#i made it when i was in a really dark time of life

[cumironi]

HII!!! the fic where they realize you like praise is TOOOO good! i was wondering if you could do a sort of part two but where they realize you like being degraded instead of praised? 🫶🫶

ARE YOU A FILTHY GIRL? jjk men.

feat. gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, shiu, higuruma

summary. “he calls you his good girl, then his whore.” seems like your boyfriend couldn’t even decide what you really are, no? even after they know about you and the whole degrading things? will they ruin your life after that discovery? oh, definitely.

warning. non-sorcerer! jjk au, college au!, 23 you & 31 them, degrading kink, praise kink, filthy, some of them are so meannn, hair-pulling,

GOJO SATORU

the sheets are a mess. the air is thick with heat, musk, and the obscene sound of skin slapping skin. you can’t even tell what time it is anymore — not that it matters. satoru’s late-night visits always have a way of warping time, bending reality until the only thing that exists is you beneath him, delirious, overstimulated, and stupidly in love.

he’s still in his dress shirt, unbuttoned just enough for you to see the tattoo on his chest (it’s stupid. it says limitless, because of course it does). the tie is hanging off his neck like it’s purely ornamental, swinging as he fucks into you like he’s trying to make you forget your name.

"mmh—look at you, baby," he pants, eyes bright with sweat and sin, his lips wet from where he kissed down your stomach just minutes ago. "so pretty when you’re ruined like this. my sweet college girl, letting her old man fuck her brains out between classes.”

“you’re not old,” you gasp, nails dragging down his back. “just—just a pervert—”

“correction,” he huffs a laugh. “i’m your pervert. certified, licensed, and addicted to the way you moan my name like it’s your fucking major.”

his pace slows for just a moment, giving you that signature smirk. the one that always gets you in trouble. the one that says i know something you don’t.

“god,” he groans, rolling his hips deeper, letting your whimper melt into the air. “you’re so fucking good like this. eyes all glassy, mouth open, like a good little—”

you moan, louder than you meant to.

he freezes.

“…wait.”

your breath hitches.

he blinks. leans in real close.

“do that again,” he whispers. “what did you just react to, sweetheart?”

your face burns. “i—I didn’t—”

"no no no," he grins like a shark with a credit score of 850. "don’t get shy on me now. that sound you made? the whiny little oh satoru please ruin me noise? yeah, that wasn’t just because of the angle, was it?"

“satoru—”

he pulls his cock out.

you make a noise of protest — a whimper, a whine, a borderline sob — and he raises a perfect white brow.

“look at you. desperate already?” he hums. “and here i thought you liked being treated like my precious little angel. but now…”

he runs two fingers down your spit-slick chin, thumbing your bottom lip as his tone drops to something dark and thrilling.

“…now i’m wondering if my baby likes being treated like a dumb little fucktoy instead.”

your thighs twitch. your eyes roll back just slightly.

he laughs. oh, he fucking laughs.

“no way.”

“shut up—”

“no fucking way. you’re telling me…” he leans down, pressing a filthy kiss to your lips, “…you’ve been getting off on me being a little mean to you this whole time?”

his voice is pure sin now. a low rasp in your ear as he slides his cock back in, slow and deep and deliberate.

“you like when i call you a dumb slut, huh? when i make fun of you for being all brain-dead and cockdrunk on a school night?” he groans, moving faster again. “fuck. no wonder you tighten up every time i tease you. you’ve been hiding this from me?”

you nod, barely able to think, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

“god, that’s why you blush so hard when i tell you to shut up and drool. i thought you were just shy—no, you were getting off on it.”

he presses his forehead to yours, eyes wild and affectionate and unhinged.

“baby,” he whispers sweetly. “you’re so fucked in the head. and i love that for us.”

you whimper his name, breath hitching, and he slams into you harder, making the headboard crack against the wall.

“you’re my stupid baby, aren’t you?” he groans. “my filthy girl with her brain between her legs—”

your whole body trembles. he can feel it.

"oh fuck, you came on that?" he groans. “jesus. i didn’t know i was dating such a nasty girl. i’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

and yet — for all the filth and teasing and dirty, obscene words — he kisses you like you’re made of stars. he holds you close like you’re the most important thing in the world.

“my dumb little angel,” he murmurs against your lips, heart hammering against yours. “mine. only mine. gonna keep you all fucked out and smiling forever.”

GETO SUGURU

“look at you,” he sneers above you, hand fisted in your hair, making you arch back. “acting like a needy little bitch in heat the second i call you a slut.”

you’re moaning, gasping, incoherent — barely hanging on to the frayed edge of your sanity. and he’s not even giving you a break. not slowing down, not letting up, not giving you one second to recover.

because he knows now.

he knows.

you like it when he’s mean.

“so that’s what gets you off,” he growls, slapping your cheek with a sharp little tap, just enough to make you blink and whimper. “not my sweet words, not the nice shit i say to make you feel loved. no. you wanna be put in your fucking place, don’t you?”

he laughs. it’s low. cruel.

“you’re disgusting.”

his cock slams back in. deep. hard. like he’s trying to make you feel it in your throat.

you sob, a broken moan twisting into something animal.

“you like this,” he bites out, hand gripping your jaw to force you to look at him. “fuck. you’re dripping down your thighs, making a goddamn mess of my sheets. and for what? getting called a dumb little fucktoy?”

you nod. you nod. you’re too far gone to pretend anymore.

“you’re unbelievable,” he groans, voice rough with heat and hunger. “i’ve been treating you like a fucking goddess. and the whole time? this is what you wanted? to be used? to be broken down and ruined?”

he slaps your thigh, grinning when you jolt.

“go on, tell me what you are.”

you hesitate, panting, teary-eyed. and that pisses him off.

“say it.”

his hand wraps around your throat, his hips never missing a beat. he’s fucking you fast now — brutal, relentless, like he wants you hoarse and mindless by the end of this.

“say it, or i’ll stop right now.”

“i’m your—your dumb little whore,” you sob out. “fuck, suguru—i’m your fucktoy—!”

he moans. actually moans. like he just got handed the key to his own personal heaven.

“that’s right. my dumb little slut. no thoughts in that pretty head except cock and cum. pathetic.”

he spits on your chest. drags two fingers through it, then shoves them in your mouth.

“suck. maybe if you’re good, i’ll let you come.”

you do. immediately. desperate. like the perfect little pet he just unlocked.

he watches you with dark, gleaming eyes, like he’s thrilled by the monster he’s unleashed.

“you think i’m ever gonna be gentle with you again?” he breathes, mouth brushing your ear. “you think i’m gonna let you forget this?”

another thrust, hard enough to knock the wind from your lungs.

“nah, baby. you’re fucked now. you just told me exactly what you are.”

he grabs your face, forces your eyes up to his.

“and now you’re mine to break.”

NANAMI KENTO

“you were so proud of yourself earlier.”

his voice is calm. deadly calm. too calm for the way he’s got you bent over his kitchen counter, pants bunched at your knees, panties torn and hanging off one thigh. his belt’s undone, hanging from one hand. his other hand? buried in your hair, gripping tight.

“you walked in here all smug, all talk—acting like you’re some well-behaved little student who knows everything.”

he yanks your head back just a little, just enough to make your back arch.

“and now look at you.”

he slaps your ass once, loud and sharp, just to hear the sound of it echo off the marble.

you moan.

and that’s when he knows.

“…you liked that.”

you freeze.

and nanami, ever the gentleman, laughs—slow and dangerous.

“oh. i see now.” he tsks, voice low, amused and cruel. “so that’s what this is. you pretend to be my sweet, smart girl—taking notes, asking questions, playing innocent. but the moment i get you alone, all you want is to be treated like a brainless fuckdoll.”

your cheeks burn. you try to shake your head, to explain—but your mouth won’t work.

nanami chuckles.

“don’t try to deny it. i’ve been fucking you for almost a year. and not once have you sounded like this.”

he leans in, presses his lips to your ear.

“you want me to talk down to you. degrade you.”

he grabs your jaw, turns your face to look at him over your shoulder.

“say it.”

you squirm, gasping, dripping onto his cock that’s barely pressed between your thighs.

“s-say what—?”

his grip tightens. “say what you are.”

“i’m—” you hesitate. but he waits, patient and devastating.

“i’m your dumb little fucktoy,” you whisper.

he groans, low and broken. “god. you really are disgusting.”

his cock slides in without warning, thick and deep, and you cry out so loud it makes your knees buckle.

“is this what you wanted?” he snarls against your neck. “to be bent over like a filthy little whore, drooling on my counter, so cockdrunk you can’t even remember your own name?”

you’re sobbing. nodding. cumming—maybe. you don’t even know anymore.

“pathetic,” he breathes, thrusting into you harder, faster, one hand on your hip, the other around your throat. “all that education, all that ambition—and this is what you really want. to be treated like trash. like nothing more than a wet, willing hole for me to use.”

you moan at every word. filthy. desperate.

and then he softens. just a little. lips brushing your temple, his voice like velvet over razors.

“don’t worry, darling.”

he kisses your cheek. tender. almost cruel in its contrast.

“if that’s what you want…”

he pulls your head back again, growling against your jaw.

“then that’s what i’ll give you.”

TOJI FUSHIGURO

“fuckin’ knew it,” toji laughs, dragging your panties down your thighs with one hand while the other shoves you down flat into his mattress. “knew from the second you started giving me attitude you were all bark and no bite. nothin’ but a needy little slut underneath.”

he watches you struggle — watches you try to act tough while your legs shake and your soaked cunt practically begs for his cock. he’s grinning like the smug bastard he is.

“mm? where’s that sass now, princess?”

you whimper.

wrong answer.

he slaps your ass, hard, making your whole body jerk forward.

“use your words.”

“i-i’m your slut,” you gasp, voice trembling. “please—”

he cuts you off with a sharp tug of your hair, dragging your head back to make you look at him. “oh, no. no, no, no. don’t go beggin’ now. you’ve been mouthing off for weeks. actin’ like you’re too good for me.”

he nudges the thick head of his cock between your folds, slow, teasing, not pushing in just yet.

“but you dress like that around me? bend over every chance you get? call me ‘mr. fushiguro’ in that sweet little voice like you don’t know exactly what you’re doin’?”

he slaps your ass again.

“you wanted this, didn’t you?”

you nod, choking on a sob. “yes, sir—”

he fucking moans.

“ohh. sir, huh? god, you’re disgusting.”

he finally pushes in. one deep, thick stroke that makes your whole world shatter. and then another. and another. ruthless. like he’s trying to fuck the brat right out of you.

“you hear yourself?” he grits out, fucking you hard enough to bounce the bed. “making all these pathetic little sounds like a dog in heat. bet your professors would love to hear what kind of slut their top student really is.”

you sob into the sheets.

“don’t cry now,” he smirks, leaning in close to growl against your ear. “you wanted to be used, right? wanted me to ruin you?”

his hand wraps around your throat, squeezing just enough to make you gasp.

“wanted to be nothing but a dumb little hole for me to fuck whenever i want.”

he’s grinning. cruel, condescending, eyes gleaming with heat.

“well, sweetheart—congrats.”

another brutal thrust.

“you got it.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA

“you like that?”

his voice is low. dark. teasing.

you’re on your knees, drool smeared down your chin, eyes glassy, lip trembling as you look up at him. your clothes are somewhere behind you, discarded in the haze of him manhandling you onto the bed like a toy. his cock is resting against your cheek, thick and twitching, the skin flushed. and you’re already a mess.

but that grin—

that wicked, sharp-toothed, smug fucking grin stretches across his face when he sees the way your thighs press together from just that one sentence.

“ohhh,” he laughs, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip. “so that’s what it is.”

you flinch.

he grips your chin, hard, forcing you to look him in the eye.

“all this time, you acted like you were scared of me. like you were just some shy little college girl who didn’t know what she was doing.”

he leans in, mouth by your ear.

“but deep down—you’re just a filthy, depraved little fucktoy, aren’t you?”

you whimper. your thighs tremble.

his smile widens. cruel.

“look at you. shaking. moaning. fuck—your cunt’s probably soaked already, isn’t it?”

he shoves you backward without warning, watches you fall against the bed, spread out and breathless. he drags his cock along your folds, not even pushing in, just letting it sit there—heavy and taunting.

“you like being talked down to? degraded? used like a worthless little hole?”

you nod quickly, like it’s the only thing you know how to do.

“then open your fucking mouth and beg for it.”

your lips part—eager, desperate.

but he pauses.

“no. wait. i changed my mind.”

you blink, confused, until you hear him laugh again, darker this time.

“i’m not gonna fuck your mouth, princess. not yet.”

his cock slams into you in one brutal thrust and your scream is instant.

“i want you to feel it when i ruin you.”

his pace is unrelenting. his grip on your hips? bruising. and his words?

they never stop.

“you really thought someone like me would take it easy on you? someone like you? you’re nothing but a dumb little plaything. just a wet hole for me to use whenever i feel like it.”

he leans over you, one hand around your throat, the other pressing your knees up against your chest.

“say thank you.”

you’re barely coherent. moaning. gasping. totally gone.

he slaps your thigh. “i said say it.”

“t-thank you—thank you, sukuna—!”

he laughs, proud and cruel, kissing your temple with mock sweetness.

“that’s my good little fuckdoll.”

SHIU KONG

you’re bent over his desk, face pressed against cold wood, wrists pinned behind your back with one of his silk ties.

your thighs are trembling. lips parted. eyes glazed.

his cock is buried inside you, deep and slow, dragging along every sensitive inch until you’re whimpering from just the stretch.

and he’s still dressed.

not even a button undone.

just his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened—like this is just another part of his shift.

“you’re lucky i’m even touching you,” he says coolly, glancing down at the wet ring your cunt’s leaving on his cock. “filthy little dropout like you.”

you whimper. he laughs—mean.

“you think any real man would keep you? spoiled brat with a mouth that won’t shut and a cunt that clenches when i call her a fucking toy?”

he leans down, lips brushing your ear.

“that’s what you are. a toy.”

his hips roll, slow and grinding, and your moan catches in your throat.

“a warm, wet, stupid little thing i use between meetings.”

his hand slips down, fingers flicking over your clit once—twice—and you sob, hips twitching.

“oh?” he coos mockingly. “are you close already? pathetic. i’ve barely done anything.”

and you’re gasping, begging under your breath, “please, please, please—”

he cuts you off with a sharp slap to your ass.

“what did i say about whining in my office?”

you go quiet, biting your lip.

“good girl.”

he slams into you—once, twice, hard—and you wail.

“you should be grateful,” he growls. “i could’ve left you dripping and untouched. instead, i’m wasting my time fucking you through the desk like some cheap little fuckdoll.”

he leans back just enough to see your reflection in the glass cabinet ahead. the way your mascara’s smudging, your mouth falling open with every thrust, your body wrecked and desperate and completely his.

he grabs your face, turns it toward your own reflection.

“look at yourself.”

you do—and you whimper.

“look at what i’ve turned you into.”

he grins, low and dangerous.

“and say thank you.”

you moan. “thank you, shiu—thank you—!”

his breath hitches.

“that’s right.”

his hand closes over your throat again.

“now take it.”

and he fucks you so deep, so rough, you’ll be limping back to campus in his spare dress shirt because your clothes are ripped to shreds.

HIGURUMA HIROMI

he’s always been so polite.

held your hand across the table, remembered your coffee order, adjusted your jacket when it slipped off your shoulder. he’s older, calm, grounded—your quiet man in the storm of your busy, chaotic little college life.

but not now.

not when he has you sprawled out on the soft leather couch in his office, legs over his shoulders, face flushed, breath ragged, hands trembling as you cling to the lapels of his suit jacket—like you can hold on to any sense of composure when he’s pounding into you.

“what did you say?” he asks, breathless, low, eyes burning into yours.

you can’t even remember what you said. everything’s fuzzy. everything’s hot.

he slows, hips dragging back, his cock sliding against every hypersensitive inch of your soaked, fluttering cunt.

“you said you were nothing, didn’t you?”

you flinch.

