#the most he can do is watch in horror and scream in pain as he’s ripped from what was at first disgusting and revolting

[loganhowlettshousewife]

animal

chapter 5

friendly reminder that i am not a writer, i'm just a girl who loves logan howlett and wanted to write something exploring his animalistic side since i so rarely see it done. my first language is also not english, so please do not be rude when giving me any feedback.

warnings: swearing, drinking/alcohol, smoking cigars, violence, angst

series masterlist │my masterlist

your relationship with logan is strained, breaking apart at the seams.

ever since your conversation the dynamic has shifted. you don’t want to lose logan, and so in the light of day you kiss and cuddle and he watches you complete your chores. he makes dry comments as you cook together and you talk and laugh over dinner. he carries you into the bedroom and kisses the insides of your thighs until you’re begging for him, clutching at his hair as he eats you out.

but in the dark, when night falls, so does the facade of your relationship. he still sleeps in the guest room, but you no longer go join him when he has nightmares. if he wants to pretend like everything is fine and doesn’t want to talk to you, you won’t pressure him to do so. you’re following his lead, and it’s making you both obviously miserable.

he hardly ever actually sleeps, and you know that - sometimes you still wake up to his screams of pain and horror. he spends most of his nights drinking, sitting outside on the porch with a bottle or two. you often find him there in the mornings, watching the sunrise, face pale and eyes lined with thick, dark bags.

he asks you to buy him cigars when you go into town and you do. he smokes them on the porch while you bring him coffee, grabbing the empty bottles of liquor to throw out. he mutters a “thanks” but says nothing else, and you return to the kitchen to eat your own breakfast alone, without him.

it always takes a few hours before he can shake off the lingering tensions and horrors that follow him at night, before he can really be a version of himself again.

he’s angry too, all the time. that feral, violent edge to logan that you’d noticed through his animal behaviours seems heightened now. his claws come out more, becoming a familiar sight. he never takes it out on you, he’ll walk away before he ever gets close to doing that, but he becomes destructive in his anger.

he punches the walls, claws piercing through the drywall along with his fist. but he always fixes it after, and he seems less tense when he’s using his hands like that. to fix and patch-up rather than destroy.

he takes to fixing things around the house, changing the shower head so it has better water pressure, repairing the old hinges on the doors to the cupboards that always creak. he builds you a new bookshelf as an apology - or at least you think it is, though he never says the words outright - after getting shitfaced and yelling at you one night.

and yet you feel so distant from him. there’s a painful ache in your chest every time you see his handsome face, a longing to touch him and kiss him and crawl into his skin. the physical proximity does nothing to alleviate your loneliness. you miss him, so much.

he’s laying under the kitchen sink, shirt off and tossed on the floor beside him, and you take a moment to admire him, the thin sheen of sweat covering his chest, the dark hair that you want to bury your face into.

you shake your head, snapping yourself out of your daze and proceed outside. you have things to do, and there’s no use getting distracted by logan when you know it won’t amount to any changes, won’t make this thing between you better.

honestly, you’re counting down the days until he tells you he wants to leave, find his own place, start his own life. or restart, you suppose. you expect it to happen any day now, when he runs out of things to fix around your house and can no longer keep himself busy and distracted.

and then one night he returns home drunk. he’d gone out without telling you, skipping dinner together to go to some bar or another. you ate alone, hardly picking at your plate, appetite gone. 

you’ve never seen him like this and you wonder how much he must have drunk to get to this point, slurring his words and stumbling, a heavy weight that you struggle to hold onto, keeping him upright so he won’t collapse into nearby furniture. he has a half empty bottle in hand and you gently pry it out of his grip, placing it down on the nearest surface you can find, just to get it away from him.

he’s muttering words you can’t quite understand, talking to himself more than he’s talking to you, but it’s more words than you’ve heard him say in a while. you blink back the tears that threaten to rise on your waterline as he holds you against him, close your eyes to focus on the scent of him that surrounds you, the sharp tangy smell of alcohol lingering on him, cutting through his usual musk, cigar smoke and wood and him.

“i’m gonna put you to bed,” you say gently, because as angry as you are with him right now, as much as you’re trying to put distance between you, he’s still logan, and your heart beats for him regardless.

you lead him to the guest room, but he shakes his head and wrenches his hand out of your hold, stumbling towards the door to your room, to what was once yours and logans before he’d started fading away. breathless, you follow him, watching him collapse onto your bed, face buried in your pillow. he lets out a deep groan, wiggling around in your spot until he’s comfortable.

you’ve missed the sight of him in your room, missed falling asleep to his face and waking up in the warmth of his arms, the sound of his steady breathing surrounding you with a sense of peace, his hands tracing your face as if you were a work of art. you don’t even notice you’re crying until you feel warm tears rolling down your cheeks.

“don’t cry - hate when you cry,” logan slurs as he reaches out his arms towards you, beckoning you to come closer to him.

it makes you cry harder, and within moments he’s holding you. you’re straddling him, legs bent against the comforter at an odd angle but you don’t care. he presses his hot mouth to the top of your head, a barely-there brush of his lips that has you warming up from within.

“shh,” he tries to shush you, rocking the two of you back and forth in a horribly uncoordinated rhythm, “don’t cry. i love you.”

it’s the first time he’s said those three words to you, and you wish you could have heard them under any other circumstance. not when he’s drunk out of his mind, not when you’re barely holding yourself together, not after weeks of hardly speaking. it’s not the right time - hell, it’s probably the worst moment he could have picked.

“don’t say that,” you tell him, voice raw, “if you don’t want me to cry, please don’t say that.”

“but-” he protests, “do you love me?”

it’s bittersweet, this moment you’re sharing. you can’t remember the last time he’s been so honest with you, so forthright with his feelings, and yet you can’t be certain he’ll even remember this conversation in the morning. you can’t be certain this will change anything at all.

you sigh, and hope that logan’s mutation doesn’t involve him remembering everything that happens even when he’s shitfaced drunk. you don’t want your first admission of love to be a sad one, but he’s looking at you with the biggest puppy-dog eyes, your logan, and you can’t leave him hanging, can’t just not answer. and you can’t lie either, he’d be able to smell it in your scent, to read it in the way your heartbeat quickens.

“yes, logan, i do.” you whisper, pressing a hand against his cheek, the scruff of his beard.

“why are you mad at me?” he slurs, and you scoff.

“because you’re pretending everything’s fine and you’re pushing me away,” you reply, “you don’t talk to me anymore, and i can’t read you like i used to. you barely show any emotions, you just close everything away. i’m mad because yes, logan, i love you, and that means i want to know what’s going on with you.”

“but ‘s better now,” logan protests.

you frown. he sounds so sure of himself, and you wonder how he could possibly see the state of your current relationship and think of it as better. maybe you were right, maybe this is all ending.

“how?” you whisper, “how are things in any way better?”

he buries his face in your neck, warm breath forming condensation on your skin. when he speaks you can feel the words more than you hear them, muffled as they are. “i was an animal before. a monster with no control. ‘s better that i act human.”

you laugh but it’s unhappy, “it’s not better at all. i want the real you, whoever that is, more human or animal, i don’t care. but i want the version of you that spends time with me instead of a bottle, the version of you where we can talk through our issues. because i get that things are different logan, i hear your nightmares and i don’t expect you to be the same now that you remember all those awful things. you’re traumatised, i understand that. but i wish you could try to open up, let me love you. don’t push me away. and i want you to love me in the ways that are natural to you, that make you the happiest, whatever that means.”

you wake up to an empty bed, the spot beside you still warm but steadily growing colder. you blink open your eyes, blearily, making out the dent in the mattress where logan had slept, the smell of cinnamon and sugar invading your senses with each new breath you took.

you find logan in the kitchen, wearing one of your little aprons, far too small for him, the strings barely long enough to meet at the back. the sight makes you giggle, silly and domestic as it is. he’s pulling fresh cinnamon buns out of the oven, and you fight the urge to look around as if someone is about to pop out at you. 

“want one?” logan asks. in your daze you hardly noticed him turning around to face you. “they’re uh- an apology. i used your recipe and i’m good at following the instructions so they should be okay.”

he refuses to meet your eyes, shifting on his feet, restless energy thrumming through him like he’s expecting to have to run away at any moment. before, you would have said that he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to run and hide when things get hard, always fight and never flight. it seems right for him, with his gruff demeanour and the violent edge to him. but you’ve lived through him avoiding you, running from his problems. you refuse to let it happen again.

he’s skittish, nervous even, and you take a moment to appreciate the sight. it’s lovely, gorgeous even, compared to the anger and depression and irritation that you’ve gotten accustomed to from him. but you don’t let him linger in silence for too long.

“an apology?” you repeat his words, placing your chin in your hands, “for what?”

“pushing you away.”

so he remembers. you wonder if he recalls every word you spoke to him under the cover of darkness, made brave by the thought that he likely wouldn’t remember, that none of this would come back to you in any way, or if it’s more of a vague image that floats around in his mind, edges blurred and sections of the night skipping through.

does he remember the way you told him you loved him, the words tinged with sadness and desperation? you weren’t expecting the sudden change of heart, the way he so easily said the very thing he’s been avoiding admitting for so long.

“you don’t have to apologise for that,” you say, though you appreciate it, “you were going through something. you still are.”

“i still need to apologise,” he argues, and you smile at the determination in his voice, “it’s- fuck- i’m not good with words. i messed up. i know that. but i’m almost two hundred years old, you know that? and i remember every single, shitty day of it. i haven’t had a good life, princess. i hurt and kill everyone that gets close to me. and i don’t wanna hurt you.”

you stride right up to him and he looks terrified when you raise your arms, but all you do is wrap them around his neck, standing on your tip-toes so you can press a kiss to his cheek, feeling his scratchy beard against your lips. his hands find a place on either side of your waist, the position so natural, so comfortable.

this is how you’re meant to be, in each other’s arms, not fighting or hiding away from one another.

“you did hurt me,” you say, watching the way his jaw tenses at the reminder, “but i’m tougher than i look. and i don’t believe that your past defines you. who you are right now, how you treat me, that’s what decides my opinion of you. although right now you’ve got some grovelling to do.”

he grunts in agreement, “i’ll make it up to you, darlin’. however you want.”

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if your name is in white it means i couldn’t tag you for some reason. i’m very sorry :(

[theweirdhybrid]

I would love to but I just poured all of my writing Thoughts into finishing a scene for my fic and it’s nearly 5am and I took one look at this screenshot and thought “Damn maybe his forehead really IS that big”

Something about this shot just… evokes feelings in me.

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Summary: You don't have to sleep. Usually, it gets boring, but now you can take care of Logan when he needs someone

An: vampire reader and Logan aren't officially together just yet

As a vampire, you didn't need to sleep anymore. It had its pros, and it also had its cons. Before you lived at the mansion, you would hide out and hunt your next meal, but now blood was provided for you, and you were somewhere safe, so you didn't have to worry about hiding. Now, most of the time, you just stay up doing different things. You were trying new hobbies, training, a lot of cleaning... not sleeping was starting to become a con again, you were so bored.

Then Logan came home from an awful mission.

Nothing had gone as planned. Many got hurt, he had to kill again, he got seriously injured himself, and for some reason it was taking a while for him to heal. He wasn't expecting you to be in the kitchen when he came stumbling into the mansion. He was grumbling to himself, clearly in pain, scrubbing at the blood that was on him, and the sight made your undead heart sink for some reason.

"Logan?" You asked cautiously, his neck snapped over to you, and he nearly snarled before recognizing who was talking to him. "What are you doing up?" He asked, almost angry that you caught him. You ignored the question and moved closely to him, "Let me help." You said in a tone that left no room for argument. His shoulders fell, and he allowed you to drag him to the bathroom to get cleaned up.

After about twenty minutes, he was all cleaned and patched up. You asked no questions during the entire interaction, something Logan was very grateful for. You didn't know what exactly happened tonight, but you knew it was something best left undiscussed for the time being. "You know...your room is next to mine." You stated with a shrug. It was clear what that statement towards Logan meant. It was your way of saying: if you need anything, come to me, I'm here to help. Let me help.

He nodded and gave you a weak smile to show his gratitude. You returned the smile and left for your room.

A few hours had gone by and you were deep in your closet. How did you have so many clothes? You groaned as you continued going through shirts when your ears perked up. "What was that?" You muttered under your breath. You listened a little closer, and for the second time that night, it felt like your heart sinked again. "Logan?" You asked as you got up and went to his room as quickly and quietly as you could. You knocked on his door, but when there was no response, you just went in.

You let out a pitiful sound seeing him so clearly in pain and afraid. Logan was still asleep, but he was screaming. He kept saying the same thing over and over, and his claws were digging deeper into his mattress as he squirmed around.

"Logan... Logan!" You shook him awake, and when his eyes snapped open, his claws swipped right. He gasped louder than in his sleep when he saw his claws on your right side. He gasped loud and looked at the wound in horror. You cupped his chin, making him look up at your face and not the wound. "It's okay, just retract them, and it'll close up." You whispered, not wanting to cause bring anymore stress to his already stressful day. He nodded quickly before doing what you said, he winced with you and watched the wound close completely.

After he made sure you were healed, he looked up at you with watery eyes, "Could...could you stay?" He asked meekly and a bit uncomfortable. This isn't something he'd normally do, but knowing you'd heal if he ended up hurting you in his sleep calmed him much more than he'd like to admit.

You didn't say anything, just sat on his bed and let him arrange the two of you so you'd be laying just like he wanted to for the night. You brought a hand up to his hair and started to twirl some strands between your fingertips. Maybe this could be a new night hobby.

Once he was asleep again, you made a vow to not only him but to yourself as well.

"I'll always be here to keep you safe, my wolvie."

Tagging:

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[wraithlafitte]

nightmares - dean winchester

Summary: Dean wakes you up from a nightmare.

CONTENT: feminine descriptors, mixed POV, demonic possession, angst, hurt/comfort, post hell!dean, cuddling

word count: 935 (est reading time 4 mins.)

You toss and turn in bed, limbs tangling in the worn motel duvet. Images flash through your head, reminding you of pain and torture and being trapped in your own mind. It had been months since Sam drove the demon out of your body, but its fingerprints lingered in the corners of your mind, ready to creep out as soon as you closed your eyes to fall asleep.

The worst part of the nightmares is the intense feeling of anxiety and fear it induces in you. You feel like you're really back in that time, watching yourself commit atrocities you could never have dreamed of on your own.

You try to scream at the images to stop, but as in most dreams, your voice is gone. That's how it was during the possession. Your consciousness screamed for control, for mercy, but the demon's unrelenting cruelty pushed you deep into the recesses of your own mind.

You scream again, mouth hanging wide as you voicelessly plead for the horror to end.

Dean sat up slowly, groggily trying to make out the neon red numbers on the digital clock on the nightstand above him. He was sleeping on the floor, as per usual when they could only afford a room with two beds. His self-sacrificing nature wouldn't let you sleep on the floor, and Sam had gotten injured on the last hunt, so it wasn't a question.

He heard a low groan from your bed, followed by a fabric-laden thrashing of limbs. In the dark, he could barely make out your body shuddering beneath the blankets, head tossing and chest rising and falling quickly with each belabored breath you took.

He knew the feeling. Hell, nightmares from his time downstairs still plagued him from time to time.

Dean stood and went to your side, bending over you to touch your shoulder. "Hey," he whispered, giving you a gentle shake. "Y/N. Wake up."

You didn't respond, so he shook you again, a little harder. "Y/N!" he hissed.

You wake with a gasp, flying upright, heart hammering in your chest. Hands shoot out to hold you and you struggle against their grip.

"Hey, hey," you hear a familiar voice whisper. "It's me. You're okay."

You blink rapidly as a pair of eyes slowly becomes clear to you in the dark, meeting your terrified gaze. Dean.

You heave a relieved sigh and lean forward, dropping your head on his shoulder. He takes you into his arms easily, all pretense of not caring about you forgotten.

"Jesus Christ," you whisper into his shoulder.

Dean rubs your back comfortingly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"Better than what I was seeing."

He doesn't press, but lets you relax into his body as your heart rate slowly returns to normal.

"God, Dean," you say quietly after a while. "Does it ever stop?"

"No," he replies ruefully, one hand now stroking your hair. "I wish I could say it did."

Tears prick at your eyes as memories come flooding into your mind again. "I can't forget the things I did," you manage. "I can't ever unsee-"

Dean takes you by the shoulders and holds you away from him. "That wasn't you, ya hear me? How many times do I have to tell you it wasn't your fault?"

"I know, but it was still me, Dean." The tears are threatening to escape now, but you hold them back. You will not cry in front of this man, who has gone through so much worse. "These hands killed people."

Dean sighs, pulling you back into him. "I know. It's hard to deal, but you gotta try."

You shudder, tears finally rolling down your face and dampening his shirt. "I'm not... strong like you."

"I know you can do it," he whispers, hand finding your hair again, tangling in the strands. "You're stronger than you think. I don't know a lot of people who were conscious for that long during a possession and can still form a coherent thought, much less continue to hunt down these sons of bitches like you do."

You sniffle, turning your head into his neck. Deep in your heart of hearts, you know he's right.

"I know it's hard," Dean continues. "But if anyone can beat this, it's you. You're one badass lady." He chuckles, trying to lighten your mood.

Your heart melts at this. "Thanks," you whisper, tears subsiding.

"Think you can go back to sleep?" he asks gently.

"Not really," you say glumly. You pull away and hesitate deeply before asking in a small voice, "Can you... stay? With me?" Your eyes refuse to meet his. He's going to tell you to suck it up, you know it.

"Yes."

Your eyes flit up to his, surprised and relieved. Dean looks at you warmly, gently, before getting up and raising the covers, nudging you to the side as he lays down next to you.

You face him, feeling his hand travel up your hip and stop on your waist. A surge of bravery and emotion hits you, and you lean forward, leaving a gentle kiss on his lips. When you back away, he looks surprised, and for a moment you fear you've just done something that will make your friendship irrevocably damaged.

But he just pulls you into him, kissing your forehead and resting his chin atop your head, pressing you into his large body comfortingly.

You feel relieved for the millionth time that night. No more words need to be said. You fall asleep like that, nestled in his arms, breathing in his familiar, comforting scent.

[littlenightma]

Hello. I hope this request is not strange. Can you write a Yandere Jeeper Creepers headcanon?

