#should’ve splattered some blood

[jacketpotatoo]

Harrowhark the first

[tender-rosiey]

desire — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: me? not sticking to the poll? no wayyy 😙 I AM SORRY I COULDNT RESIST HEIAN!SUKUNA X CONCUBINE!READER next up will be the dad one (I hope) <3

the servants jump in fear as they hear yet another loud crash thunder through the hallway. some of them even latch onto the pillars near them, fearing that the shaking ground would crumble right under their feet.

“uraume, another one!” they hear their lord’s voice shout venomously.

they realize that if the collapsing ground doesn’t kill them then there is a possibility that sukuna might do it himself.

for some reason, this morning, sukuna has been in a terrible mood. with the first ray of sunlight, he had slammed the door of the chambers open.

with an ever-permanent scowl, he scanned the hall filled with concubines and servants.

his chest was heaving slowly; his breath almost scalding hot as he breathed out. he looked at uraume and says, “I need five people sent to the vacant room this instant.”

with no other word, he turned and exited the hall, closing the door with a bang.

the servants were wide-eyed, and they frantically looked at each other.

some of them started weeping, scared out of their minds that they might be chosen. others were considering the option of fleeing because what can they do so uraume doesn’t choose them for whatever massacre sukuna was planning?

uraume exhaled lightly, “you have heard lord sukuna,” they stared at the myriad of quivering servants, emotionless, “stand in line.”

and so it was.

now, on the other side of the door is sukuna crushing the skull of yet another servant. he breathes heavily, fury flowed through his veins.

he stares at the pool of blood on the ground, the splatters of it on the walls, and the splashes of it on the ceiling. his jaw tightens as he thinks of the reason of why all of this happened.

yesterday was the first night he had ever spent with you.

of course, that entailed bedding you—the norm for your position—but what had sukuna in a turmoil was the conversations, the words exchanged, and soft touches you had given him before anything.

he had seen you in the estate on occasion, acknowledging you as one of the better looking concubines, but it was only yesterday that he actually interacted with you.

from the moment you entered his room to the moment you left, it was all like none other.

he had never entertained the idea of making conversations with his concubines as they only had one purpose—to serve him. on days when he was in a good mood, he would tease, speak lowly, anything to get a reaction.

all of that was to fuel his own pleasure, since he hated stagnancy.

to your luck, though, yesterday, he felt very pleased—whispers of it being caused by defeating yet another considerably strong opponent. so, he talked to you.

“so, what’s your name?” he asked, small smirk playing on his face, when you were first brought into the room. pretty little thing you were seated in front of him, eyes not knowing where to look and trying to keep in mind all the instructions uraume told you.

he expected you to be meek, bordering on shy.

however, despite maintaining humility as you were told, you spoke your name with pride, and for the first time since you entered, you looked him in the eyes.

he should’ve had you killed for that little act; however, he noted that you immediately averted your eyes after it. perhaps, it’s your way of screaming ‘remember me’, a way to engrave yourself into his memory even for a millisecond.

it had sukuna smiling smugly before commenting, “you’re quite bold…and peculiar,” he rested his chin on his palm, “did they not inform you to not look me in the eyes unless you’re told to?”

you straightened your shoulders and spoke carefully, “I was, but I was taught by my parents to be prideful of who I am.”

“and pride is a good thing for servant to display in front of their king?”

your eyebrows furrowed, and you pursed your lips, mumbling, “no—but I was born like this, my lord, so I apologize.”

he chuckled, hand holding your face and moving it with ease, “I should have you decapitated for that attitude.”

your eyes drifted to the window, but the nail that sunk lightly into your cheek snapped you back to reality. sukuna scowled, “look at me when I speak to you.”

“didn’t you say that I am not to do that, my lord?” you asked, looking him straight in the eyes.

“I changed my mind,” he grined devilishly, “you complaining?”

“I could never.”

he leaned closer to you and whispers, “smart girl.”

and so, the night went as he took you for himself. what surprised him in the whole ordeal is that he found himself being just a tad bit gentler when tears prickle at the corner of your eye.

he actually spoke to you through it, but what resonated with him the most is what happened after.

you slowly gathered your robes with all the strength you can muster. however, sukuna called out from his position on the bed, “did I order you to leave?”

you blinked in confusion and spluttered, “b-but uraume said that you don’t like—”

“and my orders are above uraume’s: you are to stay until I tell you to leave.”

you clutched your belongings to your chest. you felt your heart squeeze in a bit of fear and excitement. you have been caught off guard by him more than once already.

you had come in expecting a ruthless and painful night, but it was surprisingly pleasant.

the little talk before it was also easier on your heart than you had assumed. you thought that he wouldn’t even bother talking to you and would just take you like an animal as you have heard the concubines bellow and wail.

so when a thumb was wiping away your tears and a hand was holding your waist with a light touch, you wondered whether the man you were with was truly the king of curses, the man that everybody was screaming and thrashing about.

though, you felt that it might be a test of some sort—something to make you lower your guard before he can do what he truly wanted.

so, with that in mind, you spoke up, “but my lord, I can’t possibly stay in your own chambers; that would be disrespecting you.”

he grunted, a frown making its way to his face, “I decide what’s disrespectful and what isn’t, so you better make your way here, before you regret it,” his eyes flashed with a threat, “I don’t have the time to deal or put up with your every objection.”

instantly, you scurried to the bed where he is comfortably laying down while propping body up on his elbow.

you stood just by the bed and asked, “where would you like me to—”

his hand held your forearm and pulled you right beside him, so you’re laying by his side and still looking up at him. he smirked down at you, “you ask too many questions.”

you didn’t know what to do with your hands. they gripped your kimono while you murmured, “sorry.”

he sighed and with a roll of his eyes, he hummed, “you will stay with me until midnight; you are to entertain me until then.”

you looked at him in shock then you looked at the window. your mouth hung open before you snapped your head back to him, “but the sun has only just set.”

with a raise of his eyebrows and a small smirk, he inquired, “you planning on disobeying me?”

“never!”

“then get to it.”

and you did, gathering all the stories, anecdotes, poems, and songs you can think of to fill the time. during your hours with him, you find out that sukuna is a man of interest in literature.

and there were multiple times where you would talk about a story, assuming that he doesn’t know it only for him to continue the telling of the story himself.

during your hours with him, you saw that he is not completely disregarding of people around him. you saw that he acknowledges those who are truly strong. you saw that he wants to make a world that is whipped to satisfy his own desires.

his rampages are not completely based off of bloodlust.

during your hours with him, you felt content in a way you never thought you could experience with him of all people.

but, during his hours with you, sukuna has never felt so conflicted yet so satisfied. satisfaction should be something good for him, as he only does what he pleases.

if your company is what pleases him then your company shall be what he gets, right?

but why your company? why are you different? why is his pleasuring dependent on you and your talking and not the death that he could bring you?

he was confused and annoyed, yet he was content at the same time. he was so caught up in you that midnight had fallen to him suddenly. he only noticed when the moon’s light hits your face, and your face has never been clearer—even under the sun.

he noted each and every delicate feature, and he frowned because why is he doing it? what does he get from it? he needed time for himself to think this through.

he needed to know why does he feel this way and only from a night spent with you?

surely, you had done something.

so, he silently raised his hand, and you paused right away. your hands settled on your lap, and your smile slowly turned into a thin line, one that’s nervous as you await his next order. he looked up at you, eyes burning.

he then commanded you sternly, “leave.”

you nodded, wasting no time in gathering your things and scurrying out of the chambers but without a small and hesitant, “good night, my lord.”

sukuna’s eyes widened a fraction as he looked up at the door closing behind you. he groaned, throwing his back. he figured that he could just think about it in the morning when he wakes up, but the thing is

he doesn’t wake up

because he doesn’t sleep.

thoughts flooded with images of you, your voice, and your touch to the point that no slumber was he granted. it drove him insane. he is the king of curses; he shouldn’t be tied to a thought of one person, a mere concubine at that.

he racked his brain for the cause of it, but he couldn’t think of any. since the moment you came in till the moment you went out, he had kept his eyes on you.

he thought it was to make sure that you don’t do anything foolish, but he doesn’t know when did his eyes follow you just for you.

so, with anger swirling in his gut, he got up and did what he can to quench his anger, and that’s how everything got this point:

him standing in the middle of the—formerly vacant—room that is now filled with flesh and painted with blood and you who is treading through the gardens with a blissful smile.

your thoughts wander to the night before as you reminisce every soft touch and every little praise you were granted, and it lifts your mood even more.

unaware of the chaos that happened in your absence, you entered the hall where half of the people have disappeared.

your eyebrows furrow, and you look at the weeping ladies, “where are the rest?”

hiccups are all you hear, and eyeshot eyes are what you see. their sobs are unseizing even as they look you in the eye. you hear light footsteps behind you, so you turn and see uraume standing at the door.

they look you in the eye, “are you y/n?”

you nod slowly, and they hum, “lord sukuna has requested for your presence.”

you light up considerably while the other concubines shake in fear as their eyes dart to you. one of them jumps out of her place and latches at you, “no! no! don’t go! he will—”

“silence!” uraume snaps.

the lady holding onto you quickly lets go and crawls back to hide behind the others.

she grips tightly onto the shoulder of the woman in front of her, tears streaming down her face as she is faced with uraume’s sneer.

uraume looks up at you and affirmed, “go.”

after a while, you finally find yourself face to face with the entrance of sukuna’s chamber.

you take a deep breath, and you carefully push the door and speak up softly, “my lord, you called for me?”

you feel a hand roughly clutch your arm and snatches you inside. you are then slammed against the wall. you let out a yelp as pain shoots up your spine.

you squeeze your eyes shut, afraid of the sight that you will see.

and even though you can’t see his eyes, you can feel the heat from his glare. the venom dripping from his voice doesn’t help as he sneers, “what have you done?”

you force your eyes open slowly, and you stutter, “w-what?”

a hand flies to your throat and is wrapped securely around it. you choke out a small, “my lord!”

his grip tightens, and you feel tears form in your eyes and flow down your face.

more than ever, you feel the fear that his looming figure sends through everybody else, you feel the fire of his red eyes scorch your skin, and you feel the aura that everybody talked about.

an overwhelming evil.

“I don’t understand what game you’re playing, but you better stop it this instance,” he threatens, and you let out a sob.

“what game, my lord? I don’t understand!” you manage to choke out.

your hear him let out a breath before he says lowly, “I have told you that desires and pleasures are fluctuating, right?”

fearing for your life, you nod desperately. you feel his grip loosen, and he leans down to rest his forehead on your own.

with furrowed brows and a deep scowl, his eyes bore into your own as he holds your face up with his other hand, “then why do I still desire you?”

you blink owlishly at him then speak cautiously, “didn’t you say that you take what you desire?”

he raises an eyebrow, urging you to continue. slowly and hesitantly, you raise your hand to cup his face.

you look him up in the eyes, and you find them following your every moment. “then what’s wrong with,” you hesitate, “with taking this one?”

you look innocent as you look up at him, but to him, your words are nothing but.

with a low chuckle, he pulls your face closer to his own, “temptress,” and he seals your lips with his.

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or I will send yuuta after you

[lordprettyflackotara]

decode || ticci toby

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+ tw: face fucking, bear death?, reader is extremely oblivious/naive

You couldn’t stop thinking about him.

It had been ten days. Ten long agonizing days since you had seen him.

You had been wondering in the forest. Aimlessly of course, searching for some connection with nature you could never quite obtain. Civilization was a couple of miles away, sticks crunching beneath your boots. You had heard what sounded like footsteps behind you. Normally you weren’t a paranoid person, but the consistent sound made you constantly glance over your shoulder. This distraction led you to what seemed to be the end, a grizzly bear rising on two legs to glare down at you. Unknowingly you had stumbled upon it feasting, blood covering its snout and a deer carcass behind it. The corpse was long forgotten, its beady eyes centered on you.

All safety measures you had been taught went out of the window. Every bit of flight or fight completely vacant in your mind as you stared up in fear. The bear could practically smell the terror dripping off of you. You began to walk backwards, doubting your ability to outrun a bear. It was then you tripped, an overgrown tree root causing you to land on your ass. You gasped as the bear towered over you, a low growl sending shivers down your spine. You were sure that was the end, your heart pounding in your chest. That was before an axe went flying into the bears neck, the blood splattering across your face.

Your savior, an odd lanky man with goggles and face mask ran over to the bear, yanking the thrown axe out of its neck. You were surprised at how fast the animal fell over, its breath ragged and shallow. You blinked, the brunette man turning to you, his skin a grayish white you couldn’t quite make sense of. From the color of his skin you’d assume he was deathly ill, yet he seemed more in shape than you. His appearance was frightening and unsettling. He should’ve scared you, especially after just slaughtering a full grown grizzly bear. Yet his presence put you at ease. He stepped over the fallen animal, standing over you. He extended his hand, his palms covered in soiled bandages. Hesitantly you accepted it, allowing him to pull you to your feet. You tried to see his eyes, the reflective bright orange goggles staring down at you. He was far taller than you, your head forced to tilt upwards to look at him. “Thank you,” You say softly. The forest seemed to fall silent, the only sound audible the bear slowly bleeding out.

“Go home.”

His voice was jagged and rough, causing your eyebrows to raise. You wiped yourself off, the pine needles that had attached themselves to your jeans falling to the forest floor. “Can I at least know your name?” You asked. The brunette seemed hesitant, before slinging his axe over his shoulder.

“Toby.”

After that he glanced over his shoulder, as if he heard something you couldn’t. “Go home kid,” He huffed, jumping over the bears corpse and running in the opposite direction. You listened to his request, turning around and heading straight back the way you came.

Ten days. It had been ten days since Toby had saved you, your mysterious savior haunting your dreams. You had dreams of him saving you repeatedly. Those dreams were short lived, followed by nightmares that caused you to wake up screaming. In some he would attack you with the axe, in others he would feed you to the bear. You feared and craved him all at the same time. This lead to you making irrational decisions. You called out of work regularly, spending all of your time in the forest. You felt like you were going insane. After you had washed the blood off of your face, you had no evidence he ever truly existed. Were you going crazy? You couldn’t be. Your determination to prove your sanity led to you back in the forest once more.

You were searching for him. Searching for evidence he ever existed. Originally you had searched for the bears corpse, only to find it gone. You swore you could’ve recalled the exact spot, even finding the exact overgrown root of the tree that caused you to trip. Yet there was no corpse. No sign of anything at all. You found yourself in the same spot again, searching the pine needles that covered the forest floor. There had to be something. A bear that size surely couldn’t evaporate into thin air over ten days. You’d still be able to find its skeleton or dried blood. The circle of life was fast, but not fast enough to make a creature that large disappear. You kneeled down to the ground, pushing a pile of the pine needles aside. You frowned in disappointment when you found nothing but dirt. It was then a chill ran down your spine, the eerie feeling of being watched causing your body to tense. Hesitantly you stood up, looking around.

“Hello?”

Your voice seemed to echo through out the endless trees, the wind causing leafs to fall from the highest branches. It was only then Toby revealed himself, dressed in the same dirt covered attire he wore when you last saw him. “W-why do you keep c-coming back here?” Toby questioned. His tone was harsh, causing you to flinch. You felt overjoyed at the sight of him, his presence alone proving to you he was real. But his tone was chilling, his words dripping with a deeper meaning then you realized. “I keep having dreams about you. I don’t understand it, but you’ve left a mark on me somehow,” You admitted. Your words hardly meant sense to you, yet they seemed to register for Toby. He rounded the tree he was standing behind, approaching you. “Y-you should’ve just forgotten a-about me,” He said coldly. You were stunned, noting he now had two axes, both tucked onto holsters. “How could I? It’s not everyday a guy slaughters a bear for you,” You argued. Toby seemed frustrated, his shoulders tensing.

“I’m not your everyday j-jo. I c-can’t wine and d-dine you. I’m not like every o-o-other pussy you’ve ever let fuck you,” He spat. You glared at him. Your dreams meant something, you knew they did. They had to. “My dreams mean something don’t they? That’s why you’re trying to scare me off!” You said accusingly. Toby approached you, towering over you. His pace was aggressive, causing you to step backwards against a large tree. You felt the bark scrape at your jacket, swallowing at Toby caged you against the wood. “You d-don’t know what y-you’re getting into k-kid,” Toby snarled. You shook your head. “You won’t hurt me. I know you won’t. I don’t care. There’s something drawing me to you. I can’t ignore it,” You confessed. You bit your lower lip, causing Toby to tilt his head to the side. You could tell he was thinking, his mind racing as he stared down at you.

“How s-strange. I can’t tell if your i-i-infatuation is caused by boss n-not,” He mused. He lifted his hand, gently brushing the side of your face. His hands were dirty, yet his finger tips grazed your skin as if you were made of glass. You could feel heat rushing to your cheeks, Toby suddenly leaning away. “I-I’ll come back for you,” He decided. He turned away, causing you to follow behind him. You grabbed his arm, Toby stopping dead in his tracks. “Where will we meet? Here?” You asked. Toby looked over his shoulder at you. You wished you could see his facial expression, his words seemingly cold and calculated. “No. Never c-come back h-h-here. I’ll find you,” He ordered. He shrugged your grip off of him, beginning to stalk away. “Oh and while you’re at it kid, i-it’s in your best interest to f-find a way to repay me,” Toby said flatly, before disappearing once again.

Your simple conversation played on repeat in your head. Looping round and round. Who was his boss? How could his ‘boss’ cause the dreams? The nightmares? The infatuation? You stared up blankly at the ceiling at night, your inability to sleep resulting in your job threatening to fire you from calling out so much. Everything seemed to be crumbling around you and you didn’t understand why. It was a night like the rest of them, your eyes blankly staring up at the ceiling. You had managed to count every spec, your eyes becoming crossed. You had stared for so long you swore you were beginning to see shapes and patterns. Maybe you were hallucinating. Maybe you were going insane. Could surviving a grizzly bear attack drive you mad? Or maybe you didn’t survive at all. Maybe you were dead and this was some weird purgatory. Maybe Toby didn’t exist at all and your mind made him up to avoid processing the extreme trauma. Maybe-

Your thoughts were disrupted by a knock on your window, the sound causing you to jump. Scrambling to throw off the covers you jumped out of bed, rubbing your eyes before yanking your curtains open. Toby gave you a simple wave, his axe slung over his shoulder. You opened the window, watching him climb inside. “I have a front door you know,” You said. You watched him shut the window, yanking the curtains shut. “D-draws too m-much attention. B-besides, this won’t take long,” Toby said. He dropped his axe down on the floor, shoving his goggles on top of his head. His chocolate eyes met yours, staring down at you. “I need you t-to know you don’t want this, I-I need you to be afraid of me,” He growled. You didn’t understand, slowly taking a step backwards. “Why?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Toby followed you slowly, like a predator stalking its prey. “I-i’m not the good guy. All of these b-b-bullshit fantasies you’ve cooked up-p are wrong,” He spat. You felt your face turn red, your eyes widening. How did he know-

“I’m n-not your savior. In e-every other scenario, i’m the bear,” He growled. There was something about his voice, his eyes, the way he stood over you. You hated how attracted to him you were in this moment. “I don’t believe you. You won’t hurt me,” You whispered. In a swift motion his fingers were wrapped around your throat, your back colliding with the nearest wall. The air was knocked out of your lungs, your hands flying to his wrist. He glared down at you, his eyebrows furrowed.

Toby didn’t have it in himself to kill you. He was in deep enough shit with The Operator already, just by saving you. Proxies were designed to be ghost. They operated entirely by invisibility. They were never there. They never left any trances of their presence or work. Toby had a small solo mission, one that didn’t require Masky or Hoodie monitoring him. His mistake was traveling through the forest on foot, just trying to make it back to the mansion as swiftly as possible. He had noticed you way before the grizzly bear. You were quite pretty. Plump lips, soft eyes, gorgeous skin. Toby couldn’t help but allow himself a rare pleasure just for a brief moment. He couldn’t recall the last time he had been around a girl that wasn’t a designated target. In all fairness, Toby hadn’t seen the grizzly either. He was too focused on you and your beauty, his survival skills temporarily subsided. When you ran into the bear he didn’t have time to think, only to act. He felt an odd urge to protect you. Whether or not The Operator would forgive him for acting on this urge was a different story.

Toby was permitted to see you one final time, to finish the job. Masky and Hoodie had removed the bear corpse and any signs of Toby’s presence. Proxies weren’t allowed to leave evidence or witnesses. The Operator would’ve been mildly satisfied with allowing you to believe you were going insane. The supernatural being stayed lurking in your thoughts, sprinkling fear through out your persistent dreams. He turned them into night terrors. Toby felt guilty, knowing that your sanity would eventually turn into mush. He monitored you closely, watching you return to the forest. He feared The Operator’s influence was only encouraging you to continue your investigation. Toby knew he had to put a stop to it. For your future would become far more tarnished if you continued to anger The Operator. So he took it upon himself to attempt to fix the situation. What he hadn’t accounted for was your faith. You had raw uncensored faith in him. Toby couldn’t quite understand why. He needed to scare you away. Your interest in him needed to fade away from your memory.

Yet it didn’t, your eyes widened as you stared up at him in awe. Your lips were parted, your heart pounding as he squeezed your neck. He shoved his knee in between your legs, a small gasp escaping your lips. He blinked, confused at the erotic sound. “I-is this how you w-wanted to repay me?” Toby asked. The idea made his head spin. The idea that something as pure and innocent as you would want him. Your face was turning a darker shade of red, your tongue tied. He loosened his grip on your throat, watching as you gulped large amounts of oxygen. “P-please,” You sputtered, gulping. Toby’s pupils blew with lust, his hand falling from your throat. All of this time he wanted to scare you, yet you were willing to let him fuck you? “You’re not scared of me?” Toby asked hesitantly, You nodded, refusing to break eye contact. “Good k-keep that in mind,” He ordered. He shoved his face mask aside, quickly pressing his lips against yours. He ignored the burning embarrassment that radiated off of him as he kissed you. His eyes were screwed shut, while yours were wide open.

He knew you were staring at the gash that sat on his cheek. The sight alone was scarring, nevertheless unforgettable. You could see his teeth, the skin around the wound healed and scared over. You wanted to ask questions, but his eager hands grabbing your forearms distracted you. The man before you looked deathly ill and had somehow survived losing a major part of his face. His kisses were hot and heavy, desperate to regain your focus on him and only him. Not his imperfections he kept hidden from the outside world. He couldn’t remember the last time he had kissed anyone, the mint from your tongue dancing across his tastebuds. As he inhaled through his nose deeply he recognized how good you smelled. When’s the last time he had ever smelled anything besides dirt and blood? Toby pulled away, his cheeks a light tint of pink as he stared down at you. You looked so cute and flustered. The man before you was enchanting, a supernatural creature you knew you couldn’t understand. All of that mystery only made you want him more. You sank to your knees slowly, keeping eye contact with the man before you.

Toby wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. Doing this, allowing this with you was wrong.

It didn’t matter how much Toby wanted this to happen. It was wrong. The Operator would skin him alive if he knew the devious acts he was committing. He was supposed to be killing you, not watch you unzip his pants with those stupid big eyes of yours. But Toby couldn’t help but feel selfish. He had never felt so possessive before, so desperate to keep something all to himself. But with you, he absolutely did. He did everything for everyone else. For The Operator. For Masky and Hoodie. He hardly ever did anything for himself. As a proxy you’re meant to be a vessel, a working part in a moving machine. You’re apart of a unit, not an individual with wants or desires. Yet without thinking twice he broke away from that mold, by saving you from the bear. The brunette decided that he deserved one thing and that one thing was you.

You shoved his boxers and pants to the floor, his hard cock presenting itself in front of you. The sight of salivating, your lips wrapping around his tip. Toby’s hand found its way to your hair, tangling itself in your roots. “F-fuck just like that,” He groaned, subtly pulling you towards him. You whimpered as you began to bob your head up and down his shaft, the man in front of you borderline shaking. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this good. Meanwhile you were a mess, your thighs attempting to rub together to create some friction while you sucked his cock. You felt your nipples harden under your shirt, your eyes struggling to stay open. His large hand on the back of your head guided you to go faster, his tip scraping the back of your throat. “My f-fucking fuck!” Toby groaned. You were so perfect. So pretty and usable. And better yet? You were all his. His hips began to snap faster into your mouth, his cock now face fucking you. You gagged on his shaft, his girth far larger than you had anticipated for.

You gripped at his thighs, saliva trailing down the sides of your mouth as he abused your throat. “Such a good fleshlight,” Toby moaned. You felt tears begin to flood your waterline, your jaw forced to go slack. Toby’s thrust were relentless, the brunette obsessed with chasing his high. “A-awe you look so adorable drooling on my c-cock,” Toby cooed mockingly, relishing in the sight of the fresh tears dripping down your cheeks. He could feel himself getting closer to the edge, his fingers yanking at the roots of your hair. You moaned around his shaft, the vibrations enough to send him over the edge. He thrust inside of your throat one final time, his seed spilling down your throat. Satisfied, he watched as you struggled to swallow his load. You gagged as he pulled out of your mouth, watching you gulp down oxygen as you wiped the saliva from the sides of your mouth. Toby knelt down in front of you, cupping your cheek with his large hand. He wiped away one of your tears with his thumb, leaning in to kiss you. Just as his lips were about to graze yours, the overwhelming sound of static flooded his head.

