#they save that for the quiet moments alone

[peachesofteal]

Nori is such a menace she would deadass call Simon dad on purpose

Nori isn’t in bed when you wake up, and that’s a problem. 

You’ve been lucky, you guess, that Simon has been letting her sleep in your room. He even lets you lock it at night… if you’re “good”.

Small victories, or whatever. 

He’s figured out how to keep you here. How to threaten you effectively, complaints to child services, getting you fired from your job, getting you evicted, dumping your car in a river- 

Faking your death, and Nori’s. Letting you run only to bring you back again and again. 

“But I’d never hurt you, love. You or Nori, promise. Jus’ gotta trust me.” 

You’re biding your time. Waiting for the right moment, the opportune time to strike. He’s already told you he’ll have to leave for work, that he won’t be here for weeks or even months at a time, but he knows you’ll stay put. 

You’re not sure how he’s so confident, but you’re sure it’ll be his downfall. 

The saving grace in it all is that Simon doesn’t hurt Nori, or you. He’s not gentle with you so much, but with Nori, it’s different. It’s like watching a giant hold a delicate daisy in their massive hand, trying desperately not to crush it. 

It’s kind of… no. 

It’s kind of nothing. 

You rush out of the bedroom to find her sitting on the kitchen counter, little legs swinging and giggling, low cadence of Simon’s voice humming from the fridge to where she hovers over a big mixing bowl. 

“Mommy!” She smiles, arms up for a hug, but you stay on the outskirts, staring at the two of them. It’s bizarre how they look together. Nori is big for her age, was big when she was born, still in the ninety percentile, and next to him… she practically looks like she’s his. “Daddy said I could have pancakes.” Your mouth drop opens, so wide you know you’re catching flies. Simon only smirks. 

“Eleanor… baby, Simon isn’t… he’s not your dad.” Her little brow furrows, matching the pout in her bottom lip.

“But he said.” 

“He’s not your dad!” You snap, and the silence after is deafening. It lasts only a second before she bursts into tears, and Simon scowls at you. 

“Right, that’s enough.” He pulls her from the counter, holding her shoulders until she’s steady on her feet. “Go to your room and play, alright? Mum and I need to have a quick chat.” She looks from him, to you, nervously, reaching her hand out for yours. You squeeze it. 

“It’s okay, go ahead.” She nods, and waddles off, leaving you alone. With him. 

It’s quick this time. Face in the pillow, bent over his knees. He doesn’t pull your leggings down either, just wails on your ass, grunts every time he makes contact, squeezing and cooing as you sniffle. 

“If you’d listen, we wouldn’t have to do this honey.” 

“I’m not listening to you! You… you kidnapped us!” You’re trying to keep quiet for Nori’s sake, but it’s hard. Everything is hard. It’s unfair. He sighs.

“You’re in your own home, honey. How have I kidnapped you?” 

“Not kidnapped.” He hauls you upward, holding the back of your neck, wiping at your wet cheeks. “You’re holding us hostage. Just… leave! Let us go. Please.” It’s been weeks of this, and you won’t give up. The pleading. The begging. The tears don’t stop, and he pulls you into his chest. 

“I know, it’s hard isn’t it? I know.” He rubs your back, lips on your temple. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.” 

“Stop,” you croak, shaking your head. The comforting, the coddling, the affection makes it all worse. The way he kisses you, holds you. How he pulls you down on his cock and fills you up, wrists pinned tight at your back, your tits bouncing as he thrusts. 

You don’t want it. 

You beg him to stop. 

And he only holds you tighter as you come, eyes rolled back in your head, thighs shaking. 

It fills you with shame. Confusion. 

“I’m not going to stop, okay honey? We need to get this out of your system before the next one comes.” He caresses your stomach, and nausea builds in your throat. 

He’s been fucking you without a condom for weeks. Weeks. 

Your last birth control pack ran out six days ago. 

The time is ticking away. A bomb waiting to detonate, and there’s nothing you can do but sit in his lap- 

And cry. 

Later, he offers ice cream. A walk down the street to the parlor in search of Nori’s favorite flavor. A walk where you will pass people who will perceive you as a happy family, when all you want to do is grab one of them and beg for help. 

Nori is so excited for ice cream,  so happy. 

You can’t say no. 

“We’ll find you some strawberry baby girl. That sound good?” The two of you are putting on hats and jackets as he observes, thick fingers zipping your coat to your chin. “Can’t have you catching a chill.” 

“Right.” Nori beams as he does the same, tapping her nose before hoisting her up over his shoulder. 

“Ready?” 

She smiles at you mischievously, arms wrapped around his neck. “Ready, daddy.” 

[thelargefrye]

PLUSHIE TIME ... mature one - shot (18+)

pairing : boyfriend!san x girlfriend!f!reader

genre : smut (this is just pwp), established relationship

word count : 1.7k

warnings : plushie fucking, humping, masturbation (f), clit play (i guess?), unprotected sex, big dick!san, degrading / humiliation kink, some cum play, name calling (slut, good girl)

suffer with me tag : @sanjoongie

note : a little something for february filth – if you like don't forget to reblog and leave a comment, thanks!

alone and bored, you find yourself missing your boyfriend with nothing but the plushie he gave you to keep you company.

the apartment felt quiet. you lay bored on your bed as you played on your phone, switching between games and tiktok. you rolled around, switching between laying on your back and stomach as you moved around restlessly. you wanted san to come home – having gone out with his friends to eat. he had invited you to go with him, but you honestly weren’t in the mood to socialize. 

maybe you should have gone to save yourself from this boredom. 

however, the feeling of boredom wasn’t the only thing you were feeling. you allowed your mind to wander to your lovely boyfriend… and his lovely body, hands, and most importantly his lovely dick. 

damn, you were horny now. with a huff you tossed your phone to the side, eyes drifting to the cute plushie san had gifted you, sitting on the bed next to you. its form slouched over from all your moving around. your fingers reached over to touch the soft fur of the plushie, it being a comforting reminder of your soft boyfriend. you couldn’t help but bite your lip as an idea formed in your head. 

“fuck it,” you mumble to yourself as you grab the slightly larger than usual plushie as you sat up.

quickly ridding yourself of your sleep shorts and underwear, you positioned the plushie beneath yourself. straddling it with slow, deliberate movements as you positioned it comfortably between your legs. the plushie’s soft body pressing against your bare skin, teasing you with its gentle touch – reminding you of how san often teases you. 

you couldn’t help but imagine san lying beneath you, his eyes filled with a dark desire, urging you on. as you began to move, you could almost feel the heat of his body, hardness of his cock beneath you. slipping between your wet folds. 

as you rolled your hips, you felt shivers of pleasure rush through you. the plushie’s fur tickled your clit, coaxing soft gasps from your lips. you imagined san’s hands gripping your hips and guiding you, setting your pace as his voice both praised and degraded you. a rush of heat sent through you, sweat forming and you immediately took your shirt off. tossing it somewhere in the floor for you to find later. 

your fingers danced over your skin, tracing from your thighs and up your stomach before you groped your own breast. squeezing them and pinching your nipples. “mmh, sannie,” you called out, breathlessly as you picture it was him and his hands skillfully touching you. 

your rocked your hips more as your pictured san’s thick cock filling you completely, stretching you out, and hitting that perfect spot that always made you cry out in pleasure. your pace quickened, friction building up a wanting tension within you. one of your hands traveled between your legs, parting your slick folds even more to find your throbbing clit. you circled it, your moans growing louder as you grew closer and closer to your release. 

you removed your fingers, looking at how your slick covered them before you’re shoving them in your mouth. licking them and tasting yourself, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head as you pictured san’s cock was in your mouth instead. your plushie’s fur rubbing nicely against your aching clit. 

the only thing able to leave your mouth was san’s name. you could imagine his mocking tone if he was to catch you, but you honestly didn’t care at this moment if he did. you could picture san beneath you, head thrown back in pleasure as he would hold back his climax. you could hear his voice groaning as you continued to rock your hips against your plushie. 

your cries filled the room as your pace quickened, the plushie slick with your arousal as you chased your climax. the plushie’s fur creating a good friction as you felt the coil in your stomach tighten. until it eventually snapped, sending you over the edge with a loud cry of san’s name. 

your orgasm crashed over you as you collapsed onto the plushie. its head resting between your breast, smothering it like how you would with san. you let out deep breathes, heart pounding in your ears as you came down from your high. 

you hugged the plushie close to you, the image of san still heavy underneath your lids as you looked at the object you just used to get off. still feeling absorbed in your fantasy, you kissed the plushie. your lips moving rather passionately against the plushie’s stitched mouth. your tongue flicking out as if it was san you were kissing instead. 

your hips moved with a wild urgency, grinding against the plushie’s softness, each movement sending waves of pleasure over your body once more. its fur brushed against your aching clit, teasing it with every roll of your hips. your moans filled the room as you lost yourself in your need.  

you felt your world shrink to the size of your plushie beneath you. totally enraptured by the pleasure that you never heard the door opening behind you. only the startling feeling of thick hands grabbing your ankles is what brought you back down to reality. with a hitch breath you turned to meet san’s eyes. his full of lust and desire meeting your needy ones is what causes him to smirk down at you. 

“did i scare you?” he taunts with a smirk, head tilting to the side. 

your eyes darted down to look at his crotch, noticing the prominent bulge and signalling that he has been watching you for some time now. he suddenly began to move, his hands firm as he dragged the poor plushie away from you, this left your exposed and trembling with anticipation as you watched him. 

san grinned down at you as he repositions the plushie, its crotch now resting near your face while its nose nuzzled against your sensitive clit. the unexpected sensation sent a jolt through you and san let out a laugh at your reaction. san removes his clothes, his angry, red cock hitting his stomach. his tip leaking as he pumps himself to the sight of you slowly grinding against the plushie’s nose. 

you barely had time to process anything else as san comes over you, his body warm and hard, a solid weight that pinned you between him and the plushie. keeping you in place. he spread your legs wide, revealing your glistening arousal, pussy dripping with need. 

“look at you,” he taunts, voice low as a seductive growl leaves his chest. “so fucking desperate you had to hump your little toy. did you really think that could satisfy you like i can?”

“n-no!” you blurt out, his words degrading and making you flush with a mixture of both embarrassment and excitement. you felt san’s thick cock press against your entrance, teasing you with his tip before he’s thrusting into you. he fills you completely, his girth stretching you in an almost overwhelming way. your fantasies can never compare to the real deal. no matter how many times he’s fucked you. 

“is this what you wanted, baby? my fat cock stretching you and filling you up,” he says against your ear, his tongue licking along the shell of ear. 

san sets a brutal pace, each thrust driving deeper into you, claiming you completely. his hips slamming against yours in a way that left you breathless. your body arching to meet each thrust, your hands gripping the plushie almost painfully. the plushie’s hard nose against your clit with every movement, adding a layer of blissful pleasure that made you moan loudly. san’s hand snaked up to grip your hair firmly, allowing him to guide your head back to the plushie’s crotch that was covered with your juices. 

a wicked smirk painted his lips, “kiss it,” he commanded, voice full of mockery and authority that made you clench around him. “taste yourself, little slut. show your toy how grateful you are for all the pleasure it gave you.” 

you obeyed, lips pressing against the pushing down of his hand, moans muffled as he kept your head in place. your tastes yourself as your tongue licks against the fur. the act was a pure mixture of humiliation and ecstasy as each kiss and lick was punctuated by the relentless pounding of san’s cock. he continued to throw words of degradation at you, reminding you of your earlier actions. how you succumbed to your need in such a desperate, debauched way. 

“such a good girl,” he praises, voice dripping with amusement. “take it all, baby. let me see you come undone while you thank your little friend.” 

the room fills with the sounds of your shared pleasure, the slap of skin against skin, your muffled moans and cries as you feel yourself surrender completely to your pleasure and san. you feel your climax build up, tension coiling tighter and tighter with every thrust until finally, it snapped. 

it sent you spiraling into an earth-shattering orgasm. san’s own release followed quickly after. his hips stuttering as he came inside you, flooding your pussy with his cum. he held himself deep, savoring the moment of your walls fluttering around him before he slowly pulls out. he watches with satisfaction as his seed begins to drip out of you, running down the poor plushie’s face. both ends of it now coated in yours and his’s cum. 

you rolled over on your back, plushie still held closely as you flipped it back around. your eyes meeting san’s as your tongue lolls out and licks at the plushie’s face, cleaning it of san’s cum. the sight itself is nothing short of erotic according to san and he has to stop himself from getting hard again. his chest heaves as his hand comes to grip the head of the plushie tightly and rips it away from you. 

he instead presses his own lips against yours in a heated kiss. tongues tangling together, noses pressing against each other as the kiss is nothing short of sloppy and messy. when san pulls away, a string of salvia connects you both as you look at each other once more. san looked down at the plushie once more, admiring the evidence of your pleasure. 

he moved to lay against you, head buried between your breast and your hand comes to run through his dark locks. the memory of what happened tonight makes your heart race as you know what you will be thinking about the next time you are left alone.

[leonastarry]

{ 12 } Written in the stars, erased by duty. ✧. ┊    prince/king!jinwoo x fem!commoner!reader! warning: death + remains mention, angst song recommendation: rewrite the stars - the greatest showman.

Golden chandeliers bathed the ballroom in warm light, casting a dreamy glow over the nobles twirling in a carefully choreographed waltz. The air was thick with perfume, silk, and whispered ambitions.

At the center of it all was Prince Sung Jinwoo, heir to the Ahjin Empire.

And across the room, hidden in the crowd, was you—a performer, a commoner, someone who should never have caught his eye.

But when his eyes met yours, the world seemed to shrink.

He moved without thinking, separating himself from the nobles as if they didn’t exist. He held his hand out to you, palm open, inviting.

“Dance with me,” he said.

You held your breath.

You knew better. You knew what this meant. The entire court was watching, their gasps sharp as knives. A prince shouldn’t touch a performer, let alone ask them to dance.

But when Jinwoo asked, who were you to refuse?

Your fingers tentatively brushed against his, and as he pulled you into the light, the music surged, enveloping you both like fate itself.

The dance was slow, deliberate. His hands rested on your waist, his warmth seeping through the layers of fabric between you. Every step was a promise, every turn a secret whispered in the silence between heartbeats.

But in a room full of royalty, love was not just a crime, it was a death sentence.

“This can’t happen any longer,” you whispered, your eyes fixed on his.

“I'll rewrite the stars for you,” he whispered back.

And so, you danced. Not as a prince and a commoner, but as two lost souls in a fleeting dream.

Until the music stopped.

Until reality crashed down.

Until the Grand Duke stepped forward, his face like a storm smoldering with quiet rage.

“This mockery will end now,” he declared.

The soldiers stepped between the two of you. The warmth of Jinwoo’s touch was stripped away as rough hands gripped your arms.

“Don’t you dare touch her!” Jinwoo’s voice echoed throughout the ballroom, sharp as a blade.

But his title meant nothing at this moment. He was still a prince bound by duty.

