#who he is is still bleeding through the edges of the anger but he's so hurt and there's this *painful* sincerity to his voice

[lizziesangel]

RAFE CAMERON - changes

x FEM!reader - MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: based on this request

WORD COUNT: +3.5k

GENRE: angsty

CONTENT WARNING: mentions of alcohol abuse!!

rafe cameron’s transformation hadn’t been instant. it wasn’t like he woke up one day and decided to leave behind the drugs, the fights, and the reputation that shadowed him everywhere he went.

it was gradual—painful, even. he hit rock bottom when his father, had finally given up on him, staring him down with disappointment so heavy that it left rafe feeling like nothing. adding that to the constant whispers on the island, the mounting legal troubles, and his own body screaming for something—anything—to numb it all.

and then he met you.

it wasn’t love at first sight—nothing that neat. you weren’t the kind of person who’d fall for the version of rafe cameron he was back then, and he knew it. still, something about you made him try harder to keep your attention, even if it was just in small, fleeting moments. you didn’t seem afraid of him, but you weren’t charmed by the bad boy act either. that made you different.

you saw through him, though he didn’t realize it at first. the easy smirk he wore, the sharp edges to his personality—you didn’t buy into any of it. and for reasons he couldn’t explain, that only made him want you more.

at first, you were just a distraction from the chaos of his life. Aabright spot in the mess he couldn’t seem to untangle. but the more time he spent with you, the more he realized he wanted to be the version of himself you deserved—the version of himself he’d buried beneath years of anger and regret.

you didn’t push him to change. you didn’t lecture him or try to fix him. instead, you simply existed in his world, your quiet strength and warmth enough to make him question everything.

for a long time, rafe tried to balance it all: keeping you close while still sinking into the same destructive habits. but it became harder and harder to look you in the eye after a night of doing blow or waking up in a jail cell. he could see the worry in your expression, the disappointment you tried to hide. and though you never said the words outright, he could feel the weight of your silent plea: be better. you’re better than this.

the night everything changed was one he would never forget. you had stayed up waiting for him after one of his infamous benders. he came home bruised, reeking of alcohol, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused. you didn’t yell or cry. you simply asked, “how much longer do you think you can keep this up before it kills you?”

it wasn’t a threat or an ultimatum—it was a genuine question, asked in the softest voice he’d ever heard. and for the first time, he didn’t have an answer.

he wasn’t proud of how far gone he’d been. the cocaine, the countless nights drowning in whiskey, the explosive temper that dragged him into fights he’d barely remember starting. he’d been pushing away everyone who had ever cared about him, and for what? empty bottles, bleeding knuckles, and a rap sheet that could rival a career criminal’s

that was the moment rafe realized he didn’t want to lose you. and more importantly, he didn’t want to lose himself.

the road to redemption wasn’t easy. he stumbled more times than he cared to admit, but he kept going. for you, at first—but eventually, for himself too.

from that day on, rafe worked to pull himself out of the mess he’d created. it wasn’t easy. the withdrawal was brutal, the temptation constant. the whispers didn’t stop, and the pogues certainly didn’t forgive and forget overnight. but he stayed the course, because for the first time, he could see a future where he wasn’t defined by his worst moments.

what he didn’t see, as he fought to put himself back together, was the way you were starting to come undone.

rafe had been too consumed by his own chaos to notice the way it was spilling over into your life. in those early days, you tried to be there for him, to anchor him, even as he self-destructed. but being close to rafe cameron back then meant standing too close to the fire. he didn’t mean to hurt you—he didn’t even realize he was doing it—but his recklessness burned everything in its path, including you.

there were nights when you’d wait for him, staring at the clock long past midnight, your stomach twisting with dread. was he passed out somewhere? in a fight? in jail? the worry gnawed at you, clawing deeper with every unanswered text and phone call.

and when he did come home, he wasn’t the person you knew he could be. he was drunk, high, and distant, his words slurred, his temper sharp. you tried to reach him, to remind him of the person he used to be, but it was like trying to hold water in your hands—it all slipped through your fingers.

the worst part wasn’t the yelling or the silences. it was the absence.

slowly, without realizing it, rafe had left you alone in a relationship that was supposed to be a partnership. you stopped counting the days between when he’d actually look at you, really see you. you were there, holding him up.

but no one was holding you.

at first, you told yourself it didn’t matter. you were strong; you could handle it. but cracks began to form, little fissures that grew wider with every broken promise and sleepless night. and in those moments, when the loneliness became unbearable, you turned to the only thing that seemed to quiet the ache: alcohol.

it started small—a glass of wine to help you sleep, a glass of vodka to steady your nerves. but as the nights dragged on and rafe stayed out later and later, one drink became two, then three, until you stopped counting altogether.

though the irony wasn’t lost on you. you were drowning yourself in the very thing that was destroying him. but at least when you were drunk, the pain didn’t feel so sharp, the nights didn’t feel so long, and the loneliness didn’t feel so suffocating.

rafe didn’t notice. how could he? he was too busy stumbling through his own haze of drugs and liquor to see the way you were crumbling. you both lived in the same house, but it felt like you were in different worlds—his world of chaos and yours of quiet despair.

by the time rafe began to claw his way out of his darkness, the damage had already been done. he was so focused on getting clean, on staying out of trouble, that he didn’t notice the way your hands trembled in the mornings or the way you poured your drinks a little too full at dinner.

you told yourself it was fine. he was trying to be better, and you didn’t want to burden him with your own problems. but deep down, you resented him for it—resented the way he seemed to be moving forward while you were still stuck, sinking deeper into a hole you didn’t know how to climb out of.

for him it seemed to work. you were supportive, always cheering him on, always proud. but the more he healed, the more he started to notice things he hadn’t before. things about you.

the way your hands trembled when you reached for your coffee mug. the red-rimmed eyes that never seemed to fade, even after a full night’s rest. the way you poured yourself another glass of wine at dinner before you’d even finished the first.

and the smell. faint, but unmistakable. alcohol lingered on your breath, on your clothes. he knew the scent all too well.

the realization hit him like a punch to the gut. at first, he tried to brush it off, convinced he was overthinking. but the signs were there, clear as day. and tonight, as you reached for yet another glass of wine, he couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

“how much have you been drinking?”

the question hung in the air, heavy and unyielding.

you froze, your fingers tightening around the stem of your glass. “what?”

he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his brows furrowed in concern. “i’m serious, y/n. how much?”

you laughed, but it was hollow, bitter. “why does it matter?” you asked, taking a sip as if to prove a point.

“because i’m worried about you,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “i’m not stupid. the glass is always full, there’s always another bottle. your hands shake in the morning, baby. i know the signs.”

you set the glass down with a sharp clink, your chest tightening. “don’t do this, rafe.”

“do what?” he asked, his tone still soft but laced with desperation. “care about you? ask what the hell’s going on? you think i don’t notice the way you’ve been slipping?”

and just like that, the dam burst. the emotions you’d been bottling up came flooding out in a rush of anger and sadness.

“you don’t get to judge me!” you snapped, your voice shaking. “not after everything. do you know how many nights i spent waiting for you to come home, praying you weren’t dead in a ditch somewhere? do you know what it’s like to watch someone you love destroy themselves and not be able to do a damn thing about it?”

rafe’s face crumpled, his guilt visible in every line. “i’m not judging you,” he said quietly. “i know what it’s like. i know how it feels to want to drown it all out, to make it stop.”

“no, you don’t,” you shot back, your voice breaking. “you don’t know how it feels to lose someone before they’re even gone. to... to feel like you’re screaming for help... but no one hears you because they’re too busy pulling themselves out of the mess they made!”

“angel,” rafe said, reaching for your hand, but you pulled back.

“i know i’m a hypocrite,” you continued, tears threatening to stream down your face. “i know i’m doing the same thing you did. and maybe i’m weak. maybe i’m pathetic!” sobs came out of you as you tried to form your words.

“but i needed you, rafe. i needed you, and you weren’t there! you were never there,” your voice cracked.

he flinched like you’d struck him, but he didn’t argue. he didn’t try to defend himself, because deep down, he knew you were right. “i wasn’t there,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “i wasn’t. and i’ll never forgive myself for that. but i’m here now, and i’m begging you—please let me help you.”

you shook your head, anger and heartbreak swirling in your chest. “i don’t need your help, rafe. i don’t need you to fix me.”

he reached for you again, desperation written all over his face. “i’m not trying to fix you. i just—i love you. i can’t watch you go through this alone. please, angel, let me help.”

but you couldn’t. the pain, the anger—it was all too much. you stood abruptly, grabbing your coat.

“where are you going?” he asked, panic flashing in his eyes.

“out,” you said, your voice cold and final.

“please don’—”

“i can’t do this right now,” you cut him off, walking to the door. “i just—i need to breathe.”

rafe stood frozen, his heart pounding as he watched you slip on your shoes and grab your keys.

“baby, don’t go,” he said, his voice breaking.

“please, don’t leave like this.”

you didn’t look back. the door closed with a slam behind you, leaving rafe alone in the silence, his heart splintering into pieces.

but he didn’t try to wait. the moment the door closed behind you, he grabbed his jacket and followed, his heart pounding with equal parts fear and determination.

you were already halfway down the driveway when he caught up, your keys clenched tightly in your hand as you marched toward your car.

“y/n,” he called, his voice desperate, but you didn’t stop.

“just leave me alone, rafe,” you said, your tone sharp, though it cracked at the edges.

“i can’t do that, angel,” he said, quickening his pace until he was just a few steps behind you. “i’m not letting you walk away like this.”

you spun on your heel, your eyes blazing with a mix of anger and pain. “you don’t get to follow me,” you snapped. “you don’t get to tell me what to do, not after everything!”

he stopped in his tracks, holding his hands up like he was surrendering. “okay. fine. but at least let me drive you.”

you scoffed, turning back toward your car. “i don’t need you to drive me, i’m fine.”

“you’re not fine,” he said softly, his voice laced with concern. “you’ve been drinking. i can smell and see it. please, just—don’t do this. if you need to get away, i’ll take you. just let me drive.”

you hesitated, your hand on the car door. deep down, you knew he was right. the alcohol was still humming faintly in your veins, and the last thing you needed was to get pulled over or worse.

“i don’t need a babysitter,” you muttered, but you let the keys dangle loosely in your hand.

“i know you don’t,” he said, stepping closer, his voice gentle. “but i need to do this, okay? just—let me do this for you.”

“i need to know you’re safe.”

you looked at him, his face etched with a raw kind of desperation that made your chest ache. for a moment, you considered pushing him away again, but the exhaustion was too heavy, and the fight was slipping from your grasp.

“okay,” you said reluctantly, tossing him the keys. “but don’t talk to me.”

rafe nodded, catching the keys midair. “yeah, okay,” he said quietly.

you climbed into the passenger seat, crossing your arms and staring out the window as he slid into the driver’s seat. the silence between you was thick, heavy with unsaid words, but he didn’t press. he simply started the car and pulled out of the driveway.

as the streetlights blurred past, you pulled a flask from your coat pocket, unscrewing the lid with shaky hands.

“y/n, don’t,” rafe said softly, glancing over at you.

you ignored him, lifting the flask to your lips.

“please,” he said, his voice breaking. “i’m begging you. just—don’t.”

“it won’t help, it never will.”

your hand hovered midair, the weight of his words pressing down on you. for a moment, you hesitated, but the familiar ache in your chest won out. you tipped the flask back, the burn of the alcohol momentarily numbing the pain.

rafe gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles white. he didn’t say anything else, but the hurt in his expression was unmistakable.

as the car sped down the road, the silence between you grew heavier, suffocating. rafe was struggling to keep himself together, but he knew one thing: no matter how far you tried to run, he wasn’t going to let you go through this alone.

the red and blue lights flashing in the rearview mirror brought rafe’s heart to his throat.

“shit,” he muttered, gripping the wheel tighter as he pulled the car to the side of the road.

you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, clutching the flask. “you were speeding, weren’t you?”

rafe’s jaw tightened. “yeah, i guess i was. just—stay quiet, alright?”

the flashlight beam hit the driver’s side window before either of you could say anything else. when rafe rolled it down, the familiar voice of shoupe made the tension in the car skyrocket.

“well, well, look who we have here,” shoupe said, leaning down to get a better look at rafe. his tone was casual, almost amused, but there was a sharp edge to it. “rafe cameron, speeding down my roads. what’s the rush tonight?”

rafe forced a tight smile, though the discomfort was written all over his face. “sorry, officer. i wasn’t paying attention to my speed. just trying to get my girl to a friends’ house,” he said, nodding toward you.

shoupe’s flashlight swept across the interior of the car, landing squarely on the flask in your lap.

“uh-huh,” shoupe nodded, his tone shifting as he focused on you. “and uh… what’s that? you two drinking and driving tonight?”

your stomach dropped, and you froze, unable to find the words to respond.

rafe jumped in immediately, his voice firm but a little shaky. “it’s mine,” he said quickly. “the flask—it’s mine, shoupe.”

shoupe raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “yours, huh? and yet, it’s sitting in her lap?”

“she just—she was holding it for me,” rafe lied, his voice steady despite the panic brewing in his chest. “i wasn’t thinking, i shouldn’t have had it in the car. that’s on me.”

shoupe straightened, sighing heavily. “c’mon, son. you’ve been doing so good lately. now i’m supposed to believe you’re back to this? open containers in the car? speeding? what’s going on?”

“it’s not what it looks like,” rafe said quickly, desperation seeping into his tone. “just give me a ticket for the speeding, and i’ll take care of it. i’ll dump the flask right now.”

shoupe glanced between you and rafe, his sharp eyes narrowing. the tension stretched, the air in the car thick and suffocating. finally, he sighed and shook his head.

“look,” he said, his voice softer now, “you’re lucky i know you’ve been trying to straighten out, son. but i don’t want to see you slipping, especially with her involved.” he gestured toward you with his flashlight.

rafe nodded quickly. “understood. i’ll get it together. promise.”

shoupe studied him for a moment longer before stepping back. “slow down. and get rid of the flask. i better not catch you with it again.”

“yes, sir,” rafe said, his voice tight.

shoupe gave you both one last look before walking back to his car. as the flashing lights receded into the far distance, rafe leaned back in his seat, letting out a shaky exhale.

you stared at him, your emotions swirling in a chaotic mess. “why the hell did you take the blame?”

rafe turned to you, his eyes weary but determined. “because i’m not letting you deal with this bullshit, y/n. not you. never you.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. instead, you looked out the window, your grip on the flask loosening as rafe started the car again.

the silence between you was heavier than ever, but you could feel his eyes flicking to you now and then, filled with concern and a love you didn’t know how to handle anymore.

the car stayed silent except for the low hum of the engine as rafe drove. his eyes flicked toward you every few moments, filled with worry and guilt.

you sat stiffly in the passenger seat, staring out the window, the flask now abandoned in your lap. the weight of everything hung heavily in the air, suffocating and thick.

“y/n,” rafe finally said softly, his voice tentative, testing the waters. “can we just—can we talk about this?”

his words broke something in you. the wall you’d been desperately holding up crumbled, and a choked sob escaped your lips.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling as tears began to stream down your face. “i’m so sorry, rafe.”

rafe immediately pulled the car over to the side of the road, his heart clenching at the sound of your broken voice. “baby, no,” he said, turning to you, his own voice shaking. “don’t do that. don’t apologize. you don’t have to—”

“i was so awful to you,” you cried, covering your face with your hands as your shoulders shook. “you didn’t deserve that. you’re trying so hard to be better, and i—i just lashed out at you.”

rafe reached for your hands, gently pulling them away from your face. his eyes glistened with unshed tears as he looked at you, his expression raw and vulnerable.

“no, angel,” he said, his voice thick. “don’t do that. don’t blame yourself. i’m the one who messed up. i wasn’t there for you when you needed me. i let you down, and now you’re—” his voice cracked, and he turned his head away for a moment, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay.

you shook your head, tears spilling freely. “i just—i don’t know how to fix this, rafe. i feel like i’m drowning, and i don’t know how to stop.”

his hands tightened around yours, his own tears threatening to fall. “you don’t have to do it alone, angel,” he said softly. “you don’t have to carry this by yourself. let me help you, please. let me be there for you.”

you looked at him, his eyes filled with nothing but love and desperation, and the weight of it all was almost too much to bear.

“turn around,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“what?” rafe asked, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“turn around,” you repeated, a fresh wave of tears spilling down your cheeks. “let’s just go home, rafe. please. i don’t—i just want to go home.”

rafe exhaled shakily, nodding as he wiped a hand across his face. “okay, baby,” he said, his voice cracking. “we’ll go home. whatever you need.”

he put the car in reverse, pulling back onto the road. as he drove, his hand reached out to rest on your knee, a silent promise that he wasn’t letting go—not this time.

[thewiglesswonder]

"NO, I WANT TO KILL HIM!"

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 4; ghoap x reader) masterlist tags: dubcon/noncon, nsfw

-

Much of Ghost’s behaviour is reactive. Oddly passive for the assumptions people often make of him. He doesn’t run from trouble, but certainly he doesn’t seek it out. Aside from a few rare deviations from the norm (running his father out of the city at eighteen, not breaking enough bones to count as restitution, and finally leaving home to enlist), that remains the rule. 

The way Johnny mopes for days after parading his bird around base has Ghost nearly rolling his eyes, already exasperated. He should’ve known his puppy wouldn’t share well. 

It’s worse than he expected though. Johnny mopes for a week straight after the fact, hardly able to meet Ghost’s eyes in briefings. He stares straight down at the floor pathetically, dragging his feet behind him when he’s dismissed. Price notices it right away, raising an eyebrow at Ghost after Johnny leaves the room. 

“Trouble in paradise?” he asks, leaning back in his chair, hands folded over his stomach.

“In the dog house, I reckon. His girl’s pissed at him.”

“Your doing?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” Ghost replies smoothly, face giving away nothing.

Price is hardly convinced. “I’m sure. Nothing to do with you.”

Ghost doesn’t answer that. He waits until he’s dismissed and then takes off down the same hall Johnny just left, curious about wherever his boy’s slunk off to. 

He can’t help the latent sadistic streak in him that curls up in pleasure at the sight of Johnny pouting and squirming whenever he walks into the room. Still, his attitude will need to be rectified soon enough—there’s only so much Ghost will tolerate, only so much disrespect he’ll turn a blind eye to. One day Johnny will look back and reflect on this, and appreciate the extent of Ghost’s magnanimity. 

Still, he doesn’t enjoy being ignored. One week bleeds into the beating heart of the next and Ghost realizes that he’s had enough of the silent treatment. He’s given Johnny more than enough time to come to terms with their new situation. 

He tracks him down to the armoury on a Monday evening after most of the other soldiers have already left for the day, back home or eating supper in the mess hall. It’s empty apart from the two of them, and when Johnny finally notices his presence in the room, his eyes widen almost imperceptibly. He doesn’t flinch at least. Good boy. He’s gotten better at being less reactive, less shaky about being caught off guard. 

“Done for the day, sergeant?” He keeps it light to start, taking a step closer. 

Johnny tenses at the approach. “Yes, sir.” The title would usually satisfy on its own, but it comes strained, polite but removed. 

“Where’d you come from?”

“Layouts and gunners training, sir.”

On any other day, Johnny’s deference might come as a lovely note to end the day on, but not today. It rankles now, the edge of his voice sweetened by a kind of silent dismissal, not giving any more information than what’s required of him. Nothing like the boy who used to open his mouth and sing the world back to him. Ghost has earned his every thought. 

“We have a problem, Soap?”

“No, sir,” Johnny grumbles, still not meeting his eyes. His mouth barely moves when he says the words, teeth all but grit. 

No dealing with this temper tantrum like adults then. For all Johnny must carp and bitch to himself about the hardships that Ghost has put him through, he seems to have no desire to actually deal with the problem. That’s too bad. It would’ve been easy enough to talk it out like grown men.

They’ll have to come to terms some other way.

“Come. We’re fixing this attitude of yours now,” Ghost grunts, turning before Johnny has the opportunity to complain and marching down the hall towards the gym. 

He hears Johnny make a sound like an angry bull before following him down the hall. The loud footfalls against the tile floor betray his simmering anger; it reveals to Ghost what he already knew intuitively. His boy still needs to learn to play well with others. 

In time, this anger will fade into the ether, replaced by Johnny’s old doggish need to please Ghost, but it’s causing too many problems now to be tolerated. He hasn’t gotten to see the bird since the week before. Doesn’t even have a photo of his own to look at when he rubs one out. It would be less aggravating if Johnny were willing to spread his legs and let Ghost rut between his thighs, but they aren’t there yet.

The gym is empty as it usually is around early evening when Ghost opens the door, the lights off from whoever last used it. Johnny follows him sullenly, dragging his feet about it. Ghost’s eye ticks at the show of attitude persisting into this space.

“Lock it behind you,” Ghost says without looking back at him, crossing to where the mats are on the other side of the gym. 

Neither of them are dressed to spar, still clad in their fatigues, but his blood cranks up to boiling when he turns around to watch as Johnny crosses the room angrily, picking up steam now as well. He comes in hot, not even bothering to suss out Ghost’s first move before launching himself at him. 

Ghost staggers back a step at the hit, but he takes it in stride, shifting his weight and using Johnny’s momentum to throw him off, sending him sprawling. He’s quick to get back to his feet, but that moment of carelessness gives Ghost everything he needs. The next time Johnny throws himself at him, Ghost lets him get an arm around his leg and nearly grins to himself when he feels Johnny put all his weight into trying to flip him. 

He knows strength isn’t everything, but there’s something to be said about the several inches and even more kilos he has on Johnny. That plus a decade’s worth of experience. Sparring devolves into a sweat-slicked grapple, Johnny’s shirt coming untucked and rucked up, his hair mussed. He tries to go for the mask, eyes gleaming with a wet, savage glint—forgetting decorum or tact, and just going for the most underhanded maneuver. 