“that you like being talked to like you’re beneath me?”

your lips part—barely a nod—and his jaw clenches.

“fuck.”

his pace shifts, rougher now. mean. and it’s like something in him shatters—all that calm gone, replaced by low, filthy groans and sharp thrusts that make you scream.

“you want to be treated like a good girl?” he pants, hand curling under your thigh, keeping you wide open.

you nod, whining.

“then why are you dripping like a whore when i call you worthless?”

your whole body jerks at that word. he notices.

and now you’re done for.

his grip tightens. his voice drops to a gravelly whisper against your ear:

“you like that? being called a whore?”

you gasp, clutching his sleeves.

“my sweet little honors student,” he snarls. “always so smart. so well-behaved. and yet here you are, soaking my cock just because i called you fucking pathetic.”

his hand snakes down, fingers circling your clit.

“you’re disgusting.”

you clench around him and he groans.

“god. you really like that. my perfect little doll’s a filthy, degrading-obsessed slut.”

he leans in close, mouth hovering over yours.

“say it.”

you blink up at him, dazed.

“say what you are.”

you whisper it, shameful, breathless.

“…i’m a slut.”

he smiles—mean, but affectionate. a kiss drops to your cheek.

“good girl.”

and then?

he ruins you.

[skelesnakesposts]

Ok so I ended up writing 12k words, I'll put the first chapter in here and link the ao3 bellow because I'm not gonna make people read all of that.

Chapter 1:

After what felt like an eternity, the bell finally rang, signalling the end of class. Lily had just survived the most boring math lesson of her life, and she was beyond relieved to be free. She packed her books as fast as she could while the teacher reminded everyone about the test on Friday.

She filed out with the rest of her classmates and made a beeline for her locker across the hall. As she was packing up to go home, Eve approached.

“Hey, Lily. I’m really sorry—I have to cancel again. My mom wants me home. Some family stuff came up.”

“Okay… Do you know when you’ll actually be able to work on the project? It’s due next week, and Ms. Maken will kill us if we don’t get it done. It’s like fifty percent of our final grade.”

“I know, I’m really sorry. I’m not sure when I’ll have time, but I’ll let you know as soon as I can, okay?”

“Fine. I’m going to start on my section—it’ll take a while anyway. Just send me your part whenever you get the chance. I’ll handle the formatting,” Lily said, obviously annoyed.

“Thank you so much, Lily. You’re a lifesaver,” Eve replied with forced gratitude—her tone made it obvious she wasn’t planning to contribute much.

“I’d better go. See you Monday, Eve. Hopefully, everything’s okay with your family.”

“Thanks. See you Monday.”   Eve turned and walked away.

Not long after, Lily headed home. She had a mountain of work waiting for her and couldn’t afford to waste time. Wanting to beat the early evening darkness, she decided to take a shortcut.

The alley between the vape shop and one of the dozen nearly identical phone stores shaved several minutes off her walk. It let out just a block or two from her house—close enough to feel convenient, not far enough to feel dangerous.

At least, not usually.

Halfway down the alley, she spotted a couple of shadowy figures. She paused. Should she really walk toward them?

“Whatever,” she muttered. “It’s fine.”

It was not fine. Walking toward strangers in a sketchy alley was objectively a terrible decision.

As she got closer, the figures began arguing—loudly.

“What do you mean you lost it? You had one job!”

Lily stopped cold.   She knew that voice.   “Uncle David?”

He didn’t turn, too caught up in yelling at the stranger.

“You think I meant to? I worked my ass off to get that! You seriously think I’d just hand it over?”

Lily opened her mouth to call out again—but then she saw something that made her freeze.

Plants—real plants—were snaking up around the stranger’s neck.

She blinked.

She had to be imagining this. Where would plants even come from in the middle of a concrete alley?

Then the man collapsed.

David turned—and saw her.

His face changed instantly. Panic. Regret. Guilt.

Lily’s heart was hammering. That wasn’t just anyone. That was her uncle. And she had just watched him kill someone?

She took a step back.

“Wait! Lily, it’s not what it looks like!” David called.

“Oh really?” she snapped, eyes wide. “Because it looked like you just murdered someone.”

David raised his hands, staying where he was. “Okay, it was—kind of. But you can’t tell anyone. It’s not like they’ll believe you anyway. You’ll end up in a mental hospital, they’ll think you’re insane.”

Lily stared at him. “You’re my uncle, David. How am I supposed to process the fact that you just choked a guy with plants? What even is that?”

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” he muttered.

“You think that makes it better?” she said, her voice high and shaky. “How the hell am I supposed to act normal after this? I could still call the police and say you strangled him with a rope or something. That’d be enough to get you arrested.”

David let out a slow, tired sigh.

“Okay, but… are you really going to do all that?”

The way he said it—so calm, so certain—made her stomach twist.   And, frustratingly, he wasn’t wrong. Her brain was still catching up.

The alley was silent now, thick with tension.

After a long pause, David spoke again.

“Look, I know this is a lot. But what you saw wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“You mean the part where vines came out of nowhere and strangled a man?” she said, arms crossed. “Yeah. Not exactly the family reunion I expected.”

David nodded wearily. ��Right. So, let’s start over. I’ll explain. But I have so many questions.”

“Shoot”

She narrowed her eyes. “So that thing with the vines… that was magic, wasn’t it?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It was.”

Lily exhaled, trying to centre herself. “Okay. So magic is real. Cool. Just what I needed to round out my week.”

David gave a tired smile. “You’re handling this better than I thought.”

“Well, I haven’t passed out yet, so that’s something.”

“Yeah that’s a good sign. You said you had a lot of questions, you may as well keep going.”

“Yeah ok. How did you even know you could do magic? And what about me? Is there a chance I could do it too?”

“There’s a test for that.”

“Seriously? It’s that simple?”

“Pretty much. All we need is a piece of paper, a drop of your blood, and a basic spell.”

“That’s it?”

“You sound disappointed. We’ve got better tools these days. No full ritual required.”

She rolled her eyes. “So… when and where are we doing this? Because I want to know but I need to be home before my parents start asking questions.”

“I know a guy. He’s about ten minutes from here, and the test only takes five. I can bring you in and get the test done, but if you don’t test positive you have to forget that all of this ever happened. I’ll have you home right after. Deal?”

“Fine. Let’s go.”

and here's the link for the rest if you want to read more:

Wait, are you saying that magic is real?" "Yes." "And you can test if I have magical potential?" "Yes. It's simple: a piece of paper, a drop of your blood, and a simple spell."

[chronicowboy]

Eddie calls Chris after the kitchen incident. Buck locks himself away in his room, and Eddie can't blame him for it really. Wishes he had a door he could close on himself. Wishes he could pack it all away into one room and let it drown him. Just for a little while. But he doesn't. Because this isn't his house anymore. It hasn't been for a while.

Instead, he sits on the couch in the dark, hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees, and he tries to pinpoint the exact moment it all went wrong. Like he doesn't know. Like he didn't walk into the kitchen itching for it. Wanting to feel something, anything but the grief and the guilt and the desolate helplessness he hasn't been able to escape since the call came in.

He'd just wanted—and maybe it was unfair, but Bobby was gone, so what the fuck was fair?—he'd just wanted Buck to hold him. To ask him what it was like finding out over the phone, so Eddie could fall apart. And Buck would pick up his pieces and stitch them all back together. Fix it the way he always fixes things. And then Eddie would have been solid enough to do the same for Buck.

But no. The blunt, bludgeoning stones of their grief had caught each other, sparking in the charged air of the kitchen and catching light. Neither of them stood a chance.

Eddie sighs. Scrubs a rough hand down his face. Glances back at the hallway. He could get up, go knock on Buck's door and say he's sorry, say they can figure this out together. He could. Except Eddie's not sure he can. He's not sure he knows how to fix this. Can it even be fixed? They lost Bobby. And instead of finding comfort in shared grief, they used the sharp edge of it to sever their bond, rip a chasm in the ground between them.

He doesn't know how to fix this, and for once, he thinks Buck has no idea either.

Eddie catches sight of the time on his watch, curses as he lunges for his phone on the coffee table. It's an hour past the time he normally calls Christopher to check-in. Fuck. He can only hope his parents haven't herded Chris up to bed yet. He hits the call button and brings it up to his ear, leg bouncing as he waits for—

"Hey, Dad." His voice is so soft, so steady it brings tears to Eddie's eyes almost instantly. He squeezes his eyes shut, screws up his face, takes a deep breath.

"Hey, Chris." His voice, however, is rough and trembling, broken.

"You okay?" Chris asks, sweet baby, Eddie wishes he was here, wishes he could send Chris down the hall to knock on Buck's door and give him the hug Eddie so wishes he was gentle enough to offer. But no, his hands were made for pushing and shoving and hurting.

"Eh." Eddie laughs wetly. "Been better, kid."

"Want to talk about it?" God. Yeah. Yeah, he does. Except, this is another thing he's not sure he knows how to do. Doesn't know how he ended up on this couch alone in the dark and desperate for something he can't even put a name to.

"I messed up." He sighs, sniffs, shakes his head. "I really messed up with Buck, bud."

"He'll forgive you." And it's immediate. So goddamn sure. There's a faith to it that Eddie thinks he's never felt in his whole life. If he was standing, it would have brought him to his knees. "What happened?"

"I told Hen I finally got hired by EPFD, and she told Chimney, and Chimney told Ravi, and he let it slip to Buck before I had chance to tell him." Eddie should have known. A family of fucking loose lips. "He was hurt, and then he brought Bobby into it, and I just... Snapped." He huffs out a breath, bites down on the lump in his throat, lets it bleed bitter guilt down his esophagus.

And that was it really. That was why it had taken him two weeks to book a planet ticket. Because he couldn't face coming home—back to LA—just to look in the eyes of the people who were there. He knew he'd find no blame there, but still. He wondered if somewhere inside themselves they'd think he didn't deserve his grief half as much as they did because he was the one who left.

He'd hoped when he got to the airport, when Buck had got him home, when all was said and done, Buck would read the guilt on him plain as day. Would wrap him up and tell him that it was okay, that he was allowed to feel it, that this grief was theirs, and they'd shoulder it together. But Buck had been bouncing around houses carrying out psych evals and holding himself together with that shitty off-brand tape that never stays down at the corners. And Eddie's hands were only made for breaking, so what the hell was he supposed to do about it?

"I don't know how to fix this, Chris." Eddie bites at his lip, sits back, looks up at the ceiling to stop the tears from rolling. "I wish you were here. I think you'd be able to fix him with just a hug."

The silence that comes down the line has Eddie's heart leaping. He's pushed too far. Too soon. This is still the city he left. Still the house Eddie tarnished forever.

"Actually, I've been thinking..." Christopher clears his throat and gets quiet in that mousy way that means he's not quite sure how to say it. "I thought, maybe, maybe I could come home?"

And Chris starts rambling about how Buck and Eddie need him and how he misses Bobby and everyone else and how he'd like to see them again, but Eddie's back on the floor of his bedroom with a hand pressed over his mouth, choking on silent sobs.

Home.

"And I know you're pretty broke right now and plane tickets are super expensive and you'd never let me fly on my own but—"

"Chris," he croaks. Christopher's mouth snaps shut. "Chris, do you mean it?"

"Yeah, Dad. You were there for me when Buck was in his coma. Now, I want to be there for Buck now Bobby's—gone."

"God, kid, what the hell did we do to deserve you?"

"Beats me," Chris mumbles cheekily. Eddie barks a laugh.

"I love you, you know that?"

"I love you too."

God. He's never gonna get used to that.

"Pepa's still visiting Abuela, right?" Chris hums in assent. "Right, okay, so I-I'll call her and see if she wouldn't mind flying home with you tomorrow and then I'll book you tickets and we'll figure it out, okay?"

"The three of us will figure it out," Chris tells him. And somehow Eddie knows that he's not talking about Pepa.

[aleese1111]

more seong je 🙏🙏

bruises & glances | geum seong je x fem!reader

summary: in a cramped tteokbokki shop near a shadowy bowling alley, a girl spends her nights serving bloodied high schoolers without asking questions—until one night, something crosses a line. when a stranger touches her, geum seong-je, a boy known more for his fists than his words, retaliates without hesitation, leaving behind shattered tables, silence, and a stare that says too much.

warnings: [fluff i think] physical violence , sexual harassment (non-explicit but invasive behavior and unwanted touching) , mild language and verbal threats .

author's note: requests more seooongg jeeeee !!! i posted three times today... i need a life. request pleaseeee!! bmf.. heh.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. ??

the scent of chili paste and frying oil curled into the air, familiar and warm. the kind of smell that clung to hair, to clothes, to memories. most nights were loud but manageable—tables full of boys too beat-up to sit properly but still hungry enough to eat like wolves. she’d grown used to the noise, to the bruises, to the way no one said what really happened just down the alley where the underground lights flickered.

grandma never asked questions. just fed them. scolded them. patched a split eyebrow here and there. she treated them like stray dogs that knew how to come home.

and like clockwork, they kept coming.

the restaurant sat just a few minutes from the old bowling alley buried under a laundromat—half-forgotten unless you were a teenager looking for a fight or a place to disappear. she never went down there, but she knew what kind of things happened in the dark. you could always tell who came from the alley by the way they limped in, the blood on their collars, the way they tried to pretend they weren’t hurting.

but when he walked in, it never felt like routine.

he didn’t come every night. didn’t need to. just his presence made the walls feel narrower. the tables quieter.

he always moved like he didn’t care who was watching. like he was looking for something to break or someone to dare him. but tonight, something about him was more frayed. his lip was split. his knuckles raw and red like they’d never had time to stop bleeding.

he slid into his usual seat, his two friends following behind without a word.

she looked up just as he glanced over. neither of them looked away quick enough.

her heart tugged in her chest like it forgot what pace it was supposed to be on.

she grabbed her notepad, walked over.

“usual?” she asked, her voice quiet but steady.

he looked at her longer than normal.

“…unless you got something sweeter,” he said, voice low and lazy, a grin playing at the edge of his mouth.

her cheeks warmed instantly. she scoffed under her breath, half a laugh, and turned away before he could see too much.

she didn’t know what they were to each other—barely spoke, barely looked—but it was there. in glances. in how their eye contact always felt long and intense before he left. in how he didn’t let anyone else take his order.

the bell above the door jingled again.

two guys walked in. too old for high school. too confident. they sat near the middle table, legs wide, arms thrown over the chairs like they belonged there.

they didn’t.

she could feel their eyes before they even said anything.

she kept it neutral. polite. brought water. took the order.

and as she turned to walk away—

“damn,” one of them muttered, eyes on her legs. “this place got real good lately.”

his friend chuckled, louder. “think she’s on the menu?”

she kept walking, shoulders stiff.

then—

a hand. fast. grabbing.

a squeeze.

the tray hit the floor with a crash. water spilled out in every direction.

her breath caught.

she spun, slapped the hand away hard. “don’t touch me.”

there was no room to think. no time to process.

a chair screeched.

he was already up.

no warning. no noise.

he moved like something had snapped in his chest.

within seconds, the creep was on the ground—throat grabbed, a fist already crashing into his face.

again.

again.

no yelling. no insults. just the dull thud of bone and skin and table legs shifting from the weight of it.

his grin was back—but this time it was wild. dangerous. like he was enjoying every second of it.

his friends didn’t move at first.

only when blood started smearing the floor did one of them speak.

“hyung—”

“don’t.”

his voice was flat.

“i’m not done yet.”

the man on the floor groaned, face swollen, one eye already shut.

she stepped forward, heart racing. “stop—please.”

he didn’t even look at her.

his fist came down again.

“you shouldn’t have touched her,” he said, like he was speaking to himself more than the man below him. “fucking dumb move.”

Blood splattered across the linoleum. The man beneath him whimpered. Hands up. Seong-je didn’t care.

His two friends rushed in, grabbing his shoulders. It took both to drag him off.

he stood, shoulders rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths.

grandma stormed from the kitchen, spatula in hand, yelling curses only old women and gods understood.

smack!

she hit the guy on the back with a force no one expected. “you low-grade eel! you dog-faced worm!”

smack!

