#just something to sedate what has been going on lately

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Fallen Snow AU, Chapter One, Fossilized Memories:

(Warning: This fic contains dark themes such as abuse, neglect, self-harm, mentioned/contemplated su*cide attempt, sedation, creepy fluff, and platonic yanderes. You have been warned...)

If you're being honest with yourself, you don't remember most of your childhood.

If you're being honest with yourself, you don't want to remember most of your childhood.

Everyone has their reasons to forget things or to ignore them. You have yours. Yet late at night, or early in the pre-dawn hours, it sometimes comes to haunt you.

It's not an easy ghost to be rid of. There's several you'd rather never think of again. But the nightmares... For thr last four years, those nightmares have kept you awake. They've made you scream, cry, shake, even stay awake just to avoid having to go through them again and again. It was too much. It was always too much.

They didn't happen once a month, or once a week, or every few days. It was every. Night. For months now. And you were at your rope's end.

So thats why you're here, in a small diner at the edge of town, trying to drown your sorrows and your sleepiness with coffee and eggs. Coffee burned your tongue and kept you awake; eggs fsatiated the hunger that always gnawed at your insides, that restless pain that clawed at your guts and bit at your ribs. It was just the way it was. You didn't ask to be born with the X gene, and you didn't ask to be a mutant.

Of course you're a mutant. Couldn't be something normal like a student or an assistant or a librarian or a baker. No. You just had to be the one in a thousand person who has some weird power and is universally hated by most humans.

But you'd made it work for you, these last four years. People in a small town don't trust strangers, no... but when that stranger takes any kind of pay, doesn't ask questions, and does some hunting for you and yours... well, they tend to not throw that person out, odd or young or strange as they may be. The town isn't all that bad. It's small, nestled in the snowy clearing between the endless woods and the long, thin road, but it kept its secrets and kept yours, too. The prey here was plentiful enough, the place was fairly quiet, and as far as anyone could tell, you were the only "odd one" around for miles. It was a win-win.

It wasn't hard spending most of your time alone out on errands. The woods offered quiet respite; the lake offered fish; the town offered some company; and your old cabin, nestled in deeper in the forest, offered you relief from the cold and the snow and when people were too much.

The cabin was nice enough. A few boarded windows, the rest draped over with blankets or rugs or drapes, a wooden floor that squeaked when you moved, an old fireplace that kept the place warm, and the old couch you'd found, covered in a nest of blankets and pillows, as close as you could get it to the heat of the fire. It wasn't much, but it was your home, your refuge, and it was all you had.

It was better than what was before it, and that was what mattered...

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You don't know why you decided to get involved when some strange kid wandered into town.

The people here weren't being very open or friendly, even less so to them than they were at first to you. Them being some poor kid covered in a jacket, with blue hair and odd yellow eyes, and currently trying to find anywhere to go to wait out the snowstorm approaching.

"Please... I just need a place to stay for a few hours. I v'ont be here any longer than that. Just to vait out thr storm... please..."

Maybe it's the way he's curling in on himself. Maybe it's the sad, desperate tone in his voice. Maybe you're just tired of being out here yourself.

"He can stay with me... I'll keep him out of trouble," you mutter, pushing forward to glower at the crowd, then at the kid. You sigh, but offer a hand.

You're surprised when he takes it.

You don't show it.

"Come on, my cabin isn't too far. Any broken windows are covered, and I can get a fire started so we don't freeze to death," you grumble as you both trek through the snowy forest floor. The air is clean here, the cold stinging your lungs and the wind biting at your hands and face. The kid doesn't seem quite as bothered, but considering he's a little more covered than you, maybe he's just more cold natured.

When the cabin peeks through the flurry and trees, you drag him along, being careful not trip over the wooden steps or slipping on the icy boards. The moment the door opens, he's inside, shivering and shaking like a dog to get the snow off himself. You snort, but leave him be.

Setting some dry, dead wood in the fireplace, you strike a match, then toss it in. You barely smile at the scent of fresh woodsmoke and the soothing crackle of the flames. You turn sharply when you hear your guest clear his throat.

"Um... thank you... That vas... very kind of you," he says quietly, rubbing his shoulder. You nod, not saying a word. You feel a small teinge when he sits on the cold floor, and find yourself going over to the couch. You drag off a larger pillow and a few blankets, then toss them over him. He yelps, and you can't help but smirk a little.

"Vhat? Vhy'd you do that!"

"You're cold. You need to stay warm. Sit on the cushion, and drape the blankets around you. If you stay lioe that and stay close to the fire, you'll be toasty as a marshmallow in no time," you explain. You gesture at him to move closer to fire, then flop onto the couch. You don't wrap up in your nest, but you lay there, keeping an eye on the kid and the burning wood.

He doesn't look like he's dangerous. No claws, no fangs, nothing out of the ordinary. He's certainly not bigger than you. And as far as you can tell, he's not hostile or sinister. So as far as you're concerned, he's not a problem.

It becomes a problem when he starts talking to you.

"So... are you alone here? It's very quiet," he asks. You narrow your eyes, but answer.

"Eh... it's not a problem."

"But..." He looks upset for a moment, but quickly changes his expression. "Vell... vhat is it like around here? It seems very cold."

You let out a dry laugh at that. "Yep. Cold, freezing, unfriendly. It's normal. Not any worse than anywhere else I've seen."

That doesn't reassure him. If anything, he looks more worried, like you just told him someone hurt kittens around here or had run over their grandma.

"T-that is so?"

"Yeah... but eh, it's not bad. It just takes awhile to grow on ya," you say uncomfortably. You didn't want to upset him, and now you're worried if this kid is about to cry. "The fish here is great. Plenty of trails to walk, lots of cool animals to see, clean snow and fresh air too."

He nods, looking pensive. He stays silent for a few minutes, but goes back to asking questions after a few minutes.

"Hmmm... does my host have a name?"

"Yeah... it's Reader..." It's been ages since you've said your name, or referred to yourself by it. It feels odd, as though adding a small bit of personhood back to you.

"Reader... So, Reader, vhy are you alone out here?" He means it well, you think.

You sit still for a minute. You don't really talk about what happened... It's never done you any good, and it haunts you every night. Why should you think about it in the day? But... well, a little of the truth can't hurt. (It's not because you're lonely, or hurt, is it?)

"Bad crowd. They didn't like me or want me, so I left." No names said, no blame cast. No one needs to know, no one needs to see.

"Oh..." Is it just you, or does his eyes seem to glisten in the light? "I'm very sorry... you seem very nice..."

Nice? Has anyone ever told you you were nice? Or needed? Or helpful? Or even wanted-

No, no no. Do not go there. Now is not the time.

You think your eyes are glistening a little too now.

"Thanks..." you whisper into the warmed air, falling silent after.

The rest of the evening is quiet, as you both try to stay warm and curl in the blankets. You end up going through your rations to give him some jerky, and eventually drift off after hearing him recite some kind of prayer in a different language...

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When you wake up in the early morning hours, he's gone.

The blankets he borrowed are folded neatly, and stacked on the pillow you gave him. There's no trace of his jacket either. When you exit the home to look for him, you find a few tracks... but then they disappear, as though he vanished into thin air. The scent of sulphur wrinkles your nose, but otherwise... no clue to where he went.

You try not to let it bother you, but in the end, you can't help but worry for the poor kid... maybe wherever he is, someone's watching out for him... maybe they love him, and are taking care of him now that he's not here...

With that, you decide to go to go on a walk... maybe the icy winds will keep you awake, and keeps your fears at bay...

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Kurt was happy to be back home. Of course he was! His friends had missed him, so had his pack and his mother and sister and their family. But well... he was worried for his new friend... They weren't in a good place to stay. They were in a cold, lonely town. And they had no one with them, to care for them, to help them or keep them safe or warm...

It didn't sit right with him. It didn't sit right with him at all.

But he didn't even know where to go to find them again, or how to help them.

It took a week before he discovered something odd.

He'd never noticed it before, but there was an old picture hanging in the halls underneath the mansion, the one that led to some of the old sleeping quarters and safety rooms and training halls. Except... well, he knew the faces of his family, of his friends, Scott and Jean and Rogue, Wanda and Pietro and Evan, even Storm and Logan and Victor and Mr. Lehnsherr and the Professor... but there, nestled in the photos as well, was a face he also recognized... a younger version of thr same person he'd only met a week ago... Reader...

And now, he needed to ask the adults a question.

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@hermesserpent-stuff @sugar-soda @vivid-bun @danniloversugar @thewickedweiner

[z0mbiekin]

Saw this

Then made this

[glimmeringtwilight]

Gilded Cage (Part Three)

ok. i'm not going to try to come up with a clever name for this one, this is just. part three. please send an ask or a DM if I missed any CW's! been a while.

Pairing(s): Dottore/Reader, Pantalone/Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

CW: NSFW, drugging (painkillers and other ment), rough sex, biting, threats of mutilation (mild. but it's Dottore), yandere themes, noncon/dubcon, AFAB reader, overstimulation, humiliation

Dottore has been on edge lately. 

You can tell. You can see it in his jaw when he’s sedating you as you lie on the operating table, eyes burning and dark as he stares through you at something presumably only he can see. You can see it in the way his hand sometimes twitches slightly– which bodes terribly for you– as he makes a small incision into your thigh, or your stomach, or your arm.

Most of the time, you think he just cuts into you simply because he can. Because he likes to watch the blood welling from the wound, dripping down your skin. He’s been doing it a lot more lately, sometimes forgetting to sedate you, sometimes forgetting to give you something for the pain, sometimes cutting too deep.

It feels like there’s a storm brewing that you can’t see; curtains drawn so you can’t look out the window and see the magnitude, brace yourself for wind or rain.  

His clones seem to be affected by it, too; usually it’s only ever the younger clones of his that lash out, but even the supposedly older ones are starting to show signs of agitation. You haven’t seen the same test subject twice in what feels like weeks. All of them seem to enter and leave the lab only once– something that should horrify you more than it does, whenever you watch them wheeling the covered bodies past. 

It’s this way for weeks. Dottore stalks around his lab like a harbinger of death, practically oozing poison and malice despite the deceptively calm mask he dons. 

You find out what it is that’s been agitating him when he opens the door to your cell one morning. Not a clone. Not the occasional trembling Fatuus. Him. His eyes burn into you. You can’t make out the emotion in them, but the complete coolness in his expression makes your stomach sink. You wonder, briefly, if he’s going to finally kill you– would that be a mercy, at this point? Killing you? Perhaps not. Knowing him, he’d draw it out. Make it hurt. 

Still, despite the terror that curls its fingers around your throat, you follow him quietly out of the cell and into the lab, staring at the back of his head as you walk and wishing you could read minds so you could at least brace yourself for whatever this is.

The two of you enter the lab and you finally realize what it is that’s crawled under Dottore’s skin, sat at the desk in the corner as though he’s not terribly out of place in the sterile environment. 

Pantalone sits comfortably in one of the chairs near the desk Dottore rarely seems to use, smiling as though he’s received a warm welcome and a parade. Dottore, meanwhile, looks palpably annoyed as he strides past the banker and takes a seat behind the desk, motioning for you to follow. 

It’s… Intensely uncomfortable, to say the least. You rarely find yourself sitting at Dottore’s desk, considering the doctor usually prefers to be conducting experiments rather than sitting and compiling data; he usually delegates that to his clones, who bitch and moan about the boring task. 

So sitting in a chair, next to the two men who’ve each held you captive at different points, as Dottore practically radiates anger… You don’t know what to do. You fold your hands in your lap, avoiding looking at either one, even as you can feel the two of them just… staring. 

You feel like you’re under a microscope, worse than any other time before when you’d been laid out on the operating table under Dottore’s invasive prodding.

Pantalone speaks first, breaking the charged silence. 

“I take it you don’t mind if I verify that this one’s real,” He says, rising from his chair and smiling at the way Dottore visibly bristles. “After all, I’m paying for this, aren’t I? I deserve that much.”

It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about you, and the demeaning way in which he’s referring to you as though you’re some object that might be counterfeit is both unnerving and irritating. You’re careful not to let it show on your face as Pantalone approaches you. 

“What-” You start to ask, but you’re swiftly interrupted by gloved fingers prying open your mouth, prodding around in search of something that isn’t there. You feel them press down on your tongue, ghost over molars, then press against the back of your throat until you gag. 

Somewhat satisfied, the banker pulls his fingers from your mouth and grips your chin firmly with a now-damp glove, turning your head this way and that and ignoring the obvious discomfort painted on your features as the action smears drool on your skin. What is he doing?

You shoot a glance towards Dottore, who is still just watching. He’s obviously pissed– you can see a vein popping in his forehead, belaying his anger on his otherwise blank face. 

Pantalone lets go of your chin in favor of grabbing you by the arms, pulling you up from your chair and motioning for you to spin around in a circle. You do, though you’re still confused, unsure of what’s happening as the banker seems to be appraising you like a precious gem. It’s a different type of poking and prodding than Dottore’s usual tests and checkups, but it’s invasive nonetheless. It’s doubly unsettling that this is the first time you’ve seen the banker without his usual smarmy smile. 

Hands find your shoulders and stop you again, and you bristle when they trace the curve of your spine, exposed thanks to the open back of the hospital gown. You feel them stop, tap something just to the left of one of your vertebrae, and Pantalone spins you back around to face him, clearly pleased. 

You try not to flinch when he takes a lock of your hair in his hands– it’s gotten so long since you’d been brought back to the lab– and brings it closer to his face. His nose crinkles, palpable disgust on his features, and he mutters something about “that vile soap he makes you use”– likely referring to Dottore– before turning around to face the man in question. 

“Are you done ogling?” Dottore asks, his tone clipped. You can’t see him around the banker, but you’re sure he still looks as pissed as before. 

Pantalone tilts his head slightly, smiling, then glances over his shoulder at you. “Perhaps not yet, but I’m satisfied enough for now. You’ll get the funding for your little… project, and I expect to see this one at my doorstep every other month from now on.”

Every other month? You frown. Is this some sort of… custody arrangement that the two men worked out? You don’t know if you want to laugh or not at the absurdity of it all; like you’re the unfortunate child of two divorced bastards, except this is much, much worse.

“Fine,” Dottore grits out, in a tone that suggests it’s anything but. He gets up to shoo the banker out of his lab, but Pantalone merely tuts and makes his way back over to where you’re standing, confused, and rests one hand heavily on your shoulder.

“One month starting today, of course,” Pantalone continues, “It’s only fair, after all, when you’ve been hoarding my poor pet this whole time. I have to make up for lost time, after all.”

He delivers those words with a smile that only seems to irritate Dottore further, red eyes boring holes into him as Dottore visibly seems to be contemplating murder. Pantalone speaks up again before he does anything, however, offering a hollow consolation: “Of course, I’m not cruel. How about a farewell? A parting gift, to… tide you over while they’re gone?”

You don’t like the sound of that, and Dottore seems to pick up on the banker’s suggestion as you’re spun around once more and ushered towards the exam table you’ve become intimately familiar with for the last several months. 

For this supposedly being Dottore’s “parting gift,” Pantalone is awfully remiss to keep his hands– and commentary– to himself. 

“Ah, what a cute noise that was,” You hear him coo, a finger tapping your nose with just enough force to startle you so you flinch, “Don’t you think you’re being a bit rough though, Doctor?”

“Quiet.”

You jostle against the table, gripping the edge of it for support as hips snap into yours with bruising force. Dottore’s fingers are gripping your hips so tightly you’re sure they’ll leave bruises– that’s probably the point, honestly; he’s fucking you like he intends for you to feel it for the entire month you’ll be absent. 

Pantalone’s comments aren’t helping things either; despite the banker’s comment about roughness, it only seems to have encouraged the doctor to go even harder. 

Thankfully, you were given something for the pain, but not from Dottore. Pantalone had pressed a pill into your gasping mouth when Dottore had started, telling you that you were going to need it, and though swallowing was a struggle, you’re glad he did. 

Dull pain and sharp pleasure mingle together, and you’ve long since lost track of the orgasms that have been dragged out of you. You’re starting to numb, honestly, overstimulation bleeding into pain, and you gasp into the table with every sharp thrust into you. 

“Tsk– don’t pass out now,” Pantalone chides, fingers curling around your jaw and biting into your cheeks when your eyes threaten to flutter shut, and Dottore snarls something about cutting your spinal cord if you do; something you sincerely hope is an empty threat, given the black spots dancing in your vision. “You still have another thirty minutes to go.”

You don’t remember there being a timer set, much less a time limit, but you certainly know you can’t last that much longer. Your knees have already long since given out, and Dottore had to hoist you up further onto the table so he could continue, leaving your feet dangling a few inches above the ground. 

You feel weight against your back, heat, smothering you as Dottore leans down to sink his teeth into your shoulder as he spills inside you once more, and you shudder through another weak orgasm in response, your eyes rolling back and your vision blacking out for several long moments. 

Pantalone shakes you back awake before you can slip too far, and you sob as Dottore starts to move again. You already know that you won’t be able to walk for the next few days, if not for the next week. 

Tears blur your vision, the world spinning around you as a gloved hand comes to rest against your head, petting you in what’s likely intended as a comforting gesture but only seems to frazzle you further, overwhelmed and overstimulated as you are. 

It must be Pantalone, because Dottore lets out an irritated noise, sinking his teeth into your skin to leave a new mark as he resumes the harsh pace he’d set earlier. Another hand, this one not gloved, curls around your throat to dig two fingers into your racing pulse as he tries to engrave himself into your flesh through means slightly less violent than cutting you open. 

You can barely keep track of who’s doing what– your vision is too blurred and you’re too far gone to fully piece together a coherent thought before it and the breath are knocked out of you by another snap of Dottore’s hips. One of them reaches down to rub circles into sensitive nerves, and you sob as another climax is ripped unwillingly out of you. 

You black out for longer this time, shaken awake once more by Pantalone. He’s cooing something at you that you can’t make out, drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears and the sound of Dottore’s ragged breaths mixing in with your own. 

It feels like you’re burning up, shivering weakly under Dottore’s crushing weight as the man seems to be pouring every ounce of frustration into his thrusts, and darkness encroaches on the corners of your vision with every movement. 

Another shuddering orgasm. You twitch weakly through it, your body registering the sensation more than your mind does. 

The world seems to tip, swaying like a vessel rocked by choppy waves before finally capsizing. Your vision goes, and you’re pulled into a sea of static. 

It smells like lilacs. 

It’s the first thing you notice when you slowly come to, a stark contrast to the smell of bleach and copper that you’ve become accustomed to. You’re also dressed in some proper clothes– or rather, ”proper,” compared to the usual paper-thin hospital gowns you’ve worn since being brought back to the lab. 

Opening your eyes, you’re greeted with the familiar luxuries you remember seeing when you were last in Pantalone’s care, and the sight would nearly be a relief if consciousness didn’t bring with it the unbearable ache in every inch of your body. There’s a budding headache building behind your temples, stinging pains from various bites and bruises littering your skin like brands.

It aches most between your legs, but there’s an ache in your thighs and your stomach like you’d pulled every muscle within; you probably did, honestly, but you try to push back the memory invading your thoughts and you sit up in bed. 

“You’re awake,” A silky voice drawls from behind you just as you sit up, and you turn around to see Pantalone sitting in an armchair in the corner, one leg folded over the other as he reads a book. He doesn’t look up as he addresses you; he just pats his knee, indicating he expects you to come to him. You’re not sure you can walk…

Climbing out of the soft bed hurts, various muscles protesting the movement, and you’re not surprised when your knees give out on you the second you rest your weight on your feet. Pantalone simpers at you from where he sits, amused, but he makes no move to help you stand up or walk. He just pats his thigh again, smiling at you. 

“I can’t walk,” Even talking hurts, evidenced by the crackling of your voice when you speak. 

“Then crawl.”

He says it so simply, as though you should have already known the answer. Your ears burn with humiliation. You don’t move.

“Don’t make me punish you on your first day back,” He says, setting his book down so he can properly address you. His tone is disappointed, but you don’t miss the way the bastard’s smile widens at the idea. 

Pantalone’s punishments aren’t nearly as severe as Dottore’s are, at least in terms of pain. Rather than physical punishments, he seems to prefer humiliation. You’re tempted to try your luck, but… everything hurts. You don’t want him to decide you haven’t earned the privilege of clothes– or find something equally humiliating and degrading– on top of the pain you’re already in.

Crawling hurts. Every muscle protests the movement, yet again, but you force yourself to ignore the aches, to ignore the humiliation burning beneath your skin at being made to crawl over to him. 

When you finally reach him you sit up unsteadily so you can climb into his lap, but you’re surprised when he stops you by pressing a gloved hand firmly against your head to keep you planted on your knees in front of him. 

Instead of addressing your confusion, Pantalone merely smiles and takes hold of your wrist, raising your arm to inspect the scars and bruises littering your skin from the months spent under Dottore’s care. His face twists with disgust, shifting into faux sympathy when he addresses you again, “Poor thing. Look what he’s done to you…”

His free hand comes to rest on his knee as he straightens up, uncrossing his legs, and you hear a steady tap tap tap as he drums his index finger against his knee thoughtfully. “Aren’t you glad I’ve brought you back from that wretched place?”

It’s a leading question. You know he expects you to answer correctly, and you get the sense he’s leading into something; a demand. “...Yes.”

“I knew you would be.” He says, dropping your wrist and leaning back comfortably in the armchair. He looks down at you, clearly pleased with the position you’re in. He props one elbow against the arm of the chair, resting his head in his hand as he smiles down at you. “Why don’t you be a good pet and show me just how appreciative you are?”

The implication isn’t lost on you, but whatever hope you’d had that he might mean something else is dashed as he spreads his legs slightly further apart to make room for you between them, and you don’t miss the growing bulge in his dress pants. 