He cursed as he leaned away, his hands gripping his head. “What is it? What’s wrong?” You asked. Toby shook his head. “Boss is calling, gotta go,” He said dryly. He began to redress himself, rising to his feet. You awkwardly joined him, wetness dampening your panties between your thighs. “What about me?” You asked softly. Toby hadn’t considered your needs, his eyes widening as he turned back to look at you. Your face was flushed, your hair a mess. Your lips were red and plump from his abuse, your thighs rubbing together as you stood in front of him. Toby unsurely tucked some stray hairs behind your ear, pulling his mask over his nose. “Dont wait up for me, but i’ll be back,” He said. He knew he was playing a dangerous game, tangoing with the devil that was beckoning him. He felt a brief moment of sympathy, noting the sadness in your eyes. He shoved his goggles over his eyes, throwing himself into the night. You watched him go, leaving you to decode everything that just happened.

[mggslover]

Killing machine

In which reader shocks herself with her abilities in the field, leading her to doubt the person she's become.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader Genre: angst, fluff Tropes: wound cleaning Word count: 1,8k A/n: the first one shot on this blog and also the first I've written in years!!

The sound of her heavy breathing and the occasional clicking of her broken flashlight fill the stuffy, cramped space of the abandoned container Y/n finds herself in. The BAU is after a team of unsubs who’ve been killing elderly widows who come from old money, using their grief as a way to make it into their lives and homes. They murder them in cold blood, stealing their most prized possessions and storing them in abandoned locations. For the past two days, Y/n has been visiting warehouses all over the state, trying to identify who the found property belongs to and finding new leads on where the unsubs could be. 

Today should’ve been another day of clearing out warehouses and containers. Y/n and the team split up after arriving on the property. Callahan, JJ, and Rossi taking one warehouse, Hotch, Morgan, and Reid taking the other, while Y/n got the task to search some smaller containers around the area. She squints her eyes in an attempt to fight the night blindness as her flashlight flickers. “Come on, just work with me,” she mumbles as she slaps her palm against the back of the flashlight, trying to get it to properly work. Y/n gives a small sigh of satisfaction when a bright light erupts out of the flashlight. As she tilts her head back up, she’s greeted by the chest of a male just inches away from her. Her flashlight shatters to the ground, her hard effort gone as the lens breaks into tiny pieces. The male, who she identifies as one of the unsubs, reaches in his jean pocket where the handle of a Glock is sticking out. Before the unsub has the chance to make a single movement, a bullet derived from Y/n’s gun makes a quick and clean hole in his forehead. She’s met with the familiar ringing in her ear and natural response of flinching as his blood splatters onto her. 

She hears a creak and turns around, expecting a team member to make sure she’s alright. 

“Hey, I-“

She stops dead in her tracks as she catches a small dim of light behind a wooden crate, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she makes out two eyes. The click of a gun makes her snap her head around, and she soon figures out it wasn’t just one of the unsubs hiding in here… it’s all of them. Gun in her clammy hand, she guides herself by the small sounds of movement that suddenly sound as loud as the beating of drums. Adrenaline courses through her veins, her gaze only focused on what’s in front of her as she starts firing. One by one the unsubs hidden behind boxes and shelves fall to the ground. She lets out a yelp and stumbles when a bullet grazes her cheek, making her land on her back. Y/n quickly holds herself up on her arms as she hits the final blow at her shooter. The sound of the gunshots had barely registered in her mind before the deafening silence followed. Her grip remains strong on her gun as her heart pounds into her chest. 

“Y/n!” Spencer’s shriek of panic is heard across the container. He stumbles his way over the boxes and bodies on the ground, only focused on her. “I thought you were dead,” he says as he kneels next to her, brows furrowed and mouth softly agape as he flashes his flashlight in her face, examining her. She hisses as his cold fingers trace the wound on her cheek. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he apologizes. 

The rest of the team follows Spencer into the container. Derek crouches to observe the lifeless body of the assumed leader of the group of unsubs. “Damn girl, that’s a good shot,” he compliments. 

Rossi looks around at the scattered bodies. “It’s not just him, all of these are aimed perfectly,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice. “I need to take some extra classes from you. I can’t even shoot like this in GTA.” His words earn some chuckles, but it makes her stomach churn. She didn’t even think twice about taking them down—how was that something she should feel proud of? The praise made her feel like a weapon, like she was being recognized for something she didn’t want to be good at. 

Hotch’s eyes softened when he noticed her clear discomfort and the state of shock she was still in as she couldn’t find the words to speak. “Reid, get Y/n to the medics outside and then take her home. We’ll get the paperwork done tomorrow.”

-

As Spencer turns the key into his apartment door, he makes sure to keep his hand steady on Y/n’s lower back, gently guiding her inside. “Let’s go clean this wound up. The medic told me you have to sanitize it twice a day, before going to bed and after waking up.” Spencer continues rambling on about the medical books he’s read and how he’s practiced cleaning dirty cuts on himself, as he makes her sit down on the edge of the bathtub. She doesn’t process any of his words, though. Her mind keeps spinning back to the container, how she didn’t experience a moment of doubt as she saw the unsubs armed and how meticulously she ended them. How easy it was to end the lives of five human beings in the span of a single minute. 

She tilts her head with a hum as Spencer repeats her name. “Can I take your vest off?” She nods as she lifts her arms, giving Spencer access. He helps her lift out of it,  tossing the bulletproof vest behind him. She cringes as she notices the dried blood and gunpowder coating it. “Hey… I’m right here, you’re okay,” Spencer softly coos, turning Y/n’s attention back on him. 

He traces the back of his finger against her unhurt cheek. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” When she doesn’t respond, he gently cups her chin, tilting it up to bring her attention to him. He crouches so that he can look her in the eyes. “Tell me what’s bothering you.” She bites down on her bottom lip, a nervous habit she has. She knows she can trust Spencer, but she’s feeling embarrassed. Embarrassed by the fact that she’s struggling so much about something that should be routine by now after the number of years she’s worked at the BAU, but also embarrassed by the fact that it’s supposed to be routine, since it shouldn’t. She shouldn’t have the skill to perform headshots like that and she definitely shouldn’t be praised about it by her colleagues. She knows they mean well, but she cannot get rid of the sick taste in her mouth. 

“Sweetheart, listen to me. I know it was terrifying being alone in there. I know you don’t like the dark or tight spaces, but it’s over now. You did so well.” 

“Did I?” Her voice comes out harsher than intended, making Spencer tilt his head in confusion. 

“I killed five people, Spencer, five,” she says as her voice shakes. Spencer rubs her shoulders up and down. “You were left with no choice, there was no other option.” 

“That doesn’t make what I did any better.” She whispers, her voice barely audible as the tears start to spill. She shakes her head as she scoffs a laugh in disbelief. “God… you heard what Rossi said. I’m a killing machine, Spencer! I didn’t even know I was capable of doing that.” She says. “Garcia fights the justice system to get the man who almost killed her off of death row, and what do I do? I don’t give them a single chance and kill them without even thinking about it. I swear Spence, it happened as a reflex. It shouldn’t happen as a reflex!” Y/n’s anxiety builds up as she keeps thinking of reasons as to why she’s a bad person. The empathy is visible in Spencer’s eyes as his hand trembles slightly as he reaches for the dirty bandage. It wasn’t the wound he was worried about— it was what he couldn’t see. How the strongest person he knew was shaking in front of him, wanting nothing more than to protect her from everything the job took from her. 

“You cannot compare those situations. Garcia saw the potential of him bettering his life. You had no other choice, you needed to protect yourself.” 

She swallows. “I used to be a lot like her, you know.” The memories of Y/n’s early days in her career flood her mind. Back when she could feel proud of her ability to protect others. Back when she could still relate to believing the good in people. She used to think every life had some value worth saving. She doesn’t remember the moment that changed. 

Spencer softly smiles down at her. “You still are, love. You’re a soft-spoken kind soul, you just put some protective layers over that. I know it’s hard to reconcile who you are now with who you were when you started this job,” Spencer says as he caresses her freshly bandaged cheek. “Your strength might have hardened you, but that doesn’t mean you’ve lost your compassion. You’re still the same person. You just do it differently now.” His words make her melt as she leans into his touch, surrendering herself to the security he offered. Spencer smiles to himself as he guides her up off of the bathtub, pulling her into his embrace and resting his chin on her head. 

“You’re such a caring person, sweetheart. The fact that you’re worrying about this tells me enough of how good of a person you are.” Her eyes water as he presses a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I don’t know anyone as gentle and loving as you,” he whispers between kisses as he continues showering her in words of affection and reassurance.

 “You’re the most perfect woman I’ve ever met and you’re amazing at the job that you do. The risk you took has saved so many people, love, just think about it.” Warm, full tears soak his sweatshirt as she buries her face in his chest. Finding gratitude in the fact that her boyfriend always knows the right words to comfort her. 

He takes her face in his hands. “I’m not going to lie to you. It’s going to take a while to get over this, but we’ll go through it together,” he says. Those sweet, brown bambi eyes looking deeply into hers make her believe every word he says. 

“Will you help me? When I need to fill in the evaluation?” She softly asks, already dreading going through the case again, but Spencer's soft gaze calms her. 

“I will, love. I’ll be there every step of the way.”

[kurishiri]

Jude Jazza: Episode.0 full (crude but detailed) summary

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this has some pretty translated lines, but this is largely a summary to help you understand what happens in his story. i think @.judesmoonbeauty will translate this story in full later! if you enjoy, though, please do consider reblogging!

An idle everyday, peaceful times, and a life without any pain.

Such things were, to me, farther than the moon.

some guy is attacking jude on the street and judes like yeah this is my every day. so much its a bore. jude gives him a fist to the nose and cue blood spewing.

so this dude is like “its all your fault my company-” and jude is like “yeah? well your company be sellin women so” then jude orders ellis to boot him to the lab.

jude holding a heart of vengeance like

Jude: Serves ya right. Everyone makin’ a fool outta me can drop straight to the pits o’ hell.

then he lights up a cig. the smoke floats? up to the sky and he reveals its a full moon out.

he thinking how the moon is so big it makes him sick or that it bothers him. in fact, he hates the moon, or so he claims.

The moon shone bright to the point it was annoying——and it would not let me forget the things I wanted to forget.

And the fact that, even if I wanted to look away, I still found myself looking up at it, disgusted me.

hes about to like let out another smoke when he notices a woman, who he immediately recognizes as a letter carrier (kate), looking up at the moon.

the girl is smiling softly, saying how shes gonna do her best tomorrow.

that was all she said before disappearing in the darkness, with the moonlight as her path.

judes like wow workin this hour, shes such a good person its shady. but then he wonders,

I wonder, since when was it that I felt irritation whenever I laid my eyes on gentle or beautiful things.

Was it since the time I learned such things were practically bait for evil and violence?

In this world, there were things that were better not to get involved in, and a great many things better left unknown.

the girl no longer there, jude thinks to himself how those who can live a carefree life, should live exactly that way.

time skip: jude is like then came the time i had forgotten about that night completely. that was around the time that girl “got lost in the darkness.”

now we’re like in the prologue tl and jude is like somehow i remember this girl (kate, who got splattered with blood).

jude is shocked like omg its that letter carrier?

The only thing I remembered was how her profile was looking up at the moon, but the more I looked at her, the more the memories of that night came together.

hes like the hell she doin here. and after hearing her story hes like damn her lucks out the window. (lit: her lucks ended)

then hes like crown is a secret org -> anyone who knows of it gets eliminated -> if they witness a judgment then even more reason to eliminate them -> this girl cant get away from death.

so he clicks his tongue and,

Jude: Tch…this is why I was sayin’ we should’ve locked the door.

then hes like “and then she met her fate by the hands of crown. and that was the end of that.”——or not.

kate gets assigned the role of fairytale keeper (who he calls the weirdo right hand of the queen) and hes like the hell is with this ‘fairytale keeper thing?’ sounds pretty damn worthless to me.

it sounded like a good thing, but it was basically a contract where she was gonna be worked while watched <- his words. hes like its hella weird to be bound to this unfair contract just ‘cause ya saw somethin ya shouldnt have.

jude is disgusted™️ but victor is like “please look after her jude” and judes like uh no i think the hell not.

but kates like “i look forward to working with you jude”

(What’s with that carefree tone o’ hers?)

(This girl doesn’t seem to get what she got herself into.)

so he offers to help her. with some biting sarcasm. and at first kate got a sparkle in her eyes but jude is like the hell? and says its a joke obviously.

(Ya can’t run from here for the next month. All ‘cause ya accepted everythin’ as they came.)

——All the things here now disgusted me.

Jude: Well, go break a leg. Though I won’t be surprised if ya can’t take a whole month and run off before gettin’ offed.

then he yeets.

hes irritated at everything i guess? but hes like “why the hell am i irritated at such little things?” and as if to distract himself he tried to light a cig.

but,

I noticed the moon outside the window, up above.

Tonight, the moonlight shone to an irritating degree…

(…Ahh, now I see.)

(That woman’s sparkling eyes…)

then we have a flashback scene.

???: Hey——promise me somethin’, will ya. When ya fill yer pockets, take me to the moon.

end flashback.

(Her eyes looked just like that person’s.)

feeling irritated, he looks away from the moon and lights a cig.

he then repeats a statement hes made before, that there were many things better to not get involved in and many things better left unknown.

And yet, the woman who followed the moon——had wandered into the darkness.

those who can live a carefree life should go and live that way.

(So that’s why…)

Jude: …Get the hell out as soon as ya can, princess.

Fin.

ko-fi☕️ ┊ comms🤍

[55sturn]

disclaimer: gory, violent, mentions of death + murder, blood, psychotic!chris + reader.

chris hadn’t meant for you to find out what he had been doing. he was so careful, always hiding the knives or the guns, scrubbing his hands raw to remove the traces of blood splattering against the milky skin. he made sure to cover every track, every single piece of evidence. he needed to be sure because he didn’t want you knowing that he hunted down every guy that looked at you like you were theirs. he didn’t want you knowing that he was manipulating the game, so that in the end, he’d claim his rightful prize. you.

but you knew. you’ve studied too many serial killers and their cases, you’ve watched every slasher, slice and dice type film under the sun since the ripe age of ten. you know the signs, you see the way he watches the time when you get home after a date, before suddenly disappearing and clambering in through your window during the early hours of the morning, you’ve never once believed his “just need to take a walk.” excuse or his “matt called me about something planned for tomorrow.” lie. chris was never skittish about you going into his room alone and going through his things, at least not until the beginning of last year.

you put the pieces together, and you’ve done some stalking of your own, watching as chris rips the life from every man you’ve ever had any sort of emotional, physical, or even romantically verbal connection with. you knew deep down you should’ve been terrified, but there was something about the way his muscles flexed as he stabbed or knocked the guys unconscious, or the way he’d smirk to himself as he finished the job. you were deeply turned on by the way he took the phrase “i’d kill for you.” quite literally.

you had decided to repair the favour, waiting until some poor girl took her chances with chris, watching and waiting as she walked away in shame before tailing her on the way home. you were quick to make your move, slashing her throat with ease before calling chris.

“hey can you come to the address i’m sending you? i need help with something.” you plead, feigning desperation, giggling to yourself as he immediately obliges before hanging up the phone.

when chris showed up, he wasn’t sure what to expect, given that you normally only went to three places, his house, work, and your best friend’s place. so as he took tentative steps over the threshold, his body on high alert, he was shocked to find you standing over the girl from the party’s body, your thin white tank now a dark crimson, clinging to your body as the poor girl’s blood cakes to your skin.

“what the fuck did you do?” he exclaims, his face twisting in shock, and he knows it hypocritical to react this way, given how he spends his free time, but he didn’t think his perfect girl would ever turn into the same type of monster he is.

“what the fuck have you been doing chris? you think i don’t know about your little hobby? stalking every guy i ever do anything with and killing them so that i’d be left with you?” you laugh, wiping the splatters of blood from your lips, smearing it across the plump flesh, unknowingly affecting chris as he watches you.

“i-“

“don’t worry chris, i’m not mad. i’m touched actually, i find it almost endearing the way you’d manipulated everything to ensure that we’d be together. i wanted to return the favour.” you purr, stepping closer to him as he smirks, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you into a searing kiss before tugging you to his car, wanting to get you both away from the scene of the before it’s too late.

taglist: @worldlxvlys @vanteguccir @sugrhigh @bratzforchris @teapartyprincess4two @lustfulslxt @patscorner @guccifrog @muwapsturniolo @soursturniolo @solarsturniolo @sturnioloshacker @likeumeanit9497 @l9vesick @raysmayhem-72 @ghostofbrock @freshloveee @fawnchives @cindylcuwho @freshloveforthefit @freshsturns @forevergirlposts @sturniolo-fav-matt @sturnifyed @querenciasturniolo @pinklittleflower @ellie-luvsfics @strniolo @junnniiieee07 @hearts4chriss @evie-sturns @sturniolossss @iliketotalk @bambi-slxt @nickssidewitch @nickgetsmewetter @inkyray @jnkvivi @cdbabymp3 @christopherswife777 @certified-chrisgirl @faeriedst @bernardsbendystraws @mattscoquette @chrissv4mp

© 55STURN 2024 ! REBLOGS NOT EXPECTED BUT GREATLY APPRECIATED ! [ you do not have permission to copy or save or share my work to other platforms and devices! ]

[slasherstories123]

Can you do Michael,Jason,art, pennywise where there child get the bite of 83 f(from fnad) :D

Slashers reaction to their child being part of the bite of 83

Paring: Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Art the Clown, and Pennywise the dancing clown x child! Reader

Tags list: @dootys @callmemeelah @mehidktbh @beanbagbitch @mrs-heelshire @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better @sleepypersonblog @alexxavicry @vexeliers-breakroom @l0sercat @naxxsstuff @beel-mcburger @charliedawn @emychan @slasherscrybaby @the-anxious-youth @callsignwidow @endomishy

A/N: as a fnaf fan I had fun writing this one 😭💗

Michael Myers

He should’ve never left you alone. He went to get you a plush toy since you desperately wanted it to go with your collection of the other small stuffed animals. He had his mask off so he wouldn’t just be seen as a scary person or the fact that people would recognize him too quickly.The loud crunch of your head being crushed filled his ears, making him snap his head in the direction where four other teenagers had on their own animal masks. Staring up at what they did to you, in complete shock. Your body laid limp in the animatronics mouth with blood splattering over the metal and on your clothes. Michael shoved the teenagers harshly to where they fell to the ground with loud sounds or even fell against the chairs as their impact. Michael held one with a red fox mask, ripping it off his face.

His cold eyes stared at the teenager and the teenage boy tried to make Michael let him go, he apologized repeatedly with more cries, not being able to handle his gaze and begged to be put down. Michael had a death grip on his shirt before slamming him head first into a corner of the table. Some of them screamed and scattered away. Michale then grabbed one of the teenagers in a yellow chicken mask. His grip was firm and it broke her arm with a loud crack, making her scream and he shoved her into the ground too, the other two with the bunny and bear mask screamed for help, when he was at a far distance they took their friends away from him. Michael didn’t care, the yellow bunny kept moving while the bear stood in a glitch, Michael nearly ripped its mouth off trying to get you down, holding your bloody head against his chest. Your face was too bloody to show him any form of life.. but you were still breathing..slowly. His grip on your body got tighter, his veins showed on his hands, they trembled.

Michael’s fingers clenched onto your clothes, he breathed heavily, looking around for some sort of help, no one was there to help. The teenagers were lucky Michael didn’t kill him..or any of his friends for the matter. He left without a trace…hoping he could get the help you needed, hoping you didn’t take your final breath in his arms.

Jason Voorhees

All four teenagers stood frozen when the animatronic bit down on your head, your screams cut out with a loud crunch. Jason heard the crunch. He dropped the plate of pizza he had got for you, taking slow steps before he speed walked to the teenagers who did it. His blue eyes through the mask held a deadly glare that scent chills down their spine. His eyes flickered to every last one of them, seeing who was the guiltiest which gave him the indication that they came up with the plan. The boy with the red fox mask looked the most guilty, even trembling under Jason’s gaze.

Jason’s strong, large hand wrapped around his neck, immediately cutting off his access to breathe. His breathing was heavy the more he squeezed, his friends tried to pry Jason off, but it made him shove them hard. He was never the one to hurt kids, but they hurt you. And he was livid. The boy kicked and tried to cry but with every sound that came out made him loose more air, Jason’s hand trembled, dropping him and he fell to his knees to painfully gasp for air. Jason rushed over to you. Ripping off the upper jaw of the bear animatronic to get you down with trembling arms.

His cold hands pressed against your pressure points for any sign of life. He didn’t feel anything, he didn’t even see your chest rise and fall. Jason held you close to his chest. He watched his mother get murdered, and now..he saw you get murdered. He couldn’t believe it, he wished he was there sooner. He already lost his mother. Now he has to come to the terms that he lost you too.

Art the clown

The clown’s mouth was left agape at the sight of your bloodied body hanging from the animatronics mouth. His eves kept flickering from the children and to you. His kith then turned into a frown. A deep frown. His eyebrows furred together in a pit of rage but out in a fake smile to try and get the teenagers attention.

He snapped his fingers and they all looked at him. Terrified, shocked, and confused. All three of their emotions were displayed their eyes through the animal masks, Art’s eye twitched as he held up a finger as telling them to watch. He heard one of them step back before the rest followed the others motions, he pulled out a gun. A fire gun. Holding it out as if it was a trophy. The teenagers screamed once he pulled the trigger to let out heavy fire, aiming it in their direction. Every last one of them screamed in agony from the fire. He kept going. He didn’t stop until every last thing was on fire. One of the tanagers cried and tried to crawl away from the fire.

The corners of his mouth turned into a smile. Grabbing gasoline from his trusty trash bag and poured it all over them, they screamed louder and the fire got brighter. Throwing the small gasoline box away. Tilting his head up to you, he opened the bears mouth to drop you in his arms. Your weak arm shakily held onto his costume, your breathing was slow and he took you out to leave the place ablaze along with more screams.

Pennywise the dancing clown

The smell of blood filled Pennywise’s nose. Even in his human form he could smell it. Looking around to try and find the culprit of the smell until he took a second to actually smell it. It was your blood. The scent of you filled his nose. His eyes flashed yellow at the sight of the four teenagers. Their fear smelled intoxicating. Every last one of them trembled at Pennywise’s gaze even as he began to shapeshift into his clown form, they screamed louder. Two of them tired to escape but every last door was closed shut.

They didn’t deserve the deadlights. They deserved death. His jaw opened wide as his he lunged towards one of them, ripping their arm off with one bite. Every last one of them, he attacked, ripping them apart and biting into their flesh with loud roars and their screamed mixed with his growls. With one last bite from the last one standing, he dropped them all with his tongue licking the blood off his lips. Glaring at all of their now dead bodies, the walls splattered with their blood covering the walls, almost like a scene out of a horror movie.

Finally, he went to your body that didn’t have a pulse, he growled again and used his teeth to rip the upper jaw of the animatronic off. Sulking slightly at the sight of you dead. Holding you close to his chest, having a hand on your bloody head. You might be dead.. but he’ll cherish your soul.

Forever.

[defectivevillain]

chatterbox

pairing: Deadpool/Reader

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary: You get threatened at gunpoint, meet a vigilante clad in red spandex, and get a concussion all in the same day. At this point, it seems like the universe is spiting you.

word count: 1.7k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical violence, robbery, murder, etc; hospitals, suggestive remarks

You’re having a relatively uneventful day… until you find yourself being held at gunpoint in the nearby convenience store. You’re nothing more than an innocent bystander—you just wanted to buy some snacks before you left. It appears the universe had other plans for you, though. The robber—a guy dressed in all-black—yanks you towards him by the collar and holds a gun to your head, demanding the cashier hand him all the money in the register. For a moment, you’re terrified that they won’t give it to him. Then they snap out of it and shakily hand him the money. 

Somehow, that’s not enough for the intruder—as he proceeds to slam your head against the counter in frustration. You immediately feel a jarring pain searing through your temple and traveling down your face. Suddenly bolstered with a renewed fear for your life, you manage to stun him with a harsh elbow to the gut and escape his grip. Head spinning and heart racing, you run away from the register and duck down one of the aisles, frantically looking around for something that could help you survive this encounter. Unfortunately, the gas station is painfully small and the robber catches you quickly. You’re scrambling backwards through hazy vision as the guy points his gun at you… And you come to the unfortunate conclusion that this is it. You’re going to die here, in the candy aisle of this cramped and grimy store.   

It happens in a blur. There’s suddenly a katana impaled through the robber’s chest, making him drop his gun and fall to the floor as he gurgles in pain. The newcomer is wearing red and black spandex, with numerous weapons scattered across their form. Somehow, you’re on the ground now—your back to the wall as you stare at your savior in disbelief. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, sounding concerned. You stare at the man in shock, still struggling to process everything that just happened. You think the robber’s blood may be splattered across your face. And despite this new guy’s seemingly kind demeanor, you can’t bring yourself to trust him. Your adrenaline is still pumping, leaving you breathing hard and staring at him warily. “I know this is probably a lot, getting saved by a sexy vigilante and all.” You’re entirely unable to comprehend what he’s saying, through the ringing in your ears and throbbing in your temple. 

“Do you normally talk?” He continues, tilting his head curiously. “You need a throat lozenge? Just cough a few times, get the frogs out of your throat. Or maybe some water? Don’t sweat it, even I get shell-shocked sometimes. You should’ve seen me when I came across-”

“You talk a lot.” You interject before you can stop yourself. This guy’s constant rambling isn’t helping your growing headache. Not to mention, he’s speaking so fast that it’s impossible to comprehend what he’s saying. 