“get out! if i see you again i’ll stir-fry your intestines!”

the man scrambled out, barely conscious, his friend dragging him like a bag of trash.

and then—

silence.

the chairs were still crooked. her tray was still on the floor. blood still dripped from his hand.

she picked up a napkin and stepped toward him.

“you’re bleeding,” she said softly.

he looked at her for a moment like he hadn’t heard. then down at his fist.

“…it’s nothing.”

she gently reached for it anyway, dabbing the cuts.

he watched her.

not her hand. not the cloth.

her.

“you always fight like that?” she asked, voice quiet.

his jaw twitched.

“only when they deserve worse.”

her eyes flicked up. “you think he did?”

his lips curved, slow. “you don’t?”

she hesitated, then shook her head. “i didn’t say that.”

his grin widened just slightly. “good.”

a pause.

“you really didn’t want me to stop, did you?” he added, voice low, nearly teasing.

her breath caught. “that’s not what i—”

“i could tell.” his eyes glinted, dangerous but amused.

her face flushed, and she looked away, trying not to smile.

“you’re messed up,” she muttered.

“i know,” he said. “you don’t seem to mind.”

the corner of her lip twitched despite herself.

he stepped back, turned toward the door. the moment hung too long, the space still too charged.

but then he stopped just before the threshold.

and he looked back.

his breaths were deep now. measured. like he’d been holding something in the whole time.

his gaze wasn’t teasing anymore.

not wild. not cruel.

just… focused. unreadable.

something flickered in it—something that didn’t belong in a boy who enjoyed breaking people.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. ??

[yangkitties]

ink worthy ✩ c.bc

pairing: bang chan x gn!reader || word count: 0.4k genre: fluff, established relationship || warnings: not much, slightly suggestive, mentions of tattoos, lmk if i missed anything synopsis: chan's always wanted a tattoo. so when he finally gets one, he knows it has to be something meaningful. note: DEEPLY SORRY FOR THE DELAY. back on my bs. hope you guys enjoy this bc i went thru the 5 stages of grief by the time i finished it and it's only 400 words so that pretty much sums up how i feel atm- ANYWAYS LOVE YOU ALL, as always my ask box is open req: @mhluvie

The black lines seem to be staring back at you, almost offensive at this point. They gleam softly under the dim light of the living room, rippling as Chan gulps. 

The ‘CB97’ sits delicately on his milky skin, just above his left pectoral. Your fingers itch to trace the dark ink, but you can tell it’s fresh from the way his skin glows an angry red. 

You settle for thumbing at skin around it, nails gently scratching against his skin. You feel Chan swallow under your fingers, hesitating. He’s looking at you, cautiously, carefully, calculating your next move. 

‘Holy shit, baby. I can’t believe you did it…’ Your fingers trail upto jaw, thumb swiping under his cheek. ‘It looks magnificent.’ He melts into your touch, smiling. 

‘I’m glad you like it.’ He pulls you close, halfway onto his lap now. ‘I have something else to show you.’ He tugs at the sleeve on his left hand, revealing another tattoo.

Right there, sitting on the vein that flowed from his heart, giving him life, tucked in crisp text, was your initials and his, sitting beside your anniversary. 

Chan wraps his arms tighter around you, pulling you close. Your eyes mist over, heart racing at the sight. 

You turn to him, and you smile, teary eyed. ‘You didn’t…’ He just smiles back with all the love in the world, eyes shining with affection. 

‘I wanted to.’

You kiss him, pouring every ounce of love into the action, for no words could ever convey how much you truly felt. 

You begin to kiss down his jaw, slowly but surely, inching your way towards his collarbone. You take your time, pressing each kiss firmly into his skin. 

As you reach his collarbone, you let your teeth graze his skin, pink blooming across his plush skim. You can feel his heart pick up pace underneath your plump lips, a giggle escaping as the pink grows deeper. 

Your cheeks rests comfortably next to the tattoo, eyes taking in every line. Chan’s fingers find their way to your hair, gently carding through it. His head rests atop yours, and you feel his lips press a chaste kiss to your forehead. 

‘Do you really like it?’ He asks once more. 

‘More than you could ever know.’ You kissed him again, reassuring, the love overflowing.

Something about seeing your initials on his skin made you feel more loved than ever, and you would be damned if you didn’t show how much you appreciated it. 

©️ yangkitties 2025 do not copy, plagiarise, or repost

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hi hi!!! Can I request Bob and Void relationship headcanons please! Love your work and I hope you have a good day!

Void’s section of this is possessive, controlling and kinda manipulative in a way, so I might as well put that out there for you all.

Bob is the sweetest man who’s been given the hardest time, yet he still smiles and is warm and beautiful and gentle with how he goes through your relationship with you.

Seriously this man thinks he’s the luckiest person in existence to have you in his life, he’s always waking up everyday with the thought that you were with him, it’s enough to have him smile and feel giddy and feel as if he could do anything. (He literally can do anything, he’s powerful and invincible)

Yet while all the power he has, you made him feel the most powerful in his entire life and he couldn’t even explain just how much you mean to him, he could try but feared he’d only trip up on his words and just end up sheepish and apologising for not being able to get his words straight.

But seriously you’ve blessed this man in ways you can barely understand. You’ve given him hope, security, a safe haven for when he has his really bad days and been nothing but an encouraging force when he has his good days and did the smallest things like get out of bed or shower.

Your support and understanding of his situation was something he thought he’d never get, something he feared he be called a burden for, and yet you stood by him no matter what and still confidently called him the man you loved with your whole heart and nothing less.

You didn’t see no reason to view him less when he was unable to get out of bed, but instead you kept him company and made sure he was comfortable, you reminded him that you weren’t going anywhere if he wasn’t going. You wanted to stay with him and gently kiss his forehead, caress your fingers across his dark bag and press your forehead against his and just stay there as though you were trying to reach his thoughts and tell them to cut him some slack.

All Bob could do during those low point was be on the brink of tears with how gently you cared for him while still being from enough to remind him that he should at least eat or drink a little, you didn’t care about missing out on anything, not when your partner was internally suffering and you’d gladly care for him until he wasn’t able to make it past his bedroom door. He didn’t believe that he deserved you at most time but you’d always peck him on the lips before he could even finish the sentence.

‘You are just as deserving of anything just like anyone else, if not more and I will not have you talk down on yourself, you are my partner and I will stand by your side whenever you need me to.’ You tell him earnestly, holding his face within your hands. ‘You need me and I need you just as much, if not more, I’m not leaving you to rot when I know I can at least be of some help. I love you too much to be so heartless and shallow.’

Hugs are a thing you do when words fail you, you just hold each other closely, foreheads pressed to one another as you just allowed your gently caresses and calm breathing speak how you felt at ease and at peace with one another. It was a difficult start when Bon would flinch when your hands touched his cheeks, so you took it one step at a time until he was poetically refusing to let go of your wrists, keeping your hands pressed to his cheeks as he melts in your touch, memorising it as best as he could while looking at you adoringly.

He made you feel seen and loved in a way that left you speechless, breathless but in the best way. You wanted all of his love and you didn’t have to say much to get it either as he was eager to give it to you with the soft, uncertain kisses he left upon your cheek or forehead and smiling sheepishly afterwards as he asks if he did good with burning cheeks.

‘You always do good for me baby.’ You replied, which only made his cheeks burn redder as his smile stretched across his face.

His hands can barely stay still for a single second. They need to be doing something and they’re favouring to do? Fiddle with your fingers or hold onto some part of you when you were within reach, whether it be your shirt, jacket sleeve or jeans. Bob’s fingers will fiddle with it or your fingers as you intertwine your hands, allowing him to caress your knuckles with his thumb or squeeze your hand three times to tell you he loved you.

Loving Bob was a dream come true for you, loving you was a dream come true for Bob, loving each other as deeply and a truly as you two did was something envied by all as a love as innocent and pure as yours was surly the stuff of romance books and happily ever after. You were his guiding light and he was your golden guardian.

Bob gets incredibly flustered when you wear his sweatshirts, seriously as if you couldn’t be more beautiful in this man’s eyes, you had to go and steal his sweater and make this man’s heart go into overdrive. He’s staring at you the entire day like a lovesick puppy until someone (John the prick) tells him that he’s staring and suddenly you were far too precious for him to look at.

You secretly loved his adoring staring and his inability to look away, so you smack John in the back of his head for being a prick towards your lover, saying that if there was anyone allowed to look at you it was Bob, so he should be the one to avert his eyes from you not your sweet and handsome man.

You’d fight god for Bob, he’s telling you not to but your mind is already made up. You must protect your sweet boy who runs extremely warm and is all powerful and invincible, yet you wanted to coddle him to your chest and kiss him senseless and you do. His sweet smile and soft eyes were enough to have you wanting to spend the day giving him as many kisses possible.

Forehead, cheek, nose, lips, eyelids, jaw, chin, neck, behind his ear, everywhere you will kiss this man as he stand awkwardly and giggles cutely. You smother him in affection but not too much to overwhelm him, just enough to have his cheeks flush and him holding onto your waist tightly as if he didn’t want to let go.

Loving Bob was warm, soft, sweet, gentle and kind as your first kiss was one to remember for certain, it’s gentle a little sloppy but it was worth the breathlessness you felt after pulling away from him, seeing his disheveled apparent and bewilderment within his eyes as though he didn’t expect himself to do such a thing, to take charge. You on the other hand wanted him to do it again a million times over for the rest of your shared life.

He treasures everything you give him, whether it’s plushies, they’re on his bed even if they take up half of it. He doesn’t like leaving any out, he holds them all to his chest when he sleeps with a massive smile upon his face, you could give him a bracelet you made and he’s never taking it off. It’s apart of him now forever and each time he touches it, he knows you’re with him wherever you were. He loves having a piece of you with him at all times, a reminder of who’s waiting for him or he’s waiting for every time you come back to the Watchtower from missions.

Bob is there waiting with wide open arms to hold you against him as he breaths you in, happy that you were okay.

Void

The opposite of Bob.

He’s knowing of what he wants and he’ll take it no matter what, he doesn’t care who stands in his way becuase who can take down a god like entirely like him? Absolutely no one.

You are his most precious possession and he’s a selfish dragon hoarding you away from everyone who could want you as much as he does.

Void doesn’t share and he’s not going to start now either, whoever looks at you longingly is now a shadow on a pavement somewhere. He doesn’t care about anything but keeping you all for himself, he’s selfish with you and would hoard all of your time and attention, so much so that you won’t noticed that Void has kept you away from everyone else for the entire day.

You couldn’t see him smile but you could feel that he was whenever you realised that you feel for his trap all the time.

He’s confident in his powers, he’s not concerned with anyone being more powerful than him when he was the pinochle of power itself in shadowy form. A form that can change appearance from time to time but he was perfectly content with his current one for the time being.

it was unassuming and yet still strikes that fear that something was wrong but not in the uncanny valley type of way, but close enough to understand his level of threat that was bubbling underneath.

He’s not afraid to show that you were his, not in the slightest. He’ll show off that you were his however he can with his possessive grabs and reminders that you can’t exactly escape him, for he’ll only follow you until you retuned to his arms like you should.

Got jealous of Bob and wanted whatever he had, he doesn’t like it when people have what he wants, what he desires and craves carnally. So why not just steal you away? It’s not like you minded at all, so what’s the problem?

Void is the one making the first moves, he does it in a way that tells you that this was your reality now, that he was what you should be thinking about constantly and without fail, that he should be the only thing that matters to you and no one else.

His kisses were demanding of attention, demanding you of your devotion and love and affection, things that were all his simply because you were his, his alone to love and be loved by as selfishly as he wanted.

Keeps a close eye on the people you have within your life, if he senses that they were trying to put distance between you and him, then he will rid them however he sees fit, for no one was allowed to come between you and Void at all.

His hold over you was airtight and it was near impossible to escape it as he could appear before you within a blink of an eye as his pinprick eyes stare deeply into your own, he knows where you are without having to try so hard either, he finds it humorous when you do try to escape his gaze, the hunt entertained him greatly as he followed you at a slower pace.

He makes you think you’re somewhat in control, only for the truth to come out as he reminds you that he lets you off with certain things because he loves you and only you. So you should treat him the same by dedicating yourself to him only and no one else, he didn’t care the relationship you had with others, they didn’t matter as much as your relationship with him.

Is into the whole predator/prey thing. Void obviously being the predator and you being the prey each and every time.

Knows your fears so intimately that it shouldn’t come as a surprise if you act out he’ll just trap you in your worst moments until you’ve learned your lesson, but this was a rare punishment because Void was under the belief that you could do no wrong and that it was everyone else trying to poison your mind against him.

There are moments where he acts like a gentleman towards you as he kisses the back of your hand, holding onto it tightly in a way that erased any chances of putting distance between the two of you, has his hands respectfully upon your waist but his grip was almost iron clad and kept you pressed to his chest in a manner that screamed ownership.

Void hordes you like a dragon with its gold, keeping you hidden from all, keeping you in his version of safety and protection, unable to let you go because he didn’t want to let you go and refused to do so. For you were his to have and to hold and to keep, no one else should be granted a glimpse of you at all.

[thevibraniumveterans]

Ok, can’t believe I didn’t realize this until like 3 minutes ago, but in his childhood, the only types of physical contact were all negative, and if I’m assuming right, his dad would beat him and hit him. I don’t know if his mom ever raised her hands against him, but it still didn’t help matters.

Then along came Yelena.

She means him no harm, and in fact was the first person who did NOT seek to manipulate or harm him in any way or form. Outside the incinerator chamber, she takes him aside and talks to him as a fellow person. Never once did she ever raise her hands against him. She sees him as someone to protect, someone who deserves the care he never quite received as a child, someone who is just as if not more broken than she is. It’s not pity that she shows him; she sees him and understands him. She is gentle with him, but doesn’t treat him as if though he might shatter at any moment. She shows concern for him. She cares about him.

I’d previously left my thoughts in comments on other posts, but I’d like to point out that while I really, REALLY like their dynamic (and whatever it is that they have going on), I don’t know if *I* personally see them together as a couple. That said, their relationship and dynamic does actually share characteristics of various types of other relationships and dynamics, so it’s not that easy to boil it down to one of several descriptors. What they have, has characteristics of friendship AND family (motherly, sisterly).

The bond that they have is really quite distinct, and transcends any kind of labels. There are multiple arguments to be made in favor of opinions such as “is she like a sister to him?” (Yes.), “is she his friend?” (Also yes.), “is she part of his newfound family now?” (Unsurprisingly, yes.), “can they be a couple?” (Sure, I guess.) And ALL CAN BE TRUE at the same time! They’ve formed an emotional connection with each other. She’s the light in his darkness, his grounding force, his tether to reality. He’s the brother she gained, the family she needed, the friend she can believe in. He asks for her when he doesn’t see her; she sees him at his highest AND lowest and still does not judge.

They are each other’s person and don’t need labels. Is it not too much to ask that they just exist outside of typical adjectival relationship descriptors, because they’re not typical in any way, shape, or form? They’re just as if not more broken than the rest of their teammates, and while they might not make each other whole, they still matter enough to each other.

There are so many other ways to describe their relationship and dynamic.

She makes him feel safe and accepted.

In two separate interviews with the New York Times and Men’s Health Magazine, Lewis Pullman says that Bob and Yelena’s chemistry was informed by the real life dynamic he had with his castmate Florence Pugh, saying:

“She is one of the first people who really sees him. They have this commonality of desperateness for connection and for meaning. That was something that I related to with Florence. She was so generous and compassionate toward me coming into this world. She saw that I felt like I didn't belong and didn't feel like I was going to be able to ever rid myself of this impostor syndrome. And she took it upon herself to be a very supportive, not just castmate, but friend. And that's hopefully what you see on camera.”