And what about you? You were just a girl who had no right to hold the heart of a king.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

For days, you were locked in the dungeon. No trial, no sentence—just silence.

And then, one night, the door creaked open.

Jinwoo.

He was dressed in black, his royal robes fluttering like shadows behind him. His eyes, once filled with warmth, were now empty with despair.

“I’ll get you out of here,” he said.

He bribed the guards, silenced the nobles, and risked everything to save you.

But you knew better.

If you ran, he would lose everything. His throne. His people. His honor.

You shook your head, a sad smile playing on your lips. “You don’t belong to me, Jinwoo.”

“I don’t care—”

“You should.”

“You were born for a kingdom,” you whispered. “And I was born for darkness.”

Tears streamed down his face, silently, unceasingly.

“Then let me sink into the darkness with you.”

His voice was tight, uncontrolled.

But you couldn’t let him. You wouldn’t be the reason he lost himself.

So you had to lie.

“I don’t love you, Jinwoo. I hate you for putting me through this.”

His breath hitched. He stepped back as if you’d just hit him.

And though your heart broke with every word, you tried to continue.

“This was never real. It was just a game. A dream.”

He stepped back, disbelief and pain clear in his eyes.

“…You’re lying,” he choked out.

And before he could speak, before he could see the tears burning in your eyes—

You turned away.

"Go away, I don't want to see you anymore."

Because it was the only way to save him.

And in the darkness of the cell, as you listened to his fading footsteps—

You whispered the words you couldn't say to him.

I Love You.

But love is never enough.

You can't fight fate.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Jinwoo ascended to the throne.

The people worshiped him. The nobles praised his wisdom and strength. He was all the kingdom needed.

But he was never the same again.

His heart was buried in a prison cell years ago, left to rot with the ghost of a love he could never reclaim.

And you?

You disappeared.

Some say the guards took you away after the prince left, and that was the end of your story.

Some say you escaped, living in the suburbs, watching over him from the shadows like a forgotten ghost.

But what is the truth?

The truth is more brutal than either story.

Because even after all these years, after all the pain, after all the nights he spent looking at the stars, wondering if things could be different—

Sung Jinwoo is still searching for you.

Even knowing that he will never find you again.

Even knowing that fate has made his choice.

But still…

On the loneliest nights, under the weight of his crown, he will look up at the sky and whisper your name.

As if somehow, somewhere—

You are whispering to him too.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The palace was quiet that night.

Too quiet.

Sung Jinwoo sat alone in the garden, his golden crown placed on the table beside him. The weight of the empire weighed on his shoulders, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

Somewhere below this palace, in the dungeon, you were still waiting for him.

He hadn't seen you since the night he was forced to let you go.

He had told himself that staying away was best. That as long as you were alive, there was still a chance—a chance that one day, he could fix what had been broken.

But the silence haunted him.

He needed to see you. Just once.

Even if you hated him. Even if you told him again that you never loved him.

Because he still loved you.

Even now. Even if he had no right to.

Suddenly he heard someone whispering to each other.

He looked towards the source of the sound, why would anyone dare to enter his garden?

Behind a tree, the Grand Duke was talking to someone.

"His Majesty is still searching for that lowly woman."

"Hah, don't worry, no matter how long he searches, he will never find her," the Grand Duke laughed loudly. "Because I killed her and threw her body into the river a long time ago."

Sung Jinwoo's world became quiet.

The quiet murmur of the garden gradually subsided. The wind stopped blowing. The stars above seemed to twinkle, their light struggling against the suffocating weight of his silence.

The Duke's laughter echoed in his ears, each note like a knife cutting into his throat.

'Because I killed her and threw her body into the river a long time ago.'

NO.

His fingers trembled as he reached for the crown beside him.

NO.

His breathing slowed, too slow, his heartbeat heavy, distant.

NO.

The Duke continued speaking, unaware that death was right before his eyes.

And then—

Jinwoo moved.

In the blink of an eye, he was in front of the Grand Duke.

The old man’s laughter faded into silence.

His eyes widened as his body slammed into the tree, held down by an invisible force. His legs kicked, struggling, but Jinwoo held on tight.

The Grand Duke scratched at his throat. “Your Majesty—!”

Jinwoo’s eyes—once warm, once human—had turned pitch black. A darkness so deep, so unfathomable that even the stars above seemed to shrink before his eyes.

“Say it again.”

That voice wasn’t his.

It was something colder. Something cruel.

The Duke gasped, trying to draw air into his lungs. “P-Please—”

Jinwoo’s grip tightened.

“Say it again.”

“Y-Your Majesty—!” The Duke’s face twisted in despair. “I-It was just a joke! A misunderstanding! I would never—”

Jinwoo lifted him higher.

The old man’s feet hovered above the ground, his face flushed.

“A joke?” Jinwoo repeated, his voice strangely calm.

Your body in the dungeon. The iron shackles around your wrists. The blood drying on the cracks in the stone where you lay alone for the last time.

The river.

He threw you into the river.

A grave underwater, beneath the sky that was once yours.

The Duke’s lips turned blue.

Jinwoo stared at him.

A part of him—the king, the man he once was—might have been horrified at that moment.

But there was nothing left of that man.

Not after you.

Not after that.

A gust of wind blew through the garden. The golden crown on the table fell, clattering to the ground.

And then—

Jinwoo crushed the Duke’s throat.

The sound of bones shattering broke the silence of the night.

The Duke’s motionless body collapsed to the ground, his wide, lifeless eyes dull with horror.

Jinwoo didn’t blink.

He couldn’t breathe.

His hands—his hands were shaking.

Not out of anger.

Not out of satisfaction.

But because—

Because it was true.

You were gone.

And there was nothing left for him.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The search lasted three days.

Jinwoo himself stood at the riverbank, watching his soldiers wade through the dark waters. The smell of rain, of mud, of something old and lost clung to the air.

But he didn’t move.

No words.

No hope.

And then—

The world ended a second time.

The soldiers found a skeleton in the river, wearing your bracelet and the clothes he had last seen you in.

They gently lifted your remains out of the river, placing them before Jinwoo.

Jinwoo knelt down.

He held out your bracelet, his heart aching painfully.

You were alone.

You died alone.

And it was his fault.

A sound escaped his throat—something rough, something broken.

His shoulders trembled, his fingers clenched.

“Your Majesty…” Igris hesitated. “We should take her back to the palace—”

“Leave us alone.”

His voice was hoarse, unwavering.

Igris opened his mouth, then closed it again. He bowed and signaled the others to retreat.

Jinwoo didn’t raise his head.

As soon as the soldiers left, he reached out to you.

He carefully held you in his arms, as if you would shatter under his touch.

It hurt.

“I was supposed to saved you.” His voice choked.

The stars above him dimmed.

“I was supposed to protected you.”

The river didn’t whisper anything in response.

Jinwoo swallowed, his body trembling.

The hands that had once held hers under the moonlight were now nothing but white bones.

And in that moment—

For the first time in his life—

The great and powerful Monarch Sung Jinwoo broke down.

A tear fell onto your bracelet.

But you could never wipe it away.

Not again.

Never again.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The entire palace was in mourning.

Not for the Duke. Not for the sins buried under the royal lies.

They mourned for their king.

For the man who had once been strong, invulnerable.

Now, he had become a ghost.

Jinwoo no longer attended the royal ball. No longer smiled. No longer lived.

He never married.

No noblewoman could take your place. No queen could sit beside him.

Because the only woman he had ever loved was buried beneath the land he ruled.

And so, every night—

When the corridors grew quiet, when the weight of the crown became unbearable—

He would find himself next to what was supposed to be your grave.

He'll sit there, in silence, his hand clutching yours.

And he'll whisper the words he never said.

"I love you."

But you'll never hear them.

Not in this life.

Not next time.

Because fate took you from him.

And he'll never forgive that.

A story that maybe would help you sleep better 🥰

[steddieas-shegoes]

guilt fades, scars remain

written as part of @st-loveconfessions february kindness event for today: write a fic based on art! the moment I saw this absolutely stunning art by @stervrucht, I knew I had to get some words out. @runninriot also wrote something inspired by this art and it's just as stunning as the art itself, you can find that here!

rated m | 1031 words | cw: blood and injury | tags: eddie munson lives, steve rescues eddie, eddie has a crush on steve, pre-relationship, open ending but assume they're getting together

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The tears drip. The rain hits the roof. The sweat builds along his hairline.

Eddie’s alone. He’s scared. He’s sick of feeling pain everywhere.

“Eddie?”

The voice is back. He should be happy. Hearing Steve’s voice is a relief compared to what he’s been feeling for so long. He’s not even sure how long he’s been stuck here. Hours, days, weeks?

Years?

“Eddie.”

The voice is clear, but it’s always clear. Sometimes it’s far, sometimes it’s close. It sounds worried, but talking back to it doesn’t help.

He’s sure of only one thing: Steve Harrington’s voice is a balm on his nerves and patience alike. If he can’t have the real Steve saving him, he’s glad he at least has his voice in his ears.

Cool hands are covering his naked chest. It feels so nice, like an ice pack on an injury.

He supposes he does have an injury. Probably a lot if the shooting pains across his side and legs are anything to go off of.

“Eddie, hey.”

Eddie blinks. His vision focuses.

“There you go. Keep your eyes open. I’m getting you out of here.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Sorry we kept you waiting so long.”

Eddie’s got tunnel vision, which is weird for a hallucination. Or maybe it’s not. He’s only done shrooms once and he barely even hallucinated before he passed out.

Eddie reaches one hand up to try to feel if Steve is real. He touches bare skin and he laughs.

“‘S fake.”

Steve’s got a lot of hair on his chest, he remembers from when he jumped into the lake. He remembers thinking how nice it must be to fall asleep on his chest, run his fingers through the soft hair there.

“What’s fake?” Steve asks.

An interactive hallucination is very strange, but it’s a nice distraction from the pain. It fades in and out like the intro and outro to songs. He’s gotta figure out how to put this into music.

“You,” he answers. There’s still no other voices and there’s no way Steve would rescue him alone. No one would let him come down here alone. “Me.”

“We’re not fake, Eddie. I knew we should’ve come back sooner. You’re fuckin’ delirious,” Steve sounds panicked now, and Eddie doesn’t want that. Hallucination Steve should be relaxed.

“Calm. Hurts, but calm.”

He’s being lifted up slowly and he’s sitting for the first time since the bats started trying to eat him. Feels a little weird, something internally screams, and then he realizes he’s actually screaming externally.

Steve’s trying to keep him calm and quiet, shushing him as he pulls him to his shoulder, hand tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s nice, smelling something that’s not the stench of the Upside Down or his own blood. Feeling something human where all he’s known is dirt and ash.

“It’s gonna hurt for a few minutes, but it’ll be worth it,” Steve’s saying in his ear.

Eddie raises an arm. It hurts. It’s not as bad as when he sat up, but it’s more pain than he should be feeling.

He must make a noise because Steve’s burying his nose into Eddie’s hair and it feels intimate in a way that doesn’t belong here. This place is broken, Eddie is broken, and Steve is stable.

“I’m gonna lift you up. Is anything broken?” Steve whispers against the side of his head.

Eddie hopes he remembers all of this. He hopes when he wakes up— if he wakes up— the first thought he has is about Steve touching him like this, making him feel alive and precious, worthy.

He must’ve answered Steve because he feels the ground fall out from under him and then searing pain in his side. Steve’s carrying him and he’s going to black out from the pain.

“Just a few minutes. Just hang on a few minutes. For me, Eddie,.”

Eddie can do anything in his dreams, so he hangs on for a while and then everything goes dark.

++++

“Eddie.”

The voice again.

It’s not clear this time, but he knows it’s Steve.

“Eddie, wake up.”

He blinks his eyes open and immediately closes them again, whining at the obnoxious bright light right in his eyes. If heaven is this bright, he’s not interested.

“Sorry. Let me turn those off.”

Steve’s voice is clearer now, sinking into his brain as the memories start to float back to him. Steve saved him. Steve showed up in the Upside Down shirtless and-

“Where was your shirt?” Eddie asks, voice raspy and trembling. He sounds as weak as he feels.

“My…shirt?” Steve asks.

“Y’were naked,” Eddie continues. “Nipples everywhere.”

Steve lets out a bark of a laugh and Eddie is going to combust. Making Steve laugh might be the best thing he’s ever done in his life…or death, if he’s dead.

“I was using it to stop the blood on your leg,” Steve explains. “It was still bleeding.”

He sounds…haunted.

“Did I die?”

Eddie focuses on Steve, the way he holds himself as if he’s in trouble, the way he won’t look directly at Eddie’s face. He’s guilty, but Eddie can’t imagine why.

“No. I don’t know how, but no.”

“You saved me.”

“I was almost too late.”

Eddie hums in protest. He’s too tired to argue, but he knows he’s right. Steve saved him. It doesn’t matter how long it took, or how many shirts were ruined in the process. He’s alive.

“C’mere,” Eddie whispers.

Steve steps closer. Eddie manages to grip his shirt, not tight, but enough for Steve to look down and then back up, finally settling on his face.

“Y’did good,” Eddie says. He closes his eyes hoping that’ll conserve energy to say what he needs to. “Thank you.”

“Eddie-“

“Sit. Sleep.”

He’s not sure if Steve listens because he’s already drifting back out of consciousness, but he can feel the weight of Steve’s hand in his and he’s pretty sure he’s not gonna let go.

When he wakes up, he still feels Steve’s hand in his.

His eyes flutter open to see Steve asleep in the chair next to his bed.

Shirt on, unfortunately.

[gf2bellamy]

hi loveee i have a new request for uuuu

another rlly simple and cute one where spencer just loves head scratches (no this is totally not based on me……) and he somehow exposes that to the whole team and it’s just some rlly cute thing (bonus points if they’re on the jet and at the end after all the teasing he just lays his head on reader’s lap and gets head scratches)

you can decide whether it’s pre or secret relationship :D

danke schön

- 🐚

headscratches — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: mention of a case, just a tiny bit ( very tiny bit ) of angst, secret relationship a/n: hiiiiii 🐚 ! i totally get u i love head scratches too - thank you for ur request i hope you like this <3<3<3

Your exhausted feet carried you up the steps of the BAU jet, every muscle in your body aching from the long case. It had been a grueling few days—little sleep, too much stress, and way too many hours spent chasing down leads. But at least it was over now. The case was closed, and you could finally breathe. 

Thankfully, your wonderful boyfriend had taken it upon himself to carry your bag, saving you from having to drag it up the stairs yourself. You barely managed to collapse into one of the plush seats by the window before Spencer stowed your things away and settled in beside you. 

“Thank you,” you murmured, turning your head to look at him. 

Spencer gave you a small, knowing smile, his eyes softening as he nodded. “Of course.” 

The two of you were alone on the jet, at least for now. The rest of the team was still wrapping things up , which meant you had a few rare, stolen moments of privacy. It was a relief—not just because you could finally let your guard down, but because no one on the team knew about your relationship.

Keeping things under wraps was tricky, especially when you worked together every day, but moments like this made it worth it. 

