start of the new semester. Not once did you go out, even your enrollment was done online, and you figured you could just update your ID on the first day of classes.

Even after all that rest, you still felt tired. Your mental state was also a mess for no reason. Sometimes you would even start crying out of the blue.

Like right now, for example.

You were merely scrolling on your phone when suddenly tears started dripping from your eyes. Unsure of the cause yet still continuing to cry, your heart clenches at the random picture of a dragon plushie presented on your phone.

You would tear up just like this at random times of the day.

‘I have to get myself together. Classes are starting soon, and this year is very critical.’

With that conviction, you fell asleep with a heavy mind and an even heavier heart.

* * *

“CALL A HEALER HURRY”

“EVERYONE ON STANDBY, CANCEL ALL APPOINTMENTS AND DON’T LET VISITORS INSIDE”

Frantic shouts and hurried footsteps filled Raon’s ears as soon as he teleported in the Stan territory. The young dragon just wanted to checked on Venion Stan but such a chaotic scene welcomed him instead.

The curious — and worried — toddler followed the voice while remaining invisible. He could recognise the man shouting to be Taylor Stan. Just what happened to make such a usually composed man sound so frantic?

Raon’s question was answered as he peeked inside Venion’s room, the source of the chaos. From outside, he could see how healers and Cage are desperately trying to heal the young noble. Raon could also see Venion’s bloody wrist.

Copious amounts of blood dripped from the blonde’s wrist onto the bedsheets. There was too much that his bed was stained red; something the maids and butlers are trying to clean, but to no avail.

Taylor Stan can be seen besides the unconscious man. Desperately trying to put pressure on Venion’s wounds to stop bleeding. His own shaking hands gripping onto his brother’s wrist while he tries to stop the tears from escaping his blurry eyes.

Unable to take the sight in anymore, Raon teleports back to where Cale is. His paws shaking as he cries on the redhead’s chest while explaining what he saw.

It wasn’t until the next day he heard a word from the Stan Marquisate.

“I… I’m not sure how to explain what happened, Young Master Cale.” 

Taylor Stan said on the other side of the communication device. Cale’s gaze hardened at the sight of the Marquiss; he looks so gaunt, as if he hasn’t slept in a week. Clearly, something has happened to Venion Stan.

“Take your time.”

Cale said while holding onto Raon’s invisible yet shaking paw from his lap.

“Yesterday morning… when I visited my dongsaeng’s room to start our day, there was a strong stench of blood. So I opened the door and…”

Taylor Stan sighed deeply, his voice shaking but he pushed through it as he has to break the news.

“Blood was everywhere, Venion’s wrist was bleeding, he wounded himself too deeply. At first, I didn’t know how he even managed—no, I didn’t have the time to think about anything else, I frantically called Cage and the other healers to try and save him.”

Even Cale had to take a sharp breath. No wonder Raon looked so traumatised. The scene yesterday was too unsightly for anyone to witness, let alone for a child to see it first-hand.

“We managed to stabilise his condition, we also found out that he did it by breaking the drinking glass on his bedside… but that’s not where it ends.”

Cale and Raon stiffen at the news, only knowing about the news of Venion’s critical condition.

“Did he try again…?”

“No, young master, he hasn’t even woken up yet. We made him wore a magic bracelet that would keep track of his consciousness.”

Then what was the problem? Isn’t everything fine now unless Venion Stan’s health somehow becomes critical again?

Seeing the confused look on Cale’s face, Taylor further explained the situation.

“We are confused too, because later in the afternoon, my dongsaeng disappeared. But the bracelet showed no signs of being removed, nor did it alert us that he woke up.”

Distress became more evident in Taylor’s face as he explained. The news also further shocked the human and dragon combo. Just how and why did Venion disappear?

“Human, we have to look for him! He's unconscious and alone!”

“Wait.”

Cale spoke, making the two look at him.

“First, is there any possibility that he found a way to bypass the bracelet?”

Taylor thought about it for a second before speaking.

“It’s pretty strong as Cage made it and is monitoring it personally, so…”

“Ah…”

“Yes…”

Silence befalls all of them. This seems to be a very tricky case, no one knows where to even start.

“My men are discreetly looking for him, but there’s no progress yet.”

“...I’ll also keep an eye out.”

“Thank you so much, Young Master Cale.”

As soon as the call disconnected, Cale couldn’t help but slouch and sigh deeply.

“Haaaa”

Just what could’ve happened to Venion Stan?

Is this related to the plot he was talking about? Is the universe, or maybe even the gods, making Vention pay for deviating from the novel?

Cale doesn’t pity him.

Cale can’t pity him. His a grown man who doesn’t need Cale’s concerns.

No matter how child-like he seems to Cale—even if the redhead won’t admit it—Cale won't pity Venion Stan.

‘But if I don’t do anything and something happens to Venion, Raon might destroy a country…’

Just the mere thought of the toddler going on a rampage was enough to send a chill down Cale’s spine. He really needs to find Venion before that happens.

As if sensing Cale Henituse’s distress, Ron knocks on his door, stating that he bought lemon tea.

“Ron, scatter your people. Tell them to look for Venion Stan discreetly.”

The attendant looked like he had a lot of questions, but dared not voice them after seeing the distressed look on his young master's face.

“I'll inform them, young master.”

Cale has his people stationed all over this world and the next, surely they'll be able to find Venion on time.

…Right?

* * *

Surprisingly, that usual heaviness in your body was gone when you woke up this time. You could even say that you felt oddly refreshed. It's a feeling you haven't experienced during the summer break. 

You actually felt so light and refreshed that you didn't notice how you weren't in your apartment at first. But soon enough, you noticed that the bed you are in seems softer than usual. The mattress doesn't feel like something a broke uni student can afford.

“Wha- where..?”

The realisation of not being in the comfort of your home broke your dream-like trance. You looked around for clues to determine where you might be.

‘Did I get kidnapped? I’m not worth the ransom money though… Plus, if I was kidnapped, then the kidnapper is certainly richer than me.’

So why would you get kidnapped? But at the same time, there's no other explanation you could think of to justify the sudden change in setting.

‘I haven't drunk alcohol in 2 months, so I was certainly NOT drunk last night.’

After looking around for a while, you found a fancy vanity table against the wall. You got up from the cosy bed to try and inspect it. The colour was gold and certainly looked expensive.

For a moment, the possibility of being kidnapped by a rich mafia boss who's obsessed with you crossed your mind. Because all the items in the room look too high-class.

‘No, I'm too antisocial to even try and catch something like…’

“What the actual fuck???”

You couldn't help but trail off your thoughts and curse out loud as you look at your reflection in the mirror. At first, you just wanted to inspect the drawers of the vanity, hoping to find some clue as to where you were. But instead, you saw how you totally don't look like yourself.

Smooshing and pinching your facial features, you could see the mirror in front of you do the same, confirming that you are indeed looking at yourself.

“Isn't this Venion Stan from the novel I read a few months ago?”

You asked yourself as you observed the mirror reflecting you, pinching and pulling your own cheeks. Your brand-new pale white face with blonde hair staring back at you 

As you further observe your new body in the mirror you couldn't help but notice some differences from the Venion Stan you knew. First was that he was skinnier than how he was drawn in the manhwa. He already had a lanky build from what you read, but he's even skinnier than that. 

The second thing you noticed was how long his hair was. In the manhwa, you recall Venion having above-the-shoulder blonde hair. However, the reflection staring back at you has hair that reaches past the armpits.

‘His pretty… too bad his trash.’

Having had enough of pulling your reddened cheeks, you decided to explore your new vicinity, surprisingly adapting well to the fact that you transmigrated.

The house was small but certainly luxurious. It was just enough for one noble to reside in. You got the idea that it must be some kind of vacation house, the more you see the interior.

While walking towards the front door, you suddenly had a realisation. Venion might look different because it's been a while since the part of him being captured by Taylor Stan.

Then is this house not a vacation house, but something used to house-arrest Venion instead?

“Even if this is prison for that guy, this is practically a mansion for someone like me. I have no reason to complain.”

You don't have to get involved in the plot, and you get to have this fancy house to yourself? It can't get any better than this. Sure, it might be small for noble standards, but for an ordinary, modern person like you? This place was better than anything on the housing market.