Yandere!Jeepers Creepers Headcanons (NSFW)

• Your scent was intoxicating and it called to him like a siren’s song. He drops his latest kill to the ground. He had to find the source of the delicious smell or he was going to go insane. As he searches, he is bombarded with an assemblage of differentiating scents, but none of them are yours. Where are you, sneaky human? He flaps his wings harder until he is nothing but an unrecognizable blur in the sky.

• And there you are, pinned beneath him, screaming and squirming. Talons dig into your skin. Muscles ripple beneath your hands as you futilely try to pry away. He trails his nose everywhere, sniffing and scanning, searching for something. You think, this is it. This thing is going to rip me to shreds. He finally comes to a stop between your legs. Ah, there it is. To your horror he buries his face there and inhales deeply and rises with a toothy grin. He is going to enjoy you.

• Unfortunately for you, Creepers mate for life, so unless something terrible happens and you die, you’re stuck with him forever. Mating lets him to bypass the 23 year hibernation cycle, too, so yeah, until you die, you belong to the Creeper.

• There’s no use in running. He can track you from miles away and will find you every time. Not to mention he will be very displeased and will rip whoever helps you apart. All those times he allowed you to leave the den for a few hours are long gone.

• Creeper doesn’t talk much — and it depends on if he has vocal cords on him at the time — but every now and again he calls you different pet names from little human, pretty pet, or a simple mate/pup because he senses how you like it. His main form of communication is through body language or vocalization. When he growls you know you’re in trouble or when he tenses and his ears perk, it means there is someone or something nearby and you are expected to hide until it’s safe to come out.

• You do most of the talking because of this. Whenever he brings home bodies to “work on”, he listens to you ramble about different things: the weather, politics, or the new tv show you’ve been watching. He doesn’t understand a lot of it like why humans feel the need to buy their food when there was a plenty of animals to be hunted or why there were some who refused to eat meat altogether, but it doesn’t matter to him as long as he gets to hear your voice.

• Very territorial. Does not like when males of any species get close to you. Human, feline, canine, it doesn’t matter, however humans can get you pregnant and if that were to happen, he’d have no choice but to kill the offspring. No mate of his was going to bear any children that didn’t belong to him.

• Will scent and mark you to let others know you are already claimed. If anyone wants to fight for the right to have you, they can certainly try, but you know what’s going to happen, right? It’s not going to end well for them.

• You know who is in charge here, don’t you? You humans deemed yourselves the apex predators, top of the food chain, but it’s certainly not him rolled onto his back and displaying his belly in a show of submission. Such a good little pet you are.

• You’re unprepared for when he knots you the first time. Your initial reaction is to move away, however the knot is connecting you to him and will not budge, causing pain. You have no choice but to lay there and allow it to lodge itself further inside you. It’s intense, the feeling of his knot invading you, stretching you more than his monstrous cock did. You can’t believe you’re being fucked like an animal in the literal sense and how it’s even remotely possible for your human body to be adjusting so well. Wasn’t your body supposed to instinctively push out anything foreign? So why was your body greedily sucking him in and why was it starting to feel so good? Oh…

• When you’re on your period, it sends him into a state of frenzy and he will not leave you alone. The combination of your blood mixed with your pheromones are begging him to breed you. While it is impossible for him to impregnate humans, you’re still going to be put on your hands and knees, ass up and ready so he can fuck you all night long.

• And when I say all night long — I mean it. There are no breaks, no time outs, no breathers for you to take. It’s just him pounding into you relentlessly until his knot forms then it’s rinse and repeat. It’s messy, it’s sticky, and the more you cry out, the harder he goes. If you reach behind and grab his hips, pulling him close because you’re needing more is exactly how he wants you; a pleading, blood-soaked, cock drunken mess. You will never have to worry about having cramps again because he will fuck them right out of you.

• Loves to play fight. One because he wants you to learn how to properly pounce and pin prey to the ground. The more you learn to give into your own primal instincts that humans have all but lost long ago and learn to protect yourself when he isn’t around, the less he has to worry. Two, because of the social aspect of it. He likes spending time with his human and enjoys when you try your best to get the upper hand. Sometimes he will let you win, but there’s no changing the dynamics here. He will always play the dominate role.

• Takes you on impromptu flying trips. At first you were too scared to open your eyes to even look at anything and he has to jostle you until you do. It’s scary to know you’re that high in the air, but the fear eventually gives way and you begin to enjoy the wind blowing in your face.

• On those rare occasions when the Creeper isn’t out and prowling for himself, he rests you on top of his chest and cocoons you within his wings, locking them tight. He hums an old tune while scratching your back with his claws and eventually you are lulled to sleep, dreaming of a winged creature who has turned your life upside down.

• But maybe not for the worst.

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

6A: NINE (PART 1)

Chapter 5 <MASTERLIST > Chapter 6B

SUMMARY: The Winter Soldier has been injected with a compound that has left him helpless to his desires, completely out of control.

Word Count: 6k

Warning: SMUT: Sex pollen, choking, multiple orgasms, voyeurism, creampie, dirty talk — If there is any more you find not listed here please be sure to let me know so I can add it.

In the dark and twisted world of HYDRA, the skilled scientists were pioneers in the art of manipulation and control. They had spent years perfecting their methods, creating chemicals to confuse, compounds to control and substances for submission. They could bend even the strongest will to their whim. But their latest molecule had an interesting side effect that even they hadn't anticipated.

The compound, a combination of pheromones and catecholamine, when administered, caused a sudden and overwhelming surge of desire and arousal in its subjects. It was a potent cocktail of chemicals that left the recipient in a state of intense need, the primal, innate biological urge to reproduce, that could only be satisfied through one means: sex.   

The scientists had tested the compound on many of their unwilling subjects, but it was the Winter Soldier who proved to be the most intriguing case. The super soldier, already a formidable force to be reckoned with, now found himself in a desperate situation. He needed to have sex, or he would perish.

The Winter Soldier's handlers watched with a mix of fascination and horror as he struggled against the overwhelming need that consumed him. They knew that if they didn't find a way to satisfy his desires soon, he would become a liability, a danger to himself and others. They couldn't risk losing their prized asset to something as trivial as desire.

“Kotyonok,” he whined quietly to himself, trapped in a cycle of need and desperation.

Sweat dripped off his brow, as he fought against the restraints that bound him. His heart raced, alarms sounding on the monitors that were strapped to his chest. His hips struggled, trying to create the smallest bit of friction his loose clothing allowed. All the while he begged silently for you.

It was you he needed. You were his cure. Without you, he knew he would die.

Karpov was seething. He had no desire to be the man who was responsible for the loss of HYDRA's most prized asset. He paced the facility screaming obscenities at anyone he came across, until he spotted you.

“YOU!” he yelled, pointing at you.

“Sir?”

“Come!” he ordered, stalking off and expecting you to follow.

He marched down to the clinical room where your asset was constrained. The sight of him writhing under the effects of cruel experimentation was horrifying.

“Take care of him!” Karpov barked, snapping you out of the horror you were witnessing.

You knew they used him for their own nefarious means, but this was heinous. You swallowed hard, your mouth dry. “What do I do?” you asked.

“Take care of him.” Kaprov repeated angrily.

Realization dawned on you. Karpov wanted you to get him off. Your face flushed with embarrassment and anger. How dare he demand this of you? How dare he abuse your soldier this way?

“Why me?” You looked around at all the male scientists in the room, not surprised by the lack of diversity in the room.

“Just do it!”

You glanced around at the armed guards at every exit and back at Karpov's expectant face. Did you have a choice?

As you took a step towards him, Soldat jolted on the table in front of you, making you jump.

“Hurry up!”

Those bright blue eyes stared into yours, imploring action. His face was contorted with pain, body covered in sweat and there was a sizable stain on the sweatpants covering his behemoth boner. As you shuffled closer, you caught the sound of his voice. A low whisper meant only for you.

“Please, Kotyonok.”

You had no idea what to say, how to behave. Not once in your lifetime had you been asked to service a man with an audience. You ghosted your palm over his swollen member. He was in pain and for once he couldn't hide it and it broke your heart.

You were taken aback by the openness of his request, unsure of how to respond. You had never been in a situation like this before, where someone was relying on you for such intimate assistance. But as you looked into his eyes, you knew you couldn't turn away. You had to help him, regardless of the audience surrounding you, but you didn’t dare speak to him.

Hesitantly, you reached out your hand and gently palmed his throbbing member through the sweatpants. He winced at the contact, but you could see the relief in his eyes. You knew you had to do whatever you could to ease his discomfort. 

As you continued to massage him, you could feel the tension in his body start to release. An orgasm rocked his body, and you could visibly see him relaxing, pleasure overwhelming the sensation of pain. His breathing became more steady, and the lines of agony on his face softened and you could see the gratitude in his eyes as he looked at you.

Despite the wretched circumstances, you felt a sense of connection with him. All that mattered was that you were able to provide him with some comfort and relief. You could see the gratitude in his eyes as he whispered a quiet thank you.

“Enough!” Kaprov snapped, making you gasp.

You had almost forgotten that you had an audience. As far as you were concerned, it was you and your Soldat. Karpov, however, was satisfied with your work and dismissed you. As you walked away, following orders, you glanced back at him discreetly, catching his unexpectedly darkened eyes as you left the room.

The door slammed shut behind you, but you knew your services would be needed again. You could feel it, the way he had breathed when you touched him, the way his release had come so easily, too easily. No, it wasn’t enough. They would be back, begging you to lend a helping hand, and you hoped, additional services. And you were more than willing to comply.

It had barely been an hour before a breathless young lieutenant was standing before you, offering summons from your colonel. Hiding your enthusiasm, you followed obediently. The lieutenant’s pace was swift and you were a little out of breath when you arrived back at the clinical room. Colonel Karpov was fuming, pointing at the Winter Soldier, complaining about your lack of expertise and commitment.

“What do you expect me to do?” you shrugged.

He shoved one of the scientists forward, who stammered out an explanation. “The effects of the compound create a surge in the levels of testosterone by stimulating the follicle-stimulating hormone from the pituitary gland. It results in an irresistible urge to reproduce, meaning that the only way to resolve this surge of hormones is a climax achieved by stimulation of the genitals by penetrative copulation. If this is not attained, the overload of testosterone can lead to a cerebrovascular accident, seizure and death.”

You stared incredulously at the doctor and the colonel. “Wait, so you're saying that if I don’t fuck him, he’ll die?”

The colonel nodded grimly. “Yes, that's the gist of it. We need you to help us counteract the effects of this compound until we find a way to chemically resolve the issue. We don't want our enemies using this to their advantage, do we?” 

You looked at the Winter Soldier, who was sitting there with a blank expression on his face. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between his training and his own desires.

Taking a deep breath, you made a decision. “Fine, I'll do it. But only because I don't want anyone to… get hurt. And no audience.”

“Don't be ridiculous. These are perfect conditions for study, we need to-”

“No.”

“What?”

“I'm not having sex in front of them.”

“It is your duty, I command you.”

“No colonel. You will allow this. Unless you are willing to let your prized asset perish from your own negligence.”

The colonel sighed, realizing he had no choice but to agree. “Fine, no audience. But make sure you do what needs to be done.”

The colonel nodded in approval, while the scientist quickly set up a private room for you and the Winter Soldier to carry out the task at hand. As you entered the room, you could feel the tension in the air. Soldat looked at you with a mix of confusion and longing, his eyes searching yours for some kind of understanding.

“Kotyonok, it is… dangerous.”

You watched as he fought against the storm that raged inside of him. You took a step closer, reaching out to touch his face gently. "I know… but we have to do this. Trust me, I don't want to see you get hurt."

With a nod, the Winter Soldier pulled you into a passionate kiss, his hands desperately roaming your body as he sought release from the effects of the compound. You guided him backwards until the back of his knees hit the bed. It was far more comfortable than anything he had been allowed to experience, but he didn't have the capacity to appreciate the creature comforts of the abode, all he craved in that moment was you. 

You straddled his hips without hesitation, rutting against his clothed erection. They hadn't bothered allowing him a change of clothes and they were still stained with cum from his earlier release.

“How is this? Feel good?” you asked, dragging your clothed cunt over his still covered length.

“Da!” (yes!) he whined. It wasn't enough but he reveled in it nevertheless. He felt as though every single sensation, every stimulus that his body experienced was sending signals to his cock. He finally let his head fall back, to rest on the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut to fully experience the rush that came with you touching his shaft.

He moaned lustfully, low and guttural sounds emanating from his throat. “God, Kotyonok, I need you to fuck me already.”

“I know, Soldat,” you murmured softly. “I just need a minute. Then I’m going to take such good care of you. Understand?”

“Da,” (yes) he nodded, looking into your eyes, biting his lip to contain his need. “Hurry.”

The neediness in his tone was unmistakable, so close to a second climax. He felt so sensitive, the slightest touch, the smallest jerk, the finest stroke and he was tumbling over the edge into oblivion. 

He moaned softly as you felt him coming undone, his body trembling with the force of his release. His balls tightened and his cock twitched as ropes of cum pooled under his pants, warmth and wetness spreading through your clothes, making you shudder with anticipation. The scent of sweat and hormones mixed with the faint scent of gunpowder that always seems to linger on the soldier. He lifted his head to look at you, his eyes full of a mixture of relief and desire.

“This isn't going to stop until I cum inside you.” He panted, writhing uncomfortably beneath you.

“I know, I’m sorry,” you simpered. “I just needed a minute to catch up with you. Forgive me?”

“Konechno.” (of course) He reached up to touch your face, his fingers trailing gently along your cheek and jawline as he looked at you, admiring your features.

“Help me?” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own desire.

You took his hand and guided it into your pants. Soldat’s breath hitched at the touch of your warmth, his fingers eagerly stroking over your slick folds. His touch was tentative at first, as if he was exploring it for the first time. After a few moments, he found a rhythm that made you gasp softly, biting your lip to hold back a louder moan. He looked at you hungrily, his gaze fixed on your face as he tried to gauge how pleasurable his touch was for you.

A low growl escaped his lips as he felt your arousal, his own need growing stronger by the second. “Now,” he demanded, his voice rough with desire.

He quickly removed his hand from your pants and pulled you close, his hands tearing at your clothes in his urgency. It didn't matter that he had torn through not only your top but your bra too. You didn’t resist, you wanted this just as much as he did, your own need growing impossible to ignore. You pulled away from his touch just long enough to remove your pants, exposing yourself to him.

He took the opportunity to flip you onto your back and until he was tucked comfortably between your legs. Luckily, this time you had nothing to hide. As he hovered over you, his eyes dark with desire, you knew there was no turning back. This was what you both wanted, what you both needed.

“Please,” he muttered, his voice hoarse from the overwhelming feelings coursing through his body. His eyes lock onto you, drinking in every contour of your exposed form. His hand trembled slightly as he reached out to touch you, his thumb grazing across your collarbone before trailing down to cup your breast.

He could hear his own heart beating in his ears and yet, he couldn’t quite get over thinking how fucking gorgeous you looked, laid out in front of him. His breath was labored, as he tried to fight against the overwhelming urge to ravage you.

There was a brief pause as you stared at each other, your breaths mingling in the heated air. The moment felt charged, like something was about to explode. And as he opened his eyes and looked at you, he saw the cold metal of his hand against the skin of your neck, almost choking you. 

Your breath stuttered as Soldat’s grip tightened, the titanium of his hand cutting off your air supply. Despite the danger, you couldn’t look away from him. Your eyes, wide with a mixture of fear and anticipation, locked on his intense gaze.

His resolve faltered as you struggled slightly in his vice-like grip. Your small splutter pulled him back to the present, and he blinked as if waking up from a trance. He looked at you, his expression a mix of horror and confusion.

"Sorry, Kotyonok," he whispered, his voice sounding shaky, "I just...the compound, it..." 

He looked at his metal hand, still wrapped around your neck and let go, his fingers trembling slightly.

“No, I want it, choke me.”

His expression darkened as he heard your request, his eyes flickering with a mixture of lust and concern. He knew if he pressed any harder, you'd have bruises all over your pretty little neck and it thrilled him, his marks all over you. But his aching member begged for attention.

“Are you sure? I think you'd look much better choking on my cock, Kotyonok.”

“I think that is something we can arrange.”

“Later, need you. Need to be inside you.”

A shiver ran down your spine as you heard his words, his voice low and full of desire. Your heart raced as the realization hit you, and you quickly comply with his request, spreading your legs for him.

“You’re beautiful, Kotyonok,” he managed to get out, his voice low and filled with emotion. He brought his other hand up to cup your face, gently tracing the contours of your features with his fingertips. He leaned in and kissed you, his mouth soft and needy as he hungrily drank in your taste.

Goosebumps erupted across your skin as you felt his lips against yours, the kiss filled with a raw intensity and a desperate yearning. You kissed him back, matching his hunger and need. Your hands moved to his shoulders, holding on tightly as you reciprocated the kiss, your tongue sliding against his hungrily. You barely noticed that he had lined himself up with your entrance.

“Please, hurts,” he whined, softly. A grimace marred his beautiful features. 

You frowned as you heard his plea. “I'm sorry, Milyy.” (darling) Your voice was full of concern as you touched his face gently.

When he met your gaze, you saw the pain in his eyes and realized what he meant. Your heart broke a little as you saw his expression, knowing that the compound was still affecting him and causing him discomfort. But you also knew that this was something he needed.

“Just a second,” you told him, as you moved back slightly to reach for the bedside table. There, you found a small tube of lube that the scientists provided, and handed it to him. At his questioning look, you explain. “Trust me, it will make things feel a lot better.”

It did, he slid into you painlessly, his cock coated in the cold lubricant, brushing past your clit with the most erotic ease. He hissed as you squeezed around him. 

“Fuck, so tight. Need you to relax, Kotyonok,” he whispered.

“Trying, but you feel so good. Can't help it,” you replied, breathless.

“Let me help.” He lifted your legs up and dragged you closer to his hips, tilting your pelvis upwards until his thick cock was stroking your g spot. He moved in and out, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body. He was good at this, too good.

“Yes, yes,” you managed to gasp out, your voice sounding hoarse and desperate. “That's... oh god yes, right there.”

You clung to him tightly, your hands gripping his shoulders as if trying to hold onto him as he moved inside you, his movements steady and sure. The room filled with the sound of your moans and his grunts, the heat between you building with each thrust. You could feel the intensity of his desire, his desperate need burning so fiercely, you almost worried that he might break. You gripped him even tighter as his movements grew harder and more desperate. Your eyes searching his face, the look of desperation on his making your heart flutter.

