#soft black and cold. kinda like a winter night

[lilithofpenandbook]

So. The third most used adjective relating to Snape in the books is the word "soft"

Make of that what you will

[rotthepoet]

Come Home (Dark!Mattheo Riddle x Reader)

Notes; DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Dark!Matty has been plaguing my mind and I need an outlet omg. I lowkey rewrote some lore for this, so essentially the battle of Hogwarts takes place but Voldemort's influence still lives on through Mattheo, who basically runs the new Knights of Walpurgis(The slytherin boys). Everyone is evil, all good business. 

Warnings; again, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Dark!Mattheo, Murder/death/gore, stalking, kidnapping, mattheo might highkey be ooc but its fine, dubcon(reader REALLY wants him but like.. morals?), oral(F! And M!), mention of fem masturbation, predator/prey dynamic, spitting, degradation, lowkey breeding kink?, piv, lowkey porn with plot, Stockholm syndrome if you squint, at least he kinda gets a redemption arc

This one goes out to my beautiful @nottswitch i hope dark!mattheo comes to life and fucks us both <3

Word count; 6.3k

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

The bitter breeze in the frigid air pricks through my thin shirt as the diner door swings open and shut again as a customer disappears into the icky black of our winter night. I stare out after him, a farewell unspoken on my lips as I cast my gaze towards an orange, flickering lamp post lining the parallel street, and I realize how truly cold it is inside the shabby eatery. 

As I tug the embarrassingly short, mandated skirt I'm forced to wear, I can only think of the comforting and safe walls of Hogwarts, my home only months ago, yearning for the soft crackle of a fireplace and the ambient chatter of portraits lining the walls. The muggles had nothing as interesting, nothing as familiar as the light of the silver moon passing through the large windows of the great hall. Nothing as comfortable as my own home back in England, with my mother and fathers smiling faces. Nothing as comfortable as the safe, unscarred arms of the once-kind boy I loved what feels like so long ago. 

Being on the lam for about a month now, I've been skipping towns and laying low where I can. It’s not often, but when I'm able to stay in a town for longer than a week, I take pitiful muggle jobs, my current being to take orders at a local diner, “famous for their milkshakes”, although fame must mean four regular visitors in this nowhere town. 

Jean, the gray-haired woman who owns the diner I work at, leans over the counter and points at the analog clock hanging on the wall. It reads almost 1:30, and it finally sets in how tired I am. She hums and looks me up and down, standing in the middle of the floor, standing stiff as a board while holding a broom. She clicks her tongue and shakes her head, a small smile gracing her aged face. 

“I’m sorry, I zoned out.” I apologize, leaning the non-flying broom against a nearby booth, and smooth out my wind-swept hair. 

Jean just shakes her head, “Go on and head home. You did good today.” she hums in approvement, tossing me my room key that was previously hanging on a hook in the kitchen. “Be careful out there, the papers said another storm is coming.” she warned, but a storm is the furthest thing from my mind as I push open the door. Silver light flashes across the street and my heart nearly stops beating, a pit forms in the bottom of my stomach. My eyes squint, finally adjusting to the lack of light, catch the face of a mannequin in the window of a shop. I let out a breath I don’t realize I’m holding and relax as I realize the moon had simply caught the silver details on the faux person. I turn on my heel and carry on down the dimly lit pavement towards my motel. 

It’s just as run down as everything else in this town, water stains stretching across the ceiling like swatches of muddy paint, and the hideous carpet crunches underneath my feet. It isn’t much. It is nothing, in fact, but a roof over my head and sanctuary from the ruthless dangers outside. 

I drop each article of clothing from my body onto the yellowing tile of the bathroom floor, stepping into the freezing cold water of the shower. I shudder, goosebumps racking through my body as I allow the water to wash away the grease and sweat, I collected today. I run a baby blue loofa over my skin, suds washing away with the now lukewarm stream. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath, and the smell of metallic rust from the old pipes fills my nostrils. 

Blood. So much blood. It covers my hands, and my knees, my face, and my clothes. I practically wade through a pool of it, the dark hallways of that god awful manor stretch on infinitely, and the smell of rot and decay suffocates my senses. My heart nearly beats out of my chest as his strong arms wrap around me as I collapse to the floor, and I'm hyper aware of the many motionless bodies lying at my feet. His lips brush against my neck, rough and wet, and I wonder if they have blood on them too. I wouldn’t put it past him. Malicious is not a word I thought I would ever use to describe my lover, the man I thought I was going to marry one day, but like many other things before, he proved me wrong. His warm hands caress the soft fat of my thighs, slipping underneath the loose fabric of my shorts, and he leans into my ear. “They’re all gone now… Let’s go take a shower.” 

I release a shaky breath and turn off the water, letting it drip from my head and down my face, mingling with salty tears. Wiping my face with my wet palms, which did nothing in retrospect, I sigh. I can’t go back there; I can never go back there. It isn’t safe anymore. He isn’t safe anymore. Come on, I can’t keep feeling bad for myself. This is ridiculous, and as I step out of the shower and dress myself, I feel a newfound sense of determination. Sleep, for the first time in months, finds me easily with her warm embrace. 

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

As most things in my life do, my high spirits came to an abrupt end. Smoke fills my lungs, but there's a strange taste to it. It’s not a fire, no, it was tobacco. A smell I was all too familiar with. I sat up in bed, and my eyes met the inky black eyes of his silver, skull mask. My breath catches in my throat, only for me to cough out the smoke from his cigarette.

He couldn’t have found me this easily. It’s a bad dream, it has to be. Merlin forgive me, God save me, tell me this is just a dream! The mask on his face shifts a little, clearly amused at my coughing fit. “Have anything to say?”

Say anything. Stop gaping at him like a fish, you are a powerful witch, almost top of your class in DADA. Almost. Second place, notably. Right behind him.

Mattheo Riddle.

A sob racks through my body, tears falling down my cheeks before I even realize, and I’m paralyzed in place. Half of me wants to crawl into his arms, to beg for forgiveness, to beg for him to take me home. Home to that wretched, dark house, with blood seeped into the wood. With blood-stained grout on the kitchen tile. With blood-stained walls. So, so much blood. The other half of me screams at me to run. To run, to run, run, run, RUN! For god's sake, run! 

I push myself out of bed, fast enough to catch Mattheo by surprise. He flicks his cigarette to the side, letting it roll along the carpet floor. My hand reaches for my wand resting on a table beside the door as I duck out of his reaching arms, and I stumble to my feet as he lunges after me. I throw open the door, pulling it shut in his face as he screams for me.

“You bitch! Come back here!” he screams through the wood, struggling with the now sweat-slick doorknob. 

The door splinters open with the blast of, “Bombarda!”, but I scramble down the wet, cold streets, my bare feet scratch against the rough pavement as I sprint, thankful that it had been just warm enough to not freeze. I duck down another street, pulling out my wand to apparate elsewhere. I rack my brain for a safe location. Hogwarts? I might be able to, but I don’t want to risk splinching. My job? It might separate me long enough to get my shit together. 

Air is knocked out of me as a heavy body slams into mine, knocking my wand out of my hand. A heavy, black boot pins my wrist to the ground, and a silver mask that was not Riddle’s leans over me. He laughs under the mask, but I can’t tell which of his mentally fucked goons had caught me. I reach for my wand, but another set of boots kicks it out of my reach. Leather gloved hands grab my hair and lift me up to face the group now circling me. 

“She looks pitiful, really. Like an angry kitten.” An Italian accent draws next to my ear with a mocking snicker, and I thrash to kick Theodore Nott anywhere I can, luckily landing a solid blow to his shin. He curses in pain, and hisses something inaudible underneath his mask as he throws me back to the ground. The rough concrete scratches against my exposed skin, drawing blood from the soft flesh. I yelp in pain, landing at the feet of someone else. A black, steel-toed boot presses against my cheek, pushing my head to the side as I watch another figure ominously approach. I would recognize my Mattheo’s casual amble anywhere, and he peered down at my stray wand laying at his feet.

I don’t even have time to protest as he steps his boot onto the wood, sparks fizzing out around the magic object as it snaps under his weight. A choked sob escapes me as he approaches, my eyes wide with horror and betrayal.

“Enough of this, love. It’s time to come home,” He drawls, kneeling down to my level and lifting my chin to meet his empty gaze. “Be a good girl and come back to me, I’m tired of this little game of yours.”

“Fuck. You.” I spat on the silver of his skull-like mask, noting the wild look in my own eyes as the saliva slips down its reflective surface.

Mattheo groaned and tugged off his mask, and my breath caught in my throat. What the hell is wrong with me? I can’t think this awful man who betrayed me, threatened me, hunted me down, can still be attractive. Then again, he was still the man I had loved–part of me still does love– all those years ago. The handsome face I fell asleep looking at, the doe eyes I found comfort in. He looked roguish now, his brown curls were longer than the last time I had seen him, and he had a new scar running across his cheek from our last encounter. My mouth goes dry as he leans into my face, his breath hot against my lips. 

“I’ve missed you, love,” He practically purred, pressing his dry lips against my trembling ones. I whine against him, wriggling my body underneath the heavy weight of whoever was holding me. 

Mattheo groaned, gripping my chin harder, “You used to be so obedient, pet, but don’t worry. I’ll fix you.” he mumbled, kissing my forehead as I felt his wand pressed to my temple. He mumbled an incantation against my skin, and I felt my body go limp before my eyes closed themselves, and sleep consumed me. 

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

It was cold, damp, and reeked of copper and mold. My body laid on the floor, sore and unresponsive to my will to move. As my senses came back to me, I tried climbing to my feet, but a chain tugged my ankle back to the floor. I tumbled to the stone floor, scraping my hands against its rough surface. I whimper in pain, and only as I go to wipe my hands on my pants do I realize I’m completely nude. Horror racks through my body as I take in my surrounding and own appearance. I know I'm back in that old house, that old, disgusting, horrible house of horrors, and tears fall from my stinging eyes again.

I don’t know how long I laid on that floor, shaking from the cold as I sob into the air, screaming and cursing with conviction, damning Riddle’s name to an eternity in hell. I scream, and wail, and cry until I tire myself out, my voice breaking into nothing but a hushed plea for freedom. 

I fight sleep, sitting myself against a wall near my chain, breathing deep into my burning lungs. My eyes drift closed, but I will them open as the loud creak of a door alerts me. It’s only then that I notice a stairwell, casted in a white light with the newly opened door, and my heart nervously skips a beat as a tall shadow approaches the stairwell. The stairs creak under his weight as he descends to what I can only infer is a basement, and I stare up at his form.

Mattheo wasn’t nearly as scary like this, dressed in black slacks and a loose white shirt. Had he not been so threatening, and the reason I was chained to the basement floor, I would have swooned over the top buttons being undone. Perhaps I still do get butterflies in my stomach, but that may just be nausea. 

He looks down at me with an expression I can only describe as mock sympathy, clicking his tongue softly. “Down here for less than three hours and you’ve already managed to hurt yourself,” he scolded me, shaking his head in disappointment, “My clumsy girl, what am I going to do with you?” 

The smile he cracked made me want to claw his eyes out, or kiss him, and I worry that he may have slipped me a love potion. My ears ring, and my head suddenly aches with a mild pain, and Mattheo smirks.

“Like the shirt, do you?” He teased, kneeling down to my level. I curse under my breath, face heating up with anger (Or embarrassment, I can’t really tell), of course I forget he’s a legilimens. “Drop the act darling, I know you’re going to crack eventually. Save us both the trouble so I can finally bring you back to bed.” His warm hand tenderly caressed my cold cheek, and I fought the urge to lean into the comforting touch. “I hate seeing you down here like this, but you need to remember your place.”

My eyes snap back to his, and I whip my head to the side to bite his hand. He scowls and rips his hand away, reeling it back and back-handing me across the face. It knocks my breath out of my chest, and the rings on his fingers cut my cheek. Metallic blood drips to the floor. 

“Fine. Stay down here and bleed out for all I care.” He snaps, rubbing his sore hand as he turns on his heel and storms up the stairs. The door slams loudly behind him, and I’m engulfed in sudden darkness.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

My cheek and hands had long stopped bleeding the next time he came back, staining my skin red with its slick. My head lifts as the door opens again, and light makes my eyes dilate painfully. Mattheo trudges down the stairs, his head hanging low, and a small white box hanging from his hand. He approaches me and kneels at my level. I meet his gaze, glaring into his soft eyes.

“Darling, you know I didn’t mean to hit you, right?” He mumbled, holding my chin to twist my cheek towards him, his rough actions bringing tears to my eyes. “I was just so worked up, and you were pushing too many buttons, you’ll forgive me, right?” He asks hopefully, but I don’t answer him.

He sighs in defeat, opening the little box and retrieving a cloth and bottle full of a clear liquid. My eyes go wide, and I scramble backwards as far as the chain allows me to. “No, No, Mattheo please don’t-” I plead, heart racing as he looks at me with confusion.

A smile breaks across his face, “Oh darling, no, no, it’s just alcohol.” he laughs a bit, a deep sound that makes pleasant shivers run down my spine and too an embarrassing heat between my legs. What the fuck is wrong with me? He approaches me again, dousing the cloth with the solution before taking my hands. He shushes my soft whines as he presses it to my scraped palms, which makes me hiss at the burning sensation. “Good girl, there we go. That’s much better, isn’t it?” he asks as he takes a roll of gauze from the box and wraps each of my hands. He lifts my palms to his lips, pressing a storm of soft pecks and kisses to the gauze and skin. My face heats up at the gesture, and I force myself to look away. He was always so chivalrous for a monster, though it hurt to call him that even after everything.

He presses the cloth to my cheek next, his thumb tracing calming circles into the opposite cheek. “Such a pretty girl, my pretty girl.” He whispered, placing a bandage over my skin. Just like my palms, he kisses my cheek, though much slower and intimate this time. “I don’t want to hurt you, you know?” he promised, leaning over my trembling body. He looked down at me, eyes drifting past my collarbone, and he whistled softly. “A sight for sore eyes… and It’s all mine.” He smirked, leaning down as he supported his weight on his forearms. His chapped lips press suspiciously soft kisses to my neck. A loud thud coming from upstairs makes Mattheo groan and pull away. He looks down at me, wide eyed beneath him, “I’ll be right back, love, don’t worry your pretty little head.” He hummed, patting my cheek as he stood up. 

He casts me one last yearning glance before he shuts the door again, much softer this time. I lean back against the stone, releasing a breath I didn’t know I was holding, and try to ignore the wetness between my thighs as I drift off to sleep.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

I’m startled awake as the basement door slams shut, and heavy footsteps descend to my prison. Mattheo storms into view, and before I can even get a word out, he grabs me by the hair and pulls me up to my knees. He sneers down at me, and my head is spinning from the sudden switch up.

“Incompetent assholes. Have to do everything myself around here,” He mumbled, not really speaking to me rather than himself. He doesn’t loosen his grip on my hair as his other hand tugs apart the button of his slacks. 

My eyes go wide with shock, and he pulls my hair, forcing my chin up to look at him. “Open your mouth,” He demands, his voice lacking his previous warmth, and I'm reminded that this is not my Matty. My lip quivers and I shake my head slightly. Mattheo pulls his half-hard cock from the confines of his black briefs and pulls me by the hair to his tip. “I don’t have time for this attitude, I said open your mouth.”

I don’t even have a moment to react before his leaking tip is pressed against my mouth. He pushes his way past, groaning as my wet lips engulf his mushroomed tip. He pulls on my hair again, forcing himself further into my warm hole. “There you go, not so hard, was it? Now suck.” He orders in a tone I’ve never heard him use in bed before, and as he bucks his hips towards my face, I whine in protest while the ache returns to my lower stomach. My jaw relaxes on its own, familiar with the girth of his hung cock. An almost inaudible whine slips through my throat, and he groans at the tightness. One more tug lets me know his patience is running thin, and I reach my bandaged hand up to stroke the rest of him while I focus on his tip.

Mattheo bites back a moan, his hips stuttering as I descend further down onto his length. His leaky tip presses against the back of my throat, and he holds my head in place while he rocks his hips further into me. My nose presses against his groin as he slips down the back of my throat, and his grip moves from my hair to my throat, feeling my neck bulge with every movement. Saliva drips past him and down my chin, dribbling to the floor in thick droplets. He shudders as my throat tightens around him, nearly swallowing the head. 

“Yeah, yeah… Fuck baby. Keep going for me, almost there,” He mumbles, rocking his hips faster than before. I whine around him, my own hand slipping down to the ache at my core. My fingers gingerly brush against my clit, and the soft moan I try to let out makes Mattheo’s head roll back. Hot spurts of his seed shoot down my throat and my glossy eyes go wide at the feeling.

“Swallow,” Is all he says, and obediently, I do. He pulls my head off of him, his cum mixing with the drool in my mouth when it drips down my chin. He grips my face between his index finger and thumb, collecting the mess with a swipe of his finger and pushing it back into my sore mouth. “All of it.” 

When I satisfied him, he pushed me back to the ground, and I yelped in pain as I collided against the stone surface. “When I come down here, I want you on your knees waiting for my dick. Understand?”

I nod weakly, and he smirks down at me. “Good girl. Keep it up and maybe I’ll bring you back upstairs.” He says, before pulling back up his pants and running a hand through his hair. 

When he leaves again, I’m left with an unbearable, wet mess.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

With nothing else to do in my makeshift prison, I sleep a lot. And when I wake up, I force myself to sleep again. I sleep God knows how long before the door opens again, and Mattheo trudges down the stairs. I scramble to my knees, honestly fearing what might happen if I disobey him, and when Mattheo catches sight of me, he smiles. 

“There’s my pretty girl.” He hums, holding a platter with a bowl of something steaming, a slice of some sort of bread, and a bottle of water. My stomach growls as its divine aroma fills my senses, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve eaten. 

Mattheo sits down in front of me and puts the tray between up. He rests his elbow on his knee and leans into his palm. “Eat,” he orders me, gesturing to the platter with the wave of his free hand. “Or would you prefer I feed you myself?” He asks with a smirk, watching how I shift from my knees to rest on my hip. I grab the water bottle first, chugging half of it in one go, before I subconsciously offer him a sip. What’s mine is his. Was his. Was. I look up at him, taking the water and sipping from it. I tore my gaze away before he noticed.

“I don’t want to stay in the basement anymore,” I mumble, dipping the bread into the soup before taking a bite, shivering at its deliciousness. Mattheo sighed and shook his head. “You know I can’t do that yet. You ran away, darling. I can’t trust you won’t do that again,” He explained, reaching his hand across the way to rub my knee soothingly. I sigh and push the tray away, my appetite gone. Mattheo frowned and moved the tray away, leaning over me. “Princess, c’mon, don’t be this way.” he hummed, pushing me onto my back. My heart rate quickened, and he definitely noticed. “But you’re right. I’ve been neglecting you… That’s why you ran away right? My poor girl was lonely and scared.” he hummed, pressing his lips to my collar bone. “Not anymore. My attention is solely on you, I promise.” 

My head rolled back a little, lolling onto the floor as he trailed his kisses down my sternum, stopping at my breasts to gently knead them. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I reached for his hair, tugging gently on his loose curls. He groaned in response, his lips finding my perked nipple and taking it into his warm mouth. His other hand slipped down my soft stomach, dipping between my thighs. Out of reflex, I squeezed them together, and Mattheo parted from my tit. He sat back on his haunches, using his strong, scarred hands to pull apart my thighs and admire my glistening, needy cunt.