Finally, you reached the front door. As you push the doors open, lush, green grass greeted you. Nature said hello with a gush of wind that refreshed you from all the thinking you’ve been doing.

As you step out, it looks like this house was built in the middle of the forest. The perfect place for people who like peace and quiet.

It’s perfect.

This is actually really perfect.

You’re sure Cale and his group can handle bringing world peace to this world. It also looks like Venion’s part in the story is done. There’s absolutely nothing left for you to do other than sit back and enjoy this simple life given to you.

‘If they come to visit, I’ll just pretend to be insane, that should be easy enough.’

Is what you thought to yourself.

“Did you know how worried I was?! Why didn’t you even try to go home?!”

…Wasn’t Venion Stan on house arrest? So why is Taylor Stan on your front door frantically looking for you like you’re a naughty child that ran away from home? You thought they just didn’t care about you anymore, that’s why they didn’t visit for months. But it turns out that you were actually missing? 

Just what is going on?

To know what happened, we must first travel back to the time when you first woke up in that house.

Cage was actually in the Super Rock Villa at the time of the incident. She had a momentary break and decided to visit and see how Cale was doing as well as give updates about the search in person. The excommunicated priestess had seen how worried the young master was about you and thought it would be better to update him in person.

Well, it was actually Raon who was worried, but Cage digressed.

The moment the two are speaking to each other, the bracelet Cage was wearing suddenly emitted a faint, yellow light, surprising both of them.

“Is that..?”

Cale asked, to which Cage softly nodded.

“Yes, I have to go back and inform everyone of what happened.”

“Please do that, I’ll also inform Ron and the others.”

With that, their conversation was cut short as both went their separate ways to alert their respective people.

“Human! I think I know where he is. I need to go to him and check if he's there!”

Raon dashed over to Cale as soon as the redhead entered the room. The toddler is restless, already preparing a magic circle to go to you at any given moment now. 

“Slow down and explain.”

Cale got hold of his child, who was flying in circles, as he was starting to get dizzy from watching. Raon complied and stayed put before starting to explain.

“The kind grandma who wears her hair in a bun! I remember Venion talking to her about building a rest house before. He might be there, and that grandma is the only one who knows the location!”

That grandma in question is actually spending a sound retirement with her family. Venion’s older brother, Taylor Stan, gave her money and house last year as Venion’s birthday gift since the younger man wouldn’t accept any other gift Taylor had.

Wasting no time, Cale informed Ron of what happened before they set off to that grandma’s house in order to know if Venion really had a secret rest house.

“Oh dear,  is that so..? He has a house in a forest near Ten Finger Mountains that I still sometimes go to to maintain. I haven’t gone there this month to clean. Usually, I would not give the address even to Master Taylor, but I’ll give it to you since Venion says he trusts you and this is an emergency.”

Cale Henituse’s face soured for a moment. First of all, when did Venion say that? And second, he thought this grandma was retired? Why is she still working for Venion when she should be spending it with her grandchildren?

“Don’t look at this old woman like that.”

The grandmother laughed as she handed him a piece of paper containing the coordinates of the house.

“The young master told me countless times not to go there anymore. But like you, I’ve also grown fond of that child, he’s also like one of my grandchildren. Plus, the nature there is good for this old body of mine.”

Cale’s face soured even more at her words. He is NOT fond of Venion Stan in any way, shape, or form.

‘I have no reason to be emotionally attached to such a guy. I’m just doing this to prevent Raon from throwing a tantrum.’

Cale and his group thanked the old lady before going back to the underground villa to plan their next move.

* * * 

“He’s there… human, his actually there!”

Raon shouted in Cale’s mind as they saw your silhouette from a distance. It was just the two with Ron visiting the rest house, where you are currently residing. The three of them teleported a few feet away from the house in order to prepare for whatever might be waiting for them.

Well, they just didn’t expect to see you have such a serene look on your face.

Your face looks peaceful, free of worries even. A look Raon has never seen on your face. It’s also something Cale had never read back when he was reading TBoaH.

“Something’s wrong, human! But I think it’s a good kind of wrong?”

Raon questioned, to which Cale nodded along. Something is definitely amiss. The Venion Stan Cale knows wouldn’t be able to get over the trauma you’ve been through like some amnesiac…

…

Wait…

Could it be..?

“Ron.”

“Yes, young master?”

“Approach Venion and pretend that you’re a lost old man wandering the woods.”

“Of course, young master.”

Raon and Cale watched from a listening distance as Ron approached you, whose tending to the flowers in the mini garden in front of the house. Your hair was tied in a half-bun, exposing your forehead. There’s also dirt on the cuffs of your sleeves as proof that you were taking care of the flowers before the assassin interrupted.

“Excuse me, young sir, could you perhaps tell me where we are? I was travelling with my young master, and we got lost with no means to go back to our inn.”

Cale could see a look of recognition pass your eyes as Ron smiled benignly at you.

‘Was I wrong..?’

The redhead had a moment of doubt, perhaps you actually found a way to get over your trauma? But if you did, then why would you run away? Assuming that you ran away at least. 

“Uh… uhm… actually I…”

You stuttered, internally panicking for a variety of reasons.

Why is Cale’s servant, who's actually an assassin in disguise?

Is Cale also here?

Are they actually lost?

Are they here to get more revenge?

How are you going to tell them that you actually don’t know anything, let alone where you are?

“Are you perhaps hesitant to talk to me because I’m a stranger? I’m sorry for that. My name is Ron Molan, and I serve the Henituse household. To be specific, I am currently serving Young Master Cale Henituse.”

Ron made an excuse for you to which you graciously accepted.

“Ah yes, that’s part of it… But it’s also because I don’t know where we are… You see, I don’t really remember anything? I just woke up here one day with no recollection whatsoever. I’m sorry that I can’t be of help in getting out of here, but my house has some spare bedrooms that I can lend to your party as you try and figure out how to get out of here.”

You decided to tell Ron the truth as you figured they are not here to get more revenge, at least.

‘This is their scamming approach, so I should be fine. I don’t have any powers or knowledge that would help Cale save the world anyway.’

With that conviction, you truthfully explained the situation to the assassin as you don’t have much of a choice anyway.

“Is that so, then we’ll take you up on your kind offer. I shall go fetch my young master”

Just as Ron was about to turn around, Raon spoke in his head.

“Lemonade Gramps! The weak human said it’s okay to tell Venion that the great and mighty me is here!”

“Oh, and please do keep this a secret, but we have a great and mighty dragon with us.”

Ron smiled benignly once more before turning around to where Cale and Raon were. Leaving you confused by the bombshell information you just received.

‘...Did I assess the situation wrong? They don’t disclose that information just to anyone, right?’

* * *

“I’ll entrust my brother to you then, young master. Please take care, and I’ll try to go there as soon as I can.”

Taylor’s words went in Raon’s one ear and out the other. It has been a few hours since they entered your house, and Raon has been in a dazed ever since. The toddler just can’t believe his seeing you act so lively… smile so freely.  

Raon had only seen such things in his dreams.

It’s a shame that you can’t remember anything, but on the other hand, he was also glad you had no recollection of what happened. Raon doesn’t think he would get the chance to see you so content if you still have your memories intact.

The black dragon was so out of it the whole day. Sure, he still performed his tasks well, but everyone could tell how he was constantly in a daze. Looking at everything as if it were his first time seeing the world once more. 

He also seemed to cling more to you, cuddling you up every chance he gets, instead of sticking close to Cale as he normally would. The toddler’s actions confused you, made you wonder what happened in the past that made Raon act so close with the person who was his supposed torturer.

Of course, you weren’t aware, but this is just Raon giving you all the affection he had been holding out on before. The you before Raon could see looked so fragile that he was even scared of touching you the wrong way. Fearing that one wrong touch would make you disappear forever.

And after seeing your pale skin and bloody arm as healers worked hard to revive you a few months ago?

Yeah, Raon is definitely not letting go of you anytime soon.

Honestly, it’s not just Raon acting like this. You can’t tell as they hide it better, but Cale and Ron also seem to be on guard. Not the type of guard that is on edge, but rather protective.

It’s especially apparent when you try cooking dinner. The moment you tried to pull out a knife, Ron was by your side, insisting that it’s a servant's job to do such things. That was the worst case, though, for most of the time, the two opted to observe you, making sure that you would not revert to your old mental state.