And

“So much of it comes down to Florence just being an outlier of a person and an artist. She is so full of joy and humor, and she experiences life in such a rich way. She doesn't let any moment pass without being very conscious and deliberate about it. I grew very close to her, and very fond of her, because she also took me under her wing. I think it was very much reminiscent of when she first joined the Marvel Universe and how intimidating it was. I felt instantly like I was in good hands. I trusted her. And so I owe it all to her. You know, anything that feels like it was real on camera was the result of Florence being so gracious, and human, and embracing.”

The way he describes his dynamic with Florence Pugh could also be used to describe what Bob has with Yelena.

❗️❗️spoilers Thunderbolts* ❗️❗️

So I noticed they were very tactile...And since the start!!!

Can we take a minute to talk about it 🫠

[senditcolton]

hi I’m back with another request, this time for something different—I think it’s high time we as a community started to appreciate adrian kempe more because he is so pretty and I think he’d be so deliciously mean. so, you have free reign on introducing him to hockeyblr because I know you’ll kill it🩷

- @comphy-and-cozy

Thermostat at 69

a/n: C, ( @comphy-and-cozy )thank you for requesting this. Sorry this is soooo late but here is my first (and definitely not last!) contribution to the Adrian Kempe agenda. Hope it's as delicious and as mean as you were hoping it to be!! Word Count: 4k Song Inspo: Bed Chem by Sabrina Carpenter Warnings: heavily tattooed, tattoo artist reader. smut! Adrian being deliciously mean, degradation, praise, poolside shenanigans, slgiht choking, fingering (f receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, and probably my most depraved cumplay thus far.

There was one widely accepted rule in the world of professional tattooing: don’t fuck your clients.

Most people added the words “with” or “over” to that statement, which was good practice as well. Clients were how you made a living so it was a smart idea not to piss them off. Happy clients brought more business which brought more money.

But not fucking – in other words, sleeping with – your clients was also a good rule. No matter what business you were in, most people agreed blurring the line between personal and professional relationships spelled trouble. This was only heightened when their skin was permanently marked with your artwork.

You knew this.

But when Adrian Kempe walked into your Los Angeles studio, looking to start his newest tattoo sleeve, your portfolio caught his eye which led him to fall into your chair. And the blend of his good looks, his lazy smile, and the sounds he made when that needle hit his skin had him falling into your bed shortly after.

It was a shit idea, brought on by proximity, adrenaline, and mutual attraction – something that should’ve stopped or faded once the initial thrill wore off. But it never did. It also never progressed into something more than casual, a stalemate that you were thankful for. If genuine emotions got involved, it would spell disaster.

Simple. Physical. That made it easier to justify keeping Adrian in your life. Made it easier to cut him out of it if the need ever arose.

But here, now, laying on a lounge chair in the backyard of Adrian’s house, your sketchpad in your lap, the sound of splashing water tickling your ears, and the warm summer sun beating down on you, it was hard to imagine wanting this to ever end.

Your eyes lift from your paper as you drop your pencil to shake out your hand, chasing away the beginnings of a cramp. Through your sunglasses, you can see Adrian swimming laps or doing something equally athletic in the pool, his muscular frame appearing and disappearing over the tiled trim.

Your presence at his house in the afternoon hours indicated that the lines that defined your relationship had begun to shift but you always wrote it off as reaping the benefits of your connection: a pool, a place to relax, and more chances to drink in the sight of Adrian’s body.

Which you gladly do.

Especially as he rises from the water, hands pushing back his chlorine-soaked hair, rivulets falling down his frame. Your eyes rake over him, taking in the swim trunks that look a little too small for his muscular thighs, the ink adorning his tan skin, that gold chain resting against the hollows of his collarbones. You watch as he gathers his blond locks into that ridiculously adorable bun, securing it with the hair tie around his wrist.

Even though you know that he could feel your stare for the past few minutes, Adrian doesn’t turn his dark eyes to you until now, a smirk appearing on his face as he makes his way over to the empty chair next to you, grabbing a towel to dry his skin.

“How’s it going?” he playfully asks, peering over at your sketchbook.

“It’s not. Not really,” you respond with a faux sigh, pushing up your sunglasses to look over your sketches. They were – in fact – almost complete but Adrian didn’t need to know that. Your eyes dart back over to him, fixing him with a stare that borders on risqué.

“Keep getting distracted.”

You can feel your heart flutter when that smirk appears on Adrian’s face and you can practically see his chest lifting as he preens under your attention. It takes all your will-power not to roll your eyes at his reaction, but even if you did, the rush of arousal thrumming through your body would still come.

What can you say? You liked him cocky.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, daring to let your gaze rove over his frame again before returning to his eyes. It is only then, when you feel like you have him in the palm of your hand, do you drop your siren eyes and huff. “My skin feels like it’s on fire.”

 Adrian just lets out a small laugh, not at all deflated by your demeanors 180-degree switch. That smile remains on his lips as he drops the towel in his hand, taking a seat at the end of your lounge chair.

“So sorry to hear that,” he says, his voice now laden with a gentle tease.

“I think I need another layer of sunscreen,” you declare, turning your body and grabbing the small bottle sitting on the table next to you. Your hand wraps around the sunscreen, adjusting it in your grasp before you lean back on the lounge chair. With another wicked grin appearing on your lips, you hold out the bottle to Adrian.

“Can you help me?”

The question is coy, ladened with all the feigned innocence you can muster. Hell, you even throw some batted eyelashes into the mix. Another deep chuckle emanates from Adrian’s chest, wise to your games but still thoroughly enjoying being a part of them too.

“What wrong with your hands?”

“I don’t want to get any oil residue all over my pages. Ruin all my hard work.”

The excuse comes to your lips easily as you act like that was the most obvious and only reason you wanted Adrian’s hands all over your body instead of your own. Adrian just laughs again before taking the bottle from your hands. You smile at him, happy to get your way as you lift yourself to an upright position. Adrian’s eyes watch you even as he squeezes the sunscreen into the palm of his hand. You shoot him a playful wink before flipping your body around, your back now facing him and your legs straddling the lounge chair.

The sharp intake of breath that you hear behind you makes you giggle quietly to yourself. You know you look good, the small bikini putting your own tattooed skin on full display. Adrian had previously mentioned multiple times that this was one of his favorite views. Why wouldn’t you indulge his pleasures?

Your hands reach up to gather your hair into a clip before tossing another glance over your shoulder.

“Make sure you cover all my ink,” you playfully demand. You can see Adrian’s dark eyes flow over your body, following the lines and curves of the ornamental tattoos cutting through your skin and highlighting your own natural curves. Another smile tugs at your lips as you turn back, a soft sigh escaping you when you feel the weight of him scoot closer.

“I won’t miss a spot,” he murmurs, that accented voice heavy.

The chill of the sunscreen hitting your skin feels heavenly, almost as heavenly as Adrian’s hands and you don’t stop the pleased hum that falls from your lips at his touch. You can feel his body shift as he diligently works the lotion into your skin.

It starts innocent enough, Adrian’s hands smoothing over your back, against your shoulder blades and down your spine. But soon, his touch starts to wander. It’s exactly what you were hoping, exactly what you expected. Although, you do have to admire his commitment to keeping up the ruse of applying your sunscreen, his hands only following the path of your tattoos.

They dance around the curve around your shoulders, pressing into your collarbones before lifting to just barely cup your throat before retreating.

They wrap around your ribcage, fingers gliding just barely underneath the cups of your bikini top, his thumb just a whisper over the swell of your breasts before vanishing.

They follow the ridge of your spine down before spreading across your lower back, sneaking underneath the strings that held your bottoms onto your frame, strong fingers pressing into the muscle of your hips. It isn’t an encouragement to lean back but you take it all the same, your head coming to rest against his strong shoulders.

You hear a quiet hum vibrate from Adrian, his touch moving along the curve of your body, the strings of your bikini still stretched over his large hands. It’s only when his palms are securely over the cut of your hipbones, his middle fingers resting perfectly in the crease where your thighs meet your torso, do his movements stop.

“Need anything else from me?” he whispers, his breath scorching the shell of your ear. Your eyelids flutter open, connecting with his darkened stare, that fucking smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

And with that, you knew you were done for.

You should’ve known it from the beginning. The two of you always ended up like this; you all bold and bratty at the start and all Adrian had to do was touch you and you melted like ice cream on a summer’s day in his hands. It would be annoying if both of you didn’t enjoy the game, the dance, the tease. True, he was yours to command and control but only when he was in your tattoo chair. Anywhere else, you relinquished yourself to him.

“I should probably keep sketching,” you murmur, trying desperately to hold onto any modicum of strength, pretending that you hadn’t already become weak under his attention.

“Are they for a client?” he asks, his fingers flexing against your skin, sending another rush of heat through your body – a heat that had nothing to do with the sun still beating down on the two of you. You gently shake your head, looking up at him with your eyes wide and pleading.

“Then they can wait.”

The sigh of relief that escapes from you is almost immediately swallowed as Adrian captures his lips in yours, one of his hands moving to rest over your pubic bone, his fingers reaching lower. You whine into his mouth as his fingers slip over your clit, down between your folds.

“So wet already,” he mutters, gently caressing your heat, forcing more of your arousal to slicken his skin. “And I’ve barely even touched you. Such a desperate little slut.”

There is a delicious rush of shame that runs through you, one that makes your cheeks heat as you bury your face into the juncture of his neck. You hear his dark chuckle vibrate against your back, his other hand disappearing from your thigh before reappearing around your neck. His elegant fingers press against your jawline, forcing your eyes to reattach to his.

“Getting all shy on me now? Like this wasn’t the reason you called me over,” he teases, his now soaked fingers lifting from your center to press against your clit.

You whine as he starts to circle the sensitive nub, the pressure delectable but just shy of enough. Your hips buck at their own volition, silently begging for more, causing another laugh to fall from Adrian.

“There’s my girl,” he whispers, that quiet praise just spurring you on more. “Always so needy.”

Adrian slowly increases the speed and pressure of his fingers against your clit, the sensation causing more arousal to pool in your bikini bottoms, bottoms that Adrian hadn’t even bothered to remove. You dare to look down and the sight of his hand disappearing beneath the fabric made you feel even more desirable, like he wanted this so much that he didn’t want to waste any time with the removal even though all he had to do was untie the two bows on your hips.

You’re slowly reduced to whimpers and whines as Adrian continues his ministrations, your lips slightly agape in breathy need, your eyes constantly tracing his face, the lazy cocky expression never leaving, even as he purposefully takes you apart.

A shift of his fingers has you whining, the calloused tips now pressing almost directly against you, sending white hot jolts of fire through your body. The sounds that emanate from you are an amalgamation of curses, pleas, and Adrian’s name, only spurred on by the feeling of Adrian’s hard length pressed against the base of your spine.

“That’s it, alskling,” he mutters, the grip around your neck tightening just enough to hold you in place against him as your body begins to writhe. “Just like that.”

You whine, chest heaving as one of your own hands grip the side of the lounger while the other finds purchase on Adrian’s arm resting across your chest. The heat that flows through you makes your body feel on fire, Adrian’s movements between your thighs never ceasing. You can feel your eyes start to roll back, nearing the crest of that pleasurable peak. Adrian presses a gentle kiss against your temple, a sharp contrast to the sinful things he is doing with his fingers before his sultry voice hits your ear.

“Come for me, prinsessa. Remind me why I never want you to leave my bed.”

The demand is clear and you are helpless to do anything but obey, your body spasming as your orgasm washes over you. Adrian holds you tight against his chest, only your hips moving to chase his hands as he works you through your high, groaning at the feeling of your release flooding from your pussy.

“So fucking beautiful,” he mutters into your hair, fingers flexing against your throat as your body slowly begins to still. You look up at him, your eyelids heavy and your breathing light, wanting to feel his lips against yours again. Adrian reads your silent plea, kissing you deeply and the warmth fills you from the inside, content and satiated, even as his hand withdraws from the apex of your thighs.

You think it’s the end of it, your desires reached and Adrian’s hands disappearing from your body. It takes a decent amount of strength to lift yourself upright, the sweat that had collected on your shoulders from where they were pressed against Adrian’s chest beading down your back. You can feel the weight of Adrian’s body vanishing from the lounge chair and you are about to follow suit.

Until – right as one of your knees presses into the mesh fabric of the lounger – you feel Adrian’s hand grip your shoulder and carelessly throw your body forward. You manage to catch yourself, your arms resting on the top of the chair as you glance over your shoulder.

“Adrian, what are – ”

The question dies on your lips when you feel Adrian’s hips press against your backside, the weight of his dick against your now soaked bikini bottoms forcing a choked moan from your chest.

“You think I’m gonna let you tease me and you’re the only one that gets any pleasure from it?” he muses, that dominant edge appearing in his accented words.

“But you like it,” you attempt to quip, although the words sound more like a whimper as his hand traces down the ink adorning your back before gliding over the curve of your ass.

“Yeah, I do,” he says, hand tugging the material of your bikini to the side, exposing your cunt, glistening in the summer sun with your prior release. “But I like the feeling of you wrapped around me more.”

Adrian only gives you a moment to register his words before you feel the silken head of his length pressing against your slit. You whine as he pushes into you, a string of Swedish curses falling from his lips.

“Fucking love the way your cunt feels after you’ve come. So wet and tight for me.”

His name leaves your lips in a desperate whimper, your chest heaving at the sensation of Adrian deliciously and deliberately stretching you open. Your hands grip the top of the lounger as you press your hips back, taking him deeper. You can hear his chuckle pierce the air before he sharply thrusts forward, his body now flush against your ass, the length of him fully sheathed inside of you.

“Fuck,” you spit out, the feeling of Adrian filling you so completely that you couldn’t understand how you were ever satisfied before him. Adrian responds with a similar curse, one of his hands gripping your hip and the other finding a place next to yours on the back of the lounger.

You can feel the heat of him washing over you as he withdraws his hips, the sensation of him pulling out of you almost as delectable as the feeling of him pressing into you.

Your head drops down, forehead pressing against your arms draped over the top of the lounge chair as Adrian begins a steady rhythm. His grip on your hip is strong, pulling your body back to meet him with every thrust, the depraved sound of both of your sweat-slick skin slapping together combining with the mutual moans and filling the humid summer air.

“Such a perfect view,” you hear Adrian mutter, more to himself but the words do make another rush of arousal run through you. “Such a pretty fucking thing.”

Even if you wanted to respond, you don’t think you could, the sheer feeling of pleasure erasing all coherent thought from your mind.

A gasp is torn from your lips as you feel Adrian’s hand fall from its spot on your hips, curling around your body before sneaking down and pressing against your clit.

“A-Adrian,” you whimper, the pressure of his calloused fingertips against the sensitive bundle of nerves setting your body ablaze. “Fuck, its – it’s too much.”

Adrian responds with a small hum, seemingly in understanding but instead of removing his fingers, he simply stops all movements, pressing his hips flush against your ass. You whine – this time in disappointment – and you feel the heat of him cascade over you as he leans down, his chest hovering mere millimeters from your back, the warmth of his breath hitting the shell of your ear.

“Is this better, prinsessa?” he asks and you can hear the tease in his words, him fully knowing that it isn’t. Even in your first rendezvous’, Adrian somehow had an insane innate understanding of your body, your pleasure, your needs, and he regularly took advantage of that ability.

You whimper, the sudden stillness making you keen as your pussy flutters around him, your core pulsing against his fingers.

“I can feel how much you want it,” he whispers, his voice dipping deeper into an almost growl. “Always so fucking desperate.”

You can only manage to let out another whine, his name falling from your lips in a drawn-out plea.

“Come on, alskling. Take it. Show me how much you want my cock.”

 Like every time before this one, his demand makes you desperate which makes you comply. You rock your body forward, a moan falling from your lips at the renewed sensation of him sliding against your walls, his fingers still maintaining pressure on your clit. Driven by the need of Adrian – of the pleasure he could provide – you press back with a fervor, practically slamming your hips back to meet his.

“Fuck, there’s a good girl,” Adrian moans, the heat of his words muffled as he buries his face into the juncture of your neck and shoulders. His praise just spurs you on, your hips circling as you continue your rhythm against him.