“It’s been all about me, huh? Need to show my girls some love.” He mumbled, before dipping his head down. His warm breath fanned across my puffy lips, and I shivered at the breeze. He didn’t waste a second more, drawing a long, needy moan from my lips as he licked a long strip from my hole to my clit. My hands tangle into his hair again, and my mouth falls open with pleasure. “Fuck, Matty–” the nickname fell from my lips without a second thought, and he practically purrs against me. His hands grip my thighs, pulling them over his shoulders as he dives nose deep into my pussy. My back arches off the floor as a string of curses flies from my lips. I feel his wet appendage push against my hole, and I clench at the feeling as his nose brushes against my sensitive bud. I tug on his hair again, “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!” I mewl, my edge fast approaching as Mattheo swirls his tongue over my clit. He sloppily makes out with my lower lips, pulling me closer to the edge with each passing second, and I’m in near tears when there's a loud crash up above us. 

Mattheo practically roars in anger, pulling his soaked face away from my aching cunt, the knot in my stomach loosening at the sudden separation. I whine and sit up, trying to pull him back down, but he stops me with a firm hold on my wrist. “Stay here and don’t make a sound.” he ordered, “I need to take care of this, and I promise as soon as I’m done, I’ll come right back.”

Anger flashes through me, and I bite back my cries. “Don’t you dare leave me like this, Riddle.” I snap, and he gives me a warning look that makes goosebumps prick at my skin. He leans in, pressing a wet kiss to my lips, and I can feel him shiver as I lick my own arousal from his lips. “I’ll be right back, princess. Be good for me, and we can talk about a reward.”

And with that, he left yet again.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

I was starting to get sick of his mind games, switching up his attitude, finally giving me relief before ripping it away from me. Fuck. What am I saying? I watched him murder dozens of people; I watched lives being taken right in front of me. I shiver at the memory and try to focus on anything else before it becomes too much to bear. 

I hate how he makes me feel. Sometimes he’s my Mattheo, and sometimes he’s nothing but a parasite attached to a face I can’t help but love. My back hits a wall, and I can’t count how long he’s been gone. I miss his warm, familiar touch, but anything was better than the cold, dark basement. I close my eyes, my lip trembling as I reach my hand down, fingers hesitantly spreading my folds. Cold air hit my wet lips, and I gasp at the feeling. I brush my fingertips against my hole, whining softly at the pleasure that coursed through my body. Maybe I'm sick in the head, maybe I hit my head too hard one day on the run and never recovered. Maybe I never really hated Mattheo. 

What is wrong with me?

I don’t move when the door opens again. I glare at him, anger coursing through my veins. This was not ‘right back’. As Mattheo’s black boot lands on the stone floor, my mouth goes dry. He’s weaning that stupid mask again, and that stupid costume, tilting his head stupidly at me. He approaches me in a way that makes my heart race in fear, like I'm nothing but cowardly prey between the jaws of a large wolf. 

He knees down, retrieving his hand from his pocket. Wordlessly, he unlocks the chain around my ankle, and he looks up at me. With another wave of his wand, I’m dressed in a loose tank top and shorts. It’s not much at all, but it’s better than naked. A rush of emotions rushes through my chest, and I almost gratefully throw my arms around Mattheo, but he stops me. 

“Go. Run,” He orders, stepping aside. I stare up at him in confusion, mounted to my spot on the ground. “I said run, little pet, like you want to.” He pulls me from the ground, pressing my cold body up against his comforting warmth. “Run, and if I catch you,” he leaned down into my ear, and through the skull mouth of his mask I could feel his breath fanning across my ear. “Well, I think you know what’s going to happen.”

I still don’t move, wondering if he would be less harsh if I stayed with him, but he only laughed. “Such a good girl, don’t worry,” he pulled his mask up just enough to expose his pearly white teeth. They sunk into the soft flesh just beneath my ear, “I’ll always find you. Go, now.”

I don’t know what possessed me, but my feet started moving on their own. I raced up the stairs of the basement and pushed past the door. The house was just as I remembered, dark with walls that were too tall, black cloths hung over the complaining portraits. I was disoriented in the dark, but my feet carried me through the house until I found the overtly large entrance. I pushed open the doors and ran out into the cold, snowy night. 

Frost nipped at each of my limps, and my lungs found it harder to breathe the frigid air. I ran anyway, out towards the woods surrounding the manor. I cast a glance over my shoulder, finding Mattheo staring back at me through the blacked-out eyes of his mask. I ducked into the tree line, just as he started his casual stroll towards me. Cocky bastard. 

I run for as long as I can before my lungs give out. I leaned against a tree, walking slowly into a clearing. I take a deep breath, pulling my arms behind my head to breathe deeper. Just as I find a moment of peace, a branch snaps behind me. I whip my head around, my heart racing as Mattheo approaches me. He doesn’t run, only walks towards me with his hands stuffed into his pockets. He ditched that awful mask, and I can see the smirk pulling at the edge of his lips. I stumble backwards, falling into the fresh snow. He continues his pace, unbothered by my racing heart as I scramble away from him and finally back to my feet. I don’t get one leg in front of the other before strong arms are wrapped around my waist, slipping under the loose fabric of my shirt.

“I win,” He mumbles in my ear, voice dark and raspy. It sends a chill down my spine that pools in my underwear. 

Mattheo throws me over his shoulder, ignoring my flailing lips as he walks back to the manor. “Didn’t even get a mile, love. Lost your talent it seems, or maybe you knew you’d miss me too much.” he teased, running his warm hands up my thigh, pressing a kiss to my exposed skin. 

It isn’t long before we’re back at the manor, and I thank every god I'm in good ties with when he walks past the basement. He takes me to his room instead, our room, the room where I've fallen apart under his touch more times than I can count. 

I breathe in his familiar scent as he deposits me on the bed, and I roll over to bury my burning face in the pillows. Mattheo chuckles at me and grabs my hips, pulling me back against him as he grinds his hardening bulge against the plushness of my ass. 

“You’ve been extra obedient, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice dripping with a tone I could quite place. Lust? Possession? Love? It all blurred together as he rutted his hips against me. “Good girls deserve a reward, don’t they?” he asked, before hooking his fingers at the hem of my shorts. He pulled them down to expose my glistening cunt. He spread me out along his fingers, admiring the way my pussy pulsed around nothing. He leaned in, pressing a possessive kiss to my clit, holding my hips as I try to buck away from him. 

His warm fingers trace along my thighs, sleeping between my legs and collecting the arousal that pooled there. I release a shaky breath into the pillow as his finger circles my clit, and I arch my back to present myself further. He hums in appreciation, trailing his finger further up to my dripping hole, slowly pushing his middle finger inside of me. I gasp at the intrusion, not being able to remember the last time something so long had been inside of me. I keen under his touch, gripping the sheets for stability as he slowly pumps his finger in and out of me. A moan escapes me as he curls his finger, and his thumb brushes against my needy pearl again. Mattheo adds a second finger, spreading out my tight, gummy walls. I crumble under his touch, mouth falling open and eyes going half lidded as he pulls his fingers from me. 

I hear him dropping his pants, and the bed dips behind me yet again as he leans his body completely over mine. His arm wraps around my neck, pressing me close to his chest while his breath fans across my face. The tip of his cock presses against me, and I whine at the sensation, pushing my hips back against him.

“Needy girl, thought you didn’t need me anymore.” He teased, pushing just the bulbous tip into my hole. It’s enough to make the knot in my stomach tighten, and I shake my head. “Need you, Matty, Need you so bad.” I admit, face flushed with embarrassment as he smirks. “Gonna run away again?”

He doesn’t let me get an answer out before he’s pressing further inside of me, the stretch burning pleasantly while my eyes roll back. His arm around my throat tightens, “I asked you a question, darling.” He teased, licking away the stray tear that fell from my eyes. I gasp as his cock brushes against a gummy bundle of nerves, and my head drops to the pillows. He tugs me back against him, pushing even further until he balls slapped against me. “No! No, never gonna leave again,” I promised, involuntary whines spilling from my throat. 

Mattheo pulls his hips back before drilling them back into me, “Good girl,” He grins as he sets a punishing pace, watching my face contort into pleasure underneath him. “Who owns you?” he asks, and I push back against his hips desperately. “You! You do, God, you do!” I moan, feeling my head go light from the lack of airflow. 

“God isn’t here, Love, It’s just me now.”

He drills into my pulsating hole, my back arching at his every thrust as my brain goes mushy from the pleasure. The arm around my throat pulls away, slipping down my stomach to find my pearl. His fingers are just as fast as his pace, and I can’t fight back the whorish moans in my throat. His lips attach to my shoulder, biting a possessive mark into my skin as he fucks me good, better than he ever had before. 

Tears fall from my eyes, and my hand grips his desperately as I’m worked to my edge. “Matty, Matty please…” I trail off into a string of moans, and Mattheo adjusts himself behind me. He bucks his hips into me once more, and I fall apart all over him. My pussy flutters around his cock, and he rides out my orgasm with a few last thrusts of his hips, before he spills his hot seed deep into my womb. Mattheo collapses on top of me, still deep inside as he pins my body to the bed. He hums into my neck, burying himself in my skin. 

“That’s my good girl. Let’s go take a shower.”

[sematarygirls]

        COWBOY!RAFE x FEM!READER

WARNINGS .ᐟ oral (m! receiving), reader is kinda sheltered, mommy issues, parental death, running away from home, getting picked up by a handsome stranger

NOTES .ᐟ this was pretty fun to write tbh. i started this like a year ago and recently found it in my drafts, which led me here, so i hope yall enjoy it as much as i do.

Your worn cowboy boots thudded against the asphalt as you walked down the deserted country road, dragging your suitcase along. The summer sun shone brightly overhead, heating the atmosphere and causing a thin layer of sweat to coat your body. Your daddy's old cowboy hat sat atop your head, shielding your face from the sun's unrelenting, unforgiving rays. A loose white sundress swished softly with every step you took, slowly making your way farther and farther from your old life.

The death of your beloved father sent your already troubled mother into a state of disrepair. You watched as the mother that had sung you soft lullabies and stayed with you until you fell asleep transformed into someone you didn't recognize.

Most nights, you weren't sure where she was or if she was even alive until she inevitably came stumbling home in a drunken stupor through the front door of your little farmhouse in bumfuck nowhere, the screen door slamming behind her and startling you awake.

On the rare occasion that you saw her, she seemed to look through you. Her eyes were sunken with dark circles underneath them that greatly contrasted how bright and full of life they once had been. She was a shell of the woman she once was.

You tried your best to be there for her, but eventually, you realized that she wasn't going to change. She didn't want to get better, and you couldn't force her to.

On your eighteenth birthday, you made a difficult decision. You had been weighing it for a long time, wondering if you were doing the right thing. You wondered if your dad would be disappointed in you, if he would've wanted you to stay, but eventually, you knew that you had to do what was best for you.

You couldn't handle the constant worrying, only to be greeted with a cold shoulder the few times you did see your mother. You felt like you'd never have a life of your own in that house, suffocated by the memories of the happy family that once lived within the walls. You needed to start fresh—to give yourself the opportunity to be something more than a small town drunk like your mom.

You were leaving, and you were never coming back.

And for the first time in a long time, you had something to look forward to. You had a future that didn't revolve around taking care of someone else. You had hope that you could find something better out there, something more than this lonely life you'd grown so accustomed to.

You grabbed an old suitcase from the basement and threw it onto your bed. Opening it, your heart ached as you saw your name written in black sharpie on the light brown fabric. It was written in your father's handwriting, little doodles of stars and hearts surrounding it. For a moment, you had second thoughts about your decision, but ultimately, you pushed them away. you knew he would've wanted you to live a life worth something. He wouldn't want you to be confined to this house, worrying whether your mother would make it home every night.

You packed an assortment of clothing and little items that held sentimental value to you. You knew you had to choose carefully because there was only so much you could bring. Rifling around in your closet, you discovered your father's old cowboy hat. You stuffed it into the way back the day of his funeral, never wanting to see it again, but now, you knew you needed it more than ever.

It served as a reminder of home—not the house you were running away from, but the home that had once been filled with life and love. It reminded you of cold winter nights spent huddled by the fire and spooky stories told during thunderstorms. It reminded you of dancing in the kitchen while the three of you prepared dinner and listening to the rock station with a popsicle in hand as you curiously watched your dad work on his truck. It reminded you of a time before forehead kisses and goodnight stories were replaced by slamming screen doors and absent mothers.

You placed the hat atop your packed suitcase and went to sleep, your plan for tomorrow already set in motion. You woke up before your mother, quickly getting dressed and gathering your things before creeping into the living room. She was nowhere to be seen, probably having actually made it to her bedroom that night, but her purse was laying on the kitchen counter, a couple items spilling out from the way she had haphazardly thrown it when she got home.

Careful to not make any noise, you rummaged through, looking for her wallet. You didn't expect to find much, but you would take what you could get. After stuffing the cash you could find into your bra, so in the event that your suitcase was stolen, you'd still have something to your name, you took one last look around. You admired the height markings your father had made on the doorway, and the hole in the wall that he always swore he'd get around to fixing after bringing in a new couch went terribly wrong. A sad smile graced your face as you said goodbye to the place that had been your only home for as long as you'd known, turning the page and getting ready to embark on your journey to a new life.

Walking through the front door with your suitcase trailing behind you was like a weight had suddenly been lifted from your shoulders. For the first time in a long time, you didn't know what would happen next, and it frightened you in a way that was exhilarating.

The sound of a car approaching made you jump a little, the sound cutting through the quiet atmosphere that had previously only been filled with the light swishing of your dress, the sound of your suitcase wheels and boots on the asphalt, and the occasional chirp of birds. It was rare to encounter people on the deserted road you were traveling down since the area you were in was secluded and a good few miles from any houses or towns, so you knew to be cautious.

You turned your head, tilting the cowboy hat up to get a better look at the approaching vehicle and it's driver. It was an old grey-blue pickup truck with a white roof, a thin layer of dirt and grime built up along the exterior. You squinted your eyes to try and get a better look at the driver as they got closer, but the glare from the sun on the windshield hindered your view.

Hesitantly, you looked away from the truck, your gaze returning forward as you waited for it to pass, but to your surprise, it didn't. You clutched your suitcase tighter as the man pulled up beside you, not stopping completely, just rolling along to keep pace with you.

When the driver rolled the window down, you turned your head to face him, continuing to walk as you studied his face. He was a handsome man; you couldn't deny that. He had bright blue eyes that shone with intrigue, his pale pink lips pulled up into a smirk that had you torn between being deeply unsettled and utterly smitten for him. His brown hair was buzzed short, and he had a bit of stubble on his chiseled jawline along with a mustache on his upper lip—something you usually wouldn't have been privy to, but he made it look effortlessly good.

"What's a pretty little thing like yourself doing out here all alone?" He asked with the faintest hint of a southern drawl, looking you up and down. It should have disgusted you—a random man hitting on you in the middle of nowhere—but for some reason, it made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

You debated on what to say. At first, you were gonna say that your mama always told you not to talk to strangers, but that sounded so childish that you immediately pushed it away. You weren't really great at talking to people. You'd often spent more time alone than with others. You simply shrugged, deciding against saying anything at all and making yourself sound foolish.

His gaze darted to your suitcase, finding himself intrigued and undeterred by your lack of an answer. "Where you headed, sweetheart?" He asked, continuing to drive beside you.

Truthfully, you didn't have a destination. You were just sorta planning to go wherever the wind took you, which admittedly, wasn't a very solid plan. "Anywhere but here," you said cryptically. It sounded a bit cheesy, but it was true. You just wanted to put as much distance between yourself and your childhood home as you possibly could.

His smirk widened into a full-blown grin as he leaned across the seat to throw open the passenger door. "Well, climb on in then. I can take you wherever you'd like to go," he offered, eyes glinting mischievously.

You didn't notice this, however. You weren't all that great at reading people due to your sheltered upbringing. You had gone to school, but it was a small one that you'd dropped out of at sixteen to try and take care of your mother.

You looked over at him, your eyes filled with hesitance as you nervously chewed your lip. You may have been a little naive, but you weren't completely stupid. You knew how unsafe it could be to catch a ride from a stranger. "That's awful kind of you, but... well, I don't think I should."

His demeanor didn't falter, an air of confidence surrounding him—like he was used to getting what he wanted, even if it took a little convincing. "I get it, darlin'," he nodded understandingly. "A pretty thing like you can't be too careful nowadays, but I promise you I ain't gonna hurt ya. Can't say the same for others, though."

Your eyes widened a bit at his words, and for the first time, you seemed to be able to look past your rose-colored glasses. You were a young woman walking alone in the middle of nowhere—an easy and vulnerable target to anyone that could have wanted to hurt you.

"Look, I ain't tryna scare ya," he said, seeming to notice the fear that his words had ignited within you. "But... well, there's a whole lotta bad people out here, sweetheart. I'd hate to go home and find that pretty face on the news or somethin'."

"Well, how do I know that you ain't some serial killer?" You asked, quirking an eyebrow. You stopped walking to face him fully, to which he abruptly stepped on the breaks.

"Serial killers don't usually offer their victim's rides now do they?" He grinned wolfishly, leaning back and draping his arm over the passenger's seat. "I reckon they usually take by force, but I s'pose I wouldn't know since I ain't one."

A frown tugged at your lips, your eyebrows furrowing in thought for a moment. "I guess you're right..." You didn't really know much about serial killers either if you were being honest. Well, not enough to know how they rounded up their victims anyway.

He grinned wider, as if he could tell that you were doubting yourself, and he found it amusing. "So, how 'bout it then? You gonna get in?"

"Promise you ain't gonna like kidnap me or somethin'?" You asked softly, apparently trusting that he would tell the truth.

His grin softened into a warm smile, and he chuckled lowly as he brought his free hand up to place over his chest. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

You nodded, seeming to accept this as an accurate description of his intentions or rather, lack thereof. You picked up your suitcase and put it into his truck bed, all the while he watched you intently, his gaze lingering on the tantalizing view of thigh that your dress provided.

You climbed into the passenger's seat, pulling the cowboy hat off your head and placing it on the dash before closing the door and buckling yourself in. You weren't really sure where this handsome stranger was going to take you, and that's when it dawned on you that you had gotten into his car without even knowing his name.

You looked over at him, finding him already staring intently at you. You offered a shy smile, your fingers playing with the hem of your dress as you softly told him your name.

"Pleasure to meet you," he said, his deep southern drawl causing your name to roll off his tongue with a warmth akin to the way the summer sun had heated your skin. He put the truck in gear, the engine purring as he continued down the desolate highway. "Name's Rafe," he introduced himself, his gaze darting to you.

"The pleasure's all mine Mr. Rafe," you said politely. The man was not that much older than you—maybe two or three years—and thus was probably nowhere near old enough to regard as Mr, but you were taught that it was respectful to do so.

He grinned at the title, his fingers flexing on the steering wheel. "Just Rafe's fine, darlin'," he insisted, casting you a sideways glance, his gaze lingering on your lips as you smiled shyly.

"Okay," you nodded, looking down at your lap as you fiddled with your dress. Rafe was awfully handsome, the hottest guy you'd ever seen by a longshot—not that that was a huge feat—and you found yourself extremely nervous with the fact that you were alone with him.

"So, what are you doin' out here all alone?" He asked, casting you a questioning glance as he took his eyes off the road briefly. "You didn't say earlier." His gaze fell to your lap, watching as your fingertips brushed the edge of your dress repeatedly, the fabric having ridden up due to your sitting position and revealed even more of your soft looking thighs.

You shrugged in response, just as you had earlier. You didn't really know how to explain your situation, and you hardly wanted to trauma dump on someone you barely knew, especially when you'd be in such close quarters for God knows how long. "I'm just... travelin'."