As the jet’s engines hummed to life beneath you, Spencer leaned into you slightly, his shoulder brushing against yours. He always did that when you were alone, like some part of him just naturally gravitated toward you when there was no one around to notice. 

Without thinking, you turned to your side reaching up and gently brushing a few strands of hair from his face.

His hair was always a little unruly after a long case, messy curls falling into his eyes, and you had developed a habit of fixing it for him. 

He let out a quiet breath at your touch, his eyelids fluttering slightly as he relaxed against you. 

“You okay?” you asked, your voice softer now, laced with quiet concern.

Spencer gave a small nod, offering you a gentle smile. “I’m okay,” he murmured. Then, tilting his head slightly, he asked, “Are you?”

You nodded, and before you could say anything else, his hand found your knee, his touch light and reassuring as his fingers traced slow, absentminded patterns.

But the moment didn’t last long.

The familiar voices of your team filled the jet, breaking the quiet, and as soon as Spencer registered their presence, his hand slipped away.

Like it had never been there at all.

Spencer immediately reached for his satchel, pulling out a book as if he had been reading the entire time. You turned your gaze toward the window, pretending to be lost in thought.

It wasn’t long before Emily and Derek flopped into the seats across from you.

“I can’t wait to get home to Sergio,” Emily sighed, stretching out in her seat. 

Derek chuckled. “That cat’s got you wrapped around his little paw.” 

You turned toward her, curiosity piqued. “How is he?” 

Emily waved a hand. “Same as always. Demanding, dramatic, and somehow convinced he’s royalty.” She rolled her eyes fondly before adding, “Lately, he’s been obsessed with head scratches. I swear, if I even walk past the couch, he flops over immediately demanding them." 

You laughed. “Sounds about right for a cat.” 

Emily shook her head. “I don’t get it. What’s so great about them? He acts like it’s the greatest thing in the world.” 

Before you could reply, Spencer, who had been silent up until now, lowered his book to his lap and spoke without hesitation. 

“Head scratches are scientifically proven to reduce stress and increase oxytocin levels,” he stated matter-of-factly. “The repetitive motion stimulates nerve endings in the scalp, which can trigger a relaxation response. It’s also associated with bonding, which is why many social animals, including humans, find it soothing. It's quite comforting.” 

It took a second for the weight of his words to register. 

Then, as if on cue, all three of you turned to look at him. 

Spencer blinked, his lips parting slightly as he realized his mistake. His book was still open in his lap, but he suddenly seemed much more interested in the stitching of the pages than the words on them. 

Derek’s grin spread slow and wide. “Wait a minute…” 

Emily gasped. “Oh my god.” 

You barely held back a smile, eyes locked on Spencer as the tips of his ears turned a shade of pink. He opened his mouth, probably to backpedal, but it was already too late. 

Derek leaned forward, resting his arms on the table infront of him as he grinned. “Are you telling me you like head scratches, pretty boy?” 

Spencer quickly looked down, flipping a page in his book despite very clearly not reading it. “I was simply stating a scientific fact.” 

Emily wasn’t letting it go. “Oh no, no, no. That was way too specific.” 

Derek laughed loudly, leaning forward with a wicked grin as he reached out and ruffled Spencer’s curls. 

Spencer immediately jerked back, his entire body tensing as he shot Derek a horrified glare. He hastily smoothed down his hair, his blush deepening. 

Derek, of course, looked way too pleased with himself. “Oh, come on, I had to test the theory,” he teased, shaking his head. “And judging by that reaction, I’d say someone is pretty damn picky about where his head scratches come from.” 

Emily laughed, clearly entertained by the discovery. “Seems like he doesn’t like it when you do it,” she pointed out, eyes flicking between the two of them with amusement. 

Derek leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms with a smirk. “Yeah, I noticed. Interesting.” 

Spencer huffed, flipping a page in his book with a little too much force. “It’s not that interesting,” he muttered, keeping his gaze stubbornly locked on the text. 

You smiled to yourself at Spencer’s embarrassed form, watching the way he kept his head down, pretending to be deeply engrossed in the book in his lap. You knew better, of course. 

You knew Spencer liked head scratches—most of your evenings together looked exactly like that. Him stretched across the couch, head resting in your lap, curls slipping through your fingers as he read.

Emily, still watching you, narrowed her eyes slightly before shifting her gaze to Derek. The two of them exchanged a look—one of those silent conversations that meant absolutely nothing good. 

“Spencer Reid,” Emily drawled, her grin widening, “do you only like head scratches coming from certain people?” 

Spencer slowly looked up from his book, suspicion evident in the way he narrowed his eyes. “What?” 

Derek smirked. “You heard Prentiss.” He leaned forward. “Do you only like head scratches when they’re from her?” 

You turned toward them, blinking. Wait, what? 

It was a known fact that the two of you were close. If someone was looking for Spencer, they usually found him with you. If you were missing from the bullpen, Spencer always knew exactly where you were. And everyone on the team knew he wasn’t a particularly touchy person—except with you. 

What they didn’t know was why. 

What they didn’t know was that this wasn’t just friendship. 

That the late-night conversations, the lingering looks, the small, stolen touches all meant something more. 

That you weren’t just his best friend. 

You were his. 

And now, you were all sitting on the jet, the team watching way too closely, Spencer’s ears burning bright red as Derek and Emily smirked. 

Spencer cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “That’s—” He hesitated, eyes flickering to you for just a second before looking back at his book. “That’s not relevant.” 

Emily gasped. 

“Oh my god,” she whispered, turning to Derek, “that was not a denial.” 

Derek grinned. “Nope, not at all.” 

Spencer groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “This is ridiculous.” 

You pressed your lips together, trying so hard not to laugh. 

Emily tilted her head, eyes gleaming with mischief. “So, hypothetically, if someone else did it…” 

Spencer shot her a sharp glare. “Hypothetically, they wouldn’t.” 

Derek laughed, pointing at him. “Oh yeah. That’s so an exclusive privilege.” He turned to you, grinning. “Man, you must be special.” 

You shrugged, playing it cool despite the warmth creeping up your neck. “I guess I just have the magic touch.” 

Spencer exhaled sharply, closing his book with a thud. He turned to you, eyes soft but exasperated. “Are you enjoying this?” 

"Maybe." You shrugged your shoulders as you gave him a teasing smile.

Spencer shook his head, feigning disappointment—but you knew better. He was never disappointed in you.

You smiled softly, and out of habit, reached up to brush his hair out of his face. His eyes flickered shut for a moment, just barely, before reopening with a look that was almost a warning.

A silent, don’t push your luck. 

But you were in the mood to tease. 

To your luck, Derek was already slipping his headphones on, and Emily had her eyes closed, arms crossed as she settled into her seat. The hum of the jet filled the space, covering the small shuffle of movement as you let your fingers slip back into Spencer’s curls. 

His breath hitched, and you felt him tense—just for a second—before melting like he always did. 

You bit back a grin as your nails gently scratched against his scalp, moving in slow, soothing circles. 

Spencer exhaled, the tension in his shoulders draining as his eyes fluttered shut again. His grip on his book loosened slightly. 

You loved how easy it was, how little effort it took to make him relax. 

His head dipped slightly, unconsciously leaning into your touch, and you took the opportunity to gently guide him down. Your hand pressed lightly to the back of his head, tilting him so that his cheek brushed against your shoulder. 

For a moment, he resisted—a small, fleeting moment of hesitation—before giving in entirely. 

You kept scratching lightly, feeling the way his body settled beside you, warm and familiar. Your fingers threaded through his curls, slow and deliberate, as he let out the softest sigh. 

You smiled, pressing your cheek lightly against the top of his head. 

Spencer Reid, the most brilliant mind you had ever known, was undone by something as simple as your fingers in his hair. 

And you loved it. 

Your eyes drifted shut, fingers still moving in slow, rhythmic motions through Spencer’s hair. His soft curls tickled your cheek as you rested your head against his.

What you didn’t notice? 

The way Derek and Emily were now watching the two of you like hawks. 

Derek, one side of the headphone pushed back , slowly raised an eyebrow as he exchanged a look with Emily. She barely suppressed a grin, tilting her head slightly, as if to say, Are you seeing this? 

Oh, he was definitely seeing this. 

They had their theories, of course. The team had always suspected there was more to you and Spencer than just friendship. It was the little things—the way he only let you touch him so easily, the way you always knew how to get him out of his head when no one else could, the way he looked at you like you’d hung the stars in the sky. 

And now? 

Now, with Spencer completely nestled against you, his head tucked against your shoulder, your fingers threading through his curls that could only come from familiarity? 

Yeah. Their theories had just been confirmed. 

Derek smirked, leaning closer to Emily. “Told you.” 

Emily scoffed, but the amusement in her eyes was unmistakable. “You didn’t tell me anything, Morgan. We both knew.” 

Derek chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “Man, they really thought they were being sneaky.” 

Emily grinned. “Should we say something?” 

Derek considered it for a moment, watching as your fingers absentmindedly combed through Spencer’s hair, his entire body visibly at ease. 

He let out a small laugh. “No. Let them have their moment.” 

For now, at least. 

Because later? 

Oh, they were absolutely going to tease the hell out of you both. 

[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 11 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆˚࿔ Book 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇indornrememebr

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

Y/n sat alone in the dimly lit nursery, the soft glow of a single lantern casting shadows on the walls. She cradled Adonis tightly against her chest, his small fingers curling around the fabric of her dress as he dozed peacefully. His quiet breaths were the only sound in the room, but they did little to comfort the ache that seemed to consume her chest. Her tears fell silently at first, dripping onto Adonis’s soft curls as she pressed a trembling kiss to his forehead. The weight of her captivity, the suffocating presence of Raphael, and the constant fear for her son had taken its toll. But tonight, it wasn’t just the present that haunted her, it was the absence of the people she loved most.

She could almost hear Antinous’s voice, teasing her in that sarcastic way of his, calling her stubborn and overdramatic but always watching over her like the protective older brother he had been. He was brash, hot headed, and often infuriating, but he loved her fiercely. She missed the way he’d bicker with her one minute and stand ready to defend her the next. The thought of him locked away in Ithaca, unaware of her suffering, made her heart ache all the more.

And Telemachus, her beloved Telemachus. She closed her eyes, clutching Adonis even tighter. She could almost feel his arms around her, his warm voice whispering reassurances that everything would be okay. She could picture his laugh, the way his eyes would light up whenever he looked at her or held their son. He was her anchor, her strength, and now he was gone, too far away to protect her or Adonis from Raphael’s cruel games.

A choked sob escaped her lips, and she buried her face in Adonis’s tiny shoulder. “I miss them so much,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I miss them, Adonis. I miss your father, your uncle… I miss home.” Adonis stirred slightly, his little hand brushing against her cheek as though sensing her sadness. It only made her cry harder. “They’ll come for us,” she whispered, almost as if trying to convince herself. “They’ll come, they have to. Your father… he’ll bring us home.”

But doubt lingered in her heart. What if they didn’t? What if Raphael’s lies about storms and shipwrecks were true? What if Telemachus had already lost his life trying to save hers? What if Antinous never knew what had happened to her?she shook her head, refusing to entertain those thoughts. “They will come,” she repeated firmly, her tears still falling. “They have to.”

She looked down at Adonis, his innocent face so peaceful in sleep. Her son was her only solace now, her reason to keep going. Gently rocking him, she whispered a lullaby, her voice shaky but soft. “Sleep, my love..” As her voice wavered, she kissed his forehead once more, her tears wetting his soft skin. “I promise,” she whispered, “I’ll keep you safe. I’ll hold on until they come. I won’t let him win.” But deep inside, she felt the crushing loneliness of the moment, the overwhelming longing for the family who was so far out of reach.

——

Antinous paced the ship’s deck like a caged animal, his hands clenched into fists. The constant sound of waves crashing against the hull seemed to only fuel his restless energy. His jaw was tight, and his eyes were blazing with frustration and anger. Eurymachus, leaning lazily against a crate nearby, raised an eyebrow as he watched Antinous fume. “You’re going to wear a hole in the deck if you keep pacing like that,” Eurymachus said with a smirk, clearly unbothered by Antinous’s intensity. “What’s got your toga in a twist now?”

Antinous stopped abruptly, his shoulders stiff as he turned to glare at Eurymachus. “What’s got me in a twist?” he repeated, his voice rising. “My sister—my baby sister—is out there, being held by that bastard Raphael, and you’re asking me what’s wrong?”

Eurymachus raised his hands in mock surrender. “Easy there, Antinous. I didn’t mean to hit a nerve. I get it. You’re pissed. But pacing and shouting isn’t going to bring her back.”

Antinous stepped closer, his face inches from Eurymachus’s, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “When I get my hands on him, Eurymachus… when I find him��” His hands twitched as if imagining wrapping them around Raphael’s throat. “I’m going to make him beg for death. I’ll carve out every ounce of his arrogance, strip him of every shred of dignity, and let him rot.”

Eurymachus whistled low, his smirk faltering slightly as he realized just how serious Antinous was. “That’s… uh, quite the plan. Got any specifics in mind, or are you just going to wing it?”

Antinous’s eyes darkened, and his voice took on a venomous edge. “Oh, I’ve got specifics. First, I’ll break his fingers one by one, make sure he can’t lay another hand on her. Then I’ll take my time with him, make him feel every ounce of pain he’s caused her, and when he’s finally at his weakest, I’ll remind him that this is just the beginning.”

Eurymachus, though usually one to make light of any situation, found himself shifting uncomfortably under Antinous’s glare. “You’ve, uh, really thought this through, haven’t you?”

Antinous let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Do you think I can sleep at night knowing she’s out there? Knowing he’s probably… hurting her?” His voice cracked slightly, but he quickly masked it with anger. “I can’t stop picturing her, scared, alone, with that monster whispering lies into her ear. And Adonis… my nephew. If he lays a hand on that child, I swear to the gods, there won’t be enough of him left to bury.”

Eurymachus studied him for a moment, uncharacteristically quiet. “You really love her, huh?”

“She’s my sister,” Antinous snapped, his tone softening just a fraction. “She’s the only family I have left. I failed her once by letting her get taken. I’m not going to fail her again.”

Eurymachus nodded slowly, his usual bravado replaced by something almost resembling respect. “Alright, Antinous. We’ll get her back. But you need to keep your head on straight. Losing it now isn’t going to help her.”

Antinous sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as some of the tension drained out of him. “I know. But if I don’t make it out of this, promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Promise me you’ll make sure Raphael suffers.”

Eurymachus smirked again, though this time there was a glint of determination in his eyes. “You’ve got my word. That bastard’s going to regret ever setting foot on Ithacan soil.”

——

The storm hit with no warning. The skies darkened as if night had fallen early, the waves roared like thunder, and the wind howled with a ferocity that made the ship groan under its power. Rain lashed against their faces, and the crew scrambled to keep the ship steady, their voices lost in the chaos. “Hold the line! Don’t let her tip!” Telemachus yelled, gripping the wheel with all his strength. His muscles strained as the ship tilted dangerously with each wave. Acrisios was beside him, trying to tie down loose cargo that was sliding across the deck.