Finally, after a few more exchanged words, the call between Cale and Taylor ended, and Raon could lift the soundproof barrier he had placed to prevent you from hearing their conversation. They plan on slowly breaking the news to you tomorrow to give you time to prepare for Taylor’s arrival. They also plan to make Cage go first, acting as if she will be the one to inform Taylor of your existence after “miraculously finding a way to contact Cale”.

Raon trusts his weak human’s plan. Cale had never conjured up a plan that didn’t work. Sure, the toddler hates it when their plans end up making their human cough up blood or pass out, but never once had their plans failed badly before.

With that peace of mind, Raon was about to fall asleep when he suddenly heard a small whimper.

It seems to be coming from your room.

“Human, Venion is crying…”

At once, Cale and Raon went to your room. However, your bedroom door was already open once they arrived.

Ron, fast as ever, was already tending to you.

“It seems to be a nightmare, young master.”

The servant said as he wiped the tears from your eyes. Ron held no affection for you in particular. There’s no reason for him to have one. Although you did remind him of his son when they first ran away to the Henituse territory.

But that’s a different matter.

“Or perhaps memories.”

Cale spoke as he and Raon walked closer to your bed. As they did, they could hear your soft whimpers of “Don’t” and “I’m tired”. Raon couldn’t help but tear up a little as he looked at your state.

“Human, does this mean his going to remember? Maybe showing up was a mistake… what if we made him remember those bad memories?”

Raon cried as he lay down beside you, using his paws to wipe the continuous tears flowing down your cheeks. 

“I’m not sure. Let’s observe how he does tomorrow.”

Cale answered honestly, a bit at a loss on how he should proceed.

But it’s not like they can do much if you really do remember.

Thankfully, you continued to act happy and lively the next morning.

“Did you sleep well?”

Cale casually asked you as Ron served breakfast.

“I did, I’ve always slept well since being here! Maybe it’s the nature surrounding us, but I’ve never felt this relaxed before. Hmm, though I think I had a dream? I never seem to remember my dreams these days, though.”

‘He subconsciously remembers… we need to be careful not to make him fully remember just yet.’

Cale thought to himself as he chose his next words carefully.

“So we managed to contact someone last night.”

“Really?”

You beamed at him, genuinely happy that you’ll soon find out where you are.

“Mhm, it’s a priestess named Cage. She’s coming here tomorrow to get us.”

Cale and Raon gauged your reaction; you seem to be doing well, so the redhead continued speaking.

“You actually know her. She’s a friend of your brother.”

“Oh you mean Taylor Stan? The one you told me about?”

The redhead hummed affirmatively as he continued to eat his breakfast. From the kitchen, he could see Ron staying alert as well, ready for anything that could possibly happen in case you remembered something.

“There’s a chance she already told your brother about you, so there’s a chance he’ll follow here after her.”

If you’re being honest, the thought of meeting Taylor Stan scares you. He was lenient to Venion in the novel, but he may still harbour some ill will becuase of all the things the original Venion Stan did.

But for some reason, you don’t think that will happen.

On the contrary, the mere thought of him brings you a sense of comfort. Like a long-lost hyung you haven’t seen for a long time.

Weird… but maybe the original Venion Stan had some lingering brotherly feelings for Taylor?

‘What kind of loving brother incapacitates their hyung though?’

* * *

And that now brings us back to the current situation.

“Did you know how worried I was?! Why didn’t you even try to go home?!”

Taylor Stan couldn’t help but hug you tightly the moment you opened the door. You think a lone tear or two landed on your shoulder, but you’re unsure.

“I didn’t want to risk getting lost…”

You tried to reason helplessly as everyone else inside the house went out to the front porch to greet the marquis. All of you talked for a few minutes before going back to your respective homes. Of course, Taylor promised you that you could go back to this house anytime you want.

Life with Taylor is comfortable, cushy even. You’re supposed to be a convicted criminal, but he spoils you so much.

“Yeah, you’re actually serving your sentence right now. Your punishment is house arrest, and since you ran away from home, your sentence has been extended.”

Taylor smiled at you, and you could only look confused at his logic.

Well, it’s not like you can contest the marquis’ words. Plus, everything works out well for you.

* * *

“...Can I call you hyung?”

You suddenly spoke as the two of you were eating dinner. It’s been a month since you returned home, and you’ve been meaning to ask for a week now.

You’re not sure if you have the right to do so, but he really just gives off a comfortable feeling. Unsure why, but his been your safe person ever since you came to this world despite him not being your favourite character when you were reading the novel.

Meanwhile, Taylor is having a hard time keeping a straight face. He feels so giddy, so excited that you asked to call him hyung, as he had to tell you before. If he as being completely honest, he was glad you lost your memories. Sure, you may have a hard time sometimes, but it's miles better than your state months before.

It’s a fact that everyone around you could agree on that you had no clue about.

“Of course you could, you’re my dongsaeng after all.”

A wide smile etched your face at the approval.

“Okay, hyung!”

But then it fell as you remembered something.

“Honestly, I feel bad I can’t remember anything. I seem to have a good relationship with everyone, and I can’t remember a thing…”

“You don’t have to be. You remember what we told you about you suddenly disappearing because of some unknown force when you were sick, right? All of us are just glad you made it back safely.”

Taylor stopped eating for a moment in order to talk to you seriously. He does not want to see you spiralling into any kind of underserve guilt once more.

Your previous wrecked mental state really took a toll on everyone. 

But that’s now water under the bridge.

Right now, the only thing that matters is the fact that you are happy and smiling.

Taylor Stan couldn’t ask for anything more.

[shanatypewriter]

"He's Gone..."

cw!: angst, depressive thoughts, wounds, blood, mentions of loss and death, mourning, self-guilt, general talk of death ‘n stuff like that.

Characters: Keegan P. Russ, Hesh Walker, Logan Walker, Thomas A. Merrick; brief mentions of Alex V. "Ajax" Johnson. Fandom: Call of Duty: GHOSTS Type: Fanfiction

A/N: I don't know man, I'm a shame to cod ghosts community I might re-write??

“It was Rorke. He's targeting... look... the wall....” “C'mon! Hang in there, Ajax.” “He's gone..”

“Being a member of the Ghosts wasn’t normal. It’s a far from that or a luxury, and everyone knows it. Their life would forever be haunted by the deaths they caused and witnessed. And if you don’t want to do one thing, it’s fuck with the Ghosts. Rorke did that.

But you're not focused on that, no one is. It’s if you were a little sooner, he’d be alive still… he’s dead. He’s fucking dead because you were slow and-

Calm down…”

«<June 7, 2027. Fort Santa Monica, Los Angeles, California, USA. 8:20 p.m.>

The ride back was silent. Not out of discipline—out of grief.

Keegan hadn’t said a word since they pulled Ajax’s body out from under that blood-stained floor. No one had the heart to press him. Not Merrick. Not even Hesh, whose temper usually burned hot enough to light the dark.

The safehouse door shut behind them with a dull clang, and the team dispersed like smoke. Logan dropped into a corner, helmet in hands. Hesh paced like a caged animal.

Keegan didn’t move.

Still in his gear, dried blood on his gloves, his eyes locked on nothing. His shoulders were set, jaw tense—but his eyes… they were hollow.

Merrick finally spoke. “We did what we could.”

Keegan blinked, slowly. “Did we?” His voice cracked, low and hoarse like it hadn’t been used in days.

Hesh stopped pacing. “Rorke did this,” he growled. “We’re gonna bury that son of a—”

Keegan snapped up. “And that’s gonna bring him back?” His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut. Sharper than any knife.

Hesh flinched, caught off-guard. Logan looked between them silently.

Keegan stood now, not quite steady. He pulled something from his vest pocket—Ajax’s dog tags, bloodied and bent.

“I was supposed to have his back,” he whispered, more to himself. “We’ve been through three hellholes together. This wasn’t supposed to be his end.”

Merrick stepped forward, calm but firm. “This isn’t on you.”

Keegan shook his head; eyes fixed on the metal in his hand.

Silence fell.

Riley padded into the room, sat at Keegan’s feet, and whined—soft, almost like a mourning cry.