"Travelin'?" He echoed curiously, quirking an eyebrow. His grip tightened on the steering wheel as his gaze dropped to your thighs once more, the fabric of your dress inching up even more as you absentmindedly fiddled with it. He knew he shouldve been focused on the road and not his pretty passenger, but you were making it hard—in more ways than one. "What's got you on the road by yourself?"

"It's a long story," you mumbled, looking up and casting your gaze out the window, watching the scenery blur by as he did 80 on the interstate.

He hummed, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel rhythmically as he looked back at the road. "You runnin' from somethin', sugar?" He asked curiously, your evasive nature leading him to believe that there was more to the story.

You rubbed your sweaty palms on your dress, something your father would have scolded for being unladylike. Your gaze darted to the cowboy hat on the dash as you spoke. "More like runnin' toward somethin'."

"Toward?" He asked curiously. "So, where you headed then?" He prompted, his fingers stilling their movements as he looked over at you again, trying to read your expression.

A smile pulled at your lips as you turned to him, your eyes locking for a moment. "It's more of a... metaphorical somethin'."

His eyebrows raised, intrigued by your cryptic response. Everything about you seemed to intrigue him. You were one big mystery wrapped up in just about the prettiest package he'd ever seen. "Metaphorical, huh?"

"Yknow, you got this tendency to just repeat what I say back to me in question form," you grinned, your tone slightly teasing as you settled more comfortably into conversation with the man. You examined his side profile carefully as he turned back to the road.

"And you got a tendency to talk in circles," he replied with a grin of his own, his eyes flicking back to you briefly before returning to the road. He liked looking at you, even if for a brief moment.

You thought for a moment, deciding that perhaps Rafe deserved a bit of an explanation, given that he was nice enough to give you a ride and all. "I ain't going nowhere specific," you shrugged, your eyes finding the cowboy hat again. "Just... looking for somethin' bigger, somethin' better, I s'pose."

"Bigger and better than what?" He prompted, casting another sideways glance at you. His gaze lingered on the way your lips parted as you spoke, feeling himself twitch in his jeans. He was a man that liked understanding things. He didn't like being on the outside looking in. He wanted to know everything. He was curious; it was in his nature.

"The life I had before," you said, your tone growing solemn, gaze never wavering from the worn cowboy hat as memories flashed before you.

He noted your shift in demeanor and the way you were staring at the hat like you were willing it to turn into something. "What's the deal with that?" He asked, feeling like he needed to know.

"It was my daddy's old hat," you smiled reverently. "He um- he died a couple years back," you explained, clearing your throat and tearing your gaze away to look out the window.

"I'm sorry, sugar," he said sympathetically. He wasn't the best at comforting people, but he wanted to try. He took one hand off the wheel, placing it atop one of yours on your lap, and as much as it was not the time, he couldn't help the way his dick hardened further at the feeling of your soft skin under his rough, calloused hand.

"'s fine," you felt your cheeks warm at the feeling of his large, warm hand on yours. Despite yourself and the topic of conversation, butterflies erupted in your stomach.

He left his hand there, feeling a bit like he was taking advantage of the situation but unable to pull himself away. He liked the way your lips parted and your eyes widened ever so slightly when he touched you. "So you're both runnin' toward and away from somethin' then?"

"Yeah, I s'pose," you nodded. He reluctantly pulled his hand back to the steering wheel, readjusting himself in his seat to find a more comfortable position for his hard-on. You found yourself missing his touch, his skin leaving a lingering sensation on yours.

He was hyper-aware of every little movement and sound you made. The way you shifted in your seat, the little hitch in your breath, the way your thighs pressed together. He swallowed thickly, trying to focus on the road, his jaw clenching as he tried to get a handle on his body's reaction to you.

"So, what about you?" You prompted, glancing over at him. You had told him a bit about yourself and thought it only fair you got some information in return.

"Me?" He asked, his voice a bit gruff. He cleared his throat, trying not to let his gaze wander to the way your dress's neckline dipped, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of your chest. "Well, I'm headin' home. I've been away for a couple months, workin' on a ranch up north." He said, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel as he continued to drive.

You hummed in acknowledgement. "Did you like it?" You asked awkwardly, not really knowing what else to say. You weren't awfully good at carrying conversations.

"It was alright. Good money, good people, but it ain't home." He said with a small shrug. "'Sides, I got a lot of responsibilities back home. Family 'n all that. Couldn't stay away forever."

You nodded, listening to him explain. You were a little intrigued. You'd never been anywhere outside your home town. You yearned to travel, to see what the world—or at very least the country—had to offer beyond small town gossip and local church services.

He glanced at you, wondering what was going on inside that pretty little head of yours. He wanted to know more about you, wanted to know everything. He wanted to know what you were planning to do now, why you'd actually run from home, what you tasted like, how you'd sound moaning his name, how tight you'd be wrapped around him.

You pondered your next steps during this beat of comfortable silence. You were starving, so food seemed like it needed to be the first stop on this little roadtrip of yours. Then, you figured you'd find a bus stop and hop on the first bus outta town, letting fate decide where to take you.

As you sat there lost in thought, he was watching you intently between bouts of watching the road. He noticed the way your gaze would occasionally drift out the window, the way your hands would fidget with the hem of your dress, the way your lips would purse slightly as you seemed to be debating something in your head.

"You can just drop me at the next town," you finally spoke up, turning to look back at him as you seemed to have made up your mind. A semblance of a plan was better than no plan at all. Besides, what would this new life be without a little of the unknown. You had no idea when you left that morning that you'd run into a handsome cowboy, and that had turned out to be incredibly thrilling for you.

He frowned at the prospect of you leaving him so soon. You'd only just met, but he found himself wanting to spend more time with you. "The next town?" He repeated, echoing your words back to you again like he'd done before. "And, what's the plan when you get there, huh, sweetheart?"

"Gonna catch a bus," you shrugged noncommittally. "Go wherever the wind takes me."

He let out a short, humorless laugh, clearly expressing his disproval for your so-called plan. "You ain't never been nowhere before, have you?" He asked, already knowing the answer. You seemed so innocent, so naive. He couldn't just let you wander off alone, could he?

"Well... no," a small frown tugged at your lips. "But that's kinda the whole point of goin' where the wind takes me," you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

He shook his head, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. "That's a fool-proof way to end up in some real trouble, you know. A pretty little thing like yourself, wanderin' 'round alone. You could end up anywhere, with anyone."

"Well, thus far, I've ended up here, with you," you pointed out with a small smile. "So, I'd say my plan is workin' pretty well so far."

"That's only 'cause I'm a gentleman," he said, his eyes flicking briefly to yours. You couldn't help but wonder what if he wasn't such a gentleman. You weren't completely naive. You knew about sex and had always wondered what it was like, and now, with this incredibly sexy man before you, you found your thoughts particularly impure.

He watched the way your tongue flicked out to wet your lips, the way your breathing picked up ever so slightly. He could practically see the wheels turning in that head of yours. "What're you thinkin' 'bout, sugar?"

"Oh, um, nothin'," you said softly, your body heating up as his voice, so low and husky—definitely not helping your situation—tore you from your thoughts.

"Nothin', huh?" He drawled, not believing you for a second. He had been with enough women to know that look on your face, and he was pretty sure he had a good idea of where your thoughts were headed.

You bit your lip nervously. You knew he had at least some attraction to you because you had eyes. You could see the bulge in his jeans but had done everything you could to resist staring at it, despite the growing urge to reach out and touch it. You wanted to see him, feel him, maybe even taste him, but you were completely out of your depth here.

"You're thinkin' 'bout somethin' that's makin' you bite your lip and press them pretty little thighs together," he said, his voice low and sultry. "So, why don't you just tell me what it is, hmm?"

You looked over at him, your eyes widened a bit at his forward words, also at the fact that he had noticed. Though, it wasn't exactly like you were being discrete. "Wh- I- well, it's not very ladylike," you replied sheepishly.

"Sugar, there ain't nothin' ladylike 'bout the way I'm feelin' right now either," he said, his hand moving from the steering wheel to rest high up on your thigh.

You couldn't help but laugh at his choice of words, looking up at him through your lashes as you tried to find the words. "I don't know how to um- say it." You said, your heart beating nervously in your chest at a speed that doctors would probably find concerning.

"Then show me," he encouraged, his hand slowly inching higher up on your thigh. "You can do that, can't you? Show me what you were thinkin' about?"

You hesitated before nodding. You couldn't believe you were about to give a man you'd just met head for the first time in your life, but your body was moving quicker than your brain, unbuckling your seatbelt. You pulled your legs onto the seat underneath you, kneeling on the worn leather with your body facing him. You looked at him for confirmation before you made another move.

"Atta girl," he praised, his voice husky with desire. His hand moved to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair encouragingly. "Go on, sugar. Show me what that pretty mouth can do." He shifted in his seat, spreading his legs wider to give you better access.

The lack of center console in the old truck was a blessing as your fingers fumbled with his belt. You were already nervous, and you knew you didn't have to tell him that you'd never done this before because it was written all over your face.

He watched with an amused smirk as you struggled with his belt for a moment. He found your inexperience endearing. After a beat, you finally managed to undo his belt, your shaky hands moving to his jeans, popping the button and unzipping them with much more ease.

"That's it, baby. You're doin' just fine," he encouraged, his voice strained with barely contained desire. His hips lifted slightly to help you tug his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his hard cock, the tip flushed and glistening with precum. You took in a sharp breath, your eyes widening a little. You'd seen one before but never in person and never quite that big.

"Wrap your hand around it, sugar," he instructed, his voice low and commanding. His hand tightened in your hair as you wrapped your hand around the base tentatively. "Just like that. Now, stroke it. Nice and slow." You followed his directions, slowly running your hand up and down his hard length, coaxing a low groan from his throat as his hips jumped just a little at the feeling of your soft hand on him.

"Fuck, that feels good," he groaned, his head falling back against the headrest and his grip on the wheel tightening. "Now, put that pretty mouth on me." You wrapped your lips around his hot tip, sucking gently and coaxing his precum onto your tongue.

"Mmmm... That's it, sugar. Just like that," he praised, trying to keep his eyes on the road and the truck in the correct lane. His hand guided your head, his hips gently bucking forward as he slowly pushed himself deeper into your mouth. "You're doin' so good, baby."

Your fingers flexed around the base of his cock, your grip tightening ever so slightly as yoy took more of him into your mouth, your brows furrowing in concentration while you did. "Relax your throat, baby. You can take more of me," he coached gently, his hand tightening in your hair. You did as he said, trying to relax and take more of him into your warm, wet mouth. "That's it, sugar."

The combined sounds of your heavy breathing mingled with the wet noises his cock was making as it slid in and out of your mouth. You gagged a little as the tip of his cock nudged your uvula, triggering your body's built-in safety feature against choking.

He felt you gag and knew he should have pulled you back, reassured you that you could go as slow as you needed to and that there was no need to rush, but shit, you felt so good and seemed so eager; he couldn't bring himself to stop you.

He kept pushing forward, his cock hitting the back of your throat, forcing you to swallow around him. He could feel your throat constricting around his length, and it was the most incredible feeling. You whimpered around him, your nails digging into his thighs and eyes watering, but still, you didn't pull away.

Your little whimper only spurred him on, sending a vibration through him that had him moaning, his grip on your hair bordering on painful. "You're taking it so well, baby," he praised, his voice strained with pleasure. "Shit, I'm so close."

Not long after, his hips jerked forward, and he held you in place, his cock buried in your throat as he came hard with a groan, his hot cum shooting down your throat in thick, salty streams. The unfamiliar taste clung to your tongue, even after you forced the warm liquid down your throat and pulled off of him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

He sat there for a moment, trying to catch his breath and calm his racing heart before he tucked himself back into his pants with one hand, his other keeping the truck steady. "You did so good, sugar. Real good." He murmured, his voice still husky from his orgasm.

You felt a wave of satisfaction roll over you at his praise, but you didn't know exactly what to do from here. Your plans hadn't changed just because you decided to expand your sexual horizons in the front seat of a barely-stranger's truck. Though, it felt a little awkward still asking him to let out you out at the nearest town after what you'd just done.

"We'll be comin' up to the next town soon," he said, as if reading your mind. "How 'bout you let me take you out for a bite to eat, and afterwards, if you still want me to drop you at the bus station, I'll oblige," he proposed, willing to do anything to spend more time with you.

You smiled, nodding. That seemed like a perfectly reasonable request to you. Besides, you had already planned on stopping for food before heading to the bus station anyway. "Okay, that sounds nice," you agreed softly, buckling yourself back in because safety first.

"I know a real good diner in town. They serve the best burgers and milkshakes this side of the Mississippi," he said with a grin, placing his hand back on your thigh, his thumb brushing back and forth across your skin. Your smile widened, stomach doing flips at his touch, and you found yourself thinking that maybe your adventure could wait just a little while if it meant spending more time in the handsome cowboy's presence.

tags .ᐟ   @starkeysprincess / @cometmultiverse / @iheartjjmaybnk / @all4l0vee /

[communicationthroughlyrics]

There's No Hope In Endless Winter

Natasha has been gone on a long mission, so when she comes home, she just wants to spend time with you. But, you have news for her.

A/N: Yeahhhh, sorry bout this one- I also couldn't seem to come up with a decent summary sooooo...yeah. It's angsty and not really happy at all. Just kinda sad, all the way around.

TW: Panic/Anxiety, Depression, Reader has a medical emergency

Word Count: 4.5k

With a ghost-like silence, Natasha Romanoff floated into the bedroom of her shared New York apartment. It had been three long months since she had been on her no-contact S.H.I.E.L.D. mission, jetting her across the world to track and assassinate a major drug kingpin after infiltrating his cartel for vital information. She could hardly contain her excitement to see your face again, to feel the warmth of your body in her arms. The room was pitch-black, but even in the darkness, she could make out the familiar outline of their bed. You must have fallen asleep hours ago, presumably exhausted from your work as a personal trainer.

Natasha's muscles ached from the long flight and the countless hours of physical exertion during her mission. She stripped off her clothes, revealing her toned, scarred body, and crawled under the sheets. The bed's softness and the sheets' coolness felt like heaven after so many nights spent on hard mattresses, back seats, and cold floors. She snuggled in close to you, breathing in your familiar scent, and let out a contented sigh. Nat buried her face into the crook of your neck, causing you to sigh. Even though she knew that you were fast asleep, she couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and belonging in your shared space. 

Natasha being gone always sent your emotions in a spiral. The anxiety and panic that she felt on any given day only worsened as time went on. Your constant worry for your wife would typically result in you holed up in Natasha's room at the compound, drowning yourself in Natasha's clothes, burrowed into her bed until she returned. It was actions like this that had Wanda and Clint checking in with you regularly when they weren't on their missions.

It was one of these check-ins that finally forced a hand for you. Wanda had stopped by, worried because you, her best friend hadn't been responding to her messages or calls. When Wanda went to your gym, the manager said you had been canceling all your appointments. This was highly unlike you, as you had been known as a reliable, punctual trainer. Wanda's attention was piqued. 

"What do you mean, she's been canceling?" an incredulous tone came from the brunette.

"She hasn't shown up for any of her clients for the last week and a half," the manager said, shrugging helplessly. "I've tried calling her, but she never picks up. She left a note on her desk, and has called all her clients herself, telling them they can schedule with someone else."

"When was her last session?" Wanda probed further. 

"Monday," he stated flatly, as he was walking around wiping down some of the equipment. "She was training with one of her regulars and passed out. We sent her home after she refused to take an ambulance. We asked her to stay home for a couple of days, rest, and relax. Apparently, she needed more than that."

This concerned Wanda, so she decided to check on you. She thought you had been doing better in Natasha's absences. As she approached your room, she could hear the soft snores coming from within. Taking a deep breath, she carefully opened the door, revealing you curled up in a ball on the bed. Your usually neat hair was a messy tangle around your head, and you were wearing one of Natasha's oversized shirts. Seeing her friend like this tugged at Wanda's heartstrings.

"Hey Y/N," she whispered, stepping into the room. "You okay?"

You let out a soft groan but didn't stir. Wanda walked over to the bed and gently nudged you awake. "Hey, wakey, wakey. It's me, Wanda. Honey, what's wrong?"

You mumbled something incoherent before burying your face into the pillow, trying to block out the world. "I can't do this anymore," you finally manage to get out. "I miss her so much." 

Wanda sighed, rubbing your back in a comforting manner.

"I know you miss her, Y/N. We all do. But you can't let it consume you like this. You're not being fair to yourself. Natasha would want you to take care of yourself and be strong." Her voice was soft and gentle. "Look at you. You're not eating right, you're not sleeping, and you're not working out. You're not the Y/N I know."

You sighed, looking out the window to avoid the green orbs that were looking straight back at you. "I know," you curl into yourself further. "But, I need her here Wands. I'm scared and alone."

Wanda frowns, sitting down on the bed next to you. "You're not alone, Y/N. You've got all of us. We're your family. We're here for you." She reaches over and takes your hand, squeezing it. "You know that, right?"

You look over at her, your expression softening slightly. "Yeah, I know." You take a deep breath and wipe your eyes. 

"Now, Y/N. When was the last time you ate more than a protein bar or a banana?" Wanda asked, looking at the fruit peels in the trash and the wrappers on your nightstand. "Your boss told me you fainted at work."

You shrugged, "I'm not sure. A few days ago?"

Wanda rolled her eyes. "Okay, that's it. You're coming with me. We're going out to eat. You can't keep living off of protein bars and bananas. You need real food." She helped you up off the bed and led you to the bathroom to wash your face. 

"Wanda?"

"Yes?"

"I don't feel right."

"You're not feeling right because you're not eating right," Wanda replied, giving you a reassuring pat on the back. "Come on, let's get some food and then we can talk about how you're going to get back on track with your training. You're better than this, Y/N." She stops when she realizes that you're standing firm in the middle of your room. You look pale, eyes sunken in, and like you haven't been sleeping. 

"That's not what I mean, Wanda."

You took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. "I feel...off. Not just because I'm not eating right. Something...else. It's like..." You trailed off, struggling to find the words.

Wanda placed a hand on your shoulder, her expression concerned. "Y/N, do you think you might be coming down with something? You seem to be feeling under the weather lately."

"Maybe," you mumble, rubbing your arm. "I don't know. It's just...weird."

"Tell me what your symptoms are, Y/N."

You sigh, trying to wrap your head around how you've been feeling of late. "It started when I was in the middle of a training session..." you started.

Wanda's eyes widened, "What? You kept going even when you didn't feel right?" You nodded, and her frown deepened. She led you back to the bed, so you could sit down.

"Do you have a fever?" she asked, feeling your forehead. You shook your head. "What about chills?" She glanced at the air conditioner, which was blowing cool air. "No, I guess not."

"Not a fever, but I've been getting terrible night sweats."

Wanda raised an eyebrow, "Night sweats? That's not good."

You shrugged, feeling uncomfortable under her gaze. "I'm just not myself, Wanda. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"What else have you been feeling?" she asked further, rubbing your knee comfortingly.

"My muscles ache all the time. And I'm just...tired." You yawned, rubbing your eyes. "Even when I sleep, I don't feel rested."

Wanda frowned. "This doesn't sound good. You should probably go see a doctor." She paused, looking at you with concern. 

"I'm scared, Wanda."

Wanda took your hand and squeezed it. "Hun, it's just a doctor's visit. It'll be ok." You shook your head, just wanting this conversation to be over. "You probably just caught a bug or something."

The next day, the two of you made your way to the doctor's office, where Wanda sat with you through the entire vitals process. The nurse turned to you after gathering some information and asked you if you wanted Wanda there during the following line of questioning.

"No, that's fine," you mumbled, feeling a little embarrassed. 

"So, what brings you in today? Your notes on the check-in sheet are pretty vague."