“Oh, so you can talk!” The man exclaims. “And wow, rude. I guess that means you’re fine, then.” He huffs, actually seeming a bit offended. You immediately feel guilty for the remark; you’re about to apologize when another bolt of pain runs through your forehead and down your cheekbone, breaking you from your thoughts. 

You wince and bring a hand to your aching head, frowning as you find blood splattered across your skin. “Need a hand?” The masked guy asks. You take his hand and allow him to pull you to your feet, surprised at how easy the feat seems to be for him. “Easy does it.” He warns, evidently noticing your unsteady footing. Your vision spins tauntingly around you as the walls of the store twist and morph in unnatural patterns. Something doesn’t feel right. You blink and suddenly your knees are crumpling under you. The last thing you see before your vision fades to black is a crimson blur. 

You wake to find yourself surrounded by nondescript beige walls. There’s something digging into your arm and you frown, reaching out in an attempt to remove it. You’re stopped by a nurse, who introduces themself and explains the situation. You’ve been unconscious for several hours now, on account of everything you experienced at the convenience store. You don’t have any serious injuries, aside from a concussion. 

As for the man who saved you… his identity remains a complete mystery. You attempt to ask the nursing staff, but they all seem to be just as confused as you are. They claim that the paramedics who arrived on the scene didn’t see anyone who matched his description: red and black suit, katanas… Safe to say, they think your head wound conjured up some mystery hero who saved you. But you know what—or more accurately, who—you saw. After all, your imagination isn’t that inventive or creative. You can vividly remember the gruesome sight of the katana piercing through the robber’s chest; and the rapid-fire sarcasm of the man who wielded it. 

As if summoned by your thoughts alone, you hear a familiar surprised voice. “You’re awake.”

“Jesus!” You instinctively hiss, your chest lurching as you look around the empty room. The heart monitor at your side is beeping like crazy. You have to squint in the dim lighting; then you catch a glimpse of a familiar crimson suit and your panic begins to subside. It’s the guy who saved you—he’s crouching in the window. Isn’t this room pretty high up? You frown. 

“Nope, just me,” he responds cheekily.

“I don’t even know who you are,” is somehow the first thing that falls from your lips. Perhaps you should’ve asked why he’s here… or how he got here. 

“I’m Deadpool, obviously,” he answers, breaking you from your thoughts. “Remember? The convenience store? I saved your ass; then you fainted into my arms. It was pretty embarrassing for you, but it made me look badass. So… thanks, I guess.”

“…What are you doing here?” You decide to ask, your voice slightly raspy. You cough a few times; in the blink of an eye, the guy is standing at your bedside and handing you a glass of water. You thank him and take a few sips, before he places it back on the nightstand. 

“Making sure you don’t snitch,” he says sincerely. “Snitches get stitches and end up in ditches. We clear?” You’re staring at him in disbelief, struggling to process everything that’s happening. The guy speaks almost inhumanly fast and it’s hard to keep up. 

“I won’t say anything.” It takes you a few moments to utter the words, your tongue feeling strangely thick in your mouth. The guy—Deadpool—looks relieved, his shoulders visibly relaxing. 

“Good.” He huffs, crossing his arms. 

“Also, I’m sorry,” you say. The vigilante stares at you in evident confusion. You’ve given up on trying to rationalize what’s happening, or the words that are coming out of your mouth. Blame it on the concussion. “For earlier.” You supplement. He had been kind enough to save you and inquire about your wellbeing… and you returned that kindness with an insult, and then promptly fainted in his arms. Embarrassing. 

“No prob.” He brushes you off. “I’m annoying, I get it. Not the first time it’s happened, won’t be the last.” And maybe you’re imagining things, but you swear you can hear the slightest hint of vulnerability in his voice.

“You’re not annoying,” you reassure him. “You saved my life. I just couldn’t really process anything you were saying.”

“Oh.” He remarks. You can’t discern his facial expression through his mask, but he sounds a bit surprised. “Oh! Okay then.”

A very awkward silence suffocates the room. “Thank you.” You hear yourself say. Because despite the absurdity of the situation and the man standing in front of you, you are truly grateful. “For… you know.” You struggle to say the words. 

Deadpool seems to understand regardless. “Don’t mention it,” he says easily. Then his tone turns more sincere. “Seriously, don’t.” He looks at you pointedly.

“I won’t,” you promise. “But thanks. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t there. You’re… a pretty good guy.” And wow, you must’ve gotten hit harder than you thought. 

“God, how can you just say those things?” Deadpool mutters to himself, almost sounding embarrassed. Your suspicions are confirmed as you watch him awkwardly climb out the window, the movement far more stilted and clumsy than the previous stealth he’s displayed. He remains crouched in the frame, regarding you for a moment. “I’m glad you’re okay though. Just… let me know if you ever find trouble again. I’ll stab a bitch. Or several bitches. And I mean bitch in the gender neutral, non-misogynistic sense. Obviously. Okay, I really need to go now. See ya!” He blows you a kiss and promptly leans back as he dives out of the window. You stare in disbelief, admittedly a bit concerned for his safety. But judging from the fading sound of footsteps, he landed just fine. 

You suppress a laugh at his dramatic exit, before thinking back to what he just said. “Let me know if you find trouble again.” You appreciate the offer, and you can only hope you won’t have to use it. But… How are you supposed to find Deadpool, if something ever were to happen?

You muse on the thought as you stare at the open window, before sighing and pushing yourself to your feet. The effort is laborious and takes a bit longer than it should, but before long you’re able to walk over to the window and close it. On your way back to the bed, something on the nightstand catches your eye. It’s a card. You frown and grab it, opening it to find a simple message written in unmistakeable red ink: 

Get well soon! Signed,  Your Favorite Mercenary  PS: Here’s my number.  PSPS: Not in a weird way. Just in a friendly, heroic way. I mean, not heroic… I’m not a hero. And I know I said not in a weird way, but I also wouldn’t be opposed…?  Jesus, what am I saying? Right, contact me if you’re ever in trouble.  PSPSPS: Is “PSPS” a real acronym? Probably not. It sounds like something I’d say to a cat to get it to come closer. Anyways, bye! :P

You stare down at the card for several moments, before finding yourself laughing in disbelief. Moments later, you’re saving his phone number under a new contact named “DP⚔️” and smiling foolishly. 

Deadpool is quite the interesting guy, to say the least. You almost hope that, as time passes, you’ll get to know him better. Although, at the same time, you hope you don’t ever need to contact him for his work. But regardless, you’re overwhelmingly grateful to the talkative, sarcastic vigilante who saved you.

author's notes: I have a bad headache as I post this, which feels like poetic justice somehow. lol.

thanks for reading! <3

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[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 14

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

AN: Welcome back! Get ready for some more detective work, a pinch of Jo drama, another fire, and the reader finally meets John Winchester...

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 7,500 Tags/Warnings: Angst, fire hazards, threats, and hurt/comfort.

Part 14: “Message in a Bottle”

A week before Christmas, John Winchester left his house for work before the sun had even risen in the sky. It was still dim when he stepped out onto his porch, which is why he didn’t see it at first.

He heard the clink when his boot kicked at something metallic.

He glanced down and found a small badge lying on the ground. He bent to pick it up, and on further inspection, it was a fire department’s badge. A replica, probably, because it had Dean’s number on it: 20579.

The badge was also splattered with blood.

Later at his office, John handed it over to his partner for his inspection.

“It’s actually paint,” John said. “Forensics looked it over. No prints, of course.”

“That’s a shame,” Cas said. His tone was mild, but his face was as grave as John’s as he considered the crimson-stained badge. They stood together in the bullpen of the 84th Precinct.

“And I got this little present a few days ago,” John admitted quietly. He grabbed a folder off his desk and showed Cas its contents: a picture of Sam leaving the courthouse while talking on his cell, climbing into his car. Someone was watching his sons.

“I already have a police detail on him,” John said, heaving a sigh. “I requested approval for Dean’s this morning.”

Cas’s frown was deepening, along with his furrowed brows. “We may need to ask for backup on this.” 

John shook his head. “Rufus won’t give it to us.”

Their esteemed Lieutenant thought John was on a vendetta with a ghost, stirring up a conflict of his own making. He only approved a temporary police detail for Sam, with the condition that John stopped what he was doing, let the Fire Department handle the serial arsonist, and let this blow over.   

But Rufus should’ve known better than that by now. This was personal, and John wouldn’t tolerate these yellow-bellied threats to his family.

“Azazel’s applying pressure, hitting your weak spots,” Cas said, perhaps pointing out the obvious.

“So let’s hit him back, goddamn it,” John growled. He threw down the folder back onto his desk.

“How?” Cas asked. “We still don’t know who Azazel is.”

The other man thought hard, rubbing a hand over his mouth, and feeling the overgrown stubble. He didn’t remember the last time he’d shaved.

“How’s your progress on questioning Savage & Co.?” he asked.

“Stalled. Nick Savage has lawyered up,” said Cas.

His face slackened from frustration to realization. He didn’t seem happy about his next idea, but it looked like he had one.

“Though now that I think of it, we may be able to apply some pressure of our own,” he said.

John raised a brow and crossed his arms. “How’s that?”

“Dean’s girlfriend works there, if you remember,” Cas said. “Something happened this past weekend at her company Christmas party.”

John nodded, despite his frown. He was set to meet you in a week, but it looked like they might need to question you before then. What a pleasant first meeting that was going to be.

But if you had anything on Savage, on the company, or even better, if you were willing to wear a wire, that could be the break they needed to get some headway on this case. They could squeeze Savage for any information he might have on Azazel—like his real identity.

“Tell me,” John said.

You returned to work on Monday with steel in your veins (and a taser in your purse).

You had about an hour of peace in your office, catching up on your emails and calls. Then there was a knock on your door before it pushed open without your consent.

Damn it, should’ve locked it. Your lips pursed when Nick Savage came in.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you said firmly. Already you were opening a drawer in your desk, reaching into your purse.

“It’s my goddamn office,” Nick replied lazily. But he crossed his arms and stopped just behind the spare chair that sat in front of your desk. It gave you a good few feet of distance.

You stared back at the man with hidden satisfaction through your disdain. It seemed Dean’s threats got to him.

“Just thought I’d let you know that Josh’s been promoted to Senior Sales Manager,” Nick said. He checked his watch absently.

Your teeth clicked in irritation, but you let it pass. He was just trying to get a rise out of you, and you no longer gave a fuck about this company anyway. What you told Dean before was the truth: you were now here just to collect a paycheck, until you could find a new job.

“Good. He’s been working hard, kissing your ass,” you said with a fake smile. “Now if you don’t mind, I have a lot of work to do.”

Nick made the mistake of taking a half-step forward. Your hand subtly clenched on the weapon in your purse, but you tried your best to seem relaxed. In control of yourself. This was your office that you’d occupied for three years.

This was your space, and this man didn’t control you.

“Take one step forward, and I will quit today,” you threatened. And then you bluffed.

“I’ll call Mr. Greenway,” you said. “In fact, he offered me a job last month. Then I’ll make a few more calls, and I’ll take all of my accounts with me. I’ll kill your fucking sales team and leave Josh to continue sucking your lackluster tequila dick.”

Nick stared back at you with thinly veiled shock. You’d always been “no nonsense,” but you’d never spoken to him like that before. He smirked.

This was why he liked you. And hated you.

“All right,” Nick said. He didn’t come any closer, but he did rest his hands on the back of the chair. “How about I buy out your friend Greenway. His whole damn company. And then I’ll blacklist you with every other company that calls for a reference. Even the ones that don’t call.”

Your eyes widened incredulously. He had the gall to wink at you, boiling your blood.

“I’ll fucking sue you,” you said, hating the slight tremor in your voice.

Nick rolled his eyes. “This again? Please.”

You couldn’t help it. Your temper snapped, and you pushed away from your desk to stand up. You gripped the edge of it to steady yourself. You quirked a humorless smile.

“As it happens, I know a damn good lawyer,” you countered. “He puts murderers in jail every day. I doubt he’d struggle too much with a corporate asshole. And I’ll remind you, Dean’s father is a police officer. I’m sure he’d like nothing better than to lock you up after I report you for what you did. And I will.”

Nick scoffed at that, his eyes narrowing.

“If you take it there, I’ll have every resource at my disposal to make your life a living hell. I’ll drag this out for years. Until you’ve got nothing but your boyfriend’s charity to keep you from living in a fucking box.”

You were seething, trying to stay in control. He knew it too, and he smirked at you. He pushed away from the chair and started to leave.

But then, he tossed you a smug look over his shoulder.

“Just remember,” he said. “You could’ve just spread those legs for me.”

It took everything you had within you not to hurl a stainless steel stapler at the back of his retreating head.

“A double please, Ellen. Dry, lots of olives,” you requested.

After a ridiculously long day at work, you were now trying to let go of your frustrations at the Roadhouse, while you still had the money to drink. You rubbed through the ache in your temples.

“Long day, hun?” Ellen asked you. Her eyes were sympathetic as she made you the martini you ordered. You gave her an attempt at a smile.

“Long life,” you muttered.

“Hmm. Asshole boss?” she surmised.

You met her gaze with a note of suspicion. “Did Dean tell you…”

You knew he’d told his brother about what happened at the Christmas party. And you had a feeling he’d told Cas as well, to try and see what you could do from a law enforcement standpoint. The first step was filing a report. Now you knew, however, that you couldn’t. Not if you wanted your life to remain in one piece.

“Nothing, hun,” Ellen shook her head. “You’ve just got that look. I reckon every woman in the world has worn that face. Usually because of a man.”

You sighed and chuckled at the same time. It loosened some of the tightness in your shoulders.

“Yeah, well. This one’s a rat bastard in human clothing,” you replied.

“Ooh, sounds like my old biology professor,” Jo chimed in. She was drying out some newly clean glasses behind the counter along with Ellen. “He had a reputation for scoping out freshman girls.”

You made a gagging sound as you reached for the delectable martini glass Ellen slid your way.

“Men are disgusting,” you said. Jo snorted.

“99.8% of them, yeah,” she said. But her gaze drew towards the door when Dean Winchester came in. And she added, “A few of ‘em are all right.”

Was it just you, or was there a softer look in her blue eyes when she noticed Dean?

You were soon distracted though, giving your boyfriend a smile to try and cover up how exhausted you were, in every sense of the word. He greeted you with a warm hand along your lower back. He dropped a kiss to your forehead.

“Waiting long?” he asked.

“No, just a few minutes,” you shook your head. You laid a hand on his thigh when he took a seat next to you at the bar. “How was your shift?”

This week he was on three 12-hour shifts instead of his usual 24-hour shifts, which meant you got more of him in the evening. 

“Fine. Just a couple of accidents to clear off the road, nothing major,” he replied. He ordered a beer from Ellen and gave Jo a smile. He was surprised to see mother and daughter working civilly together under one roof, after the scene he saw last week.

“How’s the studying going?” he asked Jo, once Ellen was out of earshot to serve further down the line. He turned to you and filled you in. “Jo’s gearin’ up to hit the Police Academy.”

“Oh wow, that’s great!” you remarked.

Jo glanced over at her mom, but then she smiled, looking back at you and Dean. She focused on him.

“The test is in a few weeks,” she said. “I think I’m ready, but I don’t know…”

“You’ll be fine,” Dean said, with easy conviction. “You’re stubborn enough to know it’s what you want. So I got no doubts about you.”

Jo’s smile was warm, with a hint of shy and gratefulness. You smiled at Jo encouragingly, but inside, you had a familiar unease churning inside your gut.

Dean then turned to you with expectant brows. His fingers brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek, curling it behind your ear.

“And how was your day?” he asked. His tone was quieter, laced with double meaning.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Jo moving on to another waiting customer with a small sigh.

You met Dean’s gaze and you nodded. “It was fine.”

His brows rose a touch higher. “Very convincing. You took the taser with you, right?”

You sighed and had to smile a little. His concern warmed you, made you feel protected, even though you’d had to do that part yourself today. You soothed a hand over his chest, between the open panels of his plaid shirt.

“Yes, I did. I’m okay, baby. We’re at a standstill,” you said. And you reminded him, “I can handle myself, you know.”

Dean nodded, sighing through his nose. His hand rubbed up and down your back, whether to comfort you or himself, you didn’t know. Your fingers curled into his shirt, and you smiled up at him, just before you tugged him down for a kiss.

It was slow and sweet, until you became a bit more than sweet, grazing his bottom lip with your teeth. His hand came up to cup the back of your head as he accepted the warmth of your kiss.

You knew that you couldn’t tell Dean what happened this morning in your office. He’d likely go for the Halligan in his trunk and beat Nick Savage within an inch of his life.

While the idea appealed to you for several reasons, you didn’t want to be the reason Dean lost his badge, or ended up in jail.

So over a couple of drinks, you distracted him by having a healthy debate over what you two were going to have for dinner later: sushi or pizza.

You ultimately won with sushi. (Or maybe he let you win. Either way, you were getting salmon rolls tonight.)

Still, you had that uneasy feeling when you and Dean left the bar. You wondered how the hell it had taken you this long to notice the starry look of longing in Jo’s eyes.

You fell into step with Dean as you two headed for the sushi restaurant down the street. It was already dark out, but even on a Tuesday night, the streets and sidewalks of downtown were busy.

“Can I ask you something…potentially uncomfy?” you said.

Dean’s head turned to you, with a raised brow.

“Uncomfy?”

You let out a breath, and you could see it on the December chill in the air. Your hands were tucked into your pockets, and so were Dean’s in his.

“Did you and Jo ever have a thing?” you asked.

Dean blinked, but then his lips pressed together. “What makes you say that?”

You sent him a suspicious look. You’d known him long enough to know when he was hedging.

“Just please, answer the question,” you said.

He blew out a breath. After a moment, he nodded.

“Yeah, for a few weeks,” he admitted.

You sighed. That sure explained a hell of a lot. And really, with his track record, you couldn’t be surprised.

“You dated her, or you hooked up with her?” you clarified. Dean shot you a look.

“Dated,” he said, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

Your brows furrowed. “When?”

He’d told you that he’d been in one relationship before, briefly…

“About a few months before I met you,” he said at last. But he saw the incredulous, almost upset look on your face. “Obviously it didn’t work out.” 

“You couldn’t have told me that earlier?” you asked. Your hands slipped out of your pockets to gesture at him. “How did it end?”

The man sighed, looking up at the sky.

“Come on, Dean,” you prodded.

“All right,” he placated with a hand. “It didn’t end great, put it that way.”

You couldn’t help a frustrated huff. You crossed your arms and kept walking beside him down the street, albeit in silence.

Dean glanced at you in slight exasperation. He was with you now. Why did it matter to you so much?

“She still has feelings for you,” you said, though you still weren’t looking at him.

“How do you figure?” he asked. But if he was honest, even he knew the truth.

“Because I could see her eyeing you like a honey glazed ham,” you snipped. At that, he let out an incredulous chuckle. 

“Are you jealous?” he teased.

You stopped walking and looked up at him, frowning. “Do you want me to be?”

Dean stopped as well. He sobered, realizing you weren’t in the mood for jokes. You’d been through a lot recently, and he knew then that you didn’t need this kind of stress on top of everything else. He drew closer and gently grasped your arms.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. Though he thought to himself, I’ll talk to Jo if I have to.

Your lips pursed in frustration, but he soothed his hands up and down your arms. His touch plied you, along with his smile.

“Hey,” Dean said, dipping his chin so he could catch your eyes. “You should know how I feel about you by now.”

You sighed and nodded in agreement.

“Mhmm,” you replied.

He wasn’t satisfied.

“Okay, listen,” he said, squeezing your arms and earning your eyes on him. It took him a moment, letting out a breath, but he was honest.

“I love you," he reminded. "And if that damn elevator hadn’t broke down on you, I’d still be missing something in my life.”

…Damn it, you thought, even as a blushing smile grew across your face. Dean Winchester was too smooth for his own good.

But you also saw the sincerity in his eyes. You couldn’t help but be warmed by his words, down to your toes.

“There she is. All right,” he said with a grin. He nodded in satisfaction and gathered you into his arms. “My soft girl again.” 

Your smile deepened, but you still pinched his side, making him flinch and laugh. You held him back and looked up at his handsome face. He still looked amused and his eyes were warm. You leaned up on your toes for a kiss that lingered on wind-chilled lips.

“I love you,” you whispered back, against his lips.

His smile against yours was your answer.

Two hours and two salmon rolls later, Dean drove you home. You had taken an Uber to the Roadhouse, which reminded him that he needed to make another trip to Singer Salvage.

He’d been scoping out potential cars to fix up for you. He’d even recruited Bobby’s help to find something good, something with strong bones. Dean could do the rest.

Even after he watched you get inside your house safely, he let out a subtle breath before he peeled away. He wished you were coming home with him tonight. More often, he was feeling your absence when you weren’t in his bed. But it also reassured him, that he knew you were safe with him and Sam at their apartment.

He later found his brother eating leftover chicken parmesan at the kitchen counter.

“Why’re you eating standing up?” Dean asked, tossing his keys onto the counter. He reached into the fridge for a beer. “You look like Big Bird if he wore a suit.”

Sam sent him a dry look. “I don’t know. Force of habit.”

He barely had time in his day for an uninterrupted coffee, let alone a meal. When Dean wasn’t here, Sam fell back onto his work habits. He took his plate and actually went to the table.

“You eat already?” he asked. Dean nodded and said he’d eaten with you.

“Oh yeah? How’s she doing?” Sam asked.

Dean sighed and sank down heavily onto the chair opposite his brother. He rubbed at his forehead.

“She’s okay, considering,” he replied. But he knew you hadn’t told him the whole story about how your day went at work. Whether you were trying to spare him, or protect him, or yourself, it still drove him up the wall. Knowing Nick Savage was still your boss, and he was there, an ever-present threat just a few floors above you in that building…

It made Dean’s skin crawl. It had his teeth grinding and coiled his spine tight with repressed rage. And worry.

He met his brother’s eyes. Sam had been watching him, hiding his wariness.

“What can we do about him?” Dean asked. He knew he didn’t have to explain who he was talking about.

Sam started to shake his head, but Dean wouldn’t have it.

“I mean it, Sam. Because I almost…” His hand and forearm clenched and unclenched on the table. He could almost feel the way his arm had pressed into Nick’s throat, slowly but surely crushing his trachea. Just a couple of minutes more, and Dean could’ve done it. In that moment, he saw it so clearly.

It was the first time he’d ever wanted to take a man’s life.

“I know,” Sam said. His brows furrowed in sympathy. “But you did the right thing.”

Dean’s lips pursed as his hand once again fisted on the table.

“If I hadn’t been there,” he said. “If I had been just a few minutes off…”

These were the what ifs that kept plaguing his mind, ever since the party. Sometimes, it added to the catalogue of waking nightmares that wouldn’t let him sleep.

“And now she’s gotta go back there, every day, where that animal is just waiting for an opportunity,” Dean gritted out. Then his fist dropped more heavily onto the table, rattling Sam’s silverware.

Sam held the table steady and looked at his brother, calm but firm.

“You can’t touch Savage,” he said. “Don’t even go near him. Whatever you do, he’ll use it against you, and potentially against her. Unfortunately, she’s got the best plan right now.”

Dean looked up at him with angry eyes.

“Wait him out,” Sam said, “until he makes a mistake he can’t easily cover up. In the meantime, she’ll find a new job and get the hell out of there.”

Dean forced a sharp breath through his nose. He leaned back in his chair and tapped his fist more calmly on the table.

“I don’t have to like it,” he said.

Sam nodded in agreement. “No, you don’t.”

The fire was wild. It was eating up the four-story apartment building in a full blaze. The Truck 79 team was geared up outside of it, with Chief Singer already calling out instructions along with Dean.

Benny and the Rescue Squad were already on the roof, rappelling down to get the ones trapped on the top floors out through the windows. Dean was on the ground. He had Gordon, Jack, and a few others behind him. Meg and Chuck were on standby, waiting for the firefighters to pull out any residents still trapped inside.

Dean had to wonder if he was walking into another arson, like the Richardson fire. Against his will, he thought of that day. He thought about everything his father had told him about that arson, about Azazel and his mom’s death. He thought about you, working for a man who was potentially tied to Azazel.

“Winchester,” Gordon tapped him on the arm. “You good?”

Dean glanced over at him, then nodded.

“Yeah. Let’s rock and roll.”

When Dean was at work, he couldn’t let the outside world into his mind. All he could let himself focus on was the scene ahead after he put his mask on.

Inside the first floor of the building was like entering a living furnace. It was hot as shit, and layers of smoke choked the room. The mask was the only reason Dean could see, let alone breathe.

He turned to Jack. “All right, take it room by room. Stay close. We don’t got a lot of time.”

Jack nodded his agreement, and Dean split his team. A few of the others took the first floor on his orders. Dean, Gordon, and Jack would take the old stairs to clear the second floor.

Fuck. This whole place is just wood and plaster, Dean thought, shaking his head. These old buildings were all the same. Easy to build, easy to knock down. And usually they weren’t up to code, often thanks to cheap property owners.

He got apartment 201 open with his Halligan. The shoebox studio was smokey as all hell, but it was clear of any tenants. Gordon moved on ahead quickly, but Dean’s brows furrowed as he listened to the unsteady creaking of the floorboards. He moved more carefully forward.

Until he felt the warmth under his boots, saw the orange glow underneath a thin patch of flooring.    

“Walker, wait!” Dean called, at the same time he held Jack back.

He reached out, just as the wood floor splintered and broke underneath Gordon. His eyes flashed wide just before he fell.