The pressure coiling within you continues to build, your breathing becoming staccato. The only noises coming from your mouth are half-uttered whimpers and moans. You were so close, you could feel it. But you needed more. You needed him.

You somehow find the strength to lift your head, looking behind you, your gaze landing on his pulled-back blonde hair, his lips still pressing kisses into your shoulder blades.

“Adrian,” you manage to whine out, the syllables extended with pure want. The sound calls his attention to you, those sultry eyes lifting up to meet yours and that sight makes you moan again. “Need you,” you whimper, your lips moving into a soft pout and Adrian – like always – reads your desire with an ease that makes your head spin.

His hand falls the top lounge chair to cup your jawline, a soft brush of his thumb against your supple skin a sharp contrast to the way your body is still writhing underneath him. He pulls you closer, until his lips are only a whisper away from yours, your eyes fluttering close.

“Come for me, prinsessa,” he whispers. “Prove that your all mine.”

The quiet demand is what finally sends you over the edge, your orgasm pulsing through you. Any moan that falls from you is swallowed by Adrian lips and tongue pressing against yours as your body trembles with the force of your release.

Adrian wastes no time taking over your rhythm, fucking his hips into you as the aftershocks of your orgasm still linger. Your tear your lips away from his, a shriek escaping you as Adrian uses your body to chase his own release. Your breathing is fast and shallow, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as Adrian takes what he wants.

“Feel so fucking good,” he grits out.

You only respond with another stuttered whimper before a gasp is torn from your mouth as Adrian’s body suddenly and completely vanishes from yours. Another surprised breath is forced from you when Adrian’s strong hands grip your hips and flip you over, your back crashing against the lounge chair.

Your eyes dart up to land on Adrian, his body towering over you, silhouetted by the afternoon sunlight. Your gaze trails down, across his taut muscles of his chest and stomach to where his hand is wrapped around his hard cock, stroking a quick rhythm against the smooth skin glistening with your release.

“Want to come seeing that beautiful face,” he mutters and even in your post-orgasm haze, a soft smile appears on your lips. Your hands lift, cupping your breasts as your mouth gently drops open, tongue pressing against your teeth, a silent encouragement. You can see Adrian’s eyes darken, his pace increasing until his groan cuts through the summer heat, hot ropes of his cum hitting your chin and splattering across your decolletage. You moan, your tongue darting out to collect the creamy release as you stare up at Adrian, his own breath slowing.

Adrian’s eyes finally open, those piercing irises looking down at you, dancing over your skin now marred with his cum. You let out a soft giggle, the sound of it pulling Adrian fully back to the present moment, a smile appearing on his own face.

“Well,” he muses as he lifts himself off the lounge chair. “I don’t know if I was very helpful with applying your sunscreen.”

The joke makes your smile grow wider before it turns wicked, your finger dancing over your breasts, gathering more of Adrian’s release on your fingertips.

“That’s okay,” you tease, lifting your fingers to your lips and dipping them into the warm cavern of your mouth, sucking them clean before popping them out. “I think I like this better.”

You can see a flash of renewed interest dance within Adrian’s eyes in response to your teasing before he extends a hand to you.

“Join me in the shower?” he offers, his upturned palm and the subtle promise of more beckoning you.

“And ruin all of your hard work?” you quip, not quite ready to give in. “Seems a little wasteful, no?”

Adrian doesn’t respond at first, choosing to wait until you finally place your palm in his. With his strength, he hauls you off the lounge chair and onto your feet. You watch as his eyes dart down to your chest, his cum now pooling in your collarbones. A gasp falls from you as his head darts down, tongue extending to press against your body, lapping up his own release from your skin. His mouth follows the curve of your throat before jumping to your lips. You moan as he presses his tongue against yours, the tang of him filling your mouth as you whimper, your knees growing weak before he pulls away.

“We can always make another mess later.”  

a/n 2: this was hastily edited after a very long day at work so I apologize for any mistakes/repetition/etc. but I just had to get it out because y'all have waited long enough (especially you C, since I kept torturing you with mentions of it in our messages)

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[athenalvss]

THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED ( Jason Todd! )

summary: After a traumatic resurrection, Jason returns to look for his girlfriend, but he only finds his worst nightmare: you don't remember him.

pairing: Jason todd x fem!reader

warnings: short, dramatic and sad af

a/n: Writing this wasn't planned, I wanted to write something nice, but oh well

open request — jason todd masterlist

The world hadn't changed at all after Jason's death, Gotham was still rotten, and the crime rate was still on the rise, something that would surely never change.

Except for you, your beloved had left this life in the most painful way possible. Your heart ached every time you remembered how the Joker had taken his life, a long life you had planned together, so many things left to do, things that would remain undone forever. Every corner of your home held his shadow, his voice, his scent... but he was no longer there.

The nightmare was endless. At first, you refused to accept it. Then, you cried until you ran out of tears. Finally, you lived as if only a part of you was still breathing. Over time, you began to forget about him. You no longer remembered his voice, his smell, the texture of his hair, and it drove you crazy. You didn't want to forget, you wanted to keep him in your mind all the time. It was the only possible way for him to be with you.

You clung tooth and nail to the smallest memories, the crumbs of his existence. You closed your eyes and tried to force his image into your mind. You spoke loudly as if he could still hear you. You slept clutching one of his old tshirts, even though it no longer smelled like him.

It was the only way to keep him with you. To feel like he wasn't completely gone.

Because if you forgot… then he would really be dead, and deep down in your soul, that was the most terrifying thought of all.

But you could never be completely alone, Dick never left your side, he was there.

To lift you up when you couldn't, to hold you silently when the tears returned without warning. No matter how busy he was as Nightwing, he always found a way to stop by your house, bring you food, make you laugh with ridiculous stories.

He was the only connection you had left with Jason.

The only one who understood the magnitude of your loss, because he had lost it too.

Years passed, life went on, your life seemed to be in discontinuity with the rest, but you had learned to live with your pain, everything still reminded you of him, and even more so when you continued working in that library where you had met.

But there are times when life is merciful to us, perhaps fate felt sorry for you and found a way for you to forget all the pain, and so it happened.

That afternoon, Jason was coming to meet you.

After weeks of watching you from afar, struggling between fear and hope, he had finally made the decision.

He was going to knock on your door, he was going to show you that he was alive, he was going to give you back what death had taken from you.

But fate, with its cruelty disguised as compassion, stopped him.

He saw everything. He saw the rain. He saw you leaving the bookstore, clutching your coat to your body. He saw the car skid around the corner. He saw the lights. He saw the impact.

And he screamed your name for the first time in years, running towards you with his heart on fire, but it was too late, you were already on the ground, you were already unconscious.

Life had given you a chance to live without pain, as if nothing had happened.

When you woke up in the hospital, Dick was there. Dark circles under his eyes, worried. But you... you didn't know who he was.

Neither Bruce

Neither Jason.

The names were unfamiliar. The faces were strange. Your eyes looked at him as if they were kind strangers.

And in your chest, where the deepest love once burned, only calm remained.

A frozen peace, born of forgetfulness.

For you, there were no wounds. Because there was never love, you didn't remember it, you didn't remember what was taken from you.

And Jason, from the shadows of the hospital hallway, watched you smile, not knowing who he was, and for a moment, he wished he'd never come back.

Life was making him pay dearly for the time he had made you wait for him. If you had suffered, he would doubly so, because he knew you weren't dead, that you would be out there in the city carrying on with your life, without knowing who he was.

Without knowing that he had come back to look for you to fulfill all his promises.

[i7nn8a]

satorucat! x readercat!

In my human’s apartment, there’s a hole in the wall. It has a transparent barrier that stops me from going out—or at least makes my human think it does. Every time I wake up early, the sunlight comes through the hole, and I just lie there. The light warms me. It's my one true lazy moment of the day. My belly up, my paws stretched out. The only bad part is the light shining straight into my blue eyes, blinding me for a while. I stay there until my human puts my food, Pedigree, into my blue bowl.

After she gives me my food and strokes my white fur, she goes back to her corner and leaves me alone for a while. Usually, during this time, I hear that idiot Jogo, the neighbor’s mutt. I hear that flea-ridden thing sniffing under the door. He always does that. Stretching my spine and stepping carefully, I raise my claws and jab his filthy nose, and I can feel him jump back, startled. It happens every time, and yet the fool keeps doing it every single day.

After that, I go back to eating while my human gets ready to leave. She changes her clothes, eats something disgusting, puts on her shoes, grabs her keys, and strokes me again. I enjoy the affection, but now, I just want her to go. She picks up her things and leaves for a place I’ve never known—and honestly, I never cared. All I know is she only comes back when the sky is dark.

I go over to the hole in the wall. It has some cloths that block the light sometimes, but my human only closes them at night. There’s a silver latch right below the hole, but with a push of my paw, it opens. The barrier comes loose, and it just takes a nudge to get through. In no time, I’m outside. It’s high up, but there’s a staircase in front that I always climb. I go up, higher and higher, until I can see the whole city. Then I leap onto the rooftop. I walk along the edge until I spot another staircase I can reach with a jump. I go down and enter an alley full of trash, with a bunch of strays rummaging through it. Disgusting.

I pass by them, and they just stare. They recognize me. The name Satoru is known on these streets. None of them would ever dare mess with me. Animals know who’s superior. Cats are kings. A law that’s lasted through the ages. Unlike those weak canines who get carried away by every little instinct, cats think. Cats have the mind for it.

I keep walking until I cross the alley and reach a fairly busy street. Humans of every kind—tired, happy, sad, excited, busy. All of them on their way to do something. All of them too worried about what they still have to do. These years living among them have taught me one thing: none of them knows how to live. At least, not like a cat does.

It took a while, a long way, but finally, I could see it. A tall wall with blades on top, well known around here. Leaning against the wall was a dumpster, easy to climb. One paw here, another there, and done. The dumpster helped me scale the rest of the wall. But the real challenge was the blades. If I got hurt, my human would notice I’d gone out and find a way to lock me up for good inside that place.

So I went carefully. I slipped my paw between the sharp blades, made my way to the other side—and then I saw her. The most beautiful cat my eyes have ever crossed. That rare brown fur, those dark brown eyes, and a soul that makes me want to spend all seven of my lives just feeling it. And there she was, waiting for me. Leaning on the wall’s edge, with a little ribbon tied behind her head. Unlike my current scruffy state, she was perfect. Her fur perfectly aligned, sitting like a princess.

When I got closer, she noticed me and looked at me. She’s never meowed her name, and neither have I. She’s never meowed who she is, and neither have I. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, because as I got closer and she stepped nearer, I knew that no cat, dog, or human would ever really know how to live life. Because life was staring right back at me in that moment.

[youthereader]

Echoes in the Dark part 2.

PAIRING: joel miller (the last of us) x fem!reader

SUMMARY: 2.3k words. Every morning you wake up and remember two things. Firstly, that your son is dead, and secondly, that Joel Miller is your patient. || A fix-it fic. Reader is Joel’s carer as he recovers from Abby’s attempt on his life.

RATING: eventually E (no smut in this part). age gap (reader is in their 30s, Joel is in his 60s). heavy angst, grief and loss of a child, graphic violence.

A/N: Thank you for your enthusiasm so far! Things are starting to heat up a little bit...

PART 1.

Maria shows up during breakfast the next day, hands deep in her pockets with a bright smile on her face despite the early hour. You return it, wondering what’s happened to warrant this. 

“Sorry to interrupt your breakfast,” she says, stepping inside. She hastily wipes her boots on the doormat. “I had a question to ask you.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, letting her pass you. “What’s up?”

“How’s Joel been?”

“Uh, fine -” you point behind her. “You want a coffee?”

“Sure.”

She follows you into the kitchen and parks herself by the counter, and you grab a second mug for Maria from the cupboard. You pour hers and do the same in your own dirty mug. She declines sugar or milk. 

“What did you wanna ask?” you murmur, holding your mug with both hands. 

Maria smirks. “I already did.”

You blink at her, confused. 

“I asked how Joel was going.”

“Oh, right,” you shut your eyes and give your best attempt at a laugh, relief coursing through you. 

A million worse scenarios than this already churning in your mind’s eye, you didn’t expect this to be such an easy visit. You lapse into silence and Maria puts off drinking her coffee, taking a glance away from you, words hesitant. 

“It’s just that he can be…”

“An asshole?” you prompt, and she grimaces. 

“I was gonna say ‘a challenge’, but that works, too,” she admits, finally taking a gulp of coffee. 

You hold up a hand. “Ellie’s word, not mine.”

Though you totally would describe him that way. You know that in other circumstances, you wouldn’t stand Joel for two seconds, but because he’s yours to look after, you’re trying to be diplomatic. 

Ellie chewed him out yesterday when she came by, and you made yourself scarce, telling Joel you’d be back in an hour. You wanted them to have their privacy, since they had so little of it when they were in the hospital. You reminded him gently that he’d need a nap later, too. He grumbled under his breath, prompting Ellie to comment:

“You don’t have to be such an asshole all the time.”

You were already on your way out of his room, within earshot when she added:

“She’s really nice.”

Meaning what, exactly? That Joel’s treatment of you wasn’t fair, because you were just doing your job, or because Ellie could sense some semblance of ‘good’ in you? If it was the latter, you’d been convincing enough for a nineteen year-old to believe this version of yourself you presented. That was better than the alternative. 

No-one knew that part of you, the one that Maria almost found out about when you first got to Jackson. 

You drain your mug. “Joel’s got a check-up this afternoon.”

“Tommy told me,” Maria says with a nod. “What do you think?”

You shrug. “I think… I’m not a doctor.”

Maria waits, and you know she wants you on her side. It was one of the reasons she assigned you to her brother-in-law. It wasn’t because you’re a homebody with nothing else better to do, though sometimes at night that’s all you can tell yourself. You life feels so empty at times that you wonder how on earth you’ve made it this far. And then you force yourself to get up and read a book, because there’s no way you’re going to start remembering things, or start the ‘what-ifs’ again. 

“Let me know if you need any help,” she says, and you nod. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“Not a problem,” you reply.

Maria lets herself out, and you empty her mug in the sink, watching the liquid disappear down the drain. You wait another ten minutes before you dress for the day and go over to Joel’s. 

On the walk there, you vow to align yourself with Joel. Granted, you don’t know the full story about Abby, but he barely got out of there alive. He cares about Ellie a lot, and he’s a part of the community, far more valuable than you’ve ever been. 

-

The check-up doesn’t go as planned. The doctor gawks at you when you mention crutches, then refuses them. Joel is confined to his wheelchair or bed for the next week, depending on how he’s healing from now on.

“He’s only been conscious for five minutes and you’re already wanting him on crutches? That’s negligence,” the doctor hisses, and Joel frowns at him. 

“Hey, she-”

“No, he’s right,” you cut in. Your arms are crossed where you sit beside him, your cheeks heating. “I’m sorry.”

You can’t have Joel admitting to nearly falling ass over tits. He’d be thrown back into the hospital, or taken to live with Tommy, and you don’t want him driven crazy. You care too much, and you know that, but it doesn’t make you any less right. You can’t have him being too honest right now. 

The doctor dismisses you with a short wave. “It’s fine. You’ll get there eventually. But we’re being cautious.”

He and Joel talk about pain levels, diet… you begin to zone out, then come back when his sleeping situation is questioned. 

“I’m fine alone,” he snaps. “Or this version of it.”

He regards you and you frown back at him, annoyed. You just stuck out your neck for him. 

When you’re walking back to his place, you try to push the wheelchair as fast as possible. Joel hates this, and you both know it, the silence tense between you. Getting inside his place is time-consuming. You help him up the steps, then get him to sit on his couch, then take the wheelchair inside backwards, then slam the front door shut.

“Easy,” he calls.

“Sorry,” you mutter. You find him again, pulling off your gloves. “You want something to eat?”

He shakes his head, rubs his face. “You can go, I’m beat.”

“I’d rather not,” you say, and he glares at you. 

His grumpy mug isn’t that scary when you know he can’t stand unassisted. In any other case…

Your mind drifts, considering the power in those limbs he once had, the way he pulled through all this because he was tough. You look at his hands, how much larger they are than yours. Fuck, they’re huge.