He pays for it when Ghost takes him hard to the floor, catching him with a leg sweep that he might’ve been able to avoid if he were fighting with a clear mind. Anger makes him sloppy though. 

“Fuckin’ bastard—” Johnny grunts when he hits the floor, narrowly avoiding clipping his chin against the mat. 

“Folks never married, so guess you’re right,” Ghost remarks, unbothered. Hardly winded even, only the lightest sheen of sweat on his brow, obscured by the mask. 

His sudden divulgence makes Johnny falter. So rarely does Ghost open even a crack that the momentary honesty catches him off guard, giving Ghost the opportunity to wrangle him into a tight hold. 

Pinning Johnny isn’t an easy task because the kid fights dirty when he feels cornered. Lashes out wildly with his fists when Ghost gets an arm around his neck and holds him in place, less precise than when he’s coolheaded, but still brutal, all raw strength packed behind his punches. He twists Johnny over onto his stomach when the boy tries to buck him off, slamming him down hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

“Gonna tell me what’s got you all riled up now?” Ghost asks, twisting Johnny’s arms behind his back to pin him in place. 

He struggles in Ghost’s hold, trying to find a weak point. The search is fruitless. Ghost’s body weighs him down like a boulder pinning him flush to a dirt-streaked mountainside, forcing the air out of his lungs when he presses down harder. 

“Ye cannae just take her from me—” he spits out, face flushed. He kicks out a foot, trying to free himself, but all Ghost does is shift slightly to press his shin to Johnny’s calf, holding it down. “I told ye she was different and ye had to—and now she willnae even fuckin’ talk to me. Barely texts me, willnae answer my calls. I cannae—I can’…” 

His voice trails off on a hitch. Not quite a sob, but a frustrated, wretched sound. 

“Held that in for a while, didn’t ya?” Ghost murmurs, holding Johnny down with ease when he struggles again, trying to wrench his arms out of Ghost’s hold. 

“I almost fuckin’—almost just fuckin’ gave her to ye,” Johnny says, shame thick in his voice. “Thought maybe it wouldnae be worth…jus’ dinnae want a girl coming between us. But she’s—I told ye, Lt, she’s special, I cannae jus’—I cannae jus’ let her go. And now she doesnae want anythin’ to do with me.”

Ghost doesn’t bother pointing out the absurdity of that statement. As if Johnny could give him something that’s already his. 

“Not trying to steal your bird, Johnny.” He taps Johnny’s cheek, a little reprimand. It makes him blink and scrunch up his nose. “What’d be the point of that?”

He forgets how young Johnny is sometimes, just now nearing the end of his twenties. Still wet behind the ears, all blood flushed and pink cheeked. Green still to the realities of the world and Ghost’s presence in his life (permanent, fixed; unchanging). 

There isn’t a version of him that wants someone who doesn’t also want Johnny. Inconceivable. After everything that they’ve been through together, the root of him and what he wants is inextricably tied with what Johnny wants—at times, Ghost almost wishes he could live inside his head, just a constant stream of Johnny’s thoughts into his. 

Johnny twists his head enough to glare over his shoulder at Ghost. “The fuck are ye on about? Ye grabbed her ass in front of God ‘n everyone, for Christ’s sake. Said your intentions loud ‘n clear.”

“‘Course I did. She’s got a nice arse, doesn’t she?”

“You’re really startin’ to fuck with my head, Ghost, I dinnae understand what ye—”

“You keep running your mouth off about trying to take the girl from you—I don’t need to take anything.” He stresses the word to be clear, forcing Johnny back down when he tries to buck Ghost off again. This time he stays in place, both calves pinned down to the mat, cheek pressed into the fabric when Ghost slots a hand into the scruff of his mohawk, forcing his head down. “Quit struggling—you’re not getting back up. We’re sorting this shit out now so you quit moping around base and giving me a fuckin’ headache.”

“Stop exaggerating—I havenae even opened my mouth around ye in days. I’m no’ doing anything to your head—”

“How the fuck am I supposed to think when you keep running away?”

The air hangs heavy in the wake of his words, the oxygen all but sucked out of the room. 

“The two of you are mine,” Ghost says in a low, harsh voice, the sound making Johnny flinch against the mat. “I’m not asking for just one of you. You’re out of your fuckin’ mind if you think I’d leave you out of this, mutt.”

He’d sooner lose them both, but that’s another scenario that he’d never tolerate. 

With some effort, Ghost tips Johnny over onto his back, holding him down before he can start to struggle again. He keeps his wrists trapped behind his back, forcing Johnny to arch his back off the floor, presenting himself. From his vantage point, it’s easy for Ghost to flick his gaze down and find Johnny’s dick pressed hard against the zipper of his pants, all plumped up from being pinned to the ground. 

“Good, you’re already hard,” Ghost grunts approvingly, rolling his hips down to alleviate some of the pressure building up in his groin. “Haven’t come since she left the other week, I bet.”

Panic flares red hot in Johnny’s eyes, widening when Ghost settles deeper between his legs, his own hard cock unmistakable. “Wait—wait, Ghost—I’m no’—I’m no’—”

It would be a stretch to say that anything softens in him, but a part of Ghost does feel for the boy. He’s been around Johnny long enough to know his persuasion—strictly women with the occasional appreciative glances towards some men. An appreciation he relegates to furtive, guilty glances, holding it inside of him like a nasty secret that he’ll never part with. Too riddled with Catholic guilt and the ease of just playing it straight. 

Ghost has no intention of making it easy on him though. 

He tries to imagine what it might be like if he were on the other end, but for him it’s only ever been cunts and Johnny and the bird. Now just the latter two hold any weight. 

His protests only last as long as it takes Ghost to unfasten their belts and zippers, fishing Johnny’s cock out first. The second his rough hand wraps around Johnny’s length, the words die on the boy’s lips, replaced by a choked off grunt. His balls are full enough to corroborate Ghost’s words—he probably hasn’t come since seeing his girl off the other day, too frustrated and upset to jack off, the ducts shut, working himself up into a frothy mess only for it to slip right out of his hands at the last second. 

Johnny’s eyes roll back when Ghost grips both their cocks in his fist, slicking his hand up with Johnny��s precome. Sweat sluices down the sides of his neck. He looks good with his tongue tied up in knots, thoughts emptying out through his ears in rivulets. 

Even with Ghost’s hand as big as it is, he can’t wrap it all the way around the two of them. Johnny’s come provides a nice glide though, lubricating the underside of his shaft when Ghost grinds up into his fist. 

It spurs him into a kind of ​​protolithic fervour, desperate only to come. The iron rich scent of blood and sweat makes Ghost salivate, eyes drawn to the tender skin of his neck, the flush now riding high, up and over his cheekbones. Lips bitten red, also swollen with blood. In a better mood, Ghost might indulge him, might roll up his mask and lick into the wet mouth hanging open deliciously, teasing him, but there’ll be time for that later. 

He slurs out Ghost’s name when he comes, Simon ripped from his lips like it was dug clean out of his soul. His come splatters across his belly and shirt in thin, watery spurts, the wind knocked out of him again. 

Johnny squirms when Ghost doesn’t let go of their cocks, hand still dragging up and down, mumbling that he’s too sensitive, fuck, lemme go, I cannae—

“I’ll stroke your cock and grab the bird’s ass whenever I feel like it,” Ghost growls down at him, at the end of his patience now. He pants out a ragged breath when his cock throbs at a particularly whorish moan dropping broken from Johnny’s mouth. “I’ll nut in her cunt and make you lick it out if I want. And you’ll fuckin’ thank me for giving you a taste.”

Johnny almost goes nonverbal at that, a leg trying to kick out weakly even though it’s still pinned down under Ghost’s heavy thigh. His dick twitches against Ghost’s, a valiant effort. 

When Ghost comes, it settles in a thick, viscous mess across Johnny’s stomach, pooling around his belly button. It radiates hot down his back, the ache in his lower spine abating momentarily. Can only imagine how much better it would feel balls deep in Johnny’s ass or the bird’s pussy, a wet warmth clutching him tight, legs wrapped around his waist to drag him closer. 

He’ll have that soon enough.

A ragged wheeze is pulled from Johnny’s chest when Ghost drags his cock through it, spreading it over his stomach. It’s worse when Ghost dips his fingers into the mess, a sticky blend of both their come, before bringing his fingers up to Johnny’s mouth, forcing them past his lips and over his teeth and gums. Johnny sputters at the taste, going cross-eyed to look down at Ghost’s hand. 

There’s no time for pillowtalk or soft words though. Even if there were, niceties come out of Ghost’s mouth like a ring of smoke. Still, the thought of the bird not returning Johnny’s calls or texts makes him bristle, his annoyance renewed. His own disinclination to communicate aside—a waste of words as far as Ghost’s concerned, he says more with his actions anyway—none of this works if the girl won’t talk it out. 

Probably pent up, the stubborn thing. He’ll have to sort that out too. It keeps him young at least. 

“C’mon, Johnny,” Ghost says, rising to his feet. He dusts his hands off on his fatigues as if nothing happened, then holds out a hand for Johnny to grab. “Let’s go see our bird.”

[greyskyflowers]

I like to think about Charles really understanding what Edwin went through in hell. I really wished we'd seen more of that in the show. 😫

Like... how many times do you think Edwin got torn apart down there? How many times could he die and start over in an hour? A day? A year?

How many times did the demon mess him up just enough so that he couldn't run? Stuck sitting there just waiting to either bleed out or for the final strike before starting again?

Anyway ~ I'm feral for hurt/comfort and burn the world for you relationships so here we go ~

🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜

Sometimes Edwin has what they've been calling, for lack of better word, episodes. He had some prior to his second trip in hell but nothing like what he has now.

Charles can't decide if it's easier or harder to witness them now that he knows more about what happened all those years in hell.

Thankfully, most of the time, these episodes happen when they're home. Usually after a particularly rough day and often coinciding with times when Charles is briefly out doing something.

He always knows right away, steps through the mirror to a dark and quiet room. There's a brief but consuming feeling of panic every time he steps out and doesn't immediately see Edwin, but he doesn't think that will ever go away.

There's a few places Edwin tucks himself into when he has an episode, all of them small and dark.

Edwin claims it's muscle memory from all the years in hell he ran and hide.

Personally, Charles thinks Edwin finally has places to hide and takes full advantage of it. He doesn't remember seeing too many places to hide in those terrible, endless hallways of hell.

Charles hates these episodes.

He's trying to be better with his anger but everytime they go through this, everytime Edwin gets a certain look in his eye, or tries to nonchalantly get closer to Charles when something sets off memories, it reminds him that Edwin was taken away from him numerous times and was hurt over and over again.

It makes the rage simmer in his belly and he thinks no one would really hold it against him if he ever gets his hands anyone who's hurt Edwin and let's the rage take over for a minute... or a few minutes. He really wouldn't need more than that with all the anger that seems to burn under his skin.

He's quiet as he walks to the desk, eyeing the chair pulled out and shoved away to make room, before carefully peering around the edge to look under it and Edwin looks back at him with awful, terrified eyes.

He knows how this goes by now, almost the same every time. What a terrible thing to be familiar with.

He quietly sinks to the floor by Edwin and starts trying to squeeze himself under the desk with him. The space is not meant for two people, or even one, but like hell he's going to pull Edwin out of today's chosen hiding place so they can get resettled easier.

He'd done that at the beginning. Tried to remind Edwin where he was and that he was safe, had spoken softly but not as soft as he had in hell, and tried to pull Edwin out. It was a mistake. The look of terror and betrayal on Edwin's face had made sure he never tried that approach again.

It was easier this way, to play along.

He puts a hand on the back of Edwin's head because he always smacks it off the underside of the desk when they hide here, and while it might not hurt him like it would a living being, it still makes a painful sound that has Charles clenching his jaw.

Edwin ends up on his lap, really the only way they both fit, and thankfully he's usually too distracted to realize that Charles has his legs sticking out from under the desk and that their hiding spot isn't really a good spot for two people.

He trembles, even though he's stiff like he's trying desperately not to shake. He clings, hands grasping at Charles's shirt and burying his face in his neck like everything will go away if he can't see it.

Sometimes, it sends Charles spiraling down a rabbit hole, wondering how Edwin held himself up long enough to run in hell when he always shakes so hard during these episodes. His legs wouldn't carry his weight right now if they stood up, he'd go right back down.

It's not something he likes to think too much about, especially when Edwin needs him to hold it together.

Sometimes Edwin cries. Sometimes he begs. Sometimes the only noise is a frantic wheezing.

Charles pulls his legs up more and wraps his arms around Edwin tighter, curling around him as much as he can. He urges him to keep his face tucked away, pets at his hair, and strokes his thumb over his arm. He presses his lips agaist any skin close enough, and starts talking. Soft, and hardly even audible but it always helps.

He talks about everything and anything he can think off. Stories, memories, comforts, praises.

He tells Edwin that he's been absolutely brills to handle this alone before Charles got back, but he's here now and if Edwin needs to just hide away for a little bit, that was fine. Charles has him. Nothing is going to get him.

He's glad Edwin doesn't remember much from these episodes, panic making everything too hazy to understand when he tries. He just knows how they end, usually with the two of them tangled up somewhere, because Charles refuses to let Edwin go until he's completely back to himself but that's as far as he can usually recall.

Charles would crack open his ribcage and let Edwin hide in there if it'd keep him safe.

🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜

Frantically scribbled this down during work so please forgive any errors. Got lots of ideas hanging around my head and little time to type them out 🤔

Gotta love all that trau~ma!

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

1.5k / 20 / post-apocalypse au, part 1

...

You're injured but moving as fast as you can with your bow slung over your back. Soap is close behind you, giving chase, shouting your name as he does. Doesn't he learn? Doesn't he know you'll pull your bow on him again if he corners you?

He must know, but he's too stubborn to give up the chase. You don’t understand it.

He pushes on, just as graceful and twice as effective as you. You slip through the thick trees and their branches trailing whips of brambles. He shoves past them. You’re injured. He’s not. He's gaining, boots heavy in the soil.

"Watch yourself--!"

Your boot lands on leaf litter that falls out from under you--a pit trap. You’re moving barely fast enough for your momentum to save you from falling in. Your waist hits the edge of the pit. You brace yourself by your elbows, fingers digging into the dirt. The soft underside of your arms drag against something sharp underneath.

Soap grabs you by your coat and pulls you up out of the trap and to your feet before you can scramble out yourself. You're neither surprised nor mollified by his careful handling of you.

"Let me go!"

"Na. You're hurt. Stay still."

"Soap, I swear to God--"

"Shut up. I'm taking a look."

He holds your arm firmly with one large hand and, with the other, pulls your sleeve away from the bleeding gash. You grab his wrist with a pained curse. Whatever caught your arms—the rough wood and metal at the trap's edge—tore you bloody. Soap glares at the gash and then at you. He's close.

You could reach for your bow or for the dagger on your hip. But you know for a fact he's armed. With guns. A sniper rifle on his back and two sidearms at his belt. He knows how to use them, too. If you fight, he wins. But you know better than to back down quickly. The world is crueler than it used to be ever since things went to shit. People who show weakness don’t survive.

"Why are you following me?" you growl, your grip on his wrist tightening.

His grip on you loosens in turn when you speak. "You know why. I'm lookin' out for ya."

"I didn't ask for your help."

"Aye, but you still needed it."

"You're not a soldier anymore, Soap," you retort, trying to pull your wrist away. "It's every person for themselves. Stop following me."

"That's no way to live. The world may be a shithole, but there are still folk around who'll lend you a hand even though they don't need to. Soldier or no'."

You can't get out of his grip when he's determined to keep you there, and he is. As much as you'd like to give him a matching wound for being so goddamn stubborn, the rational part of your brain--the part that makes sure you survive--knows better than to expend energy struggling when it's not strictly necessary.

"Nobody lends a hand unless they want something in return," you mutter, glaring down at your wound as he bandages it. "Even if they're pretending otherwise."

He knows you speak from experience. You're a woman, and that means you're nothing but a resource to the worst of whoever’s left. He can't blame you for being guarded. Then again, you wouldn't be making such heated statements to his face if you really thought he intended to hurt you. You're just... defensive. Hiding under all that anger. That's what he tells himself. So he ignores your grumbled protests.

"That's how you'd look at it," he finally replies as he finishes dressing the wound. "Seein' as you've not met the right people. But some of us don't expect anything back."

"You don't expect it because you think you're better than asking. But you still want it."

"Might be so." His voice is soft, gravelly, but you can hear the steel in it. "But am not asking, now am I? So stop your fussin'. You're safe. Nae need to worry." He releases your bandaged arm.

"You run your hand along the wrapping, checking it. "Fine. But I'm... I'm not coming back with you."

"Can't promise you'll be safe out there. Where do ye plan to go?"

"I don't know. Wouldn't tell you if I did."

"Aye." He rubs his jaw, examining you with flint in his blue eyes. Pressing you for an answer would be pointless. Not that you seem to be lying—but you're not telling the whole truth. The short history you share with him is just enough that he can tell. But he also knows trying to change your mind would be pointless. If you won't listen, he'd have better luck bashing his head against one of these huge, mutated oaks.

"Am nae stoppin' ya. But these woods are full of treacherous paths. If ye run into trouble—when ye run into trouble--my boys and I, we know these woods well enough to dust you off and send you in the right direction. Cannae promise to find you before somethin’ else does, though."

You're fairly sure he's not lying. His boys, as he calls them—his old squad, you think—they've made their home in these woods. It's perilous living—bears, wolves, muties, and terrain just as hazardous as the wildlife. And still those men are the most dangerous things in here.

The offer is tempting. You consider it for longer than you should, looking down at your bandaged arm again. But then you step back, shaking your head slowly. "No, thanks. I have to get going."

It tears him up inside. You're making the wrong choice. If he lets you walk away, he's letting you walk to your death.

He looks at you for a moment. You can tell he's got something more to say. But he changes his mind, stepping back as well. He pulls something from his belt and holds it out. A handgun, scuffed and black, grip held toward you. You stare at it for a second before looking back up at him. He's serious?

"I'm not gonna take that--"

"You're damn well gonna take it." His voice is low and insistent. "You think I don't know you'll run into trouble out here? Don't be a fool. I have spare. Take it."

Your one rule is don't owe anybody anything. How the fuck are you about to owe this man twice?

Fine. Whatever. It's not like you have to use it. Could just barter it. Not like you’re going to see him again. You take the gun, biting back a retort.

He nods his approval. The steely look in his eyes softens, though he still looks dismayed. "Mind where you point that. And when you pull it. Biters'll hear it for a mile and come running. Survivors, too. The curious ones." He glances at your bandaged arm one more time. Then he adjusts the bag over his shoulder and turns his back, walking away from you. Back to camp. "Am expectin' you to keep yourself alive with that," he growls. "Or else it's a lot of good time and material I wasted on ya."

"I didn't ask you to waste your breath," you retort, practically snarling at his retreating back in your irritation. You watch him go until he's disappeared into the trees. You need to make sure he doesn't plan on doubling back and following you.

Then you set off on your own. You take a winding path to throw off any trackers. Never can be too cautious. The gun in your pocket is heavy against your thigh, and you try not to think of it as a comforting security.

You came here to get Roach back, and you don’t care how long you have to wander this Godforsaken forest. You’re not leaving without him.

…

Soap feels your eyes on him until you disappear.

He wants to divorce himself from this, but he’s on edge. People who strike out on their own here come to a nasty end. But he’s not going to take away your agency by deciding what's best for you. You were right about him not being a soldier, after all. He doesn’t have the authority to herd you back to his squad’s campsite. Your life is in your own hands.

He just hopes you live to do better than he believes you will.

That night, he sleeps restlessly. Which is why, when he hears a cluster of gunshots in the distance, he wakes up instantly. It's you. In trouble.

The night watch—Gaz tonight—is already there, tossing Soap's gun to him. "You were right," Gaz says.

"Course I was," Soap says with a lopsided grin. "Owe me a ten-piece in the next poker game, aye?"

...

[part 1] / part 2 / part 3

more Soap / more multi-141 and poly 141 / masterlist tag

[yourtamaki]

o, come, be buried / a second time within these arms

zoro x f!reader

word count: 3k

warnings: hurt/comfort, sex as a form of comfort, fingering, cuddlefucking, creampie, scent kink, oral (f!receiving), cum play, cum eating, violent imagery, bit of aftercare

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there is a storm building inside you.

zoro can see it raging even as you keep your face turned from him. the room dark save for the moonlight that streams in through the open window, just bright enough to spot your outline curled up in bed, covers tucked up under your chin. lines of tension keep your back rigid and shoulders hunched, your breathing shaky and slow as you tell him to leave.

you’re vicious gales and crashing waves wrapped into one, devastating and beautiful.

“you don’t want to be around me right now,” you say, words muffled by your pillow.

“don’t tell me what i want,” he doesn't try to bite back the anger that laces itself through his tone. zoro has never censored himself from you before and he wasn't about to start now.

ire thrums hot in his veins, burning and boiling away beneath his skin. he has always given you every part of himself, heart served in his open, blood-stained palms, for better and most certainly for worse.

the thought of you holding yourself back from him, that there’s a part of you that he’s being denied, sets his teeth on edge. he'd been searching for you all day, prowling around the ship like a caged animal until finally found his way to where his search should have began, the tiny storage room that had become your shared quarters.

“you pissed at me?” he asks.

“no,” you say.

“want me to kill anyone?”

“no.”

it grates on him that there’s no enemy for you to sic him on, no bones to crack, no blood to spill. your pain deserves retribution and he is the blade that would carry it out, if only you would wield him, "then i'm staying."

"zoro, please. just go."

