#i promise i was not kicking him it’s just the angle

[lazylittledragon]

i went on a rope swing today for the first time ever

[fangdokja]

♡ TW. Dead Dove // Read at Your Own Risk ; ♡ WC. 1,045

You haven’t had a moment’s peace since that night.

It doesn’t matter where you are—your cubicle, the breakroom, the fucking supply closet—he finds you. And when he does, he doesn’t hide it. He doesn’t care who sees. If anything, he enjoys the risk. Thrives on the power he has over you. The first time after that night, you were stupid enough to think you could fight it.

That was a mistake.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, fingers tracing your throat as you sat on his desk, legs forced apart. “Scared someone will hear?”

The door wasn’t locked. It never was. Anyone could’ve walked in and seen the way he had you spread open for him, skirt bunched around your waist, panties dangling from one ankle like a discarded thought. The red light of his camera blinked in the dim office glow. Recording. Always recording. Just like he promised.

“You belong to me now,” he told you the first time he shoved you in front of the camera, forced you onto your knees, made you choke on his cock while his audience watched. “Keep your mouth shut, do as you’re told, and this stays between us. Try to run—try anything—and I’ll make sure the whole world sees what a filthy little thing you really are.”

You wanted to believe he was bluffing.

Then you saw the files. The neatly labeled folders, each one containing videos of you from every degrading angle, captured in brutal, high-definition clarity. Your own face, twisted in horror, forced into pleasure. Every violation archived, categorized.

That was when you knew.

You were trapped.

And he knew it.

The next time he pulls you into his office, it’s under the pretense of work. No one bats an eye when you go in, and no one will question how long you stay. You know better than to argue, to resist.

That only makes it worse.

You barely get a word out before he yanks you against him, back to chest, one hand slipping under your blouse, palming your breast possessively. The other forces your head to the side, exposing the vulnerable stretch of your throat. His breath is hot against your skin, his voice a low murmur.

“I have a meeting soon,” he muses. “Think I can make you cum before then?”

You don’t answer. You never do anymore.

Your silence only makes him smile.

“You always act so cold,” he says, rolling your nipple between his fingers until you flinch. “But the moment I spread your legs, you get so wet for me. Almost like you like being my little toy.”

Your nails dig into his wrist, a weak attempt at resistance. He doesn’t even acknowledge it. His other hand slips between your thighs, gliding over the damp heat there with ease. You stiffen, breath catching when he presses against your clit.

“I love how sensitive you are,” he murmurs. “Like your body was made for me.”

Your stomach twists in humiliation as he drags your panties down, slow, deliberate. The camera is already recording.

“Be good and bend over,” he orders. “Let them see how pretty you look when you take my cock.”

Your knees nearly buckle at the implication.

“You’re streaming?”

“Of course.” His voice is a purr, sending ice down your spine. “Wouldn’t want them to miss this.”

Your stomach lurches. The chat must be going wild. They know you now. Know the sounds you make. The way you shudder and break beneath him. The way your body betrays you.

You don’t get time to process. He never gives you time. His hands are already on your hips, shoving you down against the desk, pressing your cheek to the cold surface. Your skirt is yanked up, panties kicked aside. Cool air kisses your exposed skin.

“No—”

The sharp crack of his palm against your ass makes you yelp. Your body jerks from the force.

“What was that?” he muses, rubbing the sting with mocking gentleness. “You know better than to argue.”

Before you can protest, you feel it—the thick heat of him pressing against your entrance. Panic slams through you, your breath hitching.

“Wait—”

He doesn’t.

The stretch is brutal. A searing pain that makes your back arch, your fingers clawing at the desk. He pushes in slow, making sure you feel every inch, every torturous second. Your breath shudders from your lungs as he bottoms out, pressed so deep it feels like he’s splitting you in two.

“Fuck,” he exhales, voice tight with pleasure. “You always feel so good like this. So tight. Like you were made for me.”

Tears burn behind your eyes. He doesn’t care. He never does. He pulls back only to slam into you again, setting a brutal, punishing pace. The desk creaks beneath you, each thrust forcing a gasp from your lips, each snap of his hips making you jolt forward.

“You know they’re watching, right?” he taunts, fingers bruising into your waist. “Watching you take me like a good little whore.”

Shame coils thick in your gut, nausea rising, but the worst part—the part that makes your skin crawl—is the way your body reacts. The way you clench around him, the way heat pools in your stomach, traitorous and undeniable.

“You like this, don’t you?” he breathes, pressing his chest against your back, driving deeper. “I can feel how tight you’re getting.”

You shake your head, a desperate denial.

He clicks his tongue. “Lying to me again?” A sharp thrust makes your breath catch. “You really don’t learn.”

His fingers slide between your legs, finding your clit with practiced ease. Slow, lazy circles that make your thighs tremble.

“I could make you cum right now,” he murmurs. “Make you fall apart in front of all of them.”

You whimper, shaking your head frantically. Anything but that.

“Oh?” He chuckles. “Beg me not to, then. Beg me not to make you cum.”

Your throat tightens. The chat must be going wild.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please don’t.”

“Louder.”

Shame burns hot in your chest. “Please don’t make me cum,” you gasp, voice raw. “Please.”

He laughs, indulgent. Savoring your humiliation.

“Good girl,” he purrs, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. “Maybe I’ll be merciful.”

But the way he fucks into you says otherwise.

♡ List of Fandoms and Characters.

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.

Ace Attorney: Barok van Zieks, Miles Edgeworth

Arcane: N/A

Blue Lock: Michael Kaiser, Rin Itoshi, Shidou Ryusei, Yoichi Isagi

Boku no Hero Academia: Dabi, Hawks, Katsuki Bakugo, Villain! Midoriya Izuku

Brutal: Satsujin Kansatsukan no Kokuhaku: N/A

Death Note: Light Yagami

Demon Slayer: Giyu Tomioka, Muzan Kibutsuji, Rui, Yoriichi Tsugikuni

Dishonored Series: Daud

Genshin Impact: Alhaitham, Ayato Kamisato, Cyno, Dainsleif, Diluc, Kaeya, Pantalone, Scaramouche, Rex Lapis

Haikyuu!!: Atsumu Miya, Futakuchi Kenji, Kenjiro Shirabu, Oikawa Tooru, Osamu Miya, Suna Rintarou, Tendō Satori, Tetsurou Kuroo, Wakatoshi Ushijima

Honkai Star Rail: Anaxa, Aventurine, Blade, Boothill, Jiaoqiu, Mr. Reca, Nanook, Sunday

How to Live as an Illegal Healer: Seunghyeon Kang

Hunter x Hunter: Ging Freecss, Hisoka Morow, Illumi Zoldyck, Knov, Leorio Paradinight, Pariston Hill

I'm Not That Kind of Talent: Demon Aru, Duke Illuster Starbe

Jujutsu Kaisen: Kenjaku, Naoya Zen'in, Ryōmen Sukuna, Satoru Gojo, Shiu Kong

Kill The Hero: Park Yong-Wan

Love and Deepspace: Caleb

Mobile Legends: Bang Bang: Aamon, Claude, Gusion, Suyou

MONSTER: Johan Liebert

Naruto Shippuden: Deidara, Hashirama Senju, Hidan, Kakuzu, Madara Uchiha, Zabuza Momochi

One Punch Man: Amai Mask, Child Emperor, Stinger, Suiryu

Reverend Insanity: N/A

TOUCHSTARVED: Vere

Undertale Multiverse (Human AU): Bill! Sans, Dust! Sans, Error! Sans, Fresh! Sans, Ink! Sans, Killer! Sans, Shattered Dream! Sans, Underfell Papyrus, Underfell Sans, Undertale Chara, Undertale Frisk

Wuthering Waves: Aalto, Brant, Scar

Your Throne: Eros Orna Vasilios

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood. Thank you.

Official TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @save4h , @rofkshinee , @songbirdgardensworld

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Notice #1. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution

♡ Book 6 [you are here]. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.

♡ Notice #2. This masterlist is strictly for non-con smut and serves as an exercise in refining erotic horror writing. Comments that reduce my work to mere sexual gratification, thirst, or casual simping will not be tolerated. If your response is primarily thirst-driven, keep it to yourself—repeated violations may result in blocking. Read the RULES before engaging. The tag list is reserved for followers I trust to respect my boundaries; being included is a privilege, not a right. You may request to be added, but I will decide based on trust and adherence to my guidelines. I also reserve the right to remove anyone at any time if their engagement becomes inappropriate.

Test-Phase TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @yanderedrabbles

[eowynstwin]

peristalsis - vii

selkie!soap x reader. depression. strangers to “lovers.” suicidal resolve. major character death. violent drowning. a reckoning. . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

previous

When you’re sure that Johnny’s friends have left, you return to the beach. The wind has died down in the late afternoon; the clouds sit heavy and motionless in the sky.

Night is coming, and it promises to be cold. It hangs in the wary stillness of the air, in the waiting quiet. The seabirds’ calling is absent; the dune crickets’ singing has ended.

He’s there on the sand. Somehow, you knew he would be. Felt it, even before he came into view. He stands by the kayak, almost as if he’s been waiting there for you.

You hold the folded pelt with both hands against your stomach as you approach. The fur is so soft against your palms, your fingers. Cool from having spent a night in the ground.

He looks at it with sharp eyes. Then, up to you, expectantly.

His eyes on you in the cottage bedroom, moonlight shifting in them. Teeth in your neck. The taste of brine in your mouth.

Pearls in your memory. Parting gifts to enjoy, as you come to the close.

“Missed you at the end there, bonnie,” he says, even and purposefully steady. “The boys were glad to meet you.”

He’s known—the whole time. He always has. You don’t know how you know this, but you do.

“I’ve had a nice time with you, Johnny,” you say, when you’re only a few paces away from him. “But I think it’s time for me to go.”

Three days. That’s all it’s been. Nothing much, objectively, to say goodbye to. A good way to end things, truthfully, with the aftertaste of good food still on your tongue, the heat and girth of him still lingering inside you. The etchings of his calluses still fresh on your skin.

A kind ending. A gentle one. Better than you and he deserve.

You hold out the pelt.

He looks at it. Mouth a tight line. Brows low and flat. Then his gaze moves to you.

“Where will you go?” he asks, still steady.

“I’m not sure,” you say. “Maybe—Amsterdam. Does it matter? I don’t know.”

“Just like that,” he says flatly. “After everything.”

You frown. “I was always going to leave, Johnny. Remember? I only booked the place for a month. This is just…earlier.”

Something frenetic buzzes in his posture. The slight lean forward in the way he stands. The angles of his face seem harsher, more pronounced. Eyes dark as wet stone.

“Johnny, just—” you shake the pelt at him, still holding it out. “Just take it, okay?”

He looks at the pelt again, and then back at you.

At it, then you.

It—you—

Johnny lunges.

In one swift surge forward he snaps the pelt from your hands and flings it aside. As it flutters to the ground his hands whip at you, seizing fistfuls of your shirt a half-thought before you realize it, wrenching you forward.

“What the fuck?!” you cry, but then you’re off your feet, falling toward him, arms flailing as you lose your center of balance. You topple into him, and he hooks you beneath the shoulders with the iron bands of his arms, stepping away from the kayak, and only for a moment do you think that maybe he’s going to bring you back to the cottage before he starts dragging you in the opposite direction—

“Johnny, no,” you breathe, as you hear a wave break on the sand,“Johnny, no!”

You start to kick and thrash. You throw yourself against his grasp, dig your heels into the sand, try to find the meat of his forearm with your teeth, but he is resolute. Unstoppable.

You start to scream.

The waves eddy around your feet, rise up to engulf your ankles, your calves, as Johnny roils the water with wide, unfaltering steps, deeper in—

The water closes around your thighs. Your waist.

This is happening. This is really happening—

“Had a month to get to this, bonnie,” says Johnny, over your screaming, rough and harsh and completely unrecognizable. He slings you around to face him, jaw set hard, the muscles in his temples flexing as he clenches his teeth. “But I guess we’re doin’ it now.”

“Johnny,” you plead, “please don’t, Johnny, please—Johnny, no, no, no, no—!”

He clamps his hands on your shoulders and shoves you downward. You claw at him, push against the seabed, but your lover is too strong, immune to your fighting, and you are barely able to inhale before he forces your head below the water.

Frigid cold—it rushes into your ears, through your hair, knife-sharp and paralyzing. Salt flooding the open canals of your nose—

You close your throat. The surface swirls above you, distorting him, rippling and folding in on itself as a wave recedes. Hope waits for the retreating water to expose you, but he has dragged you out too deep, far enough that even the lowest point of the backwash still submerges you.

Seawater, eroding cilia, ramming against the rolled stone of your epiglottis. Burning the film of your corneas.

You reach up, swinging your hands at his face, but the distance of his straightened arms, muscles flexing to hold you down, is too great; you beat at empty air, or collide with the rock-hardness of his shoulders.

Another wave comes in, deepening the surf around you. You kick out, knee upward, wrench against him—you just need him to loosen his grip once, for just one moment, and then you can get away. You try to pry his fingers up, but they may as well have rooted in you.

Lungs pulsing. Throat already fighting to open. Chest heaving, diaphragm beating upward to pull in air. Pain lancing up your chest, unimaginably sharp, head so heavy it might burst—

You throw yourself to one side, kicking against the sand, and physiology subsumes your control. The cost of fighting is breathing. The floodways open—the ocean rushes into your throat—

Salt abrades the walls of your esophagus, claw-slashing downward. Acid bypasses the filters of your alveoli, honeycomb structures collapsing to the pressure, to the spasming of your lungs desperate to send oxygen to the rest of your body. Your diaphragm contracts—your chest convulses to cough, to force water out, only to welcome more of the sea in.

You beat at Johnny’s arms again. All you manage is to throw water against him. He is a sea stack above you. A pillar. Unmovable.