You took a deep breath, not sure where to begin. "Well, I've been feeling really tired lately. Like I can't sleep, even when I want to. And my muscles ache all the time. It's been going on for a few weeks now, and it's starting to get to me." the nurse jotted some things down, before allowing you to continue. 

"I have been feeling sluggish and sore for 2-3 weeks, I just thought it was me pushing my workouts too far at first."

The nurse nodded sympathetically and continued her questions. "Have you noticed any changes in your appetite or weight?" You hesitated for a moment, not wanting to admit to Wanda that you hadn't been eating right. "Well, I haven't been eating as much as I should have, but I don't think I've lost or gained any weight." The nurse made some more notes. "Well, Y/N, it does look like you have lost some weight since your last visit 4 months ago. Have you been experiencing any night sweats or fevers?"

You shook your head. "Just the sweats, but not as bad as they used to be." You glanced over at Wanda, who was looking at you with concern. "I've been feeling...off, you know? Just not myself."

"Is there anything else?"

"Yes," you stutter. Wanda's eyes shot up at this admission. "I was helping one of my clients use the pulldown machine, demonstrating what I wanted them to do." the nurse continued to take notes, indicating for you to go on. Wanda shifted in her seat as you continued. "I felt a grab in my underarm like I was using the machine wrong," you sighed. "The pain continued throughout the day, and wouldn't go away. I didn't think anything of it till I got home."

"And when you got home, what happened?" the nurse prompted.

"Well, I felt sore all over, but especially my chest, for some reason," you started, Wanda covering her mouth as you recounted what happened. "So, while I took a bath to try and loosen up, I checked both armpits to see if there was something I was missing. I kinda probed and kneaded at my underarms, and felt a large bump, here." you lifted your arm, indicating where you felt the lump.

"And what did the lump feel like?" the nurse asked, scribbling more notes.

"It wasn't hard or anything, but it was...different," you said, struggling to find the words. "It just didn't feel like the rest of my skin." You glanced at Wanda, who was looking at you with a mixture of shock and concern. "At first, I thought it was just a knot or something, but it's been there for days now, and it's not going away."

The nurse nodded, making some more notes. "I see. Well, I'm going to have the doctor look at this when we're done with your vitals. Just give me a call if there's anything else you think might be important."

As the nurse left the room, Wanda grabbed your hand and squeezed it tightly. "Oh, hun, I'm so sorry. I had no idea this was going on. Why didn't you call me?"

"I didn't want to worry you," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "I thought it was just a knot or something. I didn't realize..." Your voice trailed off as you fought back tears.

The examination room door opened, and the doctor came in. "Y/N, hello," he said, offering his hand. "I understand you've been experiencing some discomfort. Why don't you tell me about it, and we'll see what we can do."

You related the story again, feeling embarrassed but relieved to have someone who seemed to take you seriously. The doctor listened carefully, nodding along, and then asked to feel the lump in your armpit. "Hmm...I'm going to need to get some tests done to determine what's going on here. In the meantime, I want you to rest as much as possible, and avoid any strenuous activity until we know more. Okay?"

"Okay," you replied, feeling a mix of relief and fear. 

The doctor gave you a reassuring smile. "We'll get to the bottom of this, don't worry. We're running your blood and plasma panels, and took a sample from the lump in your underarm." He stood, reaching out his cold hand for you to shake. "We'll run these preliminary tests, and call you with the results."

You nodded, still feeling a little uneasy. As you stood, the weight of the situation began to settle heavily in your chest. You glanced over at Wanda, who was rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms, clearly upset. "Are you okay?" you asked her.

"Honey, I should be asking you that," she offered you a weak smile, helping you out of the doctor's chair.

As you made your way out of the clinic, Wanda wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you close. "I'm going to be right here with you, okay? No matter what it is." You nodded, grateful for her support. 

"Wanda?"

"Yeah, sweetie?"

"Is there really no way we can get a hold of Natasha?"

Wanda sighed, resting her head against yours. "I've been calling her all morning, but she hasn't answered. I even sent her a few texts, but when she goes no contact, that means no contact."

You nodded, understanding the unspoken rule. Even though you knew it was for her safety, it still hurt that you couldn't talk to her. You felt so alone like you were the only one going through this.

"I'm terrified, Wanda. I've never felt like this before."

Wanda hugged you tighter, her warmth offering some comfort. "I know, hon. I'm scared too. But we're going to get you through this. We'll find out what's wrong, and we'll fix it. You hear me?"

You nodded, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, I hear you. Thanks, Wanda."

**

The sun was starting to peek through the blinds when Natasha finally stirred. She pulled you in tighter, realizing you felt considerably thinner than she remembered. You were seemingly dead to the world, breathy snores coming from you as you tossed and turned. Natasha decided she would surprise you, so she quickly rose, kissing your forehead before running to the shower to clean up.

She knew she'd have to tread carefully when she emerged, but the anticipation of seeing your face light up was too much. As she dried her hair, she slipped on her tank top and shorts before padding over to the bed. You were still fast asleep, so she decided to head down to the kitchen, starting breakfast so you both could enjoy each other's company over a warm meal.

Coffee brewed, she laid out a spread of fruit, toast, and eggs. The scent of food wafting up the stairs drew you out of your slumber, unfortunately making your stomach churn. You wondered why Wanda was making you some food so early in the morning.

You padded into the kitchen, still half-asleep, and were greeted by the sight of Natasha, your Natasha, wearing nothing but a tank top and shorts, her hair still slightly damp from her shower. She smiled at you, a warmth spreading through your chest. "Good morning," she purred, leaning over to kiss your cheek. "I missed you, babe."

You returned her smile, albeit with an empty one. "Missed you too," you mumbled, reaching for the coffee pot. "Smells great." Natasha frowned at the lack of emotion from you, immediately becoming concerned.

She poured you a cup of coffee and set it in front of you, then sat down at the breakfast bar, watching you carefully. "Are you feeling okay, sweetheart? You don't look so well." You shrugged, not wanting to talk about it. "I'm just a little tired, that's all."

Natasha frowned, not quite convinced. "You're sure you don't want to tell me what's wrong? Maybe I can help." You looked up at her, feeling instantly guilty once you saw her expression.

"I'm sure it's nothing, really," You started. "I just...I had some tests done while you were gone."Her face softened as she reached across the counter to take your hand.

"What kind of tests, sweetheart?"

"I don't want to spring this on you right now, Nat. You just got home."

Natasha squeezed your hand gently. "You know you can tell me anything, babe. I'm here for you, through thick and thin." Her eyes pleaded with you to confide in her, and despite your best efforts to keep her out of the loop, you found yourself wanting to tell her everything.

"Okay," you finally said, taking a deep breath. "It's not something I want to talk about right now, but I will. Just...not today, okay?"

Natasha nodded, understanding that you needed time. "Okay, hun. Take your time. We can talk about it whenever you're ready. In the meantime, why don't we enjoy breakfast together? It's the least I can do while you're going through this."

"That's okay, Nat. I'm not very hungry. But you can have whatever."

She smiled, giving your hand a squeeze. "Are you sure? I made plenty."

You nodded, forcing a smile. "It looks great, though. Thanks, Nat." You worked your way slowly to the confines of your bedroom, stopping to look at your washed-out appearance. You were pale, your cheeks somewhat hallowed. The dark rings and bags under your eyes made you look like a member of the Addams family.

Natasha followed behind you, still in her tank top and shorts, concern etched into her features. "Do you want me to help you get ready for bed? Maybe take a nap with you?" she offered, her voice soft and gentle. You shook your head. "No, I just want to be alone for a bit. I'll be okay." She frowned, but nodded, knowing that these long missions were always rough for the both of you, and you often needed your own space. As you lay in bed, awaiting the call from your doctor, Natasha called Wanda.

"Hey Wands, it's me."

“Nat! Oh, my goodness it’s good to hear your voice, darling!” she started. “I bet Y/N is so glad to have you home.”

“Actually, Wanda, that’s why I’m calling.”

There was a slight pause on the other end of the line before Wanda replied, "Oh? Is everything alright?"

"Well, I wanted to check with you," Natasha began, taking a deep breath. "Y/N and I have been together for a long time, you know that. And we've been through our share of ups and downs. But something is going on right now that I feel she's not telling me, and I'm really worried about her."

There was a moment of silence on the line before Wanda spoke. "What makes you think that?" she asked, her voice gentle.

"I just know her," Natasha replied, her voice tight with worry. "She's not herself. She's distant, and I can tell she's not eating. It's like she's carrying a weight on her shoulders that I can't even begin to understand. I just want to help her, you know?"

Wanda was quiet for a moment, considering her words. "I understand where you're coming from, Natasha."

"I feel like there's a 'but' coming, Max."

"Because there is, Romanoff."

Natasha winced at the use of her last name. She knew Wanda could be annoying that way, but it still hurt sometimes. "I know Y/N doesn't want me to know or worry right now, but I need to help her. I'm her partner, her support. I can't just stand by and watch her suffer in silence."

There was a long pause on the line before Wanda finally spoke. "I understand that, Natasha. You're a good friend and a good wife. And I know you'll do whatever you can to help her through this." Her voice softened. "But I also want you to understand that this might not be the best time to push her. She's been through a lot, and she needs some time to process everything on her terms."

Natasha sighed, a deep pit forming in her stomach at the thought of what could be going on. "Wanda?" A silence followed before a hum indicated Natasha to continue. "What happened while I was gone?"

"Oh, you know," Wanda replied lightly, her tone belied by the worry in her voice. "The usual. Just the constant threat of nuclear war, a power-hungry megalomaniac with delusions of grandeur, and a team of highly skilled operatives trying to keep the world safe while balancing their personal lives."

"Wanda, that's not what I meant."

"I know, Nat. I'm just trying to make light of a very serious situation. Y/N's been keeping a lot of things bottled up. She needs time to process everything, and I think she's afraid that talking to you will make it all real. She needs you to be supportive, but she also needs her space."

There was another silence on the line before Natasha spoke. "I understand. I'll give her time, but I'm here for her whenever she's ready."

"That's all you can do, Natasha. That means a lot to her, I know it. And if there's anything I can do to help, please don't hesitate to ask."

"Thanks, Max."

Wanda's voice was soft, bidding Nher a good day. Natasha could hear the genuine concern behind it. She knew that Wanda would be there for her and Y/N, even if she wasn't always the most subtle about it. They were both so different, but they had been through so much together. They had become a family of sorts, even though they were all from different worlds.

Natasha took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. She couldn't help but feel a sense of helplessness, like she was floating in the dark, searching for a lifeline. But she knew that she had to be strong for Y/N, even when she felt like she was about to crumble herself. Setting her phone on the counter, she put away all the food before heading towards the living room, sitting on the sofa with a cup of coffee, contemplating what you could possibly need to tell her. After what felt like hours, she went to the bedroom, gently knocking on the door.

"Hun, do you mind if I come in?" Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. There was a pause, and then she heard the click of the door opening. Natasha stood in the doorway, taking in your eyes red and puffy from crying.

"I, uh... I was just about to take a nap. Do you want to join me?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper. She walked over to the bed and sat down gently beside you.

"I would love to, sweetheart," she breathed deeply, reaching her arm around your shoulders. "But first, I need to know that you're okay." The statement makes your heart clench, knowing that you are worrying Natasha after such a long and strenuous mission when she should be relaxing and enjoying her time with you.

"I'm... I'm as okay as I can be, I guess," you mumble, your voice still hoarse from earlier sobs. "It's just... a lot, you know? A lot to process." Natasha nods, pulling you closer as she wraps both arms around you.

"Darling, what is a lot to process?" Natasha's voice was soft, almost tentative, and you could feel her heart beating against your back as she held you close. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves before speaking. You were spinning your cell phone in your hands, nervous to tell your wife what happened while she was gone. 

"Let me start at the beginning, Nat." you lay your head on Natasha's shoulder, ready to detail all that led up to your phone call this morning.

As you speak, Natasha holds you close, occasionally kissing the top of your head or running her fingers through your hair to offer comfort. She listens intently, her expression shifting between surprise, confusion, concern, and anger as you recount the events that unfolded while she was gone.

When you finish, there's a long silence as Natasha processes the information. You can feel her heart racing in her chest, and she seems to be struggling to find the right words. Finally, she takes a deep breath and says, "Oh, sweetheart." Her voice is full of empathy and understanding, but there's also a note of worry. "What did the doctors say was the result of your tests?"

Your eyes tear up, as your lip quivers. You get up and go to stand across the room from your wife, afraid to let her see you so vulnerable, so weak. "I have breast cancer, Nat."

Natasha's face falls, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Oh, Y/N," she whispers, taking a step toward you. "My baby, I'm so sorry I wasn't here for you." Tears begin to stream down her face, and she reaches out to hold you, but you flinch, taking another step back. "I'm here for you. No matter what. I love you, and I'm here to help you through this. In sickness and in health, remember?"

You shake your head, feeling overwhelmed. "I just... I don't know how to do this. How am I supposed to fight this? And what about us? What about our future?" Your voice breaks on the last word, and you sink down to the floor, buried in a ball, unable to hold back the sobs that have been building inside you since you first heard the news.

Natasha rushed to your side, quickly scooping up your body and holding you impossibly close. "Honey, our future isn't in question. I'm not going to let anything happen to you," she whispered into your hairline, kissing it.

"But, what happens if you get sent out on a mission again? What happens if you don't come back to me, Natasha? I can't do this without you."

Natasha's arms tightened around you, holding you as close as she possibly could. "Y/N, you are my whole world. I would never abandon you. You are my priority, now more than ever. We will get through this together. No matter what. I promise." She paused, taking a deep breath, trying to steady her voice. "I know it's scary right now, but we'll find the best doctors, we'll get the best treatment. And we'll fight this together. You're stronger than you know, and I'm right here by your side, supporting you every step of the way."

You sniffled, wiping your nose on your sleeve, and leaned into her embrace. "I'm scared, Natasha. I don't want to leave you. I don't want to leave us."

Natasha pressed her lips to your forehead, her breath warm against your skin. "I know it's hard, baby. But you're not going to leave me. You're going to fight this, and we're going to fight it together. We're going to beat it, okay? She held you there for what felt like an eternity, rocking you gently back and forth. "We're going to fight this together, you and me. We're going to be strong, and we're going to get through this. I promise you, Y/N.“

READ PT. 2 HERE

[anton-luvr]

# ALL MINE.

𖦹 bf!anton x fem!reader (ft. 7riize) | fluff 𖦹 note ; my first fic here!! kinda ass but enjoyyy + my inbox is open! send in any reqs or riize soft hour thoughts ◡̈

Friday movie nights at Seunghan's apartment was a regular for you and your friends.

Eunseok in the kitchen with Sungchan, busy preparing snacks while Wonbin and Sohee bickered in the living room over which movie to watch - knowing that Sohee always won.

Shotaro would start up the Netflix, you and Anton right behind him setting out blankets for everyone on the sofa.

"Okay fine, we'll watch Mean Girls." Wonbin sighs, deafeated. Sohee's loud whoop of victory makes Eunseok wince, carrying a huge bowl of popcorn in his hands.

"Haven't you already watched the movie like, five times?" You ask as everyone gathers in the living room, getting comfortable.

"Hey!" Sohee protests. "It's cinematic masterpiece. We have to appreciate it as much as we can." he continues dramatically.

Wonbin pretends to act offended, sitting down beside the younger. "Oppenheimer is cinematic masterpiece too, but you don't see me watching it almost every week."

"Says the one who eats fried chicken everyday." Sohee retorted, his words contrasting his actions as he wraps his blanket around Wonbin.

"Okay, that's enough! Let's just watch in peace." Seunghan interjects, sighing as he fiddles with the remote control.

In a moment's time, the TV screen fills up with the opening scene of Mean Girls, and everyone quiets down.

"I love this movie." Anton whispers excitedly to you, getting comfortable in his usual seat - him on the left, you in the middle, and Shotaro on the right.

For the next hour, Seunghan's apartment was filled with everyone's surprised gasps and chuckles of laughter, accompanied by the crunch of the caramel popcorn - as well as Sohee's unexpected burp from the soda.

Now, you weren't sure if it was just because it was winter or that Seunghan got new (and much thinner) blankets, but you felt colder tonight.

Shivering a bit in your mere t-shirt, you tried to ignore the cold and focus on the movie.

But with Shotaro being the ever-attentive mom of the group, he picks up on it immediately. "Are you cold?" he whispers, nudging your shoulder.

The goosebumps on your arms give it away as you grin sheepishly at your best friend. "Just a bit, but I'll be okay." you whisper back.

Shotaro scoffs, waving his hand around as if to dismiss what you just said. "Here, take my hoodie." he offers, starting to take it off.

"No take mine!" Anton whisper-shouts, quickly sitting up. Before you know it, he tugs off his black hoodie, leaving himself in a sleeveless top.

His eyes are wide with determination as he puts in on you, cheeks slightly flushed red with a twinge of jealousy, lips nervously pursed together.

The only problem was that it was more of a shout than it was a whisper, instantly capturing everyone's attention.

"W-What?" Anton stutters when he notices everyone's stunned stares, the tip of his ears turning red.

"Wait, is our Anton jealous?" Sungchan teases, smirking as the rest of the members start cheering.

"It seems like the hours in the gym paid off too." Seunghan adds in a sing-song voice, leaning over from his seat to pinch at Anton's toned arms.

He lets out a small embarrassed groan, pulling the blanket up to hide himself. You laugh too, heart racing at your boyfriend's sudden but sweet actions.

"Shut up, this is the best part!" Sohee screeches, too immersed in the movie to care.

Anton lets out of a sigh of relief, glad for the distraction. But the moment he lowers the blanket, he's met with your intense stare, a small smile on your face.

"Were you actually jealous?" you whisper, stifling a laugh. "N-No." your boyfriend lies, eyes looking at anywhere else but you.

God, he was so adorable - always looking out for you in the sweetest ways but as shy as ever.

You press a quick kiss to his cheek, giggling. "Okay, Mr. Totally Not Jealous. I love you."

Anton's eyes widen at your actions and words, finally meeting your eyes.

His soft hands slip into yours under the blanket, interlacing them as he tries to hide how flustered he is.

"Okay, fine. I was jealous." he mumbles after a while. "But just a bit."

You grin at his words, snuggling closer up to him. "Just a bit, huh?" you repeated, poking his bare shoulder lightly.

"Well, it's up to me take care of you after all! You're my girlfriend," he reasons, pulling you impossibly closer into his embrace.

He kisses you softly on the forehead, holding on to your hand a bit tighter.

"All mine."

© anton-luvr, 2023.

[tatumrileyslover]

Please Take Me Anywhere But Home

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Sejanus Plinth Headcannons ˚୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Pairing: Sejanus Plinth x Capital!Reader

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: nothing really it’s just fluffy, lil bit of self doubt from Sejanus, wintertime, small mention of the war :P

A/N: this is a small apology for pt2 of Capital Don’t Cry taking so long, this is kinda inspired by take me anywhere but home by Seulgi (my love) you’ll all need some cute Sejanus fluff before the angst of the next part (also none of this is proofread)

ೀ Sejanus is actually the sweetest boyfriend ever

ೀ is 100% a caregiver

ೀ you feel slightly ill he's making sure you're tucked up in bed and Ma will send an entire basket of homemade pastries

ೀ he's definitely a neat freak

ೀ if you hurt yourself in anyway at all, he has something for it

ೀ your stomach hurts, he has painkillers

ೀ you cut yourself, he has bandages

ೀ you have a killer migraine, he somehow has some morphling to help ease the pain.