Your hands are numb as you reach for his belt, and you barely flinch when his hand rests heavily against the back of your hand as you take him into your mouth. 

One cage for another. You’re not even sure you’re relieved, because every part of you still aches from the reminders Dottore had left you with. 

His hand presses against the back of your head, guiding you to take him further into your mouth, and you struggle to breathe around his length. You nearly gag as he pushes you down further, pushing back in resistance, and Pantalone clicks his tongue in disappointment but thankfully, lets up. Maybe he doesn’t want to ruin his pants. 

“I’ll get you something for the scarring,” He murmurs, fingers curling in your hair as you bob your head up and down his length. “And those garish bruises.”

Whether it’s an insult towards you or Dottore, you’re not sure. You try not to focus on it, instead focusing on the task at hand. You lave your tongue along the base of his shaft, earning a small shiver and a heady sigh from him. 

He’s silent for a few minutes as you continue to pleasure him, but you feel him boring holes into the top of your head. You don’t look up at him; you don’t want to. You’re trying to get this over with, and hoping that his silence means you’re doing well. 

The hand on the top of your head leaves, and you flinch when you feel him trace his fingers over one of the scabbed over bites left by Dottore, nearly biting down in surprise. You swallow, suppress the urge, resuming your pace even as he traces the outline of every bite left littered along your neck, your collarbone, your shoulders.

Pantalone straightens up a little, pressing his hand against the back of your head again to force you to take more than you already can. This time, he doesn’t relent when you push back, just holding his hand still until you stop whimpering and you manage to swallow back the urge to gag. 

“Hush.” He tells you in response to your muffled noises, groaning quietly at the way your throat vibrates around his cock.

You eventually relax, eventually get used to the feeling, and he lets you pull back slightly before he’s pressing down again, repeating until tears are spilling down your cheeks as you struggle not to reflexively bite down each time you gag slightly around his length. 

“How would you feel about something… permanent?” He asks, and his fingers are tracing the bites again. You try to pull back to answer, but his other hand stops you and he rocks his hips lazily into your mouth. A rhetorical, then; he doesn’t care for your answer.

You try to blink back your tears as you resume the pace you’d set, sucking lightly on his cock as his hand curls into your hair. It’s hard to focus on what he’s saying as his hand keeps threatening to force you down farther than you can take, and you’re focusing on stamping down the swelling nausea. 

“Something- hm-” He hums, and you can tell he’s getting close now, with the way his breathing is starting to deepen, his hand tightening its hold on your hair- “something tasteful. Not like those eyesores he leaves you. A collar is- fuck- too… too easy to remove.”

You don’t like where this is going, but humming your dissent only earns you a pleasured hiss and a rumble of praise spilling from his lips before he’s curling his fingers around the back of your neck. 

It’s the only warning you get before he shoves your head down, holding you there as cum spills into your mouth and down your throat. It takes everything in you to relax your jaw, and you pull back gasping and sputtering the second he relents.

By the time your vision clears and you blink back the tears spilling from your eyes, he’s already tucked himself back into his pants and is just watching you struggle to catch your breath. He doesn’t even comment on the mess of cum and drool that spilled from your lips onto the floor. 

It takes you a second to realize he’s not staring at you, but rather at the marks left on your skin. 

After a minute of tense silence, he smiles again, patting his lap this time in invitation for you to sit, and you ignore the familiar sting of humiliation as you obey. Again, one of his hands curls around the nape of your neck, tracing some pattern into your skin. 

“Right here,” He murmurs, though he doesn’t elaborate when your brows pinch together in confusion.

It takes you a second to realize he’s tracing invisible letters across your nape, then another few to realize it’s his name that he’s tracing into your skin. 

Something tells you that Dottore isn't going to be pleased to see you again at the end of the month.

[lazycats-stuff]

Hey cats, I was the one who sent you that anon that's alright with me, I don't mind but is an gen z reader yeeted to the dc verse be okay? I could picture Bruce almost growing white hair because of reader who is an epitome of ✨unhealthy coping mechanism✨

Oh yeah, a reader just yeeted in there... Some universe doing some shit and Bruce adopts him... While also losing his mind. I love it. Lets go. It's a bit short, but... I like it.

Summary: (Y/N) is Gen Z. Bruce is loosing his mind.

Warnings: unhealthy coping mechanisms, Gen Z ones at that.

Bruce knew that each generation is different. They have different opinions, don't like to be told what to do exactly, although that's more specific to the newer generations. That is something that Bruce knew all to well. Gen Z wanting to have a balance between work and personal business. Bruce could respect that. But one other thing that shocked Bruce about Gen Z is the fact they have so many unhealthy coping mechanisms.

How would Bruce know?

He has adopted a teen who simply got, according to Jason and other younger heroes, yeeted into their universe. Universe where Justice League and it's heroes are real. And where DC comic universe is real. (Y/N) was forced to explain to the entire Justice League what DC is, what does it contain. And that has only applied to comic books. Then he had to explain cartoons, movies, video games... Absolutely everything.

Bruce found it to be interesting, the entire multiverse essentially, all of them are carefully planned out... Bruce found them to also be a great source of information. What to avoid, what to do... It was an incredible well of information and has decided to investigate this even more.

And while doing so, keep (Y/N) close to make sure that he has the information he needs.

And while (Y/N) is a nice kid, he has some unhealthy... Coping mechanisms as he calls them.

First one being jokes. Humor is something that can help a person if they feel down. Or if they simply want to deflect. And (Y/N)'s sense of humor is rather... Dark, to say the very least. Bruce would more often than not get gray hairs if he heard (Y/N) joking about his will to live being gone. He knows that (Y/N) is not suicidal... Right?

Humor is simply used to deflect... Right?

Bruce didn't quite like how (Y/N) was chronically online. Sure, teens spend time on their phone, but this is borderline an addiction. Bruce has tried to solve the problem with putting restrictions, taking the phone away. Put settings that don't allow (Y/N) to be online from certain times. That was to try to make (Y/N) sleep better, since he's clearly online into the late hours of the night.

Bruce simply wants the only child in the house who is not on patrol to have a normal sleeping schedule. Is that a crazy thing to ask for? It should be a normal thing to ask for, right? Being chronically online is far from good. Far, far, from good.

Also, hyper fixation.

(Y/N) was more invested in fiction rather than reality. Which would be fine. If it didn't interfere with his life. In what way, I might hear you asking? He's been neglecting his hygiene, gets angsty and anxious if he is not near his hyper fixation. Bruce never knew that Gen Z is this... Bruce shouldn't say annoying, but this was getting out of hand. Rather fast.

Bruce had to take action.

Otherwise he would get a lot more grey hairs. Way more. Way more.

" (Y/N), go to sleep. " Bruce pleaded, suited up and ready to go on patrol, however, he can't go, knowing that (Y/N) won't go to sleep. And everyone needs their 7 to 9 hours of sleep. Besides Bruce and the boys that are... On their night job. To put it mildly.

" I'm not tired Bruce. "

A common response in the most recent days from (Y/N) to Bruce.

" I swear to God, I'll sedate you with ketamine if you don't go to sleep. I'll knock you out with it to the point you'll be sleeping for days. " Bruce threatened and then came the infamous two words.

Alright, bet.

Bruce was seeing red at the mere thought of those words. They were both taunting and dismissive. Not something to be saying to an already stressed father anyway. And while Bruce has grown to love (Y/N) as his son, he was going to lose his mind with him.

" Alright, here's a deal. You go to sleep and sleep through the night and I'll take you to see your favorite artist. "

(Y/N) tilted his head, frowning.

" Promise? "

" I promise you. I swear it to you. I'll get you VIP tickets. I'll make sure to take you myself and pull strings. But for the love of God and everything else, go to sleep! "

[sunnie-angel]

Always and Forever

jason todd x f!reader

ao3 link

summary: jason tries to end things after a bad patrol. you won’t give him up without a fight.

tags: f!reader, smut, kissing, biting, piv sex, unprotected sex, fingering (mention) cock warming, orgasm denial (kind of), belly bulge, size kink (if you squint), overstimulation, creampie (if you think this is misproperly tagged please let me know) minors and ageless blogs do not interact

rated e (mdni) | wc: 5.5k

a/n: this is my first time writing smut (or a fic of this length) so please be gentle! if you find jason a little ooc, i’m still working on getting his ‘voice’ right, so just consider him one of the many versions we’ve all come to love. this started as a single smut scene and grew feelings and a bit of plot from there. this was definitely a labour of love so i hope you all enjoy it!

“We’re done. Us. All of it. You’re free to leave.”

The modulated voice of the Red Hood startles you. It’s nearly six in the morning, and you’ve been up since three when Jason didn’t return from patrol like he promised. He’s still in his Hood gear, hasn’t bothered to take off the helmet or even the boots crusted in who knows what. The leather jacket has taken a beating, and in the dim light of your apartment living room it glistens damply like he was caught in the earlier rain. He won’t even look in your direction, hands fisted at his sides, the darkened leather of his gloves taut across his knuckles. Jason didn’t come home like he promised and now he can’t even bear to look at you as he tears your heart in two. It’s understandable then, that when your voice returns to you and you can breathe around the lump in your throat, that your voice shatters the silence.

“Look at me. Look. At. Me.”

Only the way that his body locks up, somehow tenser than before, deflates you. A whole night’s worry and frustration drained away.

“Jay? Please take off the helmet and look at me.”

His black curls are matted to his forehead with sweat. His one white streak is dark with it,. Somewhere along the way he must have ditched the domino mask, because the sight of his bare face twists something tight in your chest. His beautiful eyes are red rimmed, tear tracks still staining his cheeks. His lips look bitten raw. He looks at you the way a dying man looks at salvation. Realization dawns slowly for you.

“You didn’t get caught in the rain, did you?”

A sharp nod, jaw clenching, but he doesn’t look away. Now you’ve noticed, you can’t stop. There’s a faint blood spray on the front of the helmet, barely visible from where Jason’s placed it on the counter. The leather jacket is soaked through with blood, darker splotches on his tac pants from where it’s followed gravity. The grime on his boots now looks rusty, though that might just be your imagination. Jason’s come home hours late covered in blood and is telling you to leave. This time, your voice is startlingly gentle.

“Jay we talked about this. You promised no life altering conversations when you’re covered in blood, remember?”

At the time, had been a joke. A promise made after a close call, when Jason was still loopy from sedation and painkillers and insisting he was going to duel Doc Leslie for your honour. Finally lucid, he had sheepishly promised no more dramatic ultimatums when he's covered in blood.

“But you need to—“

“No. You promised. What’s going to happen is you’re going to leave all your gear at the front door and we’ll deal with it tomorrow. You’re going to tell me if you’re injured and let me fix you up if you are. Then you’re going to shower. Then, and only then are we going to have this discussion.”

“I don’t—”

“Please.”

He caves at the way your whole body sags under the weight of one word. Carefully toes off his boots and socks, peels the stiff tac pants off, and lays his top and jacket on top of the whole pile. Reveals a smattering of bruises down his arms and along his rib cage. To get to the ensuite he has to walk past you and through your shared bedroom. The heat of him passing by has you turning after him, a star caught in his orbit, words curling to ash on your tongue. It’s only when he’s firmly out of sight that you allow yourself to collapse into the couch. Head lolling back, gaze fixed on the ceiling. Blankly you watch the headlights of passing cars loom and fade across the ceiling.

You do your best not to cry but wet trails burn down your face. You dash them away, but it does nothing to make you feel better. You don’t know if you’ll survive the coming conversation, a litany of “he doesn’t love me anymore, or at least not enough to keep me” is running through your head. Something is wrong, you think. Usually after a rough night, Jason can’t get enough of you. He comes home to your shared apartment and holds you, needs to feel the touch of your skin and the heat of your breath to truly know you’re alive. He's never the most talkative on the worst nights, but he always reaches out. Mumbles into your throat just to hear your replies, get you to distract him with chatter about your own day. He’ll act like he’s touch starved, press his split knuckles to the back of your hand, pull you into him until his nose is buried in the crook of your neck, pet and touch whatever bare skin is in reach. You're used to shaking off the vestiges of sleep to Jason between your thighs, fingers and tongue skillfully opening you up before he slides his cock inside, splitting you open just to feel you tighten around him. Tonight he hasn’t even reached out to hold your hand.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Jason stands in the doorway to your shared bedroom. Wet from his shower, the streetlight filtering through the curtains illuminating the water still beading on his skin. The bruises look less stark now. You look at him and feel love. You look at him and see the man you gave the most vulnerable parts of yourself to, ready to hand them back to you on a platter. Rolling your head to look at him properly, you notice he hasn't bothered to dress, wrapped in a towel like he couldn't wait to put off this conversation a moment longer. Your eyes meet, and it snaps whatever trance he's in. He shuffles over to you, eyes asking for permission to join you on the couch. The couch dips under his weight, and you turn on your side to face him, legs curling up to your chest.

"I'm glad you're home."

You reach out to brush his face, aching to remind yourself that's he's real but he shies back from the motion, denies you both the comfort of contact.

"Don’t. I'm not— I'm not good for you. We can't— I'm not gonna do this to you anymore."

"Do what to me Jason?" you ask, genuinely puzzled "Be us? I chose this, I chose you, and I have kept on choosing you from the beginning. I don't understand." By the end, you're truly pleading, begging with your voice and eyes and body for him to explain this to you. To explain why he's trying to make this choice for you.

"Bein' with me puts you in danger," he says slowly, carefully. "You think you know what you've signed up for but you don't. Not really. I painted a target on your back and now the worst of Gotham are gonna come sniffin’ at your door. You're never gonna be safe with me and I don't want to be the reason why you're hurt. You deserve better than me and a life of looking over your shoulder. I can't give you that, I'll never be able to give you that."

And oh, that hurts. The way he says it, dripping with self-loathing and certainty, cracks your heart open. It speaks of long held fears and convictions that he will never be good enough, that he is too broken and too dangerous to be loved.

"Did something happen tonight?" you ask, searching for a reason, anything, that would have brought old wounds to light.

"What?" Tension laces his body tight. There's a wild look in his eyes, shifting closer to green than blue.

"Jay, you made all of those risks clear to me before we were even real friends. So, what happened tonight to make you so sure that you'll be the death of me?"

Something about the way you state the question so matter of factly unsettles him enough to reply. "Heard some chatter down at docks about Black Mask setting up a new warehouse. Tonight was just supposed to be easy. Just about fuckin' with him, get B and Wing time to gather evidence on his new operation. He was waiting for us, probably set the whole thing up as a trap. Did a whole melodramatic monologue too 'bout how if we were gonna threaten his operation — the only thing that means anything to him — then turnabout’s fair play."

He's paused in his remembered anger, hands flexing against the couch cushions. You nod, trying to encourage him, not wanting to break the spell that got him talking in the first place. But you really don't like where this was headed. When he speaks again, its in a whisper.

"He knew your name. He knew who you are to me and he knew your fucking name."

The fear that jolts through you at that statement is matched by the intensity in his eyes. Distractedly you notice that you can’t feel your fingers. Heart racing, the only thing grounding you is the weave of the cushion under your cheek.

"Okay, we can— we can handle this. It'll be difficult but I can—"

"He's dead," Jason interrupts.

"He's what." All trains of thought come to a crashing stop.

"I killed him."

Its a confession and a plea for forgiveness wrapped in one. He can't quite look you in the eyes anymore, his whole demeanor screaming shame. Stunned and wide-eyed all you can do is drink him in, this incredible, ridiculous man. Car headlights cut through the shadows, lighting up the planes of his face and catching on the still too-green of his eyes. Somewhere along the way you've moved closer. His face is only a breath away and in the silence it feels unbearably intimate.

You can't help blurting out, "Can I kiss you?" The thought of being unable to touch him any longer is utterly unthinkable. Not when he's right in front of you, lips parted and waiting for you to pronounce judgement over him. He nods, shyly, and then you're in his lap. His face is cradled in your hands, eyes wide as he looks up at you. His lips are warm when you finally give in to the urge to taste him. They're rough from where he's bitten them but they're pliant against yours. Drawing back, you rest your forehead on his, unwilling to be any further apart.

"He had your name in his fuckin' mouth and I couldn't let him live for that. So yeah, I killed him. Him and every one a his lieutenants in the room that heard." Jason pauses, tries to gauge your reaction, continues on more self-consciously. "B and Wing couldn’t stop me and I didn’t want them to. He was a threat to you and I didn't know. You could have died and I wouldn't even've known what to protect you from." He tries to pull back from you, but you don't let him. Lets his motion pull you along with him, hands still cradling his face.

"Is that where all the blood is from? You're not hiding any injuries besides the bruises from me?" you ask worriedly. He's done it before, but you'd hoped he'd learned to trust you better. Jason goes to remove your hands from his face and you don't resist. He presses soft kisses to each of your palms before folding them to his bare chest right over his heart.

"Fuck sweetheart, I tell you that I've just killed a roomful of men and you want to know if I'm okay? You're not angry that I killed, again?" And oh he looks so ready for you to reject him. Waiting for you to turn away, to call him a monster, for your love to turn to horror.

When you speak, the words come out slowly, each syllable weighed out with care. "Am I bad person if I say that I'm grateful?" You can feel his heartbeat speeding up under your hands as you speak. "Because I am Jay, I'm so, so grateful. I'm grateful that I'll never have to worry about a bullet in the dark or getting taken off the street. Mostly I'm grateful that I won't be used to hurt you. But I'm also so very sorry Jay that you had to kill again." He shudders at that, closes his eyes and squeezes your hands tight tight tight. "I know that you were trying so, so hard not to kill, to live by your family's rules and I'm so sorry that you had to break that promise to yourself. Can you forgive me for putting you in that impossible position?"

"I— I don't need your forgiveness, not for this. But don't you see? I'm the reason you were danger. If I hadn't a been quick enough, if there's ever a day when I'm not fast enough, then you'd've died." At that he stops, swallows thickly, like he's considering a world where he doesn't save you. "This doesn’t end just ‘cause Black Mask’s dead. It’s every enemy the Hood has ever made knowing that my heart’s walking around outside my body.” And that, that makes your breath catch in your throat. Stuns you enough that you’re not fully prepared for what he says next. “So this, you and me, it's gotta be done. I'll move out tomorrow, pack things up later. I won't leave you unprotected, I'll— I'll still patrol but you won't have to see me again. You can have a clean start."

Now, now you are angry. Pushing off his chest you lever yourself upright, forcing him to look up at you. Straddled across his lap your balance is precarious at best but you need him to see you, to realize that what you say next is what you mean with every wretched part of you.

"No."

"No?" He's looking up at you, glazed eyes and mouth open wide with shock.

"No. Jason Peter Todd you do not get to make this decision for me." With every word you push your finger into his chest for emphasis, your whole body shaking with the force you're putting behind your words. "I knew the risks because you told me about them. I decided that I could live with them if it meant having you. I told you always and forever. I meant it then and I mean it now. So this, you and me, it’s over when I agree it is. I gave you my fucking heart and this is me not accepting it back. You tell me I’m free to leave anytime, well I’m not.” His hands have fallen to your hips where they clench and unclench. “You haven’t been able to keep me out of your sight lines for more than three minutes tonight. You can’t go a day without touching me, feeling me up and getting your cock wet. I know you don’t sleep half so well if I’m not in your bed and neither can I. I know the way you look when you think nothing you’ve done has ever been good enough and the face you make when you feel like a hero. I know you to your bones and you know me. You want me to live a life that you’re not a part of, well I won’t." Suddenly fed up with the chafing of the towel on your poor inner thighs you try to shift, when you feel him hard under the thin layer of the bath towel. You feel Jason freeze up, time crystallizing around you before speeding back up like a poorly wound tape.

“Off. Off now” You start pawing at the blasted towel unsuccessfully, before giving up and going for your own sleep pants. You’re half way through wiggling them off before Jason’s brain catches up with you and then he’s scrabbling to tear the towel off and get you bare. You grab his hardening cock and guide it to the entrance of your cunt. You’re still not slick enough for this, didn’t spend ages getting opened up on fingers first, but you’re desperate enough to make it work. His hands around your thighs are like iron, clinging to you like a life preserver. You take it slow, letting gravity do the work of spearing you open on his cock, unable to take him to the hilt in one swift motion the way you ache to. Jason’s a big man, always towering over you in size, and his cock is perfectly large to match. Already the stretch is just the other side of painful, the thickness of him cleaving you in two. You gasp like you’ve been punched with every inch downwards. By the time your hips meet his pelvis his stomach muscles are clenched and twitching from the effort of not just fucking up into you and taking what he wants. His fingers are buried in the couch cushions. Deliriously you wonder if the cushions will still be intact by the end of this conversation.

"So tell me again," you pant, "tell me why you think you can just walk away from me and all the love we have like it's nothing." Jason groans at your words, buries his face in your throat, hips still twitching with aborted thrusts.

"Please, please baby. Let me move— shit, let me make you feel good. God, sweetheart you're so fucking tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me." The growing roll of his hips is distracting. He's so fucking thick, this position making him feel like he's somewhere in your stomach, every flex of his muscles bullies him deeper, threatens to shake all the thoughts out of your head. That just won’t do. You take back control with a soft hand on his chest pushing him back until he's leaned right back against the couch cushions.

"You started this conversation Jay. It’s not done until you finish it. Besides, you’re the one that wants to put a stop to all this." You punctuate your words with a single calculated grind of your hips, make him claw at your hips with abandon. Revel at the weight of him inside of you. Trail your hand up his chest so you can thread your fingers into his damp curls. "Why should I let you move, hmm? Give me that list of reasons, and maybe I'll let you fuck me when we're done talking." His pupils are blown so wide you can barely see the colour of his eyes anymore.