Holding your body against his in the bedroom, frighteningly strong, moving against you like the ocean itself—

The water churns above you with your struggle. You cannot see his face. All you see is the unstable shape of his silhouette, wavering lines distorting the edges as the corners of your vision darken.

More seawater, expanding your chest. Heart stuttering between your lungs, yanking in the last of your oxygenated blood, with nothing to send back out. The weight of your body swells, arms too heavy to hold up. They crash into the water before you force them back up again, searching and unwieldy.

Perception narrows. Him, and you. That’s all.

Sunlight through the window the next morning, rimming him in gold. The heat of his shoulder pressed to yours.

The seawater steals the tears from your eyes, throat convulsing on a sob you cannot make.

Grinning as you shared oysters.

You slap your hands against his arms, clapping your palms to whatever they can find, begging, praying—

Him moving inside you, his warmth, his smell, the weight of his tongue in your mouth. The tug of his hand on your arm.

His smile, his voice, his hand in yours—

Fists like weights holding you down. Fire in your chest. Too full.

Upward—something in you tugging upward.

You want to live. You want to live. You want to live—

It’s done.

Johnny lifts your body from the surf and carries it back to the beach. You fit in his arms as if they were the mold you were cast from.

He knew you would the moment he saw you in the airport. Perfect. You were perfect for him. He saw it in the angles of your body, the way you stood, the emotions moving behind the mask of your face.

He tried to explain it to Price once—the seeing. The knowing.

How he could look straight at his old captain, for instance, and know, without ever hearing the man say a word, that he felt responsible. For everything. For the gunshot. For the months afterword. Even though he hadn’t chosen to discharge Johnny himself, Price saw the mold of his hands in the shape his sergeant’s life had taken.

It’s how he knows Gaz couldn’t see the change in him, because he saw what he wanted to see—his best mate whole and healthy, thriving in a new stage of his life.

It’s how he knows Ghost doesn’t even recognize him anymore. Not really.

And it’s how he knows you’re just like him.

He lays you down on the sand, cradling the back of your head so it settles lightly down. Stretches your legs to rest straight out. He aligns your limp arms with the length of your torso, turning your hands upward so the sand will not cling to your palms.

Beautiful. Even with your face slack. Eyes half-open, unseeing. Mouth parted; seawater dripping from the corners.

Your feet touched the island the same way his did, years ago. Running away. Looking for the end, without really trying to find it. It was in the set of your brows, the tight pull of your mouth against your teeth.

Life had gone in every direction opposite of your intention. And it had left you alone.

Johnny smooths a few stray hairs away from your forehead, and kisses the place between your brows. The little line that has sat between them this whole time is gone, smoothed away. He kisses the bridge of your nose, and then your mouth, and then stands.

It took him a while, back then, to make the decision. It was hours before he woke to find Price watching him, sitting despondent on the sand, tears tracking salty down the older man’s face.

He goes to the place he threw his pelt away and retrieves it, shaking it out. Holding it in his hands assuages the anxiety that has wriggled in the back of his mind since the day he shoved it into the lintel of the croft. He’d known where it was, but survival instinct prevails over logic—for the rest of his life, he will always fear its loss.

It’s a consequence, but not one he’d been unfamiliar with.

And, in the end, preferable to the alternative.

He lowers himself to the sand a little ways away from you, propping his knees up and spreading the pelt across them.

When he had done this—he’d done it alone. It had been close. He almost hadn’t made it.

If he takes up this vigil—if he stays, the whole time, watching you—you’ll make it. It’s not a matter of hope or belief. It’s a matter of knowing.

He knows every time he looks into your eyes. Every time he’s been inside you. Every time your body has risen to meet his touch.

You want to live.

So he sits back. He keeps his eyes on you.

And he waits.

The sky claps you between its palms and hurls you back down the gravity well—

You vomit up the ocean.

Panting, with burning lungs. Closer—everything is much, much closer, loud and bright, and suddenly, individually distinct.

Channels of sound and aroma dance on the wind—sea salt, the smoke of someone’s grill from the village, burning meat, the rolling crash of the incoming tide, birdcall and the gust of beating wings and—and—

And you can sense them all.

A gap in the clouds lets the sunlight touch the earth.

You move on the sand. Turn onto your belly, chest heaving, empty and light. The cove—you’re still in the cove. There’s the path back up to the cottage. There’s the kayak. There’s—

Johnny, riotous, waiting in the crashing waves.

He calls to you: loud, long, triumphant, teeth bared in jubilation.

You cry out. Wordless. If you’d had any words to say, your lips could not shape them.

You’re alive.

It crashes into you. Alive.

You lift your head into the wind coming off the ocean. It caresses your face softly, tenderly, like a mother’s kiss on your cheek.

Johnny suddenly turns from you and darts into the water.

You wail with surprise. A wave rushes up to where you lay, water licking up the fibers of your body. You’re not ready. It’s too soon. Why did he leave you? What’s happening? Why isn’t the water cold?

You clutch at the sand. You can’t find your legs—you can’t stand up. All you can do is crawl, shuffle your ungainly body forward with the clumsiness of a newborn child. You cry out again, trying to convince him to return, to come help you, but if he hears it, he does not come to your aid.

Another wave surges forward; salt water crashes across your face. You flinch away from it, but something nictates over your eyes, shielding them from the burn.

Once you reach the surf, the water cradles your body, buoyancy easing your way. You submerge, finding something to kick with—

And then you’re gliding.

Murky, and blue. Sand clouding in the tide. But comfortable—cool, without being cold. You remember frigidity cutting into your skin only hours earlier, rending you at the seams, unmaking you.

Now, it receives you like an old friend.

Ahead of you, Johnny moves further out. You can feel him, far out in the distance, tiny eddies of water rippling against your cheeks.

He’s not the only thing you can feel. The radius of your awareness vibrates with blips of movement, darting, swaying, dancing, below and above and all around. It shocks you to realize, and you go still, hovering in place, momentarily stunned by how much there is living around you.

Johnny pauses too, ahead of you. Waiting. A lone distinct figure, patient for you to follow.

You shiver with startled wonder, and resume your way toward him.

The coastal shelf slopes downward, falling away. The water gradually clears as overhead, past the surface, the sun sinks in the sky. Warm golden light dyes the sea around you. He leads you on, further and further, until a forest of kelp grows up around you.

In the turquoise, ribbons of twisting green undulate and twirl, feathery and dancing in the windy current. Silvery bubbles trail toward the sunlight, intermingling with tiny schools of glimmering fish that dart and jump between the fronds. Down below you, red and green algae fur valleys of rock, swaying lazily like prairie grass.

It’s beautiful.

Johnny drifts to a stop in the middle of it all, wheeling around to face you. You approach him, coming in close—and it’s almost like approaching the sun, so much that he radiates across your senses.

His dark eyes hold yours the same way they had that day on the beach, and the pendulum swings balanced now between you.

He brushes the side of his face along yours, and with his touch he leads you downward, following the stipes of kelp toward the stone to which their holdfasts grip. The heat of his huge body warms the water that flows in the narrow spaces between your bodies, even as the coolness intensifies the further you dive.

The two of you draw up along the forest floor—and find the myriad little denizens of the sea. You’d known they were there, at the very edge of your senses, and now they bloom into fullness in your attention.

Shrimp perambulate beneath rocky ledges. Crabs walks along the ridge of a huge boulder, like climbing a mountain. And there, further down, snails in their spiral shells, pulling themselves across the sandy grain. Starfish, in shades of red and blue and orange. Anemones, translucent hair streaming.

Tiny lives—insignificant to you, before. Hardly worth your notice. Now, you marvel at them, reeling. You want to cup them all in your palms and bring them up to clutch against your chest.

Something brushes against you.

You look up—Johnny, sliding along your side, curving back in toward you, then looping underneath. He nudges at you, then darts away; you gaze at him, confused, so he comes back in, shunting you with his body, and once again retreats.

Behind him, you catch a turtle fluttering in between the green leaves. Atlantic salmon chasing capelin. An eel peeking out from its cave. Undisturbed by Johnny’s—and your—antics.

He nudges you again, then backs off, looking at you expectantly. Realizing his intentions, you follow—he makes a low clicking sound in his throat, pleased, and jets into the flowing leaves, buffeting you with the wave he leaves in his wake.

You’re shocked only for a moment before the kelp parts for you in your pursuit. Johnny quickly disappears ahead of you, dipping down below the canopy. You feel him rapidly shrink in your awareness, and you propel forward, scanning for telltale splashes of gray and white, arms of green caressing you as you pass.

You close in on him, but suddenly he evades. You follow again, only to find he’s nowhere in view. Then the chase is on: he stays in one place only long enough for you to catch sight of him before he bolts, or wheels around and backtracks to confuse you every time you approach. Teasing, taunting, flaunting the dexterity he has underwater which you have yet to acquire.

Golden shafts of dancing sunlight begin to dim and shorten as he leads you on. Frustration rapidly builds in your chest, buoyed as your lungs press against your ribcage. You need to breathe, even as Johnny becomes no more than a dot of movement in your senses, confounding you at every turn.

Why is he doing this? Why won’t he stay with you? If you surface, you’ll lose him, but the sudden memory of saltwater flooding your chest has you kicking toward the fading daylight. Self-preservation taking its place at the head of your priorities, and you follow it with no longer any second thought.

Above you shifts a mirror of silk.

You rise. Faster as the weight of the sea lessens, your reflection blooming as you approach, closer and closer to the wedge-shaped face, the large, dark eyes—

You swim into yourself and breach the air. Your nostrils open, and you inhale the wind.

You see the twilight bleeding into the day. Clouds moving quickly off as the sun sinks into the horizon.

Where is Johnny?

You can’t sense him anymore—as you knew would happen—and your chest contracts with fear and longing, suddenly believing you’ve seen him for the last time—that he’s left you all alone, to figure out what to do next, with no idea how to live in the skin of this new self you’ve become.

You give a mournful howl. You don’t want to do this alone, you can’t, you thought you wouldn’t have to—

But in the distance, back the long way you came, you hear an answer.

You whirl around, facing the shore, and almost too far away to see, a dark shape rests on the sand.

Your throat convulses with a clumsy breath, and then you dive. The water parts for your body, sliding around you, streaming through your hair. Faster than you expect, the slope of the shelf draws close, and you jet upward, belly meeting the sand, and when the water recedes and you drag yourself back onto the beach, your own weight settling heavy on your bones, you cry out again.

You shake the water from your head, wailing at the top of your lungs, desolate and blind as you blink the salt away, and then there’s a warm body up against yours, weight melding against you, heat reaching out to drive away a coldness you hadn’t felt until you’d surfaced.

You continue crying as Johnny closes his teeth around a hank of your neck and drags himself on top of you, pressing you down into the sand. You shift to let him settle over you, and all of his weight compresses your body—sandwiching you between himself and the earth, pinning you down in one place.

Something in you still wants to fight. To shake him off—to escape. But all you can do is cry. He enters you with no resistance, and you cry more, harder, until your lungs deflate, and then you take a deep breath and start wailing again.

Saltwater streaming down your face, dripping into your own mouth. Your voice hits the cliff walls, rebounds off the stone until the air fills with your weeping. Johnny shifts on top of you, pressing your head down to the sand.

The vessel you have contained yourself within overturns. You cry.

You cry for yourself. You cry for him. You cry for what you’ve done, what you haven’t, and for what you can never undo. Your lament fills your own ears and spills out again, all across the beach, catching in the wind to fly off into the ether, raised to the birds, to the passing clouds overhead.

You cry with despair of never going back. You cry with the terror of Johnny finally rolling off of you, to dart back into the waves, to leave you here alone again. You cry until your throat hurts, stinging and raw—

And Johnny’s hands, strong and warm, edge beneath your pelt and pull you out, still bawling with every drop of shame you’ve carried in your body since the day you realized you hated yourself.

“Shh, shh,” he murmurs, drawing you up into his chest, arms steady and strong around you. “It’s alright now, bonnie, it’s alright. I’m here.”

You cannot respond to him. Your mouth hangs open only to wail your grief. Your body wracks against him, convulsing, involuntary, as you scream with despair and relief and horror and resolve, too much to contain, too overwhelming now to ever split yourself away from.

You find his arms with your shaking hands and grip on tight. He slips the pads of his thumbs beneath your eyes every so often to clear away your tears, and you feel his mouth press against your forehead. You wait for him to drop you. Wait for him to see the mess you’re making and wash his hands of it.

He doesn’t. Every time another sob wracks you, he grips you tighter.

Eventually—when you begin to wonder if it ever could, if this is all you are now, a squalling bundle of fragile skin pebbling in the cold—it passes.

The next time you pause to draw breath, you find nothing more inside you to disgorge. You begin to shake in Johnny’s arms, trembling with exhaustion, whimpering with clenched eyes.

He breathes slowly against you. Calm and even. He strokes your face with gentle fingers, even and patient, as if there’s nothing more in the world he’d rather do.

You find the courage to meet his gaze when your heartbeat steadies, finding the rhythm in Johnny’s chest to match. You see again what you saw that first day, that next night; you know now what you’ve always known, somewhere inside you. Your face is familiar in the reflections of it in his eyes.

His mouth curls gently as he gazes down at you. His eyes dance in yours, corners creasing as he traces the curve of your cheek. Light catches in his pupils.

You see him clearly, as the sun gives way to the evening, and the moon rises over a cloudless night of stars.

epilogue

a/n: shoutout to @/gildui for suggesting screenshots for that one section of text. Thank you to @/bi-writes for trying to figure out how i could keep the formatting with tumblr's coding. Please let me know if alt text is necessary. God forbid a text-based website allow for formatting said text.