“Okay,” he mutters. “I’ll lie down for a bit.”

Returning to his bed, you help take off his boots, his jacket. Your head comes close to his and you smell his skin. It’s vaguely sweet, yet musky. You place a hand on his chest and he lowers himself gingerly, his eyes heavy.

“Do you want me to stick around?” you whisper, and he shakes his head. 

“You got someplace to be?” he says. “Am I keeping you from someone?”

You shake your head, swallowing. You have to look away from his face, fussing with his blanket unnecessarily. 

“I’m a widow.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that,” he says. “Any kids?”

You shake your head, biting your lip. “Nah.”

He was going to ask that eventually, since you hadn’t offered up much of yourself. You step away from the bed, fixing the curtains. In the dark, you see the shape of him under the blankets. You sense he’s already drifting off by how his breathing turns steady. You leave his door ajar and walk back to the couch, feeling the warmth of his body from before still lingering. 

You close your eyes, and against your will, fall asleep, too. 

-

You wake with a start, neck sore.

“What the fuck.”

You scrub at your eyes and wonder what woke you, then hear a groan in the distance. You jump up, almost tripping over your own feet as you sprint off. You find Joel on the floor, his pillow beside him. He’s lying on his good side, thank fuck.

“It’s okay…”

You try to scoop him up, snarling:

“Would you just let me fucking help you?”

He weighs a ton and you groan with him, helping him perch back on the edge of his bed, panting from the effort. You stay on the floor, your hair half in your face. You’re so angry.

“What were you even doing?”

“I fell, alright?” he yells. He pants like you, sweaty like you know you are. “I had a… bad dream and-”

You deflate a little, huffing. “What?”

A silence settles over you and then he sighs, passing a hand over his face. You stay on the floor, thinking that if you move he won’t ever speak again. You wish not for the first time that there was more you could do. You relent.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, and he doesn’t look at you, only nods. “Maybe we need to get a rail for your bed, to stop that from happening again.”

“What? No!” he snaps, and you shrink away instinctively at the volume of his voice. “I’m not a toddler-”

You scramble to your feet, turning away, a flurry of memories invading your vision. A hand in yours, a cupid’s bow on a round little face, the smell of the softest hair imaginable, a smile so like your own beaming back at you-

“No,” you whisper aloud, the emotion smacking you on the nose, your eyes blurring with tears. 

You feel like you could sink into the floor and disappear from how heavy your heart becomes. All the while, Joel says your name three separate times, alarmed. 

“I’m fine,” you gasp, though it’s so obvious you’re not. 

You leave him there, running out of the house, falling to your knees on the front porch. The icy air hits your lungs and you take deep breaths, squeezing your eyes shut. You force the tears down. This is ludicrous. All Joel had to say was the word ‘toddler’ and you fall apart? Maybe it’s happening because you just woke up, and you’re still recovering from your panic from earlier…

“Stop,” you hiss, because you can’t sink any further. You won’t manage the night alone in your bed if you do. You won’t sleep for days. 

Joel calls your name again and you take more steadying breaths, standing up straight, looking around. Thank fuck nobody is witness to this. You can’t handle any comforting touches or words.

“I’m fine, Joel,” you call back. “Just getting some fresh air.”

The weak sunlight breaks through the clouds and you wait another minute before you head back inside. Joel is in his chair, about to wheel himself into the hallway by the time you reach his bedroom doorway.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and he shakes his head.

“Don’t be.”

“Maria came by my place this morning,” you say, determined to change the subject. 

Joel’s hands pause. “What did she want?”

“I think she wanted me to divulge too much,” you say. You feel safer being honest, after he just saw you start to freak out. “I didn’t tell her about you nearly falling-”

“I know,” he says. “I trust you.”

You back at him. It could be such a throwaway line but you can’t ignore how something squeezes in your chest. 

“I’m not gonna tell her about this, either,” you add, moving on. “Though I probably should.”

He glances away, considering this. You don’t mind that he’s taking longer to process this. At least he’s not arguing with you.

“I’m sick of this pyjamas, I want to change into decent clothes,” he says. 

“You wanna go somewhere?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yeah. Maybe see Ellie.”

You nod back at him. “Okay.”

You open his drawers and he goes through them, handing you a charcoal t-shirt, a flannel shirt and some worn jeans. His socks are on the top of the pile on his bed.

You wait as he begins to unbutton his pyjama shirt, a set you guess was once black but has faded over time. You point to the jeans.

“I dunno about those with your leg. What about sweatpants?”

He nods and you see his bare chest for the first time, warmth flooding you all over. You feel exposed, your mouth dry as you take in his golden skin, the hair on his chest and stomach that disappears under his waistband. You know his stomach would be soft, and somehow simultaneously hard. 

“Lemme.”

You lean toward him, his arms stretching up. He’s quiet again.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” you add. “You can’t do this alone.”

He gives a breath of a laugh, and you move closer still. You can feel the heat of his skin. You push back the material off his shoulder, his mouth by your ear. 

“It’s not that. I just have an old man’s body, nobody needs to see it.”

You scoff. He’s so beautiful. You wish he believed that his body was still capable, still great to look at. Not that that was part of your job description.

“That’s dumb,” you retort, pulling the shirt away completely. You toss it aside, picking up his clean shirt. “Arms.”

He obliges, a little smirk forming. A miracle - you’re maybe making Joel smile? You pull the shirt over his head, his face popping up again. 

“There he is,” you murmur, and he actually laughs at that. You feel lighter, smiling down at him.

The pants prove difficult, especially when you’re tugging his pyjama bottoms off, revealing his thick thighs. You try not to be afraid of his bandaged one, putting one leg of his sweatpants over his ankle and then the other. 

“Stand up. You’re okay.”

He groans a little, leaning onto you, gripping your shoulder over your jacket like a lifeline, as you slowly pull up the pants all the way up to his hips. 

“You got it?” he says, and you nod. 

“Just gotta get your old butt into this,” you mutter, pulling it all up, and he laughs again. 

Lightning striking twice. You smile back at him, the moment passing. His arm is still around you. Your hand reaches up to pat his stomach, over his shirt, just once. 

“Sit down.”

You take him to see Ellie, who promises to bring him back in one piece. You nod, and then Joel nods back at you, a small smile there. 

-

You touch yourself that night. You welcome the feeling of something other than loneliness. You want him, more than you thought possible. You replay your day with him over and over. You remember his skin, and the smell of his musk and come hard, seeing stars. 

😈😈😈 I can happily reveal this is not a slow burn. I am having so much fun with this, thank you for reading. 😘

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wicked Games 14

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

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

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?

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

Bruce is nice enough. He does a typical checkup. Says he'll request the ultrasound from your doctor. You thank him and he chats with Steve before he goes.

"Says you're healthy," Steve declares at the door shuts. "Nothing of concern so far."

"Did you ever think...maybe, that whatever they put in you might kill me?" You scowl from the couch as you hug a pillow. "Pregnancy is already damgerous enough."

"Bruce doesn't seem concerned with that. He's a scientist. He's curious," Steve approaches. "You just need to take it easy."

"Take it easy?" You grumble. "Right. It's not very easy. There's a thing growing inside of me."

"Our baby," he sits beside you. "Look, I get it. It's not what you imagined but you gotta think about it. We met for a reason."

"No, we met because I was mad at my husband and my own stupid choices and what did I do? Made another one." You throw a hand up and sink into the cushy couch. "Shouldn't the great cap go out an find someone bubbly and pretty and perfect?"

"You're perfect," he insists.

You stare at him. You're so tired. He's relentless. No matter what you do, puke, gorge, snarl, he's not going to let up. For God's sake, he killed Barrett.

"It really was the greatest night of my life," he leans toward you.

You wince. "Steve..."

"I only want to take care of you." He says. "That night, the woman I met, she wanted that too. That's what you said. You said you were lonely and you just wanted to be wanted. I want you. I need you."

You look away as your eyes gloss with tears. He's not lying. That night you were bitter and dejected. Your husband wouldn't touch you and just that was enough to break you. You were drunk but you were still you.

You cover your face and turn away.

"It's alright," he touches your shoulder gently, rubbing your arm.

"It's not." You snivel.

"But it will be." He squeezes your shoulder. "Shh, sweetheart, relax."

He spreads his hand across your back and rubs. You shiver. He shifts closer. You can feel him. He slides his arm over your shoulders.

He pulls you to him. You don't resist as he turns you and puts your head on his chest. His other hand runs up and down your arm.

That's it. You have nothing left. You crumble. You bury your face in his shirt as another storm washes over you. You sob. You're not just grieving your husband, you're grieving for yourself.

He hushes you, rocking you slightly, and the waves ebb and flow until you're spent. He stays like that with you. You can hear his heart.

He relaxes against you. You let him hold you. Just like that night, you settle for any comfort you can find.

Time blurs and you drift in the haze. When you break through the ambivalence, you're still on the couch. You're on your side, hugging the pillow, numb and dozy. You're not sure you were sleeping, you're still exhausted.

Steve emerges and you watch him. He's in only a towel. His blond hair slightly curls from moisture. He looks at you and rubs his neck.

"How're you feeling?" He asks.

You groan.

"Hungry?"

Your stomach growls before you can answer. You've never felt hunger quite like it.

"I can make you something," he offers.

"No, no," you sit up. "I can manage. I'm not.... helpless."

"I know. I'm just trying to help."

You look at him and stand. You don't say anything. Funny, he keeps saying that word; help. Does he know what that means? It only seems to mean do what he wants.

You pass him to get to the kitchen. You try not to notice or think about his exposed physique. The hard muscle, his thick arms, that inhuman strength.

Remember what he did. You don't know that he wouldn't do the same to you. Sure, he wants the baby but he could find another woman, make another. You're not delusional. You don't think you're special like that.

You'll make a sandwich. Simple. It shouldn't make you sick. Just peanut butter.

Wrong. As you twist open the jar, the smell flips your stomach. You step back and cover your mouth. Steve's shadow moves into the doorway.

"You okay?"

You swallow the bile in your throat.

"As okay as I can be," you drop your hands.

"Like I said, anything I can do."

"Give me some space," you say abruptly. "I need a moment, okay? Like, don't you get it? I planned to be with my husband, not you."

You spin away and put the lid back on the jar.

"I get that," he says tersely.

"I never wanted a kid. Do you know that?"

He hums.

"But here we are so give me a chance to process this," you snap.

He tuts and steps into the kitchen. He crosses his arms.

"You think this is what I want? I never wanted to be in this century. I never wanted to wake up in a world where everyone I know is gone. Where all my hopes and dreams are quashed and this brave new world rejects everything I know."

His voice cracks and takes a deep breath.

You drop your shoulders. No, you didn't think about that. Yet, why would you even consider any of it when he can have anything he wants. Sure, his life isn't what he wanted but why does he get to do the same to you?

"I'm not the one who ruined your life," you mutter.

His brow twitches.

"No, you didn't. You're giving me a chance at that life," he sighs. "So, take your time, but we both know I'm going to get what I want."

[gracie-eilish]

hi love! i hope youre well! could you write a fic where its the first day of winter and the reader doesnt enjoy the cold much and it just be super fluffy with billie trying to keep the reader warm? winters just started in my country and im suffering 😭 thank you love 🫶

snow angel

an: not related to the reneé rapp song :)

… pretend it’s normal for it to snow in socal

The first day of winter rolled in like a sleepy whisper. It was quiet, gentle, and utterly unwelcome by you.

You sighed as you tugged your coat tighter, the zipper pulled all the way to your chin. A thick, knitted scarf was wrapped around your neck like a protective cocoon, and your gloved fingers were clenched in your pockets. A soft wool hat was pulled low over your ears, and still, the cold found ways to sneak in and nibble at your cheeks and nose.

Beside you, Billie was practically glowing. She wore an oversized cream-colored hoodie under a fleece-lined trench, a beanie slouched over her dark hair, and her cheeks were already flushed from the chill. Her hands, to your utter betrayal, were bare. She lifted one to cup a snowflake from the air and grinned at the way it melted instantly on her palm.

“Stop looking so cute,” she said without even glancing at you. You turned toward her with a skeptical grunt.

“I’m not trying to be cute. I’m freezing.”

She giggled.

That was the fourth time. The fourth time she giggled at your very real discomfort.

“I’m suffering,” you said dramatically, your voice muffled by your scarf.

“Baby,” she chuckled, bumping her shoulder into yours, “you look like a grumpy little marshmallow.”

You scowled, or tried to, but it only made her laugh harder.

“See? That pout,” she poked your cheek, “and those rosy little chipmunk cheeks. You’re too much.”

You stopped walking just long enough to huff. “Billie, my nose is numb.”

“Your nose is pink,” she corrected lovingly, gently pressing her warm fingers to the tip of it. “Like a cartoon bunny. Adorable.”

Her teasing wasn’t cruel, just light, full of affection. You couldn’t really stay mad when she was looking at you like that, her eyes sparkling like she’d never been more delighted by anything in her life. You tried not to smile, but she saw it anyway.

“There it is,” she whispered. “Told you. Cute.”

You groaned and resumed walking, Billie matching your pace easily as the two of you meandered down the wide promenade of the outdoor mall. Tiny white lights twinkled in the trees overhead, wrapped in spirals around every bare branch, and a faint instrumental version of “Let It Snow” drifted from hidden speakers.

“I should be at home. Under like, six blankets. With a space heater. And socks that go up to my knees.”

“You are under six layers. You’ve got like three jackets on right now.”

“One of them is technically a hoodie.”

“That counts,” she said, taking your arm and linking hers through it. “But you’re out here with me, even though you hate it. That’s love.”

“It’s suffering, is what it is,” you grumbled.

She smiled and leaned her head against your shoulder. “Suffering you’ll be rewarded for. Trust me.”

You raised a brow, but she just hummed and tugged you toward a little shop with peppermint-scented air wafting out the door.

Inside, the warmth wrapped around you instantly. Billie helped you tug your gloves off and held your fingers between hers to warm them, squeezing gently.

“This is temporary,” you muttered, voice still cranky. “The cold is waiting right outside.”

“Mhm,” she said, ignoring your dramatics, “but right now, you’ve got me. And cinnamon candles. And like, five hundred throw blankets to feel.”

You did feel all the blankets. And the soaps. And the overpriced cocoa-scented bath bombs you had no intention of buying. Billie tossed one in your basket anyway.

“For the tub,” she said. “After I thaw out my snow-hating sweetheart.”

You stuck out your tongue at her and her little voice. She winked.

From shop to shop you went, slowly, Billie dragging you in and out of bookstores, little local jewelry stands, a place that only sold honey and beeswax things, and another that had every holiday ornament imaginable, even a purple glitter hedgehog, which she bought just because you said it made you smile.

You protested at first, “I don’t even like hedgehogs that much!” But she saw the truth on your face and kissed your cheek anyway.

Eventually, your nose stopped stinging, and your fingers felt more like fingers again. Billie, to your surprise, was still giggling every time she looked at you. Your scarf had slipped down just enough to reveal the full effect of your pout, and she was obsessed.

“You look like someone told you your favorite show got canceled,” she teased as you walked toward the smell of cinnamon buns.

“I feel like it,” you said. “But if one of those smells as good as it tastes…”

“Only one way to find out.”

You ended up sitting at a little bistro table under a heater, steam rising off your shared pastry. Billie pulled her sleeves over her hands and cupped the hot chocolate you bought her. She smiled at you from behind the rim of the mug.

“You know,” she said, after a long sip, “I think you secretly like winter.”

You gave her a look. “You’re delusional.”

“No, no. I think you like this part. The part where I keep you warm and spoil you with hot cocoa and sneak kisses on your cold little nose.”

She leaned over and kissed it again, just to prove her point. You groaned softly, but she caught the curve of your smile as you turned away.

“I like the part where we’re together,” you admitted, quiet.

Her grin softened into something warmer, something private. She reached across the table and took your hand.

“Well. That’s the only part I need.”

And you stayed like that for a while, her fingers wrapped around yours, your cheeks pink from more than the cold, the quiet first snow of winter drifting around you like the hush before a kiss.