It takes a few false starts before he can put a coherent thought together. "Being— being with me makes, oh god, makes you a target. People'll go through you, tryna hurt me. You're gonna get hurt cus'a me, could die fr'me." He's trembling all over now, words slurring together and gasping for air. He settles a little when you run your other hand down his chest to trace his y-shaped scar, lean in and kiss him slow and sweet. Nip and tease at his already abused bottom lip.

"Love that ship went and sailed the first time you talked to me," you say. "There's no putting that back in the box and hoping everyone will forget that we were us." Taking your time, you mouth along his jawline, feel his hand slide under your shirt to come settle on the small of your back. "Say we split up, what then? Doesn't matter how often you swing by, someone'll always try and find a way. Tonight was just a reminder. How does breaking both of our hearts make that go away?" Nuzzling into that sweet space below his jaw, you can feel the way his pulse races and cock twitches in you. All the while you keep your hips tortuously still, warming his cock with your cunt, enjoying the stretch of him. A tug of his hair gets him talking again.

"I'm not a— not a good man. I've killed a lot a people, don't even regret most a'em." He can't look at you as he says it, eyes fixed on a spot over your shoulder. His hand on your back flexes, fingers tightening around your hip bone.

"Didn't we just go over this? Jay I'm glad you killed those men, and if that makes you a bad person so am I." This time its him that goes in for a kiss, latches on to the plush of your lips, licks his way inside. Cradles your skull and pulls you closer, has to stop kissing you to gasp when that shifts his cock inside of you.

"Sweetheart, you're the best person damn person I know," he breathes into your mouth. Traces over your cheekbone with the tip of his nose. "You're the best fuckin' thing to happen to me. But you shouldn't hafta decide if you're okay with me killing people. Shouldn't be something you gotta think about at all." There it is again, that tinge of self-loathing. And that's what it’s really all about isn't it?

"You're not making me do anything. You think I didn't know who I was saying yes to when you asked me out to dinner? That I was unaware of Hood's brand of justice? That unlike your family, I didn’t already approve of your methods? Love, I was grateful for you before you'd even walked into my life." Its a confession you hadn't said out loud before, but maybe you should've. Something about your faith in him has Jason whining at the back of his throat like a wounded animal. He tries to buck his hips but freezes when the hand in his hair forcefully tugs his head back, exposes the vulnerable line of his throat.

"Can't just say that sweetheart. Can't just say that and not let me fuck you full." Another tug at his hair has him moaning, the cords of his throat standing out. "C'mon, c'mon. You're so wet and so warm for me. I'll make you feel— feel so good." On the last word he tries to thrust up but you were expecting this, dig your knees into the couch to leverage up off of him at the same time he moves forward. You bite down on the soft skin of his throat before pressing a kiss to the forming bruise. Let go of his hair to clasp the side of his neck, rub your thumb over the hinge of his jaw. Let his head fall forward to your chest, resting his brow on your collarbone.

"I said after our conversation, didn't I? And those aren't your only reasons, are they?" you tease. "You can fuck me whenever you want Jay, you just have to be honest first."

He’s torn, you can tell. Caught between chasing his pleasure at the steep price of his darkest fears, but also wanting to do right by you, as misguided as this attempt is. But he’s been so truthful so far, deserves a reward for how good he’s been. So you clamp down, hard, feel his cock brush against that soft part of your gut that makes you shiver with pleasure. Enjoy the punched out sound that wrings from him. Grind your hips down in a filthy circle, once, twice. Then just as suddenly stop. Let him pant and shake, breath warm in the contours of your throat.

When he finally speaks, his voice is so small you can barely hear him. "M'scared." He shudders as he says it. Something in the curve of his spine screams vulnerable, sparks an itch in your fingers to touch and so you do.

"Think 'm too broken for you to love. Think 'm too broken to love you right. Scared one day that the pit's gonna burn too bright and I'll hurt you." Like a broken dam, the words come tumbling out so quickly now. All you can do is keep stroking his back, this giant of a man rendered so small in your arms. "That I'll wake up one day and it'll be my hands covered in your blood." The hate and self-loathing is almost palpable, an oil slick shadow creeping along the floorboards. You could cry from the way his voice shakes and cracks.

“Oh, love.” And this time it’s your voice cracking. “I’ve never thought of you as broken. There’s never going to be a day where I think you’re too broken for me to love. If the day ever comes that you do break, I’ll pick up all the shiny pieces with my bare hands if I have to. I’ll put you back together again even if it cuts me open because that’s what we do Jason. You don’t think there aren’t parts of me I’d rather smooth out too? You don’t have to love me perfectly to love me right.” He’s straightening up now, trying to get a better view of your face, needs to see the truth of your words. His arms have moved around you like a vice, holding on as if you’ll disappear if he lets go. “You’ve never hurt me Jason. Scratch that, you’ve never hurt me before tonight and your stupid, noble attempt to break up with me. But not once have you laid your hands on me and not once have I been afraid of you.” He tries to interrupt, opens his mouth to speak but you’re not finished. You lay finger over his lips, force him to let you say your piece. “But I know that the problem isn’t my trust in you, it’s yours. Besides Black Mask and his thugs, did you hurt anyone else tonight?” At the shake of his head you continue. “There you have it. Even tonight, when you had every reason to spin out of control you didn’t hurt anyone you didn’t mean to. So talk to me. We’ll figure this out. Hell, we’ll find you a therapist if that’s what you want. So trust me, at least, even if you can’t trust yourself.”

You’d swear there were tears in his eyes if you didn’t already know never to trust the early morning light. It’s past dawn now and in the silence Jason looks like something out of a fairytale. The weak golden light makes him look so alive, so vibrant. He sits there still as stone, holding you tight in his lap, dumb with the weight of your love and acceptance. His grin, when it breaks over his face, is a little watery but possibly the most precious thing you’ve ever seen.

“There’s really no scaring you off, is there?” It’s a weak joke, but he’s trying.

“No. There isn’t.” If your words don’t convince him then the tone of satisfaction ringing through them would. Pushing at his shoulders you maneuver him as close to lying down as you can manage on your old couch. Tearing off your oversized sleep shirt (stolen from Jason of course), you’re finally as bare as he is. Perched over him, you enjoy the view of him splayed out like an offering. Reaching for his arm, you find his hand, place it on the curve below your belly and lace your fingers over the back of it. You push his palm down into you to feel the hard swell of where his cock is curving you out, carving out a place in your guts and moulding your cunt to the shape of his cock. You can see the exact moment his restraint snaps when he realizes he’s feeling himself through you. Let him jack knife up into you, feel the way his hardness moves under his palm. Enjoy the way it feels to finally have him drag his cock through you. But he’s trying to be respectful and you haven’t given him the go ahead yet. He restrains himself to shallow rocking motions, unable to stop himself completely, but the effort this is costing him is clear by his straining muscles and wide eyes.

“You paying attention Jay? This—” and this time you clench down on his cock as you press his hand to the shape of your womb just to hear him choke, “is yours. And you left it aching and empty for hours. You made such pretty promises earlier.” For this last part you lean down real close, brace yourself with an arm over his shoulder, wanting to make sure he doesn’t miss a thing. “And our conversation just ended.” He takes it as the permission it is and slams into you, deeper than before like you can feel him in you throat. Hands an iron grip around your waist, pulling you down to meet each sharp rolling thrust. Bullies his cock into you until he finds the angle that has sparks running under your skin, keeps hitting that angle with all the precision and aim of a sniper with his marksmanship. At this angle, his head’s at the perfect height to mouth at your breasts. You can feel him smiling around a nipple as he listens to you moan, only detaching to give the other breast the same kind of enthusiastic attention. Your arm finally gives out, falling down onto his bare chest. Limp, you let him manoeuvre him how he wants you, a rag-doll for your mutual pleasure. All the while he doesn’t stop fucking into you, any semblance of earlier control gone.

“Fuck, sweetheart you don’t know— don’t know what you do to me.” He’s gasping between each word, but the meaning of them still makes their way to your blissed out brain. The slick drag of his cock head along your clenching insides making everything else fade away. You can feel your orgasm building, heat pooling and growing with every thrust. Jason can feel you tightening up around him, knows the signs of your body so well. He starts circling your clit with his fingers, alternating pressure with his thrusts. The long drag and stretch of his cock, almost too much for you to take, never falters. It bumps up against your cervix, fills you up so completely that there’s room for nothing else but it and the pleasure it rips from you. Your release tears through you like wildfire, and for a moment dark spots cloud your vision. You know that you’ve clamped down, tight and hot and slick by the punched out groan from Jason, the way his head falls back onto the couch. But through it all he still keeps pumping into you.

He bites and sucks at your throat, a distraction from your over sensitivity. He leaves your clit alone, stops assaulting all your senses so viciously. Listens to you mewl from how sore and sensitive you are from having taken his cock nearly dry, having held it in you for so long before getting your cunt battered by it. “M so sorry sweetheart. Didn’t wanna hurt you. Gonna— gonna make it up to you. For the rest a m’life.” Now he’s rutting into you, all rhythm and finesse gone in pursuit of his own pleasure. Fire is running through your veins, gathering in your cunt and burning you whole. Your legs are weak and trembling where Jason’s placed them, hands trailing down your thighs to hook under your knees and pull your legs wider. Like this you’re trapped, pinned against him by the spread of your cunt, clit wet and grinding against his pubic bone every time he fucks back into you. You’re so close to another orgasm, quicker than you’ve ever been before.

“Please— Jay please, don’t— don’t stop. Need you. Need you har— harder. Jay. Jay” Jason being Jason, obliges. Your whole body jolts from the force of him inside you. You’re so frustratingly close, dancing on the knife’s edge of oblivion. Jay’s close too. You can tell by the way his breathing speeds up, the way he wraps one arm over your shoulder to keep you in place as he fucks your cunt raw. What sends you both over the edge is Jason taking his other hand and pushing down hard on the swell of your abdomen, the both of you feeling his cock kick and spurt inside of you. Heat paints your walls, and it’s that combined with all consuming pressure of his cock remaking you in his image that has you crying out your orgasm. Jason doesn’t pull out right away. Stays inside you and lets himself grow soft. Kisses featherlight over your face and eyelids. Strokes your flanks and combs his fingers through your hair. Soothes you into a light sleep.

When you wake up, it’s to full sunlight streaming into your bedroom. Turning your head, Jason meets your gaze, propped up on an elbow to watch over you. The both of you are still naked under the blankets but he must have cleaned up the mess between your legs. He pressed a kiss between your eyes before you can get too swept up by your thoughts.

“Hiya sweetheart.” The corners of his eyes crinkle up when he smiles like this. You think they’d make him look kind when he’s older. “I’m not going anywhere now, I promise.”

“Always?”

“Forever.”

[n6ptunova]

gamer boy • chris sturniolo

a/n: can’t stop thinking abt gamer chris someone sedate me.

summary: giving chris head while he streams fortnite and tries to keep quiet.

warnings: idk if this counts as smut but suggestive content, blowjob, mentions of sex, not proofread

og fortnite dropped recently which meant your boyfriend has been more occupied than usual. it was seriously an addiction for this man, he stayed up for hours, forgot to eat, and worst of all- in your opinion- he barely paid any attention to you nowadays. you’ve had enough tho, so tonight you’re changing things up.

you sat on one side of chris’ bed, out of frame, since him and his brothers decided to stream today. you were mindlessly scrolling through your phone waiting for them to finish but it was taking too long. you looked over at chris and he’s never looked more fine, his hair was messy underneath the headset, his eyes serious and focused on the screen, his mouth parted- occasionally licking or biting his lips- you wanted him, you missed having chris all over you, his lips on yours, his dick inside you, you needed him. bad.

fuck it. you thought to yourself getting down on the floor and crawling quietly towards chris’ desk without being seen or heard. he briefly glanced down at you, not thinking much of your position, you’re probably just looking for something.

you put your hand on his knee slowly pushing his chair back so you could get underneath the desk fully. once you sat down on your knees you pulled him back so his crotch was right in front of your face. now he was confused. he couldn’t say anything since he was livestreaming with his brothers so he resorted to furrowing his eyebrows and giving you a quick questioning look- immediately looking back at the screen so he doesn’t look suspicious- or lose.

you put your pointer finger on your lips indicating for him to be quiet and started to slide both your hands up his thighs reaching for the waistband of his shorts. he was caught off guard by this causing him to lose the game, “NO FUCK- bro one second i need to use the bathroom.”

he turned off his camera and muted his mic, “what the fuck are you doing?” he didn’t sound annoyed or angry just confused.

“i miss you, chris. you haven’t been paying any attention to me lately,” you pouted.

“i’m so sorry babe but can it wait? i promise you’ll have my full attention when i’m done.”

“no.”

“no?”

“no chris. i’ve ran out of patience so you’re gonna play your stupid game with your dick in my throat. don’t make a sound so no one catches on ok?”

“i- ” he hesitated for a moment, stunned, before deciding he liked the risk, “yes ma’am.”

he stood up allowing you to pull his pants down to his ankles and as he sat back down he made sure his lower half was out of frame before unmuting and opening the camera, “i’m back guys.”

as they started another round, you wrapped your fingers around his dick causing him to suck in his breath, and very very slowly you started to pump him, hands sliding up and down. he let a faint moan slip out and quickly closed his mouth shut. this was going to be hard.

you brought your face closer and licked a stripe going up his dick, your tongue flat against it. “ooohhh my god,” he groaned trying his best to disguise this as frustration from the game but truth is, he was losing his mind over the sight of you on your knees about to suck him off in front of thousands of viewers.

you repeated the same motion, tongue gliding up but this time once you reached the top you took him whole in your mouth, the tip briefly nudging your throat, coming back up you swirl your tongue in circles on his tip.

“oh fuck,” he almost rolls his eyes and head back, trying to control his breathing but he’s running out of breath, twitching and breathing heavier everytime his tip touched the back of your throat. you started getting sloppier with it and you could tell he was close.

“chris bro fucking focus that guy was right in front of you! you could’ve easily killed him!” matt yells at chris after losing again. chris can barely keep his grip on the controller- let alone play properly.

“ughhh i c-can’t with this stupid game, i need a drink brb.” he uses this as an excuse to turn off the mic and camera again.

the moment he did, he slumped far back into his chair, his head and eyes rolled backwards as he let out a sigh mixed with a moan. he bucked his hips upwards and tangled his hand into your hair.

“fuckfuckfuck please don’t stop,” he begs as you continue doing what you’re doing, enjoying the heavenly sounds coming out of his mouth until he finally releases his load into your mouth, whining and whimpering at how good it feels. you swallow whole and stick your tongue out to show him.

“you’re fucking insane. i love you.” he cups your face with both of his hands and leans down to give you the most passionate kiss wasting no time to deepen it with his tongue in your mouth as you sit yourself on his lap, running your hands through his hair. you pull back to catch your breath and you’re loving how fucked he looks right now.

“i love you too,” you giggle, “now get a win with your brothers already so we can finish this in your bed, you owe me.”

“anything for you ma.” he gives a quick kiss before you get up and go back to your original place on his bed, thinking about riding him next time he games with his friends with the camera off. this is gonna be fun.

[bluebellhairpin]

Erwin Smith X Wife!Reader

Summary: Wrath, Gluttony, and Lust. Apart they're dangerous, together they're deadly. All together, you've found they have a name - Erwin Smith. (word count; < 8k)

Warnings: Dark content, 18+ MINORS DNI, NSFW. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT (if you don't like it, don't read it). Cannibalism. Descriptive murder of unnamed characters. Blood and gore. Sexual themes and Smut (Blood kink (menstrual included). Choking. Oral - receiving. Marking. Unprotected sex. Penetrative sex. Mirror kink. Creampie. Cockwarming.) Reader; eats meat (animal and human), drinks wine, has female anatomy, has periods (mentioned), is called 'wife', wears dresses.

Listening to: 'It Will Come Back' by Hozier - "Don't be kind to it, honey don't feed it - it will come back."

Series Masterlist || AO3 Link || Masterlist || Ko-Fi || Fright Night Bash 2023

"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same." - Emily Brontë, 'Wuthering Heights'

Erwin had always been perfect. 

Picturesque and put-together - it was like a man made just for you walked right from your dreams into reality. 

He was charismatic, a gentleman with enough old-fashioned values to be charming. He made you feel like the only person who mattered in the world - something quite foreign to you prior to meeting him - and to him you really were the only person who mattered. Erwin loved you, and there was not a single doubt about it. 

You didn’t know he wasn’t perfect - that he wasn’t, in every way, flawlessly carved and molded by gods - until you moved in with him. By then it was too late to back out. By then you didn’t want to - you liked how the ring on your finger looked too much. 

Actually, for the first week things went smoothly. Like clockwork. None of it bothered you - too high on finally getting what you wanted to realize how in danger you were. At the time, your rose-colored glasses were blood red. Nothing was a problem until you started wanting to take them off.

Mainly because Erwin wasn’t letting you. 

Meals were always cooked by him - which at first you liked, but he wouldn’t let you make anything just to be nice, if you wanted something he always made it. He barely let you put things from the fridge onto the bench. 

“All you have to do,” he’d say, pressing himself in between your legs as you sat on the countertop next to the sink, “is sit there and look pretty.” His hands would move up from your knees to your thighs, sinking into the meat of your hips to pull you closer. “You do it so well for me.” 

Then he’d kiss you for all your worth, still with his apron on and shirt sleeves rolled up past his elbows, and you’d forget why you wanted to do anything else except watch in the first place. 

It was like that for a lot of things. Cooking and washing. Even work or shopping - the only time you went out of the house together was for dates, otherwise outside of your home he was never with you and you were never with him. You’d pout about it, kick up a fuss, and he’d sedate you with a few carefully placed words, hands, kisses, and occasionally his cock. 

Each time it worked. Because you let it. 

But months went past, and you didn’t want to keep playing the naïve and pliant partner. Because while you were most content being pliant, you weren’t a naïve person. 

You wanted to know what was going on. 

Erwin had taken an afternoon of work at home. He retreated into his study an hour ago and the house had been quiet since. 

But you sat in the living room watching the embers of the morning's fire finally die off, and your mind was anything but quiet. There was something about Erwin, about this house, that didn’t quite feel right. Like something was missing - and it wasn’t a fucking child.  

You wanted to know what it was. You needed to know. 

You slowly moved from the leather couch, and like a ghost you went and stood in Erwin’s doorway. 

He was standing also, near the window at the back of the room, reading over a handful of papers. He didn’t look like he noticed you there, but you knew he knew. Erwin always did. 

“Do you need something?” he asked quietly, not looking up. You stood with your arms at your sides, unmoving. 

“What do you do without me?” You surprised yourself at how saccharine your voice was. It made Erwin’s head lift, and he looked at you - finally - with a frown as he set the papers down. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Why don’t you let me do things with you.” you said, “You’re keeping secrets and I don’t like it. I feel like they’re too big for you to keep keeping them hidden.” 

“You deserve to not have to worry.” he said, starting to step forward. You knew what he was going to do - he’d done it a hundred times to get you to stop asking questions - but this time you weren’t going to let him. You weren’t playing dumb anymore. You took a step back. 

“That answer is so rehearsed, Erwin.” you said, “It’s good to stick to one story, helps avoid suspicion. Normally. But I just want you to be honest with me.” 

You watched his storm blue eyes as they tracked your face. Soon he was mere inches away, and his fingers came up to graze your cheek - you would normally lean into it, but not right now. You had a point to prove. 

Seeing this, his fingers moved lower, his hand wrapped around your neck - his palm on your throat, and his fingers pressed into the muscle under your jaw. If you closed your eyes it would be all you could feel, but right now it was like he was barely there. 

“You want to know?” he asked. Your pulse picked up but you weren’t afraid. It was a show of strength and control, but you weren’t bending, you weren’t breaking. Not yet. “You’ll never see me the same way, I want you to remember me like I am now.” 

“I want to know you as you really are.” Erwin’s hand moved from your throat down to your ribcage, resting warm on your side as he leant to press a kiss to the corner of our mouth. 

“If you’re so sure,” he said, nose brushing your cheek, “I think then I’ll finally let you see our basement.” 

Erwin never let you in the basement. 

He said it was either too cold, or too dark for you to be allowed to go in. His precious little wife couldn’t be getting sick or hurt because of something that could be avoided. 

In all honesty, you’d never had an interest in the basement anyway - months passed and you’d never once thought to go down there. All that was there was the boiler and a few chest freezers you used to store meat - both things Erwin looked after or did himself. 

But now you were at the bottom of the stairs, watching as Erwin pulled on a leather butchers apron, with dust collecting around your feet. 

It was cold in the basement. Dark too, even with the single bright white light on. 

“I meant to deal with this carcass this afternoon,” he said, watching you watch him. You weren’t sure if to believe your husband's little secret was that he liked butchering animals on the side. As cruel as it sounded, it was still perfectly normal. “It might be nice having some company. They’re not really very conversational.” 

That set off a little bell in the back of your head. Like ‘hey, that’s a little weird’ - like ‘hey, that's what you’d hear from someone who worked in a morgue not in a butchers cool room’. But like all the other alarms, bells, and flags, the red danger signs went right over your head. 

Erwin approached one of the freezers - you watched as he lifted the door with one arm (and noted how his shirt strained over his shoulders, but you were still making a point, so it was set aside for later). The door propped open, then Erwin leant down and grabbed the carcass inside. 

When it slung over his shoulder, you weren’t met with the beheaded shoulders and skinned muscle of a sheep - or even a goat or small deer -instead there was a face. Open eyed and lifeless, with a face drained of color and covered in frostbite. 

You watched, with some morbid curiosity - or shock - as your gentle and doting husband effortlessly hung a lifeless human body by his jaw from the butcher's hook on the ceiling of your basement. 

It slowly dwelled on you what exactly had been happening these past few weeks. That this had been happening the entire time you’d known Erwin Smith. 