Keegan crouched beside the dog, hand resting on the fur between Riley’s ears. “You knew, didn’t you, bud…”

He finally pulled off his gloves and set them on the table. The tags went on top, laid carefully like something sacred. Keegan didn’t cry. He couldn’t. But his silence screamed louder than anything else in that room.

Hesh looked like he wanted to break something. Maybe everything, fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white beneath the grime and cuts.

“No fucking ceremony,” he muttered under his breath.

Logan looked up. “What?”

“I said no fucking ceremony. No medals. No folded flag sent home to a family that doesn’t even know what we are. They’ll just call it ‘classified’ and move on.”

Merrick didn't argue. He just stood there, arms crossed, jaw tight. He was always composed, always in control—but even he couldn’t hide the tired sag in his shoulders this time.

“We’ll do it ourselves,” he said. “Tonight.”

[AJAX'S BURIAL - REMOTE RIDGE, NIGHTFALL]

The safehouse backed into an overgrown ridge, far from any Federation eyes. Merrick had the team move out under darkness—no lights, no chatter, just shovels and quiet boots crunching over frost-dirt.

They buried him beneath an old tree, half-dead and twisted by years of wind and war. It felt fitting. Ajax had always liked places with character.

No priest. No flag. No salutes.

Just the Ghosts. And the wind.

Keegan stood over the shallow grave with his arms crossed, head down. Merrick stepped forward and knelt, setting Ajax’s tags atop the dirt.

“He died on mission. He died hard. And he died a Ghost.”

That was it.

No speeches. No drawn-out honors.

Just truth.

[BACK AT THE SAFEHOUSE - LATER THAT NIGHT]

The team sat scattered around the dimly lit room, silent.

Keegan was cleaning his rifle, but slower than usual. Every now and then, his hand would pause on the bolt, grip just a little tighter than it needed to be.

Logan was hunched over his own gear, but his eyes weren’t focused. Just going through the motions.

Hesh finally broke the quiet. “You think Rorke watched it?”

No one answered.

He kicked the edge of a crate. “He wanted us to find him. Wanted us to see what he did.”

Keegan didn’t look up. “He got what he wanted.”

Hesh’s voice cracked. “Then let’s give him what he doesn’t want.”

Merrick leaned forward from the shadows. “We will.”

He pulled a small, weathered journal from his pack. Flipped to a page. A single name, etched in pen so hard the page was slightly torn: Gabriel Rorke.

He handed the book to Keegan.

“You get first shot.”

Keegan stared at the page for a moment. Then nodded.

[JUST BEFORE THE DAWN]

Keegan stood alone near the burial site, staring out at the empty ridge. The first light of dawn hadn’t yet touched the horizon. He lit a cigarette, something he hadn’t done in years.

“You dumb bastard,” he whispered, a rough laugh breaking through his grief. “You always said I’d be the first one to go. Guess I owe you a beer when I see you again.”

He took one long drag, then crushed the cigarette out in the dirt.

This war wasn’t over. Not even close.

But for the first time in a long time, they weren’t just fighting to survive.

Now—they were fighting for Ajax.

[A longer memory/aftermath sequence] Featuring: Keegan P. Russ & Alex “Ajax” V. Johnson

[FLASHBACK – OPERATION: SAND VIPER]

Location: U.S. military makeshift camps in Tel Aviv, Israel Time: 2006, 1934 hrs

Keegan pressed his back against the half-collapsed stone wall, M4 hot in his grip. His forearms were slick with sweat beneath the sleeves of his desert cammies, dust clinging to every crevice of skin and gear.

“Contact, three o’clock. You see it?” he asked into the comms.

“No eyes—give me a sec.”

Thwack! A bullet slammed into the wall just inches from Keegan’s face, sending a spray of stone chips across his cheek.

“Yep,” Ajax’s voice crackled back, followed by the clatter of return fire. “Got him. That guy had an awful haircut anyway.”

Keegan rolled his eyes. “This mission was supposed to be recon, not a damn shooting gallery.”

“Yeah, well, tell that to the jackasses lighting us up like it's the Fourth of July.”

The two Marines regrouped behind a battered Humvee, wind kicking sand across the bullet-pocked surface. Ajax was bleeding slightly at the eyebrow, nothing serious—but enough to sting. He wiped it and grinned.

“This op's cursed, man.”

“Beginning to think we’re cursed,” Keegan muttered.

“Not cursed,” Ajax said, popping a fresh mag into his rifle. “Just too stubborn to die.”

They pushed forward again, side by side, like they always had. Clearing alleyways. Sweeping low homes. It was brutal urban warfare, hot and close, nothing like the clean fantasy training simulations back at Pendleton.

[LATER THAT NIGHT – TEMPORARY FORWARD CAMP]

The air had cooled, but barely. Their squad was digging in for the night, and Keegan sat outside his makeshift tent, cleaning his weapon.

Ajax approached with two MREs. He tossed one at Keegan.

“Got us the good stuff.”

“Chili Mac?”

“Hell yeah.” Ajax flopped down beside him. “Told the new guy I’d trade him my gun cleaning kit for it. He actually believed me.”

Keegan cracked a small smirk. “You’re an ass.”

“I’m your ass.”

They ate in silence for a moment. Then Ajax looked up at the dark sky, stars barely visible through the orange haze of distant fires.

“You think any of this’ll matter in ten years?”

Keegan looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this—boots in the sand, blood on our hands. You think history’ll even remember Sand Viper? Or us?”

Keegan was quiet for a moment. “I’ll remember. That’s enough.”

Ajax chuckled. “You gonna write my memoirs?”

“Only the embarrassing chapters.”

[PRESENT – SAFEHOUSE, FORT SANTA MONICA, HOURS AFTER “STRUCK DOWN”]

The lights hum. Night has fallen. Silence drapes the room like a burial flag.

Keegan sat at a table in the corner. His gloves were off. His gear lay stripped piece by piece, as if he could surgically remove the grief.

In his hand, a weathered photograph: at base in the sunset. The one Ajax always carried. His thumb ran over the crumpled edge.

He hadn’t spoken since they’d brought Ajax’s body back. He’d washed the blood off his friend himself—his best friend—meticulously, as if trying to undo what had been done. But no medic’s hands, no Ghost’s skill, could bring him back.

“You were right,” Keegan finally whispered to the photo. “You were too stubborn to die.”

He swallowed hard.

“So why’d you go and prove me wrong?”

There was no answer. Just the hum of the lights and the muted footsteps of the others in the next room.

Keegan leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Memories flickered behind his eyes—chili mac, dry jokes, firefights in foreign sand.

“I’ll remember,” he said again, this time to no one.

[POST AJAX'S DEATH AFTERMATH]

The steel door to the briefing room creaked open as Keegan stepped in. He was already geared up—vest fastened tight, sidearm holstered, rifle slung. His helmet rested under one arm. The others weren’t even fully dressed yet.

Merrick, standing at the holographic table, raised an eyebrow. “You’re early.”

“Need a favor,” Keegan said without ceremony. His voice was level, clipped, colder than usual.

Logan glanced up from his seat, eyes narrowing slightly. Hesh, sipping black coffee, paused mid-sip.

“I want point on the next op.”

Merrick’s gaze narrowed. “That’s not how we do things.”

Keegan stepped forward, the hollow of his boots echoing on concrete. “I wasn’t asking.”

A tense silence stretched between them.

Hesh leaned back, arms crossed. “You thinking with your head right now, or your heart?”

Keegan turned to him, expression unreadable behind his balaclava. “I’m thinking with what's left.”

Merrick exhaled through his nose, nodding slowly. “You want front. Fine. But you stick to protocol. You go solo, you die solo.”

“Understood.”

The tone in his voice said otherwise.

[LATER – ARMORY, 0632 Hours]

Keegan moved with precision. Each weapon he checked, each mag he loaded, was part of a ritual. Controlled. Methodical. He wasn’t just prepping for war—he was purging everything that made him hesitate.

He picked up Ajax’s old breaching shotgun, still scratched from Sand Viper. The armorer gave him a look.

“You sure?”

Keegan’s answer was simple. “He’d want it used.”

He strapped it to his back.

[SCENE TRANSITION – NIGHT, MISSION ZONE: COASTAL FEDERATION OUTPOST]

Rain pelted the ruins as the Ghosts breached a Federation blacksite. Keegan took point, silent as a shadow, efficient as death.