“who do you think you’re protecting by hiding yourself away?” he steps in closer, right to the edge of the bed but makes no move to touch you, “cause it’s not me and it sure as fuck isn’t you.”

you throw a dagger of a glare his way, so sharp it could make a man bleed before he even knew he’d been cut. he doesn’t care. a small price to pay for your gaze.

zoro is too loyal of a beast to flinch away the first time you flash your fangs at him.

you hold his gaze for a moment longer before turning back around to face the wall once more. in your silence, he resolves himself to sitting on the floor by your bedside until he can be of some fucking use to you. zoro would lick crumbs of affection out of the palm of your hand. if the closest you'll let him be to you right now is knelt on the ground, keeping vigil, then he'll take it. he's crouched halfway down when he hears you call for him.

“baby, get in.”

how you have enough sweetness in you to spare him a kind word even when you have none for yourself, he will never understand. zoro takes a moment to pull his swords free from where they hang on his hip, propping them up against the wall where they’ll still be in arm's reach before he pulls back the covers and settles in next to you.

you're cold to the touch despite having been buried under the blanket, dressed only in a simple shirt and underwear and zoro is quick to throw an arm around you and pull you in by your waist until you’re pressed flush against him, his other arm slipping under your head for you to rest on. he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, breathes you in and for a moment he can almost smell the scent of your hurt lingering on your skin, thick and bitter as blood.

there’s an urge, ever present and never sated, to dig his teeth into the side of your neck and bite down until iron coats his tongue, to taste you, know you, in a way no one else ever has or will. it’s an urge he can only hold at bay by pressing open mouth kisses to your throat and feeling your pulse flutter against his tongue.

you slowly start to melt in his arms, the tension you wore like ill-fitting armour stripping off you piece by piece with every kiss until you’re free from its hold, warm and light.

“better?” he asks, slipping his hand under your shirt and pressing his palm flat against your stomach just to feel it rise and fall, follows the rhythm of it and matches his breaths to yours. the reassurance that you're whole and safe is a cool balm to his worries.

“a little bit,” you whisper.

“but you need more,” it’s hardly a question that needs to be answered, not with the way you’ve started to shift in his hold.

“you don’t have to—”

“i do. i want to.”

and there’s more he could say, he knows there is. pretty poetry to comfort you, sweet nothings to soothe you. but what use would empty words be to you? they can’t hold you, can’t keep you warm, can’t wipe your tears.

zoro can. he will. for you, he’d do anything and everything. all and more.

the room settles into silence, his offer hanging in open air and ripe for your taking. you don't reach out for it, not yet, but zoro doesn't mind. he can wait.

“impatience is a swordsman’s undoing,” his master had once told him a lifetime ago when zoro’s palms were still soft enough to bleed and grief was a companion so new it still stepped on his heels as it dogged his footsteps.

of the two of you, patience has always been your strong suit rather than his. it was your patience that brought you together, when you stepped into his life with a hand outstretched and he met you the same way he met all good things that tried to enter his life, with a snarl and blood stained teeth.

zoro kept you at a careful distance with all the wariness of a distrustful stray, always watching but never getting close. it was you who slowly bridged the gap, gracing him with kindness and company he'd done nothing to earn but gorged himself on anyway.

it was only because of your patience that he knows the bliss of falling asleep and waking up with the warm weight of you in his arms. the least he could do is pay you back with what you've always freely given him. so zoro holds you close and waits.

and waits.

and smiles, sharp and proud, when you take his hand that still rests on your stomach and lower it until he’s cupping you between your legs, the heat of you searing his palm even through your panties.

your hips jerk when zoro doesn’t move, a soft whine catching in your throat when his other arm circles around your chest and holds you still against him, “zoro.”

“i've got you,” he says with a kiss behind your ear, toying with the waistband of your panties before sliding his hand inside.

he slides his middle finger down your slit, dipping his fingertips into the slick heat of your cunt to wet them before drifting back up to where you need him most. there’s no rush as zoro rubs neat, tight circles against your clit, slow and firm even as you buck and try to grind down on him.

he wants you to feel every moment of this, to savour it, to drown in pleasure so deep you never want to come up for air.

another kiss to your throat, one on your jaw and you finally melt back into him, legs spreading just enough for zoro reach lower and start to ease a thick finger inside you.

“there you go, baby, that’s it,” he says, “let me in.”

you swallow him down to his knuckle, trembling in his arms when zoro slips in a second finger and crooks them to rub against the spot that never fails to pull the prettiest sounds out of you.

he shifts, trying to move lower between your legs without pulling his fingers out so he can taste where you’re wet and aching for him but you stop him by threading your fingers through his short strands, keeping him in place.

“what?” he asks, “you don’t want my mouth?”

“no, not— not right now. just stay close. keep holding me. please,” he hates how small you sound.

“i’m here. i’m right here. fucking kills me knowing you were in here hurting by yourself."

"i'm sorry.”

"don’t,” the anger he felt when you tried to send him away rears up once more. an apology is the last thing he wants to hear from you right now, “just find me next time. doesn't matter when or where. you find me. got it?"

“yeah, i got it,” you start rocking back into him, soft ass grinding against his clothed cock, “zoro.”

“i know. i know you want it, baby, but i gotta stretch you out first. can’t fit when you’re this fucking tight.”

your answer is lost in a moan as he eases in a third finger, thumb pressing against your clit. the angle isn’t kind on his wrist but zoro keeps his pace steady, spreading and curling his fingers until you’re soaked and soft and ready for him. he pulls his hand out of your panties, kissing your nape when you whine from the loss before he licks the taste of you off his fingers.

“i'm not going anywhere,” he says, "keep your eyes on me."

zoro waits until you turn in his arms and he has your gaze before he gets out of bed and undresses, leaving his clothes in a pile next to his blades. you sit up to tug your panties down and kick them off, your shirt following soon after.

you’re bare and soft and holding out a hand for him to take. zoro laces his fingers through yours and joins you once more, stripped of his swords, his clothes, and his restraint.

you don't crash into each other so much as you collide into a bruise of a kiss. it aches more than it soothes but the shared pain of it only has him pressing closer to you, your soft tits pressed to his chest, legs intertwined and weeping cock trapped between your stomachs.

he reaches up to cup your cheeks and breaks the kiss to pull back just far enough to take in the sight of you, all swollen lips and glassy eyes. it takes a heartbeat longer than it should for you to focus on him. the storm is still raging inside you but zoro refuses to lose you to it. he stands firm against the buffeting winds that threaten to rip you away from him and swipes his thumbs over your cheekbones.

“still with me?” he asks.

you turn into his touch and kiss the rough centre of his palm, “‘m here.”

"then take what you need, baby."

you slide a hand between your bodies, taking his cock into your hand and guiding his tip to your entrance. even with all the prep, it takes some time to sink inside you, time you spend peppering kisses across his face. he bears them as he bears the scars that litter his body. with pride. with honour.

zoro bottoms out with a low groan, grabbing you under your knee and hooking your leg over his hip to slip in that much deeper. every sense is flooded with you. the wet heat of you wrapped around his cock, the heady scent of your sweat and need swimming around his head, soft skin beneath his palms.

entangled and weaved together like this, heart and breath as one, zoro is drawn into the eye of your storm.

your pleasure is his, your pain his own.

still, clear waters surround you both as he waits for you to adjust. with how closely he watches you, he knows you’re ready even before you wrap both arms around him and start to roll your hips.

he keeps one hand under your knee, the other sliding down your back to rest on your ass, and uses his grip on you to pull you into a slow, dirty grind.

“oh fuck,” you moan as the two of you find your rhythm together. zoro barely pulls out, keeping himself buried to the hilt inside you. you jerk back as he rolls his hips just enough to grind your clit up against his pelvis, his firm hold on you the only thing keeping you pinned in place.

“easy now. don’t run from me.”

time slows to a crawl, every moment yawning and stretching into the next, slow and sweet as honey. you tip forward, closing what little space there still was between you to pull him into a kiss that has all the intimacy of a hard-fought spar, of learning to move together, of missteps and growing pains, of getting the wind knocked out of him only to be pulled right back on his feet.

you’re close, all worked up and sensitive from his fingers, cunt fluttering and clenching down around him as you near your high. zoro chases your pleasure down, a starving mutt set loose upon a feast. he uses the little leverage he has to wrestle you on to your back and fuck into you with short, heavy thrusts.

“c'mon, baby, that's it,” he says, bent low to brush his lips against your ear, “let go.”

he reaches down between you, thumb pressing firm against your swollen clit and you’re gone, swept out to sea as your high crashes down over you in waves. zoro hardly feels his own orgasm rip through him, too caught up in watching you shake apart and be remade in his arms.

all is still as you pant and come back into yourself. your hand slips back into his and squeezes once. he’s not sure whether you’re trying to reassure yourself that he’s still here or that you are but he squeezes back all the same.

“can i eat you out now?”

and for the first time since he stepped into the room, a smile breaks over your face, bright as the dawn sun breaking through an overcast sky. you pull out of his hold, his soft cock sliding out, and settle on your back, legs falling open, “go for it.”

zoro eases himself down between your legs, throwing your thighs over his shoulders, never letting your hand slip free from his. he takes stock of your fresh fucked cunt, clit puffy and hole clenching around nothing, dripping with him. the scent of you, of the two of you, is thickest here, heavy in his nose, and zoro breathes you in with deep, greedy lungfuls, spent cock twitching against his thigh.

he dives in, catching what leaks out of you on his tongue before pulling back and dribbling the mess of cum and spit all over your pussy.

“nasty,” you say and zoro wants to kiss the curl that sits pretty on the corner of your lips. he settles for kissing your clit instead.

“you like it.”

“i like you.”

you wield your honesty with all the ease and carnage zoro wields his swords, sliding it between his ribs and piercing his heart clean through. the pain is lost as he’s distracted by the light pouring in as the moon rises higher into the night sky.

or maybe it’s your eyes that take the pain away because it’s only through them that he notices how bright the moon’s light shines tonight.

zoro devours you, gaze fixed to yours, one hand still holding yours while the other arm keeps your hips pinned to the bed. he takes his time cleaning you up, lapping at your folds until only the taste of you remains. it’s only then that he sucks your clit into his mouth, slipping two fingers inside you to give you something to clench down on.

you are a vision in your bliss, one he has no right to bear witness to. a lifetime of blood and blades and butchery shouldn't be rewarded with the softness of you in his hand and on his tongue. it's not right.

but as you take hold of his hair to keep his mouth pressed flush against your cunt, zoro finds he couldn't give less of a shit if it's right. all that matters is if he does right by you. there's an oath in every broad stroke of his tongue, a vow in every kiss to your clit, to take care of you in all the ways you need, in all the way he knows how.

today and for all days.

your orgasm is a gentle thing that washes over you and steals your breath for a moment, smaller than the first but leaves you just as ruined.

zoro takes his rightful place by your side once more, gathering you up in his arms and running his knuckles up and down your spine.

"thank you," you press a kiss to his cheek, just below where his scar ends. he accepts the kiss but not the gratitude that comes with it.

a hound needs no thanks for fulfilling its nature.

later, he will carry you off to the baths, let you pop open bottles for him to smell that make his nose itch but that make you beam, wash your back, and wait with the patience you’ve taught him for you to share what’s trapped inside your head.

he may not understand, may not have the comfort of words to give you, but he will listen. and he will stay.

but that is for later.

for now, zoro holds you to his chest and watches over you, moonlight and peace washing over you as you catch your breath.

dedicated to: mah wife @katslutski and loml @saotoru

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sum of All 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“You look upset?” Rogers’ voice startles you. You sit straight and rub the stitch from your forehead. How long has he been there? 

“Do I?” You wonder.  

Three days in this place, sifting through scraps and musty old receipts, and it’s starting to bleed through. Oh, don’t think of the blood. You grip the desk and shift in the chair. 

“I guess,” he shrugs. “Something wrong? I can get you a different chair.” 

“Chair, uh?” You look down, “no, that’s fine. Actually, I think I’m probably almost done.” 

“Good,” he says.  

He crosses his arms and turns on his leather sole. He starts to pace. He does that a lot. If he’s not sat in the arm chair or disappearing to wreak havoc out of sight, he’s there, walking back and forth. Back and forth. Combing his fingers through his hair, waving his hand in a wordless argument, moving his lips silently. Even if you hadn’t witnessed it that first day, you could tell he’s a man with a lot of pent-up anger. 

You go back to tallying it all up. Your stomach somersaults as you hover the pencil along the columns and review the numbers. Honestly, you are done, you just don’t know how to say what you need to. To tell this man what you discovered. 

“You’re breathing heavy again,” he stops and turns to you, “what’s the matter?” 

“Asthma?” You lie. He grimaces. 

“You got something for that?” He asks. 

“No...” you look away guiltily. “Alright, I don’t have asthma,” you wiggle the pencil nervously then tap your nose without thinking. What are you doing? You still it and put it down. “I’m done, okay, and, er...” you suck in air through flared nostrils, “you gotta promise you’re not going to freak out.” 

“Freak out?” He echoes as if the concept is absurd to him. 

“Yeah, because it’s not good news.” 

“Spill it,” he steps closer to the desk. 

You lean back in the chair and look up at him. A shank of his dark hair slips past his ear and the sheen of silver strands on his chin catch the light. His jaw squares under his thick beard. 

“Okay, but like just remember that it’s this Warren guy...” You clasp onto the armrests as you talk. “Oh boy, right. I’m not sure how to say it...” your eyes skitter back and forth. When you look back to him, that vein is bulging in his head. Just say it before he explodes! “He stole. A lot of money. And he actually hid it quite well but... yeah, I can show you--” 

“Amazing!” He claps and his face lights up. You flinch and your eyes go wide. Huh? He looks almost happy. 

“It is?” You flutter your lashes as the fog fades away from the edge of your vision. 

“You did it,” he said. “Get up. You gotta tell the boss.” 

“Huh? Me? You can’t--” 

“You’re the one who knows numbers. Grab the book, let’s go,” he commands. 

You don’t dare disobey. You grab the ledger and stand so abruptly, the chair snaps on the axle. You give a sheepish smile and scurry around the desk. 

He waves you out of the office. You’re all too happy to oblige at the realisation that you’re close to being out of here. He takes you down the hall and stops you at that same door. He knocks and waits until he gets an answer from within. 

He ushers you in ahead of him and shuts the door with a heavy click. That man, Buck, or Bucky, or Barnes, or whatever he wants to be, sits behind his desk. He is just as unimpressed as the last time you saw him. 

“Steve,” he greets the other man. 

“Go on,” Rogers nudges you with his knuckles. “Tell him.” 

You hold the book up in front of your chest and sway, “may I?” You nod towards the desk. 

Barnes gestures to the empty space and you approach. You put the ledger down, flipping it to face him. You turn the pages back and start at the beginning. 

“So, I was going through it all. This Warren guy. You see, here are the expenses, then--” 

“I don’t need the exes and ohs, doll, just get to the business,” he insists. 

“Right, I know you’re a busy man so I wouldn’t want to waste your time,” you chuckle nervously. “Alright, well,” you stand straight. Your head feels bubbly. “He stole a whole bunch money!” You say it a bit more chipper than you mean too. “Oops, well, not that it’s a good thing but...” 

Barnes’ eyes narrow and his chin ticks. You gulp and chew your lip. Shoot. 

“Sorry, don’t be mad. It wasn’t me, you know, I just added it up and--” You rock backwards and tip.  

You’re saved from hitting the floor as Rogers catches you and puts you back on your feet. He keeps hold of you, an arm across your back and his other hand on your shoulder. Barnes watches with unyielding derision. 

“Holy hell, she got something going on in her head?” Barnes asks. 

“She’s fine.” Rogers insists. “Look, Buck. We figured it out. You got everything you need to off that guy.” 

“Off... you’re going to kill Warren?” You squeak. 

Barnes gives you a sharp look and you seal your lips. Why did you say that? Your vision pulses and the colours blur. You feel yourself tilting and your head falls back. You slip into darkness to the shallow noise of your own breaths. 

When you wake again, you’re in a car. Rogers’ car. It’s dark and he’s silent. You look over at his shadow as he drives. You don’t recognise the streets outside the windows. 

“Noooo,” you sit up and pull on the handle as panic course through you. “Nooo, please, don’t kill me--” 

“Hmph?” He grunts and grabs your arm, pulling you back against the seat. “Sweetheart, if I was gonna kill you, you wouldn’t be awake right now.” 

“Oh god, so you would?” You screech. “I don’t know anything. Consider it all forgotten. Out of my head... oooh, my head.” 

“Calm down. Have some water,” he points to the cupholder. Your water bottles firmly in it. “Boss is happy. You did a good job.” 

“Oh, okay, right. Yeah. I’m a good accountant,” you say. You cringe and take the water bottle. You uncap it and clear your throat. “I’m sorry.” 

You drink deeply as he keeps his foot on the gas. You feel a bit better. You put the water back and wipe your hands on your skirt. 

“Um, Mr. Rogers?” You eke out. “Where are we going? You don’t have to say but I’m just asking.” 

He snorts quietly, “gotta pick someone up. You just stay quiet and don’t move.” He pulls up in front of a house. It looks like a really normal one. “Can you do that without passing out?” 

“I...” you look between him and the window, “I’ll try.” 

[slytherinslut0]

THEODORE NOTT- Little Star

Theodore Nott is an absolute fucking daddy👅 (Those eyes like if you don’t let me syd rn I s2g)

Tags: fluff, fwb, heartbreak, lovestory, passionate kissing, first time saying i love you, angst

“Theodore fucking Nott…”

His eyes darkened, transitioning to a shade of obsidian so intense they singlehandedly put the stormy midnight skies to ineffable shame; stoically crossing his arms over his chest as he mentally prepared to be torn to absolute fucking shambles after you’d found yet another reason to be mad at him.

“Are you out of your ever-loving mind?” You hissed, trying to hide the pain in your tone and replace it with some form of sarcasm. “Pansy Parkinson?”

Your throat was dry, anger flowing through your veins like fire as you paced the sparse length of his dorm room, the echoes of your shoes scuffing off the hardwood floor being the only sounds bouncing off the walls in the tension filled silence as you remained quiet for a moment, hands threading through your hair and scraping against your scalp as though you were trying to make it bleed.

“I can’t believe you almost canceled on me for Pansy Parkinson…”

Theo remained silent, letting out a slow breath from his lungs as he shifted his weight onto his other foot, leaning against the edge of his desk as he watched you pace, choosing to remain silent until you’d at least somewhat tired yourself of your anger towards him.

Theo knows you well enough by this point to know that when you’re like this, it’s absolutely pointless to try and intervene. He knows that if anything, all it would do is make matters worse.

“I’m tired, Theo…” you finally said, halting your pacing and shifting to face him. “I’m tried of this…the games, the fights, the pain…I’m tired of holding a candle for someone who doesn’t do the same for me…I’m tired of always feeling like I’m not good enough for you, like I need to always be looking over my shoulder, wondering what your next move is going to be…”

Theo’s near emotionless expression never faltered, his hardened demeanour staying set like stone as he stared at you; dark eyes piercing through your very soul as though he was seemingly seeing right past you. Part of you knew he was.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” You sighed, expressions softening. “I mean…I can’t be the only one that feels this way, Theo…aren’t you tired of this? Are you tired of me?”

“Oh, Bella Mia…I’m tired of this, certainly.” His voice was a deliciously slow drawl, sparking heat in your veins with every syllable. You immediately cursed yourself for near-instantly crumbling, merely at his use of Italian. “But tired of you, never.”

You felt your stomach twist, your chest constrict with emotion. You wanted to believe him, you wished those words were true; but you simply knew him too well at this point, knowing that this was an endless cycle of heartbreak, one that you were all-too-determined to finally bring to an end.

“Don’t bullshit me, Theo…”

you said, planting your feet firm in place, crossing your own arms over your chest now as you stared at him, silently admiring his features; the ones that have near-effortlessly made you fold so many fucking times before--his dark hair tousled and messy as it fell naturally over his forehead, the curly strands framing his sharp and intense eyes that have hardly even blinked once as he watched you--seemingly still emotionless.

“We’ve been here before…it’s never ending…you call me up when you’re bored, when you need someone, tell me pretty lies that keep me wrapped around your finger, only to ditch me until you need me again. I’m tired of being your little toy, Theo. I’m tired of being loved with the wrong intentions.”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “Come on, Stellina…you know you’re so much more than that…”

Your entire body tensed at the nickname he called you, the word fluttering from his lips like a breathless sin, drowning you in the holy water that was your desire for him as you remembered the night he’d given you that name. The first night you’d hooked up under the stars in the Astronomy tower. Little Star.

He wet his lips, pushing up from his desk as he took a few strides toward you. “If you were just my toy, why would I cuddle you to sleep every weekend? Help you study for exams? Ensure you’re eating and drinking enough?”

His words rushed you, slamming your chest like a fifty pound cement brick. Gods, how you wanted to fold. How you wanted to drop down to his feet and beg him to love you, beg him to see you for more than just a quick fuck, but you knew it would do absolutely nothing. It’d been almost two years of begging to be more, and for all your efforts, you’ve gotten no where except for the pits of Theo’s bed, only to be kicked out in the morning.

It was an endless, heart wrenching cycle that you knew you needed to put an end to, now.

“Please, Theo…stop…” you said, your voice a trembling plea in the air; and as if on command, he did.

You shook your head, collecting yourself, taking a few steps back to keep the distance between your bodies--watching Theo’s expressions as his hardened facade slowly cracked, his eyebrows pinching and his throat bobbing as he swallowed, dark eyes scanning your features; flicking from your eyes to your lips and back up to meet your eyes.

“You’ve given me something I can’t live without, something I don’t think I’ll ever find in anyone else…but I can’t keep playing this little game with you, I can’t keep going on like everything is fine when it’s not…I love having you in my life but it hurts too much…I want to live, not just survive...” you whispered, voice dropping with every single word. “You have no intentions of being with me, after all this time, and I can’t keep doing it…I can’t keep acting like it doesn’t affect me.”