“This is worse than the last storm!” Acrisios shouted, his voice barely audible over the crashing waves. “I swear, the gods have it out for us!”

Cassander and Eurymachus were at the oars, trying to stabilize the ship while exchanging their usual banter despite the chaos. “This is it!” Eurymachus yelled, half panicked. “We’re done for! Drowned before we even get a single war prize!”

“Quit your whining!” Cassander snapped, though his grip on the oars was as white-knuckled as Eurymachus’s. “If I die, I swear I’ll haunt you!”

Meanwhile, Florus was gripping the mast, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon. “We need to steer clear of those rocks! Telemachus, to the left!”

“Don’t tell me how to steer my ship!” Telemachus growled, but he adjusted the course anyway, the ship barely missing the jagged rocks Florus had pointed out.

Through it all, Antinous and Druses were… sleeping. In the middle of the storm “Unbelievable!” Pisistratus snapped as he tightened a rope. “They can sleep through this?!”

“Forget them!” Telemachus yelled. “We’ve got bigger problems!”

Another wave crashed over the deck, soaking everyone to the bone and sending Florus tumbling into a heap of barrels. Telemachus barked orders, but the storm was relentless, and one by one, the crew began to lose hope. Suddenly, a massive wave surged forward, lifting the ship into the air before slamming it down into the water. The force sent the crew flying in all directions.

The world spun as the ship was tossed like a toy. Then, darkness. Telemachus woke up coughing, his body aching as he pulled himself out of the sand. He squinted against the harsh sunlight, his head pounding from the ordeal. Around him, the remains of the ship were scattered across the shore, broken planks and supplies littering the golden sand. “A-Antinous? Acrisios?” he called hoarsely, his throat dry and raw.

One by one, his crew began to stir. Acrisios groaned as he sat up, sand sticking to his damp clothes. “We’re alive? How in Hades are we alive?”

“I could ask the same,” Florus muttered, rubbing his head as he stumbled toward them.

Cassander rolled over and coughed up water. “That… was the worst storm I’ve ever seen. Eurymachus? Where’s Eurymachus?”

“I’m here,” came a weak voice from behind a piece of driftwood. Eurymachus was sprawled out, his face pale. “I think I swallowed half the ocean.”

Antinous and Druses, who had somehow managed to stay asleep through the storm, were sprawled on the sand nearby, finally waking up.“What the—” Druses sat up, brushing sand out of his hair. “Where are we?”

“Egypt,” Florus said grimly, pointing to the towering statues and pyramids visible in the distance.

Telemachus sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. “The gods are playing games with us.”

“Egypt?” Acrisios groaned. “How in the name of Poseidon did we end up here?!”

Eurymachus, still lying flat on his back, chuckled weakly. “Well, at least we didn’t drown. That’s something, right?”

Cassander threw a handful of sand at him. “Shut up.”

Telemachus stood, determination hardening his features. “This isn’t over. We’ve survived storms and worse before. We’ll gather supplies, repair what we can, and find a way to finish what we started.” The crew exchanged tired but resolute glances. They were battered, bruised, and far from home—but they weren’t giving up.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress

@f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world @simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches @sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy

@0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl

@dazedemery @tsmaruchan

@holywizardprincess @galaxygurlll @pjopinkk

@h0ne4bee @minteaspoon @zendoesstuff @xo-cuteplosion-xo

[heliosunny]

Need a part 2 of Phainon x Vampire Reader :(

Pfft honestly I thought I failed that one. So I expect no request related to it.

Yandere!Phainon x Vampire!Reader

Visit [previous]

The vampire hunter was more than just an enemy.

They were a shadow from your past, a relentless force that had chased you across cities, through forests, over rivers tainted with blood.

You had crossed paths years ago, when you were still naïve, still believing you could live peacefully among humans without consequence. You had never harmed anyone. You fed only on what was necessary, careful, quiet. But that hadn’t mattered to them.

To them, you were a monster.

And monsters needed to be eradicated.

Your first encounter had left you wounded, forced to flee as they pursued you mercilessly. You had escaped, barely. But the hunt never truly ended.

They had found you again. And again. And again.

Each time, the battles grew bloodier.

Each time, you lost more than just your strength.

You lost your freedom. You lost the illusion that you could ever be left alone. You lost the belief that they would ever stop.

Then you met Phainon. A mere human.

And for a time, you believed it would happen again. That he would turn on you. That he would take the opportunity to drive a stake through your heart.

But he hadn’t.

He had sheltered you.

He had offered himself to you.

And for the first time, you had something that wasn’t just survival. You had him.

But the past was never so kind.

Because the moment Phainon left the house that day, the hunters came.

The first sign was the cold air against your skin.

Not from the wind.

Not from the rain that had drenched the earth that morning.

But from the sudden, eerie stillness that settled over the house.

Then came the scent—faint, but unmistakable.

Metal.

Not just iron.

Silver.

You barely had time to react before the door burst open. A figure in dark hunter’s garb stepped forward, crossbow already drawn, the tip glinting with deadly precision.

You wanted to run.

But you knew them.

You knew their traps.

And this house—Phainon's house wasn't just yours. If you ran, they'd follow. If you ran, they'd wait for him to come back.

So you stayed.

And they struck.

Pain. Blinding, searing pain. The first silver-tipped bolt tore through your shoulder, burning as if the fire of the sun itself had pierced your skin. You staggered back, choking on your own breath. The hunter didn’t stop.

A second shot, a blade flashing in the dim candlelight. Darkness hits you. And the last thing you heard was their voice, low and victorious.

Phainon knew something was wrong the moment he stepped onto the porch. The air was heavy, damp with the remnants of rain, but beneath it, beneath the scent of wet earth and old wood—there was something off.

Something wrong.

Blood.

His hands curled into fists.

Not just any blood—yours.

The door hung slightly ajar, its lock broken, splintered wood scattered across the threshold. He stepped inside, boots creaking against the soaked floorboards.

Furniture overturned, deep gashes marking the wooden walls as if a struggle had taken place. Glass littered the floor, shards of shattered vials reflecting the dim candlelight. His hunting tools were gone, stolen, his weapons rack emptied save for a few abandoned silver bolts.

The scent of silver still lingered, acrid and biting, mixing with the undeniable iron tang of your blood.

His jaw clenched as his sharp blue eyes swept over the mess—over the signs of the fight, over the way the house had been violated.

And then he saw it.

The smear of blood leading toward the open door.

They had taken you.

Rage.

A raw, seething, all-consuming rage. Phainon had always been patient. Always been the kind of hunter who took his time, who enjoyed the chase.

But not this time. This wasn’t the thrill of the hunt. This wasn’t a job. This was personal.

His fingers tightened around the hilt of his dagger as he turned on his heel, following the bloodied trail out the door, into the storm-laden night.

His mind was fixed on one thing.

You.

Your scent still lingered in the air—faint, fading, laced with silver and pain. The hunter had taken you underground, somewhere damp and hidden, but they hadn’t covered their tracks well enough.

Phainon reached an old ruin nestled between twisted trees, half-consumed by moss and time. Stone steps led down into the darkness, the entrance guarded by rusted bars—locked.

It didn’t matter.

With a flick of his wrist, his dagger slammed into the lock, shattering it in an instant. The door groaned as it swung open, revealing a dimly lit corridor leading downward.

The stench of old blood filled his nose.

Your scent.

His heart hammered—not from fear, not from uncertainty, but from the sheer fury burning in his veins.

“Where is Y/n?”

His words slithered through the air like a death sentence, echoing off the cold walls.

Then— A slow, mocking clap.

“Well, well,” the hunter’s voice drawled from the shadows. “You actually came. I was starting to think you wouldn’t.”

Phainon didn’t stop walking.

“You made a mistake.” His tone was eerily calm, deadly. “You took something that belongs to me.”

He stepped into the torchlight, and his gaze landed on you.

Your wrists were bound above your head, silver glinting against bruised skin. The collar around your throat was too tight, biting into your flesh, your body slumped but still breathing.

Still alive.

A flicker of relief bloomed in his chest—quickly swallowed by rage.

The hunter stood beside you, one hand gripping a dagger, their smirk unwavering. “You’ve really fallen, haven’t you?” they mused, tilting their head. “A hunter—becoming a vampire? Offering your own blood to them? Do you even realize what you’ve done?”

Phainon let out a low chuckle.

“Of course I do.”

And then he moved. Faster than the hunter could react. A blade flashed. A cry of pain. Blood splattered against the stone. Phainon would make sure they regretted ever laying a hand on you.

“You really have lost your mind,” they spat, wiping the blood from their mouth. “She’s a monster, Phainon! A leech! And yet you—”

They didn’t finish. Because Phainon’s boot was already slamming into their ribs.

A sickening crack.

A strangled gasp.

They crumpled to the ground, gasping for air, but Phainon wasn’t done.

He grabbed them by the collar, dragging them up just enough so they could see the rage burning in his cold, blue eyes.

“You should’ve stayed out of my way” he murmured, voice a low, dangerous whisper.

Then, with a flick of his wrist—

Slash.

The hunter barely had time to choke before blood sprayed across the stone.

Their body hit the ground with a dull thud, unmoving.

The only sound left was Phainon’s heavy breathing.

“Phainon…”

His head snapped toward you.

You were still bound, wrists raw from the silver shackles, body weak from hunger. Your fangs had barely peeked past your lips, but your breathing was erratic—unstable.

The sight of you

Tied up, in pain, starving—

Makes something inside him snapped.

He was by your side in an instant, hands gripping the chains, yanking—breaking them with sheer force. The collar around your throat came next, his fingers prying it apart despite the way the silver burned his skin.

And the moment it fell away—

You collapsed into his arms.

Phainon caught you with ease, holding you close, his grip firm, unshakable.

“You’re safe” he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. His voice softened—just barely, just for you. “I’m here now.”

But you could barely hear him.

The hunger came. He felt your body tremble, your breath hot against his neck, your lips so close to his skin.

Phainon tilted his head, exposing his throat. His voice was soft, coaxing, filled with a twisted sort of devotion.

“Drink from me, quick” he whispered.

You shook your head weakly, trying to resist, but his arms only tightened around you, his warmth pressing against your cold body.

“You won’t hurt me.” His lips ghosted over your temple, soothing. “I want this.”

Your fangs sank into his neck before you could stop yourself.

His grip on you tightened, a sharp inhale escaping his lips as your bite sent waves of pleasure-pain through his body. God, he loved it.

And when you finally pulled away, his gaze met yours, you realized something was wrong.

“You’ll never starve again” he murmured, brushing a drop of his blood from your lips.

“Because from now on, I am your only source.”

Phainon collapsed the moment you pulled away, his breath shallow, his body trembling. You barely caught him, lowering him onto the tattered remains of the hunter’s chair. His skin was damp with sweat, his usually piercing blue eyes dull and unfocused. He was exhausted. Drained. And you knew why.

A turned vampire, especially one like Phainon, who had been human for so long, couldn’t survive without a consistent supply of blood during the first month.

He needed more. He needed you.

Phainon’s eyes flickered open, his expression sluggish as he felt you shift beside him.

“Don’t” he rasped, his fingers curling weakly around your wrist. “You don’t—need to.”

But you ignored him.

You pressed the edge of your dagger against your wrist, a clean, shallow cut opening just enough for crimson to well.

His pupils dilated.

Phainon’s breath hitched, his lips parting slightly.

“I guess it's my turn to return the favor.” you murmured.

He clenched his jaw, shaking his head. “No...”

You tilted your wrist, letting the blood spill—warm, rich, intoxicating over his lips.

Phainon shuddered. The moment the first drop touched his tongue, his entire body reacted.

A choked sound left his throat, somewhere between a groan and a sigh. His grip on your arm tightened, his fangs just barely grazing your skin—his self-control fraying, breaking.

He gave in. His lips latched onto your wrist, his body pressing closer as he drank.

It was messy, less controlled than before. He was still new to this, still adjusting. But the moment your blood poured into him, his body relaxed, his fevered trembling slowing as strength slowly, slowly returned to him. And as much as he tried to resist it, the warmth of your presence, the steady, rhythmic beat of your heart near him, he succumbed.

Phainon’s breath steadied, his body growing heavier as sleep finally overtook him.

You let out a slow exhale, brushing damp strands of silver hair from his forehead.

“Sleep” you whispered.

The nightmares came almost immediately.

Phainon’s body tensed in his sleep, his fingers twitching, his breath uneven. His dreams, if they could be called that—were nothing but fractured memories, distorted voices, shadows pressing in, tearing away at his mind.

Blood on his hands.

Yours.

He saw himself losing control, saw you pushing him away, saw you leaving.

A sharp gasp tore from his throat as his body jerked, his entire form trembling.

But then came a touch.

Soft. Grounding.

You were there.

Your hand rested gently on his, your presence steady, unwavering. Your scent, calm, familiar, reassuring, wrapped around him, pulling him from the abyss.

His fingers twitched, weakly curling around yours.

The tension in his body slowly eased.

You didn’t move from his side.

The hunger still burned in you, gnawed at the edges of your restraint, but you refused to take from him while he was in this state.

Instead, you did what you had always done.

You fed on animals.

It was barely enough, never truly satisfying, but it kept you steady.

Kept you strong enough to protect him.

And when Phainon finally stirred, hours later, his fevered breath evening, his lashes fluttering open. You were the first thing he saw.

His gaze, still clouded with exhaustion, flickered over your face, lingering on the faint cut on your wrist, the dried blood staining his lips.

“…You stayed” he murmured, voice hoarse.

Phainon smiled.

“You shouldn’t have done that” he murmured, voice still hoarse from exhaustion.

“You needed it” you answered simply. There was no hesitation, no regret in your tone.

Phainon exhaled, closing his eyes briefly. A long silence stretched between you both. The storm outside had passed, but the air was still heavy with the scent of blood and rain.

“You should rest more” you finally said. “You’re not stable yet. The hunger will keep coming back until your body adjusts.”

Phainon didn’t argue. He knew you were right.

But deep down, a part of him wondered—

Would this hunger ever truly fade?

His gaze flickered to you again. The steady rhythm of your breathing, the faint tension in your posture, the quiet resolve in your eyes.

And just like that, he knew.

This hunger, this pull, would never leave him.

Not because of what he had become.

But because it was you.

His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something—but in the end, he only let out a quiet breath, his fingers twitching as if reaching for you before curling back into his palm.

For now, he would rest.

But the hunger remained.

And it always would.

[bread-crum206]

A Game of Hearts

Chapter twenty-eight: The Weight of Silence

Summary: Y/N’s father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

previous | 28 | next

Series Masterlist

The world moved on.

The guests at the masquerade spoke of the Panther Mask in hushed tones for no longer than a night. By morning, his name was nothing more than a fleeting thought, an unspoken reminder of what happened to those who stepped out of line.

No one asked where he had gone.

No one wanted to know.