“Soldat, please,” you managed to gasp between gasping breaths. “You don't have to... you don't have to fight it. Just let go for me, please.”

He took your words to heart. “Look at me.” His tone was surprisingly calm yet demanding all at once. He wanted so badly to feel you closing in around him, he wanted to feel your release, but his own was so close, charging down the tracks like a runaway freight train and even though he wanted to see you, to feel you, he couldn’t wait.

His body tightened, his movements suddenly erratic. You were close, but not close enough for him and you needed to get him there, for his sake.

“That's it,” you panted, your words full of encouragement. "Just like that, Soldat. Don't... don't hold back. Just let yourself go. I'm right here with you."

You continued to clutch his sturdy arms, letting him take what he needed from you. Soldat’s eyes met yours, a mix of fear and determination swirling in their depths. He was on the edge, teetering between control and chaos. You could see the struggle within him, the battle raging on in his mind.

As he heard the words, something seemed to snap within him. His pace quickened, each thrust deep and purposeful. His breathing grew heavy, and his eyes darkened in a look of pure... something you couldn't define.

 “So close,” he stuttered.

“That’s it, don’t fucking stop. Just let go, cum inside me.” The pathetic nod you gave him was enough, the eye contact was the thing that sent his train off the tracks.

He let out a low growl at your words, his grip on you tightening, the control slipping away. Falling, he was falling. The sounds in his throat were guttural, filled with a raw passion that went beyond mere carnality. There was something deeper, more intimate than just physical pleasure. It wasn’t just a simple desire to reproduce, he needed to mark you, to claim you fully and completely. He had finally found his release, his body quivering with the force of his orgasm. It was a moment of perfect surrender, a moment when he finally let go and completely gave in to the euphoria he was experiencing.

You felt the hot spurts of cum painting your walls and filling you more than you had ever been before. He was a tight fit to start with but you couldn’t even contain him, his seed spilled out of you as he continued to ride the waves of pleasure, marking you in a way that you had never been before.

As the intensity of the moment faded, Soldat collapsed on top of you, his breathing heavy and ragged. Your legs bending towards your chest with the pressure of his exhausted weight against you. As you lay on the bed, your bodies tangled together in a messy bundle of limbs, you waited for him to catch his breath. You ran your hands through his hair, soothing him with a gentle touch. 

“Milyy (darling)?” you whispered.

"Yes, Kotyonok?" he responded, his voice still husky.

“Feeling better?”

He sighed, a lazy smile playing on his lips. “Much better. You have a way of making me forget my troubles for a little while.”

After a moment of silence, he spoke again. “You didn't?” He hesitated with the question. But you knew what he was asking.

You shook your head, meeting his gaze gently as you spoke. "Not yet... but you need this more.”

You suspected that his relief was only temporary, his calmness a result of his release. The effects of the compound still surged through his system, his heart was still pounding and you could feel him growing hard again inside you, even though he had only cum mere moments before.

"Soldat," you gasped, feeling his cock stir inside you. You could feel the heat building once more between you, the intensity of the moment reigniting your own flames. "Milyy.”

You gasped as you felt him pull out, your body shivering slightly at the loss of his warm body on yours.

"Soldat?" you whispered, lamenting your sudden emptiness.

"Shhh," he answered, his voice low and soothing. "I want to take care of you first, Kotyonok. You'll be satisfied soon enough.”

“But-”

You tried to protest but your words are cut off by the ferocity of his kiss. His lips moved against yours with a fervor and you just wanted to lose yourself in him once again.

Reluctantly, you pulled away from him. “What about you?”

"Don't worry about me," he replied, his voice low and husky. "I can wait... you first." He gently pushed you back onto the bed, his eyes dark with desire.

“But the compound…”

He nodded, understanding your concern. He knew that the compound would inevitably take hold again, but he didn't want to think about it now. Right now, he just wanted to focus on giving you the pleasure you deserved.

His hands wandered over your body, moving with a soft possessiveness as he explored your curves. “You’re so perfect…” Soldat whimpered in your ear. He latched his lips to the skin below your ear, on the nape of your neck.

As his kisses grew more urgent, the light brushes turned into hot and open-mouthed kisses that sucked at your skin, leaving a trail of fiery tingles in their wake. His tongue felt resplendent as he licked and sucked over your sensitive skin, leaving it slick and throbbing with heat. He moved over to your shoulder and back, knowing he was going to leave a mark. And you wanted it, you wanted him to mark you up, claim you as his.

You let out a low hiss as he pulled your hips into his lap, the cool metal of his titanium arm contrasting against the heat of his skin. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you even closer, his throbbing member pressed against your ass and his breath against your neck.

He groaned as you grinded against him, his grip on your waist tightening. You could feel the heat of his swollen cock pressed against you, begging. His lust radiated off him in waves.

“Soldat?” you whimpered, suddenly lost in your own need for attention. 

“Yes, Kotyonok?” he replied, his voice low and husky. He pressed his chest against you, his hard length now pressed against your back as he whispered into your neck.

“Touch me,” you pleaded.

He obliged immediately, running his fingers over your thighs and over your folds in a soft caress. His touch started out light but quickly became more intense as he traced the contours of your wet lips, his fingers dancing over your skin like a teasing whisper.

“Pozhaluysta (please).”

His fingers slid between your lips, seeking out your most sensitive spot. He pressed against it, light touches building up to a slow tortuous rhythm.

“Oh my God, oh God! Feels so good,” you gasped out the words, fighting to maintain some semblance of control of your breathing.

The pleasure he was giving you made your hips buck reflexively and he groaned at the tantalizing build of pressure inside him. His pain was growing again, along with his longing. But he continued with their slow torture, enjoying seeing you squirm, feeling your body arching to meet his touch. The metal hand tightening, holding you steady.

He continued to work you with his fingers, watching the pleasure play across your face as you writhe and squirm, consumed by the sensations he was giving you. Despite his own desires building, he pushed them aside, his focus completely on bringing you pleasure.

He knew you were close, so close. He could see the tension in your body as you squirmed and writhed beneath him. He increased the pressure of his touches, applying just the right amount of friction to send you over the edge.

As he worked you, he continued to struggle against the pull of the compound. The need to pleasure you was almost overwhelming, but the pain he felt was starting to overtake him. He fought against it with everything he had, determined not to give in and lose himself to the darkness. His body tensed, and his breathing grew ragged as the serum took over his mind and body. His grip on you became bruising as he waged battle; his control vs the compound.

His touch faltered, his fingers trembling and slipping as the effects of the compound consumed him. Soldat's grip on you tightened even further, his eyes growing dark as his control slipped away. You lamented the loss but kept your whines to yourself.

"Milyy?" You reached back to touch his face. He tensed at your touch, his body going taut as your fingers brushed softly against his cheek. His eyes remained dark and intense as his jaw clenched, the conflict within him clearly written on his face.

"Sorry," he whined. He reached down to touch himself, stroking his length with your essence easing the friction.

"No," you replied softly, your voice gentle. "Don't apologize." You didn't want him to feel guilty for something he couldn't control.

His body shuddered at the sensation, a low groan escaping his lips as he stroked himself. He closed his eyes, his head swimming as the pleasure consumed him. He didn't care that you could see it, he just needed a release from the pain. 

You reached for him, placing your hands on his chest to stop his movements. "Let me take care of you. Just relax.”

“Net.” He held you off.

You could see the shame in his eyes as he pushed your hands away, but you refused to back down. "Let me take care of you," you repeated, your voice soft and soothing. You reached out to touch him again, your fingers gently tracing over the contours of his face. "Please."

"No, Kotyonok. I don't want to use you.”

You shook your head, your heart aching at the thought of him suffering alone. “You're not using me,” you told him. “I want to help you. I want to take care of you. Please, let me do this for you.”

Beneath the burning lust that consumed him, deep within Soldat's soul, a tender but unfamiliar feeling began to stir. It was a feeling that he had never experienced before in his life.

But the intoxicating effects of the compound were too powerful for Soldat to resist. He could feel the hunger growing within him, devouring everything else.

Soldat's eyes darkened as you shifted onto your hands and knees, your body on display in a way that stoked the fire within him.

"You look so beautiful like this," he murmured, his voice low and husky.

You could feel his gaze burning into you, sending shivers down your spine. His eyes roamed over your body, taking in every inch with a hungry intensity.

"Please," you whispered, feeling a rush of desire coursing through you.

Soldat's hand reached out to caress your ass cheek, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. "I can't resist you," he admitted, his voice filled with longing.

His touch was electric against your skin, and you couldn't help but lean back into his touch, craving more. "Then don't," you urged, your own desire matching his. "Take me. Make me yours."

He didn't need to be told twice. He splayed his fingers across one cheek of your beautifully round ass and kneaded the muscle. “You're mine, Kotyonok. All mine.” He rubbed his cock against your leaking lips.

At his words, your body tingled with anticipation. "All yours," you breathed, arching your back slightly to give him better access.

The sudden fullness as he buried himself inside you took your breath away, and you let out a gasp of pain that made him freeze. He hadn't meant to hurt you, and he felt a pang of guilt as he saw the pain flicker across your face.

He fought against his instincts, wanting to give you a moment to adjust to his size. But the need and desire were too strong, and they overrode his guilt, leaving him powerless to stop himself.

“Kotyonok?” he stuttered.

“Shhh,” you hushed him, your voice strained but reassuring. “I’m okay. Please, don’t hold back.”

He groaned at your words, his control snapping at the sound of your voice. He was lost to his primal need, his body moving instinctively. You whimpered as he moved, the line between pain and pleasure blurred as he continued to drive into you, each plunge of his hips sending shockwaves through you. He felt so impossibly large inside you, his movements rough and uncontrolled. His relentless force drove you to the brink of release and you found yourself clinging to the bed with all your might, lost in his rhythm, your mind consumed by the intensity of the sensations he was stirring in you. Each powerful thrust sent waves of ecstasy rippling through you, each one harder and more overwhelming than the last.

For Soldat, the urge to make you his was all-consuming. Impregnating you was the only drive that mattered to his drugged body. He was close to filling you with his seed, but the small part of him that was still him, the man he was before the asset, that part that of him wanted you to share in the experience. His fingers found the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs, and he began to tease it gently, massaging it in small circular motions just the way he knew you loved.

"Soldat," you gasped.

He groaned at your gasp, your voice sending a surge of desire through him. "I'm right here," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Come with me."

As the pleasure intensified, you felt yourself on the edge of ecstasy, your body trembling with anticipation. His hand continued teasing your needy bundle, his touch almost painfully sweet after his rough onslaught. It had you squeezing around him triggering his climax. And then, with a final thrust, you both reached your peaks, exploding in waves of pleasure that left you breathless and satisfied momentarily, at least for him. He felt like his heart was ready to explode right out of his chest. As he emptied himself inside you, his breath came in sharp pants and gasps alongside an instant relief from the pain inside him. 

Soldat felt overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, his emotions swirling in a maelstrom of feelings he couldn’t begin to understand and was worried he would forget. So he pulled your quivering body close to his, holding on for his life. He could feel your heart pounding against his chest, the rapid rhythm a steady reminder that he wasn't dreaming. He buried his face in your hair, breathing in your scent as he tried to reign in his turbulent emotions.

The orgasmic relief from the compound was short-lived. Surprisingly, the soldier’s pain had eased after you had climaxed around him. The scientists had been precise about exactly what would remedy the effects of the compound. For now the soldier lay at ease, but he could still feel the chemicals coursing through his blood. The experiment was not over. You gave your report to the waiting scientists, advising that you would need more time to work on the asset. Karpov was surprisingly lenient with his approval.

You padded back to your Soldat, with a glass of water for him and yourself. “Here, you need to stay hydrated.”

Hearing your voice, Soldat looked up from where he sat, his body feeling strangely drained. He accepted the glass of water you were holding out to him and took a few sips, feeling a slight relief as the cool water washed over his parched throat.

“Spasibo (Thanks),” he managed to mutter, his voice gravelly and rough.

As you turned to put your glass on the table, you felt a soft palm around your fingers. His grip was firm, almost possessive, as if he was afraid you would slip away from him. Still reeling from the intense experience you had shared, he wasn’t ready to let go of the connection just yet. He didn’t speak, but his eyes held a silent plea for you to stay by his side.

“What is it?”

Soldat looked at you, his expression unreadable, his eyes filled with a myriad of emotions. He seemed to struggle with the words he wanted to say, as if the thoughts were warring inside him.

"I... I don't know," he admitted finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just... don't want to be alone right now.”

"You're not alone, Milyy.”

Soldat's grasp on your hand tightened a little at your words. Your reassurance seemed to bring him a small measure of comfort, and his gaze flicked up to meet yours, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. The term of endearment you'd started using today surprised him, and he couldn't help but feel touched by the unexpected affection. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, a small acknowledgment of gratitude for your presence.

“Ostavat'sya,” (Stay) he said softly.

Soldat watched as you put the glass down and climbed back onto the bed beside him. His eyes followed your every move, his gaze filled with a mix of relief and a hint of vulnerability. He shifted a little to make room, making sure there was enough space for you to join him.

As you settled beside him, he reached out to touch your face gently, tracing the contours of your cheek with his calloused fingers. Soldat wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer until you were nestled against his side. His body was warm and solid beside you, and you could feel his heart beating steadily against your chest. His touch was gentle but possessive, a silent reassurance that he was not ready to let you go.

You could hear his breathing, deep and steady, and an air of contentment seemed to settle over him as he held you close. Despite the weariness that seemed to cling to him, he seemed peaceful in this moment.

Soldat's grip on you remained strong even as he slept, his muscles relaxing as he let himself fully surrender to exhaustion. You felt a warmth spread through your chest at the feeling of his embrace, a sense of serenity settling over you. Gradually, you too found yourself drifting off to sleep, lulled into a deep, peaceful slumber by the steady rhythm of his breathing and the soothing feel of his body against yours.

Chapter 5 <MASTERLIST > Chapter 6B

[poisonlove]

Yellow | Jenna Ortega

author; I wanted to do something between a Demon and an Angel.

Jenna ortega x fem!reader

My eyes observed with curiosity and malice the bustling flow of the hospital: doctors striving to save lives, patients seeking redemption, souls finally finding peace, and others descending unaware of the torment they would endure.

I walk barefoot along the corridor, watching with a mixture of fascination and mockery as relatives weep over the lifeless bodies of their loved ones: oh, they were so tender and so... touchingly pitiful. To be honest, I enjoyed contemplating their suffering as they tried to understand the cause of death, amidst pain and tears. It almost seemed like I preferred this spectacle to the daily torment of hell. A sardonic smile played on my face, aware that the daily infernal screams might have offered a greater satisfaction than this context, but what can I say, I settled.

I spread my black wings, stretching in the gesture.

I sneak through the corridors, my lower lip trapped between my teeth, searching for room 5A. A gurney slides past me, and my hand extends over the lifeless body of a man, capturing his soul. I smile widely, watching the soul attempt to escape, the man's body slowly extinguishing.

Poor doctors, so naive.

"I hope Dad is satisfied with this little gift," I say maliciously. "After all, watching an innocent soul burn is so satisfying." I smirk and clench my fist, flames surrounding my hand guiding the soul to the house of the damned.

Lucifer, my father, had informed me of the need to corrupt more souls, specifically requesting this guy: Michael Smith. The name wasn't familiar to me, and looking at his file, he seemed like a simple and boring guy. Green eyes, brown hair, and a dazzling smile. Oh... that's what interests me.

Remorse.

The poor guy felt guilty for killing his father, a violent parent who abused his mother and little sister. From what I can see, Michael even attempted suicide.

"What a shame," I think, "if only he had taken his own life, I would have avoided all this unnecessary trouble of coming to get him."

The doctor exits the room, and I close the door behind me, tiptoeing towards the guy who was sadly gazing out of the hospital window. Of course, I won't make myself seen by the whole world; maybe I'll have some fun with his conscience. Michael had bags under his eyes, showing his fatigue, and his arms were covered with cuts that had already healed.

"Hello," I say, smiling widely, showing my canines.

The guy turns from my direction and opens his mouth in surprise, his eyes slowly looking at me in horror. I tilt my head to the side, seeing his body freeze.

"Even if you scream, they won't hear you," I say bored.

Michael looks around, blinking with disbelief.

"Have I gone crazy?" He says to himself, and I roll my eyes at his comment.

"No, I'm y/n," I say, smiling widely, spreading my beautiful black wings, my tongue passing over my canines. "I've come to give you a hand," I say innocently, his eyes looking at me with curiosity.

"What are you?" He asks defensively, his eyes moving towards the pills near the nightstand. He reaches out his trembling hand and grabs them, looking at their contents. "No, I won't disappear if you take the pills," I say amused, the guy trying to hide his fear.

"What are you?" He repeats, swallowing loudly.

"I have wings, see?" I say rhetorically, my hands grabbing a chair in front of his bed.

"Are you... an angel?" He asks, frightened and excited.

"I have black ones, idiot," I say smiling mischievously, savoring the moment of his realization. "No... no... no..." he stammers, his face turning pale.

"Your father is doing well down there," I say, laughing. "But it's only right that you come too; you killed him," I say, tilting my head to the side.

"Don't listen to her!" Someone suddenly intervenes.

My eyes go towards the sound of the voice, and I smile widely when I see who it is. Jenna Ortega, one of the kindest and most annoying angels I've ever met. Her brown eyes look at me with anger, and I can feel the disdain she feels towards me. Jenna moves a hand away from her face and walks towards me.

Even though Jenna is an angel, I feel a strong attraction to her; after all, it's justifiable since she's gorgeous.

"Jenna!" I open my arms with excitement. "My favorite angel," I say, smiling widely, her eyes looking at me with disgust.

"I can't say the same," she mutters weakly, her eyes shifting towards Michael. The guy was noticeably upset and moments away from fainting. "Hello," she says, smiling widely, a perfect and beautiful smile.

My eyes scrutinized her appearance: brown hair, coffee-colored eyes, and numerous freckles surrounding her face. As a demon, I possess all sins, especially lust. "Don't worry; you won't remember this conversation," Jenna say gently, approaching the guy.

"Hey! I was working on him!" I pout, Jenna giving me a sidelong glance. "I know it seems cliché... but you should never listen to a demon, even if their proposals are tempting," she says, looking at me scornfully.