Theo’s jaw tensed, so tight it looked like it hurt, and he swallowed again. “That’s-“

You cut him off. “The truth.”

Your words hung heavy in the air, blanketing over the room, thick and sticky like cobwebs in a cave--clogging the channels of communication between your bodies. Theo’s eye twitched, a nearly impenetrable movement, but one you knew you’d never, ever miss--you’d simply stared into those dark eyes way too many times to not notice even the subtlest of changes.

“But is it, though?” Theo said, voice low and cautious, not daring to move even an inch closer as he stared at you. “Is it really the truth, or are you just letting this little misunderstanding fuel your emotions...you know I’ve only been with you…”

Your body vibrated. Anger creeping in. “Don’t you dare patronize me right now.”

He lifted his hands in surrender, large palms facing you as he raised them up against his shoulders.

“I’m not.” He said, gently. “Just think on it, for a second, Bella…please…you’re the only one…”

Please. He’d just fucking said please. You weren’t sure if you’d even heard him correctly.

“Don’t try to change my mind, Theo…” you whispered, voice unsteady and fingers trembling at your sides as you watched his expressions falter even further, his original confidence now entirely dissipating from his face. “There’s so much space between us, we were doomed for failure before we even began…and it’s entirely your fucking fault.”

His eyes narrowed, his eye twitching with increased intensity. “How the fuck is it my fault that you got attached?”

The room seemingly paused at his words, even his own expressions hardened as his brain registered what he’d just fucking said; but you, you hardly even flinched. Admittedly, you were just happy you’d finally got a sliver of his true thoughts, and not just the sweet, charming words he knew you’d want to hear.

“Are you really going to fucking stand there and blame me?” You hissed, unable to control your emotions as the energy and tension between your bodies continued to build. “After everything you’ve done?”

His face fell into a scowl. “You knew how I was before we started this-“

“Yes, I did, but stupid me for hoping that maybe one day you’d fucking change…” your voice cracked, your heart slamming your sternum. “I can’t keep loving you in the dark and then acting like a stranger in the light. Maybe you don’t see it but you’re fucking destroying me...sometimes I wish I’d never fucking met you…”

Everything paused. His breathing, his movement, his blinking. Fury crawled its way into his dark irises, shading them the colour of crimson; his fingers curling in against his palms, the tendons in his hands tightening like a noose prepared specifically for your neck. As fear gripped you, you swallowed.

His eyes narrowed. “You fucking what?”

Your lungs stalled, oxygen missing you. “I-“

Your words were cut short as Theo advanced on you, backing you up against the wall, two strong hands slamming against the wood next to your head, your heart racing so hard in your chest you were certain it would crack your sternum and threaten the integrity of your ribcage as Theo brought his face so dangerously close to yours you had to turn your head slightly to stop your lips from touching.

His breath was fire against your flesh, his exhales leaving his mouth in a low growl, brows furrowed in frustration.

“Do you want to say that again?”

You flinched, his body so close to yours you could taste the anger radiating off of him. “I didn’t-“

“No, you didn’t.” He hissed, shoulders crowding as he pressed against you. “Look at me.”

When you hesitated, one large hand slipped from the wood beside your head and latched on to your jaw, pinching your cheeks together as he directed your eyes to meet his--his once stoic and emotionless gaze now set ablaze with fury, singlehandedly searing through your soul with one single glance.

“Do you love me?”

Your heart leapt into your throat at the question, your nails digging into the wall behind you as you melted into it, your body slowly surrendering to his intoxicating touch, his fingers gripping your jaw with just enough force to illicit a burning desire between your thighs. You didn’t really need to process your response, knowing that lying to him right now would serve you absolutely no purpose.

Your voice was a mere breath as it left your lips. “Yes.”

“You love me.” It was more of a statement, not necessarily a question, and your entire body shuddered, the intensity of his eyes melting you from the inside out. “You fucking love me.”

You couldn’t find merely a single breath of air. “I-I do-“

His eyes flicked over your lips. “And if I told you I love you?”

The room spun, everything fading to black around you. “Y-you don’t-“

“I do.” He hissed, tugging you closer. “I do and I have for way too fucking long and it’s made me a coward--it’s made me so fucking scared to lose you that I push you away, I-I pretend like I don’t need you but I do. I fucking need you, principessa…”

Earth turned beneath your feet, yet everything in the room remained still. As though time had frozen in place. “Theo-“

“I fucking love you.”

He murmured; nothing but raw, untethered passion behind his words; freezing every single red millimetre of your bloodstream and turning it into nothing more than a cold blue system of ice.

Your chest swelled, fighting every urge in your body that wanted to kiss him. You almost couldn’t fucking believe your ears. “Say it again…”

“I love you.” He retorted almost instantly, meeting your eyes. “I’ve loved you since I watched you goto the Yule Ball with Malfoy and kiss him under the mistletoe in that beautiful emerald dress. I’ve loved you since the first time we kissed, the first time we hooked up in Astronomy Tower--hell, I’ve loved you since the fucking first year when you stole my seat in Potions and then stuck your tongue out at me just to spite me. I’ve loved you for so fucking long that I don’t remember what it feels like not to love you; and it terrifies me. Loving you is the scariest thing I’ve ever done.”

You couldn’t find words, couldn’t find breath, could only mutter the one fucking word that you knew you’d never forget, the one word that would never leave your mind even if you had stormed out of this dorm and never looked back.

“Theo…”

His jaw tensed, his nose practically brushing against yours as he stared down into your eyes; gaze so intense it diminished all of the oxygen within your lungs. “But yet you wish you’d never met me, huh?”

You stammered. “No, I-“

“Look into my fucking eyes and tell me that you meant it. Tell me that I mean fucking nothing to you, that all of this has been nothing.” He tugged you closer by the hold on your jaw, your collective exhales mingling as one, your lips so close they were practically brushing. “Go on, fucking tell me.”

You yelped as he tightened his grip. “I-I can’t, Theo…”

He leaned closer, seemingly holding his breath, his soft lips grazing over yours once, twice, three times before he pressed the full plush entirety of his mouth to yours--his lips working to devour, to kiss you as though he’d never kiss you again. His tongue was rough, insistent, slipping past your teeth without effort as he worked to devour you, tightening his grip on your jaw as his free hand gripped your hip with enough force to inflict a bruise. You mewled against him, melting into the kiss, fighting to pull away and catch your breath but he was relentless, breathing you in like he could inhale you; map the entirety of your taste into memory.

When he finally broke the kiss, panting mouth falling to your jawline, you gasped; sucking in lungfuls of air.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Tesoro mio…I’m so sorry for ever making you feel like you aren’t enough for me. You are enough, fuck you’re too much; I don’t fucking deserve you.”

As he wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you tight to his frame, you melted, feeling yourself become one with his strength, his warmth, his adoration.

“Theo…I-I don’t…”

He thrust a hand through your hair, pulling your head against his chest, his chin resting gently on the top of it. “I’m going to make it up to you…everything I’ve done, I’ll remedy it, I promise I will…Bella Mia…”

You exhaled, sinking against his firm hold. “I love you, Theo…”

“And I love you, Bella..”

[colourstreakgryffin]

oh no if an angel tried to decapitate Husk daughter who was hiding and Husk see's this and for a moment turned back into his overlord form temporarily and it made the chains Alastor have on him Crack a little. Imagine if Alastor noticed this too

Haha! That’s actually precious in the most tragic way possible! I actually already picture Husk pulling a Charlie and just changing form in that moment to commit Angel murder!

Husker- Daddy’s Little Girl

The Battle for Hell is getting more and more messy throughout every second. Charlie’s getting apprehended by Adam, Alastor had been beaten in ages ago, Vaggie is struggling a bit with Lute, the Hotel crew are already getting surrounded by so many exterminators.

Husk is among the group of the fighting Sinners and whilst he is expertly fending off Angels to protect himself and his new friends, his mind is littered with how you, his seven year old daughter, are doing. If you’re still okay

He had hid you away in the Hotel before the invasion hit, in the deepest parts where both himself and Charlie suspected the Angels wouldn’t be able to find but sadly… both were wrong. Maybe thirty minutes into the intense battle, Husk’s cat-like ears flicked up at the sound of a terrified child scream echoing through the Hotel’s surfaces, something he could hear clearly and he didn’t hesitate to jump down from the rooftop of the Hotel, since he knew that scream is yours

His mighty big red black and white casino-patterned detailed feathery wings spread open and help drop him down after leaping off the rooftop’s edges, climbing downwards, down the many many feet as fast as he can. His wings beating up and down rather hard, allowing him to pick up even more speed. Angel Dust calls out for Husk in shock for his sudden disappearance but nobody tries to actually stop him

Since they all know he’s going to rescue his daughter

Husk rushes into the Hotel, his many weapons prepared to attack. Furious, his ears still flicking with the sound of your fearful whimpering and crying for help, his feet beating with every single step. He needs to find you, you’re in danger! In no time, the ex-Overlord stops his sprint with a hard skid around the corner of the main Hotel’s entrance hallway, needing to make it to you in time

His golden yellow eyes widening in both intense fear and overwhelming unfiltered fury, at the sight before him… he almost can’t believe what he is seeing

“DADDY! HELP ME!”

You, roughly pressed into the corner and being held up by your neck by a single bloodthirsty Exterminator as you sob out with tears streaming and cry out for Husk as loud as you can, the silent angel gripping it’s angelic spear in it’s free hand whilst the other shoves you up against the wall. In that moment, Husk’s hollow powerless soul radiated a powerful magical force, a wave of strength that rushes through his systems and somehow…

That moment of anger and fear for his babygirl, triggered something thought to be completely impossible. His Overlord Magic, the souls’ powers he collected and the strength to attack an Angel full on has crashed onto him like a big tsunami wave, changing his causal black suspender-supported black pants outfit to his past snazzy business-centred suit and slick-black hairstyle, in a single spiral of orange glowing magic. His wings’ patterns had sharpened up, the red colouring glows a bright orange and his golden yellow eyes also grow a lot more sharper

The soul collar around his neck, the invisible magical green chain tying him to the deal cracked, like a big rock hitting a glass window… but it didn’t break

Even Alastor senses this incredible feat and it makes his bleeding wound throb out, gritting his fangs harder whilst hiding off in the darkness of his Voodoo magic. His tight ownership of Husk’s soul just gotten weaker, the bonds around the feline avian demon loosened up immensely for such a insignificant sinner doing a impossible task; temporarily transform back into his Overlord form

Husk didn’t even bother using the weapons, he used his returning power. Dropping those casino and gambling-centred items for battle to take advantage of being able to tap back into the strength he had lost via his deal with Alastor. The weird magical flow coursing through his bloodstream that made him feel on top of Hell and in that moment, he summons a large claw attack from the ground which smoothly slices off the Exterminator’s arms, the disembodied limbs dropping to the floor with a liquidy squish

Before the merciless angel can possibly behead you, as it was already attempting to do so. Having striked at you with its tall sharp spear. The Exterminator had been forced to drop you rather hard, stepping back whilst Husk openly charges this Exterminator and uses even more of his gained-back Overlord magic to case the Exterminator’s mask-covered and halo plus horn-decorated head with a semi-transparent explosive energy-dosed dice-shaped sphere

Shoving the Exterminator off to the right with a rather agile kick, the pure force behind this shove had caused the Angel to stumble back into the nearby wall with a very hard thump as Husk picks you up quickly, feeling your arms wrap around his neck and face sobbing into his suit-lathered chest, little body shivering, cat-like ears and tail drooped down helplessly

Husk‘s murderous rage-glazed golden yellow eyes glare hatefully at the Angel, who’s barely moving at this point, clutched one of his hands together and that magical sphere half-suffocating the Exterminator quickly blows up, effectively killing your attacker with just two magical strikes. You didn’t look at what your father did since you were so afraid of almost dying again and shuddering in his arms

Husk just glared with heavy angered huffing at the body of the Angel he just killed with his returned Overlord power, almost shaking in his boiling protective rage, all for his precious daughter. Nobody touches you on his watch

The ex-Overlord didn’t even get a chance to check up on you, forcing himself to look away from his handywork, to calm down your fearful and pained sobbing and wailing, since the Hotel begun to shake. He didn’t even bother running on foot, he had used a teleporting power in his current Overlord form and transports both himself and you out in a single blink and soft pop of silvery magic

As soon as you’re both out of the Hotel in that quick flash of teleportation magic, Husk spreads his wings again and takes you up off the ground to dodge the big yellow magical energy beam that slices up the Hotel in a single clean strike. It’s menacing, it’s intense but he isn’t going to focus on that until he has you off in a more safe location. Clearly, he messed up and his first decision didn’t work in protecting you

Husk ensures both you and himself are away from the Hotel enough, his mighty feathery wings flapping in the air with strong sharp gusts of wind slicing out every beat up and down, holding himself and you above the ground

He is usually a lazy man, not preferring to fly but right now. He must put you and your safety above everything so he’ll keep you a few feet away from the crumbling apart Hotel and a few feet off the floor as long as he has to, to make sure no other Angel can get their hands on you

He takes those few seconds of nothing and of the brief safety to check on you, rubbing fingers over your pinned-back fearful ears. Tilting your little chin up with your glowing teary eyes looking up at him as your lips quiver and letting out shaky breathes

You haven’t seen your father in his Overlord form in so long… it’s almost surreal that he is right now. The same suit, the same streaked pushed-back hair, the different patterns on his wings. However, he is still your beloved parent

“Are you okay, Princess? Daddy’s sorry that he didn’t come sooner. Did that bad Angel hurt you?”

[moonselune]

I'm not the same anon who requested for BG3 ladies reacting to gn!Tav's silly sacrifice but could I request for the same prompt with Gale, Wyll, Astarion, and Halsin? - emoji anon

Hey emoji anonnnn, absolutely hope you enjoy it!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

The battlefield was chaos. Spells flew, swords clashed, and the cries of battle filled the air. Gale was caught up in a complex incantation, focusing intently on the weave of magic he was about to unleash. He didn’t see the enemy closing in on him, a blade poised to strike.

Without hesitation, you dashed across the battlefield, pushing through the pain and exhaustion that already weighed heavily on your limbs. The blade came down, aimed directly at Gale, but you intercepted it, feeling the sharp sting as it cut deep into your side. With a swift motion, you retaliated, your weapon finding its mark and finishing off the attacker.

Gale’s spell went off, obliterating another group of enemies, but his triumph was short-lived as he turned and saw you, bloodied and swaying on your feet. Panic flashed in his eyes as he rushed to your side.

“Are you okay?” you managed to ask, your voice shaky. “You’re not too hurt, are you?”

Gale’s eyes widened in horror as he took in the severity of your wounds. “Am I okay? What about you? You’re covered in blood!” His hands trembled as he reached out to steady you, fear and concern etched into his features. “Hold on, we need to get you some healing.”

You tried to smile, but it came out more as a grimace. “I’m fine, just a scratch.” Your vision blurred, and you felt yourself teetering on the edge of consciousness.

Gale didn’t waste a moment. He muttered a healing incantation, his hands glowing with a soft, warm light as he pressed them to your wounds. “Stay with me,” he urged, his voice filled with determination. “You saved my life. Now let me save yours.”

As the healing magic coursed through you, some of the pain ebbed away, and you felt a bit more stable. Gale’s face was inches from yours, his eyes filled with gratitude and love. “You’re so reckless,” he chided gently, his voice breaking. “But thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You managed a weak smile, your hand reaching up to touch his cheek. “Anything for you, Gale. Always.”

He pulled you into a tender embrace, his heart pounding with relief. “Rest now. I’ll keep you safe.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

The clamor of battle surrounded you, but your focus was on Astarion. He was fighting off two foes, his movements graceful yet deadly. However, he was so engrossed in the fight that he didn’t see the third enemy sneaking up behind him, blade raised for a fatal strike.

You acted on pure instinct. Ignoring the pain already coursing through your body from earlier wounds, you leapt forward, taking the blow meant for Astarion. The blade cut deep, but you gritted your teeth and fought through the pain, swiftly dispatching the attacker before they could cause any more harm.

Astarion finished off his opponents and turned just in time to see you standing there, blood pouring from the gash in your side. His eyes widened in shock and fury.

“You fool!” he exclaimed, rushing to your side and catching you as you started to collapse.

“Are you okay?” you asked, your voice weak but insistent. “You’re not too hurt, are you?”

Astarion’s anger melted into a mix of worry and exasperation. “Am I okay? Look at you! You’re bleeding out!” His hands were already moving, trying to staunch the flow of blood. “Why did you do that?”

You tried to smile, though it was more of a pained grimace. “I couldn’t let you get hurt. You mean too much to me.”

Astarion’s eyes softened, though his lips still held a hint of a scowl. “You ridiculous, brave idiot,” he muttered, his voice trembling. He tore a piece of fabric from his sleeve, pressing it to your wound. “Stay with me, love. We’re not done yet.”

You felt the edges of your vision darkening, but Astarion’s voice anchored you. “I’m here,” you murmured, trying to keep your focus on him.

Astarion’s hands were steady now, though his face was a mask of concentration and worry. “You are not allowed to die on me,” he said fiercely. “Not after everything we’ve been through.”

He managed to stop the bleeding enough to give you some stability, and he held you close, his face inches from yours.

“You’re so infuriatingly selfless,” he whispered, his tone softening. “But I love you for it. Just promise me you won’t do something like this again.”

You nodded weakly, your hand reaching up to touch his cheek. “Anything for you, Astarion.”

He kissed you gently, a mix of relief and love in his eyes. “Rest now. I’ll take care of the rest.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

The battlefield was a chaotic blur of clashing steel and magic. Wyll, absorbed in a fierce duel with a powerful foe, didn’t see the enemy creeping up behind him. You noticed just in time, your heart pounding as you rushed forward, ignoring everything else. The blade aimed for Wyll’s back found you instead, slashing deeply across your side. With a fierce cry, you fought off the enemy, finishing them with a swift and decisive blow.

Wyll turned, eyes wide with shock and horror as he saw you stagger, blood staining your clothes. “No!” he shouted, rushing to your side. “Why did you do that? Are you mad?”

You managed a weak smile, trying to stay upright despite the pain. “Are you okay? You’re not too hurt, are you?”

Wyll’s eyes were filled with a mix of anger and worry as he quickly assessed your injuries. “I’m fine, but you… you’re not,” he said, his voice trembling. “You’re hurt badly.”

You swayed on your feet, the world spinning around you. “Just wanted to make sure you’re safe,” you murmured, feeling your strength ebb away.

Without another word, Wyll scooped you into his arms, carrying you to the safety of the nearby camp. He laid you down gently, his hands glowing with healing magic as he worked to close your wound. “You’re not doing this again,” he muttered, his voice a mix of determination and fear. “I won’t lose you.”

You could see the worry etched on his face, but you managed a faint smile. “I’d do it again… to keep you safe,” you whispered.

Wyll shook his head, a tear slipping down his cheek. “No more heroic sacrifices, love. We protect each other, remember?”

You nodded weakly, feeling the warmth of his healing magic seep into your body. “I remember,” you said softly, your eyes closing as exhaustion took over. “Thank you, Wyll.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

The battle raged around you, and Halsin was busy fending off a group of enemies when you saw a foe raising their weapon behind him. Without a second thought, you dashed forward, intercepting the blow meant for him. Pain exploded in your side as the weapon sliced into you, but you gritted your teeth and retaliated, swiftly dispatching the enemy.

Halsin turned at the sound of your cry, his eyes widening as he saw you bloodied but victorious.

“What have you done?” he exclaimed, rushing to your side. “My love, why?"

You gave him a strained smile, barely able to stand. “Are you okay? You’re not too hurt, are you?”

Halsin’s expression softened, but his worry was palpable. “I’m fine, but you… you’re hurt badly,” he said, his voice tight with concern. “Why didn’t you call for help? Or alert me to the danger?”

You tried to stay upright, but your legs felt like jelly. “Didn’t have time.... Had to make sure you were safe,” you replied, your voice growing weaker.

With a gentle but firm grip, Halsin lifted you into his arms, carrying you away from the battlefield. He found a quiet spot and laid you down carefully, his hands already glowing with druidic magic as he began to heal your wounds.

“You’re too precious to me to be taking such risks,” he said, his voice both stern and loving.

You could feel the warmth of his magic soothing your pain, and you managed a faint smile. “Just wanted to protect you,” you whispered.

Halsin’s eyes were filled with tenderness and frustration. “I can take care of myself,” he replied, his hands moving steadily over your wounds. “But seeing you hurt… it’s unbearable, my heart.”

You reached up weakly, touching his cheek. “I’ll be okay,” you said softly. “Thanks to you. My big bear.”

Halsin chuckled and leaned down, the healing magic clearly getting to you. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Rest now, love. We’ll talk about your reckless bravery later,” he murmured. “For now, just let me take care of you.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

These were a little short but I hope y'all liked them - Seluney xox

[ijustthinkhesneat]

Okay but realistically imagine what Bruce would do when Jason came back.

Chasing this knee criminal who keeps referencing his dead son. Pushing his buttons. How dare he presume to know anything about Jason. The lost light of his life, his baby boy. He can feel that darkness creeping around the edges of his mind. That pit of anger and murderous rage he is scared he will never pull himself out of.

Hearing that robotic voice taunting him about failing Jason, failing to avenge him. He tried, god he tried. He was so close he had the knife against the jokers throat. And then he was being pulled away. Clark stopped him. Told him that he wasn’t acting like himself.

God he loves Clark but he can still feel that small pit of resentment fester whenever he thinks about bleeding that clown.

How dare he say he never loved Jason. He would have given everything to have him back for even a moment. His wealth, his status, Batman, his soul, Gotham itself. There were only three things he would never trade away. His sons. His precious boys. He would destroy himself without a second thought for their happiness. If there was anything he could give, any price he could pay to just see his baby one more time he would do it happily.