You sat in front of the vanity in the bathroom, staring at your reflection in the dim light. The space was quiet, save for the soft hum of the ventilation system, the faint sound of the ocean crashing against the cliffs outside. Your mask lay discarded on the counter beside you, a cracked reminder of the night before. The adrenaline had long since faded, but the memory of the Panther’s grip on you still lingered like a bruise beneath your skin.

He was gone. You knew that much. But the how—the when—the where—those were things you weren’t sure you wanted the answers to.

The faucet dripped. A slow, steady rhythm. You focused on that sound, grounding yourself in the monotony of it, in the certainty that water would keep falling, that the world would keep moving, regardless of what had just happened.

A soft creak of the bedroom door beyond the bathroom made you stiffen slightly. You already knew who it was.

A moment later, the bathroom door pushed open, and In-ho stepped inside.

His mask was off.

That alone made your breath catch in your throat. He never removed it, not unless he wanted something to be understood without words. His face was as unreadable as ever, his expression set in careful neutrality. But there was something in his eyes—something dark, something lingering.

You swallowed. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

It wasn’t really a question.

In-ho exhaled through his nose, stepping further into the space. He didn’t lean against the counter, didn’t sit. Instead, he simply looked at you, as if measuring something.

“He won’t bother you again,” he said finally.

Your fingers curled slightly against your lap. A confirmation, then. You hadn’t expected him to lie, but something about the finality of it made your chest feel tight. You weren’t sure what you had expected to feel. Relief? Fear? Satisfaction?

Maybe all of it. Maybe none of it.

You forced yourself to meet his gaze. “What did you do with him?”

A long silence. Then—

“I erased him.”

That was all he said.

Erased.

Not killed. Not disposed of.

Erased.

The word sent a chill down your spine.

You weren’t naïve. You knew what happened to people who crossed the wrong line in places like this. But there was something about the way In-ho said it—so calm, so absolute—that made it feel different. He hadn’t just removed the Panther from the equation. He had ensured there was nothing left of him. No name. No body. No story.

Gone.

You exhaled slowly, fingers tightening against the fabric of your robe. “Good.”

Something flickered in his gaze. Approval, maybe. Or something else. Something you couldn’t quite name.

He stepped closer then, stopping just a breath away. His presence was heavy, grounding, suffocating all at once. His hand lifted—hesitated—before he slowly, deliberately brushed his fingers along your jaw. The touch was barely there, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he murmured.

Your breath hitched slightly, but you held his gaze. “I’m not.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie.

His thumb ghosted over your chin, the touch so light it could have been mistaken for accidental. But it wasn’t. Nothing In-ho did was accidental. He was testing something, watching for a reaction.

You weren’t sure what he found.

Seconds stretched between you, thick with something unspoken. Then, just as easily as he had touched you, he pulled away. The warmth of his hand disappeared, leaving behind only the cold weight of silence.

His expression remained unreadable, his mask of indifference settling back into place. “Get some rest,” he said. “Tomorrow, things will be different.”

You weren’t sure what he meant.

You weren’t sure you wanted to know.

But as he turned and left, as the soft click of the bedroom door closing echoed through the space, one thing became clear.

The Panther Mask was gone.

And nothing would ever be the same.

———————

Yippee chapter twenty eight!! Lemme know what you think!

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[moonandst4rs]

“She’s always a woman to me”

── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Masterlist

AARON HOTCHNER X F!READER

WC: 673

Summary: Aaron sees you for you. He sees the woman behind the job

Warnings / Content: Inspired by She's always a woman - Billy Joel. no use of y/n, no dialogue

A/N: Feel free to ask questions or simply chat. Any feedback and requests are welcome !! Reblogs and comments are very much appreciated <3

Being a woman is hard. Being a woman in power, working as a Section Chief in the FBI only magnifies the weight you carry. It isn’t just the job, it’s about navigating Bureaucratic nonsense. You have to balance authority with expectations, from yourself and others. Five teams. Five different teams of personalities, skills and egos yjay you have to manage day in and day out. Some are polite and show you respect—others, not so much. Aaron Hotchner’s team, to their credit, are professional. Mostly.

You’ve grown tough over the years. You had to. The world doesn’t let women in your position be soft without paying the price. If you’d let yourself be trampled, ignored, or undermined even once, you wouldn’t be here now, standing tall as Section Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. The toughness, it isn’t armour, it’s more like something you’ve learned to carry with grace. You got here by knowing exactly when to hold your ground and when to bend, ever so slightly, so the world doesn’t break you. From a wide-eyed field agent to Section Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, you’ve learned that balance. And you’ve learned how to carry the weight of other people’s lives along the way.

You do your job well. You’re proud of that. You make decisions not just for today, but for the future, for the safety of your agents, your teams. You’re steady, calm under pressure, always managing to keep the pieces from falling apart. You have to. But not everyone sees it that way. For some, you’ll always be the one in the way, the one enforcing rules they don’t want to follow. They call you harsh, cold, rigid. They talk about how you won’t let them work however they want. They forget there’s a reason the rules are there, a reason you stand so firm.

The names they call you, the insults, the accusations, they don’t hurt like they used to. There was a time when you’d lie awake at night, wondering if they were right. Now, you barely blink when they throw words your way. If anything, you’ve become somewhat detached, wishing, in a darkly amused way, that they would at least get creative. Give you something new to roll your eyes at. You’ve heard it all before. The same tired jabs, the same predictable bitterness. They don’t know how strong you really are, and they never will. Not the way Aaron does.

Aaron. He’s always there, quietly watching. He knows you can take it, he knows you’ve taken far worse, and that you’ll keep taking it because you refuse to let them see you falter. But even so, he insisted stepping in. Not always, and not in ways that make a scene, but it was enough. Enough to remind you that you don’t have to fight every battle alone. He challenges the ones who disrespect you when you’re not looking, stands by you when the weight of the world starts to feel a little too heavy. And even though you never asked for his protection, you’ve come to realize it’s something more. Something softer, something that breaks through the noise and makes you feel…seen.

You never wanted anyone to fight for you. You don’t need it. You’ve spent your life proving that you’re more than capable of fighting for yourself. But Aaron doesn’t fight to save you; he fights to remind you that you’re worth protecting. And in those moments, when his quiet strength meets yours, you realize just how much that means to you. More than you’d ever let on.

Despite everything, the long nights, the endless pushback, the harsh words, you keep going. Not because you’re unbreakable, but because you know what’s at stake. You fight for your teams because they deserve it. You stand firm because that’s who you are, and because you believe in the work you do, even when others don’t see it. And maybe, just maybe, because you know that there’s someone, someone like Aaron, who sees the woman behind the title.

[im-so-normal-iswear]

hiii!!

May I request some Yandere Sonic with a ballerina reader??

A/n: any other hispanics not show up to work/school today?

Yandere Sonic x Ballerina Reader

Tw: yandere, obsessive, stalking, sonic being creepy. Forced affection, forced touch (not sexual)

The first time Sonic saw you, it was like something out of a dream.

You were in the middle of a dance, you legs grazing the floor with stunning elegance, defying gravity with a grace he'd never seen before. It was mesmerizing, how effortlessly you moved, how precise and fluid every motion was. The world seemed to slow as you spun.

He didn't know how long he'd been watching.

Minutes? Hours?

It didn't matter. You were beautiful.

Sonic isn’t the type to sit still. He's constantly moving, constantly seeking the next thrill. But when you appeared in his life, suddenly, he found himself stopping just to watch. He hid in the trees outside your studio, dashed past your performances just to get a glimpse, followed you home at night to make sure you were safe.

At first, he told himself it was nothing. Just curiosity. He was fascinated by your ability to move so flawlessly, almost inhumanly so. It was like you existed in your own world.

He started showing up at your practice sessions.

At first, it was subtle. Small things out of the corner of your eyes, a figure that would appear for maybe a second, but as soon as you focused on it, it was already gone.

And then, one day, you turned around, and there he was.

"Yo!" Sonic grinned, leaning against the bar like he belonged there. "You're crazy fast on your feet. Well, not as fast as me of course, but, still fast, y'know?"

You were startled, but not frightened. Sonic the Hedgehog is a hero, everyone knows that. He's saved the world more times than you could count, and he was standing right in front of you, acting like you were the coolest thing he'd ever seen.

"You... were watching me?" you ask, unsure whether to be flattered or weirded out.

"How could I not?" His grin widens, but there’s something sharp behind it. "You dancw well. Just had to come see it up close."

That’s how it started.

Sonic becomes a constant in your life.

You never invited him, hes just always there, before practice, during, after. He watched from the shadows, but the moment you look his way, he acts casual, like he just happened to be passing through.

"You're amazing," he told you one night, after walking you home.

"Thank you," you replied, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze.

His eyes gleamed in the moonlight. "You don't get it. I mean, you're really amazing. Icve never seen anyone move like you. It's like... you belong at my side."

Those words sent a chill down your spine.

It only got worse.

Your shoes go missing, only to mysteriously reappear in your locker, laces tied in a neat little bow. Your schedule, which you've never shared with anyone, seems to be known by Sonic down to the second. He's always there, waiting for you.

And then there are the notes.

Neatly folded pieces of paper, slipped into your dance bag, your locker, even your pocket when you aren't looking.

"Youre the only thing that can keep up with me."

"I need you to dance for me."

"You're the only one I want to see move."

You tell yourself it's just admiration. That Sonic is just... intense. But deep down, you know better.

The breaking point came after a late night rehearsal.

You were exhausted, muscles sore, feet aching as you stepped outside. The streets were quiet, and for once, you thought you were alone.

Until...

"Going home alone? That's dangerous, y'know."

Sonic's voice wass too close.

You spun around, heart racing, and there he is, standing inches from you. His usual easy-going grin is still there, but the false sense of calm is eerie.

"You've been working hard," he says, tilting his head. "Hurts, doesn't it? All that pressure, all those expectations... but you keep going. Just like me."

"I-I need to go home," you say, stepping back.

Sonic moves faster than you can react. In the blink of an eye, he's behind you, his breath hot against your ear.

"But you don't wanna leave yet, do you?" His voice is almost teasing, but there’s something possessive in it, something suffocating. "You belong out here, under the stars. Dancing just for me."

Your hands shake. "Sonic, you're scaring me."

For a moment, just a moment, his expression falters. Then he laughs, stepping away like nothing happened. "Ah, don't!....dont look at me like that. I'd never hurt you." His grin returns, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "I just... need you close, okay?"

You don't answer.

You don't have to.

Because Sonic had already decided.

From that night on, things spiralled out of control.

You see less of your friends because Sonic always intercepts them, leading them away with some excuse before they can reach you. Your performances start feeling wrong, you can sense him watching, always watching, his eyes tracking your every move.

You try to confront him, but it's useless. Sonic knows what you're thinking before you even open your mouth.

"Thinking about running?" he teases one evening, hanging upside down from a tree as you try to sneak away. "You won't get far."

"You can't do this," you whisper.

"Do what?" He hops down, landing inches from you. "Love you?"

Your stomach churns. "You're being delusional"

He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Oh, delusional, really? Im not delusional, you just don't get it yet. But you will! Soon..."

You stopped showing up to practice.

Not because you want to, but because Sonic doesn't let you.

He keeps you close, always within reach. If you try to slip away, he's there in an instant, arms wrapped around you in a crushing embrace. "You don't need them, youre too good for them, the dont deserve you... You have me."

He's not lying.

You do have him.

You have Sonic when you wake up and find him curled beside you, despite locking your doors. You have Sonic when he carries you through the wind, the world blurring past as he whispers how only he can keep up with you.

You have Sonic when he grips your hands just a little too tightly, his voice trembling as he asks, "You love me too, right?"

You don't answer.

Because you don't know what would happen if you did.

A/n: just realized i accidentally changed tenses alotvin this, uhm, im not gonna change it because im lazy.

[damned-punk]

Happy Birthday Killer (Killer x Reader)

@gratefulcheeses Kidd Pirate’s Month 2025 🏴‍☠️

⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆˚｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆

Content Warning: self esteem issues

Content Description: Killer is going through a difficult time following the SMILE incident but you have hope for the future ♡

⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆˚｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆

Following Killer’s selfless consumption of the failed SMILE fruit, your relationship had changed. You weren’t sure if it was for better or worse, but a metamorphosis had taken place where you were closer but farther apart than ever before. He was still Killer, undeniably the man that you loved, but things were different. It was as though he cared even less about himself than usual, constantly throwing himself into the most dire situations for the most minuscule gain. He worried you and no matter how you articulated this to him, he just wasn’t getting it.

It wasn’t that he’d grown cold or distant, but rather that he was preventing himself from feeling anything toward you. He despised his laugh and that it was the only way he could display his affections for you, he didn’t want to lose you but he didn’t want you to have to live with him like this. He’d said many times that this wasn’t what you signed up for and that he would not fault you for leaving him, it was all too much to bear. Turning to the only other person on earth who might be able to get through to him, you brought the issue to the Captain.

His usual reprieve of being a loud, sarcastic asshole was lost as soon as Killer was brought up. This was just as dire and near to Kidd as it was to you, he’d nearly lost his best friend too. It took days for Killer to even speak to Kidd, the image of him bandaged head to toe and laughing maniacally through tears would never leave you. Kidd of course agreed to help, never shying away from anything that concerned his partner, and instructed you to give them space for the time being.

This was somewhat of a problem as Killer’s birthday was only a short time away and you wanted so deeply for him to relax, even if just for a few hours. You considered coordinating with the crew for a nice dinner and time spent together but it just didn’t seem appropriate. They were rowdy as hell and while letting loose did seem appealing, it wasn’t right for the occasion. Killer had been sleeping in his own cabin since the incident which had been hard in its own right, but it allowed you to prepare in privacy. You lightly decorated and prepared a quiet celebration only to be enjoyed by the two of you, three if Killer wanted Kidd at his side.

It was strange going about things in this manner, Killer was far from delicate but this felt necessary. You’d already had an idea for his gift and wrapped it in a small black box with a blue bow, simplistic and perhaps a bit silly but hopefully something that would bring him even the smallest amount of joy. You’d had it made on an island during one of your last supply runs, ensuring that you saved it for his birthday.

Once things were settled in your cabin, you let Kidd know your plans and he agreed that approaching the celebration in this manner was the best course of action. The crew still showered him with congratulations and gifts, but you wanted to preserve some level of intimacy for time with him that you hadn’t had in a while. You waited until that evening, approaching him after cake had been passed.

“Meet me in my cabin when you’re ready.”, you leant up to speak near his ear, giving his arm a light squeeze for reassurance.

You waited for him on the bed, gift in hand, hoping that he wouldn’t be against spending time alone together. The minutes felt like hours but just as you began reaching the threshold patience, heavy footsteps echoed through the empty corridor just outside your cabin door. They stopped outside for a few moments, likely in an attempt for him to brace himself for whatever you had planned. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried, you’d been so patient with him for so long that he wouldn’t be surprised if you were fed up. He reluctantly grasped the door handle and pushed the door open, awkwardly standing in the doorway after closing the two of you off from the others.

“Come sit.”, you held a small smile on your face as you patted the spot on the bed next to you.