[burningembers91]

A Game of Cat and Mouse - The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Follow Up Piece to: Freak of Nature On Display

Synopsis: Tired of being followed by the man in the grey suit, you decide the turn the tables

Warnings: Stalking, voyeurism, mentions of masturbation, the Salesman being kind of a sub

He was following you again. The man in the grey suit with the brown leather briefcase that probably cost more than you earned in a month. You clocked him about 100 yards back, his reflection visible in a shop window. You didn’t know how long you’d been playing this game of cat and mouse for. Any normal person would have been terrified at the prospect of being stalked, but there was something about the man who followed you that you found undeniably attractive. The day after he’d paid for your coffee, he was back out on the park bench, watching you from afar. You pretended not to notice him, going about your work as if he wasn’t there. Some days however, he would sit with you, making idle conversation as you watched the world pass by. You knew he followed you home, and one night you saw him sitting outside the restaurant across from you apartment. He noticed you too and raised his glass of soju in acknowledgement.

What was it that drew him to you? You weren’t anything special, weren’t anyone important. You were just you. You led a mundane life, filled with days that were all pretty much the same. Perhaps that was why you liked your new stalker; he injected the excitement that was so desperately missing from your world. You knew nothing about him, not even his name, but you were sure he knew lots about you.

You weren’t far from your apartment now, only two more minutes and you be safely behind your door. But you were tired of being safe; you wanted to see your grey suited man again, wanted to hear his voice, wanted to watch the wild way his almond eyes explored your body. You ducked round a corner, backtracking through an alleyway that ran down the side of your apartment. You could see your grey suited man from behind now, an angle you’d never seen before. He looked good from behind, with perfect posture, and an ass that looked great in his suit. He stopped, noticing you were no longer in front of him. you couldn’t see his face, couldn’t see the confused expression that flitted across his perfect features. Sneaking up behind him, you waited until you were inches away from him before whispering into his ear. “I guess this time I’m the cat, and you’re the mouse.”

He swivelled around to meet you, his eyes blazing with an expression you couldn’t read. “You’re not the only one with tricks up your sleeve, Mr Grey Suit,” you smiled, watching his eyes widen as he took you in. No one had ever bested him before, but you’d managed to outsmart him today. “Clever girl,” he purred, “I enjoy our little game.” You’d left him speechless that day at the coffee house, and today was no exception. You were so much more than he ever could have dreamed of, so suited to his needs and desires that he wasn’t sure he could hold back much longer. He liked playing with your mind, but he longed to play with your body too. He wanted to feel you squirm against him, wanted to hear you moan for him as he figured out how far he could push you. “Will you be dining across the street tonight?” you asked, fiddling with the top button of your shirt. He shifted in his Prada loafers, a flash of hunger in his eyes. “Potentially,” he mused, “or perhaps I might find an alternative option to satisfy my tastes.” You both knew he was lying; he was far too hooked on you to get his kicks elsewhere. “Shame,” you pouted, knowing you had him right where you wanted him. “I was going to give you a little show. Maybe next time.” With that, you turned on your heel and left your grey-suited man standing dumbstruck in the street.

That night, he was in his usual spot outside the restaurant. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Your grey suited stalker was becoming predictable now. But, you’d promised him a show, and a show he would get. You nudged the curtain open just a touch, enough that he could see you from where he was sitting.

He watched you from across the street, saw you move the curtain and give him full view of your figure. You were wearing nothing but a tiny silk robe, the dusty mauve colour the perfect contrast against your skin. You unbelted the robe achingly slowly, and he could feel his erection pushing against the fabric of his pants. The robe fell to the floor, and you stood in a matching lingerie set, your fingers running up and down your body. You were teasing him, toying with him. He’d never been teased before, and he aching cock responded to you in a way he’d never felt before. he shifted in his seat, desperate to quell the rising sensation of unbearable lust. He watched you slip your bra strap down, watched as you slowly lowered the cup just enough to show him the faintest outline of your breast. He audibly groaned, downing his glass of soju to quieten his desire. If he knocked on the door, would you let him in? He’d never been at the mercy of someone before, always being the one who played with people. But you seemed to enjoy torturing him. As if reading his mind, you shook your head, your finger delicately tracing your nipple. No, you wouldn’t let him in tonight. But he’d need you soon, otherwise he might go insane.

That night he pleasured himself to the image of you in your apartment, the delicate lingerie so perfectly contouring your curves. He’d have you soon, there was no doubt about that. You were a tease, but he hadn’t fully shown you what he was capable of yet.

[sludgewolf]

How they nap with you - Invincible cast

Characters: Mark Grayson, Samanta Eve, Rex Splode, Shrinking Rae, William Clockwell, Powerplex, Mohawk Mark, Sinister Mark x reader (separately)

Masterlist

Disclaimer: do not copy, repost, take or feed to AI or NFTs anything I post

Mark Grayson / Invincible

Mark mostly sleeps on his back with arm holding you close

Recently he started having more restless sleep, moving around a lot, doing small jerky movements with his arms, kicking in his sleep

and even having nightmares that wake him up in the middle of the night searching for you

Can't seem to sleep well unless you're by his side

you feel guilty for even getting up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night just to come back to a sad Mark sitting on your bed waiting for you to return

Samanta Eve / Atom Eve

Due to her powers Eve isn't one that likes to have loads of blankets or pillows as she sleeps

her body is like a mini star from how hot she usually runs

so her preferred sleep position is far from romantic, which is butt to butt

just enough contact to assure each other that you're there but no grabbing unless you want to wake up as if you just ran a marathon

and you also run the risk of her snoring from sleeping in a weird angle

nothing really bad, but if you're awake you might hear it

Rex Splode

Now Rex may've had gone through some major personal growth since his very close brush with death,

but sleeping Rex didn't

sleeps like a starfish smack in the middle of the bed no matter what you do

if you do choose to share a bed tho he will sleep on top of you, arms spread and snoring loud

in the off chance you can wake him back up Rex will practically jump off you apologizing profusely, promising to not do that again

but no matter what, in the morning you still wake up in the same position

and no matter how big the bed is, Rex will still seek you out in his sleep to crush you with his body

Rachel / Shrinking Rae

Rae enjoys sleeping on her side, blankets only over her waist holding you close

She doesn't snore nor move much from that position, once she's asleep she's out

one of the best napping partners tbh

though you do need to get used to her shoving her face in your chest as she sleeps

William Clockwell

William is a true sweetheart, always considerate but brutally honest when needed

that's not him when sleeping

When asleep will is so selfish and he doesn't even realize

he has the horrible habit of hogging all the blankets, leaving you to freeze in your cold dorm room

just to later on kick them all off the bed

once he gets cold again he smushes you against the wall, spooning you like a koala

he just isn't the worst bed mate because his hugs are the best there are

Scott Duvall / Powerplex

Scott used to be an angel in his sleep, didn't move much, no snoring, knew how to share blankets

but since his sister and niece tragic passing it all changed

now Scott is restless, he moves a lot during his sleep, sometimes even waking you up with it

he also sleep talks, which is kinda funny when you can hold a whole conversation with him but not so much when you absolutely need to sleep

Not to mention his frequent nightmares that wake him up in tears, always repeating that day as if torturing him in his sleep

For both of you to have a proper night of sleep you need to hold him still with a death grip to help him calm down

and also to prevent him from accidentally slapping or zapping you

Mohawk Mark

Pushes you off the bed as soon as your guard is down and laughs at your surprised yelp of pain

if anyone even thinks of doing anything similar to you he'll rip their arms off and torture them until they die the slowest most agonizing death he can think of

Sinister Mark

don't

[nanamiskentos]

UNADULTERATED LOATHING ! ☓. ── ( 五条 悟, gojo satoru )

⌗ dazzling starlet, bardot reincarnatе. well, aren't you the greatest thing to ever exist ? you have an effect on gojo satoru, and he tells you that it's pure, unadulterated loathing. but why does his heart say otherwise?

ᯓ starring ─ ﹙ 五条 悟 : gojo satoru ﹚ ─ the strongest x reader

𝓳𝓳𝓴. ㅤ﹑ ( 呪術廻戦 x afab!reader )  ─── ❛ cw ⌓. sfw. wicked!au. enemies to lovers, gojo is SO in love, mutual pining, this is just a one-shot, like a quick snippet. wc ⌓. 2k.

𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ( author says ) i finally watched wicked and i was listening to olivia rodrigo's lacy

you push through the doors of your long awaited assigned dormitory, already dreaming of the quiet solitude that's ready for you. that blissful moment when you can drop your bags, sink into the comfort of your room, and finally crack open that hefty book in your bag.

but the moment that you step aside, that dream dies a swift and unceremonious death. this room is a disaster. a veritable storm of pale blue, navy, and stark white sprawls across every available surface that the eye can take in. clothes draped over chairs, video game casings cracked open at odd angles, and half-finished letters abandoned in precarious piles. there's even a pair of sunglasses littered on the floor, so very close to polished tips of your new boots.

you just inhale sharply, already bracing yourself for the worst as you round the heavy trunk that blocks your path. only to collide, at full, devastating force into a solid, broad chest.

a firm plane of muscle that belongs to none other than the golden boy, gojo satoru.

and god, how your head snaps up in horror. his ever-present sunglasses are pushed up to his white hair, exposing a pair of sharp and wary eyes. bright and assessing, and currently locked onto you as if your very presence is the final act of some awful cosmic joke.

for a long and weighty moment, neither of you speak. there's a realisation settling between the two of you like a stone dropped into deep water. the administration truly did not make a mistake, gojo satoru was your new roommate.

"do you really think this is fair?" you ask, voice a tad weaker than you had hoped.

gojo just exhales through his nose, as if he's suffering through tragedies untold, "i do not." but his voice is melodic, smooth, as he straightens his spine so the very uppermost tufts of his snowy hair brush the ceiling, "as i was promised a private suite. but thanks for asking."

your eyes fall back skywards, stepping past him to assess your new surrounding. manoeuvring carefully through this...mess. gojo, for his part, seems content to move aside and keep his distance. he's just watching you in the large, oaken vanity, fiddling with his already-perfect hair.

casual, far too casual. he's suspicious, you realise. which, considering your mutual dislike, is quite fair.

still, it seems as though he's eager to make a show of his generosity. gojo's leaning away from the mirror, "i saved you some space, by the way." gesturing a long limb towards the farthest, least appealing corner of the room, where a diminutive daybed sits awkwardly beside a tiny, lopsided table with exactly one draw. your eyes fall on gojo's own bed, a rather ornate and gilded piece with curtans. ugh, what a diva.

gojo somehow must be mistaking your stony grimace for gratitude, for he's smiling. all beatific and cherubic, as though he's a saint sent down from the heavens above, "it was nothing. roommates do these things for each other, after all."

your eyes meet jewel-blue, still watching as gojo basks in your silent outrage. he's stretching his arms out luxuriously, kicking up his own boots onto a plush, cornflower blue ottoman.

you're going to strangle gojo satoru in his sleep. but had you not turned away from the walking waste of oxygen, you might have noticed the sudden, red flush that plastered itself onto gojo's alabaster skin — crawling up his neck until it tickled at his ears.

the room is now steeped in candlelight, the soft glow of gojo's lamp casting a cool, blue hue over everything. shadows flicker along the walls, elongating the handsome angles of his face as he lounges at his desk, twirling a navy feather-quill between his fingers. the fine parchment before him still lays untouched, for his gaze keeps drifting to you.

you, curled up on your far end of the room on your bed, bathed in the tired amber glow of your own lamp. gojo just watches as you're lost in your own careful strokes of ink on dry parchment. and he hates to admit it, loathes to even bestow upon you this grace, but he's fascinated by the sight of you — the most brilliant (if odd) peer in this damn cohort.

you write the way people pray, head bowed and utterly absorbed as each word is something sacred. your lashes cast long shadows on your cheeks, and gojo just gnaws at the soft flesh in his own mouth. enraptured by the parting of your lips lost in thought.

gojo satoru has seen beautiful things before, no-one raised in the illustrious gojo clan hasn't, but this is something else. something he can't quite name, and he fears that he hates you for the hold you have over him.

"to whom it may concern at the ol' gojo clan. guess what?" gojo finally begins, scrawling the words onto his letters without much thought. pretending to make a big show of tapping his chin, kicking back against his bed.

but across the room, you're so, so adamant to barely acknowledge gojo. forgoing his desire for constant attention to be rather focused on your own letter to home, "my dear father. thank you for agreeting to let me stay."

gojo's exhaling dramatically, head lolling back onto his tired neck, "i can't hear your guesses because this is a letter. so i'll just tell you."

silence stretches between the two of you, filled only by the faint rustling of paper, and the distant sound of laughter from the courtyard below. gojo's fingers tap out a restless rhythm against the wood of his bedside table. you're still refusing to acknowledge him, still wrapped up in your letter, and gojo — who has spent his entire life commanding love and affection, expecting it, feels something like irritation curl in his chest. or maybe it's something else entirely.

he tries again, and unbeknownst to the lovestruck gojo, you're penning the exact same words on your own letters.

"there's been some confusion over rooming here at school."

you're suddenly glancing over at him, and gojo bites his heavy tongue at the flicker of exasperation flashing through your eyes. watching as you sigh, and shake your head, "but of course," you scrawl, "i'll focus on my studies."

gojo's lips twitch, "but of course, i'll rise above it."

it seems that neither of you are aware that you are both writing in tandem now, so very synchronised as gojo dips his quill lazily into that half-empty ink pot, "for i know that's how you'd want me to respond."

gojo watches from you from behind the rim of his sunglasses, shameless in his greed for the sight of you, and utterly fascinated. the delicate furrow of your brow, the way your fingers tap absently against the desk when you pause to think. he knows people. he understands them.

but you? you are a riddle wrapped in something unfairly lovely, a puzzle he isn't even sure he's able to solve, because maybe knowing would make the mystery less intoxicating. gojo briefly wonders why he feels as though he's about to hurl.

"yes, there's been some confusion, for you see, my roommate is..."

gojo pauses, contemplating, for how does one describe you? how does anyone categorise something so strangely, annoyingly captivating?

you are contradictions woven into the shape of a person. sharp and soft, cold and brilliant, distant but so alive. he wants to say infuriating or prickly or entirely too self-serious, but none of those words quite capture the way that gojo's world seems to tilt slightly whenever you shoot him that unimpressed look.