ೀ and he tops it all off with a forehead kiss

ೀ definitely a paranoid type

ೀ knows you would cheat on him ever, but the second he sees you talking to someone else, he's immediately insecure

ೀ I think he feels he's not good enough for you

ೀ a successful Capital citizen, your family is very powerful, you already had your foot in some of the business your family owned.

ೀ he was just him, no matter how hard he tried, he'd never be seen as Capital, he was the black sheep of his family and the black sheep in the Academy

ೀ you never cared about his background

ೀ at the Academy he was the only person you met who wasn't self-centred and vain and that was really fucking attractive

ೀ probably thought you were only trying to be his friend because of a friend or something

ೀ definitely a bit cautious of you at first but that man is head over heels in no time

ೀ definitely the type to buy you flowers and a teddy bear

ೀ let's be honest you probably have a collection of teddy bears from every date you've ever been on

ೀ definitely love physical touch

ೀ always walking round hand in hand

ೀ loves walking you from class to class, just the feeling of your small hand in his makes his heart soar

ೀ he's also big on forehead kisses

ೀ he's definitely embarrassed of his Ma the first time you meet

ೀ she's pulling out the photo albums, all Sejanus's baby pictures on display

ೀ he genuinely wants the world to swallow him whole in that moment

ೀ assumes (incorrectly) that you'll see him as inferior, since you're seeing photos of him when he was in the district

ೀ it honestly makes you fall in love with him more, getting to see him in his childhood home

ೀ that night he walks you back to your apartment, snow falling, walking hand in hand

The Capital look beautiful at this time of year, arguably more than usual with Sejanus by your side. The cold breeze that left the tip of your nose red to the plush scarf Sejanus insisted you wear on your walk back to your apartment. The snow crunched beneath your feet, bring back memories of your childhood. Innocent memories of winters past spent making angels in the snow and the bleak, grim wintertime during the war. Although the snow brought unpleasant memories, it also brought you him.

His soft black hair had begun to turn white, sprinkled with powdery flakes. His Ma insisted he wear a woollen hat but he tore it off the second he was out of her sight. You could tell he was a bit embarrassed all night, she immediately took you in as if you were family, showing you all the family photos, including ones of him as a child.

He looked so cute, seeing him back in his home back in District Two. His Ma told stories of their town and flaunted photos of the picturesque mountains they lived near. Ma Plinth was proud of her home, and you could tell she missed it dearly. You wished you had the same type of bond with your home like she did but the Capital wasn't a place to be proud of. You felt like a songbird stuck in a cage, only to be ogled at. You wanted to be free, that's what drew you to Sejanus in the first place, he was a breath of fresh air. Lost in thought, you slowed down a bit.

"Are you alright?" Sejanus looked a bit concerned, he was convinced that his Ma's sales pitch of District Two had completely turned you off. He was almost certain that you'd never speak to him again after tonight. You turned you head to him happily humming examining his red cheeks.

"I was thinking..." Sejanus froze in his tracks, turning to face you, fearing the worst. His heart melted when he heard what came out of your mouth.

"After we graduate from the Academy, if you'd like to take a trip to Two, you could show me around the place, I'd love to learn more about where you grew up,"

"You want to visit District Two?" Sejanus was shocked, thinking the idea of visiting the districts would never cross your mind.

"Well, your Ma made one hell of a sales pitch, it sounds like the most beautiful place," you're soft hands pushed some hair out of his eyes, resting softly on his cheek, "you don't talk about it often and I know how important it is to you, I want to learn more about your life before you came here," Sejanus's hand covered your own, he looked at you in awe, he couldn't have dreamt up a better partner.

"Are you sure you want to?" You smiled brightly, nodding while pulling him closer to you. It was like a scene out of a movie, the snowflakes continued to fall in clusters across the quiet streets of the Capital, the entire city fell silent. His brown eyes bore into your soul, his hands tenderly cradled the back of your neck, pulling you in swiftly to unite your lips. He couldn't help but smile throughout the kiss, happiness radiating within him. He pulls back gently, his hand resting on your cheek, carefully examining your face.

"I'd go anywhere with you, just take me anywhere but home."

[gldrushsblog]

SUGAR AND SIN | JK

🧁✧ ˚. TITLE: Sugar and Sin.

🧁✧ ˚. PAIRING: Mafia boss! Jungkook x female oc

🧁✧ ˚. BLURB: Maybe the gun wielding stranger with a penchant for dramatic entrances can be her chance of survival other than her worst nightmare.

🧁✧ ˚. GENRE: Mafia au, grumpy x sunshine, forced proximity, slow burn, dark romance, crime/thriller.

🧁✧ ˚. WARNINGS: This chapter contains intense scenes with threatening behavior, discussions of violence and murder, and emotional distress.

🧁✧ ˚. TAGS: oc is SILENCED, jk is a jerk and likes to break in

🧁✧ ˚. A/N: ty ty ty for the amazing support you guys have been showing this!! It means more to me than you know. Also, I kinda don't wanna post the new chapter on wattpad until I have posted all the already published ones here so it can be in sync. Let me know what you guys think about that?

🧁✧ ˚. TAG LIST: @scuzmunkie (let me know if you wanna be added in the tag list)

CHAPTER 3: AURORA

He was here.

In her goddamn living room, sitting on her couch like he owned the place.

The realization hit her slowly, like the creeping cold of winter sneaking under the door. She hadn’t heard him come in. She hadn’t seen him approach. But there he was, every inch of him radiating danger.

He was here to fulfill the promise of something dangerous.

He was here for her.

She didn't need to look through her memories of last night to recognize him. The inky voids that were placed where eyes normally are were proof enough, and so was the horrifying calmness he carried with himself surrounding the small space of her apartment.

Her lips parted, her breath shortened and her unblinking eyes went all over him, his gloved hands that were skilled for taking lives-she was sure of it- resting flatly on his broad, muscled thigh clothed with the black of his pants, his shirt of a softer fabric soft yet unyielding, strained against the hard planes of his chest. The tailored suit jacket stretched over biceps that seemed too solid, too real, for this moment to be anything but a nightmare and there was the face she hadn't properly grasped in the chaos of last night, now all sharp lines, cool beauty, and unsettling stillness.

Maybe the devil wasn't a short red man with thorns and tail at all. Maybe he wore tailored suits and silver piercings.

"Inhale. And sit down."

His voice- a calm authority, snapped her out of her jumbled thoughts. She wasn't sure how much she could take of being the sole recipient of her attention.

"What.. H-How did you-you get in?" She managed, not bothering to cringe at how small and powerless she sounded in her own home.

"Sit down." It was an order this time considering how his bored face hardened and his tone shifted. "We have lots to talk about." His gloved finger flexed briefly over the gun holstered at his side. 

That gesture alone was enough for her to obey before her mind could catch up and reluctantly sit across him while trying her best not to display how wobbly her knees were getting. Even as she sat across from him, every fiber of her being told her to flee. But something in his stillness kept her rooted to the spot.

"Answer me now. How-how did you get in?" she asked again, though as much as she tried to hide it, there was a tremor in her voice.

"I don't respond well to questions phrased like that. Try again."

Her frustration bubbled up, cutting through the haze of fear. "Are you kidding me-" his fingers flexed against the barrel of his gun again in response, making her narrow her eyes at him.

"You're here to kill me too, aren't you?Because I saw what you did. I saw you murder that innocent man." She was surprised at how collected she sounded.

He leaned back, slow and deliberate, his gaze heavy on her as he scoffed under his breath. "If I wanted to kill you, I could have done that there and then. Just another body for my men to dispose of." And there went that collected front of her down the drain. But his expression remained unchanged, bored almost, as if this entire exchange was nothing more than a chore to him.

"But I didn't. And if it helps, the innocent man was not as innocent as you naively assumed." His voice was colder, with a mocking tilt to it.

She bit the inside of her cheek, fighting the wave of unease rising inside her. "So? What are you, the law?"

"My word is. And he went against it." He said simply.

Her lips parted again in an act of disbelief. There was something so twisted about this man. And she had a feeling that didn't stop only at him being a murderer.

"T-That is not going to stop me from reporting you to the police and neither will you." She said with a determined look even though her actions were hesistant when she slowly and carefully rose up from her spot.

And he clearly saw right through it. "Need a drive there?" He leaned forward, his presence suddenly much heavier as he spoke out with an amused tilt of his head.

This was the face of a man who knew he won't be punished for his crime. This was the face of a man who knew that, that was all beneath him. Just who the hell was this man?

"What is wrong with you?" She conferred the answer was: Everything.

"Why are you doing this? Why did you do any-any of that?" There was a frustration in her voice now that caused him to rise up from the couch as well. And she could swear he was tenfold more intimidating now that he was displaying the giant of a height he had, almost causing her to flinch.

"I don't owe you an explanation for my actions while you do owe me something for meddling in my business." He replied, the shadows deepening on his face

"Meddling in your business? You're the one who broke into my bakery.." and now in my apartment. "And made it your place of crime."

"Your little bakery will be nothing but ashes on the ground if you don't stop talking back and resisting to my word." He eyes flashed with irration as he spoke out with a harshness, taking a step closer to her but still maintaining a distance he looked distasteful to cross.

While all she could do was stay frozen in her spot with her hands curling in ball of fists by her side as his eyes told her to even though the audacity of this man to threaten the place she made a living from raged her to no end.

"Now back to what's important." He said, releasing a quiet breath.

"That being your silence that you owe me. You'll not speak about anything you saw with anyone. And I'm just saving you from the embarrassment when I say that you drop the police bullshit."

She swallowed a hard lump down her throat, not liking how he stared at her, how his words spit out like venom. Of course, she felt a surge of anger at how he was ordering her around, but it was tempered by fear at last. "I-I can't just forget what I saw.."

He cocked an eyebrow at her words. "But you will. Or I'll have to resort to unpleasant ways to make you forget. Would you want that?"

She instantly shook her head at that. She couldn't digest how this man had her so pathetic at his non-existent mercy. It was a pill she had to swallow, of course, but that didn't mean she was gonna do it without an attempt to choke it out.

Her mind raced. The face of an familiar old man with a nasty grin flashed in front of her. Mr. Choi had been tightening the noose around her neck for months. The bills have been piling up, and if she didn't speak up now, maybe she would have to return back home. This could be her only chance. Yet the rational part of still considered the insanity of bargaining with a man who just threatened her life.

She swallowed hard. It's a terrible idea. A dangerous gamble.

But when has she ever listened to the annoying rational part of her head?

"I- I want something in return for my silence." She said with a newfound determination, her chin tipped up. "My bakery's landlord... Mr. Choi... he’s been extorting me for months. If you want my silence, I need your help." Even with the clarity in her demand, she couldn't help but feel like it was as if she was begging. The pulse racing with fear convinced her that she was begging.

Gods, what is wrong with me?

That seemed to twist something in him as he stepped closer with a sinister calmness. "You think you're in a position to make demands to me?" His voice was laced with a malicious intent, making her do everything in her power to not squirm in her spot as he towered above her.

Yet she stood her ground even if the fear threatened to overwhelm her. "It's only fair that I get something in return." She said with a surprisingly steady voice, trying her best to hide the desperation that was eager to be out.

Please, let this work. Please don’t let this end with my body laying in my own blood.

A muscle of his jaw ticked. "Being bold now, are we?" he said. "But let me make one thing clear: you're not in a position to make demands. You're in a position to be grateful, I'm not killing you right now."

He paused, his eyes glinting with intensity and some sort of interest. "However... I'll consider your request. Not because I owe you anything, but because it amuses me to do so. And maybe you'll prove useful enough to warrant a little... leeway."

He turned to leave, then looked back over his shoulder. "Until next time, baker girl."

And he was gone, leaving her heart thumping and her world shaky.

To be continued..

→ Previous chapter

[skullytotheark]

Meet My Oc!

"Dominic Remison" aka Grimace

Information below:

Name: Dominic Remison

Age: 20 to 23

Date of birth: 30/8/####

Height: 5'8 to 5'11

Nationality: America

Ethnicity: Australian

Physical Appearance: Dominic Remison is a male who has brown messy medium length hair, Small chin stubble [similar to shaggy from scooby doo], Bright blue eyes with cross shaped pupils, a large lightning shaped scar on the left side of his face, Noticeable moles on his face & neck [one near right eye, one on front of neck, right side of neck, and left cheek].

Canon Clothing / attire: Dominic is typically seen wearing a zip up navy blue hoodie with a black turtleneck underneath, with a set of dark gray pants, Dock martian boots, black winter gloves and a white mask that is a reflection of his own face. having gritting teeth and tired eyes painted onto it reflecting how much internal pain he is in and how tired he is.

Overall Personality: Dominic is often a very social and kind person, Often putting other people’s needs instead of his own. A good example of this act is when he donned the “Grimace” persona to protect other people from the Entity that stalks him, not wanting other people to get hurt. He’s also very polite and typically very friendly towards other people, Of course his good nature and his ability to trust people easily will be his downfall.

Headcanons [More soon]:

Canon: Grimace tends to pause in between sentences every now and then, The reasoning behind this is from the constant electric torture he was exposed to while in the facility

Non Canon: Grimace has a massive circle & a x symbol burnt into his back from an entity called the “Watchman,” Whenever the entity is within presence of Grimace a horrible burning feeling comes from the burn mark which is so painful it often sends him thriving in pain on the ground

Semi canon: Grimace used to play a guitar which originally belonged to his Father however ever since the facility he rarely touches it. Mostly because he forgot how to play

Canon: Before Dominic's life spiraled down and he was living a normal life, He was extremely hyper fixated on fugis of all sort. Having multiple books about fungi and that have ever been recorded

Lore / origins:

While on his way to a highschool party. Dominic Remisons encounters a strange being known as the Watchman while in the woods, When face to face with the entity it attacks him as he narrowly escapes with his life. After this encounter Dominic’s life seemingly spirals downwards as Dom begins to lose everyone who has ever been close to him thanks to the entity that now stalks him, Slowly but surely using the people around him as food while also spreading it's influence and chaos throughout the small town. Slowly but surely Dominic would begin to isolate himself from the outside world. However Dominic is soon kidnapped by followers of the Watchman and after defending himself from the deluded sheep, When killing most of the cultists when an unknown sense of adrenaline takes over his body Dominic unwillingly becomes a new host of violence for the Watchman. Meaning wherever he goes the entity will forever follow, Feeding on the conflict around Dom like a parasite. Slowly attempting to pick away at his sanity until he becomes and unwilling servant like the rest. Not wanting anyone else to be harmed by this entity Dominic dons a mask persona and attempts scares those who enter the deepest depths of the forest away so the entity can not prey upon them

References:

Canonical clothing:

Info: When dawning his new persona, He figured he rather be warm during the harsh cold nights of the forest instead freezing his ass off. Not to mention he doesn't really know how to design a 'psychopath' for his persona.

Mask reference:

Info: The mask was made to be a grim reflection of Dominic, Being tired scared and hurt..

Face reference:

Info: Dominic is your everyday kinda guy, Having soft features and a roundish facial structure. Having Messy medium lenght hair, noticable moles on his face along with abit of chin stubble and slightly pale skin

Official story:

[rayraygo1267]

A Gabenath Fanfiction: Threads of Warmth

Note: OMG YOU GUYS! I’VE BEEN GONE FOR SO LOOOOONNNGGGG! I’M SO SORRY!

I’ve had a lot of stuff in my personal life going on and I did kinda lose my motivation for a bit but I’m back now. I do not know if I will be posting daily like I used to, but I will still be posting much more frequently. As a way to make it up to all of you I made this little fluffy gabenath one-shot. I hope you all enjoy and again I’m so sorry I’ve been gone for so long. 😭😭😭

Rated: K

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,674

Summary: Nathalie and Gabriel find themselves both awake in the wee hours of the cold, wintry night and decide to take a midnight stroll. Some minor angst and fluff ensues.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The frost on the window was pristine and crisp. A fog trailing along the opaque glass, curling in various designs that reflected out to the sparkling puddles of snow from the outside. 

Nathalie Sancoeur exhaled sharply. It was the first snowfall of the season — the sky was a sea of flying diamonds. She had to bite her lip to prevent a burst of laughter at the small childish desire that coursed through her, the desire to go out and wait for flakes of crystallizing snow to fall on the tip of her tongue and dissolve with a flourish. 

A gust of a windchill met her as she popped the latch of the door. Flurries dashed past, causing her eyes to widen in awe. It wasn’t as if she’d never seen snow before but the first remnants of it never failed to leave her mesmerized. 

She walked on the white powder, her silky slippers crunching in the icy mist. The moon was a balm of white light shimmering down on her, making the small icicles hanging from tree ledges and house fronts sparkle and gleam. 

“I didn’t think you’d be one to go out on midnight strolls,” came a soft intone. Nathalie felt a spritz of shock waver through her system, a poignant gasp leaving her lips. She hadn’t thought anyone else was out, much less at this hour. 

A chuckle reverberated, adjacent to the sound of doming bells. “Sorry I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

Nathalie paused and upturned her gaze, her expression regal despite the quick patter in her chest. “I figured you’d already be retired for the night sir.” 

Gabriel Agreste sighed, running a hand through his hair, pushing back the black beanie that obscured his head. He wore a pair of tight knit leggings that perfectly aligned with the outline of his hips and a maroon colored turtleneck sweater that climbed up his chest. 

Nathalie pursed her lips, a small pink flush rounding her cheeks. He seemed to be dressed quite appropriately for a winter night promenade; unlike her who only adorned a light nightgown, which although kept her covered was still quite flimsy, as it draped over her bodice, flowing lightly in the rashful breeze. In short, not the best choice of clothing for an icy outing on her part. 

“I couldn’t sleep. I tried to work on some designs to clear my mind but…” he paused, his throat working as he sighed once more, a puff of air fogging out into the wind. He trained his eyes on the snow covered path ahead of them as he spoke his next words. 

“My thoughts get too crowded sometimes, especially at night.” 

Nathalie was aware of this. As much as Gabriel tried to hide it, Nathalie could see through the dark circlets under his eyelids and the container of empty coffee pouches, accompanied by  the kitchen sink full of various drained coffee mugs, that Gabriel rarely, if ever, slept. 

Not that she could blame him, she herself didn’t get much sleep either. Perhaps that was something they shared in common, in the wee hours of the night their hearts would race and thrum due to the constant whispers of their anxieties and misfortunes daunting them. 

“I understand that. Sleep is…well…sleep is just difficult,” Nathalie chuckled lightly, brushing a stray wisp of her hair behind her ear.

Gabriel scoffed ruefully, “yes, well it doesn’t get much easier when all you can think about is the smell of rosemary poppy lotion and light feather skin…” 

Nathalie could hear the lonesomeness anguish in his voice as he spoke. She could practically feel it seething in her bones. 

He always got like that when he spoke of his flower — his Emilie. 

Nathalie felt the sprinkle of dots of snow dropping on the tops of her own skin, causing a sparse gooseflesh, as she reached out and placed her hand on Gabriel's padded shoulder in a supportive embrace. She knew there were not many words out there that anyone could say to soothe the heartache of the loss of a loved one. 

She knew enough of her employer to know that the torch he carried for his dear Emilie was one that could not be extinguished, in fact it only seemed to grow more vibrant — a pipe of gasoline dousing the remains of a nearly burnt out candle. 

Nathalie’s gaze roamed down Gabriel’s body, right from where her hand pressed on his shoulder, their mingled breath was meshed between them in moats. 

“I know this is your first winter without her sir. I know…” she blew out a breath, “I can see that you’re hurting.” 

She speaks with tenderness almost as if she were trying to coax a wounded animal out of a den. Though in this case she might be the wounded animal considering that Gabriel was known to always be ready to pounce. 

She waited, her heart a soft tick like a hummingbird's wings. 