He wordlessly obeyed, making his way over to occupy the space at your side.

“Happy Birthday, I hope you like it.”, you stated softly while placing the gift in his hands.

He laughed for a moment, his expression caged by his mask. You studied the way the mask contoured around his skull, your eyes combed over the grooves in the metal from Kidd’s handy work. You hated the mask for what it represented, but it was a part of Killer no less. He seemed to be unsure about opening the box, he felt like he didn’t deserve to receive something from you after so many terrible things transpired on Wano.

After several long and grueling moments, he finally opened the box and lifted the silly present to hang between his fingers. It was a small golden bracelet with the teeniest, tiniest pasta charm. On the back of the charm were your’s and his initials, a small gesture that he could wear and know that you were with him always. Suddenly, his laugher surmounted and his head flew backwards. He did what he could to stifle the sound, his shoulders shaking violently. You wrapped your arms about him, his hands lifting to meet your skin.

“Thank you, (Y/N). I’m sorry I-“, he began to apologize but you stopped him immediately.

“None of that… not tonight. You don’t have anything to apologize for.”, you reassured him, “I love you and I know that we can get through this… Always have and always will.”

“Always have and always will.”, he repeated, tucking your promise into the back of his mind for safe keeping.

There was undoubtedly a lot of uncertainly on these seas but a small part of you was sure that things would work out in the end, no matter what that would look like.

⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆˚｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆

[nickeverdeen]

Taken pt. 8 | Mom!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Pairings: Natasha x reader (family), Yelena x reader (unaware family), Natasha x Yelena (half-sisters)

Type of fic: Domestic, Light Action, Tension

Warnings: Guns, Injury

Parts -> 1 -> 2 -> 3 -> 4 -> 5 -> 6 -> 7 -> 9 -> 10

Age: You are 23 years old, Yelena is 32 years old

Summary: Finally after figuring out your letter Natasha is on her way to you while you’re highly unaware of her actions, yet when she arrives you can’t recognize your own mother.

———————————

The apartment was quiet, save for the sound of Yelena and you sparring in the center of the living room. Five hours had passed, but neither of you was willing to call it quits.

Yelena lunged forward, aiming for a takedown. You dodged, but she anticipated your movement and swept your legs out from under you. You hit the ground hard, but before she could follow through, you were already moving. Instead of getting to your feet, you twisted, grabbing her waist and throwing her against the wall with a burst of speed.

Yelena grunted, her back slamming into the wall, but she barely flinched. “Not bad,” she admitted, brushing herself off. “But you’re still predictable.”

“I’d rather be predictable than slow,” you shot back, breathing heavily.

The sparring session continued, each of you stubbornly refusing to let the other win outright. But when Yelena landed a strike that split your lip, she immediately called it off.

“That’s enough,” she said firmly, stepping back.

“I’m fine,” you argued, wiping the blood away with the back of your hand.

Yelena crossed her arms. “I don’t care. We’re done for today.”

You sighed but didn’t argue further. “Thanks for sparring,” you muttered, the hint of annoyance in your tone softened by sincerity. You needed this—an outlet for all the restless energy that had been building up.

“Yeah, yeah,” Yelena replied, waving you off as she headed for the bathroom. “I’m taking the first shower. Don’t eat all the mac and cheese.”

Left alone, you wandered the living room, idly picking through some of Yelena’s things. You found yourself flipping through an old magazine, your mind far away, when you heard it—the faint creak of the front door opening.

Your body moved on instinct. You grabbed your gun from the side table, the familiar weight grounding you as you crept through the dimly lit apartment.

The sound of cautious footsteps echoed in the corridor, matching your own. Your heart pounded in your chest, but your grip on the gun was steady.

And then you saw her.

A woman stood at the end of the hallway, her gun drawn and aimed directly at you.

For a moment, you both froze, assessing the situation. Her piercing green eyes met yours, and there was something achingly familiar about her, but you couldn’t place it.

“Who are you?” you demanded, your voice sharp and unwavering.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she reached into her pocket, moving slowly so as not to alarm you, and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She extended it toward you.

You didn’t lower your gun, your eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What is that?”

Still silent, she stepped closer and placed the paper on the floor before retreating. Keeping your aim steady, you moved forward and picked it up.

The sight of your own handwriting stopped you cold. The photo fell out first, the image of your younger self with Natasha hitting you like a punch to the gut. Then the note—“Find me.”

Your mind raced. Was this a trick? Could someone have intercepted the letter?

Before you could demand answers, Yelena appeared behind you, dressed casually and drying her hair with a towel. She froze mid-step when she saw the woman.

Her eyes widened. “Natasha?”

Your head snapped toward her in shock. “You know her?”

Natasha’s expression softened at the sound of her sister’s voice, though her eyes flicked to you again, studying you closely. There was a glimmer of hurt there, but also understanding.

“Yelena,” Natasha greeted, her voice calm despite the situation. Her gaze shifted back to you, and for the first time, she allowed herself to really look at you.

You were no longer the child she remembered. You were taller, stronger, and more mature, your demeanor a testament to the years spent in the Red Room. The determination and guardedness in your eyes were new, and it made her heart ache.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then Yelena, always impatient, stepped forward and slapped the gun out of your hand.

“Enough,” she said firmly. “No one’s shooting anyone.”

You turned to Yelena, your wide-eyed glare practically screaming, Seriously?

The look you gave her—half disbelief, half judgment—was so pointed that it made Natasha’s lips twitch upward in a faint, bittersweet smile.

“You really don’t remember me, do you?” Natasha asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitated, unsure how to answer. The memories were there, somewhere, but they felt distant and blurry, like a dream you couldn’t quite grasp.

For Natasha, seeing the confusion on your face was both heartbreaking and motivating. She wouldn’t leave this time. She wouldn’t let you slip away again.

The three of you stood in tense silence, the weight of the moment pressing down like a storm about to break.

[reidsangel]

seven minutes | s.r

summary: spencer, your husband is dying and there's nothing you can do but cherish those last moments

wc: 2.9k

warning: fem reader, death, tears, hurt, reader is reminiscing her life that she got to have with spencer, Spencer and reader have a daughter named Tessa.

song recommendation:

a/n: this is sad ( for me at least ) I cried while writing it so! just a heads up, and Spencer can be alive in your reality but in this one....yeah! 😕

The room felt suffocating, the weight of the silence pressing in on me as I sat beside Spencer, holding his hand. The beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound, steady and unyielding, a reminder of the fragile line between life and death. The man who had been my everything he is my rock, my soulmate, the father of our daughter and now he was lying there, unconscious, barely holding on.

Spencer had always been the one who believed in the good in the world, who believed in us, even when it felt like everything else was falling apart. And now he was here, so still, so quiet, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I had missed my chance to tell him everything I needed to say.

I had never imagined this day would come. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We were supposed to grow old together, argue about little things, watch Tessa graduate, watch her get married. 

“Spencer” I whispered, leaning down to press my forehead against his. His skin was cold, too cold, and I squeezed his hand tighter, willing him to wake up. To give me that crooked smile that always made my heart skip a beat. “I don’t know how to do this without you. I need you, Spencer. Tessa needs you”

I glanced over at the small bundle of blankets in the corner, where Tessa had fallen asleep earlier, exhausted from the long hours of waiting. She was so young, so unaware of the storm that was brewing around us. I couldn’t imagine what her world would be like without her father. The way Spencer had always been there for her- his soft laughter, his gentle hands, his quiet way of making her feel safe. He was her everything, too.

I wiped away the tears that had fallen onto my cheeks, but there was no stopping them. Not this time. “I don’t know how to tell her, Spencer" I murmured, my voice breaking. "How do I explain to her that you’re not coming home ever again?”

His breathing was slow and shallow, his chest rising and falling with the effort of the machines that were plugged in. But I knew he couldn’t hear me. He couldn’t answer me. The doctors had said he was likely gone, that this was the end. But I refused to accept it. I refused to believe that this was the last time I would be sitting here with him. That the man who had spent his life trying to protect people, to help others, would be lost to me so soon.

I had spent so many years in love with this man. Spencer Reid, the genius, the man who had always tried to save everyone else. But now, no one could save him. And as much as I hated to admit it, I knew the truth. He was slipping away, and there was nothing I could do to stop it, there was nothing in this world- that could bring back my husband. 

I stood up from the chair, feeling the sting in my chest, and walked over to Tessa’s side. She was sleeping so peacefully, unaware of the storm raging just a few feet away. I brushed a strand of her hair out of her face and kissed her forehead, trying to hold back my tears. How am I supposed to do this alone?

“Mommy?” Her voice was soft, quiet, and I felt my heart break all over again.

I turned to face her, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Hey, baby. You’re awake”

Tessa blinked up at me, her small face filled with concern. “Is Daddy going to be okay?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, my eyes filling with tears again. “Tessa baby, Daddy’s- he’s very sick, sweetie. But we’re going to stay here with him, okay? We’re not going anywhere”

She slid out of bed and walked toward me, her tiny hand reaching for mine. “Is Daddy going to come home with us?”

My heart cracked wide open. How do I explain this to her? How do I explain that the man who had filled her world with laughter, who had kissed her goodnight every night, the man who had loved her like she was the only one in the world, the man who cried when she took her first steps- would no longer be there to hold her? 

I bent down to her level, my hands trembling as I cupped her face, trying to find the words. But the truth was too hard. “No, baby” I whispered, my voice faltering. “Daddy- Daddy’s not coming home”

Tessa’s brow furrowed, her tiny fingers pressing into my palm. “Why? Why won’t he come home, Mommy?”

I felt the ache in my chest deepen, a lump in my throat that made it impossible to breathe. I searched for the right words, but nothing seemed like it could be enough. Finally, I whispered, my voice breaking, “Because he’s very, very tired, sweetie. And sometimes, people get so tired that they have to rest. They don’t wake up, baby. They go to a place, a beautiful place, with lots of birds and flowers- and a beach, a peaceful beach, where they can sleep forever”

Tessa looked up at me, her brow furrowed, trying to make sense of what I was saying. “But Daddy hates the beach, Mommy” she pouted, her voice small and innocent.

The pain in my chest twisted, and despite everything, I let out a soft chuckle, the sound a bittersweet mixture of love and heartbreak. She was right. Spencer had always hated the beach. The sand, the crowds, the heat. But at that moment, I could almost hear him laughing along with me. “I know, sweetie” I whispered, brushing a tear away, “but maybe this is a different kind of beach, one that he doesn’t mind”

“Daddy will sleep peacefully now” I whispered, my voice barely more than a soft breath, the weight of the words heavier than I ever imagined.

Her eyes widened, and she tilted her head in confusion. “Like when I sleep? But I wake up, Mommy. Daddy will wake up, too, right?”

I couldn’t hold back the sob that escaped my chest. I gathered her into my arms, feeling the weight of her innocence in my embrace. “I wish that were true, sweetie” I said, my voice breaking. “But Daddy- he’s not going to wake up this time”

Tessa clung to me, her little body trembling as she began to cry softly. “I want Daddy, Mommy. I want him to come home”

“I know, baby” I whispered, rocking her gently in my arms. “I want him too. But we have to be brave for him, okay? We have to be strong, because he would want us to be. He loves you so much. He’s always going to love you”

As I held my daughter, the weight of the grief settled over me like a blanket. Spencer had been the love of my life, the person who had seen me at my worst and still chosen me. And now, just like that, he was slipping away. I had no idea how to navigate this world without him, how to keep going without the man who had been my anchor and my light in the darkest days.

I looked over at the bed where Spencer lay, his face still and peaceful, the steady rhythm of the machines the only sign of life left. He was gone in every way that mattered. And I couldn’t find the strength to let go. Goddamn it Spencer. 

I leaned down to kiss Tessa’s forehead, holding her close as my tears mixed with hers. “We’ll get through this together” I whispered, even though I wasn’t sure how. “Daddy will always be in our hearts”

And even though I didn’t believe it in that moment, I said the words because they were all I could give her. Because, for her sake, I needed to believe we could somehow survive this. That we could carry Spencer’s memory and his love through the rest of our lives.

But as I looked at Spencer, lying motionless, I knew that life would never be the same. That part of me had already left with him, and all that was left was the aching reminder of everything I had lost. 

It all started with a meeting in the most ordinary way. I was walking out of a coffee shop, balancing a cup of coffee in one hand and my phone in the other when I bumped into someone. The coffee spilled over the side of my cup, splashing onto my shirt. I looked up, half-expecting an angry look, but instead I saw Spencer. His wide, concerned eyes met mine, and in that moment, I swear the world stopped.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry” he stammered, his voice as soft as it was nervous. “I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no, it's okay” I laughed, trying to brush off my embarrassment. “It’s my fault, really”

His hand reached out, almost instinctively, to grab a napkin and dab at the coffee stain on my shirt. I tried to protest, but he was already focused, like the calm in the chaos of a spill. 

“I’m Spencer” he said, his words just a little too fast, a little too eager. “Spencer Reid”

“Nice to meet you, Spencer Reid” I smiled, trying to hide the fluttering in my chest at how kind he was, how gentle, even in the face of disaster.

And that was how we met. It wasn’t dramatic, it wasn't a moment of fireworks and music in the background. It was simple, a collision of two separate people over a cup of spilled coffee, but it was the start of everything I had ever wanted in my life. 

In the days that followed, we spent time together in unexpected places, at the local park, where Spencer would sit with me on the grass, casually pointing out the constellations even though I was mostly just trying to keep up. Or when we’d go to his favorite little bookstore, and he’d tug me down aisles filled with dusty books, his voice soft as he recited bits of poetry or scientific facts he was too proud to admit had a bit of a romantic edge.

There were small moments- too small for anyone to notice but us. The way his fingers would brush mine when we were sitting next to each other, or how he would always hold the door open for me, as though I were the most important thing in the world. I had never seen someone love the world in the way he did, with that quiet intensity, like he was constantly seeking meaning in everything.

And then there was the day we brought Tessa home from the hospital. The overwhelming joy of her tiny hand curled around Spencer’s finger, the way he couldn’t stop staring at her in awe, like he couldn’t believe she was ours.

 He was always a little awkward with babies, he didn’t know how to hold her quite right at first, his arms unsure- but that didn’t matter. It wasn’t the perfect way he held her that mattered. It was the way his face lit up when she wrapped her fingers around his hand, trusting him, even though she couldn’t know who he was yet.

“Look at her” he whispered, his voice barely audible, like he was afraid the moment would shatter. “She’s perfect” 

I remember laughing through the tears, feeling his hand on my back, steady and warm. “You’re perfect too, you know that?”

And just like that, he smiled- his crooked, beautiful smile, the one that always made me feel like I had all the time in the world, like we were invincible, that nothing would ever tear us apart.

In the quiet of our evenings, the moments we shared were so simple, but they were everything. Spencer would always find a way to surprise me. Whether it was with a new book on the latest research he was obsessed with or a jar of my favorite strawberry jam that he’d hidden in the back of the pantry for a rainy day, he always knew exactly how to make me smile.