It was strange how you didn't notice it before. Watching now though, as he carved through muscle and sinew with a practiced and surgical ease, that he was not just dismantling this man for the sake of being able to hide his remains easier. He really did look like a man working in a slaughterhouse - and how he spoke of this man like he was an animal born and bred to be eaten. 

Your thoughts went to the first time he served you venison - you said it tasted strange. He said it was an acquired taste - but you had been raised on fresh deer from your uncle's farm for years. You knew you loved it. 

He gave you beef - likewise you asked where he got it from. His excuse at that time was that it was different when it was newly slaughtered. Again, for the same reason, now you knew it was a lie. 

You couldn’t look away from how he skinned this man, how he knew which sections to carve away and keep, and which to throw away. He worked at it like a well oiled machine - all the while talking to you as if it was the most normal, casual thing in the whole world. 

You thought you were going to be sick, you could even feel it sitting in your throat. All you did was slowly sit down on the stairs behind you, and kept on watching. 

Dinner was made equally by the both of you that night. 

Although you didn’t once touch the meat - not even to cook it. You knew where it came from - you saw this flesh pulled right away from its bones just hours ago. You remembered what Erwin looked like as he carved up another collection of meat you would’ve been eating from for the next few weeks - how his hair was mused and his pupils were blown wide. And as the body thawed, how he slowly became covered in more and more blood. 

That night you could swear his reflection in the dining room mirror had horns. 

And you saw how Erwin looked when he collected your plate after you finished, you saw the look in his eyes when he realised what you thought about what he’d done. What you thought about him. 

There were no secrets now - and seemingly everything was still going over smoothly. You hadn’t made a fuss, you hadn't run away, you hadn’t called anyone, you barely even mentioned it, but there was just something. A little nagging something. It was telling you that not everything was right between Erwin and you anymore. 

Like you weren’t quite sure if you were going to be safe with him or not. 

Sat at your vanity, you slowly worked through your nighttime routine as Erwin dressed for bed behind you. You were caught between keeping an eye on Erwin and completely focusing on your task at hand. A question that had been sitting in your stomach since that afternoon bubbled into your throat. 

“Who was that man?” you asked quietly. 

“You didn’t recognise him?” Erwin replied, surprise in his voice as he turned to you. “I found him hard to forget.” Figures - Erwin did kill him, you’d expect him to remember. However, why you’d know him went right over your head. 

“Of course I don’t,” you said, quietly speaking as Erwin’s hands rested on your shoulders, kneading at the tense muscle underneath them. You only just managed to stop yourself from flinching at his sudden touch. “Should I?” 

“No,” he said. You saw him smile as he lent to litter a few small, soft - almost shy - kisses along your neck. “I wouldn’t want you worrying about a man who did such a vulgar thing.” 

“What do you mean…” Your breath was taken by lips mouthing under your ear before you could finish your sentence. Heartbeat and eyes both fluttering on habitual instinct at the hands that had now wandered to tempt the delicate skin hidden under your shirt. 

“Don’t worry.” He said, sounding like a command - having had your curiosity shocked into submission, you folded like you normally would. 

After all, with his wandering hands, smooth words, and suckling mouth, who would worry. 

Erwin once told you that pleasure was the best distraction from pain. Most of the time he was right. It had worked so far. 

But that night after he fucked you long and hard and deep, as he lay dead asleep to the whole world, you lay awake. There was still a dull ache between your legs - still sticky too - and parts of your bare skin stuck to his from sweat left mostly unattended, but those weren’t the thoughts on your mind. 

You remembered who the man was. 

There was a bar you and Erwin went to only a few days ago - one of those perfect dates procured by a perfect husband. A dimly lit building, with tall tables you had to stand at. You’d dressed per Erwin’s request - a little dress that had you wanting to feel yourself as much as he was feeling you. 

However it was gaining more attention than was appreciated. 

A man - the man who’d met his demise at the hands of your husband - had indeed been quite vulgar. You weren’t quite sure how you forgot about it - perhaps the shock that there was anyone in your basement freezer had all other thoughts leave your mind. 

But at the time it happened, you were sure something downright horrible could’ve happened to you if Erwin wasn’t there. That man was not kind or polite. He was no gentleman. He wasn’t going to treat you right, how you deserved to be treated. He wasn’t Erwin. 

Like the knight in shining armor he always had been, Erwin was there - he dismissed the man and worked twice as hard to make sure you both forgot all about him. You certainly forgot, he however clearly did not. 

It made you wonder how many other meals Erwin had made of men or women who treated you less than he thought was due. 

You felt yourself curl into Erwin’s side. Your leg lifted over his, and even in his sleep his arm held you even tighter. Despite everything, he wasn’t going to hurt you. You felt safe with him. Most of all, you trusted him to keep you feeling safe. 

He would do anything to keep you safe. 

Erwin was quite understanding about you going completely off red meat. 

For a while he really couldn’t blame you. However he was a little concerned. The sudden change in your diet was starting to show - physically and emotionally. His way of trying to get you to eat properly again was taking you out when he went to get groceries. 

Normally he liked this time for himself - he found it calming, sorting through fruits and vegetables, picking and choosing the best for both him and you. Having you with him was different - but he found he liked you company just the same. You had a good eye, one he’d have to utilize more. 

His main reason was proving to you that there were meats you could eat - look, there was beef and lamb both in the cart. All pre-packaged and perfectly normal meats to cook and serve for dinner - you’d have them tonight, he decided when he saw your eyebrows raise at the sight of them. 

What you hadn’t known about his grocery trips, and what he had forgotten to tell you on that morning, was the cashier that always worked registers on the days Erwin was shopping. 

She was a little older than you, but only half as pretty (although Erwin was sure that was debatable to some - not to him). She had a habit of attempting to make advances at him - all unfruitful, and all a little embarrassing to watch. Erwin thought nothing of them, perhaps he felt annoyed on occasion, but otherwise paid her no mind no matter how persistent she was. 

He half hoped that bringing you along with him would make her cease. She just acted like you weren’t there at all. 

However she clearly had caught you completely by surprise. 

For a moment, Erwin caught a look on your face. Dark and unlike anything he’d ever seen on your features before. Something about how you held yourself was always so soft - but this was sharper than a razor's edge. He always liked your softness. He liked this too, but again it was different. He may have liked it more. 

He didn’t even realize that the cause of the change was because she bothered you more than she bothered him. Not until much later. 

You’d learnt two things from being married to Erwin. 

One was that you could get away with anything. You could ask Erwin for anything, and it would be yours as soon as humanly possible. You could ask the same from others and they’d listen  - not just because of who you married, but also because you just had a face that could get away with it. 

The second was exactly the same thing - only it held a brand new meaning after finding out what secrets were held in the basement; you could get away with anything. Even murder. 

Erwin was out for dinner - something he hated, but business must do what business does - and so were all your closest neighbors - holidays or dinners, as was the routine come around Friday night. You had the house, the whole neighborhood almost, to yourself. 

But after a strategically placed grocery visit two days prior, you were not going to be alone tonight. 

You almost laughed at her - the foolish cashier who’d so eagerly agreed to coming over to dine with you tonight - because of her cluelessness. Because she couldn’t see danger when it was standing right in front of her. 

Besides from the company, it was a nice night out - hence why you took it outside on the barbeque table. Well, aside from the fact it would be easier to clean up outside than inside. 

“What is this?” she asked, carving out a hefty piece of the steak you prepared and eyeing it. 

“Wagyu. Japanese.” Your foot swayed carelessly from where your legs crossed, the grass tickled the bottom of your bare foot. “Some of the best you’ll get your hands on.” 

“Really?” She said, believing you and putting it in her mouth. Even though she worked in a supermarket, she didn’t know any better - you were betting on it - and she couldn't tell otherwise anyway. “You’re not going to have any?” 

“Oh, no.” you said, smiling into your red wine, “When you have it so often you lose your taste for it.” 

That was about the most truth you’d said at once the whole night - from the happy greeting to just now. Of course the steak you served wasn’t Wagyu - if it was you’d definitely be eating it. In reality it was one of the last cuts left of the man you’d seen Erwin first butcher. 

You really hoped he wouldn’t mind you using it up - after all he would be getting a whole new carcass in return for one steak. In your mind that was a very generous trade. 

“It’s actually quite amazing,” she said, leaning back on the bench seat opposite you, “You’re such a good cook.”

“I learnt from the best.” you said, adjusting the knife on your place set and putting your glass down. “Would you like another glass?” You asked, standing to take her empty whiskey tumbler in your hand. 

“That would be great.” she said, then turned back to her food. You walked away with a smile - it disappeared as soon as the sliding door shut behind you. You poured another shot into her glass - not wasting another top shelf liquor now she wasn’t around to see the difference - and eyeing her through the glass door with a look that could kill. 

Before you went back outside, you took a trip down into the basement. Erwin always kept the kitchen carving knives sharp - but the ones downstairs? You knew they moved through flesh like it was warm butter. 

Erwin swore he heard a broken scream as he pulled his car into the driveway. 

There was an unfamiliar car in the driveway too, and you were home alone - and it made him very, very worried. 

He grabbed his briefcase from the passenger seat, then made his way inside without wasting any time. His bag was dumped carelessly right by the door, and he called your name, multiple times. 

At the end of the hallway, beyond the sliding door that led outside, he saw you walking up the deck stairs from the barbeque table. He practically ran to you, but stopped just beyond the kitchen doorway when he really, truly saw you. 

You stood just outside, one hand on the glass door frame while the other held a knife - one he knew lived in the basement. Blood ran down your arm onto the silver blade - blood was everywhere. It was all over your face and satin dress, one he loved to see you wear on dates, and now it was ruined. 

Well, ruined was a harsh word. If he were being honest, he'd say it had quite improved now. He liked the look of blood on you. From the twitching in his slacks, he really like it.

“You’re home early.” you said. His lips parted, partially in shock at how casual you were acting, and partially because he just couldn’t quite believe the implications of what he was seeing. 

“You wanted me gone longer?” he asked, breathless. He watched you shift from one foot to the other - watched the fabric of your dress glide over the flesh of your stomach and the plush of your thighs, watched a drop of blood slide from off your chin down between your breasts. His jaw went slack, chest filled with a longing to follow the red trail with his tongue. 

“Actually no,” you said, still playing aloof, gesturing behind you with the knife, “I don’t think I can move her on my own.” 

“‘Her’?” Erwin found his voice still came out soft, unbelieving. He felt like he just walked into a dream. 

“Your little supermarket girlfriend.” Your lips curled up into a snarl as you spoke - your eyes held the return of that dark look he’d only seen once before. You were angry. You were jealous. He’d never wanted you more. 

“She was not my -” 

“- It doesn’t matter what she was or wasn’t. Not anymore,” you said, looking at him with enough force to have him rendered mute, “Just help me move her downstairs.” 

The knife was thrown carelessly onto the dining table - red droplets scattered on impact - before you turned on your bare heel and walked back in the direction you came from. Only once he watched you walk down the stairs did he manage to move. He was sure this wasn’t really happening - it was far too good to be true - yet if this were a fantasy he wanted to see just how far it went before he woke up. 

Erwin’s suit jacket and die was discarded on the wooden decking the moment he saw you with the cashier’s body. You stood over her with her chin in your hand, her head tilted back so you could get a good look at the clean gash that ran from one side of her neck all around to the other. 

He watched you in a daze as you stood straight up, her wrist between your bloodied fingers, and waited. You’d never looked more in-control than you had now - for the first time he found himself standing quite dumbstruck, waiting for you to tell him what to do. 

“Heart’s slowed.” you said, “Should’ve lost enough blood to be fatal. Freezing her will help.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Cut both carotids.” you said. You looked up at him though your eyelashes, head low and voice soft. You looked like a devil. “Honey, I’m not stupid.” 

Erwin had never been more in love. 

There had been a freezer cleared, you knew that already, and despite the fact you would’ve struggled carrying someone your own size inside and downstairs - Erwin did so with little effort. 

While he was busy, you couriered the remaining dinner dishes inside to the sink, and swaddled the blanket the cashier was sitting on inside to get washed. The thing was an absolute mess, soaked through in places. It’d probably be easier to get rid of it. 

You had just finished outside when Erwin returned to meet you in the kitchen. His whole effort took less than ten minutes. 

He had stained his shirt - chest, arms, all down his back - and his hands were slick. There was even a mark of it on his cheek. A mark of her. 

You walked over, intent on wiping away the red herring, but found your efforts only made it worse. Your hand was covered in blood too. There was an unusual anger rising inside you. One the rivalled frustration but burned white hot. 

But Erwin’s hand slid up from your forearm and gently wrapped around your wrist - he mirrored your position and pressed your palm into his cheek. His other hand pulled your body close to his, and your free arm hung dumbly at your side. 

“What are you doing?” you asked - this time you were the one that sounded breathless, although you didn’t completely understand why. Maybe the adrenaline wore off, maybe you were realizing what you had done - but really it was neither of those things. 

You saw that look in Erwin’s eye - you knew yours looked exactly the same. 

“I’m processing.” he said, eyes fluttering about but never once leaving your face. His cheek was so warm. “Processing how my wife is even more beautiful now than on our wedding day.” You felt your feet shuffle closer as he pushed you back so your waist hit the counter’s edge. 

He was hypnotising you, lulling into a cloudy haze with his movements and with his eyes and it lay thick and heavy on your tongue - but its bitter weight had never tasted sweeter than it did now. 

“Kiss me,” you whispered. 

The kitchen tiles and the marble countertops were not a pleasant place to be intimate. You knew it, and so did Erwin. Hence why he pulled you across the room with hungry, wet kisses onto the dinner table.  

Your dress had been pushed up above your hips so fast it almost tore the fabric, and Erwin hadn’t wasted any time honing in on the wet spot on your underwear. One he seemed intent on making as large as possible. 

He knelt at the end of the table - the chair had been hastily kicked aside - and had eased you to lie down with your legs thrown over his shoulders. As his teeth and tongue worked at making a wet mess of your inner thighs, his hand wandered up your dress to cup your breast, mindlessly toying with the bud in between two fingers. 

The blood from his cheek smeared into the spit on your leg, and as he groped the fat at your chest he could feel the sticky red catch under his fingers. 

You couldn’t help the way your eyes fluttered closed at feeling him all over you in such a way - an action that hadn’t gone unnoticed by your husband. 

His mouth moved from your thighs to over your clit, hidden under your panties, and he laid a kiss there so gentle that it made your entire body jolt. Then his mouth opened, and he treated your lower lips with the same generosity previously granted the ones above. That was what you had been waiting for, it was what you were most craving, and he was reading you like an open book. 

Unlike your dress, Erwin’s urgency to rid his current workspace of fabric was less than enthusiastic - the drag of thin cotton and elastic was slow, achingly so. He was teasing you, and as your frustrations grew so did your longing. He knew it. 

The slow drag of his tongue up your slit to your clit almost had your back keening right off the table. It was enough to feel, but it wasn’t right. You needed so much more. Driven by need, both your hands went to his head, gripping to his hair for dear life as you urged his face closer to where you needed it - blindly angling your hips up to meet his waiting mouth. 

Eventually, his mouth met the place you needed him most. Bare, open, wet and waiting. His lips went right to your cunt, opening over your core and his tongue dove right in. His nose pressed up to your clit, and you heard him breathe in deep. 

The sounds he was making were absolutely sinful. 

Erwin barely pulled away to speak, mouth still connected to your cunt with the slick he was conjuring - he was speaking into you as much as he was speaking up at you. 

“Getting to have you like this is perfect.” He sounded like he was going to cry. “I’ve been waiting so long. So long.” 

And then, as if his mouth even left you, he returned with twice the vigor. His shoulders shoved into the backs of your thighs, but his grip on your hips pulled you in further, pressing the curved line of his nose deeper into your slit. The sudden intensity made your thighs quiver. 

“Erwin, p-lease.” you moaned, voice broken and choking on nothing but air as your fingers pulled relentlessly on his once-perfect blond hair. 

“Yes, c’mon baby,” he mumbled, eyes fluttering open and closed - unable to decide on focusing on pleasing you or watching how pleased you were - “Use me. Please. Show me you need me.”  

“Need you.” you breathed, legs curling over his shoulders. “Need you so bad Erwin.” 

All he did in reply was hum - the feeling spread from your cunt all through your body, washing in waves down to your toes, and up to your head, making everything fuzzy as your eyes closed in pleasure. You were content to stay exactly like that for the rest of the night. 

But Erwin was never one to do things quietly - he went above and beyond - and he always had such a mouth on him. He was intent on making sure all his energy was pushed towards pushing you to release. His fingers and mouth, the muscles in his thighs keeping him knelt just right for you, and his thoughts never slept - he needed you to know exactly what he was thinking - as if he knew how much you loved knowing what he wanted to do with you. 

“Just imagining how good you’d taste -” he groaned, pulling away and replacing his face with his fingers, two slid right in with very little resistance, “- when this blood on my hands is yours.” 

Your mind went to the woman in your freezer. 

Eyes slowly opened to glare as Erwin stood over you. With the different angle your hands moved - one down to where his wrist was pressing against your clit as his fingers curled inside you, the other around his throat, tensed around the veins that ran either side of his windpipe. 

The same ones you cut to kill that woman in your freezer. 

“If you kill me, I’m going to fucking murder you.” You hand pressed harder, enough that if you took your hand away there would be a white mark where the blood was forced to leave his perfect skin. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.. I could never hurt you like that.” he said softly, unbothered by your hand around his throat - the look in his eyes told you he was more than pleased at how rough you were being. He leant over you and mounted the table with a knee pressed to the underside of your thigh. “No, instead what you can give me is much better than her blood. Neither of us have to do a single thing in order to have it, and that makes it so much sweeter.” As he spoke his lips rested over yours, his breath was in your mouth and if you licked your lips you’d taste as much of him as you would of yourself. 

His hand curled down, pressing your joint arms between your bodies at an odd angle, letting his fingers move in such a way that had your eyes rolling back and mouth opening in a silent scream at the pleasure and pain his fingers started to bring. 

Like an open invitation, his mouth was on yours. As he stuffed your cunt with a third finger, his tongue worked into your mouth and spread the taste of your slick all over. It was intense - how all you could feel was him inside you and his hand around your ribcage; all you could taste was the salt you gave him, the kind he craved; all you could smell was him, oak wood and leather, and the smell of your sex that he'd pressed his entire lower face into. 

There was no other place in the world like this - nothing compared to being pressed into the wood of your dining table by a man who completely adored everything about you. Now, you decided, you could stay right there forever.  

His lips moved again, from your mouth down your chin to your jaw. They landed on your throat, and you moaned at how his teeth sunk into your skin and sucked. Once he felt sedated at the size and color of the bruise there, his tongue went to work once more - starting right down on your breasts and licking all the way up to your jaw. 

Erwin was cleaning you. Drinking you clean and leaving you bare of the red splatter that once painted your skin imperfect - for he suddenly found the one thing he loved more than seeing you covered in blood was being able to clean it off you. 

His breathing was heavy, and he groaned into your skin as his knee gave way so his hips could roll down into yours despite his hand blocking his way. 

“Oh sweetheart, the things I would do for a chance to be between your legs while you bleed life right into my mouth.” His admission - along with the constant pressure of his wrist moving on your clit - was your final push. Your stomach tensed, pussy clenching over his fingers and sucking them in tight. “That’s it, yes that’s - perfect. You’re so perfect.”

In blind pleasure, eyes glossy and looking right past his head to your ceiling, your hands freed from their vice grips on his wrist and throat to move to his hips. As your hips bucked up into his hand while you rode out your orgasm, your new purchase had him rolling down into you even more. 

Oh, if the size of his cock spoke it would tell you how he must be completely aching inside the slacks he wore. 

“Show me,” you said between catching your breath and coming down from the release Erwin brought you, “Show me how you’d fuck me if this blood was mine.” 

From the way his teeth sunk into your shoulder - so hard you swore he’d rip a mouth-sized chunk of flesh right from your bones - you had definitely said the right thing. 

With his mouth still leaving borderline painful marks on your neck, his hands worked on slipping your dress off - the slick from his fingers left painted cold lines on your skin as he dragged the fabric off, blood spread thin over your body, and with a flick of his wrist the dress was gone completely. All in one piece, too. 

But the same courtesy was not given to his own clothes - thread and buttons tore, and soon before you stood your perfect, bloodied, naked husband. He seemed to take a moment to look at you, chest heaving and looking like he’d just run a marathon. 

Your thighs pressed together, and the sticky wet left strings webbed between your legs as he pried your knees open. His hands were big, and warm, and for the first time you really noticed how calloused his palms were. Before you could dwell on it long, his hand wrapped around to press your leg up into your chest - as it moved so did he, languid and calm, and he was above you again with your knee pressed to your chests and his palm at your throat. 

He was looking at you with such an intensity that you knew in that moment that you would do anything he asked of you. Without a word, his eyes told you to stay exactly how you were - so you did. 

You could feel your heartbeat in your ears, watching Erwin though lidded eyes as he leant away and his hips lowered and the leaking tip of his cock touched your stomach. 

Your other leg raised to hook around his waist, an attempt to urge him into the place you needed him most. But he was nothing if not steadfast in getting what he wanted too. 

“Tell me. Show me.” he said. “Let me know that you want it.” 

But you couldn’t speak. The ability to form words had completely left you, partly from imagining how good the slow drag of him would feel inside you, and partly because the hand around your throat stopped most noise from going further than underneath them - you could barely swallow without Erwin having to give way to the movement. So you did all you could do. 

Your hands scrambled for a place to hold, a place to sink your nails into and never let go - a place where the skin was so thin it dragged and curled and caught under your fingernails. It was an action you had done many a time before, but this time it was different. Your ferocity ran deeper, harder, he would bleed and hurt and he would wear these lines for weeks instead of days. The thought made your hips buck up, swivel in yearning and pure want. You were showing him how deep your need ran. 