He moved fast. Too fast.

“Keeg—slow down,” Hesh hissed through the comms. “You’re blowing spacing.”

“Then keep up,” came the icy reply.

Merrick’s voice cut in. “Focus, all of you.”

They advanced room by room, but Keegan’s intensity was unnerving. He wanted an encounter. He was hunting, not patrolling.

And when they cornered a Federation officer—one with intel on Rorke—Keegan had his knife at the man’s throat before anyone could stop him.

“Where is he?” Keegan growled.

The officer stammered something in Spanish.

Keegan didn’t wait. Crack!—the butt of his rifle broke the man’s nose. Blood sprayed the wall.

“Keegan!” Merrick barked. “Stand down!”

But Keegan didn’t move. His eyes were locked, his voice like steel. “You tell me where Rorke is, or I swear to God, you’ll wish Ajax killed you.”

The room froze. Even the soldiers stopped breathing.

End Scene Cliffhanger Possibility:

The intel officer gives a name. A city. A date. Keegan steps back, drops the knife. His hands shake—but not from fear. From restraint.

Merrick walks up beside him. “You want him that bad?” Keegan doesn’t look up. “I don’t want him. I need him.”

[obsessedferalgremlin]

Tag Game: Scenes I will never forget

Rules: Share 5-10 scenes you can't forget. Not your favorites, the ones that got stuck in your brain for any reason.

Tagged by @nabi-unveiled and @yannig Thank you for the tag!! This looks so fun.

I basically went for the scenes that first came to mind, but are also ones that I found/find myself thinking about randomly on a Tuesday evening and I have emotions about them. It was actually surprisingly easy to pick scenes that weren't my favorites, because those are vastly different categories of things. The scenes that stick with me aren't usually my favorite scenes. And these scenes are seared into my memory.

Nobody analyze the fact that most of these moments are.... sad or heartbreaking in some way. Like, let's just not look at that, okay?

Spoilers incoming for:

Our Youth

Once Again

Tokyo in April Is...

Kiseki: Dear To Me

Love For Love's Sake

KinnPorsche

Unknown

Hirukawas fathers death (and the scenes that follow) - Our Youth

Listen, this whole shows breaks me in multiple ways every time I've watched it but this scene. This scene breaks me. The way Hirukawa just absolutely breaks down. The way he blames himself and hates himself for having wished death on his father. The way we can see the internal struggle. He's supposed to be strong. He's been doing everything to be strong for so long, and now... now that his abuser is gone it's like the flood gates open. But he can't stop seeing himself as a bad omen. A curse. The way this is immediately followed by him telling Minase he should stay away from him. That all Hirukawa will do is bring pain to Minase. That he's the problem. He's why everything bad happens. It hurts so much.

When Jo Hoon decides to do it all again... - Once Again

I couldn't find a gif for this which is an absolute travesty, but this scene... God this whole show had be bawling my eyes out but this scene takes the cake. When Ji Hoon decides to sacrifice himself all over again, while knowing the outcome. Yunho's lord knows something broke inside me. The acting, the choice to do it all again, the way Jae Woon has to deal with Ji Hoon making this choice again, after everything they went through together.

"I'll cover my eyes. I'll cover my ears." -Tokyo in April is...

Ren and Kazuma are something else. These boys have been through the wringer. But this... this scene had me losing it and I swear I think about it often. This moment where Kazuma tells Ren that he will do anything to have Ren open up to him, to stop hiding from him. The way these two had been dancing around the past and their history and their trauma. The way Kazuma was willing to accept whatever version of connection he could get from Ren. The way he was willing to do anything to make Ren feel safe.

Chen Yi imagining Ai Di on all their missed birthdays - Kiseki: Dear To Me

There's just something about the moment Chen Yi realizes Ai Di had been celebrating their birthday alone for years. The scene of each year passing and Ai Di gets progressively more sad and resigned to the fact that Chen Yi wont be there. The music. The editing. The whole thing breaks me open every time. We know what Ai Di did on that last birthday, we know he wasn't crying silent tears for Chen Yi. But the fact that in Chen Yi's imagination the hurt he caused was represented like that. The fact that this one moment, finding those gifts and imagining Ai Di alone year after year makes him realize his mistakes, realize his feelings... I don't think I'll ever stop thinking about this scene.

Myung Ha choosing his happiness - Love for Love's Sake

I couldn't find the right gif for this, but this one is the closest. The scene I'm specifically thinking about is Myung Ha talking to his "Senior" in the dark. When his time has run out and he's given the choice to go back to his life, to try again. In that moment, Yeo Woon is wishing for him to be happy and in that moment Myung Ha decides to choose his own happiness. To stay with Yeo Woon. Something about Myung Ha choosing himself...

Kinn releases Porsche - KinnPorsche

This one gets me every time because there's so much meaning there. Kinn has consistently said that he owns Porsche's life, that was the deal that was made. But here, in this moment, he realizes that maybe he's being selfish. Maybe it isn't fair to keep Porsche in this situation, not after Porsche has repeatedly shown, that despite the situation he would cut off his hand for Kinn. Porsche is his bodyguard, yes. But here in the forest they became something else. They found common ground and each other. So for Kinn to release Porsche, to tell him to take his brother and run, to start over somewhere new, to live a normal life... yeah totally absolutely normal about this one.

Yuan ruins everything - Uknown

Oh Yuan... This scene hurt for so many reasons. While watching it the first time I was anxious. I could see where this was going and I knew that if Yuan admitted his feelings it would be the end of what they had. This scene so clearly shows us how deeply and profoundly his feelings are eating at Yuan. They are eating him alive. He wants to be happy for Qian. He wants to be supportive, but he can't stop the feelings. He didn't choose them and he's suffering as a result. He lives each day with a burden so big its crushing him. And this scene is the result of him losing his grip on that boulder and it rolling down the hill. The desperation in this scene. The frustration and confusion. The shock and disgust and hurt from Qian. And the fact that it wasn't even about Yuan being gay. It was about Yuan being in love with Qian! I was suffering with Yuan here. Like to carry that weight for so much of your life and have this level of intimacy and closeness with the person you love but its not quite what you actually want. It's there but it's not. You have to watch him get matched up with dates and have a life separate from you when all you want is to be that one next to him. Then you get drunk at an office party while you're sick and you ruin it all. You spill the secret and your whole life blows up in your face. I will never stop thinking about this scene. It hurts.

Tagging people but as always no pressure! and if I haven't seen yours and you've already done it let me know! @mikuni14 @negrowhat @watchthisqqq @porridgefeast @wanderlust-in-my-soul @benkaben

[gremlin-girly]

Dorky & Do-able

For @yenzys-lucky-charm 's Cranky! Grumpy! Stabby! Oh my! Challenge

Pairing: Jake Jensen x f!reader

Prompt: "Are you trying to turn me on or are you just that oblivious?"

Not beta'd and I don't give permission for my work to be reposted, copied, translated or put through an AI machine.

Tags/warnings: Highly Suggestive Content, no smut but hoe thoughts ✊🏻😔, fluff, a sort of confession, Jake being an oblivious dweeb (bless him), 18+

Summary: Aisha's cute friend Jake drives you insane with impure thots thoughts. And there's only so much a girl can take.

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: I had a few prompts lined up (because this was so fun!) But I just had so many wips I couldn't make it through 🥲 shout out to @bigtreefest who inspired the sandwich one 🤭

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

Jake Jensen Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Alisha had warned you about flirting with her other friends - about Clay's Cassanova Cowboy charm, Roque's brtuish tough-guy facade, Cougar's silent sultriness, how Pooch was happily married... however, she had omitted to warn you about one adorably dorky and utterly do-able Jake Jensen.

He half trips over himself when he greets you and beams a smile so bright you swear puppies and rainbows magically surround him. You were smitten at first sight and tried so very hard not to flirt or flounce every time you saw him, per Aisha's warning glare.

That did not mean, however, that Jake made it easy on you for the week you spent visiting your best friend.

The first time it happens - you can kind of blame yourself. You were staring. It's not your fault he was a snack, or your fault you'd used your laptop as a bath bomb and asked him to fix it, but the way his tongue runs over his bottom lip ought to be a crime.