By the time you made it back to Billie’s house- a cozy, quiet, and tucked into a peaceful LA neighborhood already dusted with the rarest kind of southern California snow- the tips of your ears were red, your scarf smelled like cinnamon sugar, and Billie had called you cute approximately twenty-seven more times.

The second the door shut behind you, you let out a groan so dramatic it echoed in the entryway.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, dropping your gloves to the floor and nearly tripping over your boots as you shuffled out of them. “I have never been so done with the outdoors.”

Billie’s laugh followed you like a warm wind. “You were outside for, like… four hours.”

“Four eternal hours,” you corrected, swaying slightly as you peeled off your coat, hoodie, and scarf in a chaotic heap. “The snow was taunting me.”

Billie raised an eyebrow. “You mean gently falling and being perfect and festive?”

You pointed at her. “Exactly. Taunting.”

She rolled her eyes, but her grin betrayed her affection. You were down to your long-sleeved tee and leggings now, toes finally free from the stiff prison of winter boots. Billie leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with that soft look in her eyes again, like you were her favorite song playing on vinyl.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said sweetly.

“You love it,” you replied, waddling toward her dramatically in thick, fuzzy socks. Billie caught you in her arms and hugged you tight.

“I do love it,” she mumbled against your hair. “I love you.”

You melted into her like butter on warm toast, letting the heat of her seep into your bones.

“I’m still cold,” you whispered.

Billie pulled back, one eyebrow raised, and then took your hand. “We’ll fix that.”

She led you down the hall into her living room, where everything already smelled like pine and vanilla, and the dim lighting was perfect, just the soft flicker of candles and the glow of string lights woven around the shelves and windows. And then you saw it. Your heart practically stuttered.

Billie had made a blanket nest on the couch. Not just a blanket fort, a whole cozy kingdom. Fluffy pillows lined the cushions like little clouds, and a mountain of blankets were stacked and layered like a patchwork throne. She’d even pulled up the soft ottoman and set a little tray on it with a mug of something steamy and a small bowl of mini marshmallows. The electric fireplace was flickering, fake but warm, casting gentle golden light over the room.

“Did you do all this for me?” you asked, blinking at the sight.

Billie gave you a lopsided grin and shrugged. “I had a feeling your winter grump would need a full-body intervention.”

You turned, slow, dramatic, and full of awe. “You are my hero.”

She smirked and pulled you into the pile of fluff, yanking a heated blanket around both of you as you tumbled into the couch like a pair of tired penguins.

The second you hit the cushions, you let out a soft, contented moan. Billie laughed again, wrapping her arms around you and adjusting the blanket so it cocooned you completely. She even slid one of those microwavable stuffed animals, a lavender-scented bunny, under your hands.

“I want to live here,” you mumbled into her shoulder.

“Baby… You do live here,” she reminded you gently, stroking your back through the blanket.

“Then I never want to leave this couch again.”

She pressed her nose into your temple. “You don’t have to.”

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, finally warm to your core. Billie shifted slightly to reach for the mug and brought it to your lips. “Careful,” she warned, “it’s hot.”

You sipped. It was some kind of spiced apple cider, sweet, tangy, and perfectly warm.

You sighed. “Okay. I take it back. Winter isn’t a total betrayal.”

“Ohhh, really?” Billie teased. “Suddenly it’s not evil just because I gave you a heated blanket and some cider?”

“Yes,” you said without hesitation.

Billie chuckled, setting the mug down and pulling you back into her arms. She adjusted so your legs tangled with hers, her chin resting atop your head, her breath warm against your hairline.

For a while, you just lay there, half-asleep, listening to the muffled hum of Billie’s heartbeat and the occasional crackle of the fake fireplace. Your limbs were heavy with comfort, your nose finally its normal color again, and the scent of Billie’s skin, fresh linen, peppermint, and just a hint of vanilla, was the only thing grounding you to the world.

“You’re so quiet,” she whispered.

“Warm people don’t need to talk,” you replied sleepily.

She smiled and squeezed you a little tighter. “I like you when you’re like this.”

“Silent and bundled like a burrito?”

“No,” she said, giggling into your hair. “Just… soft. Happy. Safe.”

You tilted your head up to look at her, and her eyes were full of that quiet tenderness again. That gaze she only gave you when it was just the two of you, no music, no shows, no stage lights, just Billie and you and the stillness of being in love.

You reached up to touch her cheek, fingertips brushing over her smooth skin. “You make me feel safe,” you murmured. “Even when I’m being a brat about the cold.”

“You’re not a brat,” she said. “You’re just… fragile. Like a little snowdrop.”

You squinted. “A what?”

She laughed. “You know. Like a flower that doesn’t survive frost.”

“Are you calling me a weak flower?”

“I’m saying you’re delicate and precious and I would shield you from all the snow in the world if I could.”

Your face flushed, but not from the cold this time.

“Okay,” you whispered. “I forgive you.”

“For what?”

“For dragging me out into the arctic tundra this morning.”

Billie smirked. “It was Beverly Hills. And the sun was out.”

“Still counts.”

She leaned in and kissed your nose, now warm enough to tingle. “I’ll make it up to you.”

You arched a brow. “Oh yeah?”

“Yep. We’re gonna stay right here. Forever. Or at least until tomorrow. You, me, and this pile of blankets.”

“Sounds good to me,” you said, wrapping your arms tighter around her.

And with that, the outside world disappeared. The cold faded to a distant memory. In its place was only this: Billie’s steady heartbeat, the soft flicker of candlelight, and the knowledge that even the harshest winter would always melt away in her arms.

[archive-doll]

Oh, sweet neighbour.

Author Note: Finally free from this. I love it.

MASTERLIST

Summary: Johnny Mactavish x f!reader. He's your neighbour. You are is new god. First meeting.

Trigger Warning: the military, while not very detailed it's shit. you're pregnant, that's a warning on its own.

Have mercy on my grammar, English is not my first language.

You were delighted the first time you understood you would have a new neighbour. The sign left in front of the old house has been hanging there since you arrived three months ago, moving with the weather. When the slight bump of your belly could easily be hidden with a larger sweater.

The nice contractor assigned to the wilderness of your county has been telling you about it when you visited your house, how you wouldn’t have any neighbours for now. It wasn’t exactly surprising; the North of Scotland is not really attractive to most people. The whole world is at least a two-hour drive, and the rain seems to never quite stop, and during the winter, electricity can go out under the strength of the wind.

So, when the nice older woman, Jenny, told you about this serious candidate who was interested in the old wooden home on the other edge of the field, you assumed it was another one, trying to find rest. And from what Jenny revealed to you, your hypothesis is rather truthful. A man older than you, who was just honourably discharged from the British Army, after being severely wounded.

Truly, she shouldn’t tell you any of it, as it is supposed to be confidential information, but who would you tell? The stray cat that slowly invades your porch? The cattle you saved from a cruel death? It reassured you, knowing this information. It was a new adventure starting, having a neighbour in this remote part of the country.  

The first time you saw the old truck, it almost made you laugh in amusement. A military man retired, driving the most vintage piece of metal you ever saw, still rolling. The dark green colour seems to turn to grey at the edge, the old thing making a noise close to a dying breath. You find it fitting, somewhat, with the description you have of him.

You are knee-deep into the renovation of your newly acquired stable. It isn’t as if your home is fully finished either, since you’re trying to do it all yourself. But it fills you with purpose, with a sense of belonging you had cruelly missed for the majority of your life, one that you yearned for so strongly it almost broke you before.  

A hammer in hand, and the humidity slithering into your rainboots, you watch with slight curiosity the man park on the other side of the river that crossed the field. You can not see anything remotely interesting from where you stand, only the silhouette of him, and quickly your attention goes back to the wall you had taken all the rotten planks out of, before sighing. Your shoulders hurt, and you know you should not do heavy work considering your current state, but it has to be done. You shift on your feet, and the features on your face change to a concentrated expression before your hand raises with a firm grip. You will go greet your new neighbour soon enough, but before that, you have work to do.  

The only time you finally found to go present yourself to this stranger was three days later. A plate filled with what you tried to be a warm apple pie; you take your time crossing the distance to their residence. You hesitated between the two of them for a long time, each of the houses had a charm you were weak too. But you decided on the old Cotswolds stone house, which is a type of habitat you typically find in England. The one you were now walking to has a wooden structure, one that makes you feel warmth, where you could drink warm chocolate inside. A beautiful house, you think.  

You take a breath, slightly anxious at the now-soon-to-be interaction, feeling your heart thumping in your chest. Question roams in your skull: Is it very smart to inform an adult man, trained to kill, that you lived alone, where no one would ever know if you were to be in danger?

Your hands shake slightly around the plate you’re holding on to, everything you were ever taught against your will, everything you sadly believe in, told you it was a bad idea. But you try, just for a moment, to cease the lessons you painfully learned that paralyse you with fear and press a foot on the first stair. The wooden creak beneath your weight, the roundness of your tummy now showing as it strained beneath your coat.  

Before you could even finish graving the steps leading to his front door, it was opening. Surprised at the motion and rather tired from the walk leading you there, your doe eyes find the hardness of a man being invaded in his privacy. It makes you waver momentarily, pregnant form stilling in its walk. The mop of hair on top of his face – rather charming, you must admit – is untidy, straying around until some dark curly strands fall on his forehead. Bright blue eyes that make your breath hitch before he analytically gazes at you in a matter of seconds. It’s rather disturbing to see the threatening presence of his disappear so vividly.

The tightness on him melts away, broad shoulders loosening as his wounded arm falls against his torso. The stance he had taken at the sound of you shift into something approachable, someone really, instead of the weapon he had been groomed to become.  

Your eyelashes flutter as he opens the door wider, taking a step on the porch, finally feeling as if the tight hold around your throat is loosening. You resume your movement and offer him a careful smile, slightly disturbed by the first sight of him that he showed you. Droplets of water fall from the edge of your hood as he approaches with firm steps, the hand not pressed into that medical scarf hold out for you to take.  

“’ello ma’am.” 

The polite and confused tone of his voice widens your smile, the gentlemanly manner putting you at ease as you accept his help, finally reaching the edge of the porch. From close, you’re quite admirative of his features, finding in his eyes a storm that seems a reflection of the sea. You do not say anything, not about the way his fingers are rough around your palm, digging there, and how his ring finger misses a knuckle.

“Hello, I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“Nae, nae, it’s a’right.” He stumbles on his words with a firm shake of his head, stopping your unnecessary apologies. “Didnae thought anyone would come see me.” 

“Well, I did. And I have an apple pie for you, too.” You reply with a smile, raising slightly the covered plate you were holding, which seems to pique his attention as his eyes flicker downward as if seeing it for the first time.  

Johnny, you quickly find, hushes you inside with a quickness in his tone that you think is worry, or maybe guilt for frightening you the first second you've seen him. You give a little laugh at his own expression of regret, waving a hand in the air to signify you don't mind.

The warmth of his home makes you sigh while he closes the door behind you, your eyes admiring the entryway quietly before he moves past you with a precision unsettling. In the last three minutes you’ve known him, you can see the military experience he has bleeding out from every one of his actions.  

Johnny had been ready to shoot at the intruder the second he sensed your presence. His residence here is only because the British Army made him leave. It was a consequence of betrayal, of disaster, of disarray. Never once, since he left Scotland at age sixteen, running away from the battlefield that was home, did he ever consider the possibility of coming back. But, since the only home he ever had abandoned him, the only other place he could settle on to go back to was here. The Royal Army dismissing him doesn't mean he doesn't have enemies anymore.

After years of sacrifices, weeks of torture, months of the sand and blood invading his senses, they forced him away. He did not even have the time to process it; in a coma for a month, caused by a bullet entering his skull. By some curse, he made it, though the scar hidden beneath his hair says a different story. He awakens in that room, the white lightning cutting through like a knife, unaware of anything, only for, five minutes later, a superior officer he had never seen before telling him he would never be able to come back.  

He never imagined that the neighbour Jenny told him about, would come here. Neither did he ever fantasise about how soft and gentle you would be. As he watches you, from the edge of his previously unused kitchen, microwaved dinner is all he has ever known – he is almost distraught by the sight of you.

The dark blue sweater you wear is shifting over your rounded belly each time you move slightly too far. The patch of flesh, strained there, almost feels like a hallucination. He doesn’t process any of the words escaping your lips, and really, he should be more attentive to them. But the warmth in your eyes and the lightness in your voice as you tell him of the surrounding areas, giving him intel on the closest threat around, are unfamiliar.  

It has been weeks since his discharge. Weeks of mandatory therapy established by the organisation he surrendered his life for. Of endless pain in his head, like fresh lava melting around his skull every minute of every day. Weeks of wandering aimlessly, a shell of who he once was, blown apart. Stripped away from his sole purpose in life, abducted from the only person he ever cared for since he took control of his life. Only for it all to cease, to be taken away from him. Every scar he had been the victim of over the years, over the last decade of his life, was nothing now that he was in exile. Banished from the only world he knows.  

And now, here you are. Standing in the house he bought for barely anything at all, and his mind becomes silent. He looks at you, the soft lines around your mouth as you speak to him, and everything - the past stops his restless assault. A miracle, mirage, it didn’t matter what you are. Of course, you are too perfect to be real. You, and that warm, handmade apple pie. You and your graceful hands, free of any burden in life. You, and the warmth of your soul, he is swallowed by each time you gaze his way.

Johnny is certain he must look completely unhinged, staring too hard from a few steps away. He knows he should interact with you, at least pretend to be normal as he did since he left the military base. But everything in you, every little thing that you are, renders him defenceless. From the comically large slippers he lends you, the curve of your plush thighs, to the way you simply stand there blissfully.  

Your voice takes him away from his quiet moment of salvation, and he tilts his chin down to find you closer, a piece of apple pie on a little plate he did not even know he owned.  

“You must be tired. I know comin’ all the way here isn’t easy.” 

You’re silently wondering how he drives here, with an injured arm, but don’t think on it too long. Looking at him under the light, you can almost sense his tiredness. It’s written all over his broad frame, even as he still tenses when he watches you, the harsh line of his jaw where beard starts to grow. The thunder growling in his eyes. You do not ask, do not even mention it, and settle the plate he keeps looking at on the island counter before, with a heavy sigh, sitting down. One hand comes on the valley of your back as the reprieve of the highchair lightens your troubles. 

“You alone here?” He mumbles after a moment, and you see when it comes, the crinkles around his eyes.  

There is a moment of silence, as your face hardens, once again pondering the dangerousness of it. Johnny, since you took your first step, never truly intended to hurt you. It was instinct back then, you can tell. It is still as he stays on the edge of the room, close enough to the window and the front door. The only position where he can see the other entry points and you at the same time. Even battered as he appeared to be, there is no way his training could ever be forgotten.  

“Can’t say I am.” You settle on with a hint of humour to defuse the slight tension growing in the room. 

You, peculiarly, find great pride in the way his face widens at your words, before his eyes shine, watching your hand tap on the baby bump you expose, his way. Your mouth twitches before the grin you’re trying to hide finally breaks free. It is like seeing the sun for the first time, as his broad shoulders tremble under his laugh, the sound radiant as the summer, his head tilting backwards.  

Johnny, you understand, is much like the stray animals you scour around the country. You must allow him time to judge you; to feel safe with you in his personal space and prove you would never ever hurt him. Amusingly, he reminds you of the bull you are trying to negotiate with the farmer a little further down the hill. All broad around, with an intimidating physique that leaves you breathless when he struts toward you. Who once offered food is rather fine with your presence. 

“Good one, bonnie.” He grumbles again with a chuckle, sitting down in front of you as you fill the second plate. “No one tae look after ya then?” 

“I came here so no one would.” You admit, eyes shifting down as you push the tine of your fork into the sweet apple. “Wanted a home for myself.” 

“Can understand tha'. Where ya come from then?” 

Your eyes glimmer, seeing him inhale the pie, slightly saddened by how starved he looks, groans of contentment leaving him with each bite. The decision is easy to make, even after the scare he gave you when he opened the door.