And then there were the quiet moments when it was just us. On the couch, Tessa tucked between us, Spencer would lean in, his voice soft and full of affection. “You know, you make me feel like I’m home” he’d whisper into my hair, his fingers tracing little circles on my wrist, making me feel like the most cherished person in the world.

Now, sitting in the sterile quiet of the hospital room, I find myself clinging to those little moments, trying to hold on to the pieces of Spencer that were so effortlessly woven into my life. I stare at him, unconscious, hooked to the machines that now marked the final stage of his fight with his life. But even in this hospital room, I could almost feel him with me, as if his presence was never bound by the limits of his body.

I remember the way we would argue about the simplest things, like how to properly fold the towels or what movie to watch on a Saturday night. Spencer would pretend to be exasperated, his arms crossed, but I always knew he loved it. He loved our little quirks, our silly fights, because they meant we were living together as a married couple.

I remember the soft way he’d kiss me goodnight, every night, no matter how long the day had been. “I love you” he’d whisper, his voice low, the warmth of his breath brushing against my cheek. His words never failed to make my heart race, always filled with the same unspoken promise- that we’d always have each other, no matter what.

And then there were the moments we shared just for ourselves, when Tessa was asleep and the world outside felt far away. Spencer would pull me close, his arms wrapping around me like he never wanted to let me go. “We’re good, right?” he’d ask, his voice a little too soft, a little too vulnerable.

“We’re perfect” I’d reply, knowing that in this imperfect world, we were exactly what we needed.

But now, in this room, with his hand cold in mine, those little moments felt like pieces of a dream, fading with every beat of the heart monitor. And I wanted so desperately to hold on to them, to keep him with me, even if I couldn’t have him here physically.

“Spencer, I love you” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I’ll love you forever”

His chest rose and fell with a shallow breath, the machines beeping in the stillness of the room. I could hear the echoes of our love, the laughter, the whispers, the simple moments we shared. And somehow, through the pain, I knew that those memories would never leave me. They would be the quiet whisper in the back of my mind, the soft touch I would carry with me for the rest of my life.

No matter what happened in this room, no matter what the doctors said, Spencer Reid would always be the love of my life, the one who had made me believe in a future filled with joy, laughter, and love. And as much as I wished for just one more moment, just one more laugh, I knew that the moments we’d shared were enough to last a lifetime.

The human brain, in it’s final seconds, can play the whole life of a person- every detail, every memory, every quiet moment. In seven minutes. In those seven minutes, Spencer would be granted a final chance to relive his life- every moment, every laugh, every tear- before he would drift into eternal sleep, leaving this world behind for good.

 Seven minutes to relive a lifetime.

I leaned down, pressing my lips to Spencer’s forehead, the coldness of his skin sending a shudder through me. My tears fell freely now, each one carrying the weight of every word left unsaid, every moment we would never get to share. I whispered, my voice barely a breath, “You can rest now, my love. You’ve fought so hard. I’ll carry you with me, always”

But the words felt hollow, empty, like they were trying to hold together something that was already slipping through my fingers. I couldn’t make it stop. I couldn’t bring him back. I couldn’t save him this time.

The sound of the machines, the quiet beeping that had been the soundtrack of our fight, faded into a painful silence. And in that silence, all I could feel was the gaping hole he left behind. A hole that no amount of time would ever heal. He was gone. My Spencer was gone.

I would carry him with me, as broken as I felt, as shattered as I was. I would tell our daughter every story, every memory, every beautiful moment. I would make sure she knew just how much he loved her. 

I looked at Spencer, lying there, still and peaceful, I whispered one last time, my voice trembling with the weight of my grief, “Always” 

And then, with a heart that felt too heavy to carry, I had to let him go. Forever.

@carisc4pshaw @1992chinawhite

[oceanista08]

[ 2 ] Shadow of you. ✧. ┊    woo jinchul x hunter!reader.

The first time you met Woo Jinchul, it was a disaster.

The dungeon was supposed to be easy—a regular C-rank quest for your party. Nothing too dangerous. Nothing worth fighting for your life. But the thing about dungeons is that they are unpredictable.

A second gate had opened inside, releasing monsters far beyond your level. Your party scattered, either dead or unconscious, leaving you alone, bleeding and barely able to stand. Your breathing was ragged, your weapon grip shaking, but you would not give up.

The last thing you expected was for reinforcements to arrive in the form of him.

Woo Jinchul cut through the battlefield like a blade cutting through silk. His movements were precise, efficient—almost unfair power for someone who wasn’t even an S-class hunter. The monsters, sensing a stronger predator, attacked him. It didn’t matter. He was faster. Stronger. Merciless.

As the last creature fell, you fell to your knees, clutching your wounded arm. He turned to you, adjusting his sunglasses, his expression unreadable.

“Are you okay?” His voice was low, even—completely unfazed by the carnage.

You swallowed. “I will live.”

There was a long pause. Then he crouched beside you, his presence overwhelming even without his threatening moves. “You shouldn’t be in a dungeon like this.”

It made you uncomfortable. “Excuse me?”

“I saw your profile. You’re a lone hunter. No guild, no backup. Reckless.”

You gasped. “Not all of us can play it safe, Chief Inspector.”

Something flashed behind his glasses. His lips pressed into a thin line before he let out a sigh of relief.

“Then at least don’t take on missions alone.”

And with that, he left.

You thought that would be the last time you saw him.

You were wrong.

You weren’t sure which annoyed you more—Woo Jinchul’s constant appearances or his constant saving of you.

It wasn’t intentional (probably), but it happened too often to be a coincidence. Every time you took on a dangerous mission, every time things went wrong, he was there. Silent, efficient, and maddeningly calm.

It wasn’t until the fourth encounter that you really snapped.

It was another bad mission—this time a raid gone awry. Your team had gotten separated, leaving you stranded with a mutated orc, and despite your best efforts, you weren’t strong enough to take it down alone. Just when you thought you were going to die, Woo Jinchul appeared, dispatching the creature in less than a minute.

As soon as the fight was over, you lunged at him, anger overwhelming your gratitude.

“Are you stalking me?”

He didn’t even flinch. “No.”

“Then why are you always here?”

He adjusted his sunglasses. “Because you keep getting into trouble.”

You gasped, your patience running thin. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I never said you did.” His voice was flat, unreadable. But then, after a moment of silence, he added, “But someone has to keep you alive.”

That left you speechless.

You weren't sure what shocked you more - the bluntness of his words or the quiet concern hidden within them.

For the first time, you actually looked at him. Not just as the Chief Inspector, not just as a high-ranking hunter with a confused expression, but as a man who, for some reason, had decided to follow you.

You didn't know what to say. So you decided to say something stubborn. “I don't need your help.”

Woo Jinchul studied you for a moment before nodding. “Alright.”

And then he left.

But somehow, you knew it wasn't over yet.

A few weeks later, you found yourself sitting on the roof of the Hunter Association building, watching the city lights below. The task was difficult, your body ached, and you just wanted a moment of silence.

You barely reacted as someone approached.

“You're so reckless.”

You sighed. “You say that a lot.”

Woo Jinchul sat down next to you, remaining silent for a moment before continuing. “Because it's true.”

You glanced at him, surprised to see that he had taken off his sunglasses. His sharp, tired eyes were studying you with an intensity that made your breathing quicken.”

“Why do you keep pushing yourself?

You hesitated. “…Because if I don't do it, who will?”

The silence stretched between you. The usual sharpness in his eyes softened, his expression unreadable but not unkind.

“You don't have to do it alone,” he said finally.

Your heart skipped a beat.

For the first time, you wonder—maybe Woo Jinchul isn't just keeping an eye on you because it's his job. Maybe…he cares.

And maybe, just maybe, you want him to.

(　o=^•ェ•)o　┏━┓

You should’ve known that peace never lasted long in your line of work.

After your rooftop conversation with Woo Jinchul, you told yourself you wouldn’t think about it too much. But that was easier said than done. His words lingered, his presence seemed to follow you even when he wasn’t there.

And then the incident happened.

It started as a routine subjugation request—a low-tier dungeon appearing in the city outskirts. Nothing out of the ordinary. You and a group of hunters were assigned to clear it out, expecting an easy paycheck.

But when the gate’s energy spiked to unstable levels, the truth became clear.

It wasn’t a normal dungeon. It was a break in disguise.

The monsters that poured out weren’t C-rank or even B-rank. They were A-rank at the very least. The kind that devoured unprepared hunters in seconds.

Panic broke out.

Hunters screamed. Blood hit the pavement. You barely had time to think before an ogre-like creature twice your size lunged at you.

You dodged—just barely—rolling across the cracked asphalt. Your mind raced. The others were already down. You were the last one standing. And the monster—its glowing red eyes locked onto you—wasn’t going to let you escape.

Damn it.

Your body protested as you forced yourself up. You weren’t sure how long you could hold out. Maybe you wouldn’t make it out at all.

Then, a shadow loomed over you.

A familiar presence.

And then the monster’s head was gone.

Blood sprayed, its massive body collapsing to the ground with a sickening thud. You blinked, stunned, your heart pounding—only to look up and find Woo Jinchul standing before you, his suit stained with blood, his expression as cold and lethal as the blade in his hand.

“…You again,” you breathed, dazed.

His gaze flickered to you. Checked you. And for just a second, his expression softened.

“You’re hurt.”

You exhaled sharply. “Nothing serious.”

Woo Jinchul didn’t seem convinced, but instead of arguing, he turned back to the remaining monsters. There were still four left—massive, brutal, and eager to kill.

“I’ll handle this,” he said simply.

You bristled. “Like hell you will. I’m still standing.”

He glanced at you—this time, behind his sunglasses, you swore there was something unreadable.

“…Then don’t fall behind.”

And with that, he charged forward.

The battle that followed was brutal, but with Woo Jinchul at your side, the tide turned. His attacks were sharp, precise, a perfect contrast to your agile, unpredictable fighting style. It was like you had done this a hundred times before.

By the time the last monster fell, silence stretched between you. The only sound was your ragged breathing, the distant sirens of the Association’s backup finally arriving.

You turned to Woo Jinchul, your adrenaline still high, heart still racing.

He was watching you.

You swallowed. “You… always show up at the right time.”

A beat of silence. Then, his voice—steady, but quieter than usual.

“You keep giving me reasons to.”

Something in your chest tightened.

Before you could respond, Association hunters swarmed in, cutting the moment short. But even as Woo Jinchul stepped away, his presence lingered—just like the words he had left behind.

And for the first time, you wondered if you were in more danger from him than from any monster you'd ever faced.

U•ェ•*U

Days passed, but the encounter with Woo Jinchul didn’t leave your mind.

His words, his actions—everything about him was starting to get under your skin. You hated how often you thought about him, how his quiet protectiveness made your heart beat just a little faster.

So when you saw him again at an Association meeting, you told yourself you wouldn’t let it bother you.

You failed miserably.

He stood near the front of the conference room, speaking with the Association President. His usual sharp suit, his usual unreadable expression. But this time, when his gaze flickered to yours across the room, something in your chest twisted.

You quickly looked away.

This was getting ridiculous.

But then, as the meeting ended and you turned to leave, a voice stopped you.

“[Name].”

You froze. Slowly, you turned.

Woo Jinchul stood behind you, hands in his pockets, his posture as composed as ever. But his eyes—his real eyes, not the ones hidden behind dark lenses—were watching you carefully.

“…What?” you asked, cursing how unsteady your voice sounded.

A pause. Then—

“Dinner.”

You blinked. “…What?”

He sighed. “You’re reckless, you push yourself too hard, and you keep getting into dangerous situations.”

You scowled. “I don’t need a lecture—”

“It’s not a lecture.” His voice softened. “It’s an invitation.”

You stared at him, caught completely off guard.

Woo Jinchul, the man who barely spoke unless necessary, the man who only seemed to express emotions in the subtlest of ways—was asking you to dinner.

And maybe it was the exhaustion talking. Maybe it was the adrenaline, the slow-burn tension that had been building between you both. But before you could stop yourself, you found yourself saying—

“…Fine.”

The corner of his lips twitched—just barely, almost imperceptible. But you saw it.

And for some reason, it made your heart pound.

Maybe this is not bad at all.

HEAR ME OUTTT

This man deserves more love U-U

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

the world (it burns through me)

Chapter 17: Sweetheart

Ao3 | 2.9k Words | Sweetheart's POV

Milo and Colm have a word. Sweetheart said ACAB. Porter has his teeth around the problem. Quinn performs surgery. Milo is pissed.

TW: Medical talk, discussions of surgery, discussions of injuries, discussions of gambling, alcohol use.

You weren’t exactly awake when you started hearing him, but you were fairly convinced that, the second Milo was near, you were aware of him. His hands, his long, rough fingers, brushing against your face, through your curls, pressing into the juncture of your throat, as if to prove to himself that you were alive. His voice, high and strained with panic, demanding to know what was going on, cooing your name, asking you to open your eyes, to look at him. 

You knew when he was gone again. You heard him fight it as his hands disappeared. 

“Don’t you touch me,” he snarled, voice growing distant, “don’t you touch me, you bastard, what the fuck were you doing there, huh?” 

You were somewhere else for a long time. Everything twisted up and down and around itself, tying knots in your concept of time and space. 

You knew when he came back. His hand was in yours and the world righted itself again. 

“Why did they call you?” Milo’s voice had gone tired and dark, tinged with a dangerous edge. The room was quiet around his question, save for the quiet breath and heartbeat of the machines that surrounded you. You counted the seconds before he got his answer. 

“We had a conversation in November.” Colm replied. He was somewhere off to your left, deeper in whatever room you had been stuck in. “I provided some information surrounding a figure of interest in their ongoing investigation.” 

“Cut the bullshit, please.” It had the bite of an admonishment, but you knew better. Milo was exhausted. 

“I made them promise to be safe.” Colm obliged. He sighed. You heard him scrub a hand over his stubble, the pops that rang up his back as he stretched in his stiff, rubbery chair. Milo’s thumb trailed over your knuckles, stung across the abrasions and bruises that dotted the delicate skin. You could feel his fingers shake in your limp hold. 

“Should’a called me.” Milo murmured. 

“They didn’t want to scare ya.” Colm replied. 

“What the fuck do you know about it, huh?” Milo snapped. His voice went sour and loud, too loud to be appropriate for a hospital. “You don’t know shit about us.”

The room was silent again, breathing gently around you. An alarm blared somewhere far off. A group of people ran by your room’s door, their sneakers squeaking against the linoleum. 

“You remember those nights that I wouldn’t come home until you were getting up for school?” Colm’s voice was low and harsh, barely audible over your own heartbeat echoing around the room. 

“‘Cause you were out gambling.” Milo had gone quiet. He didn’t sound afraid, not exactly. There was just a familiar trepidation in his voice that made you want to cry. You wanted to open your eyes. You wanted to wake up, to get out of this bed, to put an end to this conversation. Your body wouldn’t move. 