His eyes are fixed on your motherboard - you think that's what that is anyway - focused with an intensity that surprised you and it did things to you that was only spoken about in books.

"How did you learn to do this?" You ask more dreamily than you intend - not that Jake notices. He has to shake himself from his thoughts to give you a smile and an answer.

"Oh... you know - I was just always good at fixing stuff like this." He shrugs and turns back to the pieces of your laptop.

"Uh huh."

He picks up a tiny screwdriver and gently pries under a piece of metal. "It came in handy when my mom or sister needed me to do something."

"That right?"

Jake peeks up at you, smiling again and you want to tackle him. "It was nice to feel useful. Like a handyman or something."

"Well, it's nice to jnow you're more than a pretty face." You're about to wink at him, but the slam of Aisha's mug on the countertop startles you both, and you resign yourself to an apologetic smile her way and watch Jake's cheeks grow pink in your peripheral.

Chin in your palms you continue to watch him work, hoping he or anyone else in the room, didn't suddenly develop the power of telepathy.

You feel cursed. Wanting something you can't have is one thing but craving something you've never had is an entirely different ball game.

You had popped to the store for some snacks and had totally accidentally bumped into Jake. Well, he bumped into you. You were too busy trying to look nonchalantly to the snacks at the very top of the shelves - ones you certainly could not reach.

"Hey!" Jake greets, again with that goofy grin. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Hi." You try not too excited. "What a coincidence."

"Yeah!" Jake clears his throat and looks up to where you'd been staring before looking back at you. "Want me to grab those chips for ya?"

"Oh, if you wouldn't mind!"

You couldn't care less about the chips. They weren't even your favourites. Any excuse to talk to him without Aisha present was a chance worth taking.

However, as he reaches up, your eyes catch on his bright graphic tee just in time for the material to rise up and reveal his snail trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath his jeans.

Time stops. You wish you could rewind time. The unbearable throb of want coursing through your body like a drug makes you want to scream in the middle of the store. You dont even notice, in your stupor, that Jake is holding the chips to you until he says your name.

"You okay?"

He looks so concerned, bless his cotton socks and you have to wipe your mouth to make sure you haven't drooled anywhere.

"Headache." You lie quickly. "I'll be fine."

"Oh, man, uh... do you want me to drop you back?"

You cant think of anything worse than being trapped in a close space with him at this moment in time so you wave your hand and tell him you'll enjoy the stroll back alone (with your impure thoughts).

The following day, everyone is gathered for a late lunch. Jake had promised the sandwiches from a local deli were the best around and the comment had gone uncontested so, suffice to say you were excited to try what was on offer. However, once again, you were only here to suffer.

"Oh fuck -" Jake moans around his sandwich loudly and as he moves it back, he's licking away sauce from his lips and fingers. "Tastes so good."

The table creaks under your white knuckle grip. You are close to your fucking limit with this guy. Your jaw sets, your thighs clamp shut and you beg for mercy on your soul. Someone this hot cannot know what he's doing.

You are seconds away from slamming your face against the table when Jake's blue eyes flick up from his sandwich (which does look ridiculously good) and meet yours with an innocently curious gaze.

"You not gonna eat?"

There is only one thing on your mind right now that you want to eat and that is one Jake Jensen.

"It's good I promise." He continues when you only stare at him wide eyed as he licks a finger again. "It'll blow your mind."

"Are you trying to turn me on or are you just that oblivious?" You blurt suddenly, causing Pooch to almost choke on his sandwich and Roque to gag on the straw of his drink.

Jake's cheeks go pink and he half gapes at you like a fish unsure of what to say while you continue to stare him down waiting on an answer. You then point at Aisha who's sat across from you.

"Did she put you up to this?"

"I - what - no!" Jake blunders looking around the table for help but his friends are either being rescued from choking or snickering to themselves.

"I didn't do anything." Aisha protests and fixes you with a sarcastic smile. "But watching your brain break has been great."

"I hate you." You say flatly, staring at your best friend in disbelief, trying not to let the corners of your lips twitch. "This week has been torture."

"Uhhh, can I ask what this is about?" Jake says quietly, taking another bite of his sandwich and looking between you and Aisha.

"To answer your previous question; yes he is just that oblivious." Aisha says, leaning back to pop a fry in her mouth. "And your ban is lifted."

"Oh wow," you raise your eyebrows. "That's.... wow."

Jake shakes his head slightly going back to his sandwich. He'll just have to make sure he asks you later.

Later, as you pad to the bathroom ready to complete your nightly routine, you bump into Jake on his way out; hair and skin sparklingly moist, taut muscles and tats on display all the way down to the towel cinched around his slutty waist like nobody's business. Without his glasses he looks just as good, if not better. You can't help as your tongue darts out across your lips, it's the best you can allow otherwise you would be licking him.

"Hey."

"Hi." You eke out, mouth dry. You force your eyes to stay on his face but there's taunting rivulets of water running down the lines of his muscles, following his snail trail and into the towel.

"I need to-" he points past you to his room and you jump out of his way.

"Sorry."

As you enter move to enter the bathroom, he calls your name and you turn back and he's studying you closely, as if trying to catch you out.

"Earlier today, at the table." He begins slowly. "What was that about?"

This is the worst interrogation ever.

"Uhhh... when?" Playing dumb was a dumb play.

"About me turning you on?" He presses, making both of your cheeks grow hot.

"Maybe don't... say it like that." You wince a little but somehow managed a smile. "But look at you! You're gorgeous! Who wouldn't want a piece of that?"

Jake's blush deepens, spreading pink splotches over his neck and chest too. But this was an opportunity to get it all off your chest, you couldn't not take it! Anything to make that boy blush...

"Aisha made me promise not to flirt with you - since I have a bad habit of collecting cuties." You lean against the doorway, hoping the shift in your legs draws attention to them (it does) but giving a half chuckle of relief. "I stuck to my promise but holy shit, you did not make it easy."

"I didn't?" Jake is a strawberry now, clutching his towel in a death grip.

"Nah," you snort. "But since Aisha lifted the ban; you're fair game now lover boy."

He blinks for a moment and then a grin spreads across his face. "You're gonna put the moves on me?"

"Not just the moves," you say proudly. "My moves."

"I think you're going to eat me alive." He chuckles, raking a hand through his wet locks; inadvertently flexing his muscles.

"And then some." You add quietly, glancing up at him to catch a delightful deer-in-headlights look. "But I should let you get to bed..."

You sigh dramatically before fixing him with a smirk and sultry gaze. "Unless you want to jump into mine?"

Jake swallows thickly and has to adjust his towel while you try not to giggle. "Yeah, um, that... that works."

"Let me brush my teeth and I'll see you in five." You wink at him and skip into the bathroom feeling higher than life. This week just got so much better.

End

A/N: if you haven't seen this post, @buckyys-babydoll and I are trying to boost engagement across fics in the writing community. If you liked this fic, please reblog - you dont have to leave a comment. You can leave a reaction image, gif or emoji(s)!

Support writers. Support artists. Support the fandom.

Love ya! 🫶🏻

A/N 2: I didn't think this was 1.6k - it was supposed to be a drabble! 😩 but that's 2 of 13 fics done 💪😌

Taglist - add yourself here

@stargazingfangirl18 @late-to-the-party-81 @irishhappiness @looking1016 @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @almostglitterybear @blackhawkfanatic @peaches1958 @alicedopey @brianochka @steviebbboi

[ct7567329]

Target Acquired ~ Boss x F! Rebel Reader

Summary: When Delta Squad comes to help train your Rebel village, you think you're prepared. You already know how to fight. What else would you need to be ready for? Definitely not feelings. (I MIGHT PART 2 THIS) Delta Squad Week Day 4 - Don't Tell Fixer That (alt) Word Count: 3.1k Warnings: Romantic tension A/N: I'M SO SORRY. Story Time - this originally was Boss x Coffee Shop Owner Reader but while I was writing it I ended up hating it, so I began writing something else. ANYWAY, I stopped and moved on bc I got busy (I worked all 3 of my 3 jobs today) and I accidentally posted it instead of saving to drafts. I'M MORTIFIED I- tagging @deltasquadweek for generousely hosting! and @orangez3st for being Miss. Delta Squad join my taglist / masterlist

You had never intended for your quaint village to become a battleground, but war crept into every quiet corner of the galaxy. A small band of rebels had taken root here, tucked between hills and thick forest, desperately trying to resist the planet's government's growing reach. When word spread that the settlement was under threat, the Republic offered to send help.