Dean dove for him. His Halligan clattered away, but he managed to grab onto the man’s sleeve before he disappeared. Gordon grabbed onto Dean’s arm and nearly pulled him down too. Luckily, he managed to grab onto the splintered edge with his other glove-covered hand. He gritted his teeth at the strain of the other man hanging off his shoulder, but he didn’t dare let go.

Jack grabbed Dean’s belt to keep him from sliding further down. It let him grab onto Gordon with both hands. The men panted for breath; Dean had a better vantage point to see that the middle of the ground floor below was engulfed in flames. The glow of it flared in the corner of Gordon’s eyes. He could feel the heat making both of them sweat.

The wood flooring under Dean creaked ominously, but before anyone could move, it broke further. He almost lost his grip on Gordon as his torso hung over the edge. He managed to get a new stronghold under the other man’s arm, and Jack did his best to keep Dean from falling by pinning his legs down. Jack was strong, but he was still a smaller man than Dean.  

“Jack, call for backup!” Dean gritted out. Jack nodded behind him and radioed in for help.

Gordon stared up at Dean with wide, but resigned eyes. “The floor’s gonna cave before you can pull me up.”

Dean stared down at him, even as lines of sweat poured down his forehead from within his mask. They both knew that if that happened, Dean would be pulled along for the ride down, maybe even Jack too. Dean gave a sharp shake of his head.

“Just hold on. Backup’s comin’,” he said. All his strength was going into keeping a firm grip on the man’s arm and jacket. He called to Jack over his shoulder. “Can you get next to me and grab him?”

To his credit, Jack tried. But the jagged edges of the floor around Dean were unsteady, creaking and groaning under Jack’s added weight, a bit too much.

“Stop, stop!” Dean shouted, halting Jack’s movements.

Gordon licked his dry lips and blinked sweat out of his eyes. “This might be the part where you let go, Winchester.”

Dean took exactly a beat to process his shock. Then he glared down at the man.

“Shut the hell up, Walker. You don’t let go, you hear me?” he barked. “Jack, grab the back of my jacket and my belt.”

Jack followed the order, and a combination of him pulling Dean up and Dean straining every muscle he had to heft up Gordon slowly, painfully, brought them back up and over the ledge.

Jack had an easier time then of helping Dean pull Gordon the rest of the way out of the hole.

And the rest of their Truck crew came to help them onto their feet, before the fire consumed the rest of the second floor.

Once Dean was out of the building, he took off his mask and breathed in cooler air on his face. He made a beeline for the fire truck. In the back was a cooler, and grabbed a bottle of water to dump over his overheated head and face while he caught his breath. Gordon and Jack were following suit, and the men stared and one another. All of their faces said the same thing.

We made it. We’re alive. That was almost fucked.

Gordon’s gaze met Dean’s, sobering further. For a moment, he looked like he was searching for words.

“How’s your shoulder?” he asked eventually.

Dean nodded, rotating his right arm. He was going to feel that bitch tomorrow.

“Fine,” he said. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Gordon nodded. Another hesitation, followed by an honest gaze. “Thanks, Lieutenant.”

Dean’s face broke into a smile, wry but also genuine. “Yeah, thank me by layin’ off the burgers.”

He swatted the other man’s stomach and went for three more waters. He handed two of them to Jack and Gordon. One was smiling, while the other just smirked and shook his head.

“You callin’ me hefty?” Gordon remarked. “I’m averaging 6% body fat, man.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, right. What’re you, the Rock? That’s why you almost sunk.”

He dropped his fist into the air and made an exploding sound. Jack was wide-eyed, but Gordon just chuckled. They started making their way to the front of the truck to start packing up their gear. The Truck and Rescue teams had done what they could, and all the residents that made it out of the building were being seen to by the paramedics.

“I’d rather be weighed down by muscle than all them Little Debbie’s you’ve been putting away at the station,” Gordon shot back. “Cheap cake is not your friend.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “All right, that’s just uncalled for.”

“Dean,” Chief Singer called, beckoning him over with a hand. His free hand wore a glove as he held something steaming.

Dean nodded at his men and joined Bobby outside his department-issued SUV. Dean’s gaze focused on the bottle-shaped object in Bobby’s hand. There was a small digital box attached to the front, with wires wrapped around. The entire device was now blackened, but the smell of chemicals was unmistakable.

“Molotov cocktail?” Dean quipped, but his face was as grave as Bobby’s. The Chief nodded.

“Lafitte pulled this out of the fourth floor,” he said. “Looks like the same kind of incendiary device Arson found at the Richardson fire.” 

That night, you made dinner for Dean at your house. He was forced to explain what happened at the apartment building, and why he had his arm pinned to his side like a chicken wing. You made him sit down and relax, all while you tried to hide your worry and relief that he was mostly all right.

Later in the living room, you sat on your knees beside him on the couch and lifted the bag of ice from his shoulder. You peered at it in concern, gently rubbing your hand over the joint and surrounding muscle. Dean sighed through his nose as your gentle touch was both soothing and painful.

“Are you sure you should do another shift tomorrow?” you asked, replacing the ice. He shot you a glance.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Right,” you said dryly. “That’s why you can barely move this arm.”

Dean rolled his eyes and made his point by raising his right arm, slowly, but easily back down.

“I’ll be up and running by tomorrow. Just need a good night’s sleep.”

“Dean, are you sure? You seem to be in a lot of pain,” you asked.

He tried to hold in his annoyance. “I think I’d know if I’m fine.”

“You forget, I know all too well what downplaying looks like,” you countered, giving him a chiding look. Dean didn’t appreciate it. He didn’t need you to mother him.

“This is my job, all right,” he said.

You gave him a steady look. Your hand moved up his shoulder to rest along the back of his neck. Your fingers slipped into his hair.

“I know that. But I’m allowed to worry,” you said. Your brows furrowed. “Please don’t get upset at me for that.”

Dean let out a breath. He relaxed against the couch and met your gaze. He knew he had no right to ask you not to worry about him.

“Yeah, okay,” he said.

To you, he still seemed a bit annoyed. You nodded and continued to gently sift your fingers through his hair. You had to wonder if his resentment was coming from a different place.

“Are you still mad at me for going back to work?” you tested.

Dean breathed out deeper this time, but he didn’t answer.

Bingo, you thought with a frown.

“Dean—”

“All I want is for you to be safe,” he said. His voice was harder as his face tightened up. His hand gestured in frustration. “This whole thing…that fucking douchebag…it’s killing me. Fucking killing me. And you know that.”

Your eyes softened, and you unconsciously bit your lip.

“Ditto,” you tried to joke. It landed flat, because your boyfriend was deadly serious.

He looked away from you with pursed lips and a frustrated shake of his head. You sidled closer to him and tried to soothe, with a hand on his chest.

“Look, I’m trying to find a new job, but it takes time,” you said.

“You could quit. You could quit right now,” Dean replied hotly.

You sighed; you couldn’t believe you had to remind him about this. “I can’t, Dean. I have bills to pay, just like you do. You think I like this situation any more than you? I’m the one who’s had to deal with this for months!” 

“I know that!” Dean snapped back. “Or should I say, now I do.”

He pulled away from your touch and pushed off the couch, onto his feet. You looked up with your mouth agape as he left the room. You got up and followed after him.

“You’re leaving?” you asked in shock. You watched him grab his keys and his wallet from the kitchen counter.

“I’ve got a long shift tomorrow and I gotta sleep,” Dean said, rather gruffly.

You followed him all the way to the door, where you grabbed onto his wrist. He stopped in the doorway, glancing back at you over his shoulder.

“Dean, please,” you implored. “Don’t go like this.”

After a beat, he seemed to soften. Just enough to lean over and press a brief kiss to the side of your head.

“I gotta go.”

He left you in the doorway with tears swimming in your eyes, and he pretended not to notice them.

When Dean woke up the next morning, his shoulder still ached, and he still felt guilty. He rubbed the offending join and tried to slowly roll the stiffness out of his arm. Fuck.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes next. They blearily took in the digital numbers on his alarm clock: 5:00 a.m.

He slid out of bed and got ready for work. He definitely wanted to check in with Arson about the device that likely started that fire, and he knew his dad would need to be brought in on it. It would give Dean a reason to press John for an update on his investigation.

By 6:00, he was finishing his coffee, about ready to head over to the station. He could hear the pipes running, meaning Sam was in the shower.

Dean was startled only slightly by his phone vibrating in his pocket. His brows furrowed, but he fished it out and found your name crossing the screen, along with a smiling picture of you. He sighed.

Part of him hesitated. If you were calling just to try and convince him to call out of work, he was going to get worked up again. And he’d rather not have anything disturb his first cup of coffee of the day.

Still, he answered. “Hey.”

“Dean, did you come into the house last night?” you asked.

He didn’t like the wary, almost scared tone of your voice.

“No.” His brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Look at the text I just sent you.”

He put you on speaker so he could check his messages. Sure enough, he found a picture from you. It was of a glass bottle-shaped object on your nightstand. There was a black box attached, but its digital screen was blank. Dean’s breath caught in his lungs as his eyes widened. His heart dropped into his stomach.

“Dean, what is this thing?” you asked. Your voice was shakier, more worried. “It looks like a bomb. And it smells awful, like chemicals.”

“Don’t touch it,” he said quickly. “Get out of the house…better yet, wait for me at your neighbor’s place. I’m coming over right now.”

And I’m calling Dad.

Dean tried his best to calm you while the police and the Arson Department swept your entire house for devices, fingerprints, and any other evidence on who broke in.

You had a hand over your mouth by the front door as you watched them turn over cushions, move tables and shelves, ruck through cabinets. Your entire life turned inside out.

Dean’s hand rubbed up and down your back. You eventually had to look away and sigh. You pressed closer to his side, and he wrapped his good arm around your shoulders.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he said quietly, and kissed the top of your head. Inside, he was furious. Mostly at himself.

If anything had happened to you last night, after he left…he would’ve never forgiven himself.

So it was a welcome distraction when John and Cas’s police car finally pulled into the driveway. Dean led you outside, away from the chaos happening in your house.

“Hey, Dad,” he said, with a nod at Cas. Both men nodded back.

“Son,” John greeted, His brown eyes turned to you next. He offered you a hand. “Good to finally meet you, despite the circumstances.”

You blinked up at him and curled a stray strand of hair behind your ear, a bit nervously.

“Oh, it’s…it’s great to meet you, Mr. Winchester,” you said, sticking out your hand and shaking his.

A smile flickered across Dean’s lips. He realized then that this was the first time you were meeting his father. You were adorably nervous.

A reserved smile tugged at his father’s lips as well.

“John’s just fine.”

You smiled back, with a bit of a blush tinging your cheeks.

“Now, can you tell me what happened here?” John asked you, not unkindly.

Dean’s good humor faded away as he explained about the device left on your nightstand. He filled them in about the fire he’d responded to yesterday as well.

“What the hell is happening, Dad?” he demanded to know.

John let out a breath and nodded, swiping a hand through his dark hair.

“It’s another one of Azazel’s signatures,” he said, lowering his voice so only the four of them could hear. “It’s a message.”

“To who?” Dean asked.

“To me,” John said. “Warning me to back off the case…there’ve been other threats. I’ve finally got a police detail on Sam, and I just got approval for you. I’ll add her to the list.”

John glanced at you. Your eyes widened in confusion as you tried to hold in your fear.

“Who the hell is Azazel?” You turned to Dean. “Is this…does this have something to do with your mom’s killer?”

John’s brows shot up at his son. “You told her?”

“You’re over here talking about him too,” Dean retorted. He gathered you closer and met his father with steely eyes, to mask how his gut was churning with worry.

“You need to get this guy,” Dean said, almost through gritted teeth. “Get him now.”

John agreed with a nod.

Once again, you covered a trembling hand over your mouth. Dean squeezed your side a bit to earn your attention.

“I want you to come stay with me,” he said. His tone was boding no argument, not that you would. You nodded and fairly melted against him. Your head rested against his chest.

“Dean, this is insane,” you whispered.

He nodded and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I know. I’m sorry…I’m so fucking sorry about this.”

You looked up at him, your brows furrowing. “It’s not your fault.”

Dean met your gaze, but he couldn’t quite believe you. He was the one who kept pushing his dad for answers, to let him in on this. This was his family’s bullshit, not yours. You didn’t deserve to get dragged into it too.

The spell between you two was broken by Cas, awkwardly clearing his throat.

“We do need to ask you some questions,” he said. “About Nick Savage.”

You frowned. You peeled yourself away from Dean enough to face the detectives.

“What does he have to do with this?” you asked.

“His company is linked to a money laundering scheme, which ultimately leads back to Azazel,” Cas explained. “But we’re having trouble getting through his wall of lawyers.”

You scoffed. “Not surprising.”

However, it did worry you that Nick was possibly doing business with a criminal. Not that that should surprise you either. 

“What do you want to know?” you asked.

“Well, first of all, would you be willing to file a police report,” Cas said, more gently, “regarding your assault at his home.”

Your eyes widened. Your mouth fell open slightly before you looked over at Dean. His face tightened, along with his hand on the curve of your waist.

“Why do you need me to do that?” you asked Cas.

“It’ll give us the leverage we need to dig deeper into his business,” John said. “Knock loose any shady dealings. We could get him to cough up what he knows about Azazel.”

You wanted to help, but at the same time, you were reluctant to mire yourself deeper in this. Dean saw your reservations, and he could guess why.

“Won’t that just paint a bigger target on her back?” he asked.

“We’re gonna protect her,” John promised. His eyes went from Dean, back to you. “But we need your help. This could be the break we need to get to Azazel. To find out who this bastard is.”

John could see your indecision. “All you need to do is fill out the report. Maybe get up in court to testify.”

You tightened up at that. “Testify?”

“If it gets that far,” John nodded.

“I don’t think so,” you shook your head. “That man can make my life hell without a serial killer’s help.”

You looked to Dean for support.

In the beginning, he had all but begged you to do what his father and Cas were asking. But now, this was just too much. He pressed you more securely to his side.

“Dean?” his father prodded.

“You heard her,” Dean said. “It’s her choice.”

You sighed and held onto the back of his shirt gratefully. The detectives shared a look, with John’s brows furrowing. He regarded you with a gruff, slightly strained look.

“Listen, don’t you want Savage in a cold hard cell?” he asked. “You could put him there.”

“Dad, she said no. Lay off,” Dean’s tone sharpened. Unfortunately, he knew how stubborn the man could be.

“Dean, I’m trying to nail this guy, but I’m missing pieces,” John said. “Right now, I can’t do it without her.”

“Well, figure it out,” Dean snapped.

John frowned in near disbelief. "Excuse me?"

“Look, I know where your priorities are, but mine is making sure she’s safe," said Dean. "If you can’t handle that, then we’ve got a problem!”

The strength of his retort took everyone by surprise, but no one more so than John. He hid it well behind a deepening frown.

He glanced between you and his son. You were looking up at Dean with unshed tears in your red-rimmed eyes, grateful, and holding on tight to his shirt. He still held you to him. His entire frame was tight and angry.

And John knew that he would react the same way, if he were Dean. He also knew then that he was pushing too hard.

So he sighed, and pulled out a card from his wallet. He handed it to you.

“I’m sure you’ve got Cas’s number already, but here’s mine,” said John. “Call me if you change your mind.”

“I’m sorry for invading,” you told Sam that night. He was helping you and Dean bring in your suitcases. You were pretty much moving into their apartment, indefinitely.

“You’re not,” Sam said, shaking his head. “We’re happy to have you here.”

You gave him a tired, thankful smile. “I appreciate that, thanks.”

“We’ll get to have an in-house chef,” Dean chimed in, earning more amused look from you.

“Need I remind you that I’m not an actual chef?” you said. You set down your smaller suitcase, full of shoes and toiletries, to grasp the front of his shirt. You leaned up on your toes and met him with a kiss. It was sweet, but it was also tender. His arms came around your lower back and pulled you flush against him.

He parted from you gently, afterwards pressing his forehead against yours. He let out a brief sigh through his nose.

“I’m sorry, about how I left last night,” he said.

You shook your head, despite the tears that wanted to burn in your eyes. You wanted to tell him, It’s fine. I’m fine.

But you couldn’t lie to him.

“You came back when I needed you,” you said instead. “Thanks for letting me stay here.”

You felt his fingers tangle in your hair, his hand resting along the back of your neck. It was familiar, and soothing.

“This isn’t exactly how I wanted you to move in,” he admitted. You chuckled wryly.

“Really,” he said. “…I was thinking of asking you. But not ‘til, you know, down the line.”

You softened at that. You raised up on your toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then you circled your arms around his neck and hugged him close. He held you back just as tightly.

“Thank you for always being there for me,” you said. He couldn’t see your smile, but somehow, he knew it was there. But he could also hear you sniffle, and feel your body tremble with tears.

“You’re safe here,” Dean said softer into your ear. “Nothing’s getting to you, all right?”

 You nodded, pressing your face into his neck. He continued to say and do whatever he felt he had to in order to reassure you that night, and make you feel safe.

All the while, he was trying to reassure himself.

AN: *burrr* That tension, huh? What did you think of her finally finding out about Jo's lingering feelings, plus a bit of Dean's resentment, him and Gordon coming to an understanding, and the reader meeting John for the first time! 😮‍💨😮‍💨

Good news though. Next time, we'll take a huge break from all this drama and have a nice fluffy Christmas special. (Plus a healthy dose of spice. ❤️‍🔥)

Next Time:

You hadn’t undressed yet from your jeans and sweater, but you crawled across the bed to come up behind him and drop a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“How’s your slugging arm?” you asked.

Dean quirked a smile at you over his shoulder. “Just fine.”

“Dean,” you said. Your tone was gentle, but warning. No downplaying.

You pressed your lips against the side of his head and soothed your hand along his shoulder and down his arm. Still, he was resistant.

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” he said.

You hummed. “Okay. I guess you don’t need a massage then.”

He paused. His head tilted just so, once again turning to you over his shoulder. You spied the edge of his piqued interest, his grin.

“Well, if you’re offering…”

Keep Reading: PART 15

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann814 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

[saintmuses]

❝𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙙❞

Pairing:

Soft!dark!Thomas Shelby x Ada’s BSF!Reader

Summary:

What started out as a fantastic night out at Eden club in London ended tragically for her.

Warning(s): Angst. Slightly dub-con (unwanted kiss). Death. Violence. Minors, dni! Note: last part of the mini series.

Word Count: 661

She could remember it in some ways where the memories began to solidify in flashes, a montage of the massacre of one man that happened at Eden Club.

She remembered being happy while drinking gin in a fancy glass, laughing at what her husband had jest.

She was happy, with a thin gold band wrapped around her ring finger, shiny under the golden hues of the lights at the club.

They had eloped so quickly in the morning, quickly that they couldn’t stand still and take it all in that they were getting married on a piece of paper. Perhaps they should’ve stayed and taken it all in slowly if she had known this was going to be their last night together.

The music ending sounded like the death march when a mass of storm came barreling, destroying everything they had touched.

“Tommy, no!” She screamed, voices erupted around them in a frenzy, but refused to intervene.

He was cruel. Just like everything about him. His eyes, pale blue, were encrusted in ice. Crystallizing the already frozen water, but his aura felt like death. It reeked of grim reaper, desperate to ensnare a living breathing soul.

It was crystal clear when blood was being spilled across the fancy tiles on the floor, splattered all over her and all over the man whose face was covered in hues of furiousness.

If she had thought or been asked what he would’ve done to declare her husband’s death, she would’ve thought or said he would’ve used a bullet in the gun he favored in his holster.

Not his bare hands, never his bare hands.

Perhaps he felt a bullet going through the brain or the heart was too simple, too kind, an act of mercy that she knew Thomas rarely gave out unless he had a bleeding heart in that moment which was very few and very far between.

It ended with his hand gripping the cap in a death-like vice, swinging across her husband’s face and neck, severely splitting his flesh and everything underneath into a snarly mess.

Her heart stopped at the sight of death in his eyes when he finally turned his head to face her. 

Nothing gold can stay under the golden hues of light of the club she had thought was her temporary Garden of Eden, but the serpent had entered and destroyed it with death with venom of blades that could be found sewn on his cap and poison from his fists.

“That must have been a new record, a bride and a widow in one day.” He muttered bitterly, coldly. It may have been said at a normal low tone, but to her he might as well have shouted them at her because those words hurt.

“Fuck you, Thomas!” She cried out, tears dripping down her flushed cheeks. She felt sick.

She could not stand the sight of him anymore, and she turned away from him, intending to run away again.

She was jerked back by him by a vice-like grip on her arm, and she was spun around to face him.

Her lips curled into a grimace when she felt slick fingers gripping her jaw, she could feel her husband’s blood smearing into her skin.

“I warned you,” he murmured, then she flinched at the next words. “I fuckin’ warned you, didn’t I? Eh?” He shouted in her face, eyes blazing with fury. His fingers digging into her bicep, for sure there were going to be finger shaped bruises in the morning.

“You will learn, Y/N. No one fucking touches you, or speak to you, or even marry you and live.” He hissed, nearly frothing at his mouth before closing in.

Unlike before where it was a purposeful act of brushing while she was unwilling, he forced his lips onto her still unwilling ones.

She swore she could taste blood, Edward’s blood on his lips, and her heart stopped for the second time that hour.

act i | ❝𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙡𝙚 𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙝 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙣❞

act ii | ❝𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙮𝙚𝙩 𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙮 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙣❞

act iii | ❝𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙙❞

[writtensweethearts]

Sweet Nothings

Read part two here: Unspoken Confessions Pairing: Eddie munson x GN!reader Enemies to lovers ? word count: +1k CW: mentions of blood, death, lmk if i missed something A/N: this is my first time posting a blurb or a piece in general for the public, please be kind and i hope you enjoy!

“God, I swear if you die on me I’ll kill you.” he chokes out angrily, but it lacks any heat. You grin up at him, watching his chocolate eyes fill with tears. 

You suddenly wonder why you hadn’t seen him. 

The barely there freckles, mud splattered cheeks and wild curly hair, the different shades of brown in his glassy eyes. 

His harsh words a complete opposite of his gentle hold, you watch as his fingers push against the angry open wounds of your stomach, trying to keep the blood at bay. The crazed look of his eyes as he darts his head around, waiting for Henderson, another bat, anything. 

“Calm down pretty boy, least you can do is say some sweet nothings to a dying girl.” 

You watch in slight awe as his eyes find yours, tears finally spilling from his lash line, wondering if maybe this time you’ve pushed him too far.

“Don’t say that shit,” he hisses, “you’re not dying. Not on my watch sweetheart.”

You smile at that, the nickname lacking it’s usual mocking tone. 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep Munson. You know better than that.”

If he responded you can’t recall, eyes drooping, sleep evading you, the noise of the Upside Down drowning out.

You rouse from the gentle shake of your head, Eddie’s ringed fingers grasping your chin

“Come on, you’ve got to keep your eyes open.” Voice pleading.

“What do I get in return?” He scoffed at that but it comes out more like a breathy sigh of relief, taking your snarky response as a sign of hope. He realizes his response comes a second too late.

You stare at him, eyes a bit dazed and mouth pulled taut, a strange air lingers filling the empty space from a missed witty remark. He can’t help what he says next.

“Don’t ever do that again.” Now you’re the stunned one.

“What?” “I don’t need you saving me princess, look at where that got you.”

You frowned at that. Shit, Eddie thinks he’s struck a nerve. Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to say, even if you were the girl he’s bickered with for over a year now, constantly exchanging snippy remarks. Maybe he would’ve been able to give you those sweet nothings you’d asked for earlier, had he felt confident enough to say them. But the humid air of the Upside down and the feel of your sticky, warm blood coating his hands has made him angry. Angry at Hawkins for dragging him into shit like this, angry at the Upside Down for existing and upturning his life, angry at himself for allowing you to be at the center of it all. 

It should’ve been him. He’d jumped off the boat, diving into a world unknown, fighting away demonic bats, and risking his life for the good of the world. He’d been ready to let it all go, but you’d come in, chest heaving, Steve’s bat swinging. The two of you on the same team, for once. And it wasn’t until the last bat was down, when he’d turn around yelling and celebrating victory, that he’d noticed. You were holding your stomach, arm dropping the bat you’d held so tightly seconds before. He watched, dumbfounded as you lightly pulled your shirt, revealing large, gaping gashes all across your abdomen. Eddie would never forget the haunted look in your eyes as you dragged your gaze up to his, your body wobbling as you forced yourself to stand still, as if you didn’t want him to see you weak. 

In that moment the world was a blur, he’d called your name hoarsley, afraid, afraid you’d respond with a small pain-filled voice rather the boisterous, mocking tone you used whenever you spoke to him. Afraid to see you, larger than life you, growing weaker and smaller and so unfamiliar.

And yet here you were, his knees digging into your back as he tried to hold your limp body up, looking at him with the same fire in your eyes. This, this is what he’d been wishing for, hadn’t he? But there was something unusual about your gaze, if he hadn’t known any better he’d have said you were hurt by his words.

You blinked, head turning to the side and Eddie cursed. He didn’t know how to act with you, behind all the mean words and heated arguments, he wasn’t sure how to move forward. So here you were, blood soaking through your clothes, onto his, and he was spewing ungrateful words to the girl who’s losing her life from saving his. A girl he’s never been able to properly behave around, a girl who, behind her back, he’d watched fondly with honey coated eyes. 

“I.. I’m sorry.” He mumbled out, your eyes snapping back to his, “God I’m so so sorry.”