"Thanks for the compliments," I casually examine my nails, my eyes watching how things unfold. "But now I have to finish my job," I say, smiling slightly, looking at Jenna with bright eyes.

"You don't deserve to die... you did kill, yes..." Jenna tilts her head, smiling at Michael. "But don't feel guilty for saving your family," she says gently, her hand dangerously approaching his body. I abruptly stand up from the chair, placing my hand on Jenna's shoulder, distancing her from him.

An absurd shock pervades my body, but I avoid thinking too much about it.

"If you touch him, I can't take him anymore," I growl angrily, the fire threatening to spread along my body. "I won't let you destroy him," says Jenna, smiling widely, her dimples appearing thanks to her pulled lips.

Jenna challenges me with her gaze.

"I'm a demon, Jenna. It's in my natural domain to destroy," I say with a sarcastic laugh. "And you, sweet angel, should know that better than anyone else."

I observe as Jenna spreads her beautiful wings.

"You're lucky I like you," I say, squinting my eyes, Jenna's cheeks turning red with embarrassment. "An angel blushing at a demon's words? Your God shouldn't be pleased," I say, smiling widely.

"There's only one God," she asserts herself, her voice angry.

"Apologies," I say, falsely smiling.

"What's happening?" Michael says, frightened.

"Nothing, just carry on with life; it's not your fault," Jenna says, smiling widely. The brunette raises her hand and points her fingers at the guy. A white light emerges from her index finger, and a few seconds later, it hits Michael's forehead, making him lie unconscious in bed.

"An angel playing dirty?" I say incredulously.

Jenna releases a sigh of relief since she had erased the guy's memory and then looks at me with a raised eyebrow. "You can do anything in the name of good," she says, smiling at her words.

"Even in mine?" I say, approaching the brunette.

The situation intensifies, and the spark between us grows more intense.

A strange sensation runs through my body, and instinctively, I move closer to the angel. Jenna looks at me with embarrassment. "What the hell are you doing?" she says with concern, her eyes on Michael, who sleeps peacefully on his bed. "Something I've wanted for a long time," I run my tongue over my lower lip, pulling it shyly.

Jenna watches my gesture and swallows nervously.

The brunette stretches her hands and pushes my body away from hers, avoiding my lips that wanted to land on hers. By now, the mission had failed, but converting an angel would be more fun and effective for the cause. "I know you want it," I say with a singsong tone, my breath brushing against her ear.

"It's wrong," she says coldly.

"But you want it," I say, smiling amused. Jenna pushes me away from her body, and I look at her with a raised eyebrow. "What? Every time I roam on Earth, you follow me, " I say mockingly. "Did God run out of supplies?" I ask amused, and she looks at me with anger.

"I come to prevent ruining the balance!" The brunette clenches her fists and glares at me. "Because if it were up to you, you'd let the world burn," she says, and I nod my head, knowing she was right.

"True... but despite that, you can send another one," I say mischievously.

"I have to keep an eye on you!" she snaps and rolls her eyes at my comment. I tilt my head to the side and look at her, smiling sadly.

I huff and turn my back.

I open the door of the room, intending to leave. I squint, and the sensation of flames trying to escape subsides. Other footsteps approach, and I unconsciously smile. "Are you following me now?" I say with a singsong tone, glancing at the brunette from the corner of my eye. "I repeat, I have to keep an eye on you," Jenna replies calmly.

"For what? If the way home is crowded?" I respond sarcastically.

My eyes turn to a patient's room, noticing a small child on the verge of choking. Jenna seems to have noticed but, for some reason, doesn't intervene. What? An angel not intervening? I thought.

How peculiar the situation is. The child's face is turning violet, with no family nearby.

Mmh... not so amusing.

I sigh and raise my finger towards the child. A dark trail hits the child, making them fall. In the action, the object lodged in their throat shoots out like a rocket. The child coughs, trying to recover oxygen, and the color returns to their cheeks.

Jenna looks at me with intense eyes, trying to penetrate the armor of my demonic self. "Y/n, you're not as bad as you want to believe," she asserts calmly, brushing my shoulder with a light touch. "There are still sparks of goodness in you."

I raise an eyebrow sarcastically. "Oh, really? An angel trying to convert a demon? What a nice plot twist."

"Not all demons are irredeemably evil," Jenna retorts with determination. "I can sense that there's still a trace of humanity in you; you saved that child."

The tension between us grows as we argue. The flames around me dance with an uncontrollable energy as my anger rises. "Don't play with fire, Jenna," I say with a mocking smile. "Can't you see this is my realm? Your light has no power here." I confess bitterly. "Man is selfish," I add, raising an eyebrow with malice.

Jenna lowers her gaze slightly, but her eyes remain fixed on me. "I know there's pain inside you, Y/n. But redemption is possible. Don't let the darkness consume you completely."

I approach her slowly, ignoring the flames dancing around me. "You have pity for a demon, Jenna? Interesting. But you can't change who I am. I was born for sin."

"I don't believe anyone is irredeemable," Jenna whispers with compassion. "There are fallen angels who have found the path to redemption. You could too."

"Your naivety is disarming," I say with a sarcastic laugh. "Maybe I embraced my destiny too firmly, but it's too late to turn back."

Her wings bend slightly, and Jenna looks at me with compassionate eyes. "I don't want to blame you, Y/n. I just want to help you find the light that's still in you."

I stop in front of her, the fire roaring around us, the surroundings oblivious to my pain and anger. "You have no idea what it means to be damned," I hiss, brushing her face with fingers as cold as ice. Jenna looks at me with determined eyes, her light trying to penetrate the darkness that envelops me. "Maybe it's time for you to discover how resilient my light is in the darkness," she states firmly.

I smile mischievously, flipping the script. "Are you sure you want to find out, Jenna? My embrace might be darker than you imagine."

Her wings flutter slightly, but her resolution seems to crack. "I can't surrender to your darkness, but I'm here to help you find the path of redemption."

I approach slowly, the infernal flames dancing at our passage. "And what if I told you that my dark side might be your only way out?"

Jenna hesitates, unsure, as the darkness creeps between us. "I won't allow you to corrupt me, Y/n. Light can always triumph over darkness."

With an intensely provocative gaze, I graze her lips with mine. "Light can triumph, but what happens when it mixes with darkness?" I whisper, trying to confuse her certainties.

Jenna falters, but ultimately succumbs to the ambiguous call of darkness. Our lips unite in a kiss full of contrasts, and in the moment when darkness and light intertwine, something extraordinary happens.

A strange energy emanates between us, a fusion of sin and virtue. The boundaries between good and evil blur, creating a paradoxical harmony. Jenna lets herself be carried away by the kiss, her body vibrating with an unknown energy.

Our forbidden embrace opens a breach in the fabric of duality itself, creating a bond between the dark and the light. Everything around us seems to dissipate, leaving us only with the ambiguous intoxication of what we have just shared.

I break the kiss with a mocking smile. "See, Jenna, the boundary between good and evil can be thinner than you imagine."

Jenna looks at me, bewildered and fascinated, while the effect of the kiss continues to reverberate between us. The drama between our souls complicates further, leaving both of us uncertain about the destiny that awaits us.

[reiderwriter]

My Love Is Mine All Mine

Week 2 of my Playlist series 🎧💕

Summary: Spencer Reid always liked broken things, but you didn't think you could be fixed. Maybe all you needed was understanding and companionship.

Warnings: slight angst, case details mentioned - misogyny, kidnapping, etc, but no graphic/ explicit details. Hurt/Comfort.

A/N: Tumblr, please let me post haha I've been good, I promise 🙏 This fic is so late because I've been having some technical issues with tumblr and it has greatly annoyed me, so hopefully if you're seeing this it's been fixed? Who knows... Thank you to everyone who has sent in songs so far for the Playlist series, I'll be cresting the playlist today and posting it for everyone to see and use!

Masterlist || Series Playlist

Falling for Spencer Reid wasn't in your plan for the new year, but looking back, it was probably something that was just bound to happen. 

He'd been the first person to show you any kindness after everything you went through, the first person who hadn't put their own rigid horror at your past before their attempts at sympathy. 

You watched the way people recoiled from you as you told them - bluntly, you had to be blunt - what the man in the cabin had done to you. 

He listened to your words, didn't interrupt, didn't quietly shake in anger, and refuse to meet your eyes like your father did, didn't weep for her baby like your mother did. He took your hand as it shook. He held your gaze. 

It was his job to ask questions, but there weren't many left to answer. 

The only reason you were alive was because his team had tracked the string of bodies to your kidnappers home. You were alive because one of his coworkers had put a bullet through his head, ending your nightmare. 

The very idea of love was repulsive to you as you emerged from that basement in the first days of the next year, and you remembered thinking the snow looked fresh and soft. You remembered wanting to lay in it, to wrap it around yourself like a warm blanket and drift into sleep. The cold ground would be as much comfort as you would allow yourself. 

Because after everything, you knew you didn't deserve love. 

You accepted understanding from him, though. 

When the shock wore off, you were awash in all the misery inflicted upon you. You raged, kicked, screamed, broke things, and made people uncomfortable. Nothing would numb the pain of being trapped inside your head, your head still trapped inside that basement, that cage. 

He came to visit you at the hospital. The nurses had given up on you, were content you were physically healing, and that they had technically done their job but not bothered by your deteriorating mental state. Some days, you swore that they pierced your skin in the wrong places purposefully, not even searching for your vein. 

But then he was there, with a book and a chess board, and he'd asked you if you'd ever played before. 

“No. Chess always seemed too…” You swallowed the bile that drowned your lungs and tried again. “Before, it was boring. An old person game, too many rules. Now… He said we shouldn't do things like this. Said we shouldn't cultivate our minds.” 

It was a confession again, but one that took a weight off your shoulders, and not one that pushed it further down. 

“Would you like to learn?” His tone was so soft and awkward, like a teenage boy asking a girl out on a first date, that you almost giggled. 

“I'll be honest and say you'll never beat me, I've played through most board combinations, including a large proportion of the 10^80 theorised checkmate positions, so if you'd rather do something else, that's fine, or I can leave, too, if… you'd… prefer?” 

You had laughed then, a thing that bubbled up from the pit of your stomach and left your shoulders shaking as you gasped for breath doubled over. 

You'd been in hell for six months, and he'd drawn you out of it for a few moments by rambling about chess. 

“Are you a patient person, Doctor Reid?” 

“I think so.”

“Then set up the board and let's play.” 

He beat you every time, obviously, but you enjoyed his small explanations of the moves, and you did improve slightly. 

More than that, you enjoyed his company. It wasn't that you talked extensively In your hospital room, oscillating between your lowest point and somewhere just a rung above that where the snow was falling and the air was fresh, but that he never looked at you the way others did. 

You were discharged and were sad to lose that small glimmer of normality. He'd come twice a week throughout January, and now you were back in your usual shape. You were being discharged, and so that would end. 

You were surprised that he came to pick you up from the hospital the day you left. 

The parents who had looked everywhere for you for half a year hadn't wanted to, and the close friends from before hadn't spared you a thought since reposting your missing poster on their social media pages. 

But the man you played chess with twice a week, the man who'd carried you out of hell himself was there. 

“Ready to go?” You nodded, dumbstruck, and followed as he grabbed your bag. 

You weren't exactly sure where it was you were going, but you followed the man anyway, only a small part of your brain shouting in protest considering the last time you'd been blindly trusting.

He led you back to an apartment with some bare furnishings but a large window and a warm soft blanket covering the bed. It wasn't his, but yours. 

“Your parents are paying for it. They're taking the city to court due to the circumstances. Apparently, there were numerous phone calls to law enforcement that went unnoticed, but the city is looking to settle, so you don't have to worry about rent for a while, maybe ever again. The WiFi is all set up, hot water is working, and so is the heating. The locks are triple enforced, and I'm right down the hall, so if you need-” 

“What?” 

He blinked at you and suddenly, looking sheepish, as if becoming aware that he'd presumed a friendship between the two of you without consulting you first. 

“I live down the hall.” 

You stared at each other for a few moments as you processed his words. He lived down the hall. He'd driven you to your new home, set everything up for you, and he lived down the hall. 

“You're a good man, Spencer Reid.” You whispered, turning away to not let the moment linger anymore than it already had. 

Chess nights became routine. You'd set up the board and play for an hour or two or until you were sick of losing. 

Gradually, though, the nights got longer. He'd arrive just as you were eating a meal, and you'd invite him to join you, or he'd bring along takeaway and you'd eat quietly together, talking about everything and nothing.  

One day, you'd mentioned a film. A popular one, one you'd loved as a child and still rewatched to this day. 

“I've never seen it, is it good?” He'd said. And in your shock, you jumped up and sent half the chessboard flying. 

“Well, it seems that now our game is over, that we have time to give you an education, Doctor Reid.” 

“I have three PhD's-” 

“And still you haven't seen Clueless?” 

You'd pulled him over to the couch he'd picked out for you, loaded up the movie and then invented a new tradition. 

Chess nights and film nights were separate days of the week. So he could always promise to be around for one of them even if he had to miss the other because of work. 

You didn't ask him about his job anymore. He saved people like you, and you didn't need to be thinking about people like you too much.

What they went through, if they survived physically. If they survived in other ways. 

He always visited you first when he returned, though. There would be a knock on your door at some point in the day or night, and he'd let you know he was home safe. 

Another tradition. You'd opened the door to let him in the first time he'd returned from a case after you moved in, and he'd leaned down and wrapped his arms around you. 

You heard the breath of relief, loud and emotional, and hadn't quite realised it had come from you until a few minutes later. Some part of you had thought he wouldn't come back. 

Now, every time he came home, you ran to the door and quietly comforted each other, reminding the other that no matter what happened, you were both there for each other. 

You weren't sure when traditions and movies turned into love or if it had lingered over you the entire time. You didn't think you could love someone right then, your heart broken into small pieces with the torment you'd suffered. 

But it was stitched back together with pieces of him still lodged inside. He was in the very fabric of your being as you became whole again. 

The truth was that you most likely couldn't find love again because there was no room in your heart for anyone else. And you'd never be able to reschedule chess nights to go on dates anyway. 

You weren't sure if Spencer ever figured out how much of hum you carried around with him, how your eyes followed his lips as he ran through decades of memories to give you the fact he thought would please you the most. You weren't sure if he loved you as much as you did him until you were.

You'd agreed to watch one of his movies for a change, agreeing to stop the streak of 80s brat pack classics to watch a black and white war film from Russia with no subtitles. You'd sat together on that couch under blankets you'd bought together months earlier, and he'd pulled you in closer.

“I want to watch the movie and translate at the same time. You should sit here.” He'd pulled you into his lap, letting your back fall against his chest as his lips fell to your ears, and he began to whisper. 

Sitting there so closely, so intimately, was almost torture. Unconsciously, your head tipped back with his words, displaying your neck and shoulders, silently willing his lips to drift even once. His arms wrapped around your waist, and you did your best not to squirm the entire movie, but with your heart beating out of your chest, it was a hopeless cause. 

“Did you enjoy it?” He whispered as the credits rolled, but you hadn't even noticed the movie had ended. It wasn't until the silence that followed his question stretched out notably that you came back to reality. You couldn't answer, in fact. You gaped for a few short moments, hoping something vague but accurate enough would just pop into your mind. 

As you attempted to negotiate yourself out of distraction, you turned your face to his, but he was closer than you thought.

Your noses touched, and your breaths mingled. His arms still wrapped around your waist, and your blankets still anchored you to one another. 

“I wasn't paying attention to the movie, Spencer. I'm sorry.” The words came out of you so fast, yet so quietly that you were surprised yourself how honest you had chosen to be. 

“Why not?” He asked, eyes having drifted sleepily down to gaze at your lips. 

You didn't answer his question but felt your cheeks flush red. You thought about pulling away, moving back, or at least laughing everything off, but you didn't. You stayed there, still like a deer in headlights. 

“Your voice was too distracting,” You forced some of the tension out of your body and let your head fall against his shoulder again, hoping this moment wouldn't end anytime soon. 

“Distracting?” He sounded concerned and shifted in his seat, lifting you up from your happy place in his arms until you were again face to face. “Did I make you uncomfortable?” 

The look on his face was so concerned and focused that you had to pause for a second to catch your breath. He cared about your comfort so much and paid attention to each word that came out of your mouth. He wanted your happiness more than anything in the world. 

“No. I'm never uncomfortable with you, Spencer.” You were back to whispering now, hands floating up to grab his own, fidgeting by his sides. You bought them up to your face and guided his hands to your cheeks, needing to show him just how comfortable you were with him in actions, not just words. Words could be dishonest. Actions were honest. 

His concern melted away as he began stroking your cheek with his thumb, smiling sweetly at you. 

Though you were both content, you'd never been quite this intimate before. So when his thumb swiped over the corner of your lips, your eyes both caught on each other. You could see him weighing up the outcomes in his head, going back and forth between pulling away and pushing in closer.

Slowly and softly, as though he were trying not to startle you, his head moved closer until his lips were on yours. 

It was a quiet kiss. You wouldn't describe it as fireworks, or butterflies, or anything loud and grand and passionate. It was quiet, and it was right. 

He pulled away seconds later, trying to gauge your reaction, but you followed him away and kissed him again. 

When you finally pulled away, it took you a few seconds to realise you'd climbed back into his lap, unconsciously having moved closer to him. You guiltily looked up, waiting to see any discomfort on his features, but to your surprise, he was busy straightening out your hair. 

“I love you, Spencer,” you whispered as he took care of you. He smiled, looking down at you once again, pulling his arms around you to gently lower both of you down to a laying position on your couch. 

“I love you, too,” he said as you held each other and drifted into contented sleep.

[rs-hawk]

I don't think i can explain to you the near-boundless giddy excitement I got form seeing EJ on that creeptober list of yours. (If it's not obvious, he might just be my favourite, snort) Looking forward to all of em tho ~!!

He’s GREAT. I used to have so many head cannons about him since so little is actually known. This story is actually based off my hc about his origin. I hope you enjoy!

Creeptober: Day Three

Eyeless Jack’s Obsession

Yandere! Eyeless Jack x AFAB Reader

CW: horror themes, stalking, blood, pain, death (not of reader), hypnosis, breeding, etc

Eyeless Jack was once an ordinary spirit. He lived his afterlife the way most spirits do. Bored and alone. However, that all changed when you bought the mansion in which he resided.