Delta Squad arrived just after the spring rains. The ground was muddy, making it quite amusing to watch them attempt to walk normally through the outcrops. At first, you’d watched them from behind supply crates and low stone fences. You half-curious, half-wary. But weeks had passed, routines formed and you softened up to them. A sort of pattern settled over the village, and with it, the boys of Delta Squad settled too.

You saw them every day now. Boss was always barking orders across the training field. Scorch loved laughing too loud by the cooking fires. Sev seemed to be disappearing into the trees before dawn on daily basis. And Fixer … well. Fixer always found a reason to stand near you.

It started off small, like a canteen refilled before you asked, or a quiet “watch your balance” when your stance dipped. He even went as far as cleaning your knife for you after you obliviously dropped it after a training exercise.

But it was Boss who made your chest tighten in strange ways. It wasn't because of what he said, but because of everything he didn’t say. He was the first one on the field in the morning and the last to leave. He didn’t speak unless necessary. He didn’t linger unless he had a reason.

Yet more often than not, when you looked up during training, his gaze was already on you. This morning was no different.

“Stagger formation!” he called out, eyes scanning across the field in front of him, “One line forward, one back. Partners switch every fourth round.”

The sun wasn’t even high yet, but the day already stung with heat. You wiped your brow and glanced around. Most of the villagers groaned at the pairing rotation. Fixer, however, made a beeline for you.

“Looks like it’s our turn,” he half smiled, giving you a quick wink.

You returned it, “Think you can keep up?”

“I could say the same to you,” he replied, stepping into position.

Sparring with Fixer was smoother than with the others. Predictable even.You weren't denying he was good, but he was also cautious. Almost too cautious. Every time your wrist twisted too far, he let go. Every time your weight shifted wrong, he adjusted his stance so you wouldn’t fall. It was driving you insane.

“You’re holding back,” you told him after the third pass.

“Am I?” he asked, feigning innocence.

You groaned, tilting your head forward and giving him an annoyed look.

He sighed, “Maybe a little.”

“I don’t need soft hands, Fixer.”

“No,” he admitted, gaze meeting yours, “You don’t.”

But even then, the way he let you win that round wasn’t subtle. You shook your head and turned away just as Boss called for a rotation. Your next partner was a wiry teenager named Tavi who had more enthusiasm than technique. Still, you caught glimpses of Fixer glancing over. Behind him was Boss, arms crossed.

Later, as the sun dipped low and the drills wound down, you lingered behind to help clean the field. Boss stood off to one side, inspecting gear. You didn’t think he’d speak, but then he turned slightly.

“Your balance is improving,” he smirked, giving you a soft pat on the back.

“Thanks,” you replied, “I’ve been practicing.”

“It shows.”

It wasn’t much, but the way he said it felt meaningful, almost like he didn’t hand out praise often.

You started gathering scattered training batons. Boss moved to help without a word. The two of you worked in silence until your hands brushed on the same hilt. You looked up. His hand paused a fraction longer than it should have.

“I’m not just doing this to impress Fixer, you know,” you said before you could second-guess yourself.

Boss didn’t look surprised. He just studied your face for a moment, then gave a small nod, “Good."

You carried the rest of the gear in together. Nothing else was said, but the silence hung warm between you.

That evening, you helped prepare a village meal over the fire. Across the fire pit, Scorch cracked jokes while Sev muttered into his bowl. Fixer sat beside you.

He was close.

Too close.

His arm brushed yours when he shifted, “You’re really getting the hang of it,” he said quietly, eyes on the flames.

“Thanks,” you shrugged, “Boss said the same earlier.”

Fixer’s smile flattened, “He doesn’t hand out compliments often.”

“Yeah, I got that impression,” you agreed, shifting you gaze down to your feet.

Fixer stared into the fire a moment longer, “If you ever want extra drills, just one-on-one, I could show you some things.”

Your chest tightened, “I’ll think about it.”

“Okay,” he pressed his lip together, “No pressure.”

You glanced at him, noting his change in demeanor, “You’re not bad company Fixer.”

That earned a small, genuine smile from him.

After the fires had burned low and most of the village turned in, you sat outside your tent watching the stars blink through the cloud cover. The air was cool now, and the distant chirp of night insects played softly around you. Footsteps approached from behind, but you didn’t look up until the quiet settled beside you.

Boss. He didn’t sit, just stood next to you.

“Long day,” you asked, nodding to the ground beside you.

He nodded, “You did well.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Well it’s true.”

You smiled faintly and pulled your knees to your chest, “You don’t sleep much, do you?”

“I'm not here to sleep," he looked at the sky, then back down at you. “you should get some rest though. Tomorrow we work on perimeter defense.”

You gave him a mock salute, “Yes, sir.”

He blinked like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. Instead, he gave you the barest nod and turned away, disappearing into the dark.

You watched the space he left behind for a long while before going into your tent to lay down. But, you couldn't fall asleep. Something had started - you didn't know what - and it wasn’t going away.

The next few days passed in a blur of drills, sweat, and long evenings by the fire. Boss kept training intense and steady. There was always another maneuver to run or another flaw to correct. You found yourself moving sharper, quicker and more in control. Still, you weren’t sure if that was the training or knowing that Boss had his eyes on you.

Fixer had started showing up at your side more often. He wasn't hovering but he always seemed to be around.

“You get what Boss was saying earlier?” he asked one afternoon, kneeling beside you with a makeshift map drawn in the dirt.

“Mostly," you squinted at the lines, “he's concise.”

Fixer gave a dry chuckle, “That’s one way to put it. He leaves out the ‘why’ a lot.”

“Good thing you’re here, then.”

He looked up. For a second, his face was bare of all the usual seriousness, “Yeah?”

You nodded, “Yeah. I enjoy learning from you.”

That flicker of happiness returned to his expression, “I could teach you more, if you want.”

“I’ll take you up on that sometime,” you smiled, dragging you finger in the dirt.

It wasn’t just Fixer though. Everyone in the village had started to feel closer. Even Sev, who rarely said more than a few syllables, had passed you a ration bar during a long shift on watch. Scorch told you the loudest, most inappropriate jokes at dinner and tried to drag you into his stories. Delta Squad wasn’t just training the village anymore, it almost felt like they were living here.

But Boss stayed separate. He wasn't cold, but distant in the way someone carries something alone because they don’t know how to hand it off.

You wanted to reach out but you didn’t know how.

While in the middle of organizing supplies one night, Fixer snuck up on you. “Got plans tonight?” he asked a little too casually.

“No,” you replied, zipping up a medical kit, “Just thinking about heading to the ridge. The air’s clearer up there.”

lFixer looked disappointed, but he nodded, "Alright, another time then.”

You packed a satchel and set off alone, hiking the familiar path up the slope. When you reached the top, you sat on the smooth flat stone and leaned back on your hands, watching the sky bleed orange and purple.

After a few minutes, you heard movement behind you. You didn’t look right away. Something in the steps told you who it was.

“Didn’t think you’d follow,” you said.

Boss stepped into view and sat a few feet away, “I saw you leave.”

You raised a brow, “You keeping tabs on me now?”

“No,” he said evenly, “But Fixer looked upset. Thought it was worth checking.”

That made you pause, “You watching him too?”

Boss didn’t answer right away, "He’s my brother.”

You tilted your head, “You think I’m leading him on?”

“No.” His answer came quickly. Almost too quickly, “I think he likes you. I think he doesn’t know what to do about it.”

“And you?”

That made him go still and his voice dropped, “You’re part of this village. You’re important. I notice things. That’s all.”

You studied him, his face half-shadowed by the last of the daylight, “I’m not looking for attention, but I’m not blind, either.”

Boss turned to look at you, “I know.”

You both sat in silence after that, allowing the wind say what words couldn’t. By the time you both stood, the stars had started to gather.

The next day, drills turned into a full-scale simulation. Boss had half the village defending and half attacking. You were with the defenders, crouched behind a stacked barrier, adrenaline buzzing.

Fixer was on your team. He covered you like a shadow, always two steps behind, his voice constantly in your ear, “Left flank! Watch it. I’ve got you.”