His voice wobbling as reality began to settle in, “It should’ve been me. It should’ve. I’m repeating senior year and not for the first time, I’m being hunted for murder, and you. You’ve got such a big life to live, a great one, and I just-” His rambling comes to an end as you’re fingers gingerly swipe a stray curl behind his ears.

“Hey.” You smile up at him, and God, if it didn’t make Eddie’s heart want to burst at the sight of it. “It’s okay.” You watch him, his eyes doubtful, his hands never leaving you as he keeps pressure on your wounds, “I mean come on, I had to, you’ve got to get back and show them you can make it through highschool. Thought you said this was ‘your year.’” 

He laughs but it’s all watery and choked, and it makes your chest hurt in an unfamiliar way. It’s getting harder and harder to fight the sleep taking over, the lofty sound of Eddie’s voice whispering the sweet nothings you’d playfully asked for, dreams of a better life, swearing on his heart that he’ll get you out of this hell hole, safe, alive. You send him a sleepy smile, knowing he’s making more promises he can’t keep, but his eyes are shining with tears so you return the gesture and whisper another, “It’s okay, Eds.” before you let his voice lull you to bed.

[wickedwitchofthegalaxy]

☞︎𝑅𝓊𝓁𝑒𝓈☜︎

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: 𝑮𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒕𝑿𝑭𝒆𝒎!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: NSFW, Angst, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Enemies to Lovers, Gore, Size Difference, Trust Issues, Power Imbalance

𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 6K

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: The woods are no place for a dancer, but when you’re forced to flee a life that isn’t your own, the only option is to follow the whispers of a bard and the promise of a Witcher’s protection.

𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈: I’m so excited to share this with yall, as it might be one of my last fanfics for a while because I want to shift towards OC’s and fleshing out a few ideas for potential books. Anywho, hope you guys like it. Banners by @cafekitsune !

𝐸𝓃𝒿𝑜𝓎 🖤

There’s something about the silence in the woods that’s wrong—like it’s holding its breath, waiting for you to slip. The woods are thick with mist, the air damp and heavy, clinging to your skin like a warning.

You should have stayed at the inn; you should’ve kept your head down. But you didn’t. Not this time. And now you’re in a place you don’t belong, looking for a man who’s more myth than man.

Geralt of Rivia, the Witcher.

You don’t know what you’re expecting to find when you locate him. In the stories, he stands out in every room; he shouldn’t be hard to find—which were your exact thoughts when you left the inn and headed into the forest that Jaskier said the Witcher would be riding in from. It was only a 20-minute walk, and you had been waiting on this supposed White Wolf since the break of dawn. Every step forward is a gamble and the moment you step into a clearing, you realize you’ve lost the bet.

The clearing is not empty. It’s filled with the noise of metal on bone, of vicious growls and heavy breathing. You freeze. A figure cloaked in battle-worn leather is in full swing against… what is that thing?

He’s fighting—fighting something—someone. It’s not the first time you’ve walked into danger without meaning to, but this time, it’s different. This isn’t the same as a drunken noble’s leering hands or a back-alley brawl. No, this is life or death.

You should leave. You know you should. But you don’t.

You step forward, not thinking, not planning.

“Geralt!” You call out, way too loudly.

He doesn’t even flinch in your direction.

The sword in his hand moves with terrifying ease, slicing through the air. It’s the creature— that thing, some twisted shape of beast and man—that’s the focus of his ire. You’re invisible to him.

The creature—too quick, too feral—lashes out. Its clawed hand strikes, barely missing Geralt but connecting with a nearby tree, shredding the side of it.

The world seems to stop as Geralt’s focus shifts. His eyes snap to you, and a single syllable leaves his lips.

“Run.”

You don’t.

Instead, you take a step forward, propelled by some stupid instinct to survive—or maybe it’s something else. Maybe it’s the gnawing knowledge that waiting any longer will leave you trapped in a life that isn’t yours. And right now, even this forest, this creature, this man, feels safer than the suffocating pull of the noose tightening back home.

“Geralt, I—”

The words choke in your throat as the creature turns its attention to you. It’s fast, rabid, and it’s snapping at anything in its reach. Geralt curses under his breath, his shoulders tensing as his blow connects to the leg of the creature. The monster’s blood splatters across his face, and he doesn’t flinch. He never flinches. But when he steps toward you—when his movements are a blur of motion—you feel the urgency, the danger.

There’s a flash of light, the sickening crack of bone, and the creature drops. Silence.

The thing lies crumpled at Geralt’s feet, its twisted form unnervingly still. The quiet that follows is asphyxiating, pressing in on your ears as though the forest itself has collapsed inward. Your fists tremble, but you keep them closed at your hips, forcing yourself to hold steady. The fear claws at the edges of your resolve, but you push it down, shove it deep where it can’t stop you. You’ve survived worse—or at least you tell yourself that you have.

Geralt straightens, his blade dripping with something too dark to be blood. His gaze is on the corpse, but you know—you can feel—that he’s aware of every breath you take. He wipes the blood from his blade with a cloth you don’t remember him pulling out, his movements methodical and swift. The weight of his attention shifts to you slowly, like a hunter debating whether the effort of pursuit is worth it.

“What,” he begins, his voice low, “are you doing here?”

It’s not a question. It’s an accusation, one that cuts deeper than you thought it would. His eyes—yellow, and cold as winter’s wrath—meet yours, and it’s as if the forest stops breathing again.

You can’t find your voice immediately. The scene, what’s left of the creature, the way the Witcher’s chest heaves, the still-damp blood streaked across his face, pins you in place. Your words stumble out before you’ve fully caught them.

“I—Jaskier—he said—”

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s lips press into a thin, humorless line. He steps closer, his boots crunching against the blood-soaked earth. He towers over you now, his expression carved from stone.

“Do you have a death wish?”

He doesn’t look away, doesn’t give you room to breathe, the question hanging there like a snare waiting to snap shut. His lips tighten, and for a moment, he looks as though he might simply turn and leave you standing there. But he doesn’t. Instead, his hand lingers near his sword, his jaw clenched tight.

“You shouldn’t be here, much less yelling my name in the middle of the forest. Jaskier told me to meet a woman by the name of—“

He takes a deep breath and exhales dramatically, making his distaste for his next words. “The Court Swan, at the inn. I’m assuming that’s you?” His words are laced with disbelief, as if Jaskier has played one of his infamous jokes on him about your nickname.

You hesitate before nodding. “Yes. That’s me.” You take a step forward, ignoring the shake in your knees. It’s a dance, you tell yourself. Every movement calculated, every breath measured.

Geralt studies you with a scrutiny that feels more invasive than any gaze should, like he’s peeling back every layer of pretense with those sharp, wolfish eyes. You’ve felt the prestige of a royal audience before, the way their eyes skim over your form with detached judgment, but this is something else. This is dangerous. He’s dangerous.

“You’re a dancer.” It’s not a question, but you hear the skepticism in his tone. He casts a wary glance around the forest as he continues. “Why is a dancer running errands for a poet?”

“I’m not—” Bile rises into your throat, and you swallow hard. You shift your weight, your boots sinking into the damp mud as your hands clench at your sides.

“I’m not running errands. I’m here because… because I saved his life.”

Geralt’s expression doesn’t change, but something flickers behind his eyes, and a dry smirk etches across his lips. “And that turned into my problem how?” His voice remains flat, cutting.

The weight of his gaze, his questions, presses down on you, and suddenly you’re spilling the truth before you can stop yourself.

“The royals I dance for—danced for—found out. They didn’t like that I helped him.” You pause, swallowing hard. Geralt’s gaze doesn’t waver. If anything, it sharpens. You can feel the sting of it, like a blade poised just above your skin.

“So they decided to punish me for it.”

He wipes his blade again, the motion deliberate, and sheathes it with a muted click. The admission hangs in the clearing, and for a moment, Geralt says nothing; neither of you moves, the world around you held at bay.

“I saved his life,” you repeat, your voice stronger now, gaining resolve. “Jaskier has these friends; they—” You pause, searching your pockets for the letter Jaskier sent with you to give Geralt. Finding the small envelope, you hold it up to him. “They’re victims of… one of the royals… habits.”

Geralt shifts slightly, his shoulders still tense, his eyes narrowing. “And what do you expect from me, exactly?” He grabs the envelope, it growing smaller the instant it leaves your hands and enters his. The forest presses in around you, the trees whispering secrets in the breeze, as if the woods themselves are listening and waiting for you to shatter under all this pressure while he opens the letter and reads it.

“Help,” you say, almost pleading. “I don’t know where to go or what to do. Jaskier said you might—that you know things I don’t.”

Geralt exhales sharply through his nose, the sound closer to a growl than a sigh. “Of course he did,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his damp, blood-matted hair. “And what exactly does he think I’m supposed to do? Take you in? Fight off your enemies? Play bodyguard for a dancer who thought it was a good idea to get involved in politics?”

“I didn’t ‘get involved,’” you bite back, heat rising in your cheeks. “I—” The words catch in your throat, shame and anger tangling together. “I didn’t have a choice. What do you know about me? What did Jaskier tell you?”

His eyes narrow further, the yellow of his irises growing colder, more assessing as he studies you. His staring is almost rude; you would have called him on it in any other situation. But you guess this is a situation where you too would be cautious of the strange girl coming to you for help. Especially in the middle of the woods. “Jaskier wasn’t being entirely honest when he mentioned my ‘help’,” he says finally, his voice low and deliberate. “Damien—Damien…?”

“Damien Clyde.” You clarify quickly, before the monster’s name can burn your tongue.

“Clyde,” Geralt repeats, testing the name as his eyes unfocus slightly. He shifts again, his gaze returning to the shadows of the trees around you. “I know Damien Clyde well—well enough to know that he’s ruthless.”

Geralt’s gaze returns to you, sharp and penetrating. “He’s got a lot of enemies,” he continues, his voice lower, almost a whisper. “But he also has a lot of loyal followers—people who will do anything to protect him. Even if that means hunting down a pretty little dancer.”

“Which is why I need your help,” you say, your voice steady despite the tremor in your hands. “I’m not asking for much. Just a place to hide, a way to keep ahead of his hunters—”

“You’re asking for a miracle,” Geralt cuts in, his voice sharper now, a low exclamation that seems more a reaction than an accusation. “And that’s not something I can provide.”

You feel the strike of his words like they were physical, your heart sinking. “I don’t know what else to do,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need something—someone—who knows the way Damien thinks, knows how he operates.”

Geralt looks at you then, really looks, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find some hidden truth there. “And what makes you think I can help with that?” he ventures, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “What do you think I know about Damien Clyde that you don’t?”

You hesitate for a moment, considering his question. “You’ve faced monsters like him before,” you finally say, your voice firm, though the anxiety still ripples through you. “You know what makes them tick. Damien is a monster in his own right, just… different. I think you’ve seen enough to understand,” you insist, your voice holding onto that firmness despite the doubt that claws at you. “More than most.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch out between you while he contemplates your words. When he does reply, it’s with a shake of his head and a heavy sigh.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he admits, his voice low and laced with frustration as he crumbles the letter in his hand. “But I can’t leave you to fend for yourself either.”

“Then what can you do?” You countered, desperation edging into your tone. You take a quick step, closing in on his personal space. His whole body tenses, and if you thought he was scary before, getting closer only tripled his effect. Regardless of his enhanced presence, you keep his gaze, your head tilting up as you add, “If it’s not a miracle, what’s left?”

Geralt takes a deep breath, his jaw flexing as he peers down at you. “I can give you a head start,” he states, his arms crossing while he rolls his shoulders. “I know some places, some people… ways to get you out of sight for a while, to keep you safe. But Damien’s going to keep coming after you.”

You shake your head, your eyebrows furrowing before you speak up, your voice rising slightly. “No, I’m not leaving your side. You know how to evade him; you know everything I need to know in order for me to live. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Geralt’s eyes slim, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. He hesitates for a moment, as if weighing his options, before letting out a slow breath. “Dammit,” he mutters under his breath, as if cursing the situation more than you.

“You’re asking for more than I can give,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “But for now… I guess it’s enough.”

“Then let’s go,” you cut in, determination in your voice as you turn and start walking deeper into the woods. Geralt doesn’t move immediately, watching you with a mix of frustration and something darker—resignation, perhaps. Finally, he sighs and shouts, “Where do you think you’re going?”

You stop, confused, and turn back to him. “What? I thought—”

“Wrong way,” Geralt interrupts, his tone sharper than you expected. He glares at you, and his eyes flick around the woods as if he’s checking for threats.

“Rule one: always follow me.”

You blink at him, taken aback by the sudden correction. “I didn’t—”

“You didn’t think,” he cuts in, his voice tinged with frustration. “Keep close and do as I say. No more running off, no more going your own way. No more thinking, just listen.”

You swallow, nodding quickly as you step back to where he stands, his judging eyes never leaving you. “Got it,” you say, trying to keep your voice from wavering. “Lead on.”

Geralt grunts, but there’s a hint of reluctant approval in his eyes as he turns and starts walking again, this time in the right direction.

“Let’s move,” he mutters, not looking back to see if you’re following. “And keep your head down.”

 

 

One Month Later…

 

The forest and a small, tucked-away hut have become a sanctuary for the two of you, away from prying eyes and the ever-watchful hunters sent by Damien. The rules that Geralt laid down—the ones you initially dismissed with an eye roll or two—are now second nature. Rule one: always follow him. Rule two: don’t ask questions unless he allows it. Rule three: never assume you’re safe. They’re becoming etched into your memory as much as the steps you now take in combat.

You haven’t felt this alive in years. Every day is a test, a dance of a sort. Although you did miss just dancing. It’s grueling—Geralt’s training regime—but it’s given you purpose.

Today, the clearing outside the tiny hut is quiet, the only sound being the rustle of leaves in the breeze. Geralt is off to the side, sharpening his sword with deliberate strokes. You approach him, your own blade feeling unfamiliar in your hands. It’s a strange sensation, not just the weight of the sword but the unfamiliarity with its use.

“Come on,” Geralt says without looking up, his voice rough from disuse. “You’re better than this. Focus.”

You take a deep breath, gripping the hilt tightly. He watches you from beneath his tousled white hair, his eyes sharp as always. It feels as if he can see right through you, to the fear and doubt lurking beneath your surface.

“Show me,” he instructs, his eyes never leaving yours and his tone even. “What you’ve learned.”

You move forward slowly, cautious. The blade feels like a stranger’s hand in yours, and you thrust forward with a hesitant jab. It’s clumsy and weak, nothing like the smooth, deadly movements you’ve seen him perform. Geralt barely reacts, just steps back and shakes his head.

“Again,” he orders, his voice low. “But faster this time. You’re thinking too much.”

You nod, trying to ignore the way his gaze follows your every move. There’s an intensity to his focus that makes you want to prove yourself, to show him that you’re not just a dancer who stumbled into his world by accident. You gather your courage and lunge again, more confidently this time.

Geralt blocks the strike effortlessly, his own blade moving in a blur as he counters with a series of rapid jabs. You dodge, your heart pounding in your chest as you scramble to keep up. Each strike feels like it could be the last, and the sweat on your skin isn’t just from exertion—it’s fear.

“You need to relax,” he says, lowering his sword and stepping closer. “Focus on your breathing. You’re too tense.”

You try to listen, but the pressure of the situation—of Damien, of everything you’ve left behind—makes it hard. “It’s not that easy,” you admit, your voice shaky with toil as you lower your own blade. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here. Why did you agree to this?”

Geralt’s cheek twitches slightly as he looks at you, his eyes keeping yours for a moment too long. “You’re not the only one who needs to survive,” he says, his voice low. “I took on your burdens the moment you screamed my name in those woods. Your end will be mine; that’s assured.”

You swallow hard, feeling something tighten in your chest. “So this is just about survival?”

He hesitates, then steps closer, his fingers brushing lightly against the blade in your hand. “Maybe,��� he admits quietly. “But it’s more than that. You’re not just some dancer to me anymore, are you?”

“What does that mean?” you ask, your voice on the edge of silence.

Geralt hesitates again, then steps back, his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Later,” he says, his tone clipped. “Let’s just finish for today.”

Disappointment floods through you, and you don’t bother to hide it. Your hand gripping the hilt of your blade harder. “Fine,” you mutter, squaring up to him. “Later.”

Geralt watches you for a long moment before raising his blade, stretching it out between you two, his hand steady and practiced.

“Rule one,” he says, his gaze locked in on your eyes, “always follow me.”

You fight with a ferocity you didn’t know you had, pushing yourself to keep up with his quick movements. Every thrust and parry brings you closer to frustration. Your arms ache, the weapon in your hands feeling heavier with each swing. It’s a cruel reminder of your mortality—how little separates you from failure.

Geralt’s moves are sharp as he counteracts each of yours with ease. “Focus,” he snaps after one particularly errant swing. Another parry, another twist of his wrist, and your strike falters… Again.

“You’re letting your emotions get in the way.”

Of course I am, you bastard. I’m not a machine.

“I don’t have time for this!” You bark, your anger bubbling over. Your vision blurs; whether from sweat or tears, you can’t tell. “I don’t have time for you and your rules, Geralt! I need to find a way out!”

His face darkens, the pale skin stretched tight over a grimace as he steps back, and you hate the way your stomach twists at the sight.

Why does his silence feel like a punishment? Like I failed some mysterious test?

“Then leave,” he says, his voice calm and flat, dangerous in its restraint. “Go somewhere else. I’m not stopping you.”

You freeze; your sword dips, the blade scraping the dirt. “You know I can’t,” you mutter, teeth clenched against the truth as you abandon your blade. Your eyes are barely able to lift from the ground to meet his as you continue, ”he’ll find me. And if I go alone—“

“Then you’ll end up dead,” he growls, finishing for you, his eyes hardening. “And Damien will still win.”

I know that. I know that, but do you think I want to hear it? Do you think I haven’t imagined my own corpse lying in his shadow?

The thoughts press down on you, but your voice cuts through them, bloody and breaking. “Then help me!” you yell, your voice cracking. “Don’t just stand there, judging me and shit! Fight for me!”

An unmistakable glow overtakes his eyes, fire behind the gold. His tone lowers, softer now but somehow more threatening. “Is that what you want?” He’s in front of you in seconds, his long legs carrying him quickly and placing him inches away from you. “You want me to fight for you?” He whispers, his head leaning down.

You take a shuddering breath, your heart pounding as you look up at him, his expression more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen it.

He’s testing me. Always testing.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice breaking as the admission drags itself out of your chest. “Yes, I do.”

Geralt’s gaze softens ever so slightly, though his jaw remains tight. He reaches out and takes your chin gently between his fingers, tilting your face up to meet his. “Then you need to fight for yourself too,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. “I can’t do it alone.”

Haven’t I been doing that?

You swallow hard, your heart pounding as you meet his eyes. “I’m trying,” you plea, your words shaking as they exit your mouth. “I just… I don’t know how.”

“Let me show you,” he states, his voice low and steady. “But you have to listen, and you have to trust me.”

Do I even know how to trust anymore? When was the last time someone asked me to? When was the last time I didn’t regret it?

Tears well up in your eyes as you nod, feeling smaller than you ever have.

How did I let it come to this? When did I become so helpless?

Your voice shakes as it leaves you, and your hand comes up to clutch your stomach. “I want to.”

His bright amber eyes search yours, as if looking for some kind of answer to this mess. “Good,” he finally replies, his tone soft and deep. “Then show me.”

He closes the distance between you, his hands cradling your face as his mouth captures yours in a kiss that’s both angry and gentle.

Angry and gentle. How is that even possible? How is he pulling me closer while it feels like he’s punishing me?

“Show me you can fight,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands tracing the curve of your neck, gliding down to your shoulders, urging you closer. “Show me you’re not afraid.”

Afraid?

You kiss him back, your movements clumsy, desperate, as if to prove something—to him or to yourself, you’re not sure. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt, your fingers trembling as they work to undo them. “I’m not,” you mumble, the words quaking. “I can handle this.” 

A low sound escapes him, somewhere between a growl and a hum, as he shrugs his shirt off the rest of the way.“That’s what I wanted to hear.” He breathes, his voice rough.

His hands move slowly as he peels your shirt from your body, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. The cool air kisses your skin, but it’s his mouth you feel most. You let out a soft gasp as his mouth reconnects with yours, then moves, trailing along your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin as his hands roam down your back. His calloused fingers mix with the cool breeze, leaving goosebumps to emerge along your body.

He lowers his kisses down to your collarbone, hands slipping under your waistband to touch your skin. You gasp as his teeth graze the sensitive curve. His hands are everywhere—on your waist, your back, your face—his lips never leaving your flesh, which causes your words to fly out with little thought. “Show me how to fight; I’ll listen this time.”

Is this what surrender feels like?

“I’ll show you, but first,” he promises as he leans down, hooking his hands under your thighs and lifting you. You cling to him as your heart hammers in your chest. “you have to let go.” He murmurs against your lips, the words less a challenge and more a demand.

Let go? Of all the things Damien has done? Of all those poor women? Or is he meaning let go of my old life, the one I worked so hard to achieve? Maybe he means all of it, and if he does, how am I supposed to just… let that go?

Your hands find his face, cupping his cheeks as you search his expression. His wet lips, his golden gaze—they’re too much, too honest. You press your forehead to his, closing your eyes tightly. “I don’t know how. I—I can’t.” You admit, your voice a fractured whisper.

“Yes, you can,” he says, the conviction in his voice stronger than your doubts. His eyes remain on yours as he carries you toward the hut, taking large steps while keeping a tight hold on you. “You’re stronger than you think.”

He doesn’t bother with closing the door as he maneuvers you inside, the hut’s worn frame groaning under the sudden shift in weight. You barely register the dim interior, your focus consumed entirely by him—his grip, his heat, the way he sets you down on the makeshift straw bed with a care that feels at odds with his rough edges.

His hands find your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks in a way that sends warmth spiraling through you. His lips crash into yours, this kiss deeper, hungrier.

“Just trust me,” he mutters against your mouth again, his breath warm as it mingles with yours. His hands are already at your waistband, his fingers deftly unfastening the fabric. “Trust me.”

How does he make it feel like he’s taking something from me and giving it back at the same time?

The words linger in the air, heavy and unfamiliar, before spilling from your lips. “I trust you.” You whisper as the faint rasp of fabric fills the space, his hands pushing your pants past your ankles.

You let out a soft whimper as his fingers graze your skin. His hands, steady and searching, make their way down your body, his touch a mixture of need and tenderness. His mouth finds your neck again, lingering at the tender spot beneath your ear.

“What’s my third rule?” He questions, his voice a low growl while his lips brush against the shell of your ear.

The words come to you like a reflex.

“Never assume you’re safe.” You reply, your voice barely a breath as his fingers brush against the sensitive skin between your legs. “Good girl,” he praises, the depth in his tone making the two single words vibrate through you.

I’m not safe. Not from Damien. Not from myself. Not from him.

“Don’t assume anything right now.” He commands, his hands starting a slow, deliberate tease against your clit.

“This is about trust,” he murmurs, his voice softening as his fingers find their way inside you, the sensation tame yet overwhelming. “Show me you trust me.”

You can’t hold back the moan that escapes you, your hands tangling in his hair. His thumb finds your clit, brushing it before circling the swollen nub with an infuriatingly slow pace.

“I trust you,” you gasp, clutching at him, desperate to pull him closer. “Please, Geralt.”

Please what? Please stop? Please keep going? Please make me forget everything but this?

His lips return to your neck, trailing a line of heat down to your collarbone, where he pauses, his breath fanning. "You keep saying it," he mumbles against you as two fingers curl inside you, his thumb stopping its circles as he shifts his focus to finding that sweet spot inside of you. "but trust is more than words." His teeth graze your shoulder, each edge marking your flesh with a maddeningly gentle scratch.

A choked gasp leaves you as his fingers find it, and he presses again, firm and deliberate, sending a jolt through you that makes your body arch into him. His lips curve into a smirk against your shoulder, his breath warm as he shifts his angle; his fingers press and release in rapid succession, as though he’s flicking a switch that ignites something molten inside you.

"Trust is letting go."

Letting go. The words land heavily, like a challenge. Your thoughts spin out of control, colliding with the steady rhythm of his touch. His fingers move deeper, his pace increasing ever so slightly, causing the most beautiful, juicy noises to leave your soaking heat.

It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s everything.

Your control splinters under the sensation, the rest of the world dissolving into nothing but the relentless pace of his touch and the way your body reacts to him. His thumb resumes its place over your clit, pressing firmly, circling, teasing, in perfect counterpoint to the rapid release and maddening pressure of his fingers inside you. It’s as if he’s playing you like an instrument, coaxing sounds from your lips that you didn’t know you could make.

“Like that?” he murmurs, his voice low and knowing. The meticulous motion of his fingers quickens, not frantic but punishing, each thrust landing with perfect accuracy to help prove his point.

Your answer comes as a broken moan, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails biting into his toned muscles. “Come on beautiful,” he growls, his voice slicing through the haze, grounding you and yet setting you further adrift. “Don’t hold back.”

It’s not a request. It’s a command; an answer.

You can’t even think of resisting—not when his lips find the edge of your jaw, his teeth grazing the delicate curve with just enough pressure to make you shiver. “That’s it,” he growls, his voice a low mix of admiration and darkness. “That’s my good little dancer.”

His hand never falters, fingers thrumming inside you with care, his thumb rubbing your clit with a focus that borders on cruel. You’re unraveling—thread by thread, piece by piece—until you’re nothing but raw nerve endings responding to him.

This is surrender; you’re sure of it now.

“Geralt—” His name is a plea, a prayer you didn’t know you had in you.