"unusually and exceedingly peculiar, and altogether quite impossible to describe."

but you? you have very little hesitation. your quill barely lingering before you hastily scribble away, "blonde."

scratching the quill against the cheap parchment in a single stroke, amending yourself, "or rather, silver-haired and silver-tongued. yet, all too lacking for wit or decency."

and so you gently blow on the drying ink, neatly creasing the letter as you do your best not to meet gojo satoru's eyes. isn't he just too much? too loud, too arrogant, too sure of himself?

gojo satoru walks into a room as though it belongs to him, like the air bends around him and gravity itself is an afterthought to the heir of the gojo clan.

and god, you hate the way that your eyes must betray you first, catching on the sharp lines of his jaw or the effortless sway of his posture. the way his silver-white hair falls perfectly, no matter how carelessly he runs a hand through it. you hate, truly loathe the way gojo tilts his head when he's pretending to listen, or the way pink lips curl when he's about to say something that will drive you absolutely nuts.

you tell yourself that you find him irritating, not intoxicating. that you're unmoved, not entranced. that you don't notice the absurd prettiness of the school's golden boy, that annoyingly, careless confidence and the way he seems to puncture the air out of your lungs.

gojo's snowy head jerks, as though he can hear your thoughts. eyes narrowing behind dark lenses as he folds his own letter and tucks it into the pocket of his uniform jacket. you just school your features, and shoot him a seething look as though you did not just spend the last five minutes memorising every single detail of his face.

it's just loathing. pure, unadulterated loathing.

[pathologicalreid]

forwards beckon rebound | s.r.

[previously]

in which fate reveals itself to you and Spencer. it's exactly as you feared, you're in love with him.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: blowing smoke FINALE (p4), maeve, kidnapping, russian roulette, imminent death, violence, blood, nondescript case fic, no hea word count: 1.88k a/n: two things 1) i do have an alternate ending to this series 2) fluff this weekend i promise

Brightness seared your retinas when the blindfold finally came off, you felt the sore skin in places where the fabric was too tight over your face. An abstract of indents were left over your skin.

Dots and shadows danced in your vision while you tried to blink them away, forming the shape of someone who oddly resembled Spencer. He was hunched over in a chair in front of you, his neck bent at an uncomfortable angle. Your solace was the steady rising and falling of his chest. Each time he took a breath it eased your own.

“Spence,” you called for him, your throat so swollen that it came out as a hiss. The desperate cry of a rattlesnake hindered by whoever had crushed your windpipe.

Tunnel vision blinded you to anything in the periphery, your eyes scanned Spencer while you acquainted yourself with the binds around your wrists and ankles. He seemed unharmed, save for the obvious unconsciousness. You had no idea who had taken you, but the BAU had no shortage of enemies. The two of you were, by extension, always targets.

Your ears perked up at the first sign of noise in the warehouse, hot air rose to the floor you were on, leaving you sticky and uncomfortable in the humid prison. Glancing over your shoulder, you watched a masked figure waltz through the doorway.

Clocking the gun affixed to their hip, you quickly looked over to Spencer, hoping he would wake up soon. The fabric ties around your wrists dug into your fragile skin as you looked around the room, remembering there was someone else in here with you, someone who had pulled your blindfold off.

Silently, you started putting the pieces together. “Spencer,” you whispered, having half a mind to reach your foot out and try to kick him awake. There was a reason you had been the one blindfolded. Somewhere in your subconscious, you knew where you were. It led to the horrifying realization that this was about you.

His nose wrinkled, and the first sign that he was starting to wake up was interrupted when the masked figure stood behind him, gripping him by his hair and lifting his head.

Your body instinctively tried to jump to its feet in protest, “Hey!” You shouted as your chair creaked from its bolts in the ground, “Let him go.” Cringing, you watched as he dropped Spencer’s head, letting it loll to the side while he woke up.

The two UnSubs walked out of the room, leaving you and Spencer to your own devices. You shushed him slightly while he groaned, your breath hitching when your name slipped past his lips.

“It’s okay,” you told him. “I’m okay, I’m right here,” you assured him, though you weren’t entirely sure how comforting it was knowing you were both bound to chairs.

Spencer didn’t respond. You twisted your wrist within your binds and winced when it pulled in precisely the wrong way. Looking around, you chewed on the inside of your lip and tried to find something to help you, but there was no next step if you couldn’t get your hands free.

He groaned across from you, and you swallowed back a consolation. You studied him, his head tilted so aggressively to the side that you could see the glint of the scar on his neck. The faded mark was invisible to the naked eye, but when it caught in just the right light, you remembered the way you’d succumbed to dread in that hospital in Texas.

You should’ve called it then. You should have thrown in the proverbial towel and committed yourself to him that very night, with that guy bleeding out on the hospital floor and Penelope shouting about her ears popping.

But you’d heard the gunshot, and you’d seen the fear on his face, and at that moment, the only thing you could remember was trying to pick him up from the floor when he tried to crawl over to Maeve’s lifeless body. You remembered the way he cried when the team tried to give him space and you watched him push Diane’s body over so he could finally get a look at his dearly departed.

Even before she became the most beautiful girl in the world, you never trusted yourself with him. Your lack of faith in him pressed upon your shoulders like the weight of the sky. The pendant he had gifted you seared your chest like a brand. The Tree of Life weighed heavy over your heart.

Your romance with Spencer was like a car crash you couldn’t take your eyes off of. He relentlessly rammed his shoulder into the wall you’d constructed between you while you were on the other side reinforcing the bricks. His soft skin had been marred with bruises, and debris was littered across your body.

You should’ve called it then, but besides your sinking feeling that you’d never step up to the pedestal he had placed Maeve on, you knew you’d only have him temporarily. Life was excruciatingly short, and no amount of time would suffice when it came to him

The wall remained standing in the same way that Maeve’s had, refusing to let Spencer in, refusing to let Spencer help. “Spence,” you whispered. “Are you alright?”

Slowly, his eyes lifted to look at you, and you imagined he was witnessing his worst nightmare. Maybe he’d convince himself he was dreaming, damning you to the fate of telling him this was really happening. “You’re bleeding,” he said, voice gruff from lack of use. His brown eyes flashed with fear when they met yours, but it was no longer residual fear from Maeve’s death—it was fear for you. Had it always been fear for you? Was it possible that the terrorized look in his eye that pushed you away from him had always stemmed from his fear of losing you?

Wrinkling your nose, you finally felt it on your upper lip; blood had trickled from your nose down your face. You shook your head once and said, "It’s just my nose.” You watched his face contort as he tried to free himself from his binds.

Birds chirped outside of the windows; the setting sun invaded the blinds that shadowed the otherwise dark room. Lines of tangerine light lit his face while he ascertained your well-being for himself. There was no point in asking if you knew what had happened, and Spencer wasn’t in the habit of wasting time.

You tried using your thumbnail to cut through the twine around your wrists, the broken piece of keratin on your hand was, so far, the best option you’d had. “Did you see anything?” You asked him, trying to use conversation as a distraction from your current predicament.

He only said your name in response, wide eyes looking past you and watching as the man in the ski mask walked back into the room. The revolver that had previously been holstered on his hip was now in his hands. He spun the cylinder as he approached you, and your heart dropped when he raised the gun, pointing it at Spencer.

“No,” your voice was no more than a whisper while Spencer looked up at your abductor. He met his gaze and refused to flinch, even when he pulled the trigger. Someone who had never met Spencer would think he was entirely stone-faced in the face of a weapon, but you watched the light in his eyes shift and his Adam’s apple bob.

When he pulled the trigger and nothing happened, your chest tightened, but everything about Spencer’s demeanor changed when the gun was turned on you. The barrel pressed to your temple, you shook your head when the shouting started, “Stop!” You closed your eyes, two silent tears streaking your face as the cold metal pressed against your skin. “Let her go,” Spencer urged. “You don’t need both of us.”

The bargaining started, and memories flashed behind your eyelids. Her for me. Let me take her place.

Spencer called your name when the trigger was pulled again, and the weapon clicked without expelling a bullet.

“Where is she?” Your abductor asked, his voice ringing out in an unfamiliar accent, referring to a mystery woman.

You shook your head once when the weapon was removed from your temple, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Part of you wished you were just egging on a suspect, but you felt entirely powerless while you looked at Spencer, confused.

His clenched fist made contact with your cheek, eliciting a shout from Spencer while your head twisted to the side. “Don’t lie to me! I know she called you.”

The gun rose again, “Please,” you cried as the barrel met Spencer’s forehead. “We can help you if you tell us what’s going on,” you assured the unnamed man.

Flinching, you watched the revolver click again, now halfway through the six cartridges. You were left with three more chances and, presumably, one bullet. “Killing one of us isn’t going to get us to help you,” Spencer tried to reason with him, but if there was one thing you knew, it’s that you can’t change a mind that’s been made up.

He scoffed, lifting the gun to your head, and you felt the blood drain from your face in anticipation. Every part of you ran cold as the gun met your temple, “Spencer, close your eyes.”

You continued digging at your restraints, jumping slightly when the gun clicked again. The mechanical sound of the trigger rang in your ears, echoing endlessly when you looked back at Spencer. You swallowed back an I love you, not wanting to succumb to the cliché while you met Spencer’s eyes again. A piece of you hoped the look in your eyes said everything you needed, noises came from elsewhere in the building, and you wished it was a savior.

With the revolver up at his temple, he nodded reassuringly at you, “I know.”

“Please let him go,” you begged, your voice catching over your tears. “If this is about me, you have to let him go,” you promised.

When the trigger was pulled again with no consequences, your heart dropped. The blood-pumping organ fell through your entire body, and you looked up at Spencer, unable to hide the terror in your eyes.

You shook your head as the gun was pressed against your temple, “Spencer, don’t watch.” You faced down your own death, trying to ignore the way your hands trembled as you tugged at your binds in a last-minute escape attempt. “You don’t need to see this,” you didn’t add again, but the thought crossed your mind while you thought of the necklace that sat over your heart.

“I have to see you through,” Spencer insisted, silver lining his eyes while he furiously pulled at his own restraints.

Your chest rose and fell in desperate, shaking breaths. You couldn’t do it; you couldn’t meet his eyes with a revolver pressed to your skull. You should’ve done it. You should’ve called it then, but that was how life worked. Things were already clearest when they were in the rearview window. There was nothing for you to do.

All Spencer could do was watch as he pulled the trigger, and the cycle repeated.

"History repeats itself, but in such cunning disguise that we never detect the resemblance until the damage is done." - Sydney J. Harris

[thyunny]

''are you wearing pants?,, - soobin

a/n: omg. i was laying in bed tryna sleep when i thought of this title and fic. i was proud of myself it’s kinda embarrassing lmao. i wrote this at 2am >~< this is also my first ever fanfic!! enjoy and show some love<3

word count: 2.0k

warnings: [smut! mdni! 18+] bigdick!soobin, lowkeyperv!soobin, fem!reader, lower cased, dirty talk, soobin is uncircumcised, pubic hair on soobin, praise/degrading from reader, breeding kink (soobin), size kink (soobin), masturbation from both, not proof read, soobin’s just a simp and can’t wait :3

today was the fifth day that soobin had been gone. he’s with the rest of txt as they were in america performing for u.s. moas. you’ve missed him and craved his delicate touch; his warm, clammy hands, slender fingers touching your body wherever he wanted. but you both made a promise–not to touch yourselves until soobin got back. the both of you came upon an agreement that whoever loses gets to be punished and humiliated by the other. you’ve been keeping that promise, so tempted to reach down your panties as that certain sensation stirs in your stomach every time soobin sends you a selfie of him after the show, all hot and sweaty. you know he’s teasing you, trying to push you to the edge. yet, you still stand your ground.

after the concert was over for the night, soobin and the boys went to their respective hotel rooms with everyone having their own. soobin would take this as an advantage to call you so the boys can’t tease him about you. you were perfect–too pretty and perfect–from your curves to the tip of your nose and to your feet. deep down, soobin felt very fortunate to have you.

soobin was excited to finally talk to you. even though it’s only been a day, he still misses you and your touch immensely. after he took a shower and changed into his pajamas, he leaped onto his bed with his phone in hand, tapping the call symbol next to your contact. it didn’t take long for you to pick up.

to soobin’s delight, you were laying on your stomach on the floor and seemingly doodling in a notebook as you kicked your feet back and forth with your phone propped up against one of the four legs of your bed. he grinned widely, lifting his hand up and waving at you through the screen.

“hi, y/n. you look adorable, baby,” he cooed, staring at your relaxed figure, not at all trying to hide his unfathomable interest in you.

“i know. i tried to put myself together,” you beamed back at him, puckering your lips at him. “i miss you, soob.”

“i miss you, too, silly,” soobin chuckled, his phone’s camera angled up perfectly to show his meritorious face and have a bit of his plain white t-shirt in frame.

awkward silence set in for a moment, until you broke it. “anything special happen at the concert?” you perked up, raising your eyebrows as you held your smile.