 “Yes, hurt me.” he said, open mouth covering yours and swallowing every silent noise of want and relief as he angled his body to finally press into your core. He always felt so big, and he was harder than you ever remember him being. He was hot, and he slid right into your warmth like he was always meant to be there. Like it was his home, the one place in the whole world meant to be just for him. 

“Erwin,” you mouthed, eyes unable to stay open anymore at the feeling of him stopping right against that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes and warmth pool in your stomach. 

“What is it?” he hummed, releasing the pressure on your neck enough so you could speak properly. For a few agonizing moments all you could do was pant and squirm as his other hand pressed down on your womb to keep you still under him. 

“I need it, I need it.” 

“Need what?” he asked, moving over you again to press  too-gentle kisses to your cheeks, “I know you’re feeling a lot right now sweetheart, but I need you to talk to me. Can you do that?” 

“Yes,” you said, eyes caught watching him watch you, and you swallowed thickly. “I need you to do what I said. I need you to fuck me.” 

Your voice came out stronger, more collected and coherent than you thought it would. Even the way Erwin’s eyes widened slightly told you he was as surprised at your admission as you were. But it wasn’t an admission - it was an order. 

“Anything for you.” he said, pressing his lips to yours. His hand moved from your abdomen to your hip bone, and you knew you finally - finally - got what you wanted. 

From how eagerly he gave in, and how enthusiastic his movements became, Erwin had been waiting for this too. To have you exactly as he was right then. 

The squelch from his thrusting into your cunt, and the rapidly cooling slick that spread from your core onto your thighs only served to urge you on further - it had your back arching and pussy clenching over Erwin’s cock. Both your hands flew to his wrist, not to stop his hold on your neck, but to ground yourself as you mindlessly bucked up to meet his thrusts. 

“Oh baby yes, look at you.” Your eyes opened, mouth waiting and expectant for another consuming kiss - but Erwin was not looking at you. Not directly. His head was turned, and you felt how his hips picked up speed at what he was seeing in your dining room mirror. 

Your head turned, and you had to fight to not roll your eyes back into your skull at what you saw. You couldn’t want for anything more than the man above you. 

His grin was almost all teeth, jaw slack, and he looked nothing short of an animal. Erwin almost laughed at how pleased he was with how he had you. 

His hair a mess, and parts sticking to his forehead at the effort he was putting in to please you. Even from your angle you could see the welts over his shoulders where, at his command, you had stripped him of his skin. Blood was still practically everywhere, and he looked like an absolute mess. A very pleased mess. 

While one arm had your leg almost up over his shoulder while his hand gripped your bloodied and bit-ridden neck, the other was all over your other thigh - keeping it pressed around his hips, and your heel dug into the dip below his hips to encourage him as deep inside you as possible. 

His thrusts weren’t letting up, and the sight of him watching you watch him had you moving as much as you could just to meet him. To force him as deep as he could go. 

And then there was you. Laid equally bare and equally covered in blood - and completely at the mercy of your husband. 

Your hair pressed down onto the table beneath you, bite marks and hickies littered your neck, dried spit and blood all over your chest. Your whole body felt like it was on fire. Hot and wanting - all you wanted was to come undone.

Lower still, thanks to your leg being lifted to the high heavens by a man who was now mouthing and panting at your ankle, was a perfect view of where your bodies met. With the way his cock sunk in and out of your pussy, and your white slick coating the wiry hairs at his base. With such a lewd sight as that, it was no wonder he became so frantic. 

One of your hands went to your clit - swollen and aching, the fair brush of Erwin’s hairs as his hips met yours wasn’t going to be enough for you. You needed more. You were going to take it for yourself. 

But Erwin, still keenly watching you in the mirror, saw. The hand on your hip moved down between your bodies, laying atop yours and guiding your fingers in a rhythm you didn’t even know - but one he knew would bring you to release, even if you didn’t. 

Your grip on his wrist tightened, nails pressing crescents into his skin. Your mouth opened again, eyes unable to stay open for the feeling that built inside you took over. You were so close that it was all you were thinking about. 

Erwin - he was all you could feel. He was consuming you. You were consuming him. 

“That’s it, that's my -” he choked, words caught in his throat, feeling how you clenched around him tighter with a cry of pleasure - it went straight to his head. “That’s right, yes.” he said, eyes closing as yours fluttered open to watch as his face contorted in pleasure. 

A new warmth burst into your stomach as Erwin’s movements slowed to a stop, hot and thick. As you laid there with the last waves of your own pleasure - and the complete feeling of being filled to the brim - lulling you into a sense of complacency, you watched as your husband opened his eyes again. 

He smiled at you, his hand finally moving off your throat to the side of your jaw, brushing your hair further away from your face. The pressure of his arm keeping your leg up left, and it moved down to wrap around his waist too. 

With a light groan, and a little assistance from Erwin, you sat up. Together you moved so he stood at the edge of the table, while you sat on it. You shuffled slightly closer, thighs tightening around his hips as the angle pressed him deeper inside you again. 

Erwin’s tightened grip on your hip was a warning - one you were planning to follow. You didn’t think either of you had it in yourselves to go that far again that quickly. 

Well, maybe you could - but you were more than happy not to. 

But at that moment all you wanted was to just stay as close to him as possible. 

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, breasts pressed flush to the hairs on his chest, and his grip on your waist moved down to under your thighs. He lifted you off the table, and with a few carefully placed steps, he backed into the seat he previously pushed aside. 

With you now in his lap, he held you properly. His fingers traced the curves of your back, and one stayed there to press you into his warmth while the other continued to wander up your ribcage. 

“I love you,” he murmured, nosing your cheek and pressing a soft, slow kiss to your lips. Your fingers found their way to the back of his skull, itched past his undercut and found a home fixed in his blond locks. 

Your chests pressed together, breathing still unsteady, but you’d never been so calm. So sedated. In that moment, as you looked at Erwin, all you could think of was how the flush on his cheeks made his freckles completely disappear. Your insides felt like a slow pour of the sweetest honey. 

“I love you too.” 

“But we need to talk about what you’ve done.” Erwin had barely broken away from you to speak again, but the idea of what exactly you did wasn’t clicking. He could see it on your face. 

“I didn’t do anything.” you said with a pout - it took everything in him to not take your lip between his teeth, but he would be content just being inside your pussy. For now. 

“Oh but you did.” he said, keeping his voice soft and movements slow, “Sweetheart, I think you’ve killed someone for me.” 

He watched you frown, then watched as it deepened in realization. Then, like when he caught you in his button-down shirt for the first time, you shied away. Your face found a place on his shoulder so he couldn’t see it, and then you answered him. 

“She deserved it.” you mumbled. “And if you were planning on finding someone else to fill your freezers then tough luck. I got there first.” he felt your fingers tighten on his hair, and he was slightly glad you’d hidden your face on him. 

That way you couldn’t see the pleased smile that broke across his features. He was going to speak again, when you beat him. 

“And if you think anyone besides me is going to carve her up, then you’re dead wrong.” When he realized what you’d said, his grip on you tightened even more. “I can’t wait to butcher her up like the pig she is. Bet she’ll taste awful though.” 

He had to purse his lips together - an effort to keep his mouth closed and no sounds coming out. At your admission he became absolutely ecstatic. 

Weeks ago he never would have thought you’d feed into his habit - he never even planned on ever telling you about it. He was content with having you clueless to his true nature. Perhaps once or twice, he fleetingly dreamed that you might happily join him when he dined on the flesh of the people who wronged you. 

But this was better. This was so much better. 

You had changed since he married you. His slow patience had worn off and he held in his hands the fruits of his labor - filled to the brim and painted red. Now you could do it together, whole-heartedly and in every aspect. From the slaughter to the meal, he had you. And you had him. 

Now the moment you said so, he would believe you, and if you wanted someone dead he would happily, proudly bring them to your feet all for you to feast on. He’d take it even more seriously, and he would kill anyone you wanted him to. Anyone at all. And you’d do the same for him. 

Turning his head, and kissing your temple, he let you feel him smile against your skin. Now he knew he really had you all to himself.

You had always been perfect for him.

[sansaorgana]

hi babes!! i saw that you’re taking requests for wil ohmsford and i NEEDED to request something bc OMG THATS MY MAN!! S2 wil has a literal chokehold on me…like that scene where he’s injured and on the bed with mareth helping him GOODNIGHT!

so like imagine it’s wil and his gf and he’s just being so stubborn with her and not letting her help, but she’s so sweet and caring that he just folds for her and goes so soft :(( like he cries at her touch and she just kisses him and tells him he loves him/he’ll be okay while patching him up 😣😣 and they both just sweetly make out (or do more..)

also i know deep down that man has a praise kink so ☺️ OK I NEED TO BE SEDATED AND LOCKED OFF THIS APP

i love your work SO MUCH girl hope ur doing well <3

hello, love! 🌼 thank you for the request 😀 it was the only one with Wil that I have received LOL 😅 and it was my first time writing for him as well 😏 I made it smutty and he's a veeery soft boy 🤭

I had to close my requests for now because I got so many 🙏🏻

🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞

Wil was kind, sweet and obliging most of the time but he tended to be stubborn as well. Because of his kind nature, he was easy to take advantage of sometimes and he could be clumsy in the situations where clumsiness could cost you a life. So, obviously, you were worried about him. Especially now, when some fanatics were hunting magic users like your boyfriend.

His training to become a healer was not going as well as he had been imagining it and it was bringing him down these days. You remained by his side and waited for him to finish his course so you could go back to your village where he would help the people and heal them. But so far everything seemed to go wrong. Wil was determined to become a healer, though, even though everyone kept telling him that perhaps it was not his calling, after all. Magic was his gift. On the other hand, you didn’t want him to use it too often if there were people hunting magic users. And magic itself had its price as well…

You were sitting on the edge of the bed and worrying. Trying to read a book, but it was difficult to focus on it. It was late and dark and Wil wasn’t back yet, which was causing your thoughts to go places you would rather not go to. You put the book down and started to fidget with your fingers nervously. The sounds of laughter and screams coming from a pub nearby were the only noises you could hear on that warm night. That, and the crickets.

You stood up and began pacing around worryingly when Wil finally came back to your small house that you called home these days. But it didn’t matter because your home was where he was either way.

“Wil!” You scolded him at first but when you approached him, you noticed that his shirt was torn open and there was a huge, bleeding wound on his ribs. His face had a fresh bruise, too, and he was bleeding from his lip.

You reached your hands out to delicately touch his chest and he hissed at your touch. You raised your widened eyes to look into his baby blue ones.

“Wil! What happened?” You asked him in panic and he limped to your bed to sit on the edge of it and groaned out of pain.

“I was at the pub…” He confessed and winced.

“At the pub? What for?” You asked and sat next to him, caressing his hair gently.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he shook his head. You cupped his face to turn it around and force him to look at you.

“What happened?” You bit on your lower lip as your fingers caressed his cheeks. Your eyes filled with tears at the sight of him being in so much pain.

“It’s nothing, really. Just hand me the stones, please,” he pointed at the nightstand table.

He had them hidden in the drawer there, in a brown leather sack – three blue elfstones that he could activate with his magic. But whenever he would, you could see how much it cost him. You didn’t want Wil to use them as much as he did. After the horrors he had been through, he would often use the elfstones to simply run away from his problems and ease his mind.

You furrowed your brow and pulled up the sleeves of his jacket and shirt to reveal the burns on his hands from using the elfstones too much. You shook your head. No, you didn’t want him to use them again. At least not for this sort of thing – which you could patch up perfectly well on your own.

“Let me see…” You gently touched his fresh wound again. “It’s not infected. I can handle that.”

“No!” Wil snapped and you froze. His face softened immediately. “No, darling, I will do it, just hand me the stones.”

“I will not,” you stated with all seriousness.

“Fine then, I’ll do it myself,” he groaned and moved up to be able to reach the nightstand but the sharp pain suddenly worsened and he winced in discomfort, still stubbornly trying to reach for the drawer.

“Wil, please, stop,” you pleaded with tears in your eyes. “Stop, I can handle it. It’s gonna be fine,” you grabbed his hand that he was reaching out and you squeezed it in yours reassuringly. “My love, please, just let me take care of you,” you caressed his cheek with your free hand.

Without a word, Wil nodded and you saw a few tears escaping his pretty eyes. You wiped them with your thumb before they would stream down his face. You leaned in and placed a kiss upon his forehead.

“We have to get rid of that shirt, yes?” You talked him through it softly as you began slowly getting rid of his clothes.

Wil didn’t protest this time. Quite the opposite – he started to lean into your touch and let you take care of him. Nothing but soft whimpers of pain were leaving his pretty lips while you were shushing him lovingly.

“Shhh, pretty boy, I can handle that, it’s fine,” you kept saying.

Once he was in his underwear, you helped him to sit down on your bed and lean on the pillows. You caressed his hair one more time before placing a kiss on the top of his head. Then you got up to get your first aid kit. To be honest, you had quite a few lying around since Wil was training to become a healer.

When you sat on the edge of the bed to disinfect his wounds, he hissed out of pain and sobbed a little, instantly blushing at this display of vulnerability.

“Oh, baby, it’s okay, I love you,” you kissed his flushed cheeks. “It’s okay to cry when it hurts, my love,” you assured him and went back to gently disinfecting the wounds and dabbing the soothing ointment onto them. “So… What happened at the pub, Wil?” You raised your eyebrow at him when you spotted his muscles slowly relaxing under your touch.

“It’s… It’s nothing…” He looked away, visibly not wanting to share the details.

“My boyfriend comes back home all wounded and it’s nothing?” You couldn’t help a little snort.

Wil swallowed a lump in his throat as he hesitated. Finally, he spoke up:

“Just promise me that you won’t be worried,” he looked into your eyes. His own blue ones were giving you a look of a scared puppy and you leaned in to join your foreheads together before rubbing your nose with his.

“How can I not be, sweet darling? I always am worried about you, I love you,” you whispered softly. “But what is it? You must tell me.”

“I went there because I was in a bad mood and didn’t want to ruin your evening with my grumpiness. Some people recognised me,” Wil explained. “They were not from here and I dealt with them. They won’t spread the word about me, so don’t worry, alright?” He quickly added but you were furrowing your brows at his concerning words already.

“What do you mean that some people recognised you?” You asked. “As a magic user?”

“No,” Wil shook his head. “I mean, yes. But they weren’t after me just because of that. Apparently there’s… There’s…” He didn’t know how to finish his sentence as he looked away again. “There’s a price on my head.”

You froze at his words as your heart skipped a beat. A price on your sweet Wil’s head? For what? For saving the world? For being the most adorable man with those cute short tips that you adored? No, it made no sense. But the world was full of cruel people who would want to hurt good men like him.

“We must leave this place,” you finally said.

“No. Not before I finish my training,” Wil insisted, looking at you pleadingly.

“I don’t care if you become a healer or not. I don’t want something bad to happen to you. If we go back home and end up as simple farmers, I’ll be just as happy. I just want you to be okay…” You tried to reason with him.

“I do care. I want to become a healer!” Wil exclaimed and then he cleared his throat and looked down. “I know I’m a failure but I want to finish this training.”

“You’re not a failure, Wil,” you sighed and moved the first aid kit aside after taking the bandage out of it. You adjusted Wil softly to have a better access to the wound on his chest and you began to wrap the bandage around it. “Please, don’t call yourself that. You saved the world, remember?” You tried to cheer him up somehow. It was hard to believe sometimes that this guy was a hero and he seemed to be forgetting that as well.

“Yeah, but that was not a part of the plan. My plan was to become a healer and I’m failing at that,” he whispered shakily.

You didn’t want to argue with him more tonight so you just pursed your lips and finished to bandage him in silence. Then you kissed his forehead and leaned him back onto the pillows before standing up to put the first aid kit back to its place. You also washed your hands in a bowl of water and all this time you kept overthinking that tonight Wil could have lost his life. And instead of running away from this place, he insisted on staying.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Wil asked you and you turned around to face him.

“I’m worried,” you admitted and he cracked a smile that filled your heart with so much love that you were scared it would explode.

“You promised you wouldn’t.”

“I did not say such a thing, Wil Ohmsford!” You protested before approaching the bed to crawl up to him and join your lips together in a soft and sweet kiss.

You were careful with him because of his injuries but also because you were always gentle with him overall. How could you not be? He was the sweetest man in the world, of that you were sure. As sweet as a bag of candy and always so kind. Only Wil could see the goodness in everyone and their worth to be loved. And he was yours, all yours at the end of the day. 

Just thinking of that made you moan into his mouth as you placed your hands on his shoulders and gently moved up to sit astride him. Your lips were still connected, not leaving each other even for a moment but, eventually, you pulled away to catch a breath and he looked up with glossy eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Let me make you feel good, pretty boy,” you breathed out and he nodded softly before you leaned in to join your lips again but this time the kiss was more passionate and eager.

Wil placed his hands on your hips and softly pulled on the fabric of the nightgown you were already wearing. He exposed the soft flesh of your thighs and your ass before letting his hands wander all over. You could feel through your underwear that he was getting hard under his own. You smirked at that and started to kiss him with even more passion, assaulting his mouth with your tongue, making him whimper under you. Your hands moved to his jaw now, cupping his face to hold it in place while you were devouring his lips.

Your hips started to move, humping his erection in circles as you started to moan into his mouth. You could feel the shivers going down his body at your movements – it never took much for Wil to be like that for you. So desperate, nearly pathetically but you’d never call it this way. He was just devoted to you and he worshipped the ground you were walking on. To have you pleasuring him was always turning him into a whiny mess who would stare up at you lovingly. Meanwhile, when it was him on top of you, he would always try his hardest to make you feel good. He was a giver and a pleaser – not that you wanted to complain about that.

But now it was time for him to receive all of your sweet loving. You moved his hands up and helped him to get rid of your nightgown completely before throwing it on the floor. Then you placed his big hands on your breasts and Wil squeezed them immediately as you smiled.

You broke the kiss again because of the slight lack of oxygen and you caressed his hair while moaning softly at the friction his erection was giving to your needy pussy.

“You feel so good, my love, so good,” you assured him.

The praise was enough to feel that his cock started to leak precum. You smiled at that but didn’t want to tease him.

“Here, let me…” You took his underwear off and freed his hard, achy cock. The tip was swollen and drooling. “Let me take care of that mess, baby,” you cooed to him and adjusted yourself on his lap to grab his length and start pumping it slowly.

You watched Wil’s pretty eyes fluttering and rolling to the back of his head as he threw his head back. His hands still played with your breasts and pulled on your nipples that made you moan each time. Broken whimpers were leaving his lips whenever you would run your thumb across the wet tip of his cock and your free hand caressed the muscles of his chest.

“You’re such a pretty boy,” you praised him and felt more of his precum spurting out onto your hand. You gasped audibly at that as Wil whined. “Oh, my darling…” You leaned in to pepper his face with tiny little kisses. “My sweet, sweet boy…”

You moved up slightly and pressed your clothed hot pussy to the wet tip of his cock. Your hand, still wrapped around his length, began to rub yourself with it. Wil forced his eyes to open as he kept watching you in awe with his mouth slightly open and hazy eyes.

“You want to feel my pussy, baby?” You asked him sweetly between heavy gasps. “You have to ask for it, my love.”

You loved to tease him like that although you needed him inside of you just as much.

“P-please,” Wil whined and lowered his hands from your breasts to your hips to help your movements.

“Good boy,” you praised him.

“Please,” he whimpered and you could see how his eyes filled with tears.

At that delicious sight, you decided to stop torturing him and you moved up to remove your own underwear as fast as possible. When you were both finally naked, you grabbed his cock and guided it into your pussy. Lowering yourself slowly on his length, you were getting drunk on Wil’s whimpers. His hands kept squeezing your hips to help you and tears of pleasure escaped his eyes.

“Aw, baby, shh,” you shushed him once you were seated. You moved closer to his body, carefully, making sure you wouldn’t cause him pain by accident. 

Wil wrapped his strong arms around your body and hid his face in your chest, between your breasts. You kissed the top of his head and began to slowly bounce on his cock. He moaned and clinged to you as you started to chase your highs. Your soft moans filled the air while you rocked on his cock up and down and back and forth with your hands on Wil’s shoulders. You held onto them to keep steady and occasionally scratched his skin there gently.

“You’re such a good boy to me, baby,” you assured him when you felt his hips needily bucking up into you for more. It was making you feel dizzy since his cock was hitting your sweet spot each time. “Such a good boy,” you added.

Wil turned his head and kissed your breast while you caressed his cheek softly and picked up your pace.

“I want to protect you from everything, baby,” you whispered and held his head delicately as if he could break if you pressed too hard.

Because sometimes you were scared of that, actually – he was so sweet and so good that you were scared he was not real and if you squeezed him too tight, he would disappear.

The moves of his hips became more chaotic now and after a few rougher thrusts, he spilled himself inside of you with a loud, shaky moan, hiding his face between your tits again. The sight and the sound alongside the feeling of all the shivers going down his body was enough to make you reach your high, too. You buried your face in his hair and came hard, squeezing his spent cock with a whimper and fingernails digging into his shoulders.

You stayed like that for a while, catching your breaths. You could feel him softening slowly inside of you but your skins were so sticky from sweat that you didn’t want to pull away from him at all. However, eventually, you had to.

Wil leaned back onto the pillows again and his eyes rolled back with a sigh. You chuckled at that and stood up to grab a cloth and wash yourselves although your legs were shaky now.

“Do you feel better now, baby?” You asked him with a sweet smile when he forced his eyes to open and focus them on you.

“You’re an angel, sweetheart,” he praised you.

You smiled at the words and dropped the cloth onto the floor before crawling up on the bed and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Always watching over you, darling,” you assured him.

MASTERLIST

[itmeansiris]

The Solar System Legacy Challenge: One thing at a time Gen 1 pt.69

The next day, with closed eyes, M groaned and turned to blindly search for her chiming phone. Without bothering to check who it was, she answered.