You moved in without ever seeing the place in person, which you soon regretted. The entire place gave you a creepy vibe that made the pit of your stomach twist into knots. At all times it felt like something was watching you. Stalking you. Filling every room with its presence.

And he was. Jack was following you no matter where you went in the house. It was like you were a drug and he was an addict. Being around you made him feel almost alive again. And the more alive he felt, the more he could interact with the physical world.

Soon he was moving things. Taking things from you. You noticed but kept trying to brush it off. You hoped thought that you were going a little crazy. After all, you worked a remote job and lived in this big creepy house all by yourself. You were supposed to fix it up and sell it for your aunt, who hadn’t lived here in decades, but it was hard. Even with the money she gave you, you struggled to make up the remainder.

Eventually though, you did, and construction started. You still lived in the loft like area that was once an attic while the crews worked downstairs. Unfortunately for the construction workers you hired, Eyeless Jack wasn’t as enthused with the intrusion into your space as you were.

On the very first day, a ladder fell over, nearly killing one of the roofers. He was fine, but he refused to return as he said he was pushed. The next time a ladder fell, a few days later, someone did die.

You heard the screaming and the sound of a body hitting the concrete. It took you a few minutes to rush downstairs. Terror filling your body. Did someone really just die on your aunt’s property? Holy fuck. How would you be able to keep living here? That poor man and his family.

While you were panicked, Jack was ecstatic. He hoped now you would send all these other people away so it could just be the two of you again. All he wanted was to be able to have you all to himself again. As he watched you panic, and the other workers calling the cops or trying to scrape their dead friend’s body off the concrete, he realized that he had blood on his hands.

For a few moments, he just stared at it. Vague memories of being alive and kicking blood from a cut on his finger drifted through his mind, but nothing solid. It was too long ago. Too hard to remember. Yet, his tongue darted out to flick across his palm.

The blood in his mouth solidified some of the memories, and made him feel almost alive. In a frenzy, he licked the blood from both of his hands, the coppery and metallic taste filling his mouth. His eyes glazed over and all he could think of was getting more blood. How much could he touch then? Could he touch you?

The next few days were a blur for you as you worked with the company and your home owners insurance to work out the logistics of the worker’s accident. Everyone saw that he just fell. The ladder was properly secured. No one was messing with it. He was acting responsibly. He wasn’t impaired or intoxicated. It was a freak accident.

But you knew. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew. It was because of that disturbing presence in the house.

You decided that you wanted the renovations done as quickly as possible, so after getting some of your money back from the previous company, you hired another. And another. And another. Every time, someone died. It was horrifying. One man came to your house just to survey the land and came across a missing roofer. He looked like he had been ripped open with a man’s bear hands, and, to both your and the surveyer’s horror, all of his organs were missing.

That night you called your aunt and told her that you were done. In the morning, you were leaving. She didn’t even try to protest after you told her everything that had happened. Jack, having over heard your conversation, was furious. He couldn’t lose you.

Over the past few months, he had undergone a transformation. Every bit of human flesh he consumed made him more solidified. More tangible. More alive. However, his face has become mutated and disturbing. Where his eyes once were, were just empty chasms, dripping black blood. His skin turned to a disturbing shade of ashy gray. So, to prevent your terror as much as he could, he carved a mask out of a piece what used to be a blue shelf. Now there was no reason for you to rebuff his affection.

When he made his way up to your room, you were on your laptop. In seconds, he tossed it from your lap, and your phone was pushed off the bed. He was on his knees on the foot of the bed, leaning over you, caging you in with his arms.

A scream welled up in your throat as the black holes bore into your eyes, but a muttering voice soothed the fear away. Your brain turned fuzzy. It was like you couldn’t think for yourself. He tilted his head, which you mimicked.

“A pretty puppet,” he purred, stroking the side of your face with one of his hands.

You couldn’t think of anything. It was like his eyes had drawn every thought or ounce of individualism from your skull. When he told you to take off your clothes, you did. When he told you to lay down, you did. You couldn’t see his mouth, and his voice seemed to come from everywhere, but you knew that it was him talking.

“Make sure your pussy is good and wet for me,” he instructed, and you obliged.

You began to finger yourself, using your other hand to play with your clit. The soft whimpers and moans that escaped your lips had him gritting his teeth behind his mask. He wanted to take you so badly, but he also wanted it to be perfect for you. His little morsel. He wanted to be apart of you. For you to be apart of him. Forever.

Once your juices began to drip onto your sheets, he finally cooed at you to stop. You did. Despite the frustration and throbbing of your pussy. He was still caging you in with his arms, his form nearly engulfing you. After a moment of watching you squirm, your neglected cunt clenching around nothing, he eased back. Unzipping his pants, and pulling down his boxers, his hard and throbbing cock was shown to you.

Once his hypnotic gaze was broken, your mind began to flood back to you, and the sight of something so massive made you try to scamper back on the bed. However, your loving Eyeless Jack realized that his hold had been broken and grabbed your face, forcing your gazes to lock. Once again, anything in your mind seemed to melt away.

“Spread your legs,” he instructed. And you did.

He slowly slid inside of you, watching your face intensely as it contorted in pain and pleasure. He stretched you out to the point that you felt like you’d burst. Your walls were still throbbing with need, forcing you to clench around him. Clearly to his immense pleasure.

“There we go. Mine. So good for me,” he moaned as he finally sank his cock deep inside of you, his eyes flickering away from your face for just a moment to see how your stomach extended from his cock.

When his gaze returned to you, he saw tears in the corner of your eyes. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to me, won’t you?” he promised, cupping your cheek almost tenderly again. You nodded obediently.

He was only slow for a few thrusts before losing what little of his kind remained. It was clear he wanted to care about your pleasure, but the decades of death and isolation left him desperate for the comfort and warmth your pussy brought him. The tip of his cock slammed against your cervix repeatedly, making you wince. He muttered out apologies, but never stopped. Never slowed down.

His cock ripped you slightly, blood beading along your tender lips. He muttered out another apology about how he’d make it up to you, and all you could do was whisper out an “okay”. It took hours for him to finish, and when he did, he slammed himself deeply inside of you, his cum pumping directly into your womb.

“There we are. Now I’ll always be apart of you,” he smiled, pulling up his mask to press a kiss to your forehead before disappearing.

As your mind came back to you, you winced at the pain, but wondered with a twisted hunger if he would come back for you.

Like this story? Support me on Ko-fi ☕️ ❤️

[corpsebasil]

Karma Part 4 aka the FINALE

with his life in your hands, it’s up to you to be with the masked killer you’ve grown to love

He held onto you, glaring with a ferocity you’d never seen before at Detective Bailey and Quinn.

Quinn, who was back from the dead, and Bailey, who was… You glanced up at Ethan’s face, examining his features for any resemblance. Ethan’s father. Ethan stood between you and the others, Sam and Tara both armed with bricks. They’d been stunned to realize Ethan was a Ghostface—more so when they realized you knew. But in your hurried explanations, that he’d defended you, hadn’t killed anyone else, their hate turned into uncomfortable apprehension.

“That bitch,” Quinn was saying, pointing her knife at you. “should’ve been my kill. I had her, E. Where the hell do you get off attacking me?”

“I told you to leave her alone.” He argued, still keeping one arm around you as he glared at his sister. He hadn’t worn the costume; he’d burned it, actually, right after the two of you had… “She’s mine. You can’t take her away from me. Not this one, one thing in my life that’s worth a damn.”

“She’s a girl, Ethan.” Quinn growled, still glaring at you. “What did that little slut do to change your mind? Did she spread her—”

“Shut up, Quinn.” Ethan’s tone was lethal. “You want her, you can go through me.”

Tara was backing away, passing a brick into your hand as you stood stock still, watching the two siblings trade verbal blows. You had goosebumps across your skin; Quinn, the girl you’d done makeup with before school, the girl with whom you’d had a Dunkin tradition on Sunday mornings, had tried to kill you? You two weren’t extremely close, but you thought that she’d liked you, at a minimum.

“Why Quinn?” You asked, voice raw as you stared at the ginger. “What did I ever do to you?”

“You were never supposed to be involved.” Detective Bailey cut his daughter off, casting his steely gaze to your own. You shrank underneath the weight of his stare. “Here’s the deal, young lady. Get out now, leave Ethan to us, and you can live. Doesn’t that sound fair?”

Your eyes cut to Ethan’s. His gaze was pained as he looked at you; when he slowly nodded his head, you balked.

“They can do whatever they want to me.” He murmured, brown eyes scanning your face. “As long as you’re safe.”

“No,” you shook your head, eyes widening. “no, E, I’m not gonna—”

“Let them have him.” Sam ordered you, and you glanced over, horror filling your expression. “He deserves it. Get out of here, Y/N.”

“I won’t.” You snapped, staring at your friend. “How could you ask me that? What if I asked you to leave Danny?” You spun to Tara, her own expression twisted. “Or Chad?”

“Chad is dead.” She said, voice tight.

“We don’t both have to lose people today.” You pleaded, looping your arms tighter around Ethan. “You can fuck yourself.” You told Quinn, and her expression promised violence. “And you.” You looked to Bailey, glaring harder. “You’re the most pathetic excuse for a father I’ve ever met.”

“You had your chance.” Bailey said, and nodded to Quinn, who lunged.

Sam and Tara swung with their bricks as Ethan hauled you away, your breath hitching as he tugged you back, back, back, your heart rate spiking to a dangerous level. And then Quinn, god knows how, was there, having had escaped Sam and Tara, and shouted a curse at the two of you.

“Join your bitch in hell.” Quinn snarled and slashed out.

Your world shrank to pinpoint.

You screamed, screamed, as the blade tore through Ethan’s abdomen. He staggered backwards, choking on a gasp, and dropped to the floor. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe as the boy you were in love with clutched as his middle, blood seeping rapidly out of the wound.

“Fuck you.” Quinn said, pointing her knife at you.

“Fuck you.” You spat back, and swung your brick.

You barely felt the impact.

She fell to the ground, teeth knocked out, but you didn’t stop. You felt insane—utterly insane as you slammed the makeshift weapon home over and over and over. You didn’t realize you were keening, tears running hot down your face, until someone grabbed your collar and yanked you away.

“No!” You gasped, the brick falling from your bloodied fingers, and Sam smacked you across the face so fast and violent your teeth cut into your cheek.

“Calm down.” She ordered, shaking you by the shoulders when she faced you. “Calm the fuck down. She’s dead. Christ.”

“Ethan—” You choked out, pointing, and Sam’s concerned stare turned hateful as she looked at him. “Sam please.” You begged, fighting her grasp so you could move towards him. He was laying flat on his back now, face screwed up with pain, his hand trembling against his wound. “Please please. I won’t ask you for anything else. Just help me.” She followed your eyes to the closest exit. If you could just get him to the hallway, maybe you could somehow break out. “Please I cant live without—”

“God, fine.” She snapped, letting go of you to help lift him. You had no idea where Bailey or Tara was but, based on the fact that you’d just bashed his daughter’s skull in with a brick and his son had betrayed him, you weren’t sure if he was going to stick around.

The two of you moved to Ethan, lifting him by the shoulders and tugging him towards the hall. A moan of pain left his lips and you choked back a sob, tears filling your eyes as you looked down at him. You were muttering reassurances, trying to convince the both of you it was okay, when Sam left to find her sister.

You kept him tucked in the corner of the hall, as far away from the fight as you could manage, as you slowly peeled up his shirt. You almost gagged. Short of his guts hanging out the wound was devastating, and you saw the tears in his eyes as he trembled.

“Baby,” you touched his face, his sleepy eyes moving to your own. “baby what do I do? I don’t know how to—”

“Duct tape.” He hissed through clenched teeth. “My backpack. Use the—the duct tape.”

You dove for his backpack, rummaging through it until you found the desired material. You yanked off a strip and began taping his abdomen shut, trying not to retch when his cries of pain met your ears. You were crying steadily now, your hands shaking, when there was finally nothing left to tape up.

“Can you—” Ethan swallowed, his speech slurring as he panted. “Just, stay with me? I just…want to be with you when..”

“No.” You shook your head, sliding onto the ground beside him and looping an arm over his chest. You pressed your face against his neck, squeezing your eyes shut. “I’m not leaving you. I cant.”

“You know I love you, Y/N.” He murmured, and you choked back a sob, your lips pressing kisses against his neck and shoulder. And then you tensed, hearing the click of a gun, and turned.

“Isn’t this a pretty picture.” Detective Bailey mused, gun at his side. “A real Romeo and Juliet story.” He pointed the gun at Ethan and you practically snarled at the man, shielding his body the best you could with your own. “You threw it all away on some girl.” He sneered, glaring at his son, who gripped your arm as hard as he could.

“Y/N, go.” Ethan breathed, wincing as he fought to prop himself up.

“You wanna kill him?” You asked, glaring at his father. How such an amazing boy came out of him, you had no idea. “Shoot me first.”

“Whatever the lady wants.” He replied, aiming for your head, and you stared with defiance as Ethan gasped, your ears vaguely picking up his begging protests.

The gunshot went off.

Bailey lurched to the side, dropping to the ground, as Sam stood before you, a gun of her own pointed at the bastard’s head. You were panting, heart racing, sure you were seconds away from following your boyfriend into death.

“He talks too much.” Sam muttered, and looked to you, concern filling her eyes. “Y/N, get up.”

“No.”

“Y/N, he’s not going to make it we need to—”

You felt feral. Absolutely wild as you glared at her, your grip on his hand, the hand that had reached out to hold yours during your execution, tightening.

“Help him. Help him and I’ll come with you.” You felt miserable as you laid your head back on his shoulder, your mouth quivering as you held him as tight as you dared with his injuries. “Ethan, come on. Stay awake for me.”

He grunted in response, turning his head to kiss your own, and Sam made a sound of both annoyance and defeat.

“Seriously? We need to—”

Doors burst open somewhere and you tensed, watching as officers entered the room led by Danny. You could’ve sobbed in relief as you saw medics entering, Sam immediately directing them your way. You murmured the updates to Ethan, whose eyes were closed, before you stilled. He was completely cold.

“E?” You whispered, sitting up. Without your presence his head lolled to the side; Ethan’s skin had gone pale and, when you picked up his hand, it felt limp in your own. “Ethan?” Your vision went white.

You were vaguely aware of the medics moving around you as you stared, ears ringing, at the boy that you loved. The boy that was dead.

“Sweetheart?” Fingers snapped in front of your face and you blinked slowly. “Sweetheart, come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

You pointed at Ethan—no, tried to point, because your body refused to move. You just stared. Stared and stared, as hands gripped you under the arms and lifted you. And then Danny was scooping you up, your eyes never leaving Ethan as the medic closest to him pressed her fingers to his neck, another examining the duct tape.

You turned away.

-

It had been four months since the theater attack.

Four months since you’d had to fight for anything—since you’d needed to fight. But now you stood in your apartment, breathing deeply, the weapon at your side clenched tight in your hand.

Your enemy stood hardly ten feet away, glaring back at you with just as much ferocity. His dark eyes never left your own as you spoke, forcing as much bravado as you could into your tone.

“I have brought peace, freedom, justice, and security to my new empire.”

The boy snorted, his eyes lighting up with wry amusement.

“Your new empire?”

“Don’t make me kill you.”

“Y/N, my allegiance is to the Republic. To Democracy!

You clicked the button on your battery-operated lightsaber at the same time as Ethan, and tried not to laugh.

“If you’re not with me, then you’re my enemy.”

“Only a Sith deals in absolutes.” He snapped back, taking a step forward. “I will do what I must—”

“AHHH!” You shrieked, charging, before Ethan had hardly gotten the last word out. He yelped as you tossed away your lightsaber and jumped on him, toppling the both of you to the ground.

“Hey, hey!” He protested, rolling you onto the living-room floor. He pinned your arms with his hands and shook his head, staring at you with disbelief. “You had another line. One more line. You always do that.”

“Next time I’ll be Obi-Wan.” You giggled, squirming around in his grasp.

“You’re a mess, you know that?” He asked, rolling his eyes, and moved off. “Can we watch the trilogy next? I wanna see Kylo Ren.”

“Ugh.” You groaned, reluctantly moving to your feet as he went to make popcorn in your kitchen. “Can we watch something else? What about a Barbie movie?”

“Absolutely not.” Ethan scoffed, turning to give you a comically disturbed look. “You tortured me last week with that marathon.”

“It was only, like, the best ones.”

“It was seven hours. Seven hours of singing and dresses and—”

“Ethaaan.” You whined, dashing over to wrap your arms around his waist. “Don’t you love me?”

“Obviously.”

“Then what’s one more Barbie movie?”

“Dear God.” He rubbed his eyes as you hugged him tighter, turning your head to press kisses to his chest. “Fine. Fine. But I’m picking it out.”

“You always give in.”

“I cant resist you.”

You smiled as he ran his hand over your cheek and kissed you, his other hand slipping into your hair to tug your head back. You let out a sigh as you sank into him, your fingers moving to run along his waist, then under his shirt and— You stiffened and he moved back.

“What’s wrong?”

You blinked a few times. Then you lifted the material of his shirt up, eyes running across the long, slightly raised scar on his abdomen. You ran a hand over your mouth and dropped his shirt, avoiding his eyes when he tugged you straight back into his arms.

“I’m fine, now. Remember?” He jostled you a tiny bit, a calm smile still on his face. “I’m fine, Y/N.”

It had taken weeks of therapy. Many, many times where you forced yourself to hang out with your friends. And way too many nights sleeping in a hospital chair, waiting for Ethan to recover.

The doctors said that it was a miracle he’d survived. That he must’ve been holding on to something—that he was a fighter. And now that he was healed physically, the both of you were doing your best to heal mentally, as well.

“Y/N?” Ethan cupped your face and looked at you, eyes scanning your own. “Together, remember? We get through this together?”

“Yeah.” You swallowed, ignoring the tightness in your chest. “Always.”

“Then let’s go watch a damn princess movie.” He smirked at you as you let out a trembling laugh, then you squeaked as he planted aggressive kisses all over your face, not freeing you until you were wiggling away from him. “Love you.” Ethan said, pulling you close, and kissed you again.

HELLOOO THE END AND THANKS TO EVERYONE THAT STUCK AROUND

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[emmyrosee]

Rintaro watches Kaiya, and nine times out of ten, he's the most through, loving husband and father you could ever ask for. He’s mindful of what he’s doing with his daughter, but still leaves her a small amount of independence that lets her little six year old mind thrive.