“tons! moa was very sweet and interactive the whole time. i always feel bad leaving them,” soobin pouted playfully.

you giggled at his cuteness. this man was adorable, how did you bag him?

the both of you yapped and yapped back and forth for around half an hour, just about your days and how they were. there wasn’t much to talk about though because you called every night. just when the silence set in again, soobin had the urge to glance down at the cleavage of your tits, plush against the floor as you still laid on your stomach. he gulped, trying to hide his nervousness. he was tired, but he would’ve loved to jerk off before bed.

soobin decided to risk it, wanting to be punished by you anyways as the agreement was just that. he slowly reached down into his sweats and down his boxers, gripping and squeezing his hardening dick, gently stroking it as it grew. he stared at your tits, thoughts filling his mind of what he would do with them. occasionally, he looked up at your beautiful face to admire it.

just then as you didn’t notice his staring, you dropped your pen and looked at him through the screen. “have you kept the promise so far?” 

he tried to be discreet, keeping his facial expressions to a minimum, persisting a straight face. “yes. i’m surprised i haven’t lost yet, you know?” soobin chuckled sheepishly, a light blush coating his cheeks. his tone was innocent as he lied, despite what he was doing.

you snickered, smiling at him. “i’ve kept it also. i always have the urge, but i just leave it alone,” you admitted.

soobin took his bottom lip into his mouth, softly biting down onto it as he continued pumping himself slowly, his massive hand stretching around his enormous cock, tugging up and down as he still stared at your tits. oh, how fond he was of them.

you noticed his lip biting, but just shrugged it off as one of his habits.

“you haven’t even touched yourself? not even a little bit?” you asked out of curiosity, completely oblivious to the fact that soobin was right now.

with a soft groan as he let his lip go, he gulped and shook his head no. “not at all,” he mumbled.

something about the change in his tone and demeanor wasn’t convincing you. you tilted your head at him. “hmm, okay,” you hummed, picking your phone up to angle it up on your face and body as you sat up. you decided now was the time to tease him!

“do they look good? i bought this top the other day,” you smiled sweetly into the camera, referring to your tits.

oh, all the things soobin could say.

“of course they do. they always do. especially when my dick’s in between them,” he huffed, his phone bobbing up and down every so often.

his words truly caught you off guard, only expecting him to say the first bits. your eyes widened and jaw dropped, your smile then converting into a wicked smile.

“oh, yeah? i bet you’re missing that right now,” you teased, cupping one of your breasts with one of your small hands–one of the things soobin absolutely adored about you. he doted the size difference between your bodies, finding himself thinking about your tight and gummy walls around his cock.

soobin groaned, letting the back of his head hit the headboard of the bed against the wall, making a small noise. “love your body, babe. wanna come all over it,” he purred, the sinful words dripping off his tongue.

with his hand still working, his dick started to ache with pleasure. the veins within his cock pulsed blood straight to the skin of his hot and angry tip with a bit of extra friction from his foreskin rubbing against it. he couldn’t see the action happening within his pants, not daring to look away from the screen in case of suspicion from you. 

“soobin!” you scolded. “what’s with the dirty words?” you mocked, but deep down, you loved his words of appreciation.

you started to take notice of the shaky camera and the way the corners of his mouth twitched from time to time. his struggled breathing, it was all a signal he might be doing something behind the camera. you decided to confront him about it.

“is my baby letting go? what happened to the promise?” you pouted, your pink and plump lips were the thing that soobin needed around the base of his cock right about now.

soobin tutted, holding back a moan from deep in his throat. “what are you talking about?” he tried to play dumb, only earning a tut back from you.

“i know what you’re doing, soobin. if you let me in on it, i’ll let you come,” you spoke, pointing your finger at him. “deal?”

“deal,” he sputtered, a breathy moan falling out of his mouth as he heard you say his name.

“now show me your dick, baby,” you spoke softly, wanting desperately to see him since you haven’t in so long.

with the shaky hand that was holding his phone, he rested the bottom of his phone on his chest before flipping the camera to showcase his flushed cock, pre-cum leaking out the hole.

your eyes weren’t deceiving you, this was real. soobin’s dick was like a fantasy. it was perfect and pretty in every way. huge, red and veiny, just how you like it. you whimpered yourself when he pulled his dick completely out of his sweats, rubbing his right hand up and down his cock, his foreskin coming up, vacuuming the head before going back down as his hand rested against his stubble of pubic hair. you were practically drooling at the sight, saliva inching down the corner of your bottom lip.

soobin stared at you through the screen, specifically your tits and how they snuggled into your tight top, hard nipples poking through the fabric; imagining himself peeking his tip through the seam of your tits, coming immensely and the cum dripping down your tits. the fantasies that he had were insane, his mind swirling with sinful thoughts.

“are you gonna come soon? couldn't wait til you come home, slut?” the degration slipped out of your mouth, causing a growl to drop from soobin’s.

“y/n…’m close, want you on my dick right now,” he uttered, biting his bottom lip feverishly behind the camera, his head falling back yet again abutting the headboard.

“set your phone up. wanna see your face as you fuck yourself,” you spoke, your tone demanding.

and soobin did so, pushing the comforters down as they bunched up, setting his phone up against them as he flipped the camera back around.

this was amazing; now you could see his admirable facial expressions he made along with the frantic pumping of his cock. he occasionally peeked down at his phone to look at your tits again, having a crave for them around his shaft.

soobin moaned and groaned, his face contorting and twisting in so many ways, mostly in pleasure as his other hand reached down to massage his heavy balls. his cheeks puffed up with air before disappearing when his jaw dropped slack, his voice echoing throughout the room, but in an effort to keep his tone down.

“that’s it. good boy. tell me how much you love me,” you purred as you stopped gawking for a moment to reach your dainty hand into your panties, your fingertips needily rubbing against your clit as your eyes fluttered shut.

soobin babbled, saying how much he loved and wanted your body, how he wanted to worship it and claim it as his own. “gonna come. wanna fill you up, baby,” he confessed, no shame within his expression.

those words immediately set you off, fingertips rubbing as fast as possible against your perky clit, chasing your orgasm. you opened your eyes to see his lengthy and girthy cock twitch in his hand as he slowed down his pumps, on the brink of his orgasm.

“come for me, baby,” you spoke soothingly as you gave him permission to come.

soobin watched you touched yourself, and it was a sight to him. he felt the electricity rushing down his spine and straight to his dick as he observed.

you watched attentively as cum erupted from the hole in his tip, squirting up into the air before landing on the sheets, staining them. cum leaked down his shaft, hastily picked up by his hand as he tugged lightly yet fast, moaning as his thighs trembled from the sensation of not coming for days on end. his orgasm was huge and gratifying, and his facial expressions said it all.

as you witnessed his orgasm, you felt yours coming too. the knot in your stomach snapped as you came, slick dripping out from your hole as your panties caught most of it. you let out a few noises of your own as you rode out your orgasm, your fingers swiping up and down against your pussy, thinking of soobin’s wet tongue lapping up your slick.

“fuck,” soobin cursed, feeling his dick softening now as he shoved it back into his boxers, not wanting to clean up yet. “that felt so good, y/n.”

you chuckled at his words, reaching your hand up from your panties as you wiped it on a nearby towel. “you act like i was there.”

“in my mind you were,” soobin laughed, his toothy smile beaming at the camera as he lifted it back up at the same angle it was before. “i love you so much, i’ll be home soon.”

“i love you, too, bunny. stay safe.”

“of course~.”

a/n: OMG FINALLY. this took me nearly 2 hours. i love soobin tho>:3 gl to the members as they take their hiatus. i’m so proud of them. my babies<3

[hyukasmiles]

—Hueningkai—

Letting Kai fuck you raw for the first time, finally giving into his begging under the pretense that he’d pull out, he has to, you haven’t been keeping up with your birth control.

It starts off fine, a long make out session, his fingers stretching you open, a pillow under your hips. His breathing goes shaky as he spreads your legs open, slotting them on either side of your hip.

Nerves take over him, leaning to kiss you again as he presses his fat tip against your leaking entrance. He’s barely inched into you when the risk of it all kicks at his stomach, butterflies rising in his throat as he rolls his hips forward. He could get you pregnant.

Kai and his big arms that frame your head as he fucks you. Face nuzzling into your hair, whispering cuss words into your skin as you claw at his tense, muscled shoulders. Excitement controlling his hips.

Your sweet, honeyed cunt begs him to sink back in everytime he pulls back and he’s never been one to say no, fucking you into stupidity. He ignores your pleas for him to slow down, your stupid want for him to let up and ruin both of your orgasims.

“It’s ok, honey, you can take it.” You whine that you can’t, that you just need a second to catch your breath, that he’s being mean. “Mean? Me?”

Kai lifts up your hips, sitting upright on his knees and jerking your body in time with his thrusts. In this angle he can see his precum frothing with your slick around your entrance, there’s enough of it to smear across his pelvis and your ass.

“You're pretty, honey, so pretty.” Your mouth hangs open, tiny high pitched squeals leaving your mouth as Kai fucks an orgasm out of you. “See? I’m not mean, I jus’ want to make you feel good.”

“Kai-“ Your eyes roll back as you try to speak. “Shit-“ He can see your brain haze over, mouth opening and closing as you try to speak.

Kai’s bottom lip burns under his teeth as he tries to convince himself to pull out, to keep his promise, to not fill you up with his heady cum and get to see your gorgeous cunt overflowing with it. He’s not very convincing, holding you tight enough to bruise as he goes back and forth in his head.

Kai pulls out of you with a groan, head thrown back as he wraps his hand around his angry, almost purple cock. “Fuck- I wish I was cuming inside you.” His dick is slippery with your release, a loud slick sound filling the room as he chases his orgasm. “Perfect cunt is just begging for it.” Cum paints your stomach and it’s almost as satisfying as cumming inside you would have been.

You promise him to get back on schedule with your birth control, that this time next month he’ll be able to fill you up all he wants and heaven knows Kai will keep you to it.

—

Inbox always open 🎀

[cxffecoupx]

asking to place lipstick marks on 'it'

seventeen x reader 18+, nsfw, svt down bad warnings: suggestive content, love making wc: 1.0k author's notes: such a CRAZYY thought to have, so i decided to do it :) but i cant believe it took me this long to finish writing this (read: uni is kicking my ass). anyways, wouldn't say i'm very satisfied with it, but i really hope you guys like it!! also, special thanks to @simpxxstan for giving me ideas for a few members

➼ choi seungcheol

very interested in the idea. would get so excited for this. would ask if he can select the shade of lipstick and runs to your dressing table when you agree. but most likely would end up buying a new set of lipsticks because the shade he wants 'is not there' (it's an excuse for him to buy you a new set). by the time you're able to finish your mission, you're over three rounds and he's a sweaty, moaning mess. neither of you sleep that night.

➼ yoon jeonghan

would become so smug when you suggest it?? like full on smirk on his face and just goes, "if you wanted me to fuck you, you could have just said that." but will eventually agree when he sees your boba eyes and gets excited seeing your excitement. will probably squirm and whimper because of the sensations at first, but the sex later on is crazy.

➼ hong jisoo

confused eyes. looks so adorable you end up smushing his face and kissing his lips in fondness. man is actually so clueless at first, but then ever more confused when he realizes what you meant. becomes beet red until you promise him it's just for fun and not necessary until he's okay with it, hearing which he quickly agrees cause if you're gonna have fun, why would he not indulge you? would become so adorably shy when he sees the result. makes you cum with just his fingers and mouth as thank you.

➼ moon junhui

mindblown by your idea. becomes so excited; it's like a child waiting for candy. so endeared by you that he ends up making you smooch all over his face. then he starts kissing all over your face. the lipstick marks meant for his dick end up on your faces, but neither of you could be happier than at this moment. slowly turns into a gentle love making session.

➼ kwon soonyoung

you ask him in a very usual way, but it's only after he accepts that you realize this is a great opportunity to tease him. asks if he can record it (because he's very amused by this idea) and searches for the perfect lighting and angle while you prepare. thinks he's so prepared for it, but starts shaking and pleading the moment you start kitty licking his tip. by the time you're finished, he's panting and wanting for more.

➼ jeon wonwoo

you ask him while he was gaming; he leaves the game so fast you wonder what went wrong. but then he goes and picks up a random shade of lipstick and pulls you in between his knees as he manspreads on his gaming chair. holds your hair as you work on him. hours later, the lipstick and your clothes lie forgotten by the bed.

➼ lee jihoon

wants this whole event to occur in his studio. literally agrees when you offer to come to the studio for it. he'd be acting so nonchalant but you can clearly hear his heart racing in his chest and his ears going red. also likely to voice record the whole thing with your consent to use as 'inspiration' later (will use it to get off during desperate times).

➼ lee seokmin

another one who'd get red. very shy. "woah where do you even get ideas like these?" as he goes wide-eyed and still manspreads on the couch to invite you in. goes weak in his knees when he sees you make eye contact with him as you look up from between his knees wearing a shade he considers sexy. you have to abort the mission because he ends up pushing your face few many times.

➼ kim mingyu

GIGGLY MESS. you don't understand what he's been giggling about ever since you proposed the idea, but you're currently down on your knees in front of his naked body and he just cant stop giggling??? when you ask him about it though, he says he's way too endeared by this whole task and wants you to kiss every inch of his body. so, an hour or so later, you're panting, straddling a happy mingyu who's entire body is covered with lipstick stains. time to make a new folder in your gallery.

➼ xu minghao

lowkey becomes concerned about you. he already suspected you were upto something when you approached him with a cheeky smile, but he never thought it'd be this... wild? almost instantly rejects until he sees you get down and look at him with such hopeful eyes that he cant resist. still finds it weird as you mark him, but gladly indulges you. takes photos of it (without you knowing,,, or so he thinks) because you are the artist, and he ends up liking the art a little too much.

➼ boo seungkwan

lowkey judges you first, before highkey agreeing to it. it's one of the "how dare you make stupid decisions and do them without me" moments. judgmental most of the time: "is that the shade you're choosing? it doesnt look good on my skin tone," "the lip shapes arent perfect, pucker them a little more," etc etc. after lots of advice and nagging, you finally finish the job. you get up with a satisfied smirk as you look at his pretty pink cock and his spent form.

➼ chwe vernon

deeply contemplates it. quickly nods when you say, "it's for the art" and asks for some time. leaves. comes back saying "okay, let's do it." when you ask him where he went, he goes "i had to be clean and ready." waits for you to prep for it, but almost cums then and there when he sees you naked, wearing only his favourite shade of lipstick. by the time you could finish the task, he's lost all his marbles and begs you to ride him. finishes with his cum painting your chest and stomach.