M: Hello?

Beckett: Sounds like you ate a frog. Are you really still in bed?

M: Bek? Ugh, What time is it?

Beckett: It's 12:30pm. That must have been some party?

Beckett had only been teasing, but to M it had been like pouring salt in a wound. It was enough to tear her from her half-sedated state. All the emotions from the previous night threatened to crush her.

M: Yeah, it was something. But what's up? I'm sure you didn't call to talk about my night.

She hurries the conversation along. Like the flip of a switch, his tone changed from playful to serious, something that was rare for her younger brother.

Beckett: Did you talk to mom yet?

M: No, I was going to talk to her today. I'm still not sure what to say.

Beckett: Well, I'll be in Brindelton Bay today. Maybe I'll stop by later and we can talk to her together.

M: You're coming to Brindelton Bay?

Beckett: Yeah I'm already on the train. My date is today.

M: Oh yeah. Geez Bek, sorry it must have slipped my mind.

Beckett: It's fine. Convincing Mom to move is a big deal, I'd imagine your mind would be reeling. She is so headstrong, it's not likely to be an easy conversation.

She was grateful Beckett had made his own assumptions about her memory lapse. She figured there was a good chance he hadn't seen the photos, considering he hadn't mentioned them. Yet.

M: You don't have to tell me. Look, you're going on your date today so let me handle the talk with Mom. I'll call you later to let you know how it went and to get details about your date.

Beckett laughed on the other end and M smiled. At that moment she missed her brother. His cheerful nature could make you look on the bright side, something she suspected he had inherited from their dad. Her love life may have been a mess at the moment, but sweet Beckett was brimming with excitement over this date and she was determined to be present.

Beckett had been in relationships before, but usually, it ended with his heart broken. The phrase "Nice guys finish last" was an accurate way to sum up his love life. It was good to see he hadn't given up or resorted to trying one of those cheesy dating shows, she'd gotten a call from recently.

Eager to escape her own depressing situation, she talked with Beckett a while longer probing him for information about his lady companion. She didn't find out much. He avoided her questions with lame comments about the sun in her hair and the light in her eyes. Beneath his playful banter was a real desire for privacy. M couldn't deny that her emotions were still at war. She recognized Beckett's behavior. The sweet yet protective approach he was taking reminded her of Kason. They spent so much time, in the beginning, trying to learn everything they could about each other, while trying to hide (from everyone else) the one thing they knew undoubtedly. The connection between them had been undeniable.

Kason had taken her on private dates and would come across the hall to her apartment, early mornings or late nights when she was working on a new book to check-in. Sometimes it was for simple things like bringing her the day missed mail or making sure she got fresh air every now and again. Other times it was to make sure she was eating, trying to talk her through a breakdown, or to make sure she was getting enough rest. There were nights she couldn't sleep unless he curled up in bed behind her and held her till she drifted off. By then she had already known she was madly in love with him.

Beckett: That's all you're getting from me. Oh and don't ever challenge her to a game of darts.

Beckett pulled her from her trip down memory lane.

M: Ha! How will I ever get the chance if you won't tell me anything about her?

Beckett: This will be our first official date. If, we are not counting the day we met. I just want to take it slow. When it is time to meet her, I think you’ll really like her though. She’s a book nerd like you, except cuter.

M: I say slow is a good thing, take your time. And a book nerd! Is that what you think of your big sister?! You wound me with your words!

They shared a laugh at her mock offense to his brotherly jab. It was cut short when there was a loud thud against the side of the house.

Beckett: What was that?

M: I'm not sure. But listen, don't worry about Mom, I'll talk to her, just have fun today. Okay?

Beckett: Okay. Thanks, Mercury, you're the best.

M: Would I be the best sister if I sent my little brother into the den of a lioness?

This time his laughter is untamed.

Beckett: Hope she doesn't turn you into lunch. Love you M.

She smiled to herself pleased to know their close sibling bond was still intact.

M: I love you too Beckett.

The line goes dead. She lies still for a moment afraid to break the feeble bubble of bliss Beckett had provided. Then she heard the thud again. She pushes herself up and out of bed and heads downstairs to investigate.

M: Hey Mom.

Spirit: Finally awake little planet. I didn't hear you come in last night.

M: Yeah it was pretty late. I went straight to bed. How was your night?

Spirit: Lively. I haven't built a pillow fort or lost so many games of "Don't wake the llama" since you and Beckett used to have sleepovers.

M: Glad you had a good night.

Spirit: Little Planet is something bothering you? Kason also seemed, off this morning. He's in the yard with Ishtar. Your son keeps hitting the baseball into the side of the house.

M: That's what that noise was. Uh.. yeah everything is fine.

She tried to reassure her mother, as she busied herself with fixing a cup of coffee but she knew her mother wouldn't be fooled by her weak smile, so she quickly changed the subject.

M: Are you making blueberry pie?

Spirit: Actually yes. It was Kason's idea. He said last night at the party they were only serving pumpkin pie and that you mentioned something about "killing for a slice of blueberry"

M: Oh he did, did he?

She looked out the kitchen window facing the yard. His back was to her, he was chasing a ball that Ishtar had hit into their small garden.

Spirit: Yup, and seeing how it's both of your favorite I figured let's make pie!

As she watched him try to secure the ball the anger she believed would burn through her when she laid eyes on him never so much as sparked. What had replaced it might have been far worse. She didn't know how to describe it. She felt all the familiar butterflies, and the need to be near him, but there was fear washed over them. Making the emotions feel foreign. Perhaps it was the fear that he wouldn't be the same person after last night. That somehow he'd changed overnight and didn't love her anymore or worse he would finally admit to sleeping with the blonde beauty and end her suffering. She never felt so distanced from him.

She turned away from the window as he finally pulled the ball from the dragon fruit plant and turned to face her direction. Venus walks into the kitchen to grab a snack at the same time.

Venus: MOM!

Venus ran to her mom. M lifted her into a tight hug and spun her playfully.

M: My big girl. How was the sleep over?

Venus: It was awesome! Nana helped us build a pillow fort and Tucker gave me one of his Voidcritter cards to keep. I'm gonna collect all the cards and be the best battler in school. Can you buy me the mega booster pack?

M beamed at her daughter's excitement.

M: That show that you and your brother have been watching after school everyday?

Venus: Yeah! They have Void critter battle stations in the schoolyard. Maybe we can get one too!

M: I'll take a look online today and see what I find.

Which Venus ultimately knew meant, Yes.

Venus: YES! THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU! Nana I put the movie on, hurry up okay!

She took her snack and bounced off into the living room.

Spirit: She reminds me of you at that age. She's always been a spirited one even when she was a toddler.

M: She lives up to her name, Dad would be proud. She's been hogging all your time I see. You spoil them.

Spirit: As do you and Kason.

M: No more than you and Dad did with us. Expensive telescopes, treehouses, and camping trips. Becketts capsule collection.

Spirit's smile made her look like her young adult self.

Spirit: Nonsense! Those were healthy hobbies. Besides it's my job as a grandmother to spoil them with love and attention.

M chose that moment to mention the move.

M: Actually mom, there was soemthing I wanted to talk to you about.

Spirt: What's on your mind?

M: Beckett and I have been talking and we were hoping you would consider moving to Brindelton Bay.

Spirit: Oh.

M: You could live here with us. Kason and I would love for you to stay and the kids have grown so dependent on your presence here. So have I.

Spirit: Slow down Little Planet. I love being in Brindelton Bay with you, Kason and my little stars. But move to Brindelton Bay? Leave Tomarang? What about the house?

M: I know it's a huge change, Mom. If you moved here we would get to see you all the time and you'd be closer to San Myshuno which means getting to see more of Beckett. The house you wouldn't need to worry about. You and Dad have owned that house since we were kids. Kason and I could pay the utilities and property taxes so you wouldn't have to sell it. It would be a home away from home.

Spirit: Mercury..

Her mother said warily. It made M nervous to hear her mother use her given name. It could mean she truly wasn't ready to leave Tomarang. Which was an outcome M had predicted.

M: Please Mom, before you say no, think about it. We just don't like you being out there all alone.

Spirit: I'm not alone. Micah comes by don't forget.

M could feel herself losing this battle, and made a last desperate offer to buy herself more time.

M: Can we compromise? How about you stay till Spring. Let Micah stay and finish his last semester of college there. Then in the spring, you can decide if you want to stay?

Finally, Spirit's expression softens.

Spirit: If you've gone to all this trouble it must mean a lot to you. I'll stay till Spring. Who knows what can change with the seasons.

M embraced her mother's strong frame. The familiar scent of sage and lemon still clung to her even though she hadn't been in her home garden in weeks.

M: To all of us Mom. We just want you to be happy.

Spirit: Thank you Little Planet. Tell Kason and your brother they don't need to worry.

M: You may get the chance to tell Beckett yourself. He's on the way to Brindelton Bay. He's meeting that girl from the cafe last week. I told him not to but he may stop by anyways. You know Bek.

Spirit: Good! We can share the news then.

The back door opens and Ishtar's voice floods in.

Ishtar: Did you see how far I hit it, Dad! Sorry about the Dragon fruit Plant, I can help replant it.

Kason: Don't worry about the bush buddy. I'd give up a cow plant to see you hit the ball like that again.

Finally, they entered, Ishtar was the first to come into view with Kason trailing closely behind him.

Ishar: Smells good in here. Hi mom.

M: It's Nana's blueberry pie.

Ishtar: Mom you should have seen us playing baseball. I got a hit, but then Dad had to climb through the garden to find the ball. Sorry about the garden Mom.

M: I did see! I'm so proud of you, and you heard your dad don't worry about the garden.

Ishtar: I'm going to get cleaned up. Will I get to have pie after?

Kason: All the pie you can eat. Go on, I can smell your big hit from here.

He heads upstairs with a giggle. Spirit picked up a fussy Zohreh.

Spirit: Come on Sunshine you can watch the movie with your sister and I.

Finally, alone he uttered a nervous greeting.

Kason: Hey.

M: Hi.

The sorrow in his voice shattered her heart and set fire to the fear that he didn't love her anymore. The overwhelming urge to embrace him flooded her mind. But before she can act on it, she's saved by the sound of her phone ringing for the second time that day.

M: Takara, Hi. Sorry I never called you back last night I was at a work thing with Kason.

Takara brushed past M's greeting.

Takara: I really wish you would have returned my call. Doesn't matter, can you come over now. There are things we need to talk about now!

To M it didn't sound like she had a choice. Takara was her agent sure, but she was also like a second mother to M. The only time she spoke to her so curtly was when something was wrong.

M: Sure. I'll be there within the hour.

Takara: Good. See you then.

She hung up without a goodbye.

Kason: Your going to meet Takara?

M: Yeah?

Kason: Good. You need to talk to her.

The intensity in his eyes clearly hinted at something, but she wasn't sure what and she didn't have the courage to ask.

M:(What can Takara do? What the hell is going on?)

She mulled over the thought as she got ready then called a cab to take her to Takara's office in Whiskerman's Wharf. She wouldn’t have to wait long to find out why she was summoned.

Previous Next

Beginning

Poses:

@starrysimsie on the line & My Iphone

@mel-bennett-deactivated20241007 Baseball poses and ACC

[chahnniesroom]

tenderness | chapter 7: go ahead

[noun] /ˈtendərnəs/

1. the quality of being gentle, kind, or loving

2. the feeling of pain, aching, or soreness

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: in a world where soulmates are rare and precious, you don’t know why the universe has decided to give you one. you never could have imagined that they would be an idol, and one that you worked with at that, or the challenges that would arise from your bond.

chapter word count: 5.8k

chapter warnings: injury, mentions of nausea/gagging, jealousy

a/n: i am not a doctor and i did minimal research on anything medical related

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter | read it on ao3

You arrive at the airport almost an hour before the members are supposed to show up and help to offload some of the luggage that wasn’t shipped directly to the arena. There’s already a crowd that buzzes to life when the company vehicles pull up. They quickly settle back down when they see that it’s only staff onboard, but you’re a little spooked by the number of professional looking cameras that had been pointed in your direction.

When the members show up, they pile out of the vans and line up to greet the crowd, before heading towards the security check-in. 

You’re impressed by how immune they are to the bright flashes, screams of their names, and having so many phones shoved in their faces. You follow at a sedated pace, not wanting to be captured in the pictures and videos, and wince a couple times when the security team has to step in and push away fans who have gotten a bit too close for comfort.

“Is it always like this?” you ask Eunsung in a low voice.

“Pretty much, I think today there are more people than usual.” He shrugs. “You’ll get used to it after a few more times. Probably when we’re in the United States then it won’t be the same, less fans but more people overall.”

You stare at the back of Chan’s head, covered both by a beanie and his hoodie, and try to imagine feeling as unbothered by the mass of bodies and cameras as he appears.

—

The flight to Japan is relatively unremarkable, it’s just over 2 hours which is enough for you to fall asleep, but not long enough to actually get some rest. Thankfully, Narita Airport isn’t as crowded with fans as Incheon Airport. There’s still a large group waiting at the arrival terminal, but you’re not as concerned as before.

 As much as you’d love to explore the city a bit, you’ve arrived so late in the evening that there’s no time to do anything but check in at the hotel and grab a quick dinner with your team before you have to head back. You’re tired enough that you don’t really mind, intent on saving up energy to enjoy yourself for these next shows.

Luckily, tomorrow isn’t a concert day, there’s a day of buffer before Friday, the first of the three concerts in Tokyo. There are more Japanese concerts, but they’re much later on and some of them haven’t even been announced to fans yet.

You spend the first day helping get the venue set up for the concert. It takes surprisingly long to unpack anything, and you’re exhausted by the time you’re in a car on the way back to the hotel.

When you unlock the door, Chan and Hyunjin both turn to stare, looking like deer in headlights. They’re clearly recording something, Hyunjin has headphones on and is carrying a portable microphone. You back away without saying a word, and close the door quietly behind you. 

You text Chan a quick apology for interrupting, then message Felix, asking if he’s busy. When all he does is send you his room number and a million exclamation marks in response, you make your way down the hallway. The boys have individual rooms, but they’re all clustered together on the same floor so it doesn’t take long before you’re standing in front of his door. You take a moment to compose yourself. You’ve been trying so hard to not bother Chan, but it seems like no matter what, you’ve found a way to be a nuisance.

You end up spending the rest of the evening sprawled over Felix’s bed as he, Han, and Minho eat their way through a variety of Japanese convenience store snacks. You try a few of them, but after a couple with strange flavours that none of you can manage to swallow, play it safe by slowly emptying a packet of fruit jellies. 

—

Surprisingly, the first concert goes smoother than any of the Seoul dates. The Japanese staff are extremely helpful and organised, although you’re not even close to fluent in speaking Japanese. 

As you’re waffling between staying up to see when Chan comes back and just going to sleep without him, your phone lights up with an incoming text.

[12:24 am - received]

Sorry, lost track of time and forgot to let you know but I’m recording something with Sungie rn

I’ll try to be back soon, but don’t wait up

Sorry

At this point, you’re not surprised, just disappointed. You had heard that the members got more free time while touring and had stupidly gotten your hopes up that it would mean Chan would take some of that time to get proper rest. You keep telling yourself that you should trust him and that he’ll actually take care of himself if he needs to, but it doesn’t stop you from worrying about his health. You know that if you’re feeling effects from not spending enough time with him, then he must be too and that scares you more than you think it should. 

—

It’s almost like the day before went too well, because bad luck strikes in no time. A few of the managers and coordis have come down with something by the afternoon of the second concert, leaving the team dangerously short staffed. There isn't enough time to get any replacements, the only option is to divy up the responsibilities as evenly as possible.

Shortly before the start of the concert, you’re tasked with distributing the baskets of water bottles and hand towels around the edges of the stage for the boys to use as they perform. It’s nerve-wracking to peek out at the audience, you can hear their chatter from where you stand on the sidelines. Doors have already opened and many Stays are already seated, eagerly awaiting the show. You’re grateful for the mask that you had decided to put on at the last second as there are multiple people who look up as you walk on stage, a few of them even cheer as you set the little basket down near their section. You just bow to them and then quickly make your way off, sighing in relief when you are finally out of sight. You have no idea how Chan or any of the members could handle being in the spotlight with so many eyes on them.

By the end of the evening, you’re so drained from running around backstage and hauling various equipment, outfits, and accessories around. You get a couple of concerned looks from a few of the staff when a bout of dizziness forces you to put a hand on the wall for support. You wave them off and laugh, but are forced to take a minute to wait for the vertigo to recede. 

Luckily, you can hear the strains of the encore music starting and know that it’s an okay time to take a short break. You make your way to the staff room without a problem and pick over the leftover food. It’s only when you start eating that you realise just how hungry you are. 

“Y/n? What are you doing here?” Yonghwan walks in just as you take another bite and your cheeks flush as you have to chew quickly to swallow the food.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “I didn’t have a chance to have a break for dinner until now.”

“Oh,” he falters. “I’m really sorry to ask, but do you know when you’ll be finished? We’re getting everyone ready to clean up.”

You wipe your mouth and stand up to throw away the remains of the bento box that you were eating, there isn’t much left in it anyway. The sudden movement is enough to leave you light-headed for a second, but you catch yourself with a hand on the table beside you and recover almost right away.

“I’m done!” you say brightly, relieved to see that Yonghwan is typing something on his phone and hadn’t noticed your brief lack of balance. “We can go now.”

—

Your late meal seemed to have done the trick, giving you enough energy to help out after the show without any problems. 

On the ride back to the hotel, you fish out your phone to find a few unread messages from Chan, first letting you know that he was doing a live in Minho’s room, then heading to the gym with some of the guys. You’re oddly touched that he kept you updated and also how he’s been going out of his way to leave your shared room available for you to use since that first night, even if it’s more inconvenient.

The room is still empty when you make it back, but Chan returns when you’re halfway through your nighttime routine. You pop your head out of the bathroom to greet him and hurry through the last few steps of your skincare, but by the time you’re finished, he’s already situated himself at the desk, hunched over his laptop with a pair of headphones on. As the days in Japan have passed, he’s unearthed more and more equipment from his luggage and it’s all spread on a couple tables in your hotel room. 

You bite back a sigh at the familiar sight and skirt around him to climb into bed. It’s close to 1 in the morning and you’re exhausted. The long hours you’ve been doing combined with the amount of running around required for each concert means that you’re sure you’ll pass out the second that your head hits the pillow. Already your arms and legs ache from the extra physical work that you had to do and you’re sure that you’ll be extremely sore tomorrow.

You know you’ve been running low on Charge, that it's one of the reasons why you’ve felt so worn out these days, but at the same time, you don’t want to interrupt Chan. You’re trying to respect his boundaries and honestly, you’re a bit wary of what his reaction could be if you asked him to stop for the day. Sure, he hasn’t snapped at you or raised his voice at all since that night in his studio, but you’re still hesitant to broach the subject.  

The light is still on, but there’s the rhythmic sounds of Chan working and the hum of an air conditioner that are making your eyes heavier and heavier. You give in, putting your phone onto the side table and nestle into the blankets.

Suddenly your alarm is chirping in your ear. You turn it off immediately, not wanting to disturb Chan, then sit up blearily, not sure how it’s already morning. 

You’re still so tired.

It feels like you haven't rested at all, even though Chan’s arm is still slung around your waist and your legs are touching. You rub the grit from your eyes and give yourself another second before getting up. Your vision whites out briefly and your muscles protest when you finally stand. When you stumble into the bathroom, you splash your face with cold water, hoping that it’ll help shock you awake. 

You’re reminded of when you were a teenager and forced to pull long hours to study for the CSAT. At that time, your brother had already graduated and was well on his way to becoming a doctor. While you were proud of your brother, his successes had always increased the expectations on you. He had excelled in science and your parents had been thrilled that he was following in your abeoji’s footsteps. On the other hand, you had set your sights on majoring in business, a degree that was more manageable, but still fairly well respected. 

That didn’t make things any easier, though. Throughout your schooling, your eomoni had always strictly monitored your grades and social life. She kept close tabs on your attendance at cram school, organised sessions with private tutors, and was liberal with her scoldings whenever you weren’t within the top students in your class. The pressure had been unbearable and the only thing that had gotten you through was the knowledge that making it into a good university would get you out of your family home.

You don’t know if it’s the time that has passed since then or some sort of influence from the soulmate bond, but you’ve never experienced such strong physical impacts from lack of sleep. Maybe life after university has spoiled you a bit too much. Prior to your switch to managing Stray Kids, you had gotten used to at least 6 or 7 hours of sleep each night, a far cry from when you were studying and lucky to get 5 hours.

You had been a little bit miserable all the time, but looking back, it had been a valuable experience. You had learned a lot about time management, prioritisation, and most importantly, how to ensure sleep deprivation didn’t affect your performance. 

—

Unfortunately, there’s no miracle that occurred overnight, and when you get to the concert venue in the morning, there’s still a significant number of staff who are unwell. It’s less than ideal, but at least the day before proved that the team will at least be able to survive the night.

You end up trailing behind Eunsung, tasked with retrieving cases that contain backup microphones that were somehow lost when everything was put away after yesterday’s concert. This area backstage is poorly lit and crammed with boxes and equipment that’s all shoved to one side so that there’s just barely enough space to have a walkway. It’s not a surprise that the microphones weren’t found earlier.

The case that you’re holding is heavy, and you have to lean to one side so that your body weight can aid in keeping you balanced. Ahead of you, Eunsung is easily carrying one in each hand, while your arms are starting to tremble from exertion. 

You’re suddenly overcome by another wave of dizziness, something you’re getting better at anticipating. You slow down to take a break and steady yourself, but the case that you’re holding clips the edge of some scaffolding at the same time that your foot doesn’t quite clear a bump in the ground where a bundle of cabling has been taped down. The microphones are dropped with a thud, you lurch to the side and close your eyes, bracing for impact. 