But one out of ten, he crumbles. This time, is the one.

Rintaro’s finally splurged money on this game to play with osamu and akagi, and both of them are finally on, so he happily sets up Kaiya next to him while he plays, giving her coloring books and toys to make do with quietly.

When she gets bored with that, she curls up on Rintaro’s lap, tiny hands playing with his hair and hitting him with pillows.

Then, finally, after too much normal… she speaks.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, angelface?"

"Wanna be like you," she says, climbing off the couch and rocking back and forth on her heels. “Wanna look like you daddy…” Rintaro flashes a smile and turns to her, pausing the game and turning to her, leaning forwards to kiss her tiny nose akin to yours.

“Kaiya, you can be anything you want to be,” he says, reaching out to ruffle her hair. “Mommy and the twins are gonna be home soon, so let’s surprise her, okay?”

“Okay daddy!” She squeals excitedly, her feet toddling back down the hall to the playroom. Rintaro chuckles and shakes his head as he unpauses his game, shooting the enemies and doing a terrible job of censoring when he loses.

He barely processes when you get home, only snapping him out of his zone when you kiss his head and he jumps a foot in the air.

“Hey momma,” he says, pausing his game and stretching. “How was the pediatrician?”

“Look dadda!” Sachiko says, showing him her arm which is covered by a my little pony bandaid.

Rintaro blows his eyes wide, “woah! My brave girl!” He reaches up to pinch her cheek playfully, which she giggles from. “How about you Sachie, you got one?”

“Ripped it off in the car,” you chuckle. “Where’s our other terrors?”

“Akito’s playing his games and Kaiya’s playing dress up,” he answers, flashing you a smile. “She wants to be like me.”

Your brows raise playfully, “oh she does, does she? Wants to be a pain in mommy’s butt?”

“Always,” he says, grinning.

You jostle the twins, “come on, let’s go check on sissy!”

“Otay mumma!”

“Yayyyy!”

Rintaro watches as you walk away with the tiny humans, shaking his head and turning back to his game with a smile, satisfied in his fatherly duties and he can’t wait to take pictures with his little mini-me, dressed in his clothes and-

“KAIYAAAA NAAAAAOOOO!”

You scream. Rin’s heart stops.

Immediately, your shriek rocks the house, making Rintaro absolutely leap off the couch, not even bothering to pause his game and making a dash up the stairs to meet you.

He sees the bathroom door open, his tiny twins watching in awe on the floor now while your hands cover your mouth in horror, and akito laughing into his fist having also been roused from his video games. At least he found this amusing.

When Rintaro pokes his head around the corner to see the action, his jaw slacks as his beautiful six year old, his tiny little mini-me and smart little stink-

Has officially cut her hair.

Short.

Just like his.

“Kaiya!” He begins, more in shock than a scold, “what did you do!”

“Wanna look like you daddy!” She cheers happily.

“THATS NOT WHAT I THOUGHT YOU MEANT!”

The two twins waddle into the room to play with the fallen hair from Kaiya’s head, gathering wads of it and trying to pass it to you.

Akito lays a hand on your shoulder, “Ma? You okay?”

Rintaro rubs a hand along your back, “babe…?”

“I leave you… with her… for FIVE. MINUTES!” You scream, and thankfully, it’s met with laughter from the three littlest children in the room. “What-! I don’t even-! When did-! RINTARO-“

“Hey hey, it’s alright!” He says easily, pulling you in for a hug, “it’s just hair baby, it’ll grow back!”

“SHE COULDVE GOTTEN HURT!”

“But she didn’t-“

“Don’t even start defending, Rintaro,” you snarl, and with fury you walk over to Kaiya and scoop her into your arms to inspect her.

Akito claps a hand on Rintaro’s back with a fresh, “good luck,” before turning on his heel to leave the bathroom and let his father be scolded. Rintaro sighs and moves to pick up the twins in his arms, watching you like a scolded child as you check her for injuries.

“I really didn’t know,” he says softly, planting a kiss to Sachie’s hair. “I just thought… she’d play dress up or something. Wear my jersey or something.”

You sigh and fist your hands tightly, “it’s got nothing to do with the actual hair cut, Rin,” you explain. “And you know I don’t care about leaving her for a bit to play video games. But she could’ve gotten so hurt! Where’d she even get scissors!”

Your teeth are gritted together roughly, so tight he wanted to massage your jaw to make it better.

But he’s positive if he touched you, you’d bite him.

“We were doing arts and crafts,” he answers quietly.

You take a deep inhale in through your nose, then slowly release it from your mouth, “come on Kaiya. Show mommy your crafts.” You bounce her slightly with a smile, “daddy’s gotta go stand in time out until he’s 40!”

She giggles while you two leave, leaving him with the twins playing with the collar of his shirt.

“Mumma mad?” Sachie asks.

“Oh yeah,” he chuckles.

“Dadda bad?” Sachiko asks.

Once again, he chuckles and plants a kiss to their heads, making them giggle and plop wet kisses on his cheeks, “ohhh yeah…

“He sure is, girls.”

——

Tagging 🥺🩷 @reverie-starlight @wolffmaiden @thoreeo @aliensknowmyillusions @tutuwusworld @lavishcherie @sassycheesecake @cheolattes @rrairey @dira333 @unknownspecies @fluffytriceratops

[luvrodite]

lover, be good to me. jason todd [3.4k]

synopsis. in the third summer of your love, you get sick.

cw. gn!reader, sickfic, mental health issues, descriptions of weight fluctuation, angst, hurt/comfort. medication. this one is a bit heavy so please exercise discretion. written from the perspective of chronic illness but nothing is specified beyond discussion of mental health symptoms.

There’s a ghost that lives in your home.

This thing lives between you and Jason, a haunting in every room, a presence you can’t not feel. You feel its baleful eyes on you in dreams and upon waking, strongest in the winter, when the East Coast chill sinks its teeth into your arms hard enough to reach bone. 

It goes like this: sometime in the third summer of your love, you get sick. There isn’t anything to point to what it is exactly, only that one June morning you don’t get out of bed. It’s nothing until it is, the next several weeks spent making a home in the four walls of your shared bedroom. 

A flip switches seemingly overnight, and you’re further from your lover than you’ve ever been. 

Jason - and the part of you that knows better, dormant now, buried beneath the rubble - watches in mute horror as you bring yourself to ruin. The desire to be good, the control you’ve held over yourself, slips free of your grasp in seconds. Invisible threads are picked at until you’re frayed at the ends and your beloved home, this reprieve the two of you had as good as built from the ground up, falls victim to it. 

You pick fights. You slam doors and hide in the bathroom for hours on end. You want to scream yourself hoarse, your fingers itching for violence, longing to shatter something if only to give life to this sickness that lives in you, as if by breaking, you’ll cast it out. The exorcism does not come, but a cloying feeling sits beneath your skin, strangling, blood sitting stagnant in your veins and rotting. 

There are moments of clarity, when you lift your head from the haze and the gravity of all you’ve done barrels into you like a freight train. Those do not last long, invisible hands pulling you back under before you can correct your course. It's as though you take the backseat, replaced by something entirely that takes the controls, watching in mute horror as you destroy everything around you.

Jason gives it back just as good but even then, even in the anger, there’s something else in his eyes. You catalogue it, feeling as though your very soul has split – it’s the you from before that weeps at this, reaching out for your lover in prostration, begging for forgiveness. The being that lives in you now, volatile, ever shifting like a burning flame, burns too bright to feel shame. He is there, and he loves you – enough to bear the brunt of your pain, apparently. Shards of shrapnel, your anger is explosive and shatters everything in its wake. It cares not for sentiment, for history and love. You hurt, and it is blinding. 

The doctor’s appointment is booked far later than it ought to be, after weeks of tumultuousness that have left a dour cover over your home, seeping through the cracks in the walls and into the surrounding apartments. Your neighbours must loathe you. You’re too detached, too selfish to care.

The night before is the most clear headed you’ve felt all month, haze lifting as if to show you – look what you’ve done, look at all you’ve wrought. The devastation floors you, the grief you’ve caused to the one you love most curdles your blood and you weep in Jason’s arms. Knelt before him, you press your wet face into his lap. 

I’ll be good. I promise, I’ll try to be better, I’m sorry. 

You can barely breathe through your tears, broken hearted, sure you must be dying. Has anyone ever felt such grief, you wonder, and the thought is immediately followed by a tidal wave of self loathing. Selfish, so focused on your own misgivings. This is no way to live.

He tells you he loves you and it feels like a kindness you don’t deserve. Too good a man for you, an exhaustion from the last month lines his features. The thought terrifies you, that you’ve veered too close to the precipice of forever splintering him, that under your hand he knows other, less gentle things. Yours has not been a peaceful love as of late, and you wonder if this will be the straw that breaks his back.

In the waiting room, his hand finds yours. A good man, one you do not deserve. He doesn’t let go. Not when your name is called, not when you tell your doctor what’s been happening.

You hope, foolish, desperate thing that you are, that they’ll offer a quick fix. It’s laughable, but the soft turn of the doctor’s gaze makes your stomach twist. So begins the year of doctor’s visits.

You become very familiar with waiting rooms, sterile rooms and the low buzz of the news channel playing on TVs, pale walls and water coolers, paper cups shredded in your lap. 

The first shrink you talk to is, at first, the answer to all your problems – Jason balks at it, in the beginning, and you hear him muttering to his brother on the phone but he doesn’t breathe a word of it to you. If it helps you, that’s all that matters. The man listens. He understands how hard things are and how your hurt is poisoning you. He makes the right noises and his cardigan lends him an air of sincerity, brown eyes framed by thick glasses that in the glare of the light feel kind, almost like kinship.

You’re desperate for a solution, even if it means taking the prescription pills that after about a week, leave you with hands that shake violently anytime you raise them, shedding too much weight, way too fast. The insomnia comes next, and then the pills that are meant to fix that. Orange, smaller than the nail on your little finger. The tremors do not go away, but in settles a new drowsiness, bringing with it vivid dreams that feel terrifyingly lifelike. You wake in a sheen of sweat to the already awake gaze of your boyfriend, eyes wide and wary, hands finding yours in the dark, whispering reassurances when you cry again. 

How many tears have you spent this year, and how many have you subjected him to?

His kindness feels like a balm over your jagged edges, and you shake your head when he first tentatively suggests that the medicine isn’t working. You’re determined to stick to your vow. You love him, you need to get better. You can’t keep living like this, can’t do the fits of rage, can’t do the mood changes. You can’t keep hurting the both of you.

Still, sleep evades you, a cruel thing dancing out of reach even when you’re told to double down on the dose. The dreams only worsen, virulent hues of fluorescent greens and red, blood and viscera on your hands. 

It feels like a condemnation when Jason mutters one night, after you’ve woken from yet another dream, body stiff with fright and reaching out for him, less hesitant now in the face of your tears, “This isn’t working.”

Bitterly, you find you can’t argue with him. Worse, you’ve shelled out a horrifying amount of money simply to vent to a yes-man. The pills are disposed of in the morning and another appointment scheduled.

Back in the waiting rooms, back to discussing other, not-shrink options, Jason’s hand finds yours once more. You watch the news, watch tired parents wrangle their sick children, watch the colourful plastic toys. 

“I hate this,” you whisper, leaning into his side. 

You’ve been unwell for a month and then some, by now. The waiting room feels like a taunt – you are sick, you are suffering. The sickness festering in you, the rot you can’t explain, makes you feel smaller than ever, frail in a way you haven’t known before. 

Before, you used to like that Jason was so much bigger than you, that he could protect you. This, though, he cannot save you from, a fact you’re sure frustrates him just as much as your weakness does you. There is the anger, of course, but there is also fear. What is to become of you now? Your life, through your failing health, has been torn from you. You feel robbed, feel a distinctly you-shaped loss in your frame that leaves you teetering on a precipice. How quickly things had taken a turn, and there was nothing you could do about it.

Jason sighs, turning to press his mouth against your hairline. “I know. I know, baby.”

You’re sent off with forms for another blood test. Maybe it’s something different, and there burns a beacon of hope. It is also entirely possible you’ll spend another six months on medication that doesn’t work. 

You don’t care for this. There is a hopelessness and vulnerability to feeling sick that you do not care for, catching sight of yourself in the bathroom mirror and doctor’s office scales and fluctuating weight – you begin to turn your head away from the numbers at this point like you're being stuck by a needle, meeting your lover’s eye while the doctor takes his notes and finding comfort in teal irises, in the small grin he gives you when you’ve done something he thinks to be brave. You don’t care for any of it, but you must. For him. 

He hasn’t breathed a word of contention to you – a good man – but you know it weighs on him. You’ve woken once or twice in the night to find him watching over you, something in his eyes like he fears you’ll slip away, a hand always in yours, or holding you close to him. 

Guilt, ever-cutting, roils in your stomach. The anger cedes these days to make way for it, and your eyes burn, shame becoming a familiar friend.

“I’ve put you through the wringer, haven’t I?” you whisper on one of these nights. He blinks, unaware you’ve woken, and it speaks to how tired he must be that he’d not noticed, too lost in his thoughts to feel your eyes on him.

He cradles your jaw tenderly with one hand, kissing your temple. “No more than I’ve worried you.”

It’s true that you’ve faced your own set of troubles with him. Still, it feels distinctly different – his anger had been the product of fear, a genuine terror at the thought of letting you get too close. There’s decay in you, one you aren’t sure has entirely left, despite your placidity these days. 

“I’m sorry.” You apologise and he narrows his eyes, but you reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers. “You’re a good man.”

“Don’t be stupid,” he grumbles. “Obviously I’m going to fuckin’ look after you.”

Do I deserve it? You think.

“Wish you’d let me do the same for you,” you whisper, instead. It’s a truth you’ve often spoken, but feels like a lie in this moment, a deflection of your feelings. Guilt, once more, settles on your tongue, cloying against your tastebuds.

He kisses you sweetly, and you wonder if he can taste it. Something in the slant of his lips tells you he knows. How could he not? Once, twice, he brushes his mouth over yours. Chaste, loving. “Just get better. Then, maybe. I’ll consider it.”

Your eyes burn, fear like the tide, washing in once more. “What if–” your breath hitches, a lump forming in your throat.

“What?” His voice is soft, encouraging.

“What if it isn’t–if I don’t–” you can’t make out the words. The pad of his fingers brush over your lips.

“You will,” Jason whispers, voice thick. His eyes are bright in the dark, you realise, horrifyingly, sapphires covered in a sheen of liquid. “You will, ‘cause you promised me. And I’m holding you to it.”

You hear it for what it is – I’m here. I’m here and I’m not letting go of you. Don’t let go of me.

He’s asked for so little. Good men are rare to find in Gotham and you’ve got the best of them. You reach up and clutch his wrist, hands turning until your fingers slot comfortably between each other. 

“Okay,” you tell him, and you know he knows. I’m going to get better. 

The diagnosis comes eventually. In your relief, there is also bitterness. Another step forward, it still feels entirely too late. It should have come before, you think. Before you’d taken a sledgehammer to your love, before you’d fractured yourself and Jason from the inside out, before you’d put scars where there had been none, invisible lacerations lining the walls of your chest.

The medication – pills, pills, always pills – is difficult to adjust to at first. It leaves you short of breath, and more anxious, reaching for Jason to ground you. You cry a lot and though it isn’t anything new, there’s a misery in Jason’s eyes that only makes you weep more. You want to be okay again. You want to smile at him without the weight of all you’ve done, without knowing you’ve made him cry when he thinks you’re asleep, tears bleeding silently into the space of the pillowcase above your head. You want to go back so bad it makes your hands shake.

You lie awake, staring at the ceiling. Jason, on his side, brushes a finger over the swell of your cheek.

“Can I say something.”

You hum, sliding your eyes over to him. He gives you a tentative smile - the barest quirk of his lips. 

“Maybe I’m being hopeful, I don’t know,” he mutters, eyes tracing the slope of your nose. “Tell me to shut up if I start talking too much.”

This bashfulness makes you laugh a little. It’s so much like before, and you ache for it. For a moment, you can pretend nothing bad has happened, that the two of you are just in love and home. 

(You wonder if you will always be reaching for before. If you’ll ever get it back, if you’ll always long for it. You wonder if Jason does too.)

“What?” you breathe out.

“Think the meds are working.”

Your breathing shallows and you blink at Jason. Hope is a fickle thing, and it feels tremulous, dancing just before your fingers, as if coaxing you to reach out. You trust him more than anyone in the world, but you’re scared to hope. “What?”

His knuckle brushes over your cheek. “You don’t look as tired.”

You avert your eyes. “Maybe I’m just sleeping better.” Tell me. I’m selfish, I know, but tell me I’m doing better. I need to hear it from you.

He shakes his head, and you quietly marvel at the bloom of pleasure in his face, a contentment you haven’t seen in months in the crease around his eyes. “It’s not that.”

The doctor confirms this when you go back a few weeks later and Jason, so like himself for a brief moment, meets your eyes over the man’s head and mouths, I told you. You bite back a grin, still wary, barely out of the woods. 

“You’ve gained weight,” the doctor says when he gets you on the scale, and he sounds so pleased the sound shoots straight through to your heart, flintstone striking a light, kindling hope for the first time in months. You look down to the numbers flashing back at you, to your lover – but he’s already watching you, eyes creased in silent pleasure. 

You are the last to accept this tentative beginning to peace, to healing, but he waits for you at the threshold, hand outstretched. 

There is no tangible evidence of the destruction you’ve wrought in your home but it lingers, even as you begin the slow crawl out of the woods. You see it in the lines of your lover’s face. There are corners of the room you cannot bear to look at for the first few months following your appointment, too reminiscent of words you’d bellowed in a rage induced haze, captive to your own body. 

This history is one too fresh, too tender to accept just yet, wounds still pink and raw. You cannot face yourself yet. There is too much to do, too much work to do, too much at stake to jeapordise if you slip and fall now.

But Jason is a good man. Much better than you think you deserve – but he’s said the same about you, so perhaps…just maybe…you think it might even out. 

He doesn’t shy away from the worst bits of you, the ugliness you’ve bared to him does not run him off, not like how you flinch from it. You made a promise. I’m holding you to it. He’s hard to shake off, but you don’t want him to. You’re thankful, even, for the dog teeth he’s sunken into your forearm, bound together in blood.

There is grief in beginning to heal. 