To her astonishment, Gabriel’s eyes seemed to soften, though whatever thoughts he had on her statement he had chosen to keep to himself. 

He turned and headed down the gilded footpath in front of them, his eyes lingered on her, seeming to signify that he wanted her to follow and despite her lack of proper dressing for the occasion, she couldn’t stop herself from allowing him to guide her. 

They walked on in silence for a while. Their surroundings were too vacated in darkness to differentiate in which direction they were headed, but Gabriel appeared as if he knew where he was going, so Nathalie did not feel the need to comment. 

Her eyes studied the treks Gabriel’s long fur-lined boots made in the sleet. The firm imprint that his feet made in the ground was an easy compass for Nathalie to follow. At some longer intervals Gabriel would stop and look back over his shoulder to make sure she was still keeping pace with him. Although she would find herself taking lengthened strides to match his own, he never made out to rush her. He would wait for her until she stood only a few short feet away from him, the heat emanating from his body washing over her. 

Mixed in with the brisk air, the sparkling icicles  and the illuminated moonlight, Gabriel stood out — his golden hair a shining beacon in a world of shadows. He was a tall man with a firm build, easily recognizable. He always held himself in a stoic manner, one pertaining to confidence which was partly why Nathalie could always spot him in a crowd. He was hard to miss. 

Eventually they reached a small secluded grove, shrouded by wistful bare willow trees. From the tips of the elongated branches hang glacier spears that glistened and sparkled. Muffin-like puffs stuck out, covered in mounds of glitter that was snow. These puffs enlightened into bushes during springtime, but for now they were starry abstract shapes that swayed and danced on a pond of frost that Nathalie imagined had been gilded on by the ice skates of many neighbor children in the past, perhaps even Adrien as well. 

Despite the desolate beauty of the landscape before them, this meadow of crystals still had a cold bite. The adrenaline and the flush rounding Nathalie’s cheeks had kept her aboard and heated earlier but now here, in a stalemate with this whimsical winter wonderland her eyes couldn’t help but drift to the warm concealed body next to her. 

“Emilie and I shared our first kiss here, right in the center of that circle of ice.” He lifted his finger, pointing out where he and Emilie had stood. Nathalie’s eyes drifted to where his finger lay. She can imagine it. A young and dumb Emilie pulling a head over heels Gabriel onto the ice. Emilie’s hair would be voluminous, dashing around in the breeze, her eyes a plume of periwinkle. Gabriel would follow her lead, hanging on her every move. 

Nathalie could see vividly in her mind the moment their lips touched, warm and passionate despite the fierce chill surrounding them. Nathalie felt a prick of an unpleasant indescribable feeling strike her, a flurry, like a jab of ice. 

A poignant, feverish shiver ran down her spine, filling her from the inside out. Suddenly the adrenaline pumping her didn’t seem so potent, as it felt as though a mask of icy glaze was overcoming her. The corners of her vision were clogged, perhaps with flakes of snow or perhaps tears, she didn’t know. Even out and fully alert, her tiresome thoughts did not cease. 

“Are you cold?” 

Gabriel’s inquiry pulled Nathalie from her musings. She shrugged, a crimson coating her cheeks. 

Gabriel’s brows creased, “you’re shivering.” 

Nathalie chuckled nervously. “Am I?” 

Gabriel smiled softly, the corners of his mouth perching up. He placed a warm gloved hand on her shoulder. Her body stiffened and stilled.

“You’re not even wearing a proper coat!” 

His voice sounded as a drumbeat — exasperated. 

Nathalie felt the crimson dotting her cheeks begin to slither down her body like an unforgiving snake. 

“Well I didn’t think we’d be walking this far!” She argued, with a furious, maddening flush that didn’t seem to want to disappear. Gabriel chuckled softly to himself, causing Nathalie’s blush to only deepen. 

“Here,” his hands moved to his abdomen, “why don’t you take my sweater?” 

Nathalie’s brows raised to her hairline. 

“Sir—“ 

She couldn’t even muster another word, before the maroon velvety sweater was sliding off Gabriel’s body. The heated flush consuming her insides was like a replant to the bitter cold. She imagined her skin was as red and bright as the steaming star of mars. Then it was in a flash of a second. Everything seemed to move at the speed of light and then abruptly slow like a hockey puck sliding on withered ice. 

Underneath his sweater, shining out against the droplets of snow was Gabriel Agreste’s chest, though not completely bare due to his clear white undershirt, the contours and flexes of his chest were clearly, unmistakably visible. 

A puff of air that appeared as smoke escaped Nathalie’s lips in a plume as her mouth fell agape.

“I…” she somehow mustered out, though her throat was croaky as full of rasp from her shock. 

“Here Nathalie. Please, I insist,” his hand was outstretched, his arm as light and pale as the balming moon. His bare, naked arm. Nathalie’s breathing shaked, the warm puffs of it in the air quivering like notes rising up a music staff. 

Her fingers twitched and grappled at the texture of the cotton sweater. Her eyes darted down to it. It was long and slim and smelled of cologne and of newly dried laundry. 

Her gaze traveled back up to the eyes of her superior. His steely bluish gray eyes were misty and soft — kind. Nathalie felt as though she were deflating like a balloon. 

“Are you sure about this sir? I don’t want to be of any trouble…” she gulped, her throat closing for a brief pause. “Won’t you be cold sir? That…” she cleared her throat with a forceful swallow, “that is a very light shirt you are wearing.” 

Her rambling ceased though when she felt a gentle squeeze on her fingers. 

“Please Nathalie.” His tone was fierce and sincere however churned with a slight undertone of sternness. 

And yet with the way his eyes were pleading with her and how his grip on her hand did not loosen in the slightest, she could not bring herself to deny him. 

“Yes sir.” 

She didn’t allow herself to think, as she threw the sweater over her head, permitting it to mold with the shape of her torso. Though she should have because her senses were suddenly overwhelmed by a potpourri of stimulants. The cologne and musky scent of Gabriel’s sweat filled her nose along with the cloud of fuzzy warmth that soothed the goosebumps and trembles racking her body. The fringe of the turtleneck coursed around her neck and the fabric clung to her body, complimenting her curves. 

She felt as though she were wrapped in a warm comforting shield that would hold her up so she wouldn’t be blown away from the winter weather wind. 

Her eyes found Gabriel’s again. He stared at her a moment, his lips parted as if he were about to speak but couldn’t get the words out. 

He eventually closed his mouth, choosing not to comment at all. 

“Thank you sir.” Nathalie murmured, not knowing what else to say for this moment seemed so oddly intimate and yet so oddly fragile — a bubble that could pop at any moment. 

After another pregnant pause Gabriel finally spoke, though his voice was in a hush as if he were trying to whisper a secret. 

“Emilie gave me that…it was the first thing she ever gave me.” His fingers played with the lower  hem of the turtleneck, turning Nathalie’s heartbeat from soft pitter-patters to blazing gunshots. 

A sound of surprise and awe left her throat. Suddenly it felt a lot harder to accept this gesture. Gabriel didn’t seem to notice her unease. 

“I had stopped wearing it,” he admitted with a withered, grief stricken sigh. “In fact, I couldn’t  even bear to look at it…it hurt too much.” 

A gust of air left his lungs, a confession finally free from his conscience. 

Nathalie nodded in understanding, her gaze never leaving his. As he spoke she didn’t comment on how she could feel him guiding her forward. She didn’t comment as her feet turned to crystals when they met the ice. She didn’t comment as she felt herself sliding forward into a moonlit abyss. 

Suddenly they were standing in the center of the frozen over pond. 

Right where Gabriel and Emilie had once stood, hand to hand, mouth to mouth. 

Gabriel’s hushed voice returned, the only sound reaching Nathalie’s ears. 

“And then I think to myself…perhaps this sweater that holds so many memories and so much happiness and heartache deserves a new beginning. I am a man of my roots, a fashion designer at heart and I think…” he exhaled slowly, a plume of smoke arising from his mouth. “I think this sweater, fueled with the stitches and threads of Emilie and my love, deserves a new home.” 

Nathalie’s eyes widened, her glasses fogging with her breath and the watery glaze covering her irises. Her heart rate doubled when she fully managed to comprehend his words. 

“You want me to keep it sir?” She murmured, overwhelmed, confused and slightly unsure. 

Gabriel did not hesitate with even a breath on his response. He lowered his head, looking down upon her. His hand found its way around the side of her moisture covered and frost coated cheek.  His hand was warm yet cool at the same time — cold with a warm interior, just like Gabriel Agreste himself. 

He pushed back an errant strand of the scarlet streak in her hair, curling it back behind her ear. 

“Yes…” he breathed, his puffs of breath mingling with her own. 

Could this really be happening? Were they really this close, mere inches apart? 

The warmth of Gabriel’s hand and the comfort of his sweater took everything surrounding them away. Was this how Gabriel and Emilie felt when they were here at this pond? Nathalie pondered. Like they were at the center of this rink and even if they were to fall through and sink to the bottom it wouldn’t matter because they were all that mattered? 

Did that even make sense? 

Did any of this make sense? 

Nathalie decided that didn’t matter. All that mattered was this, her and Gabriel were at the center of this pond, breaths away from each other, surrounded by diamond filled weeping willows. 

It didn’t matter if Gabriel walked off now, even though Nathalie knew he wouldn’t. 

It didn’t matter because she knew his gift — this sweater — concealed with so much history of love and loss would keep her warm. 

Gabriel’s threads of warmth would keep her warm always.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading! Please don't hesitate to tell me what you think, I love feedback. Also if y'all have any fanfic requests let me know and I'll get to them as soon as I can! Again I want to apologize for my absence and I hope this little fic will be a good way to make up for it.

[quiiettreason]

𖤓 𝓓awn & 𝓓evastation

━━━  part 001. exile

summary — Nikolai Lantsov is saved from drowning and saves his savior from a hungry kelpie.

word count: 1.8k words

warnings — fem!oc ( i know, i’m sorry), death and descriptions of how people died, discussion of su*cide, some (soft) horror elements, blood/gore, book-canon typical violence, night terrors, mentions of cruelty toward women and faeries, discussion and descriptions of war, trauma so much trauma, and the stages of grief. some pre-canon (book and show), but ends in season two.

good shit — kinda enemies to lovers, fae lore (and lore about Ravka that I made up), black cat gf/golden retriever bf, sword fighting!!, hurt/comfort, maybe smut.

anna’s annotations — there is a prequel to this fic. it's on wattpad, but i'm kinda getting sick of it there. it is linked in the masterlist.

Eulalie wondered if this was how her mother felt when she fled Ravka after the assassinations. Freedom. Anger. Depression. Guilt. 

Eulalie earned her first scars from ripping herself from the enslaved sirens in the fairy caves. Their too-sharp nails had dug into her skin and tore at her unblemished skin. She’d swam for her life through tight tunnels leading out to the sea between the Wandering Isle and Novyi Zem where frigid cold waters met pleasant warm ones. After days of kicking to shore, using a piece of driftwood to help her head above water, Eulalie crawled onto the sandy beach of a Zemini port town called Weddle. 

Exhausted, Eulalie had flopped her arm over her eyes, trying to catch her breath. Well, until a Zemini man started shouting at her in his native language of which Eulalie didn’t know any of. This was definitely how her mother felt. Alone in a foreign country where she didn’t know the language, the customs, or the laws. The only difference was Eulalie was surrounded by humans—some who could be Grisha, or zowa, as the Zemini called them. Blessed. 

The blessed people were the reason faeries fled Ravka to neighboring countries or even crossed oceans to avoid dying terrible deaths. Eulalie’s mother had warned them about venturing outside the Isle, and now Eulalie was paying the price. Maybe, just maybe, her mother had been right. 

But now, there was no going back. 

Eulalie tried not to think about Cecily. It hurt too much to relive her younger sister’s screams as she was pulled down to the bottom of the caves.

The Zemini man neared her, so Eulalie did the only thing she could think of—run. She didn’t know how far away from Weddle when she finally stopped. Eulalie was breathless, hungry, thirsty, and tired. She dragged herself into another port town miles away from Weddle, away from the Wandering Isle. Maybe whatever uncomfortable bed Eulalie crawled into caused the nightmares, but it didn’t seem to matter. She couldn’t escape it. He haunted her hellish dreamscape like a phantom. Not Killian. If only he did. 

Kaz Brekker. 

Even though it was her fault, Eulalie hoped that he could hear her sisters’ screams. Kaz was probably incapable of feeling guilty for what he did, but Eulalie still wanted it to hurt him as much as it did to her. Maybe he did. Eulalie couldn’t shake away the fleeting feeling of relief when she’d seen Kaz during the fire. He would have helped her rescue Pollyanna and killed Dara for her, wouldn’t he?

Was it all a lie?

Kaz had let her run back into her burning home to get Polly, and Eulalie had been the one to kill Dara. Eulalie had heard whisperings that there wasn’t a sin Kaz Brekker wouldn’t commit if the price was right. She supposed the price was her reputation and the sin was false hope that not all humans were vile creatures. Eulalie couldn’t even be angry at him—she had been the one to bring him to Hiraeth, and conning was Kaz’s specialty. Still, she wanted to scream at him and beat him until he was nothing more than a mural of blues, blacks, and purples. 

Instead, Eulalie spent the remainder of the winter and entire spring working in a library where she spent her days shelving books, organizing maps, and lying low. The two ladies she worked with befriended her—now, since Rhiannon died, Eulalie had someone to share her love for poetry with. What’s more, they didn’t seem to care that she was fae. But it all felt too good to be true, so she took on her sister’s name. 

“Just Maeve,” she’d tell people who asked. 

Summer thunderstorms were relentless in Novyi Zem. Eulalie's soaked hair clung to the skin on her face and dripped down her back as she hurried through the port town's harbor. Shriftport was bustling with varieties of people, but if they had one thing in common among their differences, everyone was human. It seemed that Eulalie kept learning the most roughly in the last eight months that no one could be trusted, especially not in a town scattered with Ravkan refugees. Thunder cracked above the rooftops, followed by a bright flash of lightning. Eulalie flinched from the sound, nearly dropping the crate of ruined parchment. She needed to find somewhere dry to put the crate and get out of the storm that chilled her to the bone. Eulalie looked out over the harbor. Swells of seawater were barreling toward two ships just off the shore. Pirates. It was one thing to raid another ship so close to shore; it was another so close to a well-established harbor. Eulalie fidgeted with her gilded anchor necklace she’d stolen from Rhiannon’s jewelry box before she disappeared forever. It was the only thing she had from home. An emblem that was probably cursed or haunted, but then again, Eulalie was already both of those things. At some point, Eulalie must have put down the crate because suddenly, she was empty-handed and heading towards the piers and the angry ocean that dangerously bobbed the docked dinghies and ships. She wasn’t alone. Others amassed on the boardwalk to watch the raid. Free entertainment, but Eulalie was genuinely concerned, and for good reason. Eulalie watched one of the ships tip to one side, and a person either fell into the watery depths or maybe was thrown. She heard some gasps from behind her, and she sprung off the creaking pier, diving head-first into the turbulent sea. Eulalie ducked under the swells, trying not to drink in the briny water. Her eyes and nostrils stung as she finally approached the ships. Eulalie gasped and searched the depths around where she’d sworn someone had fallen. She ducked under the water and found him unconscious under the surface. Eulalie dove down to the man, hooked her arms under his, and kicked for both their lives to the surface. 

It was a struggle to keep both their heads above the uneven surges that crashed into them and tried to pull Eulalie under. She took in mouthfuls of ocean water, burning her throat worse than the Kaelish whiskey at the Mumming Ball. Eulalie adjusted her grip on the man, his tacky clothes weighing them both down as the push of an undercurrent led them away from Shriftport to a rocky shore. She tried to listen for a sign of life. He wasn’t breathing, but his pulse was trying to compensate for the lack of oxygen. Eulalie hoisted herself higher and tilted his head back enough for her to open his airway. She’d learned from Mr. Lynch how to recusitate someone in the water after Saoirse almost drowned the summer after Maeve went missing.

Eulalie was grateful they were nearing the rocky beach—performing mouth-to-mouth was much easier on solid ground. She took a breath and crashed her mouth against the man’s, forcing air into his lungs. Then, she pulled back, catching her breath before repeating the action until they reached shore. Eulalie used all her strength to drag the man onto the beach but only halfway, saving the rest of her energy for reviving this bastard. She knelt beside him and hovered her hands over his chest, chewing the inside of her lip as she thought of how this would work. 

Just imagine the water flowing out of his body, her mother’s voice rang in her head. 

It sounded easier than it was. Carefully, Eulalie felt the water gurgling in the man’s lungs and moved the flow out through his throat. Then, urgently, she rolled the man onto his side so he wouldn’t choke on the fluids she was trying to expel from his lungs. The man sputtered and vomited the seawater onto the sand beside him. Relieved and a little satisfied with her work, Eulalie sat back on her heels, taking in the moment of peace. 

Which, like all things good, was fleeting. 

Something in the water stirred, and Eulalie felt the air chill, sending prickles over her damp skin. She didn’t want to look as if she already knew, but it couldn’t be. Right? Still, Eulalie dared to rake her gaze over to the creature standing in the shallow waves. A gray horse with sunken black eyes covered in dark green kelp stared Eulalie down like it knew what she was. But it seemed more interested in the human boy she had rescued. 

Kelpie.

Rumored to only inhabit lakes and rivers. Eulalie had been told that she was safe from them as they never came near saltwater or other fae, much less higher fae. She knew she could not just stay frozen on the sand like a coward. No, Eulalie could beat the kelpie. She was sure of it. 

Slowly, Eulalie rose to her feet, but the man on the sand stirred awake. He grumbled something in what she presumed was Ravkan. Eulalie’s heart thumped louder now. She dug her wet boot into the handsome man’s chest. 

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t feed you to that kelpie, Ravka,” Eulalie said to the man in modern Kaelish, hoping he understood. 

He did and wheezed. “Kelpie?”

The kelpie stamped its hooves into the water, splashing Eulalie and the Ravkan man. It neared them and snorted as if challenging Eulalie to choose an enemy. Whose side are you on?

She looked down at the man—he was a boy, really. He couldn’t have been older than early twenties, and probably not older than Eulalie. She reluctantly took her foot off the boy’s chest and faced the kelpie. 

“Saints, that really is a kelpie,” the boy rasped weakly as he tried to prop himself on his elbows. 

In an instant, the kelpie lunged at Eulalie, and she did the only thing she could think of, which was use the ocean to defend her and the Ravkan boy. Once he realized what was happening, he scrambled further onto the shore. It was at that moment that Eulalie felt like a total idiot, trying to fight off a particularly hungry kelpie by herself. Her spine cracked into a large black rock covered in barnacles. Eulalie’s eyes widened, and her arm came up to cover her face. 

The kelpie’s jaws unhinged, revealing a set of sharp, jagged teeth that sunk into her skin. Crimson beads oozed from the punctures and rolled down her arm. Eulalie tore her arm away, but that only made it worse. Instead of a regular bite mark, there were deep lacerations. 

The kelpie lunged again, grabbing hold of the same arm and dragging Eulalie into the watery deep. Her head plunged under the surface. This was it. The brutal death Eulalie always knew she would have. The kelpie bit into her stomach, then her legs. She couldn’t tell what the kelpie’s strategy was. Maybe it was to make her bleed out. Eulalie thrashed in the water, the salt stinging her already excruciating wounds. The pain was clouding her mind and couldn’t stop her from gulping down more seawater until she passed out from blood loss.

[sonofsaviors]

𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄  𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐒  𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

italicize what your muse likes. bold what they love. strike what they hate. (Regular font he is indifferent)

Just a note, Logan loves food and is not picky. Ye have been warned. I also kinda headcanon that Negan is (at the very least part Italian) and he and Lucille enjoyed cooking together. Of course Logan became a foodie on principle.