You don’t even feel yourself hit the ground. 

The next thing you know, you’re blinking back stars, shrinking away from a light that’s shining directly in your eyes, but a hand cradling the back of your head prevents you from moving too far. 

“What?” you try to say, but your voice comes out sounding warped. Your head is pounding and feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. The light turns off and you sigh in relief, it reduces the pain to a dull throbbing that seems to be in time with your heartbeat. Your vision is blurred and you can barely make out the face of the person that’s holding onto you. “Eunsung.”

“Oh good, you can recognise me. Do you remember your name?”

“Y/n.”

“Good. And do you remember where we are?”

“Concert,” you say. That part is easy, the music is so loud that you can feel the vibrations of the bass from where you’re lying on the ground. Even from here, there’s faint cheering that you can hear every so often.

“Do you know whose concert?”

“St- Stray… Stray Kids.” It would be embarrassing how long it takes you to recall the name of the group, but your headache makes it hard to think, let alone feel anything other than pain.

“Okay. What country are we in?”

After a moment, you finally remember, “Japan.”

“Perfect. Do you remember what happened?”

“Uhm. I was… tired. I fell.” 

“Great. Now are you feeling dizzy? Nauseous?”

“Mmm. Dizzy I think.” 

You crack your eyes open and when the room spins around you, immediately retch. When nothing but bile is brought up, you remember that you've hardly eaten anything today. The concert has already passed its halfway point and you don't even recall stopping for a lunch break. The increased pressure from your gagging makes the pain in your head explode and it takes everything in you to keep the nausea at bay. At your side, Eunsung takes exaggerated breaths and you force yourself to follow them, feeling a little bit better once you’re able to breathe properly again.

“Okay. Seems like you might have a concussion, but I'm hopeful that it’s only a mild one. I’m concerned about the fact that you were unconscious, but it was only a few seconds and otherwise you don’t seem that bad. I really want to get you to an actual doctor, but first let’s get you sitting upright and see how you feel then.”

Sometimes you forget that Eunsung has done extensive safety training and doubles as a first aid attendant for the team. Now, it’s obvious. He’s clinical and calm, hands steady as they support your back and neck before lifting you into a sitting position. 

Even though he does it slowly, your vision swims and you start to list to the right, away from where Eunsung is crouched beside you. He’s quick to grab your shoulder and tip you back. You keep going until your forehead hits his chest and this time, he doesn’t try to correct you, just wraps his arm around you securely and lets you stay there.

“Y/n, how are you feeling now?”

“Hurts,” you say, turning your face towards Eunsung so that his body blocks out all the light. It had seemed so dim earlier, but now you can barely open your eyes without tears forming. Even that movement makes the ache in your head intensify and you let out a groan.

“Can you be more specific? Does anywhere hurt more?”

“Head.” You lift your hand and fumble, trying to pinpoint where the pain is coming from. Your fingers hit a tender spot and you immediately retract your hand, not wanting to get close to that area again. “Ow, there.”

“Good job. That’s here you hit your head, but it doesn't look like there’s any blood, which is a good sign. I’m going to get you some ice and try to get the swelling done.” At that you clutch at his shirt tightly.

“No no no, don’t go,” you say frantically.

“I- Okay. Are you still nauseous?”

“Uhm.” You take a moment to assess yourself, then confirm. “Not anymore.”

“Okay, okay. I’m going to bring you with me and we’ll get you to a better place to rest. I’m just going to lift you up and I think I saw that there was a room close to here that would be good.” It sounds like he’s talking more to himself than you, and you’re happy to stay quiet. He guides your arms to loop around his head and then gently lifts you, one arm around your back and the other under your knees. “Y/n? Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” you say faintly. “Just go.”

He takes a couple steps before you stop him, tugging at his shoulder.

“Wait! Oppa,” you say urgently.

“What?” he asks, panic leaking into his voice for the first time.

“The microphones. We need to bring them back too.”

“The- Y/n, who cares about the microphones! You just bashed your head against the side of a trunk so hard that you blacked out. You need medical attention right now!”

“But, the show,” you say meekly. “They need the microphones.”

“Yn- Okay,” Eunsung says with a sigh. He can probably tell that you’re not going to budge on this. “We’re going to bring you somewhere safe to rest. I’ll get some ice for your head. Then I’ll ask someone else to bring the microphones.”

“Mm, okay.”

He continues walking and you have to bite your lip hard to stop yourself from making any noise. Although you know he’s trying his best to be gentle, the slight jostling of each step just exacerbates your headache. It’s hard for you to track the time passing, but eventually he eases you onto a couch, reappears with ice, then collects you in his arms again to carry you to a company car.

It’s surprisingly fast getting you to see a medical professional. One of the Japanese staff accompanies you to help translate and the three of you are relieved when the doctor allows you to go home. He goes on for a while, explaining symptoms that you can expect and a recovery plan, but you tune it all out, trusting that Eunsung and the other staff member will keep track of it all. Before you know it, you’re back at the hotel where you force Eunsung to bring you back to his room.

“They said it was just a minor concussion, right?” you ask once you’re settled in bed. You feel remarkably better after having something to eat and drink and being able to spend time not moving. Your stomach has settled now that there’s food in it and your dizziness has subsided almost completely.

“Yes, luckily it’s not too serious. You had me really worried for a moment.”

“I’m sorry. This is really bad timing too. Did they say how long it’ll be until I can work again?”

"Normally, it'd be at least a couple weeks until you feel better, but with the soulmate bond? He said your recovery will go more smoothly. Could be half that, maybe even more depending on how much Charge you get."

"What if- what if I'm not getting enough Charge. It’d still just be two weeks right?” you ask, avoiding Eunsung’s gaze.

“Y/n,” he says warningly.

“I- Things have been busy. We’re both… busy,” you say weakly.

“How much less?” 

“My head hurts,” you say instead.

“Y/n-”

“I’m tired. It’s been a long day. I want to sleep.” You turn so that you’re facing the wall. Moving again makes your head throb, although the painkillers that you’ve been prescribed are starting to dull the pain.

Eunsung sighs. “You can rest for now,” he says to your back. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

You know you're going to have to move back to your room tonight, but the doctor advised you to have someone monitor your condition for the next while. Based on the past few days, you have no idea when Chan will be back, so it’s easier to just stay with Eunsung. You know how much of a hypocrite it will make you seem to have scolded Chan about resting when it turns out that you've also been neglecting your own health and you're already embarrassed enough. You don't think you can face him right now.

You were telling the truth when you said you were tired, but still sleep doesn't come easy.

—

Coming off stage, Chan feels great. The energy from the crowd, being able to see so many Stays, having a chance to have a lot of fun with the rest of the members, it makes all the long hours and sleepless nights worth it.

After handing off his mic and taking a final group picture, Chan searches for Y/n. He’s so happy and he wants to share this moment with her. A brief look around doesn’t yield any results, but Chan’s not concerned, he knows that even though the job is finished for him, the staff still have a lot of work to do.

He manages to catch Minyoung as she’s shoving cases of makeup into a large tub.

“Hey, just wondering if you’ve seen Y/n around? Had something I wanted to talk to her about.”

“Ah,” she says. “I haven’t seen her around, I think that something came up during the show.”

“Oh, thanks.” Chan’s mood rapidly sours, but he does his best not to show it. He checks his phone again, but there’s no new messages from Y/n. It’s odd, but Chan wants to give Y/n the benefit of the doubt and not jump to conclusions. It wouldn’t be the first time that Y/n got pulled away to deal with a different issue or was too busy to notice that her phone battery died, he reasons.

“We still have that dinner tonight, she’ll probably turn up there.”

“Right!” Chan had forgotten all about the dinner that was planned as both a celebration and a kick off for the tour. He feels a bit better knowing that attendance to the event is basically mandatory and the rest of the staff must be scrambling to get everything finished before then.

The restaurant that they head to has been fully rented out, so they don’t have to worry about being spotted. It’s crowded with staff, some being people that Chan has never even seen. 

When he hears a couple of coordis sitting at an adjacent table mention ‘Y/n’ and ‘soulmate’ in the same sentence, he’s instantly on guard and focuses on what they’re saying. If it was somehow found out that Y/n is his soulmate, it would explain her sudden disappearance. They would need to contain that information fast.

“They’re just so cute together, it must be so nice to have a soulmate,” one of them sighs.

“And especially one you work with, since we’re going to be travelling so much. I heard that they left early together today,” the other says conspiratorially, resulting in a gasp from her friend. Chan's confused, but keeps listening. “I wish I could do that, I think I would be fired on the spot if I even thought about taking a break during the concert.” 

“Oh! Someone mentioned that they did see Eunsung-ssi basically carrying someone out earlier, I guess it was Y/n-ssi. Lucky girl,“ the coordi says wistfully.

Eunsung? Y/n leaving early? It's not unusual for Chan to not be able to keep track of where Y/n is and he couldn’t be that obvious about asking around for her, but she’s never actually left without at least texting him before. It would explain why he still couldn’t spot her when he had glanced around the restaurant.

“Hyung.” Jeongin cuts off his train of thought. “Is everything okay?”

“Huh? Yeah,” Chan looks down to see that okonomiyaki that was in his plate has been subconsciously shredded by his chopsticks and has basically reverted back to its precooked form, just a pile of ingredients. Being on stage always requires a lot of energy and before this meal, Chan had been starving. He’s starting to regret the amount of food that he had scarfed down though, it has seemed to all consolidate into one big lump that now sits uneasy in his stomach. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, just got full all of a sudden.” He pushes away his dish, the sight of the uneaten food is enough to make him feel a little queasy.

They’re interrupted by clapping and look up to see that a cake is being brought out, fizzling sparklers and a printed image of a tour poster decorating the top. Chan joins the group to take a picture, but can only manage to swallow a couple bites of the cake before he hands it off to Jisung who happily finishes it.

When Chan gets back to the hotel, Y/n still isn't in their room yet. He checks his phone again, but there’s still no notifications from Y/n. He sends off a message, asking if everything is okay then showers. When he checks his phone again, there’s still nothing. 

At that moment, Chan hears the familiar whir of the lock and he looks up at Y/n shuffles in.

"Oh, you're back already," she says, eyebrows jumping up in surprise when she notices him.

"Where else would I be?" Chan replies. Even he can tell his tone is more waspish than usual and Y/n pauses only a couple steps from the door.

"Uhm. Sorry," she says cautiously. "I just thought you might have been at the gym or something. You're usually out until later than this." Chan narrows his eyes at her response.

“We had the team dinner tonight.”

“Oh, was that today? I completely forgot.” 

"And where were you?"

"I- I wasn't feeling that well. I left the concert a bit early to get some rest." Now that she mentions it, Chan can tell she’s holding her body differently, more gingerly, like any sudden movement could cause pain.

"But you weren't here, where did you go?"

"I didn't know if I was getting sick. I was concerned about passing something on to you so we found a doctor that could see me on short notice. They said everything was fine."

"Oh," Chan says, starting to feel bad now. He shouldn't have paid attention to what the coordis were insinuating. "Sorry, I just-"

"Just wanted to snap at me?"

“You didn’t text,” he says lamely.

“Sorry. I wasn't thinking straight, I forgot to let you know.”

"I guess I was just worried," Chan admits. "I couldn't find you after the concert and you weren’t at dinner, I didn't know what happened."

"Sorry,” she says again, “Things were kind of hectic. I- I didn’t know that you would notice. And I really did forget about the dinner.”

“Wait, did you go by yourself?” Chan doesn’t know if he’s asking to see if there was any truth in the overheard conversation or because he feels nervous about Y/n out in a foreign city by herself. 

“No, Eunsung-oppa was with me.”

“Oh?” Chan tries to sound nonchalant. This whole conversation has been a rollercoaster ride of emotions and he’s ready to get off.

“He’s the one in our team that we go to for anything medical related. He does the first aid training and knows all the protocol for if we have to fill out paperwork. We also had one of the Japanese staff there to help translate.”

“Ah.” Chan’s an idiot. He feels like the worst person in the world. He’s so dumb for jumping to conclusions. 

“Yeah.”

"As long as you're okay. Come here."

Chan opens his arms. When Y/n walks into his embrace, they both sigh in relief.

“Feel better?” Chan asks.

“Yeah, I guess I was just tired,” she says, but there’s something weird in her voice. He pulls away slightly.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah! Just- just had a weird day. And… I had a headache. But really, I’m fine now. I feel a lot better knowing I’m not going to get you or any of the guys sick. How was the concert?”

“It was good! Great, actually,” he says. Thinking about it brings a smile back to his face. “I know things are busy for you right now, but we’ll have to get you in the crowd for one of the nights! I want you to be able to see the show that you worked so hard on, it’d be a lot of fun.”

“I’d like that too,” Y/n says, smiling wistfully.

“I can mention it to Yonghwan, he can figure out logistics. We always have some tickets reserved in case we want to invite guests, they’re good seats. Maybe a little far back, but you’ll be able to see everything that way. One of the cities we’re doing multiple days might be best, I know the second show would probably be less busy for your team.” He stops himself when he catches Y/n trying to hide a yawn. “You must be tired, sorry I’m rambling. Go wash up, we can go to bed now.”

He releases her from their embrace and watches as she has to collect herself the second they break contact. She's obviously still not feeling well, but Chan bites his tongue instead of voicing his concern. He could see that Charging had seemed to relieve her symptoms and they’re about to sleep anyway. They’re going home tomorrow, but don’t have to leave until the afternoon so Chan’s looking forward to finally getting something close to a full night of rest.

—

Usually at airports, Chan tries to tune out all his surroundings. He’s aware of the occasional sasaeng that gets tickets to follow them into the departure area or even onto their flight, but knows better than to give them any attention. Today, he happens to sit right beside the two coordis that he heard gossiping last night. Trying to be casual, he turns off his music and slides off his headphones so that he can better hear what they're saying.

"-so glad to be heading back home. It feels like it's been forever since I've seen my boyfriend." He catches one of them saying.

"Ugh, at least you have a boyfriend. I haven't been on a good date in months!"

"Maybe you can find one at work too. Didn't Y/n-ssi and Eunsung-ssi meet at the company?"

"You're like, obsessed with them. I swear, one of these days they're going to find out you keep talking about them."

"Oh come on, if they didn't want people to talk then they wouldn't be so obvious about it. Look at the two of them now, you can’t say that they're doing a very good job of hiding that they're soulmates."

Last night proved why Chan shouldn’t give weight to any of their comments, but still Chan looks up from where he’s been pretending to read something on his phone. Eunsung and Y/n are sitting shoulder to shoulder, laughing at something on one of their phones. Something curdles in Chan’s stomach as he watches them. 

“It doesn’t help that Eunsung-ssi is so handsome. I’m sure he could have been an idol or at least a model with those looks if he wanted to. I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off him if I were Y/n-ssi either.” The coordis both giggle at that.

Eunsung is tall, at least 180 cm, with broad shoulders, perfect double eyelids, and a stupidly symmetrical face. His hair seems to always fall in artful waves over his forehead and when he smiles, it reveals his even and bright white teeth. It’s true that he looks more like a stereotypical idol than Chan does, even after hair and makeup have transformed him into a different person. Chan doesn’t notice that he’s glaring until Seungmin nudges him gently.

“Hyung, any reason you’re practically burning a hole in the side of Y/n-noona’s head?”

“Huh? Y/n, no- I- just-” The pair laughs again, Y/n tilting off to the side as she closes her eyes. Eunsung reaches out to steady her with a hand to the shoulder and doesn’t remove it. Instead, he uses the contact to pull her closer so that she can lean against him. 

Chan forgets what he was saying. Seungmin eyes him knowingly. For once, he doesn’t make any comment.

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[blenderfullasarcasm]

"tell me what happened" + "wake up, come on, there's something i wanna show you"

Something pokes Furuya in the cheek and one hand is wrapping around the weapon under his pillow and pointing it at the culprit before his eyes snap open.

He comes face-to-face with Edogawa Conan, looking incredibly unimpressed. "Come on, wake up," he demands, for once sounding like a child his age should.

"Ah, so it's just you, Conan-kun..." Furuya says, painting an amicable smile across his face as he slips into his Amuro Tooru persona as easily as he silently slides his weapon back under his pillow. "You should be careful if you wake someone up like that. You don't know how they'll react."

Conan rolls his eyes. "Sure thing, Amuro-niichan!" he chirps, playing along with Amuro even though it's clear he doesn't see the reason for it.

Furuya is grateful for it, because he knows for a fact that his apartment has been bugged by the Black Organization. It seems he's on thin ice with them at the moment, and he would really rather not have deal with the repercussions of whatever Conan's about to tell him.

(He does not know how Conan knows where Amuro Tooru lives, and Furuya can't ask him right now, when anyone listening might discover that a six-year-old had managed to find his safe house. He doesn't think Bourbon's reputation could take the ding.)

(He makes a note to investigate later, though.)

"So, why are you here, Conan-kun?" Amuro prompts, still smiling genially. "Does Mouri-sensei need me for a case?" he adds, to provide the bugs with a reason that Conan would know his address. Furuya makes his eyes go hard and flat, pouring some of Bourbon into his gaze so that Conan knows he needs to agree.

Conan gets the message. "Yup! Oji-san says you gotta come right away, or he's leaving without you!" he chirps, even as his brow furrows, glancing around Amuro's apartment like the Black Org is made up of amateurs who would leave bugs in plain sight. "There's something I wanna show you first, though!"

Conan's eyes narrow, his gaze piercing and bright, and Furuya knows that this part of their conversation, at least, is not a charade at all.

"Is it the ice cream shop on the corner, I wonder?" Amuro asks dryly, even as he inclines his head slightly in acknowledgement.

Conan forces a giggle that manages to sound mostly natural. "Maaaaaaaaybe..."

"Let me get dressed first," Amuro says, ushering Conan out of his room and into the kitchen. He quickly changes into some of Amuro Tooru's light pastels, ignoring the darker clothing at the other end of his closet, then heads back into the kitchen.

Conan is standing more or less where Amuro left him, and that's how Furuya knows that he's snooped around approximately half of his living space in the five minutes he had taken to change.

(Furuya isn't particularly worried about that, though. There's nothing in this apartment that isn't Amuro's or Bourbon's.)

"Ready to go?" he asks Conan, who nods and scampers over to the door. Amuro follows him at a more sedate pace, which Conan seems to think isn't fast enough.

"Come onnnnnn, Amuro-niichan! We're going to be late!" he hollers from halfway down the hallway as Amuro pauses to lock the door behind him. Amuro frowns slightly, then hurries after him.

"Tell me what happened," Furuya demands, once they're a block away from his building. Something must have happened, if Conan had felt it necessary to invade his apartment so early in the morning.

Conan levels another unimpressed look at him. "You forgot, didn't you?"

Furuya frowns, running through his three mental calendars, only to come up blank. He doesn't have a shift at Poirot today; he isn't meeting Kazami until this evening; and his only current orders are to investigate Mouri Kogoro, who is more than likely planning on spending today watching TV until a new case happens upon him.

(Honestly, Furuya had been planning on spending today catching up on paperwork and laundry.)

Conan sighs, with more exasperation than Furuya thinks is called for. "Mitsuhiko's birthday, remember? You said you were going to take us camping, since the professor has that conference this weekend and Okiya-san's car is too small for all of us."

Furuya's frown deepens. "Mitsuhiko-kun's birthday is next week." He knows this for a fact, because even though Amuro had volunteered to drive the Detective Boys to the campsite on Mitsuhiko's birthday, none of them had seen fit to tell him what day it was. Furuya had asked Kazami to look up Mitsuhiko's birth certificate, and that had taken care of it, or so he had thought.

Conan frowns right back at him. "Yeah? But his parents and his sister are taking him out for dinner that day, so we're going camping the weekend before his actual birthday." Suddenly, his body language turns sheepish. "We...may have forgotten to actually tell you that, though..."

Furuya sighs. There goes his quiet day of doing laundry and paperwork.

---

send me prompts for this ask game!

[thewhumpcaretaker]

♥ Suicide Attempt Whump ♥

This is my favorite whump topic, so here we go. Please take care of yourself and don't read if you will find it upsetting. (No actual deaths and no methods discussed - the focus is on rescue/caretaking.) A international list of hotlines if you are struggling with anything similar and a list of alternatives to 988 if you are in the US and don't want to call there.

TW: Suicide attempts. Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Maybe something bad has happened recently and everyone is anticipating whumpee's response, but doesn't know what it will be.

Maybe whumpee has been getting worse lately.

Whumpee is acting very much not okay, showing signs the day before. Too quiet, or too inexplicably happy. Saying strangely tender things that sound like goodbyes and giving away personal belongings.

Caretaker feels a terrible sense of dread but keeps telling themself it's pushy to keep asking if whumpee is okay. If they say they're fine, then they're fine...right?

Caretaker finding a suicide note and that horrible dropping feeling of the entire world coming to a stop.

Dozens of missed calls as Caretaker realizes what whumpee is doing and tries to reach them.

Caretaker breaking down doors or speeding through traffic to get to whumpee.

Caretaker interrupting an attempt and physically throwing themself on top of whumpee to stop what they're doing.

Or Caretaker has to talk them down in a passionate conversation, both of them finally laying out everything they've wanted to say.

Or or Caretaker shows up and they're already unconscious, and it's immediately a rush to save their life.

Maybe Caretaker isn't there at all, and whumpee talks themself through the moment and finds reasons to live. We learn about who they are and what drives them to keep living.

Maybe whumpee is instantly relieved to be found. Or maybe they resist and keep trying.

Restraining or sedating whumpee if they won't stop.

Whumpee going into shock immediately afterwards due to the trauma of what just happened.