Perhaps heal is not the right word, and yet there is no other for this, overcoming the last few months feels like it ought to be called healing. But this is a forever thing. You will know this deficiency for the rest of your life, will know doctor’s appointments and bloodwork – strictly cautionary, we need to make sure the dose is right so we can adjust it accordingly. 

There is grief in finding your footing. It lingers, the horror of falling victim to a biological response – that your mind should so easily be lost, it feels indicative of something greater, a weakness you need to cut out at the root. Jason shakes his head when you voice this one night – you are only ever honest like this under the cover of darkness, sleep softened and gentle enough to be frank with him. 

“You’re not weak.” He says this with love in his voice, but a thread of steel weaves through his words. “Don’t fucking say that. You’re here. That counts for a fucking lot.”

He tugs you closer and you feel it again, that fear that grips his heart. Like you might dissolve in his arms in the middle of the night. 

“I feel better–than before,” you tell him, peering up at him, eyes burning. You press a hand to your heart. “But I still feel it. It’s still here.”

He presses his forehead against yours. “I know.”

And you suppose he would know. “Is it gonna be like this forever?”

He takes a moment to think, and you have to tuck yourself into his neck to hide your tears. Raw – this year has left you raw. You’ve spent a fountain of tears, but they’re yet to run out. You find solace in the hollow of his throat; if you could, you think you would attach yourself there permanently.

“Yes, but no.” You make a questioning noise and he smooths a hand down your back. “‘S gonna be different, now. Not always going to be bad, or good, just – different.”

“Different.” The word fits oddly in your mouth, and whether it’s the late hour or your grief, you can’t make sense of it. He shudders out a breath, weary, and you press closer.

“Yeah,” he whispers into your hair. 

“I just–” you swallow with some difficulty, a lump in your throat. What is there to say that you haven’t already? “I hate this.”

His lips twitch into a tired, sympathetic grin. “I know, baby.”

Silence follows his words, where you mull over all that there is to say, sorting through the jumble of words in your head. You shift until there’s a little room between the two of you, looking up at him.

“Hey.”

He hums, and you feel his hand raise from your back to cup the back of your neck, thumb sweeping over your nape gently. 

“I’m gonna –” your breath hitches, stumbling over the words. “I’m gonna be good, I’ll – I’ll be better. I promise.”

And he knows you’re not talking about your health. This is a forever thing, after all. Your words point to the hidden cracks in the walls, the foundation of your home and heart – I’ll be better. 

Tourmaline eyes crack open a little wider to look at you, tired, but hopeful. “I know, baby. We’ll be alright.”

Ah. Of course he knows. You grin tremulously up at him and press forward to smudge a kiss against his jaw, breathing your promise once more against his skin, hoping it takes root. 

Jason waits at the threshold of your new normal, arm outstretched, knowing you’d join him eventually. He’d known, of course he had – every inch of your soul was his. He holds his hand out. 

Out of the woods, you take it.

fin.

this fic has been in my drafts since 2022 and it always felt too vulnerable to write and finish. like there needed to be a big ceremony about it. this fic is incredibly personal to me, and i always thought i had to be 'ready' to finally finish it, whatever 'ready' means. but it's a sunday night and the semester begins tomorrow, and i'm writing this in bed listening to whatever my spotify plays for me. i'm not sure if this will make sense to anyone but i hope it makes you feel something regardless.

this is a love letter to myself first and foremost, because i'm no longer afraid of reopening an old wound!! i carry her with me always and i love her and i'm taking care of her. i love her and i love you.

[oceaneyesinla]

Horror Games

This is a silly idea. It's also the first time I've written for Bakugo but my Bakugo loving mutuals have converted me (if i've butchered your man and he's horribly out of character, please tell me!!!)

If you can guess what horror game i was thinking of when i wrote this, you get a cookie!

Divider by @/cafekitsune

The only sounds in the room are your breathing, the clicking of your keyboard keys, and the sounds of the game running on the screen in front of you. You’re alone in the apartment, and you decided to make the most of it; you’re playing a horror game, one you’ve wanted to play for a while, and you’ve gone all out. Headphones on, lights out - crafting the perfect atmosphere to get a good scare. It’s not often you play horror games; you’re a scaredy cat, cowering in Katsuki’s arms whenever a horror gets picked for movie night. You’re not much better in real life scenarios - you still haven’t lived down your last trip to a haunted house with Denki, Eijiro, Mina and Kyoka.

You love the story behind these games, though, so you’re willing to be brave. How bad can it be, anyway? You’ve watched so many playthroughs of other people playing - surely the jumpscares can’t get you that badly.

Everything is going well - the chicken is staying the fuck away from you, the fox is keeping its ass behind its curtains where it belongs and you’re already mentally patting yourself on the back. Maybe you are good at games after all.

Then two things happen at once. A giant blue bunny face fills the screen accompanied by a horrifying scream. That alone would have been fine. Scary, but fine. Except that at the same time, the main room light flicks on, surrounding you with unexpected light.

You let out a scream of your own, ripping your headphones off your head and pushing your chair away from the desk. The combined momentum of shoving away and trying to turn around to panic about who or what was turning the light on in your empty apartment makes the chair lose balance and you end up in a heap on the floor, still screaming as your eyes adjust to the brightness. Your heart feels like it’s about to beat out of your chest, your palms sweaty.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Katsuki is already moving towards you, clapping a hand over your mouth to quiet your scream even as he skims the other across your skin, checking for any injuries. His eyes, too, are studying you, crimson gaze watching your expression for any pain.

You wiggle your mouth away from his hand, “What am I doing? What are you doing?! You’re supposed to be out with Eijiro and Denki!” Residual panic is making your voice pitchy and your words rushed.

Now that he’s reassured himself that you’re none the worse for wear after your little impromptu meeting with the floor, Katsuki is doing a terrible job of hiding his laughter, “Kiri got called in for a last minute patrol - we rescheduled for next week. Did you not see my text?”

“Clearly not!” Your fear is wearing off, and Katsuki’s laughter is as catching as ever. Soon, you’re both giggling as he helps you to your feet, rubbing at the skin of your thigh soothingly when you wince at the dull pain there. He tucks you against his chest, pressing a kiss to your head as he murmurs an apology into your hair (even if he doesn’t sound particularly sorry, with laughter still colouring his words).

“Why were you even playing a horror game anyway? You can barely get through a horror movie without hiding behind me. What made you think making it interactive would help?” He’s speaking the truth, but that doesn’t mean you like it. You push him away with a pout, sticking your tongue out at him for good measure. It’s not fair that the smile he shoots you in response makes him look so pretty.

“Alright, c’mon sweetness. I brought cake. Truce?”

You perk up immediately, lips ticking up into a grin as you beam at him. He scoffs at your 180, but still grabs your hand to lead you to the kitchen. You’re already fantasising about the cake he’s about to feed you (and the squirty cream you just know he’s brought home too, just because it’s your favourite) so you stop in your tracks at the finger in front of your nose.

“If you have nightmares tonight, don’t expect me to coddle you. You did this to yourself, sweetness.”

You cross your arms, defiant, “I won’t have nightmares!”

You do. And despite his earlier words, Katsuki still pulls you into his chest and murmurs comfort against your skin, rubbing his warm hand up and down your back until you fall asleep again, slipping into much sweeter dreams of being in his arms.

@pixelcafe-network

[huihuiheart]

Mouse - Ateez- Yunho - Horror, Smut

Navigation

Ateez Masterlist

Pairing:  Yunho x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Horror themes, deadly escape room, multiple deaths, blood, violence, nightmares, being trapped, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, bondage, marking, spanking, oral (fem rec), fingering, mentions of multiple rounds, lying, secrets. I think that's all.

Word Count: 4868

Yunho had everything perfectly in place, nothing could stop things now. He nods at his little pawn, the man injecting his as well so that it wouldn’t look suspicious. Sure enough, he wasn’t the first one awake, and luckily for him neither were you. He wasn’t supposed to have preferences, but you were such a cute little mouse how could he not like you already? He felt it was special to get to watch you wake up, eyelashes fluttering so pretty. He wondered what it would take to get tears to fill those pretty eyes. Watching how panic set in as everyone tried the door only to find it locked. The distress on your face told him he might get you to cry sooner than he thought, but for now, he could play the savior. Going over and gently putting a hand on your arm.

“Hey, shh it’s okay. Look, there's six of us in here, we have to be able to find a way out somehow.” He gives you a small soft smile to try and reassure you feeling giddy when he sees you nod in agreement. “I’ll check in the corner, do you want to look with me?”

When you nod timidly he offers you his hand, leading you to the corner he mentioned. Letting you hide behind his large form. He only lets go of your hand to start looking through the bookshelf, smiling when you follow his lead. Looking around to see if the others were also looking for a way out.

“I’m Yunho by the way.” He tells you as he picks up another book, thumbing through it, despite already knowing exactly what was on the shelf.

“I’m Y/N.” You answer him and he nods.

“I would say it’s nice to meet you, but all things considered…” Yunho responds proud of himself when he gets a chuckle even if it’s tiny out of you.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault.” You shrug, if only you knew that it entirely was. Yunho turns to you sharply when he hears a sudden gasp, worried he’d forgotten something only to see you entirely unharmed.

“What is it?” Yunho asks, still looking over you just to be sure.

“I think I found something.” You say looking in the book, making Yunho hum looking over your shoulder, keeping his expressions in check. He was proud though, of course his little mouse would be smart enough to find something.

“Oh? I don’t see what it is?” Yunho watches as you point to the circled page number. 

“There’s only one in this book, but I’ve found a circled page in more than one book at this point. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.” You tell him, putting both books on a nearby table open to their pages.

“I think I saw one too.” Yunho says going to look through the books he set aside, handing you the ones with circled pages.

“We just have to figure out what to do with them then.” You say, seeming more energetic now as you’re starting to see some hope.

“Yeah, but I’m sure-” Yunho cuts off with a hiss of pain as a razor slips through the pages and slices open his palm.  As a result, Yunho drops the book and your attention falls fully onto him.

“Oh my god, Yunho are you okay?” You ask rushing over to him only his answer gets stopped by a loud thud followed by a scream. Both of you turning towards the commotion.

“A hammer… it…. I don’t… he opened the cabinet and it flung out at him.” The girl cries, hands trembling as she’s afraid to touch his body on the floor.

“Did you check for a pulse? I mean people can survive hits to the head sometimes.” You meekly speak up, Yunho saw the pool of blood under the man’s head though, and knew in this case he most likely hadn’t. Waiting for a second to confirm by checking for a pulse when he saw you both were too scared to. Feeling a faint one only to shake his head at you both.

“We need to get out of here right now!” The girl begins to panic.

“We’re working on it. Look for something we can use numbers for.” Yunho tells her and while she makes a face she doesn’t argue. The other two overhear and say they’ll look as well. Yunho turns to you, “Come on, let's see if there’s anything more we can find.”

“Wait! Let me look at your hand first.” You insist, reaching out to grab his wrist to look at his hand. You frown at the wound before taking the ribbon out of your hair and delicately wrap his hand. Your soft treatment made Yunho swoon internally, you were too perfect, he definitely made a mistake in bringing you here… it had to be a mistake. He had looked into you though, Y/N Park, before bringing you here and he never made mistakes, but you acted nothing like he had seen. He had to get you out… something was off.

“I’m not seeing anything with numbers!” The panicked girl huffs, “Why don’t you guys just force something open for us?”

“And risk setting something like that hammer off on us? I don’t think so.” One of the other guys counters.

“He’s right it’s too risky, but there isn’t anything with numbers.” The other guy shakes his head.

“What about the clocks?” Y/N asks, noticing how many there were in the room, “We have enough numbers to set a time on each of them.”

“Okay little miss smartypants you can test that one out yourself. I’m not putting my life on the line for your dumb idea.” The girl hisses harshly making the two men in the corner roll their eyes, Yunho glaring at her.

“It’s not a dumb idea.” Yunho assures you, “We just don’t know the order or which clock to start with.”

“Try alphabetical order for the books.” One of the guys speaks up, coming over to help organize the books like that and then into pairs.

“The title of the first book has west in it. The west wall only has one clock.” Yunho says following the directions painted onto the wall. “Maybe start there and put them in clockwise?”

Everyone except for sulking Ms. Prissy agrees, but no one moves to put the first time in. Yunho sighs before walking towards it until you grab his arm to stop him. Yunho looking at you confused.

“Maybe you shouldn’t… I mean what if it doesn’t work? What if it’s a trap?” You shakily mutter out.

“We have to try something and it’s a good idea, I’ll be fine.” Yunho assures you before going to the clock, everyone holding their breath. When he sets the time and nothing happens everyone relaxes some. Moving to put the other times in.

“Move. Get the fuck out of my way. I’m putting the last one in. I’m not going to owe anyone anything.” The little bitch shoves everyone aside to get to the last clock only to scream when she sets the time. Her hand pierced through in the center with an arrowhead. The door opening as well though, “Get me out of here!”

“If we pull you off that your hand will be in way worse shape, maybe too much to fix.” Yunho tells her, panic spreading through her once again, “You’re better off staying here and waiting for us to send help.”

She hesitated before nodding, “Okay, you better send help though.”

Everyone hesitates before leaving through the door. Yunho went last, turning to smirk and wave at the bitch before the door shut behind him startling everyone, “Oh! I guess we can’t go back in there now.” 

“It-It’s okay we can still get her help if we get out.” You say trying to be reassuring despite the uncertainty in your voice. Yunho looking at you and nodding as he pouts a little like she could actually stand a chance.

“Um guys, there’s a lot of different ways to go here, what should we do?” One of the guys says glancing around.

“Maybe we should split up? We’ll be able to cover more ground that way and hopefully find an exit faster.” Yunho suggests and although anxious the two guys nod and each pick a direction to go. Yunho’s brows furrow as you hesitate to go alone, “Hey, it’s okay, why don’t you go that way nice and slow and just look for a way out?” 

“What if something is a trap though?” You ask as you glance down the hallways Yunho mentioned.

“Well just trust your gut before touching anything. If you don’t want to check something I will when we meet back if no one finds an exit first.” Yunho offers and it has you finally nodding in agreement.

“Please be careful Yunho.” You tell him before heading your way, Yunho going his.

Once he’s sure you’re out of sight he pulls out a set of keys, twirling them lightheartedly. He approaches a door and unlocks it, careful to lock it back behind him. He looks over the cameras before the man he was simply using out of convenience this time around.

“You can either leave or join the game.” Yunho tells him dismissively. The guy’s eyes widening before he scrambles out the outside door.

Yunho looks over everything before using the controls to lock everything in the hallway you went down. So you wouldn’t accidentally set something off. Then he’s slipping back out into the hallway having set off everything in the last two hallways. He goes to the end of the hall and unlocks the last door before going back where he came from, he stops inside the one room to drop his set of keys down the durian. Waiting until he hears a splash through the rundown pipe into the sewer. This is when things started to get serious, there was far less room for error now. When Yunho sees you’re not back yet he knows he still has time, slipping down one of the other halls he finds one of the guys in one of the rooms.

“Too bad you picked the wrong one.” Yunho sighs leaning against the door frame, “I’ve worked with far less though.”

The man looks at him confused until he finally starts to realize what is happening. Yunho stepped back with a giggle as he closed the door behind him, it locking automatically from the inside as soon as it closed. Yunho steps across the hall, swinging and leaving a door open looking around before tipping over a container of vials which near instantly start smoking.

“Oops, how clumsy of me, “He shrugs before heading down your hallway then, running some to end up out of breath. 

“Y/N! Y/N!” Yunho pants as he catches up to you, “Down my hall, last door on the left there’s a window! I think we could shatter it and get out.”

Your eyes widen at the news, urgency only growing when you get to the central hallways to see flames at the end of one, screams coming from one the rooms. Yunho snatching you up as you move to go down and help. 

“You can't, it's too late for him there’s already too many flames. Go break the window and I’ll see if I can find the last guy.” Yunho urges and although it’s hard to accept you nod and listen knowing what he said made sense. Yunho watching you go before going to tie up the last loose end. 

Only he doesn’t need to as he sees the man had already triggered a trap, having been impaled. Yunho hums before taking his time, letting the flames catch up some and lick at his skin so he’s hurt further and scuffed once help arrives. Then scrambling after you to get out. Coughing up smoke as sirens pull up now. Firefighters first getting out and rushing over.

“There was a man caught in the flames and a woman trapped in the center room, but everyone else is dead.” He tells them trying to catch his breath.

Allowing you to gently help him over to the paramedics now, “It’s okay Yunho, everything will be alright now.”

He finds it endearing how you try to assure him despite your voice cracking and tearing up slightly. A sight he’s been longing to see and yet it’s prettier than he could have imagined. 

Yunho watches closely under the guise of concern from where he’s being patched up as you talk to a detective. Noticing how there seems to be a familiarity passing between you. Slowly going to make his way over and hearing bits and pieces.

“-fuck the cover. I’m never going into something like that again. You make Y/N Park disappear as fast as you made her appear! Do you understand me?” He hears you hiss at the detective much to the detective’s displeasure. The detective keeps quiet though, only clearing his throat as he notices Yunho. 

“Y/N you should get checked by the paramedics too.” He speaks softly, already trying to guide you there, not liking how you wait until the detective nods to do so. Yunho guiding you over there before looking down and feigning nervous.

“I’m worried Y/N,” Yunho tells you, and your brows furrow.

“Why? We got out alive.” You ask, reaching out to hold his hand.

“That’s why. What if he comes after me again? I live alone, no one would know.” Yunho sniffles, looking at you with teary eyes. Your heart breaking knowing that if you were in that position you’d probably be terrified.

“Why don’t you come stay with me for a little bit? It’s safe at my place.” You assure him and he nods agreeing.

“If anything happens though I’ll keep you safe,” Yunho promises.

The man follows your lead to get to your place, things clicking even more when it’s entirely different from the apartment he snatched you from. So things were different than he thought, you weren’t who he thought at all. Yunho followed your direction to shower first, then getting a chance to look around as you do, finding a badge and humming, detective Y/N L/N. So you had tried to trap him then… a clever little mouse indeed. Being sure not to touch too much he finishes looking to go to your kitchen, making ramen for you both and smiling when you come out.

“I hope you don’t mind… I figured we could both use some food though.” Yunho chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It smells amazing, thank you.” you assure, mouth watering as you sit down with him to eat.

“It’s just ramen.” He flushes a little at the compliment.

“Doesn’t matter.” You mumble through a mouthful of food not caring about manners at this point.