“Let it happen, baby,” he murmurs, his golden eyes locking on yours while his free hand grasps the inside of your thigh, spreading it open further. The calluses on his palm feel rough against the tender skin, a downright opposition to the soft, devastating rhythm of his other hand. “Don’t fight it.”

You don’t even know what it is anymore. The trust he keeps demanding? The fear you’ve been holding onto like a lifeline? Or this—a brutal, undeniable pleasure that’s tearing you into eight million different pieces?

Your hips buck against his hand, chasing every stroke, every press, every flick of his fingers as if they’re the only thing keeping you alive. And maybe they are.

He leans in, his lips brushing over yours—not a kiss, not exactly. Just a breath, a glimpse of contact that steals the air from your lungs. “You’re close,” he says, his voice so deep it almost sends you over. “I can feel it.”

You shake your head, a wordless denial, though you don’t know who it’s meant for.

“You are,” he insists, his fingers quickening, pushing deeper, as if to prove it. In seconds he’s replaced his thumb with his free hand, that thumb taking over and having a better angle to rub your swollen clit with more ferocity as his other fingers continue their assault against your sweet spot. Your body betrays you, the denial caught in your throat unraveling as your thighs quiver against his hands.

Your eyes shoot open, locking with his as his voice rings out, “And you’ll take it,” he says, his voice a low snarl. His eyes bore into yours, molten gold burning through the fog of pleasure clouding your mind. “You’ll take it because I’m giving it to you.”

“Geralt,” you manage to yelp, the name cracking on your lips as your nails dig into him.

“Don’t fight me,” he growls again, but there’s something different now—a hint of frustration, a flash of unapologetic desire. His pace quickens and he adds a third finger, thrusting harder, each motion a declaration of his lesson.

Your head tips back, your lips parting as you let out a sound that’s somewhere between a moan and a sob, the pleasure climbing higher, threatening to crest.

“Yes, yes, baby,” he purrs, his voice softening but no less commanding. He leans in, his lips retaking their place by your ear. “Don’t you dare hold back now.”

You don’t. You can’t. It feels like he’s everywhere, filling every part of you, dragging you down until there’s nothing left but the electric pulse of your own climax.

“There she is,” he grunts, a harsh whisper against the shell of your ear. “Don’t stop now. I want all of it.”

The tension inside you coils tighter, until it pulls taut, stretching to the breaking point, then fractures—an eruption that floods your veins with unbridled energy and a rush of power. Cries tear from your throat, and your body convulses around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, leaving you shaking, gasping, unraveling completely in his hands.

He doesn’t slow. Doesn’t stop. And the sounds spilling from your lips are unrestrained, a language you don’t recognize but can’t suppress.

He watches you like he’s orchestrated the entire thing, some maestro of chaos and submission. “There,” he rasps, his voice dragging across your skin like gravel. “That’s what I wanted.” His lips trail and hover at the edge of your jaw, close enough that you feel every syllable. “No masks. No more dancing. Just you. ”

Your hands tremble against his shoulders, searching for some way to anchor yourself as the tremors pulse through you. He shifts, his movements slowing, fingers easing their pace but never truly stopping.

He’s still there, still consuming, like a river that flows faintly beneath a hidden surface.

“Look at me,” he breathes, and there’s no question in his tone. It makes your eyes flutter up to his, barely able to keep them focused on his face.

“Did you feel it?” he asks, his voice lowered, yet holding the same harsh charge. His fingers remain inside you, his other hand stills on your sensitive clit while his fingers inside rub small circular motions against your bulging g-spot. “That breaking point? That moment when you let it all go?”

You can only nod, your throat too raw for words.

“Good,” he says, his lips ghosting over the corner of your mouth—not quite a kiss, but enough to make your heart skip. “Remember it. Because that’s trust.”

[maybe-im-dark]

Explosive love

Based on this post

The mission had gone sideways. The ambush, the crossfire, and the mine —it was all a blur of chaos and violence. But the image burned into Logan’s mind was clear: Wade, grinning like the lunatic he was, stepping on that damn mine. The explosion had been deafening, shaking the ground beneath Logan’s feet and then there was nothing. Just blood and bits of Wade painting the air and the forest floor.

Logan stood frozen in place, his face splattered with Wade’s blood, some if it lingering on his lips, coppery and bitter. He didn’t wipe it away, didn’t move. He just stared at the scorched patch of earth where Wade had been.

"Fuck..." Logan whispered, his voice breaking as he realized there was no trace of his partner left.

Wade was gone. No wisecracks. No stupid jokes. No maniacal laughter. Just silence.

Logan forced himself to leave, dragging his feet back to their shared apartment. The air inside was too still, too quiet without Wade’s constant chatter. Al’s usual quips and sarcastic remarks were nowhere to be heard —she was out for groceries, oblivious to the horror Logan had just witnessed.

He couldn’t face her. Not yet. Not without knowing how to say the words "he's gone."

Logan stumbled into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He gripped the sink, staring at his reflection in the cracked mirror. He had broken it when he had just moved in, in a fit of rage, after Wade wouldn’t stop pressuring him to tell about a nightmare he’d been having. His hazel eyes were bloodshot, his face streaked with blood. Wade’s blood. His hands shook as he splashed water on his face, trying to rinse it off, but it wouldn’t stop dripping. He couldn’t stop seeing it.

And then, for the first time in years, Logan let the tears fall. He sank to the floor, his head in his hands, shoulder shaking as sobs wracked his body. It wasn’t just grief; it was guilt. Guilt for not stopping Wade, for letting him step on that mine. For surviving, when Wade didn’t. Just like it always had been. Everything around him broke down and died, but he was left alive. With nothing but memories of screams and death. Maybe this was his curse. The curse running through his veins, passed onto him by his drunken demon of a father and his cheating whore of a mother. The curse that made him be this monster.

But as the tears fell, a wave of nausea hit him. Logan’s stomach churned violently and he gagged, doubling over on the bathroom floor.

"Goddamnit", he growled, clutching his abdomen as he retched.

But instead of bile, something solid hit the floor with a sickening thud. Logan stared, wide-eyed, at the object in front of him.

A finger.

"What the..."

Another wave hit him and this time, he coughed up an eye. A fucking eye. Its brown iris looked curiously up at him.

Logan froze, staring at the finger and the eye, the realization slowly dawning on him. "No way...you've gotta be kidding me."

He gagged once more, this time vomiting a handful of toes.

"Wade Wilson, you fucking bastard!" Logan muttered, laughter bubbling up from somewhere deep inside of him.

He couldn’t help it. This was the most ridiculous thing he ever experienced and that was saying something.

Piece by piece, Wade regenerated, spilling out of Logan in chunks that quickly began to reassemble themselves on the tiled floor. Logan watched in morbid fascination, as the fingers crawled towards a hand, the toes twitching as they found their rightful place on a forming foot.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of retching and coughing, Wade’s head emerged, still grinning despite the fact that his body was only halfway there.

"Hey, peanut", Wade said, his voice raspy bit undeniably cheerful. "Guess who’s back?"

Logan glared at him, wiping his mouth. "I should flush your ass down the goddamn toilet."

Wade laughed, his body slowly knitting itself back together. "You couldn’t live without me and you know it."

Logan shook his head, muttering under his breath. "I should’ve known you’d pull some shit like this."

Wade now fully formed and sitting cross-legged on the toilet seat, stretched dramatically. "What can i say? I'm hard to kill. Thanks for the lift, by the way. You make a surprisingly cozy womb."

"Get out of my sight, before i actually kill you!", Logan growled, though his lips were forming the tiniest hint of a smirk.

Wade grinned, leaning in close. "You wouldn’t dare. You love me."

Logan pulled him on his feet and pushed him toward the door, but his laughter betrayed him. "Yeah, yeah. Don't push your luck, bub."

As Wade sauntered out of the bathroom, Logan couldn’t help but shake his head. The bastard had cheated death yet again and somehow Logan loved him all the more for it.

[rjk1ve]

HYUNG

author’s note: me when i disappear for eight months without an update and then drop this little number like nothing happened

summary: you and jeongguk had always been close growing up until your parents decided to have you fulfil your mandatory service. upon your discharge a year and a half later, things were not the same.

pairing: older brother!reader x younger brother!jungkook ft. namjoon & hoseok

warnings: incredible amounts of incest, lowkey toxic relationship, reader has anger issues & violent thoughts, some mild drug use (joints, coke), murder, namseok are amazing friends, mentions of child abuse (corporal punishment), a lil bit of angst, and fluff, jk & reader are idiots in love tbh, overprotective reader, jealous reader, smitten reader, making out, mild mentions of sex

Jeongguk used to think it was normal to hold so much love for one’s older brother. His parents had always doted on his attachment to you as kids: the way he’d cried when he had to separate from you on your first day of school, the way he would always sneak into your bed and cuddle with you while you were asleep, the way he would want you to feed him or he wouldn’t eat.

Both of your parents would say you guys were probably supposed to be born as twins rather than two years apart. You and Jeongguk did everything together, never leaving one another’s side, standing up for each other and practically reading each other’s thoughts without any words being spoken.

There was even a time once when your mother was telling Jeongguk off and he started to cry. You were in the other room, having heard the painful sob that had left your little brother’s lips, and it took you less than a minute to appear in the kitchen and pull him behind you, his grip tight around your palm, your nostrils flared.

Your mother had never seen you more angry then. Even as a little boy of ten, she was quite startled by the ferocity in your eyes, as if you could kill her right then and there. She laughs it off nowadays, telling herself the fear had been a silly emotion to feel because whatever could a ten year old really do?

But she wasn’t aware of just the extent you were willing to go for your little brother.

Getting into fights at school, threatening teachers and even grabbing the objects they would use for punishment on Jeongguk back on them. You never let anyone get away with badmouthing Jeongguk and it would quickly circulate around the other kids that the little brother of Jeon M/N was off limits in all regards from mere compliments to dirty looks and bullying. He only hung out with you and your friends but your parents wouldn’t let this go on for very long.

At around the ages of when you and Jeongguk turned 16 and 14 respectively, your parents had begun to worry that this… brotherhood was beginning to edge into muddy waters, especially for you because you’d always get into trouble for Jeongguk and he let it happen.

In fact, there were suspicions that Jeongguk leaned into your overprotective tendencies, sometimes making up pure lies about people just to feel your gentle touch on his cheek, comforting him, telling him you’ll take care of everything. You would return home with splattered blood all over your hands, Jeongguk sniffling and clinging to your sleeve behind you. Your mother had almost collapsed from shock the first time she had seen you like that, and your dad beat you until your own blood was seeping out of your legs and back.

Jeongguk felt terrible. He had cried the whole way through applying ointments to your wounds, unable to look you in the eye.

“I’m sorry. I-I should’ve stood up for you. I shouldn’t have let appa hit you.” He’d said quietly, but you never faulted him for these punishments. It was your choice to confront his bullies and you didn’t care what happened to you in the process of getting revenge.

“Look at me, Gugie.”

Jeongguk felt a rush of appeasement at the loving nickname—something that branded him to you. A nickname that only you were allowed to use. He looked up at you after applying the last of the ointment, face streaked with dry tear tracks.

“I need you to come to me if anyone ever hurts you, okay? Even if it’s only a threat. Come to me. Promise?” You’d asked, holding out your pinky. He’d sniffled, wiping his face as he nods.

“Promise.” He says, interlocking your pinkies together.

Unfortunately, that promise hadn’t lasted very long because by the ages of 17 and 15, your parents had begun to double down on your supposed bad behaviour. Before, Jeongguk used to share a room with you, and then he had his own separate room at the other end of the hall, closer to mom and dad. Neither of you were allowed to spend time together alone. Your dad had said he didn’t want Jeongguk to be influenced by your delinquency and begin to believe that beating people up was the solution to his problems.

You thought it was kind of ironic that the man who loved corporal punishment more than anything would say something so hypocritical.

Of course, you did still try to spend time with Jeongguk regardless. You usually waited for him outside of his classroom during breaks, but apparently your parents had even talked to the teachers, requesting that they keep the two of you separate at all times.

The two of them were like hawks monitoring your every move, and by the age of 18, your dad had made sure you were enlisting in the army for your mandatory service. He knew they’d teach you discipline, that you’d be a changed man once you were back.

Finally, you’d be the perfect son he knew you were capable of being.

──────────

“Aish, do these people not have any manners? Why are they crowding around so much?” Your dad—Wonhyun—grumbles, eyes looking around at the many families that were waiting for their sons to finally be discharged after completing their mandatory service. Your mother—Miran—slaps him on the arm lightly, shushing him.

“They’re only here for the same reasons we are. Where else would they go?” She asks, her eyes searching, waiting for the doors to open and the swarm of men to come out. This would be the first time she’ll have seen you in nearly two years, your father insisting that time apart from the family would do you good.

“They couldn’t have set a-” Wonhyun starts to say, but that’s when the doors to the training centre begin to open and men dressed in military uniforms begin to file out with smiles on their faces, some even jogging towards their family in the crowd. Your mother is very eager, attempting to stand on her tiptoes to find you but you’d grown exceptionally well over the years.

Your head towers over the herd, having been one of the tallest in your group of comrades, and so it only took you all of ten seconds to find your parents waving at you with bright smiles, jumping to get your attention. A half smile spreads itself across your lips, and you raise your hand in a wave as you make your way over to them.

Your comrades pat you on the back, congratulating you on completing your enlistment and telling you to reach out soon for drinks. You chuckle and nod, ruffling some of the boys’ hair before you drop your duffle bag in front of your mother who nearly has tears in her eyes, unable to believe you were standing there in front of her after so long.

“N/N…” She starts, covering her mouth with a small sniffle before a shaky hand reaches up to touch your cheek. You have to bend down for her small arm to reach, and you rest your own palm on top of her hand.

“Eomma, really, the first thing you’re gonna do is cry after not seeing your son for over a year?” You tease lightly, and she laughs through her tears, shaking her head before she wraps both of her arms around you. You were able to lift her off of her feet easily, hugging her tight.

“We missed you so much, M/N-ie. The house wasn’t the same without you.” She says quietly, caressing your hair as you put her down.

“I’m here now. We’ll liven up the place again.” You promise, wiping her tears away. She nods, and then you turn to your father who stands tall and proud as he watched you greet your mother.

“Son,” He greets, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Look at you… an upstanding citizen, just completed your service… you’re like a completely different person from before you left. I’m proud of you.”

He pulls you into a hug, patting your back, and you smile, taking in his warm embrace. It’s when they can’t see your face, though, that your jaw locks and the smile slips from your lips. You hug him tightly, your arms squeezing around his waist to a point where Wonhyun makes a noise of surprised discomfort.

“Thank you, sir.” You reply politely, pulling away as the smile returns to your face. “I won’t let you down ever again.”

“You’ve gotten quite strong the past year and a half, haven’t you? That’s quite the grip.” Wonhyun says, clearing his throat as he pretends to act unfazed. He claps you on your shoulder but it seems he does it more lightly this time, almost as if cautious of what you might be capable of.

This was new.

He’d never shown much fear of you during your teenage years. Perhaps because he was aware you were simply a child and nothing more, but now, looking at you… well you were vastly different from the boy he remembered sending into this training centre. You were bigger, far bigger than he thought you’d end up becoming.

He hadn’t expected you to continue growing well into your military years. He only expected you to come out of this being more mature and disciplined so that you’d listen to him when he’d instructed you with a task.

“Miran, here, take a photo of us.” Wonhyun says, pulling his phone out of his pocket, but your eyebrows furrow as you notice it was only your mom and dad with you. Your eyes search for another figure and your dad quickly realises who you were looking for.

“He-he’s not here, M/N.” Your dad says, tensing when you look down at him, your eyebrows furrowing deeper. You pull away from the loose hand your dad had settled on your back for the photo.

“What do you mean he’s not here? Was he held up with something else? Traffic? Is he running late?” You ask, your eyes turning to your mother. She only stares at Wonhyun however, a semblance of worry in her eyes that you caught onto. Your dad attempts to pull you back into your previous pose for the photo.

“Let’s take the photo first, okay? I’ll explain on the ride home.” Wonhyun says, and you have the urge to shove his head into the dirt covered floor but you refrain. Instead, you nod silently, knowing you needed to keep up your ‘good boy’ attitude at least until you found out where Jeongguk was.

──────────

“Dude, are you sure you’re good? What’s your plan?” Hoseok asks, watching you closely from his seat on the couch to your left. He’d stopped lining up his powder on the table at the news, unsure of how you’d react. Namjoon was also watching you over the rim of his glass of whiskey, his seat on the opposite side of the table in front of the three of you.

Even in the dark den of Hoseok’s office, the glint in your eyes was practically palpable. The music from the dance floor in the main room thrummed through the walls and floor, vibrating all throughout your body as you swirled your own glass of whiskey in one hand, arm spread across the head of the couch. Your eyes were unfocused, your mind drifted in a sea of thoughts.

After a moment, you speak, “Should I kill them?”

The guards dotted around the room share looks with one another but no one says anything. Hoseok is immediately stunned, frozen in place. Namjoon continues to watch you intently, unfazed, studying your features for a sign of any tell that you were asking a genuine question.

You await a response—any at all, but no one speaks up, causing you to lift your gaze, glancing between Hoseok and Namjoon with a raised brow.

“What, you think I shouldn’t do it?” You challenge, although your tone sounds nothing like a challenge being raised, instead sounding more like a genuine question of curiosity. Namjoon knew you better than that. He notices the quirk of your lips; a tell.

“Whatever you do, you know I’ve got your back.” Namjoon says, taking a sip of his whiskey. Hoseok stares at Namjoon in disbelief before glancing down at his powdered lines in front of him. He sighs.

“Oh fuck me. Whatever. Sure.” He waves his hand dismissively before finally going in for his first line. He lets out a satisfied hum and goes in for another. You smirk, chuckling a little as you finish the rest of your drink.

“Good to know I have such reliable friends, hm?” You settle your empty glass on the table, sitting up.

“We know how much he means to you.”

Your eyes meet Namjoon’s. He’s always been able to read you like a book, almost reminding you of the boy that was the catalyst to this entire discussion. You’d met him during your military service alongside Hoseok and the three of you got along really well. You had each other’s backs in there, leaving many to bow down at your feet.

“Who’s that? A friend?” Namjoon had asked upon catching you staring down at a photograph of yourself next to another boy. It was taken during winter; the floors were covered in snow, the scenery blessed with white. You and Jeongguk were layered up in thick woolly scarves, jackets, and gloves but you could still make out the younger boy’s pink nose. His eyes scrunched shut as he laughed at a joke you’d made as you stared down at him, holding him close.

Your eyes don’t waver from the photograph. Your thumb brushes over his delighted figure. You missed him dearly. Namjoon watches you, eyes the way you seem so nostalgic and even forlorn.

“My brother.” You’d told him quietly. It had been three months now since you’d enlisted. You’d received one call from him in the beginning, asking you all about your service and how everything was going, wanting to know you were okay, but that was it. You hadn’t heard his sweet voice since, and you knew your parents had something to do with it.

Namjoon leans up on his elbows beside you, legs still settled inside his sleeping bag. Hoseok was to your left, already fast asleep as he snored, mouth agape.

“Why don’t you visit him during leaves? Seems like you miss the guy.”

Your grip on the photo tightens before you tuck it into your pocket, not wishing to crumple or ruin the memory. It was the only physical reminder you had of him that you were allowed to keep close to you.

“My dad won’t let me see him. Thinks I’m a bad influence.” You scoff, getting into your sleeping bag. Namjoon doesn’t say much, something telling him that the solutions coming to his head weren’t as easy as they seemed, but he does notice your bitter expression. He could tell you weren’t content with your current circumstances.

“I’m here if you ever wanna talk about him. Clearly, he must mean a lot to you.”

A small smile forms itself on your lips. You nod, grateful.

“He means everything to me.”

──────────

“And you’re sure he’s there?” Namjoon asks, eyes on the passing scenery through the tinted window of the limousine. Hoseok rolls his eyes, blowing on a joint.

“Yes, asshole. I’ve had my guys working on this for the past two weeks now, alright? He’s definitely there.” Hoseok grumbles, taking another puff of his joint with a contented sigh before passing it over to you. You take it, inhaling a puff of your own to calm your nerves. You’ve been on edge for the past two weeks now, ever since Hoseok offered to have his guys look for Jeongguk.

Your parents had kicked him out only a couple of months after your enlistment because of some bullshit about ‘straying from the path of God’ that you’d tuned out immediately. It had taken everything in you not to grab the nearest knife from the kitchen table then, stabbing them over and over again until their bodies were so disfigured that they were completely unrecognisable.

Being in the military changed you. It taught you how to control your anger issues like your father wanted but it also resulted in you manifesting sudden, more violent thoughts than you’d had previously as a result of holding in your emotions.

Hoseok pours you a glass of vodka, noticing your tensed physique. He could tell you were nervous about seeing Jeongguk again after nearly two years, unsure of how the male may react. Knowing that he wasn’t the same kid that you’d left behind.

“It’ll be alright. I’m sure he’s been missing you just as much.” Hoseok attempts to comfort, nudging your knee with his own and jutting his chin towards the glass of vodka. You hand Namjoon the joint next and grab the glass, necking almost half of it without a second thought.

Hoseok whistles lowly, watching you.

“Maybe slow down just a little bit. You don’t wanna meet him for the first time in ages and not remember the encounter, do you?”

You grunt, knowing he had a point before placing your glass in the cup holder. The rest of the ride to the club is filled with some mild chatter, Hoseok choosing to keep the blunt between himself and Namjoon so as to make sure you were of sound mind for this interaction.

He had worked hard to find Jeongguk’s usual spot and so he wasn’t going to let this meeting go to waste. He wanted to make sure you’d remember it and thank him for being such a great friend who’d brought you back together with your brother.

“Alright, alright! Everyone shut the fuck up. We’re pulling up now.” Hoseok announces, recognising the street from the pictures his men had sent him. Your body tenses again, glancing out of the window to see as the limo pulled up in front of the entrance to the club.

It wasn’t nearly as lavish as Hoseok’s nightclub (which was known as Seoul’s hotspot) but it was okay regardless. It’s what one would expect downtown.

There was an average line of customers waiting to be let in and two bouncers guarding the front doors. Namjoon waits as the chauffeur moves to open the door on his side of the car, allowing him to get out, and Hoseok follows suit. The chauffeur then proceeds to make his way to other side and open the door for you as you hop out and make your way around to your two friends.

People in the queue begin to whisper, muttering amongst themselves at your suave entrance and arrival in an expensive car. All three of you were dressed in branded clothes courtesy of Hoseok who never let his friends wear anything that wasn’t designer.

Hoseok leads the way to the entrance and the bouncer seems to recognise him immediately. He opens the door personally with a small bow of respect. Your eyebrow raises before remembering Hoseok was very well known in this industry. Or practically Seoul in general.

“Garnered quite the reputation for yourself, have you?” Namjoon queries with a small smile. Hoseok shrugs as you guys enter the main room of the club with ease. He grabs the nearest shot glass from a bartender’s tray, necking it. You and Namjoon decide to hold off on the alcohol for now.

“Okay, he usually comes here every Friday around 8:30. I’ve booked us the VIP seating over there,” Hoseok bellows over the music, pointing to the open lounge that was sectioned off from the dance floor. You nod, your eyes on the dance floor instead of the VIP lounge even though it was only 8 right now.

If Hoseok was right about this, you still had another half an hour until he showed.

“Why did we come so early then?” Namjoon asks. Your eyes return to Hoseok, wanting an answer to that question as well.

“To have fun! Let loose a little! Or don’t and go chill out at the lounge. I’m here to hit the dance floor.” He says, and before either you or Namjoon can say anything, he’s already made his way past the crowds of people everywhere and onto the dance floor. You grumble to yourself and Namjoon rests a hand on your shoulder, gesturing to the lounge.

You follow after him, noticing how the lounge is set on a slightly higher level than the dance floor. A guard is stationed by the steps and he asks for your names. Namjoon tells him, and the guy checks his list before nodding and moving aside.

“Enjoy.” He says as you and Namjoon head over towards the leather couch. It was similar to Hoseok’s office back at his club with a glass table settled in front of the two of you and dim lights secured above that you can control the colours of.

Namjoon makes himself comfortable, unbuttoning his blazer as his eyes scan the club with its flashy, LED dance floor and sweaty couples grinding up on each other. He also sees Hoseok already has someone pulling him close and whispering in (or maybe kissing?) his ear. Namjoon chuckles, turning his attention to you.

“So, what’s your plan?” He asks casually, and you raise your brow at him. “You know, when he’s here. Are you just gonna go up and talk to him?”

You weren’t sure what the fuck you were gonna do in all honesty. You’d made it this far but you hadn’t thought you’d find him in the first place, simply going along with the flow of events that Hoseok had somehow constructed. You wonder how Jeongguk may react, how he looks, whether he’s changed or stayed the same.

“I don’t know.” You tell him with a long sigh, your eyes on the dance floor. “I haven’t seen him in over a year, I haven’t talked to him even once. For all I know, he might not want anything to do with me.”

Namjoon listens to your worries intently, nodding. Although he hasn’t been in your predicament before, he understands your feelings. It’s rare for a person to stay the same over such a long period of time, especially teenagers.

From what he can recall, you and Jeongguk had about a two year age gap, making him 18 this year. He probably has his own thoughts and feelings about everything.

“I don’t think it’d be that extreme.” Namjoon says, “He might be upset about stuff, might even be upset with you, but he’ll come around. I don’t think he can hate you forever.”

You chuckle at his wisdom. “You don’t even know the guy, Joon. He can throw a mean tantrum.”