➼ lee chan

turns red as a tomato. one moment you suggest the idea, the next he has to physically pull his head outta the gutter because his thoughts escalated into something else. and no matter how hard he tries to deny that he was indeed having very mature thoughts, the blush creeping to his cheeks screams the truth. asks somewhere in between if he can mark your chest with his lipstick marks, and honestly? who are you to resist? by the end of the night, he's spent and at your mercy and you havent yet completed the task.

[obito-in-disguise]

| Helping Toji shave |

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Yes, for the eighth time. Relax, I've done this before"

From your perch on the cool tiles of the bathroom counter, you gently tug him closer, drawing his large frame between your thighs so you can evenly spread the shaving cream across his face.

You can’t help but giggle at the sight, he looked like if Santa Claus and Jason Statham had a baby.

He scowls and swats your hand away when you start shaping the edges of his shaving cream mustache into pointy ends. "I know you’ve shaved your legs before doll, but this is different. This is my face" he sighs.

"Legs, face, same thing" you shrug, picking up the razor. The shiny blade catches the light, glimmering with dark promise at Toji.

"Hardly..." he grimaces as you bring the razor a bit too quickly to his cheek, the metal gliding over his skin a touch too fast for his liking.

He grips your hips, his expression softening as he watches you tackle his stubble like it’s the most important task in the world. That tenderness quickly gives way to alarm when you tilt the razor at an awkward angle against his skin.

"Careful...careful!" he warns, feeling the razor tug more than it should.

"Oh my gosh, relax your titties..." you mumble, your eyes locked on your task. Your hand continues making haphazard strokes with the razor while the other one casually drifts to cup said titties, for reassurance of course.

He scoffs and pulls your hand away from his chest, 'titties?' these were rock hard pecs.

"I got this, okay?" you add, locking in.

-----

Toji stands in front of the mirror, a scowl etched across his face that was now dotted with little squares of bandages from the numerous nicks you managed to give him.

"You definitely didn't have it" he sighs, glancing at you. His expression softens when he sees you standing to the side like a kicked puppy, disappointment in your eyes at your work.

"It’s okay, doll. Better luck next time" he says, stepping closer and gently lifting your chin with a tender grasp.

You sniffle as you study your monstrosity of a shave job, then crack a small hopeful smile. "You'll let me do it next time?"

He snorts. "Fuck no, I just said that so you'd feel better"

You squeal as he leans forward, scooping you up over his shoulder. He playfully pinches your thigh, chuckling as you reflexively bump your knee against his chest.

"Let's get something to eat"

Toji can put them titties in my face any day he wants.

Tiny taglist: @catlover19282

Feel free to check out more of my Jujutsu Kaisen fics and other stories!

[satellite-evans]

tolerate it

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x reader

Summary: You know your love should be celebrated, but lewis just tolerates it.

Word count: 4.4k+

Warnings: angst, based on the Taylor Swift song

A/N:

hello everyone, this is the second fic that I'm posting from the folkmore series, hope you guys like it, tell me what you think! xxx

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

It was past midnight when you heard the door click open.

The sound was soft, almost hesitant, but it cut through the heavy silence like a blade. Your breath hitched as your eyes flickered toward the entrance, where the dim glow from the hallway outlined the silhouette you had been waiting for.

You had been waiting for him for hours, like you’re just a little kid.

You hated when he made you feel like that.

Vulnerable.

Curled up in the vast, impersonal hotel bed, the sheets cool against your skin, you had stared out at the glittering city beyond the window. The neon lights and distant hum of traffic had been your only companions, pulsing with a life that felt so far away from the hollow quiet of the room.

Lewis had promised he wouldn’t be late.

“Dinner, just us,” he had said, voice warm over the phone, brimming with the kind of reassurance that made you believe in him, in this. “I’ll be back after press.”

You had believed him.

But the plates on the small table remained untouched, the candles you had lit now melted into forgotten wax, their flames long extinguished. Hours had slipped through your fingers, and with them, the naive hope that maybe—just maybe—this time would be different.

The door shut with a muted click, and then he was there.

His posture was tired, his movements sluggish, weighed down by something unseen. The sharp lines of his suit were slightly rumpled, his tie loosened as if he had been pulling at it absently. Shadows clung to his features, exhaustion settling in the creases around his mouth, the faint furrow of his brow.

You knew better than to expect an apology.

Still, you tried.

“You’re late.”

Your voice was quiet, steady, but beneath it was the weight of hours spent in silence, of expectations left unmet, of love given and not quite returned in the way you needed.

Lewis sighed, setting his bag down with a dull thud. “Yeah. Sorry. Meetings ran over.”

A familiar script. The same words, the same excuse. You had heard it before, and yet, some foolish part of you had wanted to believe that this night, this promise, would matter enough for him to keep it.

You swallowed, shifting to sit up. “I waited.”

He glanced at you then, a brief flicker of acknowledgment, as if he was only just realizing that you had been here the whole time, waiting for him to come.

Something about that thought made your throat tighten.

You noticed everything.

The way his shoulders tensed. How he avoided your gaze. The way he kicked off his shoes without care, as if shedding the weight of the day, but not the weight of you. He hadn’t even asked if you had eaten, if you were okay, if you were lonely in the way that made silence unbearable.

“You should’ve eaten without me,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face, his exhaustion evident, but it wasn’t the kind of tiredness that could excuse this.

“I wasn’t hungry,” you admitted, but what you meant was I wanted to eat with you.

Lewis didn’t respond. He just sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped, scrolling through his phone. The light from the screen cast shadows over his face, sharp angles softened by fatigue, but his focus was elsewhere. Not here. Not on you.

You watched him, waiting, willing him to look at you, to see you.

He didn’t.

Your fingers curled into the sheets, the fabric cool beneath your fingertips. “Did you even think about me tonight?”

The question came out softer than you intended, almost fragile.

His thumbs hovered over the screen, a moment of hesitation before he let out a slow breath. “Of course I did.”

Automatic. Distant. A response without weight.

But you noticed.

You noticed everything he didn’t do.

How he didn’t ask how your day was. How he didn’t kiss your forehead. How he didn’t check to see if you were okay.

He had seen the world, built empires, conquered tracks and stadiums, his name spoken in stadiums filled with roaring crowds.

And yet, he couldn’t see you.

The realization lodged itself deep in your chest, an ache that settled between your ribs, suffocating in its quiet devastation. You blinked rapidly, turning away, as if looking at him any longer might shatter something within you.

You had waited by the door like a child waiting for love.

But it never came.

And you feared that it was just the beginning.

The apartment was quiet, save for the soft rustling of pages as you sat curled up on the couch, the worn edges of your book comforting beneath your fingertips. The familiar weight of it grounded you, but the world beyond the pages seemed distant. You barely registered the words you read as your mind wandered. Your eyes flicked over the sentences, but your thoughts weren't really there, drifting elsewhere, like leaves caught in the breeze.

Across from you, Lewis sat at the other end of the couch, his posture slouched, one leg stretched out lazily, his fingers tapping away at his phone screen with a kind of detached urgency. He was completely engrossed, lost in whatever was filling the quiet. The room felt too small for both of you, the space between you stretching impossibly wide, even though you were physically close.

Once, nights like this were your favorite—when the world outside felt like a distant hum, and the two of you could be alone in your own little bubble. You'd lie with your head resting in his lap, his fingers gently combing through your hair, the soft rhythm of his touch calming your racing thoughts. The two of you would talk about everything and nothing—memories that didn't matter, dreams that didn’t make sense, moments that felt significant only because they were shared.

Sometimes, he'd ask about your book, his voice always genuinely curious, like he wanted to know what was going on in your world, in the spaces your mind occupied when it wandered from him. You'd talk about the characters, the plot twists, the themes. He’d listen—really listen—his full attention on you, his eyes never leaving your face. He’d smile at your excitement, never rushing you to finish your thoughts. He cared, you knew he cared.

But now, he barely looked up.

You glanced at him, hoping for something, anything—a sign that he saw you, that he remembered you sitting there, sharing the same space with him, even if you weren’t speaking. You shifted on the couch, a small movement, and waited. But the hum of his phone screen was louder than your quiet longing, the way it flickered in the dim light between you. He didn't even seem to hear the shift in the air, the unspoken distance growing between you both.

"Lewis," you said, your voice tentative, barely louder than a whisper. It felt like a plea, a fragile thread reaching out into the silence.

He didn’t look up, didn’t pause his scrolling. He just hummed, distracted, absorbed in whatever message or notification had taken his attention.

Your throat tightened. You swallowed, trying to push past the rising frustration, the feeling of being invisible. You turned your attention back to your book, but the words were blurry now, swimming on the page. The book’s comfort, its familiarity, was lost, just as everything else was.

Your grip on the book tightened, your knuckles white. The pages felt flimsy, like they might tear under the weight of your thoughts. You tried to read, tried to force the sentences into your mind, but they slipped away, like water through your fingers.

You waited for him to sense the shift. The silence had stretched so long, had settled so thick between you, surely it must have been noticeable. But he didn’t look at you—not once. Not like before.

And then, finally, a sigh. Lewis leaned back against the couch, stretching his long arms above his head, a groan escaping his lips as he relaxed, the tension in his body slowly unwinding. Only then did he lower his phone and glance over at you. "You're quiet," he said, his voice lazy and unbothered. His eyes lingered for a moment, but it wasn’t the kind of look you had hoped for. There was no searching there, no real curiosity. Just a passing observation.

A hollow smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “Am I?” The question felt so small, so inconsequential. It barely mattered. Not anymore. It was as if you were asking him if you were still here, if he even noticed the emptiness that had begun to fill the spaces around you.

He frowned slightly, a tiny crease between his brows. He knew something was off—he had to. But instead of asking, instead of trying to understand, he just let the moment slip away. With a casual shrug, he picked up the remote and flicked on the TV, the soft hum of the screen suddenly taking over the room.

The moment passed. Just like that.

You turned another page, pretending to read, though the words no longer had meaning. Your fingers trembled slightly, the book suddenly feeling like an anchor dragging you further into the depths of a silence you didn’t know how to escape.

Lewis? He didn’t notice the way your hands shook as you held the pages. He didn’t notice that the sound of his voice, so dismissive, had rattled something inside you, that the lack of attention hurt in ways you couldn’t put into words. He didn’t see it—the slow, painful unraveling of everything you once had.

But you?

You noticed everything. Everything he does or doesn’t do.

Deep inside, you want to tell him, that he is slipping away. That he isn’t as affectionate as he was before, that his actions hurt more than his words.

But you don’t.

He’ll tell you that you’ve got it wrong somehow and that it’s all in you head.

After all, he so much older and wiser.

And you’re just a kid waiting by the door for him.

And as the hours slipped away, the room remained quiet, save for the dull hum of the television and the soft rustle of your book, neither of you reaching for each other.

Your birthday used to be something special. He always made it a point to do something thoughtful—small surprises that brought a smile to your face, handwritten letters tucked away in places you’d least expect them, flowers arriving at your doorstep, even when he was oceans away. His thoughtfulness had always been a quiet assurance that no matter the distance or how busy life got, you were his priority. He never let the day slip by unnoticed. Last year, he had even flown home in secret, pretending to be too swamped with work, only to surprise you with an intimate dinner on the rooftop, the glow of the city lights reflecting in his eyes as he held your hand and whispered how much you meant to him. You had laughed, a little in disbelief, as you realized what he’d done. It felt like a moment frozen in time, perfect in every way.

But this year… it was different.

You woke up alone. The room was unnervingly quiet, the kind of stillness that made the space feel too large. You blinked into the early morning light, but his side of the bed remained untouched. The sheets were cold, the indentation where he’d lain barely visible. You reached over instinctively, but all that greeted your fingers was the emptiness of a space that should have been filled with warmth. A part of you had hoped that, even in this stillness, you’d find a glimmer of what you once shared. But there was nothing.

You grabbed your phone, half-expecting to see a message from him—a simple “Good morning,” a “Happy birthday,” maybe even an “I love you” to make up for the absence you felt so deeply. But the screen was blank. No notifications. No reminder that it was the day you both used to cherish. You refreshed it, as if somehow you’d missed it, but the silence persisted.

The hours seemed to drag on endlessly. The sun had moved across the sky, casting shadows on the walls of your apartment, and still, there was no word from him.

By the time evening arrived, and the darkness of the night crept into the corners of the room, you were still waiting. Again. You had convinced yourself that maybe there was a plan—maybe he was just waiting for the right moment to surprise you, to make up for the quiet morning. But as the clock ticked, hope started to wither, replaced by a quiet ache in the pit of your stomach.

Then, the door finally creaked open, and Lewis stepped inside. But the man who walked through the door didn’t look like the one you had fallen in love with. His shoulders were slumped with exhaustion, the weight of the day pressing down on him in a way you’d never seen before. The usual spark in his eyes was gone, replaced with the dull haze of someone who had given everything to the outside world, leaving nothing for the person who mattered most.

“Hey,” you greeted softly, like a battle hero’s welcome, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, because you so desperately wanted him to be different than he was, you wanted the old Lewis that you missed so deeply.

He didn’t even look at you as he muttered a distracted, “Hey, love.” He leaned in and kissed your cheek absently, the gesture so distant that it felt more like a routine than an act of affection. He didn’t even stop to meet your gaze, already moving past you, his shoes scuffing against the floor, as though he was tired of the weight of the world and wanted nothing more than to escape the moment.

You swallowed thickly, unsure of what to say, but you couldn’t shake the tight knot forming in your throat. Maybe, just maybe, he was waiting for the perfect moment to reveal something to you—something big, something meaningful that would somehow make up for this strange, cold distance between you both.

“So…” You hesitated, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. “Do you know what today is?” Your words felt like they were slipping through your fingers as soon as you spoke them.