Both of you getting ready for bed with full tummies only to toss and turn then. Yunho timidly went to your door and was immediately invited in as you were afraid to fall asleep alone anyways. You both reassure one another until you finally doze off together. Yunho waking again at the tiniest thing to find you tossing and turning, listening to the sounds you make, and releasing a breath when you didn’t say his name, so you didn’t know…perfect. He gently shakes you awake. 

“Hey, shh Y/N it’s okay, we’re safe now.” Yunho manages to wake you up.

“Oh, I’m sorry Yunho, did I wake you up?” You ask, still trying to get your bearings after the nightmare you just had.

“No, I woke up from one too.” He smoothly lies, opening his arms to you, letting you cuddle in, “You were so brave you know, smart too. There’s no way we would have made it out without you.”

His words and hold help you some, but you’re still not entirely settled. Leaning in to kiss him doesn’t help though, but you do it before even realizing. Yunho returns it without hesitation and you relax some in response.

“We got out together.” You say quietly when the kiss breaks, “We make a good team actually.” 

Yunho nods in agreement, “Yeah, we do… you know I wish we hadn’t met like this, but I still feel like we clicked. Maybe in a different life, we would have met in a much better way.”

“Either way I’ve met you now and I say we stick together until they find the bastard.” You suggest and Yunho is more than eager to accept wanting to stay close to you.

“Will I get to kiss you again?” Yunho flusteredly asks, making your heart stop at the thought.  

“Do you want to?” Your question almost makes Yunho whine.

“So, so badly.” As soon as he’s said those words you’re closing the gap and kissing him again. Only this time it lasts longer, Yunho testing the waters by licking over your bottom lip. Practically decouring you when you open up, taking the lead now as he shifts to lean over you. When you break away to catch your breath his eyes have darkened some as he looks down at you breathing heavy, “Nothing will happen to you, I promise.”

“What happened to my shy, scared Yunho?” You ask with a chuckle.

“Maybe I was just scared for your well-being.” Yunho counters before pouting playfully, “Besides, I’m a big strong man. I can protect you.”

“Yeah?” You wanna show me how big and strong you are?” Your implication has Yunho groaning as he captures your lips again.  Fully intent on answering your questions through what he conveys in this kiss, while he still may not show you everything about him, he’s going to show you exactly how big and strong he is. 

When Yunho finally breaks away from your lips he’s pinned your hands to the bed besides your head, kissing a trail down your jaw and throat leaving blossoming marks in his wake. Something he’s been desiring to do since he first laid eyes on you since he first saw his little mouse. Even if you had tried to trick him, you were his now and he was going to make sure you and everyone else knew it…even if he couldn’t let you win in the long run. 

“Look at you, not even trying to get out of my hold.” Yunho coos teasingly, cock twitching at how your eyes gaze up at him still so innocently, “Makes me wonder if you’d let me do whatever I wanted without any fight at all little mouse.”

You feel a shift hanging heavy in the air, but he’s turning you on too much for you to be able to decipher it right now. Not when all you can think about it how good it feels to be trapped beneath him with his lips on you.

“I probably would.” You admit through a soft moan when Yunho leans down to lick a trail up your throat before locking gazes with you again.

“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.” You don’t get time to ask him what he means before his hands grip the collar of your shirt, ripping down the center of it. His mouth marking up the newly exposed skin to him, glad he didn’t have to bother with ripping off a bra too, not that it would have stopped him for long. Yunho is intent on putting his mouth on nearly every piece of skin that he can, leaving enough marks behind that you wonder if he could get them everywhere before the night is over. Once he’s content with how he’s painted your chest in bruises he quickly flips you over, pulling the remains of the shirt down until it’s around your wrists, knotting the fabric so that they’re tied together tight enough to leave a faint sting, but nothing truly unpleasant. Yunho’s hand slapping down over your clothed ass before he’s pulling down your sleep shorts, “So fucking pretty like this and so moldable under my hands, do you like me pushing you around baby?”

You know you’re already arching under any light touch on your back and pushing your hips back when he grips them, so there’s no use in denying it, “It feels good… letting you be in control.” 

Yunho throws his head back in a groan that slowly turns into a dark chuckle, here he was ruining you and you were loving it. He knew he would be poisonous to his good little mouse, but right now with you on your knees, ass up, whining for him he didn’t give a single fuck. Yunho slipped his shirt off before laying on the bed and moving up until his head was between your thighs, focused on marking them up as well, hushing your whines with a comment about wanting to make you an even prettier sight before he got a taste. Though he almost caved when he marked where your thigh meets your hips on the one side, between your reactions to the attention on the sensitive flesh and being so close to your pussy. Seeing how wet you were, practically dripping for him by now, twitching in need, and he could smell you so much that he felt as though he could practically taste you. Still, he was a man on a mission and he couldn’t get to that until he’d littered your other thigh in his claim. When he does pull you down onto his face to finally lick through your folds, trying to get as much of you on his tongue as he can, your hips jump. Yunho reacts quickly, smacking your ass with a growl against your clit.

“Stay. Still.” He mumbles against you, and the shocks that send through your body make it very hard to listen to him. You have every intention to do so though, wanting to be good for him, to listen to everything he wanted even if he conveys it nonverbally. Even with you behaving he can’t help but to spank you, his hands kneading the flesh he’s abusing between each hit, moaning against your clit each time that he does. Often dipping down to slip his tongue in, wanting his mouth covered in you by the time he’s done. He swears the only thing that could make you taste better is if you cum for him and he’s determined to get it, one hand leaving your ass so that he can lick two of his fingers before slipping them inside. They’re filling you up better than you ever would have expected for something like this, especially when he curls them just right, feeling his veins bulge and only rub more against places that you’ve never known to bring you so much pleasure. The ring that he’s been wearing on his index finger since you first met him brushing against your now too and the chill of the metal only adds to the onslaught of feelings he’s giving you all at once. When your thighs start to shake and he feels your pussy start to clench around his fingers he’s quick to replace them with his tongue, letting his nose rub against your clit, eager to get all of you in his mouth as his now sticky digits grip firmly onto your ass again. Yunho’s more than content to keep you firmly in place despite the way you tremble in pleasure until he’s gotten every last drop he can from you. Slipping out from between your thighs and placing a pillow to help keep your shaky hips up for him. 

You’re gasping again only seconds later when his fingers tangle into the roots of your hair and pull you up so that he can kiss you. Letting you taste yourself as he’s still absolutely covered in it, the man moaning as he licks it back up from you. Pulling away he looks at you with dark eyes before your face is back in the sheets as he smacks your ass the second it’s back up for him. He strips before leaning over you, covering your form entirely in his, breath hot against your ear as you feel his cock teasing through your folds.

“Do you feel how big and strong I am now, little mouse? Is there any denying I can protect you from anything?” Yunho asks, voice husky as he slowly pushes in, but your moan is not enough of an answer for him as he stills once he’s fully inside of you, “Tell. Me.”

“You can protect me.” Your answer still isn’t enough due to how it’s muffled in the sheets, Yunho gripping your jaw and turning your head so that you’re moaning into the room now.

“What was that baby? I couldn’t hear you?” He mocks, grinning devilishly down at you.

“You can protect me Yunho!” The way you’re crying out to him with the hint of a whine in your voice does it for him. Yunho can’t hold back anymore, thrusting into you quickly, even if he refuses to move far away as the weight of his chest keeps your tied hands pinned to your back. He settles enough weight on you as he leans on his forearms on either side of you to have you feeling crushed, but not suffocated by him. Something that you would rather die from than complain about so long as Yunho kept fucking you as desperately as he was. 

When you whine out his name Yunho moves one of his hands between your legs to rub at your clit, “No one can make you feel as good as I can either.”

When you shake your head he slaps your clit, not content with that, “Say. It.”

“No one can make me feel as good as you can.” You cry out, teetering right on the edge until he growls his next words into your ear.

“Good girl.”

It took three more rounds before your doe-eyed, sweet Yunho was back. Carrying you to a hot bath before your muscles could cramp up at all. His gentleness is in stark contrast with how he had been not long before as he slips one of the few shirts he had brought over onto you. Holding you throughout the rest of the night to keep the nightmares away and let you get some semblance of sleep. Only to whine and hold you tighter when you shut off your alarm the next morning and go to get up.

“Yunho as much as I would love to stay here in bed with you all day, I have to go to work.” You insist trying to ignore how he finally opens his eyes only so that he can sleepily pout up at you.

“Can I take you there at least?” You don’t have it in you to argue that one, so you nod, the both of you getting up to get ready to go. 

You let Yunho take you to work, where he hands you back your car keys and says he’s got a few errands before he’ll find a way back to your place. Waving as you walk into the precinct before looking around for a few moments curiously, giving each person who enters an enthusiastic greeting before going on his way. After all, he still had a pawn to dispose of before you had a chance to make any headway on the case. Whistling carelessly as he goes in the backway to the familiar house, the man already addressing him from the other room assuming this was just another meeting to prepare something. Oblivious to how Yunho grabs one of the cords from an outlet in passing until it’s already tightly around his neck. 

“Oh stop fighting, it won’t help. After all, there’s only one way I can keep you quiet permanently.” Yunho rolls his eyes at the struggle but holds out without even really breaking a sweat. Letting the body fall to the ground with a careless thud once he’s sure the man is dead, tossing the cord over his shoulder. Leaving behind a card with a list of the chemicals he had used to start a fire in the other building. He walks through the house for anything of particular use or interest, grabbing only a pair of sunglasses before going on his way. Sneaking back out without concern of being seen. 

He only tosses his gloves once he’s out of a good 3 block radius to be generous. Glancing down at his phone to look over the schedule of yours that he copied for himself. Excellent, he finished in time for your coffee shop meeting with a potential lead. Making a pit stop to change and put on a hat as well. He parks himself comfortably across the street and down about two doors, looking like any normal person as he sips on a drink at the small establishment, snapping a few photos of you and the civilian as he smirks to himself. You had no idea the storm that was about to be unleashed on your life, but Yunho had you trapped now. His perfect, pretty little mouse.

(Part 2 To Come)

[im-ovulating]

(A/n: And we're live! Sorry for the wait😘)

Word Count: 1,116

Summary- Good boyfriends don't let their girlfriends stay scared... And Tate's a damn good boyfriend...

Warnings: Public Indecency, Nipple Play, Fingering, Biting

Age Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Tate Langdon x Fem! Reader: Kinktober Day 4- Nipple Play + Fingering

------------------------

Another cheap jumpscare has you burying your face in the soft fabric of Tate's jumper. You huff out indignantly as he quietly chuckles at your misery. His arm tightens around you as he turns to look at you- eyes waiting until he fully faces you to move from the screen.

"You good?" He asks with a smirk.

You glare at him with a pout, any real heat vacant from your gaze. "Out of all things, why a horror movie?"

Another scream from the movie has you flinching into him and drags more silent laughter from the blonde.

You dig your elbow into his side as a small act of retribution.

"Wha- ow!" Tate whisper-yells, trying to bend his torso out of your reach.

"It's Halloween, spooky time," he pinches your thigh, "and you expected anything other than horror?~"

"As if you don't regularly watch horror movies no matter the time of the year."

"I-" A grin breaks across his face. "Fair enough, babe. Fair enough."

He wraps his arm back around your shoulders, tugging you closer. Tate leans down to whisper: "If you're too scared, I can distract you if you want~" He lightly nips at your neck before following it with a kiss.

"In the theater? Really?" You tease. "Have you no shame?~" Despite your words, you tilt your head to the side, baring your neck for him.

"Nope," he mumbles, peppering a mix of pecks and open mouth kisses along the soft skin, "and I know you don't either…"

You can feel his smile as you laugh. The screams of other movie goers drowning the sound out. "Got me there~"

You pull him into a kiss as the killer catches one of the other horny characters. 'Ironic,' you think as Tate's hand trails down to slip under the hem of your sweater. The cool of his fingers makes you suck in a gasp as they dance across your skin; they trace up and up until they reach your bra. Without breaking the kiss, Tate pulls the edge down so your breasts can spill over the top. You have to bite back a moan when he runs a thumb against your hardened nipple.

Tate smiles into the kiss as he kneads your breasts. "So sensitive~"

Your head drops forward to rest of his shoulder when Tate rolls a nipple between his finger, the gentle pain from the twist shoots straight to your core and slicks your already pulsing cunt.

"Oh my god…" you huff out, struggling to keep yourself at a whisper. The movie's loud, probably loud enough to cover most normal volume noises, but you're not taking the chance.

"I'm your god, huh?" Tate teases as his hand slips from your tit in favor of slipping down to the hem of your jeans.

You let out a short, breathy laugh. "That's not what I meant and you know it~"

He fiddles with the button on your pants, toying with it before finally undoing it. "Do I though?"

He bullies his hand into your underwear before plunging two fingers into your tight pussy. Your face drops into a silent moan as his fingers start to pump in and out of you, the heel of his hand rubbing deliciously against your clit with each stroke.

With your head still on his shoulder, Tate turns back to watch the rest of the movie. His fingers curl just right and it has you biting the inside of your cheek. Your practically panting against his neck as he continues to finger fuck you in the theater. Thank god it's a rated R movie; you would never recover from the embarrassment if you were caught doing this where kids were allowed.

The thought doesn't stick long, not when Tate adds a third finger to the mix. You can't hold back the whimper this time, so you do your best to muffle it into his jumper. You can see the shit eating grin on his face in your peripheral.

"Of course you're enjoying this…" you pant out. He glances at you.

"Why wouldn't I?" His grin widens. "It's a great movie paired with the best pussy. What's not to enjoy?~"

He uses his thumb to rough up your clit, the intense friction almost makes you scream. The only thing keeping you quiet is the finger you're biting down on.

You can feel yourself getting closer to release. Every curl of his fingers, every tweak to your clit sending electric fire through your veins. You're burning up.

You're burning up, but you're not nearly hot enough. You need more. You can't even tell what's going on on the screen. All you can hear is the quiet breathing from Tate. All you can see is how pretty the low light shines on his eyes. He's all you can taste, the lingering flavor of the salty popcorn mixing with something that is just so uniquely Tate. Tate. Tate. Tate.

He takes over your senses and it plays like a mantra in your mind as you edge closer and closer to cumming.

"Tate…" you moan into his neck as your hand grips the sleeve of his sweater. "I'm close, please don't stop~"

He doesn't say anything, but his fingers start to work you with more vigor. The soft squelch of your soaked cunt is drowned out by the obnoxiously loud music and the screams as more people get butchered in the movie; you could swear it's the only sound in the room as it echoes in your ears.

You're so close. So, so immeasurably close.

"Mmmh- Ah~" your breath stutters when his fingers graze that special spot. The pads of his fingers rubbing against that spongy tissue has your eyes rolling back as you finally tip over the edge.

You free fall into pleasure; the waves of euphoria crashing over you, threatening to drown you in bliss.

You have to bite down on Tate's shoulder to keep from screaming out. Despite his pained groan, his fingers never falter as they ride you through your orgasm.

Your eyes stay shut for a while as you gather yourself.

"Fucking hell baby-" Tate breathes as he takes in your face, still glowing with a pist orgasmic haze. "So fucking beautiful-"

His fingers slip from you, making you whine out as the empty feeling consumes you. "So fucking pretty, you know that? Always so pretty for me…"

He brings his hand up to clean your juices off his digits. Your face burns as you watch him lick and suck your cum off of his fingers. "Taste amazing too~"

The lights blind you as they suddenly come on.

Or... not so suddenly, you note as you watch the credits finish rolling.

[dreamersdreamdreams]

omg your yandere cheater boss fix is soooooo good I really do hope you make it into a series I’m like super invested now😍😍😍 maybe can you do a part three where reader gets Stockholm syndrome because they’ve gotten no social interaction other than b/n and b/n has been begging for forgiveness 24/7. Anyways I LOVE you’re writing and I hope you’re doing well☺️🫶

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ the boss part three -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

content : angst and smut ( minors do not interact )

warnings : yandere themes

key : b / n = boss’s name

author’s note : thank you so much for your request 🫶🏻 i hope you are doing well too , i hope you enjoy this if you are reader

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It was another day. You only knew that because you had watched the sun set and rise once again. You spend your day mindlessly wandering around the penthouse, waiting for b/n to return home. You clean, cook, and take care of yourself, the only thing motivating you was the love from b/n that you so desperately craved. As soon as you hear the roar of his expensive car, you run to the door to greet him with the greatest smile. “Hello, my love,” he mumbles in a groggy voice. Your heart pangs at the name. “Hello, b/n,” you day softly. “I am so exhausted, y/n. Do you mind if we skip dinner tonight?” “Not at all” you say while the steaming dinner is set on the table. B/n grabs your tiny hands in his hand and leads you to the bedroom. He drops his briefcase on the floor and immediately pulls you in to kiss him. The kiss was rough. You tell he was searching for something good in the long day he had. His hands begin to grab at every curve of your body. He picks you up and throws you on the bed aggressively. Something in that moment made tears start to flow from your eyes. Maybe it was the pain of being thrown on the bed or the seeming lack of love in his movements, his body taken over by lust. B/n is finishing undressing when he sees the tear droplets fall from your eyes onto the sheets. “I can’t do this tonight, y/n,” he says in frustration. You curl up into yourself in the silk sheets, hiding the most private parts of you. “I just want you to love me” you choke out in a sob. B/n grabs your face and smears the tears across your cheeks with his thumbs. “I remind you every day, y/n. I do love you.” You shake your head from side to side as tears roll down your cheeks. “If you loved me you wouldn’t have cheated,” you tell him while staring into his eyes with blurry vision. “I did it for us. I did it because I love you, y/n,” he asserts, gaslighting you. “I know,” you reply instinctively. He grabs your arm in a painful grip. “Then why do you keep this up, y/n,” he argues in frustration. He slams your arm on the bed, trapping you beneath him. You try to pull your arm away from the pain, but your strength could never match b/n’s. He enters into you all at once. You scream at the pain that rips through your body. He immediately starts to move in and out of you at an ungodly pace. You continue to sob throughout the night. The memories of him cheating play in your mind like some horror movie. You came quickly but you no longer felt the high you once felt; it was just a painful ritual at this point. It felt as though you were trapped in purgatory. As soon as b/n finished, he collapsed beside you and fell asleep. He left you alone with your empty thoughts. Would you ever experience true love with b/n again? No, but your corrupted brain could no longer process such realistic thoughts.