Taste :

Sweet | Salty | Bitter | Umami | Sour | Chocolate | Bacon | Vegetables | Fruit | Berries | Carrots | Cake | Cookies | Pretzels | Pasta | Tomatoes | Applesauce | Sauerkraut | Pickles | Olives | Potatoes | Ice Cream | Pineapple | Pineapple on pizza | Fish | Beef | Garlic | Spinach | Mushrooms | Cheese | Milk | Juice | Marmite | Beetroot | Anchovies | Gefilte | Fish | Peppers | Wholewheat bread | Marshmallows | Mango | Broccoli | Peanut butter | Nutella | Mint and chocolate | Cashew nuts | Tofu | Brussels sprouts | Grape flavor

Touch :

Soft | Rough | Smooth | Sticky | Slimy | Hot | Cold | Damp | Wet | Clammy | Coarse | Fur | Velvet | Silk | Lace | Hot metal | Cold metal | Paper | Plastic | Bubble wrap | Wool | Wood | Tree bark | Hot asphalt | Leaves | Wicker | Sand (it's coarse and rough and irritating)| Rocks | Rough rocks | Smooth rocks | Hair | Skin | Tight hugs | Gentle hugs | Lip kisses | Skin kisses | Holding hands | Rough touches | Gentle touches | Scratches | Bites | Sunlight | Light sheets | Thick blankets | Baggy clothes

Scent :

Flowers | Sea water | Chocolate | Fish | Cooking onions | Cleaning products | Citrus | Lemons | Grapefruit | Oranges | Rain | Freshly cut grass | Wet dirt | Wood | Cologne | Perfume | Fire | Smoke | Gasoline | Tires | Paint | Chlorine | Pools | Fresh bread | Cooking bacon | New books | Coffee | Linen | Vanilla | Cinnamon | New car | Sunscreen | Nail polish | Mint | Cigarette smoke | Leather

Sound :

Loud sounds | High pitched sounds | Low pitched sounds | Quiet sounds | Loud voices | Soft voices | High voices | Deep voices | Morning voice | Snoring | Rain on windows | Fire crackle | Crickets | Frogs | Typing on a keyboard | Horse hooves on gravel | High heels | Laughter | Deep laughter | Giggling | Purring | Dog bark | Howling | Car engine | Distant chatter | Bird chirps | Classical music | Pop music | Folk music | Rock music | Country music | Klezmer music | Violin | Piano | Frying food | Nails tapping

Sight :

Red | Orange | Yellow | Green | Blue | Purple | Pink | Black | White | Silver | Gold | Shiny | Dull | Shapes | Orange lighting | Natural lighting | Seaside scenery | Forest scenery | Field scenery | Patterns | Clear skies | Cloudy skies | Night time | Day time | Sunrise | Sunset | Stained glass windows | Old buildings | Stone buildings | Wood cabins | Spring | Summer | Fall | Winter | Brick buildings | Moss | Flowers | Gardens | Hedge mazes | Corn mazes | Lakes | Rivers

Tagged by; @w1dowed (thanks! this was really fun!)

Tagging: Whoever, I don't wanna bother anyone.

[snkts]

⸺ FIVE SENSES HEADCANONS italicize what your muse likes. bold what they love. strike what they hate.

TASTE.

Sweet | Salty | Bitter | Umami | Sour | Chocolate | Bacon | Vegetables | Fruit | Berries | Carrots | Cake | Cookies | Pretzels | Pasta | Tomatoes | Applesauce | Sauerkraut | Pickles | Olives | Potatoes | Ice Cream | Pineapple | Pineapple on pizza | Fish | Beef | Garlic | Spinach | Mushrooms | Cheese | Milk | Juice | Marmite | Beetroot | Anchovies | Gefilte Fish | Peppers | Wholewheat bread | Marshmallows | Mango | Broccoli | Peanut butter | Nutella | Mint and chocolate | Cashew nuts | Tofu | Brussels sprouts | Grape flavor

TOUCH.

Soft | Rough | Smooth | Sticky | Slimy | Hot | Cold | Damp | Wet | Clammy | Coarse | Fur | Velvet | Silk | Lace | Hot metal | Cold metal | Paper | Plastic | Bubble wrap | Wool | Wood | Tree bark | Hot asphalt | Leaves | Wicker | Sand | Rocks | Rough rocks | Smooth rocks | Hair | Skin | Tight hugs | Gentle hugs | Lip kisses | Skin kisses | Holding hands | Rough touches | Gentle touches | Scratches | Bites | Sunlight | Light sheets | Thick blankets | Baggy clothes

SCENT.

Flowers | Sea water | Chocolate | Fish | Cooking onions | Cleaning products | Citrus | Lemons | Grapefruit | Oranges | Rain | Freshly cut grass | Wet dirt | Wood | Cologne | Perfume | Fire | Smoke | Gasoline | Tires | Paint | Chlorine | Pools | Fresh bread | Cooking bacon | New books | Coffee | Linen | Vanilla | Cinnamon | New car | Sunscreen | Nail polish | Mint | Cigarette smoke | Leather

SOUND.

Loud sounds | High pitched sounds | Low pitched sounds | Quiet sounds | Loud voices | Soft voices | High voices | Deep voices | Morning voice | Snoring | Rain on windows | Fire crackle | Crickets | Frogs | Typing on a keyboard | Horse hooves on gravel | High heels | Laughter | Deep laughter | Giggling | Purring | Dog bark | Howling | Car engine | Distant chatter | Bird chirps | Classical music | Pop music | Folk music | Rock music | Country music | Klezmer music | Violin | Piano | Frying food | Nails tapping

SIGHT.

Red | Orange | Yellow | Green | Blue | Purple | Pink | Black | White | Silver | Gold | Shiny | Dull | Shapes | Orange lighting | Natural lighting | Seaside scenery | Forest scenery | Field scenery | Patterns | Clear skies | Cloudy skies | Night time | Day time | Sunrise | Sunset | Stained glass windows | Old buildings | Stone buildings | Wood cabins | Spring | Summer | Fall | Winter | Brick buildings | Moss | Flowers | Gardens | Hedge mazes | Corn mazes | Lakes | Rivers

TAGGED BY. @sleighted (kinda).TAGGING. you with the face

[intrepidacious]

last updated: October 20th, 2024

a semi regular sunday event where i write a seven sentence drabble based on your prompt.

request guidelines | main masterlist | navigation | read on ao3

currently requests are: open ↳ in progress / in inbox: (0/3)

KEY: ♡ personal favourite | ✧ new additions

all fics are x reader unless indicated otherwise

☆ andy barber [defending jacob]

intertwined ↳ divorced!andy ; fluff

☆ bucky barnes [mcu]

masterlist

☆ chris beck [the martian]

whiteboard ↳ fluff ; pregnancy

☆ curtis everett [snowpiercer]

thawing ♡ ↳ sharing a blanket ; kinda hurt/comfort

the price of freedom ↳ angst ; canonical character death

small treats ↳ innkeeper!curtis ; fantasy au

let's hide from the world ✧ ↳ modern au ; established relationship ; just soft

☆ eddie munson [stranger things]

saving throws ↳ hurt/comfort

☆ frank adler [gifted]

not another stray ↳ meet cute with a dog

nostalgia ↳ frank and getting older

☆ jake jensen [the losers]

just in time ↳ blind dates

at long last ↳ first kiss ; implied steaminess

☆ james norrington [pirates of the caribbean]

all the stars above ♡ ↳ fluff ; stargazing and pining

illicit behaviours ↳ making out ; heavily implied smut

tempest ↳ james being a simp

☆ johnny storm [fantastic four]

stars ↳ planetarium dates

gifted ↳ johnny being touch-starved ; hurt/comfort

☆ ransom drysdale [knives out]

a little help ↳ sick!ransom

empty spaces ↳ hurt/comfort ; soft!ransom cuddles

cold as ice ↳ ransom being a cold little shit ; implied smut

this time ↳ fwb with feels ; implied smut

come what may ↳ beauty and the beast au ; pining

no fairy tale ↳ angst ; ransom feeling unloveable

by the sea ↳ sweeney todd!au (sort of) ; dark if you squint

☆ sam wilson [mcu]

driving ↳ established relationship ; late night drives

first rain ↳ sam's wings are a perfect umbrella

priorities ↳ louisiana holiday traditions

little accidents ↳ pancake disasters

☆ steve harrington [stranger things]

black and blue ↳ steve's bruised up and pining

drifting away ↳ break-up angst ; leaving town

dreaming ↳ steve's nightmares ; hurt/comfort

sunday morning ♡ ↳ established relationship fluff

wreck my plans ↳ childhood friends to lovers ; holding hands

like magnets ↳ enemies to lovers ; sharing a bed

thunderstorms and lightning ↳ estranged childhood friends to lovers

☆ steve rogers [mcu]

masterlist ✧

☆ stucky [mcu]

the three of us ↳ established bucky/reader ; everyone's in love with steve

call your boyfriends ↳ fake dating

a sunday kind of love ↳ no reader ; 40s stucky

what the heart knows ↳ no reader ; winter soldier angst

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

A disturbed slumber

A little short story about the lives of Lance and my OC Farmer Julian, because I'm craving fluff 💕

_________________________________________

"Morning, sleepyhead, wake uuuup."

"Mmmm... Five more minutes..."

Julian sighed softly and kept looking at Lance: no matter how much he tried to pretend he was pouting, the sight of his beautiful, sleepy husband made his eyes soften and his heart melt.

Young farmer turned to the nightstand beside the bed: the dial showed seven in the morning. It didn't look like morning from the window, though, for winter days were short, and now it was the middle of the cold season.

The whole farm was covered with a white, fluffy blanket, the snowdrifts reaching down to his knees, no less. Julian got up from the warm bed, which beckoned to stay warm longer, and decided to open the window, letting the frozen fresh air into the room. Brrr! Even though it was cold, the freshness of the morning was always invigorating. Lance, who was still in bed, didn't appreciate the breeze, and, muttering something, wrapped himself more tightly in the blanket. Julian burst out laughing.

"You sure are spoiled", Julian said softly, quietly, with a smile on his face.

Life on Gildergreen Farm, as in the whole of the Stardew Valley, has come to a standstill. Plots of fertile land were covered with snow; chickens, cows, goats, and other animals slept in warm barns and coops, well-fed, well-groomed, and happy, so that there was no need to worry about them in the morning. The pumpkin growing in the greenhouse for the upcoming Winter Star (because what's a holiday without pumpkin pie!) was still ripening and didn't need urgent attention either.

Even their dog Orion, a faithful four-legged friend and comrade, also lay near the warm radiator, seeing dog dreams about treats and steak. Next to him, snoring softly was the black cat Julian and Lance had named Midnight. A homeless creature that they found (well, "found"- a fluffy black fur ball came to them on the threshold of the house and meowed until they took it under their roof).

Everything was in deep sleep, and only the young farmer had gotten up at such an early hour out of habit, what an outrage! He even tries to make his favorite person wake up - a real crime, no other way! He kinda wanted so much to get into a warm and comfortable bed again, to embrace his adored husband, to feel the warmth of his beloved man.

But instead, Julian, because of his playfulness, decided to do some teasing.

He came back to the bed, sat on the edge where Lance was sleeping, slowly pulled the blanket off him, and leaned closer to kiss his neck, his cheek, his ear. Lance muffled mooing at the touch of warm lips on his sensitive skin, fidgeting with the sheet, drowsiness making him unable to realize whether he was pulling away from the kisses or exposing his neck to make Julian more comfortable.

"Hmnng... Julian..."

"Time to get up, my dear. The nobles sleep until noon, but true warriors and adventurers wake at first light", Julian, without remorse and with a cheeky grin, continued to leave wet paths on his half-asleep husband's skin.

Eventually, even Lance's patience came to an end, and when he finally opened his eyes, he grabbed Julian's arm, and with one tug, fell the young man over himself onto the bed. Julian realized with a gasp of surprise that in an instant he was already lying with his back on the soft mattress, his hands intercepted by one of Lance's arms. Lance sat down on his hips and looked up at Julian with a slightly angry look. Julian couldn't help but notice how adorably disheveled Lance's hair was, a little crumpled and uncombed.

In seconds, the sullen expression of a man whose sleep had been shamelessly disturbed was replaced by a sly smile that young farmer didn't like. With his free hand, the pink-haired adventurer pulled up Julian's night shirt and touched his belly, causing Julian to jump and yelp.

The realization came too late.

"Oh, no no no... Lance, no, don't-"

Quickly running his fingers over and over, Lance tickled the most sensitive place on Julian's body, listening with delight as his husband shrieked and laughed, trying to free himself from his grip.

Orion was also awake from the noises and was watching them with interest, tail wagging. Midnight, having noticed the source of the noise, looked on indifferently, yawned and went back to sleep.

Julian kicked and jerked his legs helplessly, unable to throw his tormentor husband off his hips.

"Lance, please! Hahaha! Mercy! Mercy!"

Julian pleaded, still giggling and laughing, and Lance stopped only when he saw tears welling up in his husband's multicolored eyes.

"You're awful", Julian said dramatically, trying to catch his breath.

"Says the man who woke me up this early", Lance watched victoriously how Julian's chest rise and fall. He then gently cupped Julian's chin and kissed him on the lips.

"Stay in bed with me a little longer, my love. It's not often we get a chance to snuggle in bed like that"

Julian wanted to pout some more, but Lance's raised hands in a threat to tickle made Julian realize his fight was lost.

"Fine", feigning displeasure, Julian opened his arms wider, sinking into Lance's arms and feeling him cover both of them with a fluffy blanket. Before he knew it, he was fast asleep.

Everything fell back into deep slumber again.

[aimmyarrowshigh]

Hi! That is an impressive and intriguing list of WIPs! Can I ask for more details about Five People Wanda Slept With And One She? Hope you're having an amazing day!

Thanks, friend!

I would really like to finish this one eventually, but smut takes me SO long to write, so I really shot myself in the foot by choosing to write a 5+1 smut fic, haha. I was inspired by WandaVision for it, particularly "Previously On," and Wanda's method of dealing with trauma/grief being avoidance and pretending to be happy. Also, Elizabeth Olsen pretty and so many Marvel people hot.

(It's also kind of a "fuck you, purity culture" fic inspired by the ye olde days of LiveJournal fandom, where people wrote a lot more "wait, are those siblings fucking each other?" fic than they do now, because, like, Wanda/Pietro.)

But it starts the night after AOU ends with Wanda/Steve, and then has Wanda/Winter Soldier, Wanda/Natasha, Wanda/Vision, and then after Endgame and before Westview, Wanda/Bucky. And the +1 "And One She -- " that's unclear whether it actually ever happened is, obviously, Pietro, and the reader can draw their own conclusions.

Snippet! (TW for grief/mourning, sibling death, Hydra ideology, and mentions of unwanted sterilization.)

“America needs its captain,” Wanda says. “Sokovia is gone. It is my fault, I think. There is nothing left that needs Wanda Maximoff.”

“Hey.” Captain Rogers puts his big hands over Wanda’s where she’s picking at the bedspread. Loose threads already, and it’s brand new. “The Avengers need Wanda Maximoff, okay? I need her. Clint needs her. The Vision needs her. Natasha. Bruce. Even Tony needs you, Wanda. I know—I don’t expect you to agree or to get it or to accept it from all of us, but I’m a good judge of character, Wanda, and you’re gonna be a helluva something.” He lifts one hand and gently tucks a lock of hair behind Wanda’s ear. “All I can do is throw a big metal discus around and punch people. You can change their minds. That’s pretty special.”

“I am sorry, again,” Wanda whispers. Captain Rogers still has one hand over hers, and his skin is warm. He radiates heat, and Wanda is so used to being cold. “I hope the nightmares do not plague you too long. I… I have no excuses. Only Hydra’s justifications.”

“Hey.” Steve squeezes her hand. “You didn’t give me a tenth of the nightmares I usually see. I mean, don’t do it again, but it’s okay, Wanda. You’re forgiven.”

Wanda squeezes Steve’s hand back, and she doesn’t let go. She keeps her hand tucked around his for long, silent minutes, until finally Steve turns his hand so that she can lace her fingers between his. It’s a show of trust: Wanda spins her magic with these hands, and Steve is willingly allowing her to stroke her thumb along the length of his index finger in slow, sweeping passes. They hold hands so long that Steve’s palm starts to get a little sweaty against Wanda’s, and he says—

“Wanda…”

Wanda presses her lips together. “Please.” She squeezes his hand again. “I do not want to be alone.”

Steve extricates his hand from her grip, but only moves far enough away to tuck the stubborn lock of her dark hair behind her ear again. Wanda knows that she isn’t beautiful—she’s too thin, a thinness that spells a life of pain and hardship and denial, and her eyes stand out from her face like lamplights in a dark mine. But her hair is clean, and her eyes are dry now even if they are still rimmed in red beneath the layers of half-gone black kohl, and Steve is only a man.

“Kinda tired of being alone, myself,” Steve admits, very quietly, with a look on his face like he didn’t quite mean to say anything at all. His fingertips touch the soft skin behind Wanda’s ear.

“Then do not be alone, just for tonight.” Wanda slides her hand up the length of his thigh, denim rough under her palm. His muscle has hardly any soft humanness. It isn’t what Wanda is used to feeling, but that’s good. She doesn’t want what she knows. If she has that, she will cry and never stop. “Please, I cannot—I can’t--”

Steve presses his mouth against hers. It isn’t a kiss, really. But it is what Wanda wants.

“If Pepper stocked your room like mine, then you have, uh—” Steve goes red. “Thins. Condoms. In the, uh, in the bedside table.”

Wanda nods and doesn’t say that Hydra sterilized her years ago. Undesirable. “Okay.”

[atlaese]

into the abyss - b.w.

summary: Bruce should've known that nothing in Gotham City ever is smooth sailing. But when the one person in his life who means most to him gets kidnapped, he feels the darkness descending on him. pairing: fem!reader x bruce wayne (pattinson) tw: kidnapping, canon violence, injuries, blood, established relationship, kinda grumpy x sunshine, mentions of guns, fluff, happy ending (let me know if i missed anything!) words: 4.8K a/n: hi hello! of course i had to write about another emotionally damaged man, what did you think?! i hope i got the characterization right, i've only seen the movie once so let me know! hope you enjoy this piece, because i loved writing it! smalltown boy by bronski beat was on repeat when I wrote this. make of this what you want xo.

p.s. i now have a library blog! follow @aeristhotle to get notified when i update!

reblogs and feedback are appreciated ✨💗

bruce wayne masterlist | all masterlists

Gotham city had always been a dark place. During winters, it was cold and icy. Snow would heap in the streets and the sounds of the city would be muffled, though there was always an eerie quietness that left any tourist just a little unsettled. Even some of the natives of Gotham weren’t quite used yet to how the city always felt on edge, ready for a violent event to happen.

Even during spring, when the world would come out of its hibernation, Gotham remained engulfed in the darkness. It was a combination of the stormy clouds, the relentless rain and the cold gusts of air that made many scarfs disappear in the sky.

That day was no different.

However, when Bruce’s arms snuck around your waist under the warm weight of the comforter, Gotham city couldn’t feel more like paradise.

The clock read 5:13 A.M., and Bruce was a little bit earlier than you were used to. You didn’t mind the extra hour of warm body-heat that wrapped around you as he pressed his face against the back of your neck and breathed in your scent. It was a reminder to him that, even when the city was at its worst, you’d still be there in all your glory and softness - a perfect contradiction.