Lewis frowned, his eyes unfocused for a moment, as though he couldn’t place your question in the rush of his thoughts. Then, the realization hit him. His face softened for a split second, but the fleeting look of guilt that flashed across his features only made the ache in your chest grow. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his eyes darting toward the floor in a mix of shame and frustration.

You let out a quiet laugh—one that came from somewhere deep within you, a laugh that held no humor, only the sting of hurt. You tried to mask it, but the hollow sound of it betrayed you.

“Sorry, babe,” he sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. “Meetings ran long. I completely lost track of the date.” His words were like a dull, apologetic hum in the air, as if they were meant to ease the tension, but instead, they only highlighted the distance between you.

You nodded, your lips twitching into a forced smile. He reached into his bag, pulling out a small box with a vague sense of urgency. It was wrapped in plain paper, and the moment he handed it to you, you already knew. It wasn’t the thoughtfulness that had once marked his gestures, the careful consideration he used to show. It was a generic bracelet, one that was so forgettable it could have been picked up last minute at an airport. You’d seen something just like it in the window of a chain store, the kind of thing you’d never wear, let alone want on a day like today.

You forced another smile, since nowadays you could only force a smile when you were with him. “It’s nice,” you managed to say, your voice distant, as though it wasn’t even yours. You held the bracelet in your hand, feeling the cold metal press against your skin, but it didn’t feel like a gift. It felt like a placeholder—something to fill the space where something meaningful should have been.

Lewis exhaled in relief, completely oblivious to the storm that was rising within you. “Good. I wasn’t sure if you’d like it.” He sat down beside you, but he was already pulling out his phone, his attention already slipping away from you, as though whatever had just happened didn’t matter. The reality of it settled over you like a weight you couldn’t escape.

You stared at him then, at the man you had once known so well, the one who had made you feel seen and cherished. You looked at him and wondered, not for the first time, when he had stopped knowing you. When had he stopped seeing you, truly seeing you, and started drifting through the motions of a relationship that was no longer alive with the passion it once had? Was it the work? The endless hours? The meetings, the obligations, the distractions that had become more important than you? Or had you just started fading into the background, little by little, until you were nothing but a shadow in the life he used to care about?

You wanted to reach out, to shake him, to demand something more—something real, something that would remind you both of what you once had. But instead, you remained silent, the quiet ache in your chest growing with each passing second. The man you had loved with everything you had was slipping away, and you simply had enough.

Everything had led to this moment. Every sigh, every unspoken word, every night you went to bed alone in the same bed you'd once shared with warmth and laughter. Everything had brought you to this painful, inevitable place.

The dinner table was set, every detail carefully arranged. Candles flickered, their soft, warm light casting shadows on the walls. But the warmth didn't reach your heart. It didn't even reach your soul. It was just light, a false promise of something that had long since faded.

Lewis walked in, the familiar sound of his keys hitting the countertop sharp against the heavy silence. He didn’t even take a moment to look at you. Just a glance over his shoulder as he dropped the keys with a slight clink. “Hey,” he said. No kiss. No hug. No warmth. Just that—like an empty word that hung in the air, too thin to mean anything.

You forced a smile, your lips trembling slightly at the edges, betraying the storm inside you. "I made dinner," you said, the words catching in your throat.

He nodded. Barely looked at you. Barely looked at the table. "Looks nice, babe." His eyes were already glued to his phone, the familiar, mindless scroll of distraction. Your heart sank, the sharp sting of his indifference slicing through the fragile walls you’d built around your vulnerability.

The little kid had enough. She was done waiting.

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms, but you kept your voice steady. You had to. You had to say it. "You’re distracted."

Lewis glanced up at you, his gaze unfocused. "What?"

It was a simple question, a small moment. But to you, it felt like a slap in the face. A reminder that he wasn’t listening. A reminder that you had been shouting in silence for so long, only to hear nothing in return. "You don’t see me anymore, Lewis. Not really."

He sighed, his breath heavy with frustration, his eyes flicking back down to the phone screen. "That’s not fair."

"No," you said, your voice quivering with the weight of everything you couldn’t say. "It’s not fair. I pour my heart into everything I do for you, and all you can do is just tolerate it. Do you know what that makes me feel, huh? Do you?”

His jaw tightened. The subtle movement of his lips, the way his nostrils flared in exasperation—he didn’t want to hear this. But you needed him to. You needed him to understand. And maybe, just maybe, if you said it the right way, if you put it in words, he’d realize what he had been doing to you. To both of you.

"I made you my home, Lewis." You swallowed hard. "My world. I built my life around you—I made you my temple, my mural, my sky. And now?" You took a shaky breath, feeling the tremble in your voice, the crack threatening to split you open. "Now I’m begging just to be a footnote in the story of your life. You don’t care about me. It’s like I don’t even exist. And don’t tell my it’s because of work, don’t you dare because we both know that’s not true. You don’t want me, anymore. You can’t even look up if I ask you something, Lewis. While you’re out there, building other worlds and try to keep your fame, where was I? Huh? Why am I not in your life anymore Lewis? Where’s the man who'd throw blankets over my barbed wire? The one who used to soften the sharp edges, who used to make me feel seen, safe, wanted. Were you ever really here, or did I just imagine you because I desperately wanted it to b real Lewis?”

His face paled. You saw it—the way the blood drained from his features, the way your words cut through the surface of his indifference and reached something deeper. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to make him move, to make him realize how far you’d fallen. The weight of your sacrifice was too much for him to carry.

You bit back the tears, desperate to keep them in check. "I gave you all my best colors," you whispered, almost to yourself. " I loved you so much, Lewis that my love for you should be celebrated. But you? You only tolerate it.”

It was too much to carry. The ache in your chest was unbearable, a deep, suffocating weight that filled every corner of the room. You turned away, feeling the cracks in your heart widen, spreading like a fracture in glass. But this time, Lewis didn’t stop you. This time, he let you walk away.

You could hear the sound of your own breathing, shallow and unsteady, as if the very air around you had thickened with sorrow. Something inside you cracked—small at first, a tiny fracture, but spreading rapidly, until the whole thing was about to shatter.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. Maybe—just maybe—he would realize it now. Maybe the weight of your words, the rawness in your voice, would finally settle in his chest and he would reach for you. Maybe he would stop you, pull you back from the edge, and say the things you’d needed to hear for so long.

But when you turned back, there he was—standing in the same spot, unmoving. Silent. His expression unreadable, like a wall had been erected between the two of you. And that silence—it was the loudest thing in the room. Louder than the flickering candles. Louder than the soft ticking of the clock in the background.

Your stomach twisted, nausea rising in your throat, threatening to choke you. "Say something," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, too soft to hold the weight of the pain, too fragile to withstand the truth. "Please, say something."

Lewis exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face like he was trying to scrub the weariness of life off. "I don’t know what you want me to say."

You let out a breathless, bitter laugh, hollow and broken. "You never do, do you?" Your words hung in the air between you, a delicate thread of hurt and frustration. "You never know what I need, what I want. And it’s killing me."

His brows furrowed, like he couldn’t understand the depth of what you were saying. "That’s not fair"

"Isn’t it?" You gestured between the two of you—at the untouched dinner, the still air, the dim candlelight flickering as though it, too, was struggling to stay alive. "Because I think it is. I think it’s perfectly fair to want the person I love to see me. To really see me."

Lewis ran a hand over his jaw, shaking his head, but it wasn’t a movement of remorse. It was the kind of denial you had seen so many times before, the kind of shrug that told you he didn’t want to acknowledge the weight of your pain. "You’re acting like I don’t care about you. Like I don’t—"

He stopped himself. The hesitation was there, sharp and telling. And you caught it. You always did.

"Like you don’t what, Lewis?" You stepped closer to him, heart pounding, every inch of your body trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. "Like you don’t love me?"

His silence was deafening. It wrapped around you like a suffocating blanket. No words. No comfort. Nothing to hold on to.

And there it was—the truth you had been avoiding for so long, the truth that had been hiding in the spaces between his hollow words, between the gaps in his touch. The truth that had been there all along, but you couldn’t see it until now.

Your throat tightened, and you fought to keep the tears at bay. You refused to cry. Not here. Not now. Not in front of him. Not when he had already given you his answer without saying a word.

"You used to," you whispered, your voice cracking. "Didn’t you?"

Lewis’s jaw clenched, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, but no words came. No apology. No explanation. He couldn’t give you that, because he didn’t feel it. He didn’t feel you anymore.

And that was it.

The final fracture. The last piece of your heart crumbled away, slipping through your fingers like sand.

"I gave you everything," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, fragile like glass. "I fought so hard for us. But I can’t be the only one fighting anymore."

Lewis’s lips parted, like he wanted to say something. Anything. But no words came. He just stood there, silent, frozen, as though the weight of your confession had paralyzed him.

And then, you made the decision.

You grabbed your coat from the chair, your fingers trembling as you slipped it on. Each movement felt like it took everything out of you. Every step toward the door felt heavier than the last, like the universe itself was trying to hold you back, to keep you from walking away. But you didn’t stop.

Not even when you reached the door. You hesitated, your fingers curling around the handle, torn between the need to leave and the desperate wish that he would stop you. That he would say something. Anything.

Call out your name. Tell you that you mattered. That he loved you. That he wasn’t ready to lose you.

But the silence was louder than anything he could have said.

You opened the door, the cool air of the night pressing against your skin, and you stepped into it. And this time, you didn’t stop.

Not even when the door closed behind you, cutting off the final thread that had connected you to him.

You were done being tolerated.

[love-bugsy]

just really casually thinking about princess bride au jason todd...

Your diligent farm-boy with his rough hands and soft heart, trailing so close behind you that your father starts to call him your shadow. You call him yours. And he is, isn't he? The careful brush of his hands when he lifts you onto your horse, the storm of his eyes lightening when you slip him one of your novels, the wry grin that he saves just for you.

How could you not find a guilty pleasure in ordering him around just to hear the only words he utters in your presence—"As you wish." He calls it duty but you know it by another name.

Jason has no money for marriage, so he leaves your father's employ for the promise of fortune across the sea. Your protests that you are his regardless go unheard and before long, you stand with him at the edge of your property.

"I fear I'll never see you again," you whisper, fingers tracing the set of his jaw. Your farm-boy looks at you through lidded eyes, pressing his forehead to yours.

"I will always return to you," he mutters against your lips like a prayer.

A letter returned in Jason's place—news that pirates had captured his boat. For days you shutter yourself away, refusing to eat or sleep. The Red Hood takes no prisoners. You float through your life like a ghost, only finding reprieve in your dreamless sleep. The days bleed into months and with every glance behind you met with open air, you are emptied.

Perhaps that is why you don't fight when your father accepts the Prince's request for your hand.

~

The gloved hand clutched around your upper arm releases you, throwing you against rough stone. You reach out blindly with bound hands, scraping against rock in an attempt to balance yourself. The blindfold is ripped from your eyes.

After so long in darkness, the daylight blinds you. Blinking against the light, your eyes adjust to your captor. That blood red hood—hem congealing in the blur of your reunion with sunlight, the sanguineous stain of hundreds of victims. Mottled scars mar his exposed chin, sea-green eyes stony when you tear your gaze away from them. Face to face with your farm-boy's killer.

His mouth sets in a hard line as you scrabble to find your footing on rain-slick grass. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears. The Red Hood takes no prisoners.

Your eyes dart around at your surroundings – a mountain-top, wind buffeting you from all angles – and when they find his again there's a sick pity in them. The kind you feel for a butterfly in a jar—freedom surrounding it, but nowhere to escape.

You stare at him, eyes remaining unflinchingly open in the face of death—he tells you Jason died nobly and if your hands weren’t pulled tight behind your back, you’d slap him. You settle for kicking your leg out into his shin, eyes dark. Huffing out a dark chuckle, he steps towards you, something like pain flashing across his face when you flinch. You endure the venom in his gravelly voice, bowing under insult after insult. It's only when he accuses you of disloyalty that you snap, standing to face him.

"—I died that day!" Voice cracking over the words, you stand, wrists chafing red raw against the rope that pulls your arms taut. You stumble forward, waterlogged skirt weighing you down and—it's so strange how the pirate seems to freeze, fingers twitching as if to reach out and steady you.

You can't imagine how you must look to him—damsel in a sodden dress, a dried trail of blood down your neck from where your previous captors' blade nicked you, hair whipping wildly in the gale that threatens to send you over the mountain. "And so can you for all I care!" Lunging forward, you shove your shoulder into his chest, sending him careening off the cliffside. You feel righteous for a split second, until a shout echoes over the hillside.

"As—you—wish!”

And when Jason admonishes you for throwing yourself after him – wandering hands checking you for injury – you lean forward, fitting your mouth against his and letting him bring you back to life.

[chaussetteblanche]

Training with Luke

pairing : luke castellan x fem!reader summary : the evolution of luke training you with a sword word count : 1.3k warnings : none

When you had agreed to Luke trying to teach you how to use a sword, this wasn't what you had been expecting at all. You'd warned him about your inability. Many before him had tried to teach you, but you had never managed to even swing the weapon properly. You had come to the conclusion that swords were your mortal enemy and that you would for sure die at the hand of one.

"Pshh, I don't believe that for one second, you just haven't found the right teacher, doll." Luke had scoffed one sunny afternoon, after you'd confided in him your inability to wield his favourite weapon. You rolled your eyes and pushed his shoulder. "Careful, I think your ego may be inflating." He chuckled, shaking his head. "No, no, but come on, I'm serious." Luke turned to you, angling his head to the side and giving you a soft smile. "Please let me try to teach you. I won't promise anything, you certainly won't be able to beat me, but maybe you can learn the basics without cutting a finger off." You pursed your lips as you thought. After weighing the pros and cons, you finally conceded with a sigh. "Fine, you and your modesty have convinced me." He rolled his eyes. You continued. "But you have to promise to go easy on me." "I promise, pretty girl."