Then they are alone. He’s cornered the Red Hood. An abandoned warehouse, a bomb. He should tear him apart where he stands. He dares to make a mockery of his greatest failure? How he failed Jason. His son. His baby. His world. He will make him suffer.

Then the helmet comes off. A young man. Gentle black curls with a shock of white running through them. A domino mask over his face. It can’t be. And the mask comes away. And Bruce sees them. Those beautiful blue eyes that have haunted every sleepless night. Filled with hatred. Swimming with green fury.

But none of it matters. All the anger in Bruce is gone. He tears of the cowl, he has to see, has to see his baby’s face. Jason has a gun leveled at him, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters because Jason is here. He is alive in front of Bruce. Every wish, every regret is washed away in that moment.

Bruce falls to his knees, it’s too much, more than a wretched creature like him deserves. Jason is stunned. His hand shakes slightly. He moves forward, places the gun against Bruce’s temple and still there is no fear, just wonder and adoration in Bruce’s eyes.

“Is it you Jaylad? Please this has to be a dream, please let this be real.” Jason is shocked he expected anger, disappointment, bargaining, but all there is is a father, a broken man looking upon his life’s purpose renewed before his eyes. Bruce reaches up, slowly, reverently, like at any moment Jason will disappear, he takes Jason free hand and holds it against his cheek and then Bruce’s weeps. Not silent tears or stoic crying. He weeps, snotty and red, hiccuping sobs wracking his body. He can only repeat Jason’s name like a prayer.

Jason doesn’t even realize he has dropped the gun. His Dad is caressing his hand, wailing and babbling apologies and platitudes. Jason feels himself sink to his knees. Tears spilling from his own eyes. His Dad still loves him, never stopped, he doesn’t even care that Jason had only a week ago filled a duffel bag with human heads. He is holding onto Jason like he is sacred and he can feel the anger breaking under the desire to be engulfed by his father.

In that moment they both know that no matter what happens, they’ve come home and for the first time in a long time they both feel whole.

[sweetestcaptainhughes]

Friends to Lovers is for the Fairytales

Word Count - 8k

Author's Note: Thank you all for requesting a part 2. Here it is, I know the word count is pretty high but the drama was too good for me to cut any parts. Also, I figured I should make a real cover for this fic since it has multiple parts now. 🤣🤣 As always thank you for reading and enjoy the drama.

Possible Triggers - friends with benefits established, use of Y/N, mentions of anxiety, panic attack, lots of cursing

Summary: When you met Jack and everything just clicked for the first time in your life. You thought that meant that you would finally get your happy ever after but maybe that isn't the case.

Part 1 Part 2

You don’t remember much from last night other than by some miracle making it home. It felt as if you were having an out body experience, like someone drugged you earlier in the night because you couldn’t feel anything. All you knew was that you craved your bed. The storm was still going strong once you reached your apartment. It almost felt as if it was displaying how your heart, body and soul felt, just raging on, praying someone would reach out a hand to hold. As you walk up the four flights of stairs to your apartmentIt hits you. It feels like how people describe a near death experience. As if the last year of your life flashed before your eyes. Your body gives out and you fall on the 3rd floor landing. Your panic attack is finally taking over your senses. You can’t feel anything and yet you feel everything at once. Your head hurts hurts as memories of you and Jack flash through it.He was always the one who talked you off the ledge. You couldn’t remember the last time you had a panic attack let alone an anxiety attack. Now to think this is your second one of the night, it pushes you over the edge.

You know Anna is upstairs, if you could just move your legs. But you can’t, you're stuck, hyperventilating as your world comes crashing down. Realizing that the love of your life, didn’t see you as anything more than some girl who was simply a fuck. The man you have spent the last almost a year building your life around. Now here you were with your hands trying to grab your chest, scratch your arms, you didn’t care if they bleed after you just needed to ground yourself. You can hear his voice in your mind “ baby it’s okay, I got you.” As you grab your shoulder and start squeezing it, what he always did to bring you back. “I am right here baby, I got you, you're so strong. You're safe.” Your other hand is going to touch your head and bring it through your hair. He always cradled your head in chest, to hide you from the world until you were ready to come back into it. You open your eyes and you scream fully accepting your pain. Because you realized that your brain just played the biggest trick on you of all, Jack wasn’t holding you. No, he was the cause of it and when your body felt like you were having a heart attack the only logical thing your brain could do was play some sick joke on you by using the man that caused the pain to calm your demons. 

You must have yelled louder than you realized because Anna came running down the stairs to you. “Oh love,” she exclaims a mixture of sadness and sympathy at seeing her friend at a low, but in the background there was a mixture of anger at Jack for helping you go so far in your journey of healing only to snatch it away in the end. She sits next you facing your body that was against the wall. “I got you love, it’s okay, everything will be okay.” She whispers in your arms.

“Come on Y/N. Let’s get you home.” she says as she slowly starts urging you to stand. Knowing that normally you like to cry behind closed doors and not on the landing of the stairs to your apartment.

“Home?” you whispered no longer crying for the moment. “But he was my home.” you slowly start to cry out again feeling yourself working back up. 

“Nope nope, we're not doing this. Look at me Y/N” you’re not sure if you move your eyes to meet hers or if she moves. You're trying to focus on how your breathing isn’t normal anymore and trying to remember the last time it was. “Hear me when I say this…are you listening?” she asks one hand on your cheek to keep your focus, the other on your forearm moving it back and forth. “You are one bad bitch and although I don’t know what happened yet. Fuck him, you hear me, he’s a dumb fucker and I told you that when I found out he couldn’t cook broccoli. What fucking adult doesn’t know how to boil water.” By the end you can hear the judgment in her voice and you laugh, it's a sad laugh but a laugh. It makes Anna breakout in a full blown smile for the first time since she found you. “Alright let’s get you upstairs, you're soaked you need a shower so you don’t get sick, and then we can do whatever you want alright love?”

You finally get up, and Anna helps you to get up the stairs and inside your apartment. Anna let’s you go to take a shower, as she goes to the kitchen getting some food ready because knowing you, you probably haven’t eaten. Then you come to the kitchen wrapped in a towel, but her back is turned to her. You're scared to speak, not trusting your voice in the moment, you wait until she turns around. “Jesus Y/N/N.” she yells her hand going to  her chest probably feeling like you jump scared her. She knows there is no way you showered yet but she asks anyway “Have you finished your shower yet?” In a soft voice not sure what you need.

“I don’t wanna be alone. Can you -” suddenly embarrassed feeling yourself on the edge of yet another crying fit, you feel like a toddler scared of the dark needing a flashlight to sleep alone at night. 

“Of course. I’ll stay on the toilet seat. We can talk or sit in silence whatever you need Y/N. I am here. I love you.” she comes up to you and hugs you. 

“Thank you,” you whisper out as you turn to the bathroom, and get in the shower. Anna stays true to her word; she sits her ass on the toilet and doesn’t move. 

After a few minutes she asks, “Do you wanna talk or silence?” 

“No silence… but I - I -” You stumble over your words as your body wash is rinsing off of you from the water. 

“Okay I can talk enough for the both of us.” She says in such a confident and non-judgment way. Your heart swells with love for the first time tonight and you have a little smile on your face although Anna can’t see it. 

She continued to talk the entire time you were in the shower updating you on her work crush, her brother calling her for advice after accidentally sending a girl  nudes when he was drunk. She went on and on about how her brother was a fucking idiot and every time she had to talk to him about girls she swears her IQ drops because the brain cells literally die from hearing his train of thought. She then goes on to make a comment about how she still thinks Luke and her brother would be best friends. By the end you’re crying with laughter for the first time that day. 

Once you’re done with your shower we climb into my bed. Anna insists on warming up the leftover pizza you had earlier, chocolate and a bottle of wine “y/n whatever the fuck happened it was big, I say this with love, but I haven’t seen that bad of an attack for you in forever. I am gonna need to be tipsy so I don’t drive to his place and beat him up.” Anna, your true ride or die, and you loved her for it. By the end of telling her everything it was nearing 2 AM and you felt like you were gonna collapse. Anna convinced you at some point to call out tomorrow, probably somewhere along your fourth glass of wine and third breakdown of the night. Which is ironic you calling out but you don’t mention that to her. She writes the email to your boss saying that you had the flu and you were ready to bring a doctor’s note when you returned. Which if you sober, you would have questioned her on. 

“Okay so what happened once you got to the bar. By the way, you are nicer than me. I wouldn't have sent his drunk ass an uber. But I’ve always said that you're nicer than me. After he practically said you were with him for the money like fuck you dude. ” You physically wince, grateful that Anna broke out a new bottle of wine so she can’t make her earlier threat a reality. Once you tell her she stands up, “I am gonna kill him.” As she goes into the living room looking for her slip ons to put on her feet, you follow closely behind. 

“No An please. Please. Don’t. I don’t want the fucking drama, okay? Plus you’ve been drinking.” you reason quickly trying to convince your friend to calm down. 

“That’s why uber exists.” She says matter of factly, you glance at the time now being almost 3. 

“If an uber comes and gets you, how do you know he’s home? Please Anna, I beg you.” As you finally reach, the app is already opened, house keys in hand. She glances up at you and sees your pleading eyes. 

“Fine. But if he EVER shows his fuckface around here, He has to answer to me.” 

“Deal” you rush out almost as if you didn’t see in the moment she would have finished ordering the uber. 

“Alright let’s go to bed. I’m not letting you sleep by yourself tonight.” You show a small smile on yourself as you follow Anna back to your room ready to pass out after such a long day. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------

You woke up the next day, the events from yesterday slowly coming back to you. You don’t know whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that you have no energy to cry. You grab your phone from the end table, mentally thanking your drunk self for plugging it in before passing out. The time on your phone displays 11:30 AM. You can’t help but wince at your background, it’s you and Jack on the boat last summer he’s driving and you're in his lap. Neither of you even knew that Quinn was taking the picture at the time since it’s taken from behind you both. 

Later when you asked him why he took it he said “i’ve never seen Jack that happy with a girl.. I wanted to capture a moment where he wasn’t being an asshole with Trevor for once in the summer. Plus it’ll be cute to have pictures from this summer to look back on.” 

Little did he know that now it made your stomach sink. You slowly went through your texts from last night and while you were sleeping. A lot of Jack that you don’t open, a few from Anna explaining that she had to go to work and that I was right when I said being hungover at work fucking sucks. One from your boss saying he hopes you feel better which you heart. The most shocking of all a text of all comes from Luke. 

baby bro Lukey 👶🏻

received 9:00 AM

Hey I just want to tell you how sorry I am about last night. I don’t know what I thought at the moment, but when Nico told me the little he heard I felt sick because I feel like this is all my fault about what happened at the bar.

Received 9:02 AM

I guess I was trying to save Jack, so he could apologize for being the biggest dumbass in Jersey. But I should have been loyal to you, I mean.. you're basically like a big sister to me. Shit when you met Emmy I introduced you as family. You helped me more than anyone with the stress and anxiety of my rookie year, you always make sure I’m okay, I mean fuck I go you for advice about well everything more than Jack or Quinn. I’m sorry about not choosing you last night to be loyal to you. I don’t expect you to answer I just, I needed to reach out and tell you how fucking sorry I am Y/N/N. 

Immediately, you feel tears coming on reading Luke’s text. People in the media always assume that Quinn is the most sensitive, but really it’s Lukey. Immediately you start texting back.

baby bro Lukey 👶🏻

Sent at 11:45 AM

Oh lukey, thank you for your kind words. I don’t blame you in any way shape or form for your jackass of a brother, I am happy you reached out, you’ve always been the sweetest. Right now I need space from everything that reminds of Jack… but I promise we will not stop being friends and you can text me anytime my baby bro Lukey 👶🏻.

baby bro Lukey 👶🏻

Received 11:48

I understand Y/n/n it’s okay but if you need anything I’m here and I know it doesn’t mean anything but I’m sorry for Jack’s actions.

The tears that were welling in your eyes fully, making you cry. You didn’t respond to Luke, but you did love the message. Then you turned around and cried yourself back to sleep. 

You woke up to Anna knocking on your door around 7:00. She didn’t bother for a response as she walked in. You turned around so you were facing the door again. As soon as Anna noticed the way you were laying and your bloodshot eyes she came running over. You could tell she had literally just walked into the apartment from work. “Oh Y/N honey” she cooed at you as she got on the bed next to you and held you to her chest, her hands running up and down your back in a comforting way. 

Your voice cracked as just above a whisper somehow you were able to get the next words out of your mouth. “I - I thought it was a dream.” As a loud sob left your mouth. As you bring one hand to grip your chest trying to dull the pain and the other grabbing tightly onto Anna’s sweater just trying to keep yourself grounded. 

“I know sweetheart. I wish it was for you,” She whispers as she holds onto you trying to bring you some sort of comfort to you as you experience one of the worst pains you have ever felt. 

Luke’s POV

Luke was just hanging out in his room playing some random PC game he just spent today trying to avoid Jack at all cost. He was feeling pretty pissed at him for hurting Y/N plus Jack hasn’t been in the best mood today after everything that’s happened over the last 24 hours or so. Luke thinks he did a pretty good job ignoring Jack since he only saw him once today right after Y/N had texted him back. A small part of him felt pity for Jack, he looked like absolute shit. Luke doesn’t remember the last time he saw his brother not only nurse such a shitty hangover but look so…broken. But his brain immediately reminds him of what he did and he hates him for hurting someone he considered a sister. Luke took all the food and drinks he would need for the remainder of the day to his room when he ran into Jack this afternoon, deciding that he didn’t deserve Luke’s presence at least not today after what he did. 

Luke noticed his phone lighting up on his desk, he saw Quinn’s contact flash on the screen. Even though he wanted to murder Jack for last night, he still respected Quinn. he decided to pause his game to answer. Once he opened the message he noticed Quinn sent something in the group chat, - but it wasn’t the group chat with just Luke and his brothers, it was the one that was used much more often the one that included Y/N - Luke’s stomach dropped because he didn’t know what was about to happen but he knew it wasn’t gonna end well. 

Quinny -

Sent at 8:03 PM

Hey, have we all decided what we’re getting dad for his birthday??

I want to order it ASAP before we forget

It’s in like 2 ½ weeks.

8:05 PM

Y/N has left the group chat the hughes & future hughes

Quinny 

Sent 8:05

Ummm.. why the fuck did Y/N just leave 

Jack did y’all get another heated debate earlier about the what’s the best beer again 🤣🤣

Jackey

Sent 8:06

I’m not doing this right now.

I can’t believe she left 

Jackey has left the groupchat the hughes & future hughes 

Luke felt the stomach drop, the familiar feeling of anxiety slowly rising in his stomach. He started mumbling a slur of curse words as he read everything unfolding. He actually felt like he could throw up when he saw Quinn Facetiming him. Luke dropped his phone in shock, falling under his desk. “Shit shit shit shit fuck me fuck me fuck fuck fuck” He started repeating like a prayer trying to bring himself comfort as he reached for his phone under the desk. If this was any other time, he would have ignored Quinn and told him to contact them himself if wanted to play “oldest daughter syndrome” for the day. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a normal time and although he would love for Jack to answer to his questions and deal with his “you fucking dumbass” facial expression and fully judging the fuck out of you eyes. He knew Quinn and he knew he was more likely to call Y/N first. Luke still felt like shit for last night, he wasn’t gonna abandon Y/N again, even if she never knew. That simple fact is the only thing that made him bite his lip welcoming the blood from the pressure as he answered the Facetime call. 

“Okay what the actual fuck is happening with them??’ Quinn asks with a mixture of confusion and concern in his face. Scrunching his eyebrows together in confusion, but his face full of an underlying message of ‘speak now or my ass is on the next plane out.’

Luke lets a deep breath out, he didn’t even realize he was holding. “Okay I can tell you what I know, but what I do know isn’t much and I need you to promise me you aren’t gonna tell mom and dad.” Luke lists his requests like his agent does when negotiating a new contact. 

“Okay..” Quinn says confusion evident in his voice and even more on his face.

“Oh and you can’t contact Y/N -” Luke rushes out.

“What?!” Quinn cuts him off raising his voice, getting annoyed at his little brother’s demands for a simple question.

“Just not today okay…just give her a few days.” Luke reasons

“Why? She’s practically family!” Quinn questions

“Just… promise you won’t. Q, please.” Quinn could hear the desperation in Luke’s face he immediately and reluctantly agreed.

Quinn opens his mouth, talking in a much softer tone “Okay Lukey sure, I promise, now tell me what the fuck happened.”  

“Okay like I said I don’t know much but this is what I do know. We had Emmy’s birthday last night and Jack showed up a little late. I mean not super late, normal Jack late but you know-” Luke’s rambling was becoming extremely noticeable as with each word his voice was quickening in speed, his anxiety beginning to be noticeable. 

“Luke first take a deep breath buddy.” Quinn patiently waits until Luke takes a few breaths before he begins speaking in a more demanding tone “Now can you please get to the fucking point!” he exclaims. 

“Okay so Jack showed up and he was off, like super off. He looked pissed he dragged me to the bar immediately ordering shots demanding we “celebrate Emerison’s big day.” Luke says, making quotation marks with his hands at the last part. “Anyway, after 2 shots I left to dance with Emmy. When I came back to the bar like I swear Q not more than an hour TOPS. He was noticeably getting drunk texting Y/N. At first I didn’t think anything of it but then I saw his face. He looked sad.” Luke admits quietly like he was tattling on his brother and didn’t want Jack to overhear. 

“What do you mean by sad? That's not Jack.”  Quinn questioned. 

“Yeah I know anyway he started telling me how he fucked up and he got in a fight with Y/N/N. I mean Q if it wasn’t for him looking like he just got the shit beat out of him and he was fighting to breathe with a broken rib. I would have laughed it off, cause they never argue even before and when they do it’s a debate at best. But - his face Q. I’ve never seen him like that. I told him to go to her, take an uber. Hell I offered to pay for it he refused, ya know his stubborn ass. Anyway, I decided to leave him to himself if he wanted to be an idiot let him, I thought.” Luke suddenly paused as he realized the next part of his story was going to be.

“Okay what happened next moose.” Quinn asked as he started walking around his apartment, he propped his phone so it was sitting up against the wall of his kitchen leaving the frame.  Luke figured he was probably making lunch after training. 

“Uhh… well I kind of fucked up Quinny.” Admitting it out loud made Luke feel worse than he has all day. 

“What? I thought this was about Jack?” Quinn asked. 

“Well he did but, I don’t know why he did this but the next time I saw him he was kissing some random girl and-” before Luke could finish his sentence Quinn came back into frame and started yelling.

“HE WAS WHAT?” Quinn asked, shock and anger mixing into his voice. 

Luke mumbling the next part “yeah and I don’t know why but I looked towards the door after I saw, I made eye-contact with Y/N”

“Wait Y/N was there???” he questions.

“Yeah she wasn’t at first.She said she didn’t wanna go out but I guess Jack’s texts worked. Quinny as soon as our eyes met I could see the pain in them even from across the bar. I wanted her to not be in pain for long, so I went to Jack and pulled him off her. I told him he’s a fucking jackass, dumbass and all the asses and that Y/N was here. How she saw him, he needed to go fix it cause Y/N doesn’t deserve that shit.” Luke says shame filling his voice. 

“Oh Lukey.”  Quinn said, a mix of hurt for Y/N and maybe a little disappointment in his brother's actions. 

“Trust me, nothing you can say to me will be anything I haven’t already told myself. I fucked up by telling him. I should have gone after her myself and not let her drive home.” Luke refuses to look at the camera as the shame overtakes his body. 

“It’s not your fault okay, you thought you were helping her. So that’s it, he went after her and she told him to fuck off I’m assuming?”

“Well I stayed in the bar, I don’t know what happened for a long period of time but Nico ended up finally catching up to them. He told me what he heard, he said that Jack tried blaming Y/N for cheating because they weren’t really dating, they never used titles. I mean everyone knows that but-” Luke starts to rant but it’s cut short by his older brother.

“JACK DID WHAT OH MY GOD I KNEW HE WASN’T THE SMARTEST I DIDN’T KNOW HE WAS THAT MUCH OF IMBECILE.” He yells through the phone so loud Luke turns the volume down, he doesn’t want Jack to hear him telling Quinn.

“Yeah well I don’t know anything else, that’s all Nico said and that he cut Jack off from continuing. He also said that Y/N popped the fuck off and apparently it took everything in him not to give her standing ovation.” A breath leaving Luke’s lips somehow his chest feeling lighter than it has all day. “I felt sick when Cap told me so you're doing better than I am. Then again I was a little drunk. I did reach out to Y/N and apologized this morning. I felt like I caused that to happen.”

“No” Quinn cut him off sternly, not letting his youngest brother take any of the blame. “Yeah you might have told him she was there but I’m glad she was because she deserves better. Fuck I wish I didn’t agree to not reach out.” As Quinn pets his fingers on his temples, lightly massaging his slowly building headache that was forming. “Alright I won’t tell mom. She can find out from her son who created the mess. That’s not my problem. When am I allowed to talk to Y/N?Did she answer you this morning?” Quinn asks, finally opening his eyes and looking on the screen. 

“Yeah sort of, she said it was okay and it wasn’t my fault for Jack’s actions, but she also said she needed space from anything that reminds her of him.” Luke admits softly.

“See I told you she was too smart for Jack when we met her.She isn’t mad at you Lukey don’t carry guilt that isn’t yours. Was that the whole convo?” he asks,

“I told her I was always here for her but she only loved the message.” Luke softly admits, some of the guilt lifting after talking to Quinn.

“Alright, how many days till I can text her?” Quinn asked

Luke thought for a minute before saying, “Give it four days, Saturday our time in the morning.” 