The loneliness seems to cling to him like a dead lover, like a curse that runs deep into his blood, carving his place into his bones. For a moment, he reminds you of a haunted house after the people who inhabited it died tragically, leaving only the shell of what it was before. You’ll come and offer him food. Make sure he eats, and do not let himself be swallowed by his grief. 

You let him interrogate you. He offers answers of his own in return, and while sometimes cryptic, you make do with them. For a man surely as closed as he, he already tells you enough, especially during your first meeting. The questions are relatively innocent, if you don’t think of the ramifications of it all. Why did you decide on coming to Scotland, why the house so far away from everything, Does any of your family come to visit you before – he's searching for information. But with every answer you offer him, not hiding that you came here for freedom and safety, you watch him soften around the edges. 

Your fingers stroking along your belly, you smile as you watch his face shift when he tells you all about Scotland, where you should go visit, or where to eat a good meal. With a firm tone, though, and a long stare, he informs you never to go alone by yourself, that he’ll be your guide if you wish for it. Maybe a comparison to a stray hoarding dog would have been more accurate than a bull, you decide, as you giggle.  

“Understood, Sir.” You mock with honest gratefulness, already feeling quite comfortable around him.   

There is a twitch on the corner of his eyes, a straightening flinch in his shoulders, and you immediately regret it, your eyes widening in worry as his hands curl on the kitchen island around his empty plate.

He shakes his head then, after a moment of watching, unruly curls ruggedly flowing around his face, you are not insensitive to, as he gargles a laugh. Soon, he breaks the cold air, and he tells you to at least raise your hand next time, and you giggle happily, giving him a nod in acceptance.

Well, your new neighbour might not be what you imagined, but he’s perfect as he is. Especially when he walks you back home, his hand out in offering, grasping at your fingers to help you cross the uneven ground of the field. 

@ archive-doll - all rights reserved. reposting or modifying, including translating or use on AI, is not permitted. original characters are not my own, but the stories and writing are.

line dividers by cafekitsune

[kakashiislut]

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Starry~ Isack Hadjar OneShot

Warnings: Nothing Really.

Prompt: late night itch to talk to isack

Author: would love some requests on what to do. :)

Masterlist

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The pounding of the rain against the dark windows shook you to your core. It was pitch black outside, but the stars and occasional passing cars dimmed your room just enough through the glass. You laid on your bed, body splayed out like a puddle. Your hair wildly spread out across your pillow. Your eyes fixated on the ceiling, you couldn’t shake that feeling. That itch.

It crawled into your skin like a tick ready for a meal. Goosebumps littered your stomach and the soft strumming of the music in your ears gave you too much confidence. It’s 2:30 am dammit and you were wide awake, yet so sleepy. Reaching over, your fingers glides over your phone and you swiped it open. You’re itchy. You have an itch and it needs to be scratched. Now.

The ring back tone rang once, twice, then click. It was a soft breath, then an even softer “hello…” it wasn’t a question, not a statement, not even a greeting. It was…familiarity. “Hi.” You spoke softly back at him, the phone lazily laid across the side of your face, your AirPod crushed under your right ear. “I was…’oping you’d call” The tenderness in his accent was like a drug to you. You sighed a sigh of relief and maybe even sexual pleasure.

“Seen the stars…reminded me of you.” You whispered back, isack just laughed softly. “Didn’t think you’d be up.” And isack laughed even more at that.

“Eet’s an itch you can’t scratch… unless it’s me, non?” You almost giggled at how thick his accent became when he was sleepy, but you knew you didn’t wake him up. He was waiting, waiting for you. You tried to stay away, tried to block him on everything, including your mind and run away…but he was genuinely like a drug to you. He didn’t know why. You used to be best friends…until one day you weren’t. And it’s YOUR fault. You both know that. But isack doesn’t know why.

It started with a mistake, stole some alcohol from your parents at 17 and you guys drank. Shared a daring kiss and everything changed right then and there. Kissing was nice, then it was making out, then it became more and more. Until you guys were eating eachother whole, until your skin was stuck onto his and his onto yours. Your friendship blurred and you knew that…so one day you just…stopped.

You stopped talking to him, stopping supporting him, stopped watching the races, blocked him, deleted him. Destroyed him from your life. It wasn’t platonic anymore, it was romantic how you felt for him and that scared you.

“What made you…finally call, eh?”

“I seen the stars.”

“Ahh…ze stars…” he snorted, but in reality, he held back tears. “I missed you.” His throat bobbed nervously and he stared at the ceiling of his own room. It wasn’t dark outside like it was for you, but he wished it was. He wished he was by you.

There’s a deep silence, one that was actually uncomfortable.

“I left because I love you.”

Love..not loved. Love. It meant that there was hope, meant that there was more than just a confession. Isack closed his eyes, “you left when I started loving you too…”

You wanted to cry really, for being such a bad friend, but isack was always so nice to you. “I love you.” You spoke, and without a heart beat, he softly repeated it back to you. You’ve told eachother that you loved each other before, but this time…it simply was different.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

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PeePeePooPoo Tag List:

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[candywife333]

Do It Like Me

Pairing: Jungkook singer x chubby y/n

PART 2 of Places You Never Were

(I will also be writing a continuation if you guys want one, but otherwise, this is the last official part😆) Not edited as usual

Triggers: sad feelings, crude words and description, intense unrequited love, mild yandere activity?, smut, twist at the end

I was going in circles, mentally. Was it even necessary that I care about him at this point? That something in me still felt bad even after everything he did to me. All after he used me, made me a shriveled husk of myself , and then dropped me.

I remember the last time I saw him in person at that award show a while back. He looked prideful at the time, dark eyes glinting with latent arrogance, maximal self assurance in who he was and what he had achieved as a singular entity . He had acted as though I had never existed. He had not even acknowledged that some person in his life had gone the extra miles for him to become who he was that day onstage.

I thought I had a choice in the matter. Unfortunately, I was still tight with Jimin and he came into the studio as he occasionally does one day. He ran in, eyes rimmed with red and slightly damp, "Did you hear what happened to Kook Y/N? He's in the hospital and we are all so scared. What if he can't recover? He has broken his legs Y/N!! Tibia fractured in multiple places". He looked so distraught , lips downturned in a pout as though he were going to start balling right this minute.

Sighing, I got up, ambling over to give him a hug. "He will be alright Jimin, he always is. It may take him a long recovery time, but don't doubt that he will recover. You guys should be there for him at this time". Jimin nodded vigorously, tears still dripping from his eyes as he wiped them with his hands. His arms encircling my waist to hug me back. I patted his back gently. His muffled cries died down as I continued to cradle him in my arms, rocking rhythmically back and forth ever so slightly to soothe him.

"Y/N, why do you always give the best hugs? It always feels like coming home". I get startled at his candid assessment. "Umm, not sure" , I chuckle. "I am glad you feel that way. That I can be some comfort to you".

Jimin smiled a watery grin, "You are the only reason I have a career this big. I never dreamed of it you know. You made a far-off dream for me, a reality". I smile back at him sheepishly, "Don't keep praising, you know I hate it. Especially when most of it was your own efforts anyway--your artistry and skills".

His embrace tightened around me, his breath ghosting my bare midriff. I froze, my shirt had actually lifted up as I had gone in for a hug. He didn't move away. His lips almost touched my bare skin. I shivered as the faint imprint of his lips seared my skin. He murmured, "It was all you. If you never believed in me, if you never came into my life--I would have nothing, would be nothing. And it really doesn't help that I found you so sexy and gorgeous from the time I first entered the studio to record the album. You wouldn't believe what I have done without you knowing. I feel guilty about it at times, but the temptation of you is too much to resist".

I was so taken aback, I croaked out in bewilderment, "What have you done that you feel guilty about"? He turned his smooth cheek towards me, his soft face indented into my rounded bare belly, making me gasp aloud at the sensation, his plump lips burrowing into my belly button. "What are you doing Jimin", I yelped in shock. Shock and something else--a feeling I couldn't place a warm treacly feeling spreading through my pelvis.

He said in a rather matter in fact tone, "I feel so guilty because ever since I saw you, I attempt to forget your face because you pop up in my mind every time I try to go to sleep, every time I am randomly going through my life. On stage, at a cafe, when I am recording, when I am at dance practice. And you know what? This slow torture, I don't want it to end. I want to be thinking about you all the time. Want to submerge myself in you, become one with you. And you know how you let me into your house one time to water the house plants when you were away"?

I nodded, remembering the time I had a meeting with producers in America, leaving him responsible to keep track of the house plants. He continued stuttering," w-w-well", gulping again to wet his mouth , "I may have stolen some articles of clothing. sp-pecifically your cherry studded panties".

I stand there in a stupor. What was he confessing to? "You...took them for what reason"? And that's when I felt his hands unzip my skirt slowly...cold a/c air hitting my thighs as his lips dragged down my skin from my belly button down to the elastic band of my panties. He mouthed out his response onto my skin, "Because I am addicted to your scent. Because I am addicted to you. Your smile, your body, you. And I wanted to know what you smelled like down there. I always catch your scent when I hug you or sit next to you and after getting high on that..obsessed with that.....I wanted to know what the woman I love smells like in the place that I want to be solely mine, only mine".

I shake, teetering on a fine edge when his teeth skate across the fabric of my panties. "And you know what Y/N , I became obsessed with that scent as well. And now if I don't get my fix, I lose it. So easily. I need to breathe you in because you are the only thing that makes sense in my life".

I try to pull away, put distance- "but Jimin, you don't know me that well. And how can you get addicted to something you smelled one month ago , on one occasion. Not to mention how gross an invasion of ". Before I could finish , he cut me off, his plump pink lips nestled at my nether lips, mouthing into the fabric of my panties, "Why did you think I always seeked you out at your house after that? Coming over to eat food with you , needing help with music composition. I needed to be close to you. I still crave you so badly. I used those panties up, getting off to your fragrance every day for a solid week. But I am done sneaking around, taking a trip to your dirty laundry basket to steal your panties. I want it from the source now, not anywhere else" .

And with that statement puncturing the tense air, he gently dragged his mouth down my panties and smothered my nether lips with his pillowy lips, dragging them into his wet mouth, sucking at my folds. I groan , "Jimin don't". But he doesn't comply, nibbling at my folds like he's eating at a five star buffet. His lips suctioning my clit as he squeezes my fleshy hips gently, "It's mine Y/N let me have it. I have been dreaming about it for a whole year now. Make my dreams come true again, please".

I moan helplessly as he devours me.

A strange detail hits me, "Jimin, were you the one who randomly deposited money into my account, 100k dollars throughout this whole year? The amounts that randomly showed up in my account "?He chuckles , his rumbly low voice making me even wetter frustratingly enough, "Wouldn't want my woman to feel tight on money. Now would I? I know you earn well enough now for yourself. But I wanted you to go on that vacation to the Maldives you have been planning for a while now. Wanted to make sure you have everything you could possibly dream of".

And the merciless thought tore through my psyche, when was the last time someone had cared about me and my dreams? I couldn't however maintain a coherent stream of thought as he lavished my core with attention, slurping, sucking, licking -teething at my folds as though he couldn't ever get enough. Like he wanted to drown in me. He gripped me like he couldn't bear the thought of me leaving him.

I fell apart, my knees failing me, as he lowered me into his lap, and he continued sniffing at my neck as he grips me in a tight vise. Licking his lips, he looks me straight in the eyes, "Delicious darling. Let me have that every morning, and I can a die a happy man". Still in a torpid state from his sexual attentions , obsessive declarations , I beseech him ,"You do know how Jungkook used me right? I don't know if I can go through that again Jimin. I can't trust men anymore".

He lazily grinned, "Don't trust men darling. Trust me. I won't let you go, I can't". His eyes shine with a beguiling glint, "He was a fool to lose you. But I am so glad he did. Because I couldn't make you mine otherwise".

And somehow, he convinced me to come with him to see Jungkook in the hospital. As we walked in, I saw Jungkook cringe in pain as a nurse was cleaning one of his wounds. His legs were both wrapped in long casts as he lay on the bed. Jungkook looked at me in surprise, a momentary smile blending into a frown on his face, "I didn't think you would want to come see me after all I have done to you".

I walked to his bedside, sighing I proclaim ,"Regardless of what you did, you were severely injured. I wanted to come to see and reassure you. You can recover from this Jungkook, as difficult as it may feel in the moment".

As I stood in front of Jimin, I didn't see what I should've seen. Jimin smiled as he said with a peculiar look in his eye, "Exactly what Y/N said Kook. You can recover from this". He paused as he continued, "And don't worry about Y/N. She has me now to take care of her. She always did, she just didn't know it before".

Jimin looked at Jungkook with an imperceptibly cold glint in his eyes, "Should've been careful Kook , would've avoided this accident if you were more mindful of your actions".

He whispered inaudibly to himself, "If only you knew your fate was unavoidable". A half smile lingered on his face. Jungkook and I didn't notice anything amiss as I walked over to cut some fruits for Jungkook to eat.

Jungkook conversed with Jimin as I cut the fruit. "When were you into Y/N Minnie? I didn't see this coming". He asked the query with a curious lilt. Jimin replied casually, stroking my hip as he responded, "Some of us realize our dreams once we meet someone pivotal in our lives. And that was Y/N for me".

Jungkook pushed on with a strange intensity in his eyes, "And when did you meet Y/N"? Jimin now gripped my hip possessively as he smirked, "I met her before you met her. When she was helping grade our composition assessments as trainees".

I chortled in surprise, "I don't remember you Jimin. How did you remember me? I must've barely been there, that assessment lasted half an hour that time. Plus I was dressed in a dumpy black hoodie".

Jimin looks at me with all the fervor of someone in the throes of joy, as if he was reminiscing something only he knew, " I remembered you Y/N because you were the single most beautiful and warm hearted person I had encountered in this city till then. And that hasn't changed Y/N".

I smiled back at him, he was so sweet, so kind and giving. I walked out of the room to use the bathroom ,excusing myself as Jimin kissed me briefly on the lips.

The door closed behind me.

Jungkook pressed on, "And how did I end up in the hospital Jimin"? Jimin nonchalantly poured himself a glass of water. "What are you saying Jungkook? You know how you ended up here. You were drunk and driving".

Not even glancing around the room once, Jungkook continued with his dark eyes narrowing, "Tell me Jimin. How did I end up here"?

Jimin smiled mysteriously, "You should know that better than me Jungkook. Just like how you should know how you fucked that dancer behind Y/N's back when you guys used to date. Just like how you know you cheated on her".

Jungkook looked like he was about to hyperventilate, give into hysterics-- like he had finally pieced something together that had evaded him for years, like it clicked all at once.

"Jimin, why did you introduce that dancer to me at the time when you knew I was with Y/N. Why did you tell me that I should experience new things. That I didn't need a long term girlfriend at that stage in our careers. That we should taste the rainbow before settling".

Jimin beamed at him, leaning in to drawl, "Temptation is ever present. I never forced you to take my suggestion. Not my fault you decided to succumb. So much for your fidelity".

Jungkook's face contorted into fear, "You planned this, didn't you? This was all part of your elaborate plan to get Y/N for yourself".

Jimin sniggered, "Plan? Me? I don't plan Jungkook, I dream and execute. And you know what Jungkook? Mere dreamers aren't winners. You have to fight for what you want. What do you think I dreamed of since we joined as trainees"?

Jungkook's mind was swamped in confusion as he asked ,"What was your dream"?

Jimin wrinkled his eyes into a wide grin, "My dream was always Y/N. Whatever I dream of, I always get it. Fame is a cruel mistress, but my Y/N isn't. I was in the background of her life, but not anymore".

I came back into the room, smiling at them, not sensing the strange tension that had developed. "What were you speaking to Jungkook about Jimin"?

Jimin got up to move closer to me and Jungkook's knuckles clutched the hospital bed sheets so hard they turned white. In a calm, intimate tone he says melodically "I was just waiting for you darling. Like I always do". He looked at Jungkook briefly, a hint of a smile tugging at his lush lips.