And that is how you found yourself all geared up and very groggy on this Saturday morning. You wiped some of the sleep out of your eyes and yawned once again. The sun was just starting to rise, casting a golden glow on the arena you both stood in. Luke, who stood a few meters away from you, crossed his arms over his chest.

"Why are you so tired anyway?" "Because... I don't know if you remember, but there was a party last night and I-" "Oh, yes, I remember very well. You and Clarisse were on fire, dancing and singing, or should I say shrieking, and pouring everybody more drinks." He chuckled as he remembered the night before, which had only been a few hours ago. He'd been there, of course, he always came to parties, but he'd barely drank anything and had left pretty early. Unlike you. He had claimed he had to train in the morning, and you hadn't realised that had included you until this morning, when he'd come to wake you up. "How dare you. I'll have you know that some Apollo kids have asked me if I'm really sure that I am not one of them, considering my musical talents are extraordinary." You lied, feigning offence. "Yeah, right, that's likely." He snorted. "Anyway, enough chit-chat, get into stance."

You did as you were told, placing one foot ahead and the angling the other slightly outward. Luke circled you, eyes trained to your body. He gently tapped your shoulders, reminding you to keep them straight. You moved them immediately. "Good girl," he praised. You bit back a smile, your stomach flipping.

"Okay, now I'm going to come at you, okay? I'll go easy on you, just like you asked," he smirked. You rolled your eyes at his words, which you knew had an underlying meaning. "Just do it, Castellan." You readied yourself. He nodded once and bolted forward. Before you could register anything or react, you were on the ground with Luke's sword at your neck and a dull pain in your ass. You coughed as dust raised around you. "You know you're supposed to block, right?" he asked, lifting his sword and moving the blade out of your way. He held out his hand, chuckling. "You ass." You took his hand and let him help you up. You rubbed your bum with your free hand. "That was not going easy on me!" "You have to trust me, I really was. If I hadn't I would have done this." Before you could even reply, Luke had kicked your legs out from beneath you and lightly kneeled over your chest, making sure not to hurt you. "I hate you," you spat. "Get off me." You pushed at his legs and sat up. You knew your cheeks were red and you hated yourself for it. You pouted as you looked up at him.

"You see? It's no use. I'm no good with a sword and you can't change that." You folded your arms over your chest, very aware that you probably looked like a disgruntled child. "Darling, don't give up just yet." Luke gently pulled you up by the elbow and picked your sword up off the ground. He wiped some dirt off your cheek. "I'm sorry, that was mean. But don't give up yet! We can still try offence!" You huffed as you took your sword. "Fine. But stop calling me pet names." You didn't actually want him to stop, but if you wanted to take this seriously, he had to stop distracting you.

"If you manage to beat me, I'll stop," he bargained. "That's hardly fair," you sighed as you got into stance and raised your sword. He only shrugged. "C'mon, hit me with your best shot."

Over the weeks, you surprisingly got better at fighting with a sword. You stopped only using your customary bow and arrow and started carrying around a sword, much to the surprise of everyone who knew you. Training with Luke had not only made you better, it had also brought you two closer together. You'd been good friends since you'd arrived at camp, a few months after he did, but you had never spent as much time together as you did now. And such proximity made you question what you felt for him.

You met him one afternoon for training, feeling frustrated. Since you'd got up that morning, everything had gone awry. You'd got assigned shitty chores, had had to break up a fight between two new campers and in the midst had suffered a bird attack. Needless to say, you were looking forward to releasing some anger. But Luke was acting strange.

"Quit going easy on me," you grumbled as you helped him to his feet after knocking him to the ground for the third time. "I'm not going easy on you." He shook his head, frowning slightly. "Yes, you are. Stop it." You glared at him. "I'm not-" You lifted your sword and kicked him in the chest. He didn't even block and fell over once more. You'd never seen his camp shirt so covered in dirt.

"Stop bullshitting me, Castellan." You raised your sword and pointed the blade at his throat. "Okay, okay, fine, I'll stop," he grumbled. He rolled his eyes and pushed your blade away before lifting his hand for you to take. You slapped his hand with the flat of your blade and pointed your sword back at his neck. He frowned. "You're not getting away that easy." "Hey, doll, c'mon-" "No." He sighed and threw his head back, exposing his neck and the coloured beads hanging from it. Your eyes were drawn to his soft exposed skin but your focused again, clearing your throat. "Come on, get up. By yourself." "You asked for it."

He swung his legs across your ankles, making you yelp and fall to the ground. And before you could reach for your sword which had slipped out of your grasp, he had pinned you down by the wrists. "Am I going easy on ya now, darling?" You grimaced and squirmed but the hold he had on your wrists would not budge. And with him straddling your hips, you couldn't move your legs. You looked up at him and saw the coloured beads you knew so well swinging above your face. You swallowed. "No, you're not." "Are you happy?" "I'll be happy when you stop being such a smug ass, Castellan." His laughter was music to your ears.

[thebisexualdogdad]

I can be romantic sometimes - Tim Bradford x Male!reader

“Well don't you boys look handsome,” Angela jokes as you and Tim walk into Luna's charity gala in your suits.

“Why thank you Angela, see Tim I told you you looked good,” you smile at your boyfriend before turning back to Angela and Nyla, “he wanted to stay home and eat pizza and watch Die Hard for Valentine's day.”

“That does sound like Tim,” Nyla laughs.

“The only reason I'm here is because I was promised alcohol and a fancy hotel room to end the night in,” Tim says sarcastically.

“And you will get all of that,” you wink at him.

The gala goes on and Tim does his best to pretend to be interested in all the conversations he's thrown into, the only thing getting him through is his drink and the occasional grab of your ass he's able to sneak in.

Eventually the auction comes to a close and Luna says her thank you speech and Tim drags you to a more secluded part of the ballroom.

“Finally, now can we go to our room?” He says with his hands on your waist, kissing you wantingly.

“Yes, we can go to our room now mister grumpy cop,” you smile into the kiss.

“Of course Lucy showed you that,” he sighs but takes your hand and guides you towards the elevator.

Luckily you're the only ones who enter so Tim can press you into the wall, kissing you harder and starting to loosen your tie. Stumbling into your room you see something out of the corner of your eye and pull back.

“Are those rose petals in the shape of a heart on the bed?” You ask him.

“I can be romantic sometimes,” he chuckles, taking his suit jacket off then yours.

Kicking your shoes off the two of you make it to the bed, you laying back on the rose petals with Tim smiling down at you. He undoes his shirt, letting it hang open as you attempt to get out of your pants, Tim helping you the rest of the way before ridding himself of the remainder of his clothes.

Once both naked he climbs on top of you, kissing you hard as he rubs his cock against your thigh. You feel him getting harder so you reach down to stroke him, Tim moaning from your touch.

“Do you want to top tonight?” You mutter into the kiss.

“God yes,” he sighs.

He kisses down your neck and to your chest as you continue to work him up with your hand, Tim taking two fingers in his mouth then gently swirling them around your hole. He eases one finger inside, letting you adjust then slowly pumping it before adding the second.

When you feel prepped enough you tell Tim, “I'm ready,” and he nods, grabbing the lube he left on the nightstand when he came by earlier to arrange the rose petals.

He lathers himself in the lube, raising your hips and teasing you with the tip. You roll your hips when he pushes the first few inches of his cock inside, moaning loudly when he bottoms out.

Tim looks at you to make sure you're okay to continue and when you give him the go ahead he finds a slow pace with his hips. As he moves faster the rose petals start to bounce on the bed.

You watch the way Tim's abs flex as he's fucking you, Tim's attention on the way your cock is swaying with every thrust. He holds on tight to your hips, staying focused on making you cum.

After a few minutes you feel your orgasm approaching, Tim raising you higher for a new angle that makes your toes curl.

“Right there, just like that,” you moan.

Tim grins, doing his best to hit that spot inside you as your eyes roll back. You reach down to touch yourself, yelling a few obscenities when you cum all over your stomach.

“You are so hot when you cum,” Tim tells you, sweat beading down his chest as he nears his own release.

“Cum inside me Tim,” you reply and he does just that, filling you up as he rides out his climax.

Taking a moment to catch your breath he pulls out, laying down next to you in the rose petals.

“Better than pizza yeah?” You chuckle.

“Way better than pizza,” he agrees.

You roll over and put your hand on his stomach, inching it down to his now flaccid cock, “how about we order room service and get in the shower. I can have a turn topping and by the time we finish you'll get both sex and a pizza.”

His cock twitches at the thought and he jumps up from bed to find the phone, “we have to do this every Valentine's day.”

[sarawritestories]

I Died With Her

Eris Vanserra X Fem Reader

Summary: Beron discovers your mating bond...A cruel prophecy fulfilled.

Content Warning: Death of Main Character, Murder, Unnatural cruelty, Beron's demise.

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: Its short and angsty...and I may be persuaded to make a part two. I also apologize if this one is not my best. I'm in a slump but this

Eris’s blood ran cold as he entered the throne room. His brothers grinning in cruel delight. His father standing in front of a throne that he did not deserve. Beron’s hand threaded through the now tangled mess of your hair. Forcing you to look your mate in the eye while your knees dug into the concrete. Tears streamed down your face as you met Eris’s russet eyes. Memorizing every sharp angle of his beautiful face, every freckle that kissed his pale skin, try to remember the feeling of his soft, thick locks through your fingertips. Memorizing the sweet scent of the fall breeze, embers with a hint of cinnamon that brought you so much comfort. Your beautiful mate, best friend, love of your life.

If only you had had more time.

Eris was staring at you as well, memorizing your sweet doe eyes, the plump curve of your lips, your smile, the warmth of your skin against his. The things he may never get a chance to encounter again, your laugh, your soft snores as you laid on his lap, the way you would scrunch your nose when reading your book, or how your body eased and relaxed simply being near him. How you were his equal in every way and how his body sang in harmony with yours. Clearing his throat he placed his cool mask on, “What is the meaning of this?”

Beron’s smirk was cruel as he yanked your hair back causing you to yelp. “I found something that belonged to you. I must say the bitch was hard to find.” Eris snarled as Beron released his grip and kicked your back, your hands and knees preventing your face from colliding with the ornate flooring. “She is yours isn’t she, Boy?”

“I would never sully myself with a common whore.” Lies, lies. The words felt like ash against his tongue. You lifted your head only slightly, and the solitary wobble of your lower lip broke his façade. Eris met his father’s gaze with fury in his russet eyes and fire roaring through his veins.

“There he is. Eris the lover.” Beron taunted pressing his foot against your back forcing you down on the cold marble and you cried out. “I didn’t raise you to be a romantic.” Beron snarled.

“You didn’t raise me at all.” Eris retorted his lip curling upward.

Beron quirked, “I should have known. Well, it’s a good thing I handled that problem already.” The High Lord of Autumn clapped his hands forcing his weight down on you causing you to whimper in pain. You reached out for Eris, only for one of the guards to intentionally step on your delicate fingers and you bit back your scream. As the guard approached with the head of Eris’ mother detached from her body.

Eris felt the bile rise from his throat at the sight and he clutched at his chest.

“Eris, I want you to listen to me.” The Lady of Autumn held her son close to her bosom. Eris, barely six, snuggled close to the warm scent of his mother. “One day, you are going to find your mate.” She smiled and tucked a loose strand of his copper red hair behind his ear and the young fae leaned into his mother’s touch. “When you do. You need to promise me to take care of them. Love them with all your heart.” She gripped his chin, “You keep them away from your father. Run far away from here.”

Eris scrunched his face, “I don’t want a mate. I want to be with you forever.” He smiled up at his mother, He tilted his head as he watched his mother’s eyes line with silver. “Mama, why are you crying?”

She pressed her soft lips against his forehead, “I just love you so much, My little flame.” Leaning her head against the top of his, “You can be with me for as long as you want.”

“Get off me!” You shrieked bring Eris to the presence, flames licking his skins as two of his brothers grabbed a hold of you to keep you in place as Beron fetched for a blade and Eris’ flames banked out. Your eyes found his once more and she mouthed “I love you.”

He mouthed those three letters back and then bolted toward his father, but not before two of his younger brothers grabbed him and forced him on his knees. Tears began to form, blurring his vision, he desperately tried to blink away to memorize every crevice of your face. “Eris,” Your voice cracked, and Eris could feel your fear and love shot down the bond to him and he felt his heart breaking. “I will see you in the next life. Being your mate has been the greatest gift the cauldron could ever have granted me.” Eris let loose a broken sob. “Promise me. You will move on. You will find reasons to smile. Love freely. Remember that I loved you.”

Eris could barely see, his breathing shallowed as the pain flooded his entire body. “I love you, Little Flame. I’m so sorry.”

You smiled, “I’m not. Being loved by you was the closest thing I would get to The Mother. If I could do it over and never change a thing.” Tears streaked your perfect face and yet being the brave female, he knew you where you straightened your posture. And the last words Eris heard, your sweet voice echoing through the throne room. “Long Live the High Lord of The Autumn Court.” Her eyes drifted to Eris as the eldest Vanserra son watched his father approach. “Eris Vanserra.”

The sword sliced through the air and Eris’s scream thundered through the entire continent. Eris’s body moved on its own, consumed by rage and grief and the numbness that came with the bond deteriorating. In the manner of thirty seconds, Eris Vanserra had lost everything…

And then he saw red.

Refusing to look at the floor, not wanting to see your head detached from your body. He refused to think about the plans he had made with you, a wedding, a family, a life of freedom, a chance to run away. Gone. At the hands of the man who was laughing with his brothers about your demise.

No one disrespects his mate.

Eris had no memory of the events that occurred when he rose to his feet, but when he was done, the entire throne room was in flames, the screams of his brothers and his father drowned by the familiar crackling sound of his flames. Letting the throne room burn, he exited out into the forest, your headless body in his arms. Eris felt nothing, the gold thread that once shined bright, fell limp and became ash. As Eris buried your body in your favorite clearing, he knew one thing was certain.

Any kindness he held in his heart died with you.

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