“Fine..” Quinn agrees reductively. “Now down to why I texted the group chat, what the fuck are we gonna get Dad for his birthday?”  

——————————————————————————

It’s been exactly 3 days since your breakup with Jack. You silenced his texts along with phone calls so you couldn’t get the notification. You meant what you said when you told him goodbye, even though it has caused your chest constant pain, and be the reason you haven’t left your bed since. Today was Friday, the last day you had on that doctor’s note Anna got you. Still not sure exactly the extent of what she had to do to get it, but alas you were extremely grateful that she did. 

You allowed yourself to sleep in, somehow that felt more comforting than being awake. You finally woke up around noon and decided that the hunger in your stomach was greater  than your desire  to stay in bed. You decide to get up and throw something in the airfryer. You settled on the couch as your food was cooking, deciding what to watch. You spent most of your day just laying on your couch, in and out of sleep while the T.V. blared in the background. You heard your phone ringing and you decided to glance at who was calling to decide if you wanted to answer. 

You could feel your heart race speed up, your blood pressure go up and your stomach drop when you read who the call was from. “Mama Hughes” stared up at you. You even blinked a few times to make sure you were reading your phone correctly. But then noticed the time and date on your screen,  Friday night 6 PM. This is when Ellen always called you for your weekly check-in. It didn’t matter if Jack was home or not. She has called you every Friday at 6 since the first time you met her at the lakehouse this past summer you realized she probably doesn’t know what happened with Jack. Although, you could be mad at Jack and even ask Luke for space for a few days. You truly couldn’t allow yourself to not answer the call since she has always treated you with open loving arms that any mother would. After the week that you had you really craved the kind of love only a mom can give. You swiped to answer and put the phone to your ear, grateful it wasn’t your normal facetime call instead. 

“Hey” you speak with the most normal voice you can muster but you heard your voice crack and winced because there is no way Ellen didn’t hear it. 

“Hey Y/N, you don’t sound so well are you sick or are your allergies bothering you more today?” She asked concern laced in her voice, but before you could come up with an answer she added. “Hopefully Jack is taking care of you either way. It’s what you deserve dealing with Jack and Luke’s man colds” Letting a light chuckle out as she thought about how obnoxious they can be when they’re not feeling their best. 

You swallowed your throat before you opened your mouth. “No Ellen, um actually I have been just crying a lot so my throat is sore.” As you feel the silent tears steaming down your face at how fucked up it is that you have tell her what her son did. Now you’re regretting your decision to answer the phone because of how awkward the call was about to become. 

“Ohh sweetheart, why have you been crying? Is it because of work stress? Or all of Jack’s back to back roadies, you know he’ll be home soon love.’’ She said in a cooing comforting voice. You swear you can feel your heart break a little now. 

“No… um…. Jack and I got in a really bad fight this week.” You paused for a moment to try and think of how to word in the nicest way possible what happened. “Well it was a work night and he wanted me to go out with him, to Emmy’s birthday.”

Ellen cuts you off even though you can’t see her face. You know she furrowed her eyebrows now as listening to you. “That’s the girl Luke is dating right?” she asks, making sure she’s following the story correctly.

“Yeah I think they're dating… anyway I said I didn’t want to spend the night drinking cause I had work early the next day and he got mad. We both said some… not nice things and he left. I ended up deciding to just take him home with me after his texts from the bar and  a video Jesper  had sent me of him looking sad at the bar. But when I got there he….” You stop yourself, deciding if you really should continue telling the mother of the boy who broke your heart exactly how he did. You know Jack probably wouldn’t want his mother to hear about his love life in this detail.

“He what Y/N/N, it’s okay you can tell me. What did he do honey?” 

“I saw him with a girl… they were kissing.” your voice whispers on your last few words. 

“HE WHAT?” Ellen screamed, you had never heard her so…angry the whole year that you’ve known her. You assumed she muted the phone probably to try to collect herself. Which honestly, you were grateful for because you also muted your phone to let yourself to sob. You're not sure how long you both stayed on the phone, each of you on mute, but somehow it was still more comforting than being alone. You’re truly not sure how much time had passed until you heard Ellen on your phone call for you through your phone. 

“Hmm?” you let out.

“I am so sorry that I somehow failed to raise a decent human being. Have you spoken to him yet, did he know you were there? Not that it matters…. I honestly don’t wanna talk to him right now.” she said this in such a monotone voice, that you knew there was no way she wasn’t being honest at the moment. 

“Yeah… he followed me outside actually.. to say it was a dumpster fire wouldn’t do it justice… he told me he didn’t really cheat because he didn’t know we were together.” You say somehow some of the anger from that night is coming to you now that you were allowing yourself to think about it.

“wait Y/N we must be having a bad connection. You said he didn’t know you were dating?” the pure shock in her voice making you smile because you knew  by the sound of her voice that  she was questioning Jack’s actions. You allowed yourself to find comfort in that. 

“Yeah” your way of softly confirming her assumptions. 

“That’s it. I am booking a flight right now. I mean I can’t stomach looking at him right now. Actually, I guess I’ll book two tickets so Jim can come deal with his son.”  The emphasis on “his son” not slipping past you. You could hear Ellen yelling in the background.

“JIM…” She yelled it was obvious they weren’t close to each other at the house at the moment.

“WHAT?” He yelled back that you would hear footsteps in the background. 

“Get the suitcases from the garage for me. We’re going to Jersey on the next available flight!” she tells her husband you can hear the rush tone in her voice like she’s running around the house looking for something. 

“Why?” he asks curious

“Because your son fucked up more than ever before, Y/N needs me, and it would be nice to see Luke too.” Jim must have decided it wasn’t worth asking any more questions. 

“Ellen!” you say possibly a bit louder than intended but you needed to get her attention. 

“What?” she asks, coming closer to wherever she sets her phone down. 

“Please don't come, okay. I am fine plus I have a lot of errands I need to do this weekend. My apartment is a mess, I have work on Monday, and I don’t think I would be the best company right now.”  You say hoping that Ellen decides to not just fly to Jersey because someone who isn’t even blood was crying on a phone call. 

“Y/N hear me when I say this, you matter to me and this family minus Jack at the moment. I am not really claiming him at the moment.” You accidentally cut her off a chuckle escaping from your lips, Jack definitely got his attitude from his mom. “Okay.. I don’t care about your apartment, if you want I can stay at the door and we can just go to lunch. It’s good to get out of your apartment. Plus I would love to see Luke - the boys always claim I show him favoritism. Which I deny but he is definitely my favorite… my own little moose. Plus I already bought my tickets for this Sunday and I can’t cancel it because it’s too close to get a refund. So you will definitely see me this weekend.” 

You know there isn’t any convincing her otherwise, even if she didn’t already buy her tickets. You let out a deep sigh as you let out an “okay.” You quickly said your goodbyes and hung up.You glance at the time to see it’s almost 6:30 and decide you probably should cook a proper meal for yourself for the first time this week. Since you haven’t eaten since noon before your nap, only to realize you were out of everything in your apartment.

Jack’s POV

It had officially been three days since Jack felt he made the biggest mistake of his life. He tried to reach Y/N multiple times through text and calling, he knows she didn’t block him because it shows that she read them.. Luke has barely even glanced at Jack since Tuesday, which given that they live  together is impressive. Especially considering the fact both of them were on the same team and had multiple practices together since. Coach tried to talk to them today after practice about it because he finally became fed up after 2 practices. Luke is not one to be an asshole to any of the coaching staff so it was a shock to Jack when he heard the words out of Luke’s coach.

“Sir respectively, am I not still doing my job? In fact am I not doing it better than what some would refer to as my brother?” If it wasn’t for the fact that it was a dig at Jack himself, there is no way he could have stayed quiet with a roast like that. 

“EXCUSE me?” Coach asked. But it really wasn’t a question, it was a statement, a warning. 

“Okay sorry, but we’ve been fighting lately.” Luke mumbles out his excuse, but Jack was too busy looking at his skates. Wondering how they could get so much dirt on them when he played in an arena. 

“Jack sorry to interrupt whatever the fuck your looking at” Jack could sense the annoyance in Coach’s voice but he didn’t care to look up yet. “But do you have anything to add about this little “fight” y’all seem to have had and why the fuck it’s showing up on my rink!” Their Coach demands the last part, not leaving any room for interruption on how he was feeling about this situation, absolutely fucking pissed. 

Jack finally decides to look up and speak for the first time. “No coach. I am sorry. Luke was right I haven’t been playing myself, take me off the line if you want. Don’t punish Moos-” Jack almost let the childhood nickname slip out but he knew Luke wouldn’t want Jack to use it right now. “Don’t punish Luke for this. I deserve to sit out. -” 

Coach decided he couldn’t listen to any more of Jack’s shitty attempt at a speech that wasn’t giving him answers to anything he was asking.“ LISTEN HUGHES, BOTH OF YOU, I DON’T GIVE A FUCK WHAT YOUR FIGHT STARTED WITH AT HOME. BUT YOUR AT WORK, AT WORK YOU GOTTA BE PROFESSIONAL. YOU THINK I LIKE EVERYONE HERE -FUCK NO - BUT I STILL GOTTA SEE THEIR DUMBASSES EVERYDAY! Y'ALL ARE BROTHERS FIGURE IT THE FUCK OUT.” Luke and Jack glance at each other for the first time in days. For the first time in days, he felt a wave of hope. Maybe if Luke could look at him it means he could forgive him, and if Luke could forgive, of course his angel Y/N maybe could too. 

“You know she was important to me too. She was family and although she says nothing will change I know it will never be the same. I am pissed at you, pissed at you for hurting Y/N. But also pissed at you because for some reason that night I looked at you when you came back J, I felt so guilty for pointing her out to you, because of what Nico said he overheard. But I looked over at the bar, you just sat there like nothing fucking happened and that’s just wrong.”

Before I can respond, Coach cuts in “Wait this is about Y/N? I wouldn’t have thought Y/N would be the reason y’all would fight, I mean Jack haven’t y’all been dating for 6 months?” Obviously at this point just deciding to be fucking nosey. Luke didn’t mind as much as I did.

“OH MY GOD THANK YOU! THIS DUMBASS WENT AND KISSED A GIRL AND THEN BLAMED IT ON Y/N BECAUSE APPARENTLY THEY NEVER TALKED ABOUT BOYFRIEND GIRLFRIEND LABELS OR BEING IN A COMMITTED RELATIONSHIP!” Jack could have  sworn to God in that moment that he had never seen his Coach laugh so hard as he is right now. I mean the man had hands on his knees, tears in his eyes laughing at me. 

“Oh wow… Jack your fucked in the head if you really thought that.” Coach exclaims after his laughing fit.

“Coach, he didn't think so. He told her that and more.” Luke says smug now that someone else agrees with him that i messed up. 

“Oh son. Whoo I ain’t jealous of you boy.” and with that the Coach leaves the locker room leaving Luke and Jack by themselves. Since all the other boys had left earlier because he and Luke had to do 20 bag skates due to their “issues” with each other.

“You know I regret that entire day right? I - I fucked up Lukey and now -” For the first time in days Jack let himself think about her physically walking away from him.  Jack doesn’t cry often especially in front of people but the fact that it was just Luke he didn’t give a fuck. Jack let himself feel the pain that his own actions caused. It's what he felt he deserved. Jack fell into his bench and let his mind wander as it took him back to that night. He was so out of it he didn’t notice Luke kneeling down in front of him and put one of his hands on Jack’s knee trying to grab his brother’s attention.

“Hey.. Jack…okay” It’s like Jack’s ears were under water he could only hear every other word. His next thought made him spiral only deeper into the hole his ,ind created as he thought, ‘fuck did I make her feel like this.’

“JACK.” Finally Jack made eye contact with his brother. “Good, take a deep breath, you’re alright dude.” Luke stays like that, one hand on Jack’s knee, the other holding the back of his neck so his eyes don’t wander. Actually it took until that moment for Jack to realize that Luke’s other hand was on the nape of his neck.  “You alright?” Luke talks in a low voice even though they are the only ones in the locker room, somehow a louder voice would feel too loud in the moment.

“Yeah as good as I can be.” I answer in a rugged voice from just finishing crying. 

“Look I don’t hate you, you're my brother, but I am still mad at you okay? I just - I don’t know dude.” Luke says it like he’s thought about this in detail and yet still can’t wrap his mind around the events that took place. Jack thinks about if only Luke knew how bad the first fight of that day was, when he tried to call her a gold digger. Jack knew she was anything but that, yet he  couldn’t help this thought taking over his mind. He remembered she always put even a simple Starbucks coffee her order in on the app so that Jack couldn’t pay for it. How she would deny Jack’s venmo requests when he tried to shower her with money for her coffee that week or so she could buy that new pair of shoes she wanted. 

“I know” Jack mumbles but when he catches Luke’s eyes he can’t help but desperately ask his next question. “Have you talked to her?” The worry in Jack’s voice is almost as bad as the impulse to ask about her. This is the longest that Jack has gone without talking to her since the night they met. Jack was desperate to know how she was, he longed to go to her apartment and see her. Especially, since he hasn’t been able to sleep without sleeping pills because she’s not in his arms. 

“We texted the day after but I started it and it wasn’t long. I have no idea how she's doing but I also respect Y/N enough to not tell you because she wouldn’t want me to.” Luke spoke softly but matter-of-factly. He also didn’t want to make his brother emotional again, people always say Quinn is the most awkward with emotions but it was by far Luke. He struggled with his own emotions and shyness, when people showed raw emotions he felt frozen, wanting to help but not knowing where to begin. 

“Right, of course.. No problem Lukey.” Jack stood up and started taking his gear from practice. Slowly his anger built at the entire mess, but somehow it ticked Jack off more that Luke was siding with Y/N. But his heart and his soul has never been more grateful because if he couldn’t look out for Y/N at least his little brother was able to. 

“Alright I guess I’ll see you at home” Luke says as he heads for the shower, having already been half out of his gear before the coach made them stay to talk. 

“Actually I have some errands to run so I’ll catch you later.” Jack rushes out to stay as he decides to just change into sweats. 

“Jack.. promise me you aren’t going over there” Jack looks at Luke as his words process in his mind. Jack can see the fear in his brother's eyes and it makes his stomach hurt again.

“I promise I have errands to run. I need  go get some groceries and dry cleaners.''He turns around finishing packing his gear, sliding his car keys and wallet in his pocket. “Hey do you have anything you need from Trader Joe’s I might stop on the way home?” Jack quickly slides his sneakers on.

“Nah, I'm good. See ya at home I guess.” As he disappears behind the wall to shower. 

Y/Ns POV

You decided ultimately that you didn’t have any food in your apartment. because of your mood the last couple days, you’ve been ordering way too much Doordash and your bank account couldn’t financially support that continuing. You decided to  take your time getting ready to go to Trader Joe’s mostly because you have been in pj’s for an embarrassing amount of time. You made your way out of your house in jeans and some light makeup. Somehow getting dressed like a normal human helped your mood improve. 

By the time you made it to the grocery store across Newark you could see it was dusk and getting colder. The only hoodie you had in your car was Jack’s. you really didn’t want to wear his hoodie after everything, but you hated  the idea of being cold more, so you put it on. You hated the fact that it still smelt like him, but you loathed the fact the amount of comfort it brought you. Trying your best to ignore the smell of his cologne, You grabbed your wallet and reusable bags and made your way inside. You kept your hood up and a hat on, along with your sunglasses. Unfortunately living in this town and your relationship, sometimes you got recognized. The fans were wonderful, but the idea of running into any fans on your first outing out of your apartment made your stomach hurt. You grabbed a cart on your way in and put on your earbuds in. Jack always hated you putting both earbuds in, claiming that it wasn’t safe. You thought to yourself that’s the first positive thing you’ve come up with since everything happened. You smiled to yourself feeling like this trip was your first step of self healing. 

That was until you got distracted walking down the frozen isle looking at all the snacks looking for your favorite. Pushing your cart along you didn’t realize how close you were to the end of the isle and t-boned a cart. You were about to say a passing apology as you pulled your cart and they moved their cart forward. You knew that side profile from anywhere. You glanced up and The person you just happen to bump into with a cart on first trip out the apartment is no other than Jack Rowden fucking Hughes.

[leftoverghosts]

(doubt comes in)

is this a trick that's bein' played on me? 

Art's devotion is almost worshipful, comparable to Orpheus' dedication to Eurydice.

art donaldson x reader.

warnings: implied depression after injury. use of she/her for reader. no use of y/n. not beta read.

nori says: this is an expansion of my orpheus!art blurb okay!!! i hate it!! idk if this is what i wanted, but it's what i have to offer. please love me still. send me ideas if you want to! xoxo.

word count: 2,206

“You’ll get better,” Art says quietly, walking up to the net as you smash your racket against the ground. “You’re only a week post-op from your surgery.”

But you don’t want to get better—you want to be whole. You want to be as you were. What greater glory was there than being you on the court?

Your throat feels raw, imaginary bile rising like a torrent rushing through a gorge. You want to spit, to seethe, to yell.

Instead, you cry, and that only upsets you more.

Art comes around to rub your back, but his words are muffled, drowned out by the water plugging your ears.

He is Orpheus, trying to lead you—Eurydice—out of the underworld of your suffering, wading with you in a river too deep to tread.

He sees through your attempts to abandon him first. And you hate him for it.

Who the hell is Art Donaldson, with two healthy knees, to say he loves you—your pain, your anger?

How could he be so good? So self-sacrificial? How could it be real?

A voice in your head, that you don't recognize as your own, whispers: he too will turn around to watch your demise.

You feel the weight of Art's hand on your back, his touch a reminder of his unwavering presence. But the comfort it once brought now feels like a burden, a shackle tying you to a reality you desperately want to escape. You shrug off his hand, the movement sharp and dismissive, mirroring the jagged edges of your fractured spirit.

The tears keep falling, each one a bitter reminder of the dreams that slipped through your fingers like sand. The sobs choke you, stealing your breath and your voice.

"I'm here," he murmurs, his voice a lifeline in the tempest of your despair. "I'm not going anywhere."

You turn to face him, your eyes searching his for any hint of pity or regret. Instead, you find only love, pure and unwavering, shining like a beacon in the darkness. It's almost too much to bear, the intensity of his devotion, the depth of his commitment. You want to believe him, to trust in the strength of his love, but the voice in your head whispers its poisonous doubts.

"Don't," you whisper, your voice barely audible above the roar of your inner turmoil. "Just… don't."

Art's eyes, those mesmerizing pools of blue and brown, search your face, seeking a glimmer of the person he once knew. But you avert your gaze, unable to bear the reflection of your broken self in his loving stare.

You limp away from the court, each step a painful reminder of what you've lost. The mangled tennis racket dangles limply from your hand, a useless appendage, a cruel mockery of your former glory. Art follows, his footsteps echoing behind you like a persistent heartbeat, a rhythm you can't seem to escape.

"Please, talk to me," he begs, and it sounds like weeping, his voice laced with desperation. "Let me help you."

But how can he help when he doesn't understand? How can he fathom the depths of your despair when he stands on the precipice of his own success?

You whirl around, your eyes blazing with a fire born of anguish and frustration. "I don't need your pity, Art! You can't fix me!"

The words tear from your throat, raw and bleeding, like shards of glass embedded in your vocal cords. Art flinches, his face contorting with the pain of your rejection. But still, he persists, reaching out to you with an open heart and unwavering devotion.

"I'm not trying to fix you," he says softly, his voice a soothing balm against the ragged edges of your soul. "I just want to be here for you, to love you through this."

But love, you realize, is a double-edged sword. It has the power to heal, but also the capacity to destroy. And right now, with your dreams lying shattered at your feet, you can't bear the thought of dragging Art down into the abyss with you.

You turn away from Art, your shoulders sagging under the weight of your anguish. The sun beats down on your back, its warmth a cruel mockery of the ice that has settled in your veins. You want to run, to hide, to disappear into the shadows and never emerge. But your knee, that traitorous joint, holds you captive, anchoring you to this moment, to this pain.

"I can't do this," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "I can't be the person you need me to be. Not like this."

Art's hand settles on your shoulder, his touch feather-light yet impossibly heavy. "You are exactly the person I need you to be. Broken, whole, it doesn't matter. I love you."

The words hang in the air between you, a lifeline and a condemnation all at once. You want to believe him, to lose yourself in the comfort of his embrace and let his love wash away the stains of your failure. But the voice in your head, that insidious whisper, won't be silenced.

"You say that now," you murmur, your gaze fixed on the horizon, on the future that seems to slip further away with each passing moment. "But what happens when you realize I'm not worth it? When you see that I'm just a shadow of who I used to be?"

Art's fingers tighten on your shoulder, a gentle pressure that draws your attention back to him. His eyes, those captivating pools of blue and brown, bore into yours with an intensity that steals your breath.

"If you are a shadow, then me be swallowed whole by the darkness.” He says, his voice low and fervent. "You mean everything to me - your strength, your passion, your fire - they still exist inside you, even if you cannot see them at this moment. And I will spend every day reminding you of that until you believe it too."

Tears blur your vision, hot and stinging, as the walls around your heart begin to crumble. You want to believe him, to trust in the unwavering faith that shines in his eyes. But the road ahead seems so long, so daunting, and you're not sure you have the strength to walk it.

"I'm scared," you admit, the words tearing from your throat like shards of glass. "I'm scared of failing, of never being the same again. I'm scared of losing you."

Art's arms encircle you, drawing you into the shelter of his embrace. His heartbeat thrums against your cheek, a steady rhythm that anchors you to the present.

"You could never lose me," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. "I will be here, by your side, every step of the way. We'll face this together, one day at a time. And even if you never set foot on a court again, you will always be a champion in my heart."

Tears well up in your eyes as you hold onto him tightly, as if he might vanish from your embrace. "You're too good to me, Art. I love you."