Namjoon shrugs although there’s a smile to his lips. “Your stories about him are enough for me.”

And that’s basically how you spend the next half an hour, talking about Jeongguk, telling Namjoon more stories about his silly tantrums he’d throw when you’d upset him over something.

He would often lock himself in your shared room and only open it when it was time for bed because otherwise he knew dad would yell at him. He wouldn’t make eye contact, he wouldn’t talk and to your surprise, he would even choose to sleep in his own bed.

This sort of stuff could go on for days unless you tried to ask for forgiveness, pulling crazy antics and buying him his favourite toys or food using your own pocket money. Sometimes you’d even have to dress in the most embarrassing outfits in public just to get that cute little laugh out of him.

Hopefully, you won’t have to do anything too crazy here. Hopefully, Jeongguk would be happy to see you.

──────────

“Dudes, he’s on his way. Get ready.” A tipsy Hoseok says half an hour later, having pushed through the crowd which seems to have only gotten bigger. You’d had one glass of vodka throughout your entire wait here. This was probably a record for you.

“I’ll stay here. M/N probably wants to meet him alone, right?” Namjoon asks, looking over at you. You nod, your foot bouncing like crazy on the tiled floor.

Since when were you so nervous to meet your own brother?

Hoseok decides to wait with you from his position just below the lounge on the main floor, hand on the railing and looking out at the crowd for any signs of the young male.

Taking a deep breath, your eyes track the doors that lead to the entrance, waiting.

And then, you see him.

For a moment, you wonder if you were simply imagining things. Perhaps it had been a trick of the light and so you blink continuously, leaning forward in your seat, eyes squinted and yet he’s still here, making his way through the crowd towards the bar which was located just a few feet away from your lounge.

Your breath catches in your throat, even swallowing felt difficult.

He was here. He was really here.

And he looked completely different. Nothing like the young boy you’d remembered, as if all semblance of the Jeongguk you had known were lost and buried within this new look he was sporting. He’d grown his hair out into a wavy bob and he’d gotten just a little bit taller. His body was slim yet toned, barely covered by the denim jacket he was wearing which revealed his stomach through the cropped white shirt. He’d even worn a loose tie and chains. He looked absolutely ravishing.

You could barely help yourself. Your cock was stirring eagerly in your pants before you’d even realised, and as Jeongguk turned slightly after receiving his drink, you caught a shimmer bounce off of his lip from the light. It was a lip piercing.

Now you could see why your parents had kicked him out. He was considered an abomination, moreso to your father who always envisioned his sons as the most traditional sort of macho man.

Jeongguk was nothing like that. He was more of a spoonful of cardinal sin that was awaiting hungry prey. Someone that wanted to be ravished, not take girls to church and smile shyly over dinner. You had to go talk to him.

Namjoon who was analysing Jeongguk turns to you when he feels you shift. Hoseok doesn’t notice shit, seemingly just as enamoured by Jeongguk’s presence as you, his eyes unwavering from the male’s physique.

“You gonna go over there?” Namjoon asks, but as you go to answer, you notice Jeongguk is now beginning to make his way to the extremely crowded dance floor and you’d lost him just like that. It was too difficult to find him with so many people squeezed together there. You growl lowly, unhappy.

Hoseok finally turns to both you and Namjoon, confused at what was going on. “What’s up? You gonna go find him? He’s supposed to be here until quite late so you have plenty of time, M/N-ah. Don’t fret.” The male comforts. You nod, trying to take a deep breath. You hated crowded areas, especially when they were filled with sweaty and horny teenagers.

“You go on. I’ll be here.” Namjoon states as you get up. You head down to Hoseok’s level before turning to the crowd.

“We can split up and look for him. I’ll ring you if I find him. Keep your phone on vibrate.” He leans in to say, and you nod as you pull out your phone, turning on vibrate. Hoseok pats you on your shoulder. “We’ll find him.” And then, he leaves.

You also start to make your way to the dance floor and it’s immediately stuffy the closer you get. Everywhere you look there’s couples grinding up on each other and making out, some even attempting to invite you into their little rendezvous but you were only interested in one individual.

You weren’t even sure where exactly you were on the dance floor or how far along you’d travelled by the time you were sweating through your top and your feet were beginning to ache. The crowd moved in weird ways and directions, leaving you to guess how much ground you’d covered. And Jeongguk would probably be dancing right now too, meaning he must be moving around at all times.

All of it felt hopeless. You were getting more and more annoyed as people tried to talk to you or show interest or offer to buy you drinks. You weren’t interested and you didn’t know how many more times those words would have to leave your lips before you popped a vein.

But then as if sensing your distress, you’d found him again. There he was in all of his glory, a sheen of sweat cascading down his neck, his toned stomach and collarbones. His hair, which you’d only now realised was dyed auburn, was sticking to his forehead, head thrown back and denim jacket wrapped around his waist.

As you pushed through the crowd to make your way to him, you paused. Another figure had wrapped their arms around his waist, moving in sync with his hips. Jeongguk seemed to revel in the attention, resting his hand on top of the stranger’s which only caused the man to become braver.

It was enough to have you charging through the crowd instead of politely squeezing past. You didn’t apologise or bow, you didn’t care who was being knocked to the ground as you shoved and shoved until there was enough of an opening for you to throw a punch. Some people screamed, attempting to back away as the stranger stumbled but you didn’t hold back.

You punched him again and again until he had fallen to the ground, unable to understand what was going on. He hadn’t even caught a glimpse of your face as you moved to cage him between your knees, your vision red with anger, your knuckles dripping with blood.

He was already unconscious by the time someone had grabbed you by your waist and pulled you off of the man. His face was bloodied, unrecognisable, almost like the carcass a dead animal leaves after they’re done with their prey. Your breath was heavy and laboured and you’d turned to see it was Hoseok who was holding you back, eyebrows furrowed and his eyes filled with worry.

The music had stopped by now and some people were trying to leave, causing a panic. Then you remembered Jeongguk. Your eyes searched for the male but he was nowhere in sight. He’d disappeared.

“We have to leave, M/N.” Hoseok says, and you knew he was right. Looking down at the unconscious body again, you still felt a burst of hatred, causing you to spit on him before Hoseok started to pull you away towards the back of the club. Apparently there was another exit this way that not many people knew about.

Namjoon met you guys by the back of the club. He was still his composed self even after the havoc inside.

“What happened?”

“What happened? What happened?! He fucking lost it, that’s what happened, Joon! Jesus fucking Christ, I mean, I think the guy might be dead!” Hoseok exclaims, running his fingers through his hair. Namjoon’s eyes scan over your bloodied figure, from your clothes to your knuckles and even your face. He pulls out a handkerchief and offers it to you. You take it gratefully.

“We gotta get outta here. We can’t be seen here. I’ll talk to the owner about getting rid of tapes and evidence. She’s my friend. I’ll bribe the cops if I have to. It’ll be fine.” Hoseok says, although seemingly more to himself than anyone else. He pulls out his phone to call the limo to the back of the club.

Namjoon continues to keep his eye on you as you brush whatever amount of blood you can from your knuckles and face. Your mind was still plastered with images of that man’s hands on Jeongguk. The way he was guiding Jeongguk’s body like he owned it.

He deserved a way worse death than he’d received if he really died. Nobody puts hands on your Jeongguk. He belonged to you. He was yours ever since he was born, and nobody will ever change that.

You’d make sure of it.

As the limo arrives, you, Hoseok and Namjoon all get into the car before it speeds away as far as possible from the club.

──────────

You spend the next couple of days at Hoseok’s apartment while he attempts to get the situation at the club sorted out. You’d told your parents you were staying with a friend from your service and so they didn’t ask many more questions.

“You ready to tell us what happened?” Namjoon asks, sitting opposite you in the living room. He’d been visiting everyday since the incident. Hoseok had offered to lend him one of his spare bedrooms but the male refused. He just wanted to check up on you. You were advised not to wonder about outside until everything had settled down.

“The bastard was feeling him up.” You spit, and even though it had been a few days now since that night, the memory was raw and fresh as if it were happening right in front of you all over again. Hoseok had informed you that the guy did indeed die that night from blood loss. The footage had been deleted upon his request but your DNA was found on the scene and so Hoseok is currently discussing prices for sweeping everything under the rug.

You probably owe him a lifetime of debt for this. You make a mental note to thank him later, his muffled voice flowing through the other room as he spoke with someone on the phone. Namjoon raises a brow, urging you to continue. You remain silent and the male sighs.

“Come on, M/N-ah. I’m not here to judge or berate you. I wanna know what happened so I can help you.” He tries to reason. You can tell he’s been stressing over this as much as Hoseok has.

You pour him a glass of soju, sliding it across the table to him. It’s what you’d been drinking for the past few days yourself so you didn’t lose your damn mind wondering what happened to Jeongguk.

The way he’d just disappeared without saying a word to you. He hadn’t even tried to intervene in your fight, but well, he never usually did even when you were still kids. He did, however, wait for you.

Every time you were beating on his bullies, he would stay a safe distance away like you’d instructed and he’d wait until you were done, offering his hand through tear stained cheeks which you’d take before guiding him home. You would wipe his tears just before you’d open your front door, his face staining with the blood on your hands.

“He was feeling him up, Joon. Are you saying that wasn’t reason enough to beat his ass?” You ask, sitting up straighter. Namjoon grabs the glass of soju you’d poured for him and takes a big gulp.

“Did it look forced?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What?”

“Did it look forced? Was Jeongguk struggling to get away from the guy?” He asks, watching you with a level gaze. Your eyes narrow, feeling like you were being interrogated.

“What are you, a cop? Why does it matter?” You shot back, and Namjoon notices you’re getting irritated by his line of questioning. He wasn’t trying to rile you up and so he lifts his hands in surrender.

“Look, M/N. You killed a guy that night. I told you before that I’d back you up no matter what, didn’t I? And I’m still holding you to that promise, but only if I know exactly what I’m getting myself into.” Namjoon says seriously, his usually calm and stoic demeanour now firm, “I need to know how you feel about him because from what I’ve seen so far, this bond runs deeper than brotherhood.”

The room is eerily quiet for a moment as Namjoon waits for your response. He gives you time to let the words sink in, your mind drifting into a sea of thoughts.

How did you feel about him?

Standing there by the bar, you remember the way your cock had twitched in your pants at the mere sight of him. The way you wish you could’ve run your fingers along his tan skin and pinch his nipples through that crop top, the way you wish you could’ve shoved him onto his knees to suck you off in front of everyone.

Your cock stirs again at all of these thoughts but your gaze never wavers from Namjoon’s patient one. You give him a half smile, lying back in your seat.

“If you have to ask me, you must already know the answer.”

And you watch with a tilted head as it dawns upon Namjoon in real time that his suspicions were correct. His lips part as if to say something, but for the first time, no words come out. He only nods instead.

“Anything else?”

He shakes his head, downing the last of his soju. He’s silent for a minute longer, staring down at the coffee table and seemingly trying to get his thoughts in order. It’s your turn to be patient as you wait for the knowledge of your answer to truly sink into his head.

And that’s also around about the time that Hoseok makes his entrance into the living room again, slightly relieved.

“Good news. The officer in charge of the case has agreed to sweep this situation under the rug for a reasonable compensation. You should be off the hook by the end of the day.” He states cheerily, looking between you and Namjoon before his smile drops into a confused look. “The fuck is going on with him?”

Namjoon was still processing your confession so you take over the conversation in his place, your eyes turning to Hoseok.

“Joon-ah was asking me about my feelings regarding Jeongguk.” You start, glancing at said male who looks back at you carefully, “I simply told him the truth.”

It takes Hoseok a second to understand what you were getting at before his lips part in an ‘O’ and he bursts out laughing.

“Woah, woah, wait. You didn’t know?” Hoseok asks in shock, making his way over to the both of you. Namjoon’s eyebrows furrow, looking back at Hoseok and then you.

“He knew? You told him?” Namjoon asks, also disbelieving. You shrug half heartedly as Hoseok takes a seat beside him, slapping him on his shoulder.

“Dude, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one. Wasn’t it obvious? I mean, he’s been acting like some lovesick puppy ever since we first met. You’re dumb as fuck.” Hoseok comments, earning a slap on the back of his head from Namjoon who tsks.

“Shut the fuck up.”

You smirk, leaning forward to pour Hoseok, Namjoon and yourself a glass of soju again. You clink your glasses and take a sip.

“Seok-ah,” You say, and Hoseok nods, showcasing he’s listening, “Can you find out where he lives at all? An address I could visit?”

Hoseok gives you a look, sighing as he takes a long sip of his soju.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

──────────

Checking the address on your phone and the picture of the building attached to it, you compare the two to make sure you had the right place. Jeongguk apparently lived in a shabby apartment complex not too far from that club you’d visited, which made sense as to how he must’ve left so quickly. It wasn’t a very long walk.

The neighbourhood was noisy and smelt funny. The trash was overflowing near the bins as you made your way up the steps towards the entrance. The lightbulb was flickering and there was not a single security in sight. You open the glass doors into reception to see the person at the desk was fast asleep in an awkward angle on the chair.

Ignoring him, you decided to take the stairs to the second floor where Jeongguk lived. According to Hoseok, he lived just near the end of the hall, door number 108. Your heart was practically hammering in your chest as you walked past each door, closer and closer to the apartment which contained your beloved little brother behind its walls.

It’s when you’re standing right in front of his door that you begin second guessing yourself however.

Would he even want to see you? If the encounter at the club was anything to go by, he clearly wanted nothing to do with you.

But he could also just be upset. Perhaps all he needed was an apology and an explanation and you could make amends like old times. He was always quite forgiving with you. Namjoon had said he thought so too and he hadn’t even met Jeongguk.

You take a deep breath. You can see the light was switched on through the gap at the bottom of the door, meaning he was home. Your knuckles feel stiff as you raise them to knock on the door, your brain going into overdrive over all the possible consequences that this could lead to. Jeongguk could say he wants you out of his life forever and then what would you do? You’d have to listen to him, wouldn’t you?

Closing your eyes, you push these thoughts to the back of your head and knock on his door gently. Nothing happens for a second but then his honey voice speaks up through the door.

“Gimme a minute! I’m coming!” And you hear footsteps shuffle about inside the apartment as if in a hurry. You wonder what he could be possibly doing, perhaps tidying up the space a bit in what little time he could, having not expected any guests. A small smile crosses your lips at the thought, your fingers combing through your hair.

Soon, you hear his footsteps approaching closer and closer and you brace yourself, your body tensing. The door swings open, and your eyes instantly meet with brown hues curtained by auburn bangs that fall over Jeongguk’s eyes. Your lips pull into a bright, charming smile of their own accord at witnessing your little brother’s face up close after so long but he doesn’t reciprocate.

The polite and yet embarrassed bunny smile plastered on his lips vanished immediately upon realising it was you stood on his front doorstop and your heart sinks at his reaction. His eyes had turned cold and hostile, his lips pulling into a deep frown. You barely had time to even register what he was wearing before the door began to swing close, and you had to snap out of your thoughts in order to wedge yourself through the gap enough so that he couldn’t close it fully.

He did not take kindly to this gesture, attempting to shove you away with as much force as he could muster but you’d always been bigger and stronger than him. He had no chance against you, especially not after taking into account your military training now.

“Jeongguk-ah, I just wanna talk to you! Why are you being like this?”

He doesn’t reply, still attempting to shove you out so that he can close the door. He growls when his efforts only seem to go in vain because you don’t budge an inch, watching him with saddened eyes. He’s never acted this way with you before. You’d never seen him so upset with you.

“Let me in, hm? I just want to talk. I haven’t seen you in months.” You reason, your hand wrapping around the edge of the door to push it open further. Jeongguk tries to unhook your fingers.

“Fuck! off!” He says with force, and it’s the first words to leave his mouth since you’d last seen him. They were words of pure hatred and venom, nothing like the soft spoken honeyed voice that usually greeted you like you were the only man that existed on this earth.

What did you do to receive so much hate from him? Why wouldn’t he just talk to you?

“Is this how it’s gonna be? You won’t even tell me what’s going on with you anymore? You’re gonna shut me out?”

“I have nothing to say to you. Who the fuck even are you to me?!” He exclaims, fury burning in his eyes and veins. You think you even see hints of tears welling up in those doe eyes and it weakens you. You just want to hold him close.

“Jeong-” As you go to comfort him, he pushes you with renewed vigour that has you stumbling back in shock. He’s panting now, tears along his lash line as he watches you.

“Leave before I call the cops.” And with that, he slams the door shut in your face. You could barely comprehend what had just happened, your mind racing with images of how he’d looked at you just then, the way he spoke so harshly to you like you’d betrayed him.

It made you want to kill yourself to be the reason for Jeongguk’s distress. You didn’t know what to do with yourself.

You stare at the 108 plated on his door, knowing he was still there on the other side. You didn’t want to leave. You couldn’t leave. He can call the cops if he wishes to. You weren’t going anywhere.

It was a pathetic move but you decided to settle yourself in front of his door, back pressed to it with a sigh, fingers tugging on the roots of your hair in frustration. He was being so stubborn and you didn’t understand why or what you’d done to cause this. You just wanted things to go back to the way they used to be with him.

You don’t know how long you’d sat there in front of his door before you were sound asleep, your body fatigued from the stress and cold air that seemed to seep through into the hallway.

──────────

Hours later, your eyes flutter open to be met with a cream coloured ceiling. Your vision is still bleary from having just woken up and you blink a few times, a little dazed and confused as you look around at your surroundings.

You were in some sort of living room, looking down to see your body laid out on a couch that wasn’t big enough to fit the entirety of you in, your calves dangling over the edge. The TV was on, the telecast showcasing a news reporter talking about the incident at the club. The smell of laundry detergent and matcha wafted in the air, only confusing you further.

You start to sit up, noticing you were dressed in your clothes from yesterday and that’s when you remember your encounter with Jeongguk from yesterday, how you had accidentally fallen asleep on his doorstep. And it’s like Jeongguk senses your recollection because he enters the living room with a cup of warm tea exactly then, seeming unfazed when your eyes meet his and they widen.

“G-guk?” You ask, wondering whether you were still on his front doorstep fast asleep and this was just a very lucid dream. He doesn’t say anything, instead placing the cup of tea on the coffee table in front of you.

Why is it every place had a coffee table these days?

You stare down at the tea for a moment. Jeongguk had made this with his very own hands for you and it makes your heart swell, but you’re still confused, looking up to see him standing a few feet away now with crossed arms.

“Guk-ah, I-I wanted to talk to you. Can we talk?” You ask, hopeful. His stance is firm, he doesn’t give anything away.

“Drink your tea. I want you gone before 10.” He says, glancing over at the clock resting above his door that reads 9:20am. You follow his gaze and your shoulders slump in defeat, having thought he was finally willing to talk after this gesture.

“What did I do to upset you?” You ask lowly, and you notice the way he tenses at the question, attempting to maintain eye contact. “You hate me and I don’t even know why. You won’t talk to me so how can I know what’s wrong, Guk-ah? I need to know what I did before I can fix my mistake.”

“I told you to drink your tea and leave. I didn’t give you permission to ask me questions.” He spits, working his jaw. He was wearing an oversized white shirt that spilled over his shoulder and plain grey joggers. You stand up slowly, deciding this might just be the only chance you’ll have at getting the truth out of him.

Jeongguk starts to become cautious as he watches you tower to your full height, as if you were some sort of threat. It was beginning to irritate you more than upset you now, you didn’t understand his reactions. You’d never hurt him.

“Are you scared of me? Me?” You ask in disbelief, moving around the coffee table. He holds his hand out, taking a step back.

“Don’t come any closer. I’m warning you. I’ll scream.” He says, trying to sound firm but his voice comes out shaky as he takes a deep breath. You watch him, analysing if he would really go to such extremes to keep you away. You take a step forward.

Jeongguk doesn’t scream.

“Stay back! Are you fucking deaf? I brought you in here because I felt some pity. Don’t make me regret it.”

You ignore him, taking another step forward. Jeongguk backs away again, keeping his hand up. There were tears welling up in his eyes but they didn’t seem to be from fear, moreso out of desperation that you’d listen to his pleas.

“I’m not gonna keep doing this, Guk. You know I won’t hurt you. You’re my little brother. I want us to be okay again. That’s all I want.” You tell him honestly, taking another step forward. You keep your hands in front of you, raised ever so slightly so he knows you’re not a threat. He continues to back away until he’s pressed up against the wall, and you take that as your opportunity to cage him. He realises this and he cries, those tears flowing freely now.

“Stay back! Please, please, hyung! I can’t have you near me. Stay back. Please!” He cries, and you freeze mere inches from him. The hand he’d held up to keep you away pressed against your chest as he looks down, trying to control his emotions. You’d only ever seen him break down like this over his bullies, when he’d come to you to ask for help.

“Gugie…” Your own voice breaks at the sight, and the beloved nickname that Jeongguk had heard so many times makes him cry harder, his fingers bunching up the fabric of your shirt tightly almost like he was trying to ground himself. You couldn’t hold back then, pulling him close and wrapping him up in your strong arms, shushing his cries gently as you placed a kiss to his auburn waves.

“My baby,” You comfort, your voice soft and loving even after all the things he’d said to you, the way he treated you. It didn’t matter to you because you knew he was hurting. You wanted to help him. He wraps his arms around your waist, crying into your shoulder so hard he was practically shaking. You place kisses along his temple, letting him cry. You could tell he’d been holding it in for a while.

You guide him over to the couch when he begins to settle down a little bit, wiping his tears away with the pads of your thumb and pushing a stray strand of auburn hair behind his ear. You caress his cheek as he holds your wrist, his eyes looking between both of yours in a back and forth motion.

“Talk to me, baby,” You tell him, and his grip tightens on your wrist, his eyes landing on his lap. Your eyebrows furrow, lifting his chin so that he was facing you again. “Nothing to be afraid of. I’ve got your back, haven’t I?” You say, a small smile on your lips.

Surprisingly, he mirrors it with a small nod and it makes you want to kiss him until you’re both breathless. He takes a deep breath, inching closer to you, always finding safety in your presence.

“I-I’m sorry for not checking up on you during your service.” He starts weakly, and you shake your head. You knew it wasn’t his fault, but you don’t interrupt him. You needed to know what had happened while you were away. “Appa said I would only serve as a distraction to you if I called you all the time.

“He’d take my phone during those hours when he knew you could call, hyung. I-I wanted to reach out somehow so I tried to-” He takes a deep breath and you wrap an arm around his shoulders. “I tried to sneak my phone back from him. When he realised what I was trying to do… he-he hurt me. He would hit me over and over until-”

There was a sudden, loud ringing in your ears, cutting off the rest of Jeongguk’s sentence as it doubled down on those few words.

He hurt me. He would hit me over and over.

Your father hurt him. You’d promise to protect Jeongguk from harm and yet your father hurt him and you weren’t there to keep your promise.

No wonder he didn’t want anything to do with you. The thought itself was making you feel sick and queasy, like you shouldn’t even have the right to touch him, hold him like you’re doing. Jeongguk notices you lost in thought, and he shakes you gently, his grip loosely holding onto your shirt.

“Was-was it the same?” You ask quietly, and Jeongguk knows what you mean. He nods, slowly moving to turn around so that his back was facing you and with shaky fingers, you watch as he pulls his shirt over his head to reveal valleys of scars lining every possible expanse of skin on his back, many of them interconnecting and others looking like they’ve been reopened more than once.

He did this. He hurt Jeongguk in the exact manner he hurt you when you disobeyed his rules, grabbing his belt in a fit of uncontrolled rage that wouldn’t disappear until there was blood spilling onto the floor. You never cared when it happened to you, but right now, as your fingers gently trace the lines on his back and see the way Jeongguk flinches every now and again, your blood boils beneath your skin.

You would not let him get away with this.

“I ran away after a little while. It was when he’d caught me trying on some of eomma’s makeup. I… I didn’t feel like I could call you after all of that. I didn’t want you to see how I’d ended up.” He says, finding it just that little bit easier to speak when he wasn’t facing you. You weren’t sure how to explain it to him.

You never cared about all of these supposed flaws that Jeongguk believed he had.

Watching as his shoulders rise and fall somewhat unevenly, you make a choice. You shuffle closer to him, your fingers grazing his shoulders and gliding down to his arms before you place a kiss on the scar that travels just below the nape of his neck. He shivers, a little startled but not shocked. He doesn’t move away.

“Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?” You whisper along the shell of his ear. You place another kiss there and then another on a scar that curves against his shoulder blade. Jeongguk clutches at his joggers, his bottom lip between his teeth as he tries to hold in any unwanted noises. He knew there had always been something between you two… something more than brotherly affection, but he’d lost hope that you’d ever act upon it.

He never thought such a day would come.

You never thought he’d reciprocate your feelings.

“I didn’t want to disappoint you. My back- it’s not something anybody would want to see. It’s disgusting.” He says, and you pause, leaning forward to turn Jeongguk’s head to face you, your lips inches apart.

“You could never disappoint me. I love you.” You confess easily, without hesitation. Jeongguk is doubtful, his eyes searching yours for any signs that you were simply saying these things to make him feel better, but there was only love. Pure, unadulterated love swimming in your eyes as you looked down at him. It made him want to cry again, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek.

“I love you too, hyung. I’ve only ever loved you.” He says, and taking his first brave step, he turns around and leans in to place his lips against yours, instantly letting out a small mewl when you return his kiss with a fierce longing that sets your heart alight. His fingers reach down to curl around the fabric of your shirt, tugging you closer, and you take this as your initiative to trail your kisses along his cheek, towards his jaw, and down his throat.