Bruce pressed a soft kiss against the supple skin of your neck and tightened his hold on your waist as the slumber pulled him into another world filled with darkness.

The hour of silent comfort you had with Bruce quickly passed.

At 6:15 A.M., you softly turned in his embrace and pressed a kiss against his temple. There was still a bit of dark eyeshadow left-over, forgotten in the hurry to pull off the suit and join you in his bed.

You softly rubbed the black away under his eyes, your thumb ever so gently passing over the delicate skin as Bruce inhaled deeply.

“You forgot a bit, mister,” you softly whispered as his eyes remained closed. His thumb rubbing circles over the exposed flesh of your hip revealed that he was awake.

“I’m gonna get some coffee from Roberto’s,” you whispered again, trying to peel away from his embrace that had you locked in place. Morning always came too soon for Bruce, no matter how he tried to shy away from the light.

“Why do you insist on getting coffee from Roberto’s when Alfred makes a perfectly fine cup?” He muttered, his voice still a bit hoarse from running through the cold all night long.

“Because,” you grinned, pressing a kiss against his bicep and finally untangling yourself. “It’s only a block away and I’ve been going there since I was 15.”

“Hnng,” he groaned, burying his face in the pillows. His eyes were so well-adjusted to the dark that the first rays of the sun, however faint they were, felt like stings and made his head throb. “Come back soon, I’ve barely seen you this week.”

You pulled on a dark jumper of his and laced your boots, ready to defy the rain that was pounding down on Gotham city.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” you bent down to press another kiss to his temple. You would never stop showering the man in physical affection, for as long as your heart beat in your chest.

You pulled on a long trench-coat over your jumper and closed the door to the bedroom behind you.

Bruce was back to snoring again, already lost in a slumber and blissfully unaware of the upcoming events.

When Bruce awoke again, it was a little past 8 A.M. For some reason, his dreams had been filled with scenarios of your death. He often had nightmares where he relived the night his parents got murdered or scenarios where he himself was the target of some sort of violent crime. But those all paled next to the horrors of your passing, an event he wished to never experience.

Bruce had grown immensely attached to you over the past 15 years.

You were like a warm blanket that wrapped around him when he needed it most. A warm blanket that drove away the cold that had settled in his bones ever since his parents passed. The moment that made him the sole survivor of a horrible crime gone wrong.

The warmness of your personality made him feel again. It made him susceptible again to caring what happened. You might be the only reason why he returned to being Bruce again, when being his dark alter ego seemed like the only solution to battle his demons.

So why didn’t he feel your warm presence in his embrace again? Where was your scent that usually calmed him down after another nightmare? Where were you?

Bruce shot up from his bed.

His heart was battering in his chest. You could’ve been held up in Roberto’s. People are so drawn to you, it often happens that you are stopped in the street and asked for something.

It’s because you’re a household name in the city, known for your father’s media-empire and for the philanthropy department you ran. People seemed to know where you were at any given moment, so much so that they bothered you all the time. Well, it bothered Bruce. He knew you liked looking over all the proposals and helping out people wherever you could. It was yet again a testament to how different you two were.

Bruce pushed his sunglasses on his nose and sauntered over to the living room where Alfred was doing some paperwork. He knew he shouldn’t have been worried, yet he couldn’t think of anything else, especially after that horrific nightmare.

“Where’s the miss?” Alfred asked, taking a sip of his coffee as he looked down at the paperwork again. Apparently he wasn’t worried either.

“She went out to Roberto’s a few hours ago,” Bruce muttered, still an edge of unease in his tone. “Did she leave a note or say something to the maid?”

Alfred shook his head, “can’t blame the woman for not leaving a note, she’s been going for years.”

“She’ll turn up, don’t worry, sir,” Alfred added as he spotted the pained look on Bruce’s face. He slid a cup of coffee Bruce’s way and continued his reading.

After a few minutes of enduring the silence, the doorbell rang in the distance.

“There she is,” Alfred said, a hint of a smile hidden in his voice as he turned the page. Alfred was happy there was another person in his life that cared as much about Bruce as he did. Bruce needed all the love in the world he could get, and he was glad you were able to provide that. The fact that Bruce was so anxious to see you again, was like music to Alfred’s ears.

But then the maid entered the living room, her eyes wide-open and her hands wringing in one another.

A second pair of steps quickly followed the maid’s and that’s when Bruce realized it weren’t your boots that were stomping down on the floor, but a standard issue of the Gotham city police department.

Bruce had been watching the news all morning.

His adrenaline was peaking, just like when he was out at night trying to stop criminals.

But he couldn’t go out just yet.

His dark alter ego only left when the night was at its peak darkness, when the last rays of sun had left the city and were replaced by the cold glare of the moon.

“Breaking news: the heiress to the Quantico-media empire was kidnapped in broad daylight this morning. Bruce Wayne’s partner was last seen this morning as she left Roberto’s. Our sources confirm that the heiress has been frequenting the coffee shop weekly since her teenage years. Afterwards, she was captured around 7:05 A.M. and pulled into a blacked-out van. Right now, police are doing everything they can do bring the woman back to safety. Police asks witnesses to come forward with any information they might have -“

He couldn’t listen to the woman anymore. Bruce didn’t feel like himself anymore. The only thing he felt was this inner rage. The same rage he felt when his parents were murdered.

Bruce tried to storm off, but Alfred quickly stopped him. Alfred eyed the liaison that the police had sent over to keep Bruce up to date. He couldn’t say anything to reveal the nature of Bruce’s… after hours job, but he could try to imply that his alter ego had to wait until the night fell over the city.

“Bruce, you can’t do anything.”

His nostrils flared, but aside from that, he couldn’t do anything.

Bruce couldn’t do anything and he never despised himself more.

So he did the only thing he could do, as a rich heir to Wayne Enterprises. Bruce paced around his apartment, his eyes glued to the screen and his hearing focused on the police liaison that got updates every half hour.

The little bit of light was just disappearing when the liaison got the call that the abductors had reached out with a message.

“Mr. Wayne?” The woman asked, a bit hesitant as she saw his fearful face. “They’re demanding a huge ransom.”

“How much, I’ll pay it. I’ll pay it all,” Bruce cut her off. He’d gladly give all his money if it meant that you’d be home by the end of the day.

“That’s not the only thing they want.”

The woman’s brown eyes were pulled a bit downwards, as if she was perpetually sad. Who wouldn’t be in this godforsaken city?

“They want 15 million dollars from you, 15 million from her father and…” the woman trailed off. Goddamnit, couldn’t she get to the point instead of dancing around the truth? Whatever news she would tell could not be worse than you not being safe in his arms right this moment.

Alfred noticed the distress on Bruce’s face. He noticed how his brows were pulled together, how his jaw was just a bit sharper than usual. He saw the darkness that was swirling in his eyes.

“What else do they want?” He asked, standing in between Bruce and the liaison.

“They want Quantico-media to shut down. They want to get rid of the independent news and install a media-outlet that is biased and, well-“

The liaison trailed off once more, but this time Bruce couldn’t think straight anymore. “What? Just spit it out for once!”

“Her father was fine with paying the money, but shutting down Quantico-media is off the table. There’s no deal. We have 24 hours to come up with something new or they kill her.”

It was as if something exploded in his mind. But it wasn’t like the type of fireworks that went off in his mind as when he kissed you, or when you laced your fingers through his when the media was once again hounding him.

It was more like a time-bomb that finally ticked to zero. A bomb that caused a chain reaction which made his critical thinking fly out the window.

Bruce looked outside. The sun had set and was replaced by the eerie darkness that engulfed Gotham City. It was time.

He turned to Alfred. “I’m going out. I can’t just sit here.”

Alfred nodded and turned towards the liaison, asking about what the next steps were.

To anyone else, it looked like the whole ordeal had become too much for Bruce, like he had to go outside to think, to not feel like a helpless creature that was stuck inside his high-rise apartment.

To two people however, it was clear what was going to happen.

It was clear that, whoever exited the underground garage next wouldn’t be a young heir, pained by the disappearance of his love. The one who exited the garage would be the kidnappers biggest nightmare.

It took Bruce the whole night and the first few hours of daylight to get some information about your whereabouts.

Gordon had also activated the signal, meaning that the police had just as much trouble in finding you as he had encountered through the night.

Bruce had gone through any kind of criminal that could be affiliated with a crime lord who wanted control of the media.

He was covered in grime and blood, remnants of the fights he had endured and would continue to endure until he knew where you were. He didn’t even know whose blood was on his hands anymore. It was a mixture of his and probably 20 other men’s blood. His knuckles were split open under his gloves. His chest hurt from all the punches he had endured and his head felt like it might split open any second from all the bullets that bounced off his helmet.

But he finally got a location. It was on the outskirts of the city. An abandoned building that once was a printing house. The irony wasn’t lost on Bruce.

Gordon had ordered him to wait for the police force to get there, so that there was back-up and some sort of official authority, but Bruce felt like he might jump out of his skin the longer he waited.

So he went in on his own. He’d deal with the ramifications later.

The building was dark and quiet. A musty scent clung to the air. A mix of gunpowder and cigarette smoke.

Bruce’s senses were dialed to the max and though exhaustion was settling in his bones, the idea that you were somewhere in this building reinvigorated him.

The thought that he’d sleep for a whole week in his own bed, your soft skin against his once again made him push through the one of the hardest nights of his life.

Bruce was no longer alone in the building though.

A man shot out from the shadows, a gun that was pointed at him.

Bruce heard the click of the safety switch being switched off, followed by the loud clatter of gunshots and bullets that were bouncing off his suit. Bruce quickly kicked the feet from under the man’s body, not caring how much he hurt the captors that kidnapped you.

A few other men reacted to the sounds of guns going off, and soon enough there was a group of men crowding around Bruce, hitting him everywhere.

He felt as if he was losing the fight. There were just too many men and guns attacking him all at once.

Bruce fell down on his knees. His whole body hurt and searching for you had exhausted him to no end.

The men continued pouncing on him and he felt the integrity of his suit wearing down with every bullet that hit it.

Bruce was so close. He was so close to finding you again. To getting you out of this hellhole and back into the safety of his home. His home that hadn’t felt like a home since his parents passed, but ever since you stayed over it was more a home than ever before.

He was now totally knocked on the ground, he was losing a fight for the very first time he started as the Batman. He was losing the one fight he wasn’t supposed to lose. The fight that would ensure your safe return.

So Bruce did what any sane person would do. He thought of you. He thought of the simpler times. The times were it was just you and him. The times where you went to sleep smiling at him and where you woke up a few hours later, a smile still present. He thought of how beautiful you looked when he first met you. He thought about the first time you dragged him to a gala he didn’t want to go to, yet you were the last to leave the party, just because you were both glued to the dance floor. He thought of you.

It was thinking of you, thinking of all those memories that made him realize how many more memories you could still make in the future. Of how many more stupid gala’s he’d go to just because you asked him. Or how many more times he’d see you smile. It was all those things combined that seemed to give him an extra shot of adrenaline. A boost that made him stand up again.

The group of men didn’t know what he had in store for them.

After fighting them off for another 45 minutes, he was finally able to knock them all out.

Bodies were spread over the whole first floor and he didn’t hear anyone else approaching.

His whole body ached, but he ignored the burning in every limb and ran to the stairs.

Apparently they had hidden you in the basement.

The basement was possibly even darker than the upper floor of the building. It was quiet too, aside from the squeaking of a few rats in the distance.

Was luck finally on his side? Were there no more guys that he needed to defeat to get to you?

It really felt like luck as the next thing he heard was a soft muffled whimper, a few feet in front of him.

“I’m here, I got you, I’m here,” he repeated as he saw your frame hunched over in the corner. Your mouth was taped shut and a tight rope shackled you to a pillar in the musty basement. There was some blood on your hands, but aside from that, you looked physically as okay as you could. Bruce couldn’t spot any other injuries, so he deducted that you’d probably tried to fight your way out.

It still caused Bruce to want to let loose all the rage that was coursing through his veins.

But when he saw the look in your eyes. That glassy look where your eyes are filling with tears, all that rage was packed up and stored somewhere in the back of his mind.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he softly pulled the tape from your mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, it’s okay,” you whispered back hoarsely, your voice still hurting from screaming your lungs out. “They’re after my father, not you B.”

“I-I still should’ve protected you,” he breathed out, eyes focussed on untying the rope. Bruce was struggling, his fingers wouldn’t cooperate and seeing the loving look in your eyes made everything hurt even more. “I protect the city but can’t protect the one thing that’s worth more to me than anything I’ve ever loved.”

At this point, Bruce didn’t even care anymore who heard him confessing his love for you. He’d gladly give up the anonymity to save you.

“Oh, my love,” you said, your hands finally free. You placed your palms against his face, the cool leather of his mask in stark contrast to his skin that felt feverish. “You couldn’t have done anything more, but yet, you found me.”

Bruce felt like he was stuck. He had knocked out all the kidnappers, anyone who was involved with hurting and abducting you. The only thing he could do now, as the Batman, was to get you to the safety of the police. How he wished he could just drive off and take care of you himself in the safety of his apartment. Of his home that was a now again a home.

His conflicted nature quickly was overtaken by the need to make sure you would be physically and mentally okay.

“I’m going to lift you up,” he said. His voice still had a pained edge. He was afraid of hurting you, even though his body was on the edge of breaking down. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

You could only nod.

The shock finally started to register. It started somewhere deep in your bones, an ache that could only be explained by the horrible way you had been treated the last 36 hours. The ache travelled from your bones into your veins. It was transported through your veins, just like the blood platelets and nutrients and entered your heart in less than a minute.

You couldn’t stop the sobs that left your throat. Somewhere deep down you knew you were safe, safe in the arms of the man you loved most, but the reptile part of your brain just now realized what horrors you had been through.

“I’m so sorry,” Bruce repeated again. It seemed like the only thing he could say. His vocabulary had been exhausted as was he after running himself ragged around the city in search of you.

Bruce had carefully lifted you in his arms. He could feel the shivers that were running through you, the sobs that made your whole body violently shake. He heard your lungs struggling to pull oxygen from the air, the air that was feeling thinner for him too, the effects of your distress taking a toll on him.

When he finally got you out of that wretched basement, the night had reached its darkest time in Gotham City. Instead of the white moonlight shining down on him, there was now the red-blue flickering of approaching police cars painting the walls.

Gordon stepped out of the first car, his face immediately contorting from a pained look to a more relieved one. “You got her out.”

Bruce held on to your body, refusing to let you go. You were safe in his arms, and he didn’t think he could ever let you go again.

The ambulance pulled up just a few seconds after, parking right in front of him. The doctor and paramedics tried to pry you out of his grasp, but he insisted on carefully placing you in the ambulance himself.

“Be careful,” he quietly said as he put you on the stretcher and the paramedics got to work.

You looked so small all of a sudden. Usually your confidence almost made you look like a giant goddess, but now you looked like a small little animal, hurt in a trap that some evil entity had placed.

Your eyes were still locked onto his, even when the paramedics shone a light in them to check for brain injuries.

“We’re gonna take you to the hospital for some extra testing, but physically you look okay,” one of the paramedics told you. You nodded and a sad smile overtook your face as you looked at Bruce.

The man who saved you looked a little broken. His black eye-make up had faded a bit due to the tears and the sweat, but you still recognized his vibrant eyes. The eyes that always looked at you with so much love. A love that burned brighter than the biggest star in the universe.

“Thank you,” you told him before the doors closed and the ambulance drove off. He still saw your tear-stricken face through the little windows. For the outside world, it seemed like just like you were grateful for your saviour, but Bruce knew it was so much more than that.

Gordon quickly asked for a debrief, but once the detective had all information he needed, Bruce speeded off towards his workshop.

The Batsuit was quickly stripped off and replaced by a pair of normal pants and a jumper. The only thing he wanted, was to see you again, surrounded by the best doctors of Gotham City.

Bruce remembered the day you found out he was the nut job running around Gotham city in a suit with a cape. You’d been pissed, unable to understand why he chose to put his life in danger to save others. But then after arguing for a bit, you also realized he tried to protect those the city wanted to harm. The same city that murdered his parents.

He needed to find a way to protect you from this city. He couldn’t let the same fate be bestowed on you, the fate that took his parents. He needed to do more. He couldn’t let the most important person in his life get hurt again.

Bruce was glad he had this dark alter ego. Because without him, you would never have been saved.

You were laying in between his sheets, not a trace of blood or a hint of distress to be spotted on your face. Bruce felt compelled to stay in your vicinity, even though you had been out of the hospital for a week already.

You were still fast asleep, soft snores leaving your lips as the sun finally revealed itself to the city again. The sunlight was filtering through his windows and straight onto your frame. Bruce couldn’t think of another word than ethereal.

The trauma of being taken had translated itself into exhaustion, meaning you slept almost 12 hours every night. Alfred and the maid were also at your beck and call, just like Bruce when he wasn’t out during the night. Your father had been remark fully absent.

Though he was tired from being out all night, the sight of you felt like a shot of pure adrenaline, reawakening him. Bruce couldn’t imagine spending his days any other way.

“Hi you,” you whispered, pulling him away from his daydreams. You hand came up to cup his cheek. You had loved Bruce for so long, you couldn’t imagine waking up without him present anymore.

“Hi,” he whispered back, a rare smile present on his face. His smiles were rare, but when he was in your presence, he couldn’t wipe them off. “How are you feeling?”

“In need of coffee,” you grinned. The few bruises you did have were fading. The one on your neck had almost completely disappeared. The more the bruises faded, the less Bruce was reminded of the horrific event.

“I’ll get the maid to bring some, you stay here,” he said, pressing a soft kiss against your forehead.

Bruce wanted to stand up, but you gripped his wrist, a silly smile plastered on your face. “Please stay just a bit B, let’s enjoy this morning together.”

And how could he resist you? How could he resist the love of his life? The one who made him feel more like himself, day after day?

Bruce crawled under the comforter and once again wrapped himself around you, his limbs tangling with yours. God, how he longed to touch you after a night out.

“You know,” he started, fixating on how your fingers perfectly fit between his. “Without you, I don’t think Bruce would still exist.”

And though most people would look at him as if he grew a second head, it all made sense to you.

You knew how much the murder of his parents changed him. How much Bruce retreated into a shell and how it fundamentally changed his core. So much so that he had this primal need to mask up and fight for this city to get safer.

“I’m glad you’re still in there somewhere,” you whispered back, caressing the side of his face and swiping away the dark hair that hid his beautiful eyes. “Because without Bruce, I wouldn’t be here either.”

Bruce shook his head lightly, disagreeing with your statement, but not wanting you to remove your warm hands from his face. “No, no, you’ve always been stronger, you have always been a guiding light for me.”

“Oh Bruce,” you said, looking at the man who had risked his own life just to save yours. “I’ve said it time and time again, but I love you.”

You tilted your head closer to his so your foreheads touched, a gesture that started when you were just teenagers, too anxious to try anything else.

“I’ll love you forever,” he whispered back, still unbelieving of how he had gotten you back after his nightmare turned reality. “I’m never letting you go again.”

You tilted your head a bit forward, just so your lips could touch his in a deliciously soft kiss.

The kiss was interrupted by a knock on the door, and the maid entered with two to-go cups on a silver platter. Talk about service.

“Got you some coffee from Roberto’s miss,” she said, a twinkle in her eyes as she was so happy to see you back again. “Roberto sends you his regards.”

Bruce took ahold of both of the cups as you thanked her. Both Alfred and her had been so careful and helpful, even more so since your return.

She left the room again and Bruce handed you your cup. Roberto had written a small welcome back message, missing your weekly visits but totally understanding that you needed some time.

“Happy?” Bruce asked.

“Couldn’t be happier,” you replied, biting your lip as you leaned in again for another kiss.