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

As you stand by the clay courts of Stanford, memories flood back to you. Memories of a time when your name was synonymous with tennis greatness, when you were the future of the sport. But now, even as a New York Times best-selling author and respected ESPN commentator, you felt like a mere spectator in the world you once ruled.

Your attention is immediately drawn to the court on the far left. It was where you and Art spent countless hours, with his arms wrapped around you as the two of you worked through your injury and anger. Even though you had already mastered the basics, you allowed him to guide your hands and correct your form. Your motivation for these lessons went beyond just regaining your abilities; it was also a way to ease Art's worries and show him your love.

In the beginning, you had hoped those lessons would heal you, but after a while, all you longed for was to stand across from Art on the other side of the net and volley with him at full strength once again - not for glory, but for the joy it brought both of you.

"God," a voice calls out, as if that were your name. You turn, already knowing it is your husband who has followed you here. He rarely lets you out of his sight, afraid that you will slip back into your defenses after all the time he spent using love as a Trojan horse to get into your heart. "You shone so brightly on that court."

You wince, realizing that he has spoken your inner thoughts. Art senses your unease and foresees your attempt to escape. Before you can flee, his hand grasps your shoulder, halting your retreat with a firm grip.

You plaster on a smile, your feigned cheer clearly confusing him. He hadn't wanted to come to this event in the first place and seeing how these ghosts still terrorize you, Art is upset.

You allow his touch to anchor you in place. He utters your name like a familiar prayer, drawing you back to the present. You've long accepted that he will always worship at your altar. But the raw sincerity shining in his eyes in this moment feels too genuine, too exposing.

"Are we leaving?" He inquires softly, and his ring on your finger feels like a symbol for safe passage over the river Styx.

"I just wanted to stay for our speeches," you say as he brushes hair away from your face with tenderness. Even in your most tempestuous moments, he shows compassion.

"Baby—"

"I'm sorry for—"

You both start at the same time, but you wave him on benevolently.

"Come back to me," he pleads obediently, "don't go somewhere I can't follow."

His words ignite a fire inside you. No matter what storms may come, he seeks shelter within you and continues to fan your flames. Art's devotion is almost worshipful, comparable to Orpheus' dedication to Eurydice. You can't help but reminisce about moments spent together - showering, Art supporting your injured knee, or him feeding you when your sadness weighed down your hand and you couldn't eat on your own.

He always made sure to remind you that his success was also due to your support. The fruits of his labor - his career - were meant for both of your enjoyment. Without you, he could not thrive.

"I'm here. I'm with you." You say after a moment. Reaching up, you cradle Art's face between your palms, your thumbs gently caressing the smooth planes of his cheeks. His skin is warm beneath your touch, a tangible reminder of the life and love that flows between you. As you trace the contours of his jawline, you marvel at the strength and tenderness that coexist within him, a perfect balance that has sustained you through your darkest hours.

Art leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed as he savors the intimacy of the moment. His golden curls, tousled by the gentle breeze, tickle your fingers, eliciting a soft smile from your lips. In this instant, the world around you fades away, and all that exists is the connection between you, a bond forged in the crucible of adversity and tempered by the power of unconditional love.

"I love you," you whisper, the words a sacred oath, a promise to hold onto the emotions that have rescued you time and time again. Gripping Art closer to you, your fingers entwine in his hair as you bring his mouth to yours.

Art's lips dance against yours with a reverence that takes your breath away, each brush of his tongue a silent prayer, a vow to stand by your side through every trial and triumph.

When you finally part, breathless and flushed, Art's hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away the lone tear that has escaped your lashes. "I love you too," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "More than anything in this world."

[dindjarindiaries]

Wounds Unseen

summary: You and Hunter help each other through the fallout of Omega’s capture on Pabu.

pairing: sergeant hunter (tbb) x reader

tags: season 3 spoilers, angst, injuries (incl. blood), trauma, hurt/comfort, fluff

rating: T

word count: 3.298k

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

You bit your cheek to try to keep yourself silent as you limped over and over on your injured leg. The skin hadn’t stopped burning or bleeding since the blaster bolt caught it, but that didn’t stop you from walking on it and ignoring the pain as you tried your best to find Crosshair.

You had seen it all happen. The distraction, the attempted shot, and the long arc the tracker made before it ultimately missed the ship created an image within your mind that was hard to get rid of. The way your heart had fallen into the pits of your stomach was even harder to ignore.

It had broken you, but there was no doubt you weren’t nearly as broken as Crosshair was. That weight was sitting firmly on his shoulders. And Hunter…

He didn’t even know.

Neither did Wrecker, who was still unconscious in Shep’s safe room. You tightened your jaw at the thought of it. He would be devastated, but he would keep himself strong for the sake of Omega and his brothers. He had done it before for you and Hunter. You could only hope that he had taken the time to process it—and that he would do so again.

Chaos was still ensuing all around you, but you were set on your own mission. The pain hiding at the edges of your senses threatened to creep in and drown out everything else. You pushed it back, intent upon focusing on your family instead. You weren’t far from where Crosshair had made the shot.

The closer you got, the more you began to realize you weren’t the first one to find him.

Elevated voices got louder as you picked up your pace as much as you could manage. There was no mistaking the sound of Hunter’s rage, which bit through each word he spoke—or yelled. Crosshair’s responses were full of his own venom, but it was undoubtedly aimed towards himself.

Either way, they were taking their devastation out on each other, and you couldn’t sit by and let it happen, especially not when you thought of how Omega would react to it. You winced as you went even faster, never stopping until Hunter and Crosshair were in full earshot.

“Whose fault is it now?” Hunter snapped at Crosshair as you struggled down a nearby staircase. He gave Crosshair’s armored shoulder a rough shove. “Who’s the one that let her go?”

“Hunter!” You called for him from where you had just stepped off the last stair. You swallowed back a cry of pain and made your way over to them.

“This was your choice, Hunter,” Crosshair snarled in response. “You were the one who left her to me. I did the best with what you gave me!”

“My choice?” Hunter scoffed and tightened his fists at his sides. “My choice, my order, was for you to stay with her and Wrecker! It was one simple order, Crosshair!” Hunter pushed off Crosshair’s chestplate that time. “And you couldn’t even follow it!”

“Hunter!” The adrenaline thankfully helped in hiding your pain as you stood close to the two of them. Crosshair had kept his helmet on, but Hunter’s was off, and his gaze was sending his brother threatening daggers. Both their armored shoulders heaved with visible anger. You set a hand on Hunter’s and held it tight. “Stop.”

“We’ve never been keen on following orders.” Crosshair’s tone was almost smug, but you read it well. He was masking his own pain. “What else did you expect? Stormtroopers would have found us there eventually. Omega decided to focus on the bigger mission.”

Your lips tightened at the slight waver in his voice. When you looked at Hunter, he lacked any of that same sympathy towards his brother.

“Not only did you let her do that, but you also didn’t hold up your end of the plan.” Hunter stepped closer to Crosshair and jabbed a gloved finger into the center of his chestplate. “You are the reason she’s there, now, and I won’t ever let you forget that.”

“And how did getting that shuttle go?” You tensed as Crosshair began to deflect his unbearable pain. “I wasn’t the only one who failed. We all did.” Crosshair pointed his finger towards Hunter’s head. “That’s what you should remember.”

Hunter’s anger boiled over. He reached an arm back and you leapt forward without thinking. “Don’t—!”

At the same time you leaned onto your injured leg, Hunter stepped forward with his, causing his leg to hit yours just inches from your wound. You cut yourself off with your own cry of agony as your leg gave out underneath you, and you fell to the stone at Hunter’s boots.

He immediately knelt down at your side, his hands holding your shoulders before one of them cupped the side of your face. “Hey, are you okay?” He was breathless in his worry, all the anger having fled from his gaze as concern poured over in the warm depths of his eyes. Hunter gave you a worried once-over, his hand moving from your shoulder to your leg. “I’m so sorry.”

There was a hand placed on your shoulder from behind, and you looked briefly to see Crosshair knelt behind you with his helmet tilted in his own concern. Despite the pained furrow in your brow, you nodded at him and turned back to Hunter. “It wasn’t you.”

You exhaled and shifted, biting back a growl as you showed Hunter your wound. His eyes widened to double their usual size before they snapped back to your own gaze. “You got shot?”

“Barely.” You gritted your teeth as you sat up more. Hunter’s gaze fell back to your injured leg as his thumb brushed mindlessly over your cheek. “It looks worse than it feels.”

Hunter raised an eyebrow at you. “You’re lying.” He sighed, a worried crease still knit in his brow as he put his helmet back on and began to help you up. “We need to get that patched up while it’s still fresh.”

Crosshair stood with the two of you, but he refused to look at Hunter as he spoke solely to you. “How can I help?”

You offered him a small smile. “Can you stay with Wrecker? I don’t want him to be alone when he wakes.” You deflated and let your gaze fall away from Crosshair’s visor. “Especially with…”

You trailed off, and silence sat between the three of you for a long moment. Crosshair eventually nodded and shuffled away, heading back the way you first came. You closed your eyes and leaned more into Hunter, who took the extra weight with ease. His helmet looked over at you. “Are you sure you can walk?”

You nodded, offering him the same smile you had just given Crosshair as he started to crutch you to a safe place. The most reasonable place for you two to go would have been where Wrecker still was, but Hunter clearly had no desire to be anywhere near Crosshair—and you wanted the privacy to get through to Hunter, anyway.

Hunter’s hand tightened on your side when you winced while going around a corner. “How did it happen?”

You tightened your jaw and considered your words, but the truth was what he deserved. “I was laying down cover for Crosshair.” Hunter physically bristled at your words. “I was too focused on looking between him and the ship. I missed the trooper who was hiding in my peripheral.”

Hunter sighed and gave your leg another glance. “Looks like they got you good.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “They still partially missed.”

Hunter huffed in amusement at that. “True.” He brought himself closer to your side. “Let’s just be glad it wasn’t the Imperial shadow going after you.”

Silence fell over the two of you for the rest of your journey. The chaos returned the closer you got to the homes of the Pabu islanders, causing your stomach to turn in guilt. You couldn’t imagine how it must have made Omega feel. It was no wonder that someone like her would turn herself in to make it stop.

You and Hunter eventually arrived at one of the unoccupied homes that Shep had made available to you. When you stepped inside, your chest lit aflame with anger at the sight of everything being turned over. There was no doubt the Empire had searched this place, just as they had with everyone’s homes.

It no longer felt like the secret safe haven you and Hunter got to sneak away to. Just like the Marauder, a loss you weren’t close to processing yet, this had also been taken from you. And Omega…

That was a void you refused to acknowledge just yet.

Hunter moved away from your side to lift a chair up from where it had been knocked onto the floor. He then held you by the shoulders and eased you down onto it, urging you to keep your injured leg straight before he knelt down in front of it. Hunter was swift in removing his helmet and his pack. He sifted through its contents and pulled out the medpac.

As Hunter began to work, he tightened his jaw and spoke in a low voice. “I should’ve been there.”

You shook your head at him. “You were doing your part.” When Hunter didn’t respond, you set your hand over his, which had been offering him stability. “Crosshair didn’t mean what he said.”

Hunter gave you a quick warning glance, but it wasn’t threatening. The devastation in his gaze spoke for him.

“And I hope you didn’t mean what you said to Crosshair.”

Hunter continued his work on your wound even as he distanced himself from you. His hand slid out from under yours. “So, you’re taking his side?”

You sighed heavily. “There’s no side to take, Hunter.”

Hunter gave you an incredulous look. “He let her—.”

“He didn’t let her do anything.” You circled your jaw at him, conveying your severity. “Omega was going to turn herself in no matter what Crosshair said. She was set on it.”

Hunter’s eyes narrowed. “You say that like you were there.”

“I was.”

Hunter froze where he was, and a flash of betrayal lit up his brown gaze for a moment. It struck your heart, but you didn’t let that show. It was only after a long, tense pause that Hunter spoke in a chilling voice. “Then you let her do it, too?”

“I was with Wrecker, and they were also there. Like I said before, Omega was going to do it no matter what.” You glanced down at your lap, remembering that last embrace you had given her. “She wanted to get the coordinates to Tantiss. Not for herself, but for all the clones who are trapped there.” You scoffed and picked at the material of your pants. “She’s braver than any of us.”

When you gained the faith to look at Hunter again, you were devastated to see him kneeling there with his head hung low. His eyes were closed as if he was in pain. “There wasn’t anything we could have done?” His voice was hushed.

You lifted a hand to the side of Hunter’s face, urging him to look at you again as you caressed his flushed skin. “No, there wasn’t.” Hunter leaned into your touch and closed his eyes again. “Crosshair tried to talk her out of it. He was just as reluctant as any of us would have been.” Hunter reopened his eyes at that, and you ran your thumb over his cheek to soothe him. “And then he alone had to be responsible for the last part of the plan.”

Hunter’s gaze began to dart around the room as he cursed under his breath. He was gentle in holding your wrist to drop your hand from his face. “He’s already been worried enough about his shot with his hand.”

You nodded, grimacing with him as he processed everything. Hunter brought his hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose, his armored shoulders rising and falling in a deep, heavy breath. He then shook his head.

“I messed up.” Hunter scoffed at himself. “Again.” You pulled the corners of your mouth tight in sympathy for him as he went on. “He’s already blaming himself, and I made it worse.”

You brushed some of the tufts of hair away from Hunter’s face, making him glance up at you again. You offered him an encouraging smile. “It’s not too late to make it right.”

Hunter returned your smile, but only for a moment. “Right. But first,” he turned his attention back to the medpac, “I have to make this right.”

You chuckled at that, just to wince when Hunter began to clean the wound. He let you hold his wrist while he worked, and you squeezed it any time the pain was too much. He would pause and give you time before trying again.

It reminded you of the times you would patch him up on the Marauder, both during the war and after. The thought of the ship made your heart sink yet again. It wasn’t just a ship to  all of you, or even just a temporary home.

It was one of the last pieces you had of Tech.

“I can’t believe the Marauder’s gone.” Your voice was a haunted whisper as you spoke.

The genuine sadness in your tone earned Hunter’s gaze. “I know.” He set a comforting hand on your non-injured leg. “It’s gonna be an adjustment.”

Sudden emotion began to well up in you. “I just… it always made me think of…”

Hunter’s eyes glazed over in understanding as he rose to his feet. “I know.” He repeated the words in a softer tone than before. Hunter held you against him for a long moment, your cheek pressed against his armor as he set a gentle kiss on your head. “At least Omega kept his goggles safe.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and willed the tear that hung on your lashes not to fall. Your voice was a broken whisper as you went on. “I miss him so much, Hunt.”

Hunter held you closer. “I do, too.” His own voice wavered, a rare occurrence for the one who always made himself so strong for the sake of his squad. “Things would be very different if he was… still around.”

You heaved a deep breath and stayed close to Hunter until you gained the strength to break away from him. He knelt back down to your level and wiped away the single tear with his thumb. You noticed he wasn’t far from shedding a tear himself. You shifted your focus onto him as you held his face between your hands. “How are you feeling about it?”

Hunter’s brow wrinkled together. “About what?”

You resisted the urge to scoff. “All of it.”

Hunter parted his lips to speak, then stopped. His gaze fell, and he circled his jaw the way he often did when he was struggling to maintain his composure. You ran your thumbs across his cheeks and waited patiently for him. His voice was a shattered remnant of himself when he spoke. “It feels like we just got her back.”

You eased your forehead against his and nodded. “I know,” you repeated Hunter’s own words from before. “But it was only a matter of time until they caught up to us.”

Hunter closed his eyes and held your wrists like he would fall away from the galaxy if he let go. “I can’t believe we have to do this again.” He shook his head, minding yours that still rested against his own. “We have to live this nightmare again.”

You sat in silence for a few moments before you dared to respond. “Omega’s strong, Hunter. She’ll be okay in there.” You took a deep breath. “But we have to make good on the plan. It’s not too late, yet. We can still find Tantiss.”

Hunter opened his eyes and looked at you with defeat. “How?”

You offered the most encouraging smile you could muster. “We’ll find a way. We always do, somehow.”

Hunter’s gaze searched yours as he tried to convince himself of your words. Eventually, he began to break into the smallest of smiles. “This is why you’re Sunny.” He lifted a hand to brush his thumb over your lips. “Our bright light in the dark.” He leaned closer at the same time as you, his mouth nearly on yours as he whispered one last thing. “My Sun.”

He closed the gap, letting the two of you indulge in the sweetest possible source of relief, comfort, and love. It was always those moments that allowed the two of you to escape the cruelty of the galaxy for even just a small sliver of time, where all you had to conceive of was one another and the affection you so deeply shared. It had taken a long time to get to that point, but now that you were there, neither one of you would ever take it for granted.

You pulled away with lingering lips, reluctant to let go of the moment as you faced reality once again. “We need to get back to Wrecker and Crosshair.”

Hunter exhaled softly and nodded to agree with you. You brushed a fallen piece of hair out of his face as he went back to finishing the dressing on your wound. He worked quickly with the clarity that your brief display of affection had provided, and soon, he was crutching you back to Shep’s. 

Some of the chaos had died down, with the Imperial forces having abandoned the island—and leaving it to burn. You scoffed to yourself at the mere thought of it. The livelihood of all the islanders was destroyed, and the Empire couldn’t have cared less. Knowing Omega was in their “care” made you sick.

When you got to Shep’s, you were disturbed to see that Wrecker still hadn’t woken. Crosshair rose from his place at Wrecker’s side, his helmet removed and his gaze fixed on anything and anyone except for Hunter. You shared an understanding glance with Hunter as he set you down beside Wrecker. He nodded and gently squeezed your non-injured thigh before turning to his brother.

“Crosshair.” Hunter cleared his throat as Crosshair met his gaze. “Can I speak with you, outside?”

Crosshair gave you a quick look, and you nodded in reassurance. He repeated the gesture to Hunter and let him lead the way outside. Hunter didn’t take them far, and they were only partially out of your view from the doorway. While you couldn’t hear what they were saying, you watched to see how it all would go, your hand resting on Wrecker’s boot for comfort.

Their rapport looked much calmer than before, and your chest began to warm when Hunter set a hand on Crosshair’s shoulder. You were shocked when that gesture turned into something more, with Hunter offering his brother a comforting embrace. You couldn’t help smiling to yourself as they stayed there for a while.

You all had lost a lot that day, but there was no one person to blame—no one except the Empire. Now that you were united once again, they didn’t stand a single chance, and you were relieved that you helped Hunter to understand that. Hemlock could watch his back, but that wouldn’t be enough. None of you would stop until Omega was free, once and for all.

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

[junkdrawerfics]

Broken Pieces Put Back Together

Jasper Whitlock X Reader

Summary: You get turned by Maria a short time after Jasper. Life in the coven is not what you expect though, as Maria quickly realizes you have a useful ability and you end up outliving the other newborns. At least you have Jasper, though. Until you don't.

Word Count: 3361

Warning: Depression, a short bit of suicidal thoughts, canonical violence. It gets rough in the middle y'all.

Lots of hurt but it has a happy ending, I promise.

---

You and Jasper were close to fast friends when you were forced to join Maria’s army. At first, you were terrified of the blond and his scar-ridden skin. Word reached you quickly of all he’d done, the countless lives he’d taken. How could you not be scared?

But then one night you found him on his own, standing outside the abandoned barn you called home, looking up at the stars with such a broken expression. That night, something drew you to his side. The urge to comfort, the need to ease his pain, was the first feeling to overcome the overwhelming sense of bloodlust constantly burning in your throat.

Not a single word was spoken that night. You didn’t know what to say, not to this man who had lived through so much more than you, and he didn’t offer anything in return. You both just stood there, still as statues, looking up at the stars.

That night you learned that Jasper Whitlock is not all that he appears to be.

It’s also the night Maria learned of your ability, and decided you might be of more value than she originally thought. You hadn’t even realized you were doing anything. In that moment, all you wanted was to keep him safe, hide him for just a little bit so he could breathe. And apparently you had done just that. You both disappeared, from everyone’s perception at least.

And so you lived. Outlived.

Your new reality was much crueler than you thought it could be. You realized that when your friend, a young girl changed the day after you, was deemed no longer useful.

That night, Jasper was the one who came to you.

“(Y/n).”

You don’t look away from the sky, the bleeding colors of the sunset dull in comparison to the flashing colors of fire behind your eyes. You can smell the smoke clinging to his clothes as he gets closer. It burns your nose, makes your chest ache as a fresh wave of pain sweeps through you.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” You ask quietly, voice like a broken set of bells.

Jasper sets his jaw, looking down at his hands. He nods slowly, an unfamiliar lump forming in his throat. He’s never felt guilty for following orders, he always thought it was for the best, that Maria knew better than the rest of them.

But then you look at him, your eyes swimming with tragedy, and it makes something inside of him ache. There’s no anger, no hatred, like he expected, just an ocean of grief.

 It clogs your throat, burns behind your eyes, leaves you shaking. You rest on the edge of tears, suffocating in that horrible, sinking feeling, but always unable to cry. And you hate it. You hate it. You hate it. It’s like walking a tightrope, always off balance, yet never falling.

But you shatter when a hand rests gently on your shoulder.

A dry, ugly sob breaks past your lips as you turn into Jasper’s body. He curls his arms around you wordlessly, wishing he could hold all your pieces together. And even though his hands are the ones that did it, even though you know he’ll have to do it again and again and again, you can’t help but soak up every ounce of comfort from his rare embrace.

Slowly the sadness lifts, until it's bearable, not crushing you but not completely gone. His ability. Usually you’d scold him, tell him your emotions are yours for a reason, but right now all you can do is hold onto him tighter.

He’s all you have left, now.

Something changed after that night. You and Jasper got even closer. He protected you and was your rock when Maria turned your ability into a weapon. And on nights when she would go hunting alone, the two of you would perch on the roof of the barn and just look at the stars, talking about anything and everything. 