Maybe there are physical injuries that need to be dealt with even while whumpee is emotionally wrecked.

Everything feels so raw for whumpee - every sight and sound is too much.

Or whumpee is heavily dissociating and numb. Maybe they won't talk or move.

Caretaker patching them up while they're openly sobbing.

Caretaker takes one look at the means whumpee tried to use to end their life...and they start fucking destroying it. Just absolutely mangling it, even if it's made of metal. Melt it down, burn it up, and spit on the ashes - that kind of destruction. It's the thing that almost killed whumpee.

But there is absolutely no anger directed towards whumpee. "You don't have to apologize. This isn't your fault. We're going to make things better for you so you never feel like doing this again."

Caretaker describing how much they care and how loved whumpee is, in every way possible.

Trying to figure out what to do with whumpee now. Do they go to a hospital? Do they even have access to a hospital in this scenario? What does long-term care look like? Is whumpee receptive to therapy?

Maybe Caretaker is the one responsible for the suicide watch. They won't be leaving whumpee's side for days at least.

[tremendouscreationperson]

So are there any fics where people just assume Arthur is batshit crazy?

Bradley who isn't called Arthur in this timeline was always a promising young lad, his parents helped him with his somewhat odd hobbies of archery and fencing and even just playing strategist games with him

He is fascinated by the Greek and Roman Gods, Ancient Egypt and Camelot

His dad takes him to book stores and he becomes somewhat of a history buff

One day (idk say he's like 22-25) he gets these odd dreams and at first it's just the odd comment "no Gwen was black not white" he has no proof, no evidence, but he knows his dreams aren't wrong

They become more vivid and eventually lead to a breakdown because he is confused about his place in this modern world

He doesn't know why but he drives to Wales, he has to, something is calling him there

Merlin had decided this time around he was going to be a doctor, he had studied when he lived in Ireland (even picking up the accent again) but had stayed too long there and people weren't believing he was 40

Moving to South Wales wasn't the worst idea because he got to visit his lake

The lake

It wasn't his

It hasn't been his for longer than he dare think

Merlin had settled his way into a medicinal career, having been a hacker of sorts to not exactly falsify information

He WAS trained, just under a different name

Merlin hated being back in Wales

He missed everyone

Even Uther

Even Morgana, even after the turn

He just felt so hopeless

Lonely

Just plodding through the new world, learning new skills to distract himself from that

He was perhaps overqualified for the entry level job but who would believe a 20 year old had 30+ years of experience?

The younger he pretended, the longer he could stay in one area

He had made a few friends but always stuck to himself, what was the point in friends these days?

Fingerprints on an abandoned rail

He trudged into work receiving a few "hello Colin"s

He was a carer

Essentially a glorified Merlin

But he'd take it for a few years before he could start mental and physical therapies

Was this a stupid idea

No

He had just plonked his bag into his locker and placed his lunch in the fridge before he was officially late on the ward

"Col' there's a new patient coming in today." Becky told him between scribbling notes "a fighter, from what I've been told, be careful"

"okay, any other information?"

"no, just a breakdown, probably a few months in here with some meds and he'll be gone." She looked up. "He's not actively hurting himself, but he wanders, he was found just walking into some lake. Obsessive behaviour with history too."

Merlin nodded, it wasn't unusual

He'd seen worse

The patient in question did arrive when Merlin was dealing with Mrs Davies, she had had an episode and needed sedation

He didn't like manhandling a 70 year old but she could punch when needed

He just exited her room when he heard a familiar voice

Becky was informing the new patient of the rules and that number 12 was his room

Merlin thought it only right to say hi whilst he's standing right there

She introduced him to the man, who actually had his back to them and was staring out the window

"Bradley, this is Colin."

"Hello, I'm one of the nurses in charge of your health, be careful of your neighbour in number 13. She's a handful." Queue the awkward chuckle

Merlin had spoke as his brain processed what his eyes were seeing

The man was so familiar

The shoulders

The hair

Even the posture

Curse him for standing Infront of the window because when he turned he was haloed by the golden sun

Merlin's heart stopped

"Merlin?"

The recognition in Arthur's eyes broke Merlin's heart

He was quick to stop himself from running up to the King as Becky was examining the patient's reactions

"hello." Merlin nodded to Arthur "Becky I'm just gonna ask some questions," before mouthing "he thinks I'm part of it"

She gave a look but there was always so much to do so if Colin was offering to finish Bradley's orientation so be it

Once she had left and the door was closed Merlin smiled so widely at Arthur

"you took your time, clotpole"

Tears pooled in Arthur's eyes, "I knew I wasn't crazy. Merlin where have you been?"

Merlin sat on the neatly made bed, Arthur following suit, and explained the past thousand years

He ended it with "had to wait for my King."

Arthur placed a hand in Merlin's knee, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for how I acted back then, I'm sorry that you had to hide yourself, why are you here? You're a warlock?!"

Merlin did chuckle at that. "Doesn't exactly pay the bills. I mean it helps but there's also boredom."

Arthur smiled back, the visible ease he had with Merlin vs Becky was comforting

"I'll help you survive this place, you'll be out soon."

"thank you, I don't know why but I kept having these memories, I drove from London to Wales, went to the lake and then I was being pulled out by strangers. I don't remember getting into the water."

"has anything happened like that before or since?"

"no."

"then that's fine."

"why am I back? Why did you stay?"

"Our lives were never our own. Destiny was woven through us. I don't know what we do but we are needed." Merlin hoped Arthur didn't read that as the cop out it was

"you'll stay with me? Even after this place?"

"of course."

"good."

[starrbright]

Wade The Gallows

December 14. I was going through a lot this day and I had the beginning written down almost immediately. So, bear with me. Two cups of tall coffees for this, damn 🏃🏽‍♀️

passage above is from Morgan Matson's Amy and Roger's Epic Detour

800 words. angst. mentions of suicide. all my y/n are afab, fat and of color.

mdni banner by @cafekitsune

"Hey." The softest of word one could merely utter gently to me and I'd be on my knees. A tug at my heart. I always believed that word is so gentle, well, mostly because I think it's a call for attention, but out of benignity. To pull you out of whatever you may be in but tenderly.

Whenever he says it, I melt. The word alone and from the man I let wield the power over me. I'm nothing. A breath of fresh air to me the second I feel I'm not of this world. That I live when I don't exist for a moment as I'm in his hold.

Such a word.

And the second he utters it twice, finally takes me back to present. The heaviness of his presence surrounds me. I wish it could always blanket me. Forever wash away what bites my being. Yet all is fleeting.

All the more reason for me to feel the shudder that crawls through my skin as his breath blows behind me, with his hands holding me close. To cherish the comfort of his concern through knowing silence before all is said.

"Speak to me." He says. Any other time, I would have been in his grasp to easily command, but of course--this is different. Still and always, with his hold on me, is what grounds me. "Please."

How could I have ever been so lucky?

How did it come to this anyways.

Suppose I have been too far in my head that I hadn't seen him seeing me, even as I stitch myself presentably, he can see all the threads behind in such a tangled and unfathomable mess.

I'm afraid there's nothing I could hide from him even if I want to.

And if there's anything I know truly, is that such blessings we could see surround us, must be honoured.

As his warmth surrounds me more, closing the distance behind us, coldness running over my body for a second from the sensation of being engulfed by his warmth. His arm squeezing me tightly against his chest as he feels it.

His face nestled in my neck, I welcome myself in his embrace, basking in the nothingness for what time could let me have, for as long as he let me.

And as I got myself out again, "Hey." He whispered, and I almost smiled and laughed.

I twined my hand on his where it lays on my stomach as I nuzzle my head against his chest. "Hi." Barely a whisper.

He squeezed my hand, holding me even more on him. "Hi." His hot breath almost could sedate me.

I don't speak after that but just remained loose in his grasp.

He keeps me together.

"Can I carry you to bed?" He asked. I wouldn't even have to answer.

There he kneels before me as I sit on the edge of his bed.

God, he has my heart.

"Forgive me..." I merely spoke, not meeting his eyes. Would it be bad if I hope he'd be angry? "Don't be mad." What a lie.

I'm not ready to see the hurt in his eyes. "I..I've been...thinking of killing myself lately a lot."

His hands holding mine turns tighter, I feel his gaze on me not breaking, nor even falter. "Will you look at me?"

It only takes once for me to listen to his.....plea.

It's not long to see the pain underneath him. How cruel do I have to be to feel solace in them.

Too much a human I have become.

It's only inevitable for him to blame himself but he figures maybe that would be selfish if he thought of himself first before you when it is you who has been hurting all along.

So he does what he think is best--to be there with you. As he always has been.

He doesn't speak, instead graced you with his lips on your knuckles, making each tender kiss last, never letting his eyes stray as he does.

There's something so to behold in the comfort we can offer with silence, taking a part of what breaks us, almost giving us a clean slate.

And I want to kill myself. I do. But I want to hear my brother's laugh more. I want to see my nephew and niece grow up. I want to see my friends more.

And I want to feel him more everyday. To hear my heart bang so loud in my chest as he slowly kiss all of my fingertips, each kiss so soft yet unyielding.

We're only human after all.

"Let me bathe you." He spoke after kissing your knuckles once again.

And there you were in the bathroom as he strips you off just after he drew you a bath.

There you were both under the water, laying against his chest as he's sitting back on the bathhub.

What more could I ask for as he hold my hands, flowing our fingers gently above the water, his face resting softly upon mine, with his heart beating against me, reminding me of my own.

A blessing of the many from being a human in this land.

"Will you let me?" He asks as he slowly free your hands to run them up slowly your arms. And you let out only the faintest of 'yes'.

I want to kill myself.

But I want to feel this more as he gives himself to me as I for him, each time.

[zepp-l1n]

This Is A Life

Pairing: Platonic!John Kramer x (Apprentice) Fem!reader

summary: (Y/N) struggles with her new life. fic type - angst, hurt/comfort-ish, not-great father figure x sad girl, song fic warning - manipulative relationship, sad shit, canon level saw violence, based on a song with Mitski in it soooo, unhealthy outlook on life/self worth word count - 1,497 a/n: we out here writing for peepaw now, ig... Happy (late) holidays!

This is a life Free from destiny Not only what we sow Not only what we show

Life before working with John Kramer was easy. Disappointing, going nowhere, and lonely - but it was easy. (Y/N) got by, making wages she wasn't proud of, but she was "normal". Sure, she did some things here and there that were illegal, but it was life. It was what she had to do. That was, until John found her and put her through one of his games.

Since then, she had a new outlook on her existence, and those around her. Since then, (Y/N) had worked with "Jigsaw", Amanda, Mark, and Lawrence to help people find meaning and a will to live. It wasn't the safest job, but she now had a support system and a reason to live.

This is a life (Every possibility) Free From destiny (I choose you and you choose me)

(Y/N) would be nothing without John, without her new life. She knew that. She believed that. Without his games, life wouldn't mean anything and she would've been forced to watch as time went by and she was left behind. Here, (Y/N) could make a difference. Here, (Y/N) was worth something. So, when John asked (Y/N) to help him with a new game, she was happy to oblige.

Sitting in John's workshop, (Y/N) held in her hands part of an item her mentor had called the "Venus Fly Trap". She personally liked to refer to it as the "Death Mask", but John didn't like the name as it, in his words, "took away the true meaning behind it". Taking a flathead screw driver from off of the table, (Y/N) delicately fiddled with the collar of the machine. One wrong move, and the entire trap would set off.

"We'll need that ready by next Thursday. Will it be done by then, or do you think you may need Amanda to help out a little?" John spoke up. Glancing up at him, (Y/N) noticed that when addressing her he hadn't taken his focus off of his sketch book - simply kept adding more and more ideas for more and more games.

Carefully setting the mask down, (Y/N) took no extra time in responding to the older man. "I should have it done by then. Amanda... I don't need her help. She can work on her projects."

John nodded and gave a quick hum of approval. "Alright," he muttered as he got up from his chair, "Lawrence will have him sedated and prepared for his game Friday morning, so we need it to be ready to go - nothing wrong with it. His test has to be fair."

(Y/N) watched as he started to walk past her. She had planned to keep silent; do her job and let him leave. Sadly, her mouth had other plans. "Who is it this time? Being tested, I mean..."

John stopped, seemingly thinking about the question before answering. "Michael Marks." he told her. "But, he isn't what you should worry about. Just focus on the mask." John smiled at his apprentice, gave her a pat on the shoulder, and continued his way away from her.

So, she did just as he asked. Just like she was supposed to do. Grabbing the collar, (Y/N) muttered measurements to herself in the empty room, beginning to continue the build that would inevitably either save a man, or destroy him.

Not only what we sow (Every space and every time) Not only what we show (Now we know) This is a light (Many lives that could've been) Free from entropy (Entangled for eternity)

He hadn't survived. It was as simple as that. Michael Marks hadn't had it in him to save himself, resulting in his death, and the new job that (Y/N) was tasked.

"John... I don't know about this." she muttered to the man. In her hands was a file, much like the others she had received of participants John wanted her to kidnap. This was different, though. This was a kid. "I mean, he's 17, John. He's not even the one being tested!"

"His father needs to be." John spoke calmly. "He doesn't appreciate his son's life, and he uses his position as a cop to ruin others'."

"That's not Daniel's fault!" she cried out.

Raising his voice, John yelled back at her argument. "He will be put in the gas house, just like the others! Now, go collect him for me. Do it, or I'll have Mark do it for you, and take you off of the next few games. You have to trust me, (Y/N)! You either trust me, or you are not fit to be testing with the rest of us!"

Glaring at him, (Y/N) placed the file down on the table and replaced the space in her hand with the pig mask. "He's a kid, John." her voice wavered as she tried to reason with him.

John stepped forward, placing both hands on the girl's shoulders. "His father needs to be tested, and if that is by almost losing his son, then so be it. Amanda will be with him the entire time - you know this. Daniel will be as okay as he can be." The pity in his eyes only caused (Y/N)'s throat to close up more. Guilt, anger, fear, and a vast number of more emotions surged through her body, but she knew she couldn't let him down. She couldn't mess up John's game. She couldn't give him a reason to throw her away. She couldn't lose John.

Not only hands and toes Not only what we've known We find This life Somehow Alright

Leaning forwards, (Y/N) let his arms move from her shoulders, to around the red and black robe she was wearing. Her shaky hands grasped at the front of his shirt, not daring to let go. Small and gasp-filled sobs escaped her throat as he hugged her, trying to give her some sort of comfort before she had to go get the boy.

"It'll be okay. He'll be okay." he muttered.

This is a life Slow and sudden miracles View of other worlds from our window sills With the weight of eternity

Clawing off the pig mask, (Y/N)'s screams and cries finally escaped her. She threw it to the side, letting it hit a random item somewhere in the house John had chosen for the trap. Her hair was a mess, mascara ran down her cheeks, and she was physically exhausted. Leaning down, her gloved hands lifted up the limp body of the boy, and she continued her walk over to the corner of the room, maneuvering him so he wouldn't touch any of the others. After leaning him against the wall, (Y/N) paused, using one of her hands to press back part of his hair. "I'm sorry..." she gasped. "I'm so sorry, Daniel."

(Y/N) had felt guilty enough before but feeling him fight back and hearing his cries and pleas had only caused her emotional distress to skyrocket. Leaving him here didn't feel like he was going into a test like any of the others, it felt as if she was personally responsible for what could be his death. (Y/N) hated that feeling.

(Y/N)'s cries and apologies were quickly cut short by the feeling of a soft hand on her shoulder. Glancing back through teary eyes, she could make out Amanda's figure. "I'll be there for him the entire time. He won't get hurt under my watch, I promise." she took her pinky finger and wrapped it around (Y/N)'s while speaking. "Now, I think it'd be your best bet to go back to John and the others. They're waiting, y'know."

Slowly nodding, (Y/N) took one last look at the boy before walking to the other side of the room and retrieving their mask. She then moved to the door, gave Amanda a sad smile, and shut the door. As she walked away from the room, (Y/N) could still hear every mechanism whirring, getting the gun and locks in place for when the game began. There was no going back - she had done it. She had done it for John, just as he had instructed her. Once again she had followed his orders, as if it was the only thing she could do anymore.

At the speed of light This is a life

(Y/N) stood next to John, watching the police flood into the room. She had been chosen to wait with him. She had been chosen to help from his side of the game.

He chose her.

Watching as each officer raised their weapon and let out yells, (Y/N) simply smiled. As much as it hurt, John was right. They had to be tested, and she would be the one to watch everything go down with him.

This is our life.

[sortasirius]

"There Goes the Groom" and Buck's Queer Joy

Hey so...remember when I did post ep meta for two years? Anyway we're back like we've never left.

Best Hen <3

OBSESSED with micromanaging party planner Evan Buckley. The clipboard was there in spirit.

"You are late."

I'll take married for several years for $500, Alex.

"Ooo sliders."

"Ah ah. No."

"You didn't just do that." PLEASE

Tommy giving Eddie a bro-y high five and then a soft, sweet "hey" for Buck and a hug??? Fellas I might need to be sedated.

Also obsessed with the tinge of bitchiness in Eddie's tone. It's like jealousy without even realizing it's jealousy. And I think it's an interesting mix of "hey my best friend has a new friend" and something else that Eddie cannot label.

Ryan Guzman you must be studied for that little side eye lmfaoooo

I LOVEEEEE TOMMY HE'S SUCH A BITCH, he said I do not care for your party themes. Me for real.

Why were they all so obsessed with the sliders???? I love them all so much.

"Reach for them and you'll be pulling back a bloody stump." WITH THE RAISED EYEBROWS AND THE LITTLE HEAD TILT RYAN GUZMAN I AM KISSING YOU ON THE MOUTH.

"Wholesome, 80s-themed karaoke."

Buck was a party planner in another life and I stand by that.

"We should totally go as Crockett and Tubbs."

"Absolutely."

They are literally this meme:

The little shoulder rub that Buck gives Tommy <333333333333

The way Buck and Eddie are sitting during the party scene, Buck's arm absolutely SLUNG around his shoulder...yeah okay. Okay. I'm normal about this.

The whole party was two idiot best friends pointing at each other and saying "exactlyyyyyy." Yes, I would die for them.

I just want to say that every single thing about Chimney's journey this episode was heartbreaking and scary and I HATED that I didn't know what was going to happen to him the whole time. Ok thanks for your time.

From that guy stealing his car to every Doug jumpscare, I think they did a really good job freaking the audience (at least...me) the fuck out without actually revealing what had happened. Like..we know he's sick, we know something's wrong, but it was a well-paced episode, even if in my perfect world it would have been like two hours long lol.

And the fact that Maddie is always going to look for him, always going to find him, just like he would do for her...don't look at me I'm emo.

Chim essentially pushing the fact that he is actively dying from encephalitis to the side because being a paramedic and saving lives is so deeply ingrained in him it's something the can't forget? He's so important to me.

Then...Kevin. He's such a huge part of Chim's life, his arc, how he became a firefighter, and it essentially include him in the wedding (even though it was in a very scary way), I think it's a really great take on the idea that our loved ones who can't be there for milestones are there even when we can't see them, especially with his line "you invited me, remember?"

Doug was never there, but Kevin was, Kevin will be there even when Chim can't see him.

"I was trying to get back to you the whole time." THEY ARE EVERYTHING HOW CAN YOU NOT LOVE THEM. ALL THEY'VE BEEN THROUGH, ALL THEY'VE HAD TO DO, AND THEY STILL FOUGHT FOR AND CAME BACK TO EACH OTHER!!!!

Bobby officiating and saying "and the Los Angeles Fire Department" THEY ARE A FAMILY!!!!

And then...perhaps one of thee most important scenes ever aired on television ever:

"Sorry I'm late, that fire was a beast."

"So are you."

And STRAIGHT in for a SERIOUS kiss??????? 911 writers room you can have my life, take it, it's already yours.

Tommy's little huff of surprise and then hum of "yeah okay I'm down for this." PUT THEM IN THE DICTIONARY NEXT TO THE CUTEST COUPLE OF ALL TIME

And last...Buck coming in to the room where his family, both blood and chosen, is, with soot all over his face, and a smile so bright that it had to have lit up the entire west coast, not caring who saw him or who knew exactly what he had just been doing...yeah, that's what this shit is all about.

EDDIE'S beautiful smile when he realizes how happy Buck is they are best friends FIRST and that is all that matters to me!!!

Hen being like "it's about damn time." SO TRUE QUEEN OF COURSE SHE KNEW!!!!!

I haven't really been able to put this into words yet, but the way they are handling Buck's bisexuality and his first relationship with someone of the same gender as him is just...it's almost astounding. It's been handled with such care, from Oliver to Lou to the writers to the NETWORK, everyone is so clearly fully onboard with this and not afraid of it.

And there's no pain here, his coming out is not born out of trauma or being forced or caught or guilty. Tommy made him feel something that he had never been able to put a name to, and Tommy is helping him figure it out. He's letting Buck be overeager without taking advantage, he's letting him move at his own pace (which, of course, is at light speed) but is also confident enough in himself to pump the brakes when he feels like he needs to.

I just can't get enough of that smile, of how fucking happy Buck is. Happy in himself, happy with Tommy, happy to finally have a name for who he is, and not be afraid to share it with the people he loves. His parents' reactions don't matter, because he knows the people that matter to him most won't care who he's with, as long as he loves them and they treat him well.

It's such a huge step for Buck, who has so often fallen prey to what other people might think, it's so refreshing to see him get to explore this without fear of what others will say. Tommy is a steady constant, experienced and knows who he is. He teases Buck and calls him Evan and flirts with him shamelessly, and it flusters him in the best way.

To see a character like Buck, who was, essentially, billed as straight from the beginning of the show, be able to come in to himself and experience real queer joy...wow. For me, it just can't be overstated.

I can't wait to see where Buck's journey goes, and I am just so...grateful to be able to watch it.