When Boss swept in on the offensive side with Sev and Scorch flanking, it felt like the real thing. You moved on instinct, ducking and dodging. Fixer grabbed your shoulder once to keep you from stepping into Scorch’s mock stun round.

“You okay?” he asked, pulling you closer to him.

“I’m fine," you softly tugged away from his grasp.

Then Boss called the round. Everyone dropped to the grass, breathing hard. You wiped your face and looked around.

Fixer caught your eye, “Not bad.”

“Thanks,” you exhaled, trying to regain your breath. Your gaze drifted and found Boss. He was looking at you. Again.

“You free tomorrow morning?” Fixer asked after a few moments, snapping you out of your trance with Boss.

You hesitated, “I might hike again.”

Again, he just slowly nodded, “You should be careful."

You blinked, “Of what?”

Fixer stood up from the grass, “Of what you want." He paused, "and what someone else might want from you.”

It wasn’t cruel, but it was honest, and it hurt more than you expected.

Before you could answer, Boss walked by behind you and stopped.

“Drills moved to the south field tomorrow,” he announced, eyes on you, “Change of terrain.”

You nodded, “Got it.”

Fixer walked off. You didn’t stop him.

You looked down at the dirt on your hands, then toward the darkness where Fixer had gone. Things weren’t simple anymore and you weren’t sure what was coming next.

The next morning though, Fixer was quiet. He went through the drills like nothing was wrong, but he didn’t look at you much. That was unlike before. You felt it more than you saw it, like something fragile had cracked between you overnight.

Boss didn’t say anything, but he must have noticed. He started pairing you with Scorch during the exercises, sending Fixer off with Sev. You told yourself it was just tactics. Scorch made things light to break the tension while Sev kept Fixer grounded. Boss was just managing the mood. That’s what leaders did.

Still, you felt his eyes linger on you in the moments between commands.

After drills, you skipped the midday meal and found a spot behind the storage shed to sit alone. You pressed your back to the cool wall and closed your eyes.

You didn’t hear Boss approach until his shadow cut across your legs, “You okay?”

You opened your eyes. He stood with his hands behind his back, helmet tucked under one arm, sweat clinging to his hairline.

“I’m fine,” you lied, “Just needed a breather.”

He didn’t move, “Fixer’s worried you’re pulling away.”

You looked away, “I didn’t mean to.”

“He cares about you.”

“I know.”

Boss stepped forward, crouched down across from you, “Do you care about him?”

It was a question without accusation but it still made your stomach twist, “Sure,” you admit, “but just as I would for any of my friends."

Boss didn’t answer right away. He shifted, resting his forearms on his knees, “He doesn’t know how to hear that.”

You looked up at him, “And you?”

His expression didn’t change, “I’m not asking for anything.”

“Maybe I am,” you shrugged, gently biting your lower lip.

That made him look up, “Why?”

You inhaled deeply before confessing, “Because you’re the one I think about. When I’m learning something new. When I can’t sleep. When I wonder if this war will ever touch us directly.”

Boss exhaled slowly, eyes searching yours, “This war touches everything.”

You reached out and touched his wrist. His skin was warm beneath the fabric of his sleeve, “I know. That’s why I don’t want to waste the time we have.”

He stayed still, “You don’t have to pick.”

“I already have.”

He looked down at your hand on his wrist. Then, slowly, he turned his palm up and took your hand in his.

There was no kiss, no grand confession, just the quiet weight of his hand in yours, like something decided without being said.

That night, Fixer didn’t sit near the fire. He was in the shadows, hunched over gear, tools clinking in steady rhythm.

Boss sat beside you, quiet as ever. The others gave each other glances and raised eyebrows, but no one said anything.

Later, when the fire had burned low and most of the others were gone, you stood.

“Walk with me?” you asked, offering Boss a soft smile.

Without a word, he rose and followed.

You walked past the sleeping tents, distant coops, and empty training area to the edge of the field in silence. The stars stretched above like ancient artwork.

He stopped beside one of the wooden fence posts and leaned against it, "This isn’t smart,” he said finally. “Not for you. Not for the team.”

“I’m not a soldier. You don’t command me,” you retorted, stopping a few steps ahead of him.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know," you took a step closer to him, “but I don’t care.”

Boss watched you, his signature unreadable expression softening just slightly, “Fixer’s going to hate me for this.”

You leaned against the post beside him, “Then don’t tell him.”

That made him chuckle, “You think we can hide this?"

Instead of responding, you reached for his hand.

“I tried not to feel this,” he confessed, “but you made that impossible.”

You smiled, “Good.”

And then, finally, he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed or wild or desperate. His hands cupped your jaw while you laced your fingers in his collar, both of you drawn to each other like gravity had decided for you.

When you pulled back, he stayed close, pressing forehead against yours as he steadied his breath. “This isn’t over."

“I know,” you rasped.

The next morning, everything was the same. Fixer barely looked at you. Sev raised an eyebrow at him and, muttered “Idiot,” before movings on.

Boss stood at the front of the formation with a firm voice and clear orders as always, yet there was tension in the way he clasped his hands behind his back. Maybe it was nothing.

After drills wrapped and the villagers dispersed, Boss found you lingering by the edge of the clearing.

"You’ve got ten more minutes in you?" he asked, arms crossed over his chest.

You rolled your shoulders, "Only ten? Someone’s going soft."

He snorted, "Is that so? Let’s see how long you last."

The two of you walked toward the smaller sparring pit just out of sight but not too far from camp. Boss dropped his helmet onto a crate and cracked his neck, "Same rules. First to three pins."

You smirked, "Hope you brought a medkit."

He lunged without warning. You yelped and ducked, narrowly avoiding his arm as you scrambled sideways, "Cheap shot!"

"You’re slow," he countered, winking.

"You’re full of yourself."

"Also true."

The fight picked up to a pace that blurred the line between training and something else. You danced around him, dodging and weaving his playful punches. .

He caught your wrist mid-swing, "Gotcha."

You pursed your lips, smirking slightly, "You wish." You twisted at your waist, nearly slipping free, but he used your momentum against you.

In one clean move, he swept your legs and sent you sprawling to the ground. Before you could react, he was on top of you, knee pressing lightly against your thigh, one forearm pressed against the ground and his other hand braced beside your head.

You huffed, breathless, You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?"

"You make it fun," he grinned, brushing a stray hair from your face.

Your eyes followed his finger as it pushed the hair aside, "Is that why you keep pinning me?"

Boss twirled your hair around his finger, "Maybe."

The silence hung for a beat too long. His gaze searched yours, then, as if the moment pulled it out of him, he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to your lips.

It was just one quick peck before you could react when he popped to his feet then froze.

You blinked, "Boss?"

His eyes locked on something behind you, his whole body tense.

You twisted your head, following his gaze and felt your stomach drop.

"Cyar'ika," Boss muttered under his breath, barely audible.

You rose beside him, "I didn’t know he—"

"Neither did I."

Fixer turned and walked away without a word.

[belbobiggins]

I'm currently in the middle of a fanfic and am at a loss of what to do next.

It seems to have taken inspiration from Flowey is Not a Good Life Coach, which is what originally piqued my interest. However, there's a bit of a twist: R*pe. I saw the tag, but someone on Tumblr recommended it, so I ignored it out of curiosity.

At first it was fine. Flowey is being an asshole and pretty abusive to Papyrus at first, but that's nothing I haven't seen in fics before. Then he r*pes him.

Okay... So I honestly just skipped that section and moved on, wanting to advance in the plot and not focus on the graphic part. The story continued, Papyrus obviously struggling with what has happened. It felt like a conflict—part of the story to show how Papyrus would have to grow and heal from the experience.

Then, around 70k words in, I go to the next chapter and there's a warning at the top. The first r*pe chapter was bad enough from what I saw, but now? Ooohh boy. Now there's a big fat warning telling me that this chapter is going to be 5 times worse.

I honestly don't know what to do at this point. I want to keep reading because I'm already 70k words in and don't want to have wasted all that time, but also now I want to stop and find something else to read. The horrifically graphic and unnecessary r*pe scene seems like it's only going to be there for shock factor (or because the author has some kind of sick fetish) and I'm incredibly uncomfortable. I don't even want to keep reading anymore because that's really fucking weird and gross.