Jeongguk’s eyes roll back, his head tilted just enough to allow your lips to devour his caramel skin greedily, his fingers moving to tug on the roots of your hair.

“Hyung…” He whispers, his hot breath fanning your ear and causing you to groan against his skin. You pull away, your forehead pressing to his lightly. He opens his eyes, breath heaving as he stares at you in a way you wish to wake up to every morning.

“Drink your tea. I put a lot of effort in that, y’know.” He says, smiling that incredibly adorable bunny smile that you missed as he cups both of your cheeks. You mirror his smile with one of your own and Jeongguk thinks his heart might’ve skipped multiple beats in the span of four seconds.

You continue to stare at him, completely enamoured with a full heart to see him like this, to be on better terms and to hold him in your arms and kiss him like a lover, to have him want this just as much as you.

Your father would be sent to an early grave if he were to see the two of you now. Your mother probably wouldn’t be very far behind.

“Can I stay here with you for the day?” You ask, hopeful. Jeongguk doesn’t even need time to consider, thumbing at your skin as he pecks your lips with a nod. You almost can’t believe it so you have to ask again. Jeongguk rolls his eyes but a small amused smile makes its way onto his lips.

He pushes some of your hair back, now placing a kiss on your forehead and then your nose and then both of your cheeks.

“Yes, idiot. You’re my hyung. You can stay here as long as you like.”

And you cage him under you with a smile, earning a surprised squeak from the younger before he laughs and moves to easily rip your shirt off of you.

──────────

Nobody says anything.

The room is dead silent save for the breathless pants that leave Jeongguk’s lips as he grinds into your lap, his layered denim jeans stretching to accommodate his thighs on either side of you.

Hoseok sits in his same spot to your left on a single couch, his index and thumb resting beneath his chin as he watches the way Jeongguk envelopes you like a moth to a flame, his mouth traversing your collarbones to add to the art he’d left there just last night. He was intrigued, perhaps even a little turned on, shifting in his seat to get a better view.

Both of your bodies were littered with marks of passion. It had been five days now since you and Jeongguk had reconciled back in his apartment and he hadn’t spared a moment’s hesitation to drill himself down on your cock whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Waking up to him on top of you, kissing your naked skin as he jerked you off lazily in the mornings, fucking him hard against the kitchen counter and holding him close to you as he cooked lunch in the afternoon, watching him as he writhed beneath rivulets cascading down his body within the confines of a late night steamy shower, spreading his cheeks far apart as you ate him out like dessert after dinner.

It was as if the two of you were making up for all of that time spent apart, and even now, having left the apartment for the first time together so you could introduce Jeongguk to your two friends, he wouldn’t relent. He just wanted you, you, you.

The guards scattered around the room keep their gazes fixed on anything but the two of you making out on the couch, uncomfortable at the knowledge that you were siblings—real, blood bound siblings kissing each other so raunchily, whispering dirty promises, groping exposed flesh and licking drops of perspiration trickling down a hickey-filled neck.

Some of them however, couldn’t possibly get enough. Some of them angle their necks to get a better view much like Hoseok, trying to ingrain the memory into their heads for a chance to jerk off to it later.

But then, Namjoon clears his throat expectantly and certain individuals in the room deflate as they watch the two of you pull apart whilst others sigh a silent breath of relief. A string of saliva stretches between your lips and Jeongguk’s eyes sparkle as he stares, slightly dazed as he kisses you one last time.

Your thumb swipes across his swollen lips when he pulls away, wiping any remnants of evidence that may cause a change to the plans you had initially come here for. Jeongguk takes this opportunity to capture your thumb between his lips, his tongue swirling over the pad of it and sucking gently.

He was dangerous like that, you’d come to learn. He was tempting, always knew when to strike at just the right moment. Your head tilts, watching the way he sucks on your thumb and looks up at you through his lashes with the hint of a devious smirk. You knew what he wanted his actions to look like.

You were almost caught in his trap until Namjoon spoke up, having realised the two of you hadn’t quite stopped.

“Did you invite us here for a free show or…”

And that’s when Jeongguk finally stops, pulling away from you as he glances back at Namjoon who watches him with curiosity. He proceeds to turn to you again, pecking your lips one last time, beckoning you to lean in for a deeper kiss, but Jeongguk then shifts so that he’s sitting beside you before you can make another move. You huff at his cheekiness, running your fingers through your hair as you settle back in your seat, the boner in your slacks obvious and yet ignored.

Your gaze drifts between Namjoon’s and Hoseok’s, studying them for a moment. Hoseok’s gleaming eyes are fixed upon Jeongguk who, even as an adult now, still shies away from making eye contact with strangers, instead playing with the fabric of your slacks. Namjoon is more polite, merely giving him a once over before taking a sip of his vodka.

“Guys, I want you to meet my baby brother.” You introduce, wrapping a comforting arm around his shoulders. You play with his hair but Jeongguk is startled at your confession, his head snapping up to look at you with wide eyes. He didn’t expect you to tell your friends you were siblings, at least not after the display the two of you had just put on.

Who knows how they would react at the information? This wasn’t some casual conversation about—your chuckle however, breaks Jeongguk out of his little panic. You place a kiss on his temple.

“Don’t worry. They know.” You tell him, a look of expectation crossing your face as you face your friends once more, a mere brow cocked. They don’t need further explanations, Hoseok’s lips parting into a hearty smile as he lifts his hand in a small wave.

“We’re not here to judge or anything. M/N’s told us all about you.” Hoseok assures. “I think it’s cute what you guys have. You obviously seem to love each other very much and who am I to get in the way of that, right? Don’t worry. You can do whatever you want. We support you.”

Namjoon finishes his glass of vodka and settles it down on the table. “I’d also like to add that I don’t think your brother would’ve spared us our lives if we were anything but supportive. He’s really protective over you. He wouldn’t have introduced you to us if he had any doubts about that. He loves you dearly.”

Your lips form a small smile at their words, hoping Jeongguk found comfort in them as you crane your neck to gauge his reaction. You notice his ears have turned a light pink shade, making you want to nibble on them but you refrain from doing so for now. You nudge him a little teasingly.

“He’s shy around strangers, aren’t you? Guk-ah, these are my friends, Namjoon,” You say, jutting your chin to the man in front of you, “And Hoseok.” You gesture to the other. Jeongguk’s doe eyes lift under his bangs, bowing slightly in greeting to them. Hoseok coos, clearly smitten.

“What a cutie.”

Dismissing the comment however, you get serious. One leg crossed over the other. Hoseok and Namjoon barely need a moment before they’re sitting up straighter. Even with you being the youngest amongst the three, they regarded you with caution and respect, always listening to your whims and assisting you with bails. There was just a commanding aura about you, like now as you pondered silently.

“I’ve told you about my parents,” You start, earning Jeongguk’s attention too as he eyes you curiously at the mention of your mother and father. Hoseok and Namjoon merely nod, allowing you to continue. “I need a favour. There’s… certain things that have come to light… that have taken place while I was enlisted. Jeongguk, baby, could you show them what you showed me?”

And both Hoseok and Namjoon’s gazes follow yours as you stare down at the younger with raised brows. His eyes widen for the second time that night, knowing immediately what you were talking about. It does ache you to see him panic like this but you cup his cheeks and press a reassuring kiss to his lips, nibbling on his bottom lip.

“It’s okay. I’m right here with you.”

He hesitates, clutching your arm as he glances at your friends who try to come off as sweet and unthreatening as possible.

“It’s okay.” You whisper once more in his ear, and Jeongguk lets out a shaky sigh, clutching your arm tighter before loosening his grip as he stands. You keep a light touch on the back of his calf as he gulps, avoiding eye contact with everyone in the room before he takes his top off first and turns around.

You hear Hoseok hiss at the sight first as you reach your hand out for Jeongguk to hold. He intertwines his fingers with yours tightly, grateful. Namjoon’s eyebrows furrow, a heat brimming in his eyes at the scars lining all across Jeongguk’s back. There wasn’t a single expanse of skin that was left unharmed.

“What the fuck is wrong with that man?” Namjoon growls out. The bodyguards scattered around the room themselves are in just as much shock at the sight. They’ve never seen anything like it.

“We’re not done just yet.” You seethe, nodding to Jeongguk and squeezing his hand before letting go. His eyes are brimming with tears at the memories that surface again but he does what he knows you want and starts to unbutton his jeans, dropping them to the floor where they pool around his feet.

It’s upsetting. From the evidence alone, it’s easy to visualise the pain that Jeongguk had endured at the hands of his father, the scars travelling along his ankles and up towards the innermost parts of his thighs where they disappear beneath his boxers. Even sitting down must’ve been agonising the following days. Walking, putting on a pair of trousers, bathing, all of it. It was like medieval torture brought back into modern times.

Jeongguk’s vulnerabilities aren’t something you want to overly expose to your friends—not to anyone, and so after a moment you stand up to pull Jeongguk’s denim jeans up, buttoning them for him and assisting him with putting his shirt on too. His are still brimming with tears as he looks up at you, bottom lip trapped between his teeth to stop it from quivering.

“You did so well, my love. Thank you for being so brave.” You tell him, brushing his hair back as you cup his cheeks. His fingers fist the fabric of your shirt, searching your eyes, and you understand exactly what he needs. You lean down to press your lips against his, causing him to moan quietly into your mouth, tugging you closer. You allow yourself to indulge him in this, knowing it wasn’t easy for him to let down his walls in front of complete strangers like this.

Once he’s satisfied and pulls away, you smile down at him, tapping his chin.

“I’ve gotta talk to Namjoon and Hoseok hyung here in private about something for a bit. Will you be okay in the other room? I’ll have one of the guards go with you.” You say. Jeongguk frowns, not wanting to leave your side but he knows better than to throw a tantrum right now. He nods, although the pout on his lips tells you he’s not going because he wants to.

“Don’t be long.” He tells you once you’ve picked out a suitable guard, making his way into the other room with one last glance thrown your way.

Once the door to the room is closed, your eyes narrow, turning back to your friends. You don’t sit down, your hands move to rest behind your back, and the two men think they know exactly what words are sitting at the top of your tongue before they’re even out.

“Boys, I think it’s time for a bloodbath.”

And Hoseok stands with a commending smile, making his way over to give you a hug.

“Seems we’ve got Brother of the Year here with this guy. I’m in, dude. Anything for you and your cute little Jeonggukie.”

You and Hoseok look over at Namjoon then, who also stands up, pouring himself a glass of vodka as he raises it in cheers. “Usually, I wouldn’t condone murder but this time, I’m right there with you. Let’s make the bastards burn.”

You smirk.

Oh, they’ll burn alright.

TAGLIST ───── @jungkookthevampireslayer , @unguilty

[loveharlow]

'TIL DEATH

PAIRING‧₊˚  Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚  [2k] You realize just how unstable your summer fling turned boyfriend is...

WARNING(S)‧₊˚  swearing, murder, mentions of blood, mild crude humor, gaslighting, manipulation, co-dependency, violence, mentions of broken bones

A/N‧₊˚ part of my angstober event!

˗ˏˋ rafe masterlist ˎˊ

YOU STOOD IN SHOCK. Bewildered at the sight in front of you. No, no, that word wasn’t even enough to describe the pure terror your eyes were laid upon. You could feel the tips of your fingers shaking, your knees were weak, and tears burned the edge of your waterline.

He called your name as he attempted to step towards you but you cringed, folding in on yourself by an inch but enough for him to stop in his movements. “Don’t…” You started, your voice was meek and feeble, cracking under your emotions. “Don’t come near me.” You cried.

You were at some kook kickback in a cabin built in a clearing, it was someone's birthday. You had no idea whose. You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for Rafe — your boyfriend. You’d gotten together with him during the early days of summer and it was the most unexpected thing of your life. You knew of him, of course you did. Who didn’t? But up until three months ago, you weren’t even sure he knew the first letter of your name. 

You’d had your fair share of fun — late night talks, car rides, food runs, sex. Lots of sex. He was your summer fling and you were actually starting to fall for him. Which is why you let him drag you out of your house tonight. Where parties appeared, Rafe followed. But you hated going to parties with Rafe. He’d always abandon you for a prolonged time and return to you only to be drunk or high. It wasn’t something you were fond of but you weren’t here to change anyone.

But maybe you should’ve been. 

When he’d disappeared this time, you went to get a drink for yourself, bumping into a random touron at the alcohol littered table. He complimented your dress and asked your name and you... entertained him for lack of better phrase. You couldn’t even call it flirting, you were just lonely and it was nice to talk to someone else at this party who didn’t know anyone either. After a few minutes of idle conversation, you excused yourself when you decided Rafe had been gone longer than usual.

You searched for him in the bathroom, the kitchen, even some of the bedrooms upstairs and still nothing. You sighed and sat your cup down God knows where, pulling down your mini dress where it rode up from your fast-paced wandering. You walked outside of the house and closer to the bulk of trees where the clearing became more of an actual forest, pulling your phone from your bra and pressing Rafe’s contact. Bringing the device to your ear as you wandered further into the tree-crowded area, you could’ve sworn you heard his phone ringing not too far from where you were standing. 

Your eyebrows pinched together in confusion when you heard leaves ruffling and after an abnormally short amount of rings, the call went to voicemail. You looked down at your phone, the small object your only good source of light. You called again, this time not bothering to put the phone to your ear, instead listening out to see if the ringing came again.

And it did, prompting you to edge further into the woods. “Rafe?” You called, softly but loud enough. Leaves and branches crunched under your heels, the shoes making it harder to navigate the thick terrain. The further in you went towards the ringing sound, you could hear frantic shuffling and a string of curses — someone was out here, that you knew for sure.

When you finally reached the source of the sound, it took you a moment to realize what exactly was going on. The first thing you saw was his face, a smile growing on your own, ready to ask why he was all the way out here. But you didn’t get that chance when he turned to look at you, revealing the blood splattered all across the left side of his face. You felt your smile drop and your eyes seemed to take in the scene before you in its entirety — Rafe kneeled on a pile of leaves, covered in blood with his hands clutching his phone that had long stopped making noise, and a body. An unmoving, non-breathing, beaten body not even a foot from where your boyfriend kneeled in the dirt. 

You didn’t even notice you had dropped your phone, not until you took a step back out of fear when Rafe rose to his feet, accidentally stepping on and breaking the device with your heel. 

He called your name as you slowly shook your head, you could hear your own heartbeat in your ears. You felt hot and cold at the same time, but more than anything you were terrified. 

“Hey,” He called, hands out in front of him as if that would quell your anxiousness. He was taking slow steps towards you. Your fight-or-flight kicked in on instinct as you made an attempt to turn the other way and make a run for it.

But he was much taller than you, his legs carried him greater distances. So needless to say, he caught up to you before you made it much of anywhere at all. His arms wrapped around you tightly from behind and you could feel the wetness and warmth of the blood on his hands smear across your arms.

“No! Get off of me! Get OFF! GET OFF!-”

“Stop, just listen-”

“Get your fucking hands off of me! HELP-”

“Stop it-”

“SOMEONE HELP ME-”

“Dammit! Shut up!” He yelled into your ear, jerking you around. Rafe clasped a bloody hand over your mouth, the smell and the little bit of the substance that hit your tongue making you want to vomit. You choked on your own sobs as he dragged you back to where the body laid lifeless on the soil. You couldn’t take your eyes off of it — clearly a guy from the haircut and the shoulders and you swore he looked familiar but you couldn’t see his face. You didn’t want to. 

You didn’t want to know who your boyfriend just murdered. 

You didn’t even fully register when Rafe released you from his grasp, just briefly, in order you pin your frame against the length of a tree. His hand still covered your mouth as you tried to calm yourself down, your sobs turning into never ending sniffles. Your own hands clawed at the bark of the tree as you tried to ground yourself.

“I’m going to move my hand, alright?” Rafe started, his eyes running wild. “If you scream, I’m going to hurt you. And I don’t want to hurt you, so…” He trailed, making sure you understood what he was alluding to. Slowly, he removed the hand covering your mouth, the skin that was covered going cold in the night air from the blood that was no doubt smeared across your face.

At this realization, you wiped at your face like a mad woman, only stopping when you realized the blood was now on your hands. A dead man’s blood was on your hands. Your gaze snapped to Rafe’s, then the body, then to Rafe again. Your breaths were heavy and labored. You were scared. And angry. And disgusted.

“What the fuck did you do?!”

“Keep your voice down.”

“Keep my- keep my voice down?” You hissed. He was too calm — and it angered you. It made you want to kill him. Your hands balled into fists as Rafe just stood there, a hand in his hair but he didn’t look stressed or worried. Truthfully, he looked annoyed. “Is he…” 

Rafe sighed and turned to look at you like an idiot. “Oh, he’s just taking a nap.” He spoke with no humor in his voice. “Yes, he’s dead. You think he’s resting? In the middle of the woods? And what, using his blood as a blanket to keep himself warm-”

“Don’t talk to me like some kind of child. I didn’t kill someone-”

“You did, though.” He chuckled. "Oh, but you did." You narrowed your eyes at him, silently waiting for him to elaborate. “I saw you. Flirting with him, giggling at whatever dumbass lines he was feeding you-”

“Oh my God!” You couldn’t help but laugh. Nothing was funny but you couldn’t stop laughing. You folded in on yourself, laughing until your laughs turned to sobs. Angry sobs. Shooting back up to your full height, you charged at Rafe. Pushing his shoulders so hard he stumbled back. “You…stupid…fucking…” You cursed in between each assault. Pushing him until he’d had enough and ceased your wrists. “Are you fucking kidding me? I can handle the coke, okay?” You started, the terror you felt before creeping back into your veins as he eyed you down but you kept talking anyway, no matter how shaky your voice got. “I can handle the coke a-and the alcohol and the fighting. But you just killed someone for talking to me. Do you realize how deranged that is?”

“He isn’t the first.”

…

“What?”

“The dweeb on the ground? He isn’t the first person I’ve killed for you.” The way he spoke with such disgust for an innocent being and endearment for his actions sent a chill down your spine. He said it like killing someone for you was a gift to you.

You knew Rafe wasn’t the most stable individual — in between the good moments, he had some incidents this summer. Fights and squabbles here and there. But you never thought he could hurt someone like this.

“...You need help.” You started, the tears rolling again as you tried to pull yourself out of his grip. You were shaking your head vigorously as you spoke. “You’re insane. You’re crazy!”

Rafe attempted to quiet your cries, opting for his hands to roughly cradle your face now, wiping your tears away. He was shushing you and trying to pull you in closer to him but you wouldn’t allow it. Eventually, the push-and-pull caused you both to fall onto the ground and unfortunately, you had landed partially on top of the dead man’s hand, hearing his bones crush under the impact.

Your head snapped to his now oddly shapen wrist and you let out a gut-wrenching scream and frantically crawled away from the body. Rafe wouldn’t let you get far, though. He was right back in front of you, rubbing your arms while you sobbed.

“It’s okay..” He tried to soothe.

“It’s not! It’s not okay!” You bawled, slapping his hands away. “You’re a bad person, Rafe…” You whimpered, just speaking at this point. You were too emotionally disarranged to even know what to do anymore. You couldn’t run, you couldn’t take Rafe down. 

So, in your weak state, you let him embrace you. The action alone made you want to puke. The way he comforted you was so casual, like any other time he’d comforted you for small things. In his mind, this would pass. You’d forget about it and you and him would be fine again. And maybe, in some sick way, you might have to be. You were no stranger to how the law barely existed for the Cameron’s in Kildare.

If you walked into the Sheriff’s Department and told them Rafe Cameron had murdered a man, they’d probably believe you but wouldn’t do a thing about it. Because his last name holds more weight than gold in this town.

“I’ll hide his body and then we’ll get out of here,’kay?” He spoke with his forehead now pressed against yours. When he got no response, he pulled back and grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him. He didn’t look as caring now. He looked cold. And his voice matched the canvas. “Stop crying.” He spat. “You can either sit here and whine, covered in blood or you can pull yourself together while I get rid of him. Do you understand?” He spoke harshly. You weakly nodded, a response that satisfied him enough. 

When he stood up, he called your name once more. “If you even try to run, I’ll make sure that’s the last thing you ever do.”

General taglist; @livlaughquinn

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

©loveharlow

[kingkatsuki]

There’s just something about Bakugou needing you so desperately.

Warnings: 18+, no prep, spit, creampies.

Word Count: 1k

You weren’t naive to the horrors that Dynamight experienced as a Pro-Hero, no matter how much your boyfriend tried to hide them from you. Tabloids, news stations and social media splashed pictures and headlines of the terrible disasters or attacks that he faced when he was out in the field. But somehow these accounts could never quite depict just how morbid it was firsthand.

No matter how hard a person tries, you can never quite harden yourself to these horrors— no matter how hard you try. The first time Bakugou failed a mission and arrived on the scene too late, he had to watch a building collapse on a family of civilians. No matter how many times you told him that it wasn’t his fault, there was nothing he could’ve done, the weight of it still laid a heavy burden on his shoulders.

Some days were better than others. Sometimes he just needed to release the stress and frustration of a shitty fucking day.

Finding you in the kitchen by the kettle, one of his Dynamight Agency shirts drowning your body. The fabric hanging around your thighs as his adam’s apple bobbed, the stress and tension at breaking point as he moved towards you like a hungry tiger stalking it’s prey.

“Fuck,” You gasped, a sharp clink sounding when it hit the ground. The poor porcelain quaking on impact as it broke into multiple pieces.

Rough, warm palms clung to your hips as Bakugou pulled you back against him. The stench of sweaty musk laced with soot mingled in the air as you relaxed at the comforting scent. The fear you’d had that it had been an intruder short-lived as you reached back to stroke your fingers through his matted hair, with no chance to chastise him for hugging you filthy as he bit down on your neck hard.

“Fuck, Katsu.” You whined, a mixture of pain and pleasure as you rolled your hips to feel his hard cock prodding against the swell of your ass, “What’s gotten into you?”

If Bakugou heard you, he doesn’t respond. Rough hands tug at the fabric of your shirt to bunch it around your hips. Laying his palm against your spine to push you flat against the counter as you gasp in surprise.

You wanted to ask about the dried blood that coated his skin, soaked into the material of his ripped hero costume and the dirt that was probably infecting the wounds but Bakugou didn’t give you a chance. Fingertips gripping you that much harder as he rut his clothed pelvis against your rear.

“Need you.” He rasps, the smoke and ash have his voice hoarse, crying out for water. But he doesn’t want water right now, he wants you.

He scratches you with blunt nails as he drags your panties down your thighs. Letting them rest around your knees as he spreads your ass apart, revealing your soft mound and tight rim to his prying eyes. You’re not wet, not even close as he caught you so unaware. Home hours earlier than he should’ve been, an indication of how his night had gone.

“Baby, fuck—” You gasp.

The crude sound of him spitting has your clit throbbing, the wetness splatters between your cheeks as he uses all four fingers to rub it into your mound, the sudden harshness has you gasping as he roughly thumbs your clit.

“I’ll make it up to you later, Sweetheart,” He rasps as he reaches for his belt, hearing him unbuckle it as he lets the material sag around the swell of his ass. Moving the fabric down just enough to free his thick cock, the swollen tip an angry red as he practically oozes pre, “Promise. I’ll make you feel so good.”

There’s no time for prep, not when the tension is at breaking point inside him. Wrapping his spit-soaked hand around himself as he pushes forward, the pre leaking from him smears against your slit as he prods your tight hole. Missing it’s mark as the fat tip catches against your clit instead, causing you to gasp as you push your hips back.

“Fuck,” He grunts, his hand tightens it’s brushing grip against your ass, certain to leave a mark as he holds you steady. Bending his knees to line himself up with your entrance again as both eyes focus on your sex as he pushes his hips forward.

Bakugou doesn’t give you a moment to adjust, stealing the air from your lungs as your cunt swallows him whole. The dull ache from his thick cock entering you with no prep has you feeling completely full, a pleasurable throb as your walls begin to clench around him.

“So fuckin’ tight.” A deep, guttural groan sounds beside your ear as he snarls. Starting a brutal pace that has you pressed into the counter.

Chasing his own release, selfish, borderline cruel.

The only sounds in the room are the sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with his sharp, gruff breaths and your saccharine moans. His brows are furrowed, focused as he uses your body for his own pleasure.

You know the days where he’s like this haven’t been good ones. Someone lost their life, something went wrong. He just needs safe haven, absolution in your cunt.

“‘m gonna cum.” Bakugou groans. He already knew he wouldn’t last long, too pent up and frustrated as he drives his hips forward.

And you can feel it too, the way his grip tightens as he grunts. A low rumble from deep in his chest as he bruises your hips, a small price to pay for whatever he’s experienced tonight.

“Cum for me, baby.” You coo.

And he does. Spilling his warm, sticky spend inside your tight walls as he gives a few more sloppy thrusts. Fucking it deeper inside you as he comes down from his high, grounding himself as your laboured breaths fill the room.

Immediately after Bakugou moves to pepper your neck and cheek in soft kisses, nose nuzzling against the soft skin as he holds you tight against him. Cherishing the warmth of your tight walls as his cock begins to soften inside you, adrenaline slowly seeping from his pent up body.

He smooths a palm along your spine as you whine from the loss of contact, feeling his spend trickle down your inner thighs as you turn to face him. Getting a proper look at his filthy face, his mask pulled up over his forehead as blackened smudges of eyeliner smear across his cheekbones.

“You gonna tell me what that was about, Kats?” You murmur, turning to face your boyfriend as warm palms move to grip your hips.

“Just really fuckin’ needed you tonight, sweetheart.”