“No.” Colm snapped. “‘Cause I was at the overnight dry cleaner trying to get blood out of my suit.” Milo’s breath stuttered. You fought to grip his hand back, to let him know that he wasn’t alone in this moment. “I got hurt on the job. I saw people die. I killed people. And I didn’t want to bring that home to your mother. I didn’t want to scare her. Or you. I relied on people… on things besides you two to see me through that. Maybe it wasn’t the right choice. But you never saw me covered in somebody else’s blood, so I’ll call that a win for my parenting.” 

Something metal spun and clanked. A harsh swallow. You could hear the lace of Milo’s boot clanging against the frame of your bed as he bounced his leg a mile a minute. 

“You could have the decency not to drink in front of me.” Milo replied coldly. “Maybe then we could talk about wins for your parenting.” 

Colm started to respond, his voice gone harsh and mean. You felt the bolt of movement run down each muscle in your arm, through your fingers, so painful and strong that you thought you’d break MIlo’s hand when you gripped it back. Instead, your fingers barely twitched in his hold. 

It was enough, even with his father beginning to yell, to draw Milo’s attention back to you. 

“Sweetheart?” He asked softly. You heard his chair scrape the floor, tumble back, and fall as he stood. “Baby, are you with me?”

“Shit,” Colm breathed. Something metal hit the floor. Another hand slipped into your free one. “Come on, open your eyes, kid.” 

You tried to say Milo’s name, but all that came out was a rasping groan. You had been intubated. You could tell from the terrible, knee scrape sting that lined your vocal chords as they hummed back to life. 

“Come on, baby,” Milo cooed softly. You felt as one of his calloused hands slid up your cheek, tapping fingers bringing you back to life. “Lemme see those pretty eyes.” 

He asked so sweetly, and so you obliged. 

Your vision was dulled and fuzzy, and the scant lights of your dim hospital room burned across your eyes. As soon as they cracked open, you squeezed them closed again, but before you did, you caught sight of Milo’s beaming face. 

“Go get Ma.” Milo said, breathless. You heard Colm’s footsteps retreat without argument. 

Between the three Greers, you were fussed and primped over for the next hour or so, offered extra pillows and ice chips and more painkillers than you reasonably thought one person should be on. Marie recounted your arrival to the ER animatedly, somehow twisting humor in with the horror that still clung to the three of them. 

“I swear to God, when I saw my husband walk through those doors covered in blood, I was ready to kill him.” She laughed, retying the shoulder of your gown for the tenth time since she’d rushed into your room, calling doctors and nurses and a whole armada of medical professionals in behind her. You thought you’d probably been examined by everybody in the hospital at this point, from the surgeons to the janitors. Now, in the very wee hours of the morning, you were waiting for word from your surgeons to see how long you’d be trapped in this room. 

You had asked for David as soon as you got your voice back in your chest. Milo’s face had screwed up at that, confused, but acquiesced. You’d given David the run down over the phone, just the bullet points, promising to give him all of the details in person. The captain was getting off shift in an hour or so. He’d gone from his day shift to Milo’s night shift so he could be here with you. He’d been running on no sleep anyway, if his spouse was to be believed. You were sure that your report wouldn’t do anything to help him sleep at night. 

Colm had taken down your official statement despite your offer to wait for another detective. He was Homicide, not Violent Crime, and he had been drinking, but from what you could tell, his tolerance was working in his favor in this instance. He didn’t seem to be touched by the swigs he had been taking from his silver flask. 

Milo had to step out when you started describing the fight. His hands shook as he made for the door, Marie following quickly after him. 

“That’s what he said exactly?” Colm asked, his face gone stern with concentration. He had that look in his eyes, the same one that you got about you. He had his teeth around the throat of the problem. He was just waiting for the right time to clamp down. 

“Tell them that the next time they send somebody else to do their dirty work, they won’t walk away from me.” You repeated, eyes slipping closed. You could picture the words falling off of Quinn’s curved lips, the bright burn of his blue eyes. 

Colm whistled low, shaking his head. 

“This guy is a grade A freak.” He sighed. “I’m throwing some police resources your way. You’re officially consulting on a full fledged investigation.” 

“You know how I feel about cops, Colm.” You said. Your experience with the Police Department had been less than sweet, and Colm was quite familiar with your grievances with its practices. The deep rooted corruption in Dahlia’s Police Department was too much for you to overlook, and despite good people like Ansel trying to make a change, those good apples did very little to lessen the rot in the barrel. More often than not, good apples ended up like Colm; poisoned by the bad ones as the years went on.  

You’d given it the old college try, but you’d only managed to put a target on your own back in the process. 

“Then it’s a good thing it’ll just be me.” Colm smiled. “Besides, you’ll be doing most of your consulting from a hospital bed.” 

“If you think they’re going to keep me in this bed for more than a day you’re out of your mind.” You snapped back. 

“Oh, I think we’ll manage a bit longer.” 

You turned towards the door to your room as a tall, slender man stepped inside. He was clad in a navy button up shirt and tie, a pristine white lab coat announcing him as the Chief of Surgery in tight, hunter green embroidery. His shoulder length blonde hair was dotted with silver strands at his temples, tied back into a ponytail at the base of his skull. When he smiled, you watched as crows feet and laugh lines flashed across his features, lining his face handsomely. He was flanked by Marie, Milo, and another doctor in maroon scrubs. 

“It is good to see you awake and talking.” The chief said as he crossed the room, extending his hand to shake yours. “I am Dr. Solaire, but please, call me William. I performed your abdominal surgery late last night.” 

“Thanks for that.” You shook his hand, fucking freezing, and motioned towards your stomach. “Can I survey the damage? What’s the prognosis?” 

“Let’s take a look, shall we?” William snagged a pair of gloves from the dispenser on the wall and moved your bedsheets. Marie helped to move your gown aside, revealing a large patch of gauze that covered your entire stomach. “The initial puncture wound was not difficult to repair. Your attacker missed any major organs. It was merely a flesh wound. In time, it should leave minimal scarring both internally and externally.” You winced as the gauze was pulled back from your battered skin, and cast your eyes up to the fluorescent lights on the ceiling at the last moment. Milo’s hand slipped into yours, squeezing tight. Marie stifled a cry. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, muffled behind her hand. “I see stuff like this all the time, I shouldn’t…”

“It’s alright.” William reassured. “It is different when it’s the people we love.” 

Slowly, your heart in your throat, you glanced down at your stomach. 

You expected it to be Quinn’s name. That was what you were imagining, or at least a bunch of Q’s. That’s what he had carved into Ben’s chest, tattooed onto Trouble’s fucking face. But when you put your mind to it, this made more sense. This would certainly torture them more, which was his real goal at the end of the day. He had told you it was their mark, after all. 

In blocky, large letters, cutting from one side of your stomach to the other, Quinn had carved Tanker’s name– their real name– into you. 

You swallowed harshly. The cuts weren’t even stitched, left open and exposed. 

“The knife was dull,” the other doctor spoke up from his perch across the room, “and so the cuts are more akin to tears. The skin is uneven and ragged, notoriously difficult to stitch. The intention was to create as much scar tissue as possible.” 

“My colleague,” William waved his hand, “also Dr. Solaire.” 

“Family affair.” Your voice was absent of any joke. “I can handle a few scars.” You tried to sound certain, but your voice wavered slightly. Marie’s hand fell to your shoulder, squeezing it tightly. 

“You won’t have to.” The other Dr. Solaire said. He glanced at your stomach with that same look in his eyes that you and Colm got. Teeth around the problem, it seemed. “Not if you choose to follow my course of treatment.” 

“What would that entail?” You asked softly. Truly, you weren’t interested in any sort of experimental therapies or skin treatments. If you were going to scar, you would scar. Quinn had seemed to perfect the art of it, of carving his mark into people. You were no expert on scar tissue, but you had plenty of it scattered around. What was a bit more? 

“Two surgeries.” Dr. Solaire said. “And three pigment laser treatments. Including healing time, between a year and a year and a half of your life.” 

“That’s a lot of life.” You said. “And a lot of time for you to spend playing around in my guts.” 

“Please,” William said softly, “let Dr. Solaire walk you through the process. He is an expert on scar tissue.” You met his grey eyes steadily for a moment before nodding. 

“We would wait for the cuts to heal on their own, supported by suture glue and very careful attention.” Solaire bent to examine the cuts a bit closer before rising again. “Once the scar tissue sets, we could begin to work it out via surgery. I would split it into two separate surgeries, working from left to right. That way, you’d only be healing half of your stomach at a time. It is a very mobile area. We want to limit reopening as much as possible. Once we’ve removed the scar tissue, I’ll refer you to a pigmentation specialist who will focus on the changes of skin tone. The end result could, unless under very careful inspection, make your stomach appear completely normal.” 

You sighed softly. 

“That’s a lot of work.” You said. “Lot of time and surgery for a few cuts.” 

“Sweetheart…” Milo whispered. His dark eyes were brimmed with something heavy. 

“It’s worth it.” Dr. Solaire said. His accent, clipped and prim, rang in your ears. “The scarring will limit your movement. It’ll likely get worse and more painful over time. And besides all of the medical reasons, it’s just not fair, is it? Some bastard with a knife shouldn’t get to mark you up for life.” 

You blinked up at him. You were so tired. 

“There’s no reason to decide now.” William said amicably. He began to replace the gauze, taping it lightly over your stomach before realigning your gown and tucking in your blankets to boot. “You should rest, recover, talk it over with your family. It is your treatment, my dear. It will be here when you’re ready.” 

David arrived as the sun rose. You ran him through the attack again, beat by beat, detail by detail. His face went pale and slack when you peeled back your gauze to show him the cuts. 

“You can’t tell them.” You said softly. “I mean it. This will destroy them.” 

“How am I supposed to keep this from them?” He hissed. He turned away, pressed his face into his hands. You tapped the gauze back down. 

“If you tell them he carved their name into me, they’ll run right back to him.” You said. “You’ll give him exactly what he wants.” 

“He tried to kill you.” 

“No.” You shook your head. “He didn’t.” You’d had a few hours to think it through, and you were sure. “If he wanted to kill me, he could have done it in a second flat. My back was to him, David, he…” you swallowed, cutting that line of thinking off. “But he chose to stab me in my abdomen, by some miracle missing any of the number of internal organs he could have hit that would have killed me before the ambulance got there.” David’s face twisted, like the train of thought was making him sick. “He needed me alive to pass on his message. This wasn’t murder, David, it was surgery.” 

“He said next time, it would be.” David snapped. When he turned, you expected anger on his features. Instead, you were met with stark, plain terror. “Next time, he’ll kill you. Or me. Or-” his voice failed him. You reached a hand out to him, and he took it, big hand surrounding yours in heat. Everything hurt. You were so tired. David’s fear was heavy in your hands. You held on anyway. 

“I’m gonna catch him.” You spoke that solemn promise into the quiet of your hospital room. “I’m gonna put him away.” 

David didn’t say anything else. He held on until MIlo came back from the cafeteria, bearing food you couldn’t eat and coffee you couldn’t drink. The three of you talked, joked like you were on a double date and not in a fucking hospital room. David fell asleep, back bent awkwardly in a stiff, hospital arm chair. 

“He’s running himself into the ground.” You sighed as his breathing evened out. Milo hummed, perched at the foot of your bed, eyes flicking over David. “You’re pissed at me.” 

You’d known since before you’d even properly woken up, but this was the first time the two of you had been even halfway alone. 

Milo was quiet for a really long time. 

“Sometimes I wish…” he paused, as though he were choosing his words carefully, “I wish, when you needed help, you would run to me.” 

“I’m sorry.” You said. You didn’t know what else you could say. 

“I know.” Milo replied. He didn’t look relieved or resolved. “I know you are.”

[bluestsdays]

the pit in devon’s stomach feels heavier, now, as she watches eden’s pretense fall away once they’re completely alone. no one wants to be alone in a room with their ex’s current partner, but especially not if they’re still hopelessly in love with said ex, like she was. and there’s an incredible amount of guilt, too, finding it difficult to look her directly in the eye as she thinks about how miller’s hands were just pressed against her skin, how she would’ve done anything he asked of her, in that moment. that’s why it was dangerous for them to get so close— all rationality fell away, and they forgot about the people they would hurt. now that she’s face to face with it, hearing the edge to the other’s voice, devon wishes she could just melt into the floor and escape it all. brows furrow slightly at her words, at her mention of cruelty— that’s not how she saw any of this. then again, she still hasn’t quite figured out what’s happening between them, what the future might hold, just that that spark had never actually extinguished. and apparently, other people could see it, too, judging by the other’s observation, that she noticed how they look at one another. fuck, that’s not good. she thought they were being discreet, but apparently not. guilt slaps her right in the face, teeth chewing on the inside of her cheek. so why hold on ? she lets out a quiet sigh at that question, certain that she didn’t want her to say that she held on because she loved him, because he was all she thought about, that she still believed they were soulmates, in the end. tries not to take offense at her repeated insistence that their relationship wouldn’t work, that everyone thought so, too, but she’d be lying if she said it didn’t affect her at all. “ that’s not… i mean i’m not, like, just playing some kind of game with him, if that’s what you’re saying, ” at least, that’s not her intent, and she hopes he knows that, too. “ and i’m not trying to sabotage anything, or— ” she pauses, to let out another sigh. she owed her some kind of honesty, as she’s never been able to share her side of all of it. “ look, with miller and i… there’s always going to be something between us. i mean, we were together so long, i never thought we would— ” break up, she thinks, but she should probably save it. “ think we can agree he’s just… really special. it’s hard to not imagine him in my life, somehow, i guess, but i’m really not trying to be cruel. not to you or him. ” 

hates that it feels like she’s just walked in on them— that she’s the one who has interrupted something, when they both isolated themselves away from the rest of the group, retreating to a space only the two of them occupied. this isn’t the first time she’s experienced this, isn’t the first time that sense of dread has taken over her frame, when she’s realised that neither party were to be seen, convincing herself, in those weaker moments, that they were doing something they shouldn’t be, despite her lack of substance and proof. it’s a simmering rage coiling inside her, now, a kettle about to reach its boiling point. tampers it down as much as she can— to play it cool and calm, even if that’s the last thing she is right now. truth is, eden craves control, and that’s a concept that’s slipping further from her grasp by the second. still, she wears a smile at her lips, at least until miller’s departure, the pretence faltering once it’s just the two of them that remain. how the hell was she going to do this? “ i know we have no reason to be the best of friends… ” she begins, slight edge to her voice. even without the given circumstances, she doesn’t think they’d ever be the type to gravitate to one another. they were just so… different. “ and i promise i’m not trying to be the crazy girlfriend that controls how you spend your time together, ” except, that’s exactly how she’s been feeling. “ it’s just… cruel, don’t you think? allowing him to have hope for something that isn’t going to happen again? ” doesn’t allow her own insecurities rise to the surface, despite how they swim just below it. “ because i’m not stupid, you know? i see the way you look at him, and how he looks at you— don’t think i’m the only one who notices it, either, ” head shakes, referring to the other involved. “ it didn’t work out the first time, and i think we all know it won’t work again. so why hold on? ”