You loved hearing stories of his human life. He would tell you about his time in the army, about the pressure he faced to join when he got old enough. His family didn’t have much, especially after the war started. You could tell he loved them, just by the soft smile he would get any time he talked about them.

You would take turns sharing stories. You told him about your siblings and their mischievous games. You were the oldest, so it often rested on you to watch over them, which usually ended with you covering up their shenanigans. You loved it though, taking care of them, teaching them.

That urge was still somewhere deep inside you, a motherly instinct you can’t quite shake. It made it all the more difficult to distance yourself from the fresh newborns in the coven. Before, you would take them in, calm them down, make sure they had something to drink to ease the pain of their thirst.

You couldn’t experience that again, though. That loss. So you kept your distance, spending most of your time with Jasper anyways. The man’s threatening aura kept most of them away. 

Except one. 

A newborn, a little too confident, a little too high on his new strength, decided he just couldn’t leave you alone. For the most part, you ignored him. In your human life, you dealt with more than enough  unwanted attention, so you thought you were used to it. He was as stubborn as he was arrogant though.

Until Jasper nearly killed him for making a move on you (a little too aggressively).

Luckily Maria wasn’t there for that.

“Are you alright?” Jasper ushers you outside, red eyes frantically scanning over you, as if you could be battered and bruised. 

“I’m fine, Jas,” you breathe, brushing the dust from your pants, “I’m more worried about that guy you just ripped the arm off of.”

“I should’ve killed him for touchin’ you.”

You glance at him, amusement quickly replacing the mild panic that filled you the moment that man laid his hands on you, “You know you wouldn’t. Maria would get angry if you did that.”

Jasper’s lips draw into a thin line. It shouldn’t matter. You’re the only one who treats him like he’s still human, his only friend. He wants to say that he will always protect you, even if he has to fight Maria herself. But the words don’t come. Deep down, a part of him knows they aren’t true, and that leaves behind a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Don’t look like that.” He blinks when you touch his cheek, your fingers soft and light, unlike Maria’s. You smile at him, just as gently, voice resigned, “I know how you think, Jasper Hale. You’re a loyal man, and that’s okay. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

As you say it, a sadness wraps around you, one that Jasper doesn’t understand. It doesn’t match your smile, or the soft creasing of your eyes as you look up at him. Why does it make you so sad?

You don’t let the feeling linger though, reigning it in the moment you notice the slight furrow of his brow he sometimes gets when he is trying to focus on your emotions. You don’t need him figuring out why. Why his loyalty to Maria makes your chest ache so painfully.

Falling in love with Jasper Hale was as easy as breathing, which says something considering you don’t even need to. Behind the tough, military face of his, was a man who was charismatic and gentle, who liked to laugh and remembered the name of every horse he’d ever ridden. 

He was loyal to a fault.

That’s why he could not see Maria’s true nature for the longest time. It became clear to you rather quickly once you got closer with Jasper. Close enough that she took notice. Close enough that she decided to do something about it.

It started with small things.

Whenever you would go to talk to Jasper, she would call him over for something unimportant.

She started sending you on little tasks, just to keep you out of the barn.

Even on the days she would go hunting, the days you looked forward to most because you and Jasper could be completely alone, she started taking Jasper with her.

And each time, she would give you one of those vicious smiles. Like she won. It did not take long to realize it was all on purpose. In her own way, she was telling you loud and clear that she wanted you nowhere near Jasper and anytime you tried, she’d be there to show you just how little you mattered.

What hurt most, though, was how Jasper always listened to her. Every time, he would follow after her like a good soldier, casting you a guilty look over his shoulder. You didn’t blame him though. You couldn’t. Not when you knew the alternative.

So you got used to being alone for the first time in your life. The sadness, the one that Jasper kept at bay all that time, slowly crept back in, filling every nook and cranny of your being. Day after day, it got harder to stay, to listen to Maria’s direction. Even when you did listen, she treated you like a pest, contempt burning in her eyes. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to leave though. The thought alone made your heart ache, because that would mean leaving Jasper. No amount of distance could dampen those feelings that came so quickly. They were branded in your heart, a part of you now and probably forever. A simple look from him and you would resign yourself all over again to stay. 

Even if it got you killed.

Some days were too hard though, watching him follow on Maria’s heel, doing all she asked. It had been months since you talked, actually talked. Months since you heard him laugh or felt the comfort of his touch, no matter how small it was. And it hurt.

The pain made it hard to drink. You’d go weeks without blood, finding the burn of the hunger was better than the empty feeling in your chest. It made you weak, your skin turning almost translucent, the circles under your eyes growing darker and darker.

Jasper hated it. He had to watch as you fell into depression, your emotions like a dark cloud around you, so strong even the newborns walked on eggshells around you. He hated it, yet he could never do anything about it.

He wasn’t as oblivious as you thought him to be. He was aware of Maria’s resentment towards you. Jasper knew that if he showed his concern, even an inkling of it, she would lash out at you. At least by her side, he could temper her emotions and protect you.

His efforts could only go so far, though.

As you grew weaker, your ability weakened as well. And Maria noticed.

You wanted her to notice. 

Leaving wasn’t an option, but the pain of staying was becoming too much for you to bear. Death seemed like the only way out of this eternally lonely existence. You just hoped Jasper wouldn’t have to be the one to do it.

Maria never liked the easy way, though. Loyalty must be proven.

You felt it as soon as you stepped foot outside the barn one night. The air was warm and dark clouds covered the sky, blocking out any light. Something sank in your gut and you just knew.

If you were going to die, you were at least going to die somewhere you could be surrounded by good memories. So you trekked to the hill where you first stood with Jasper, the one where you spent many nights watching the stars, and that’s exactly where he found you.

You perch yourself on a rock, watching as lightning flashes in the clouds. The air is heavy with static, but not a single drop of rain falls. It’s like the world can’t decide how it feels, a mess of storms not ready to break, but needing to, the tension rising and rising. Until something gives.

You hear Jasper before you see him. His steps are uncharacteristically heavy, the brush whispering as he walks through it. The air grows impossibly heavier when he comes to an abrupt stop just feet away from you.

It’ll be quick, you think. You hardly have the strength to keep yourself upright, the burning in your throat like hot coals. With what energy you have left, you keep your chin up and slowly turn your gaze away from the clouds to the man behind you.

And you smile. Because it’s Jasper. Your Jasper. Looking just as broken as the first night you stood by him. 

Jasper’s knees practically buckle when you look at him, a wave of fondness warming the air around you. How can you still feel such a thing for him? After all he has done. You must know why he’s here. He doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve the trust in your eyes.

“Don’t look like that,” you murmur, smile going sad. You can’t stand the guilt twisting those features you love so much. 

Jasper shakes his head, teeth gritting together so hard, his jaw creaks. He doesn’t want this. He can’t. Not with you looking at him like he’s hung the moon. No fear, no hatred. You should despise him.

“It’s not your fault,” you whisper, as if hearing his thoughts.

“Darlin’-” 

He chokes on all the words he wants to say, everything he’s been waiting to say. How he wishes you could see the ocean, like you’ve always wanted. How he wants to be right there with you, just to see the way your eyes light up. How his eternal life finally seemed to have meaning when he met you.

“It’s okay, Jasper. I’m okay.” You reach for him, wanting nothing more than to just take his distress away. That’s all you’ve ever wanted. He gives in, allows you to take his hand, pull him closer. For you, he convinces himself, despite the selfish comfort he finds in your touch. “I know it’s not your decision. This has nothing to do with you,” you hesitate, squeezing his hands softly with a sad smile, “but I’m glad I got to talk to you one last time, at least. It’s not so scary if it’s you.”

“Stop.” His voice cracks like thunder, desperation bleeding into his eyes.

But there’s one last thing you need to say.

“I love you.”

Your eyes drift shut and you tilt your face back to the sky.

A drop of rain traces down your cheek.

Now you’re ready.

“I can’t.”

What?

You peek your eyes open, looking on in shock as Jasper kneels in front of you, face set in the most determined look you’ve ever seen. What’s happening?

“I can’t hurt you. I won’t,” he declares, red eyes set on you without a hint of hesitation.

You gape at him, head suddenly spinning, “But Maria-”

“I won’t let her hurt you either.”

“But Jasper- How- What-”

“Run away with me.”

You blink. And blink. And blink. If you had a working heart, it would be beating out of your chest at this point. Has he lost his mind?

“We’ll go to the States, to the ocean just like you want, leave all this behind.” The words spill out of him, the dam finally broken. Each word makes your eyes go wider, the sadness receding as hope sparks in your chest. “Please, darlin’. Give me a chance to make you happy.”

“Oh, Jasper.” You touch his face, drawing him just close enough to press a kiss to his forehead. Jasper’s eyes flicker shut, your love washing over him like the rain. Your next words seal the rest of your eternity, “You’ve always made me happy. We can go anywhere. As long as I’m with you, I’ll be the happiest woman in the world.”

And for the first time in forever, that smile slants over his lips, bright and warm and gorgeous.

You missed that smile so much.

That night, the two of you disappeared into the storm. You don’t know if Maria ever searched for you. If she did, she never found you.

Jasper kept his word. As soon as you crossed the border, you traveled to the west coast. You saw the ocean, which was more than you ever expected it to be, and that’s where you stayed for a while. Until you met the Cullens, at least.

You were nervous at first. Large covens were rare outside of the armies, so you didn’t trust them at first. There was no way you’d do that ever again. But you missed having a family, and looking at them, you couldn’t help but want for what they seemed to have.

“What do you think, Jas?” You ask your mate as you curl into his side.

He wraps an arm around you, lips pressing against your forehead softly, “Whatever you want, darlin’. They’re intentions seem honorable.”

“Would you be okay going vegetarian, though?” You love the idea. It’s always bothered you, having to kill innocent humans. Even feeding from the bad ones leaves a bad taste in your mouth. 

“I’ll manage,” Jasper chuckles, eyes creasing.

“And the moving around?”

“We already do that, sugar.”

“Oh yah.” The Cullens move around far less than you, actually. You can’t believe they can stay in the same place for months, years even. The thought fills you with anticipation. Maybe you could finally settle down and have a normal life with Jasper.

“Maybe we could get a dog,” you hum, a slow smile spreading across your lips.

Jasper snorts, drawing you closer to press a kiss to your temple. You glance up at him, eyes bright with unrestrained excitement. And just like that, it’s decided.

“Let’s join them.”

“Alright! Oh! We could call him Cowboy! Can you imagine it? Cowboy the dog. It’d be perfect.”

“Anythin’ you want, darlin’.”

And that’s how you ended up with the Cullens.

---

“...wow.”

You grin at Bella, “I know, it’s a lot. But it all worked out for the best! I can’t imagine my life any different.”

“And I can’t imagine my life without you.” Your smile goes even wider when a familiar pair of arms wrap around your waist from behind.

You look over your shoulder at your mate, eyes practically lighting up with affection, “Good, cause you’d be hard pressed to get rid of me at this point.”

Bella watches the small interaction, surprised to see the blond vampire without his usual stoic facade. He’s like a completely different person, practically melting into your touch, and smiling. Actually smiling. And you look just as lovestruck.

“You guys make a cute couple,” she says, feeling a bit awkward when you turn your gaze back to her.

“Thanks Bells. You and Eddie make just as cute of one. I can’t wait to go to your wedding.”

The brunette flushes what must be the darkest shade of red possible, successfully mimicking a cherry. She shuffles away with some muttered excuse, and you can’t hold back a giggle.

“You’re evil, darlin’,” Jasper murmurs, shaking his head.

You flip around in his hold, arms wrapping around his neck, “What! You know it’s going to happen. Edward’s completely smitten with that girl.”

“Still doesn’t mean you have to torture the poor thing,” he chastises, though he can’t hide the mirth in his tone.

“Fine. I guess I can take it easy on her,” you sigh dramatically, earning another chuckle from your mate.

“That’s my girl.”

You tuck yourself into his chest, hiding a truly ecstatic smile in his jacket. To this day, you still can’t believe that this is your life.

You really wouldn’t change anything about it. Not the bad things, not the start, none of it. You like to think your love is stronger because of it. And it will only continue to grow stronger every day for the rest of your eternity together.

You can’t wait to see where the two of you go.

---

This was not meant to get so edgy, but here we are. I never really know what I'm writing until it's finished.

Anyways! I hope you guys enjoyed the angst, hurt and comfort! A really fluffy fic will be coming next, and I am SO excited about it.

[tarrynightss]

Hate sex with Jake sully?

Yes please ;)))

pairing: Jake Sully x fem!na’vi!reader

cw: smut, rough sex, hair pulling, biting, p in v, really it gets so rough they’re literally fighting, some mentions of blood, bit of a breeding kink, use of the word bitch in a derogatory sense, choking

tag: @nin3kyuu

Teaching Jake Sully the way of the People was aggravating. He’s thick headed, cocky, and it feels as if he listens to you only half of the time. He’ll mumble under his breath when you scold him, saying words that he knows you won’t understand, but the snide tone makes it clear that he’s cursing. If your Tsahík had not decided to tie you to the sky demon, then you would’ve happily let him stumble through the forest by himself. Maybe Eywa would’ve let him die after all after seeing his foolishness. 

Jake’s feet stomp into the mossy forest floor as he runs, his arms swinging beside him. He’s not doing as you taught him. He’s running like a sky person, uncontrolled and unseeing, without a care of what sound he makes or the tracks he leaves behind. 

“Ftang nga!” Stop that! You hiss but he ignores you, his brow creasing as he focuses on going as fast as he can. “Oìss!”

You ponder for a moment if you parents would truly be mad if you let the sky demon run himself to his death, the steep cliff ahead so far unnoticed by him. A snarl leaves you, knowing that you cannot let it happen. You had to follow Eywa’s will even if you didn’t like it. 

“Stop!” you shout again, this time jumping onto Jake. 

It makes him fall and the two of you roll over the ground, grimacing as you feel a rock tear the skin on your arm. It’s not long before you come to a sudden stop. 

Jake has ended up on top of you and once the shock wears off he stares at you in anger. “Why the fuck did you do that?!”

“You don’t see!” you hiss in his face. 

He returns the gesture, his face inching closer to yours. He thinks he can intimidate you? He’s nothing more than a dreamwalker, a being using the flesh of your people. With a sharp thrust of your knee into his stomach you force him off of you, Jake gasping for air as you jump up. 

“Look!” you shout angrily and point towards where the forest floor ends. The sky is filled with mist, making it hard to see the giant drop ahead. 

His face is filled with irritation as he scrambles up, one hand holding his sore stomach. When he walks closer to the edge, he finally sees it. If he would’ve kept running for about two minutes more he would’ve gone flying. 

“Shit.”

You prowl back over to him, hard gaze taking in his barely scratched up form. “Yes, shit.” 

It’s not fair that you are the one bleeding because of his foolishness. You sit down on a nearby tree trunk to inspect your wound, your ears pinned back in anger. It’s shallow, the rock barely having pierced your skin. With a bit of salve from the Tsahík there will be no mark left. 

“I’m sorry, okay,” Jake says, slowly creeping closer. 

The look on his face is apologetic, yet you feel it is not completely sincere. 

“Sorry?” Your big eyes narrow at him. “You run around like a child!” 

His lips press into a thin line as he squats down, rubbing a hand over his hair. It is clear he wants to say something, but is reluctant to do so. You were injured because of him, but still you could be a real bitch. 

“You could’ve just told me,” he says finally, almost under his breath. 

Told him?! He had been training with you for almost two months now. 

You hiss again. “Do you think someone holds our hand while we hunt? You need to learn to-“

“See!” Jake snaps before you can finish your sentence. “Yeah, I know, you say it all of the fucking time.”

You inhale deeply. Never had you met such an infuriating man before. His jaw tenses as he watches you, tail swishing across the ground behind him. And confident, oh so confident. It is as Mo’at said; you cannot teach someone who’s cup is already full. 

“You are impossible,” you say as you throw your hands up. “Will never learn.”

He turns his head away from you with an annoyed sound, choosing to rather stare off into the forest than look at you. 

“Nì'ul kame tskxe,” A rock sees more. You hiss quietly. 

His ears perk up and even more irritation flashes over his face at not knowing what you are saying. “Yeah? Well maybe they should assign me someone else. Someone who isn’t a bitch.”

Bitch. He had used that word before, but you do not know what it means. The last time he had said it was when you had slapped his head when attempting to teach him your language, groaning it between gritted teeth. 

“What is bee-aaich?” you attempt. You know he is insulting you, but you want to know exactly how. 

A smirk pulls at his lips as he glances your way. Oh, he really shouldn’t tell you. It’s clear from your tense body and pinned ears that not much will be needed to further fuel your anger. He should keep it to himself like he had done before, but today he’s feeling particularly petty. 

“It’s what humans call female dogs, a type of animal we have. Sort of like those Viperwolf things,” he explains but you frown. 

“A nantang?” 

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure.”

You shake your head and lean back on your tree trunk. “I don’t understand. Is it not insult?”

Jake has another chance to wiggle out of it, but will he be wise enough to take it? He looks at you, your head cocked to the side as you await his answer. 

He chuckles to himself. “It’s… hard to explain. Do you know when a creature goes into heat and it’s just yapping, growling and scooting all over the place? It’s acting like a bitch.”

Your cheeks flare up and you shake your head more firmly this time, angry eyes piercing into him. Though you still do not completely understand it, his explanation gave you enough ground to be offended. You would never go into heat over a male like him, nor act like it. 

You jump up from your spot. “Heat? You are no man!”

“No, that’s not what I meant-“ he starts but stops as he sees how you are staring down at him. 

You seem to mean your words, looking at him with a mixture of disgust and anger. 

He stands up, ever so slightly towering over you as he approaches. You don’t budge, standing your ground till his chest is almost pressing against yours.

“No man, huh?” he questions. 

You bare your teeth at him. “No man. Your mind and body are weak. No woman would have you.”

Jake had swallowed a lot of shit from you in the last few months. Pretty much every day you scolded him, slapped him, clearly thinking of him as less than. He could see your hate for him in your eyes, and the fiery feeling started growing within him as well. This was the last match to send that fire roaring, the last kick to his manhood that he could take. 

His nostrils flare as he studies your face. “Is that right?”

The small twitch at the corner of your lip does not go unnoticed by him, a borderline smug look forming on your face. 

“Yes.”

The sky demon closes his eyes for just a second as he exhales deeply. Before you can say another word he has grabbed you by your beaded top, making you gasp out in shock. 

“How about I show you?” 

Your heart pounds in your ears at his words and you attempt to get his hand away from you. It won’t budge, and as he hauls you even closer you can hear some of the threading of your top ripping. 

“You will break it!” you hiss. 

He only grabs it tighter, beads popping out between his fingers and falling to the ground. His gaze travels from your face to your chest, clearly able to see your nipples poke through your top. “Who cares? I don’t get why you even wear it in the first place. Everybody can see your tits anyway.”

You spit in his face and he flinches, his grip on you slightly wavering. It’s enough to allow you to pull yourself loose, your top tearing to pieces in the process. If there’s one thing Jake hadn’t expected you to do, it was spit on him, and he wipes his face off with his hand. The growl he lets out makes your resolve waver, his fury so clear. 

As soon as you decide to run, he’s on you, pulling you back by the braid that encases your queque. You cry out in pain as you scramble to scratch his hands away, but soon he has pulled you back into his body.

“Good kitty,” he mocks as he holds you against his chest, his own heart beating fast and hard. 

One hand holds you by the braid as the other grabs onto your hip, forcing your ass back against his crotch. A mewl leaves your lips as he grinds into you, your body instantly responding despite your protesting mind. It senses Jake’s potential as a mate, the natural instinct to reproduce overruling all. 

“Like I said, a bitch,” he chuckles into your ear. 

The evidence of his growing arousal presses against your ass every time he bucks into you. He may not like you, but fuck did you always look hot in those tiny tops and loincloths the Na’vi wear. It left little up to the imagination, and he had spent many moments alone stroking his cock at the memory of it. 

Confident that you’ll continue grinding on him, he moves his hand from your hip to fondle your breasts. He squeezes the soft flesh harshly in his hands, rolling your hard nipples between his fingers. 

You try to find your own anger again, growling in between the rapid pants that leave your lips. It seems that Jake wants to fuck you like a Na’vi, his hand so tightly wrapped around your braid. The ache between your legs urges you to fulfill his request, but you won’t make it easy on him. He’ll be getting the full experience. 

Suddenly, you force your head down and to the side, biting into his wrist. He curses out in pain as your teeth lock around him, tears rolling down your own cheeks from your queque harshly being pulled at. 

“Fuck! Shit!” he lets go of your braid to force your jaw open. You are locked onto him like a fucking pitbull, his fingers prying at your cheeks. 

When you finally let go he stumbles back, staring at you in disbelief. The faintest hint of blood stains your lips and you carelessly wipe it off, a self satisfied grin forming on your face. You didn’t draw a lot of blood really, just enough to scare him. 

Taking advantage of his shock, you jump onto Jake and tackle him to the ground. He grunts in pain as you straddle him and lick a long stripe from his collarbone up to his chin. He tastes like desire, fury and fear, the mixture so potent that it makes you groan low in your throat. 

He does not know how to react, watching you as your face pulls back from his neck. Your pupils are dilated with desire, your tail stroking almost teasingly past his legs. The fighting had clearly gotten you going. 

It’s only when you move lower down his body, fingers fumbling with his loincloth, that he springs to action.

“Oh no, you are not getting near that,” Jake says and pushes your head further away from his crotch. 

You hiss, baring your teeth at him as you push back against his hand in protest. 

The sight makes him grimace. “Yeah, exactly for that reason. Need a fucking muzzle for you, shit.”

You are displeased by his response. Never had you noticed how good he smelled before today. Maybe it was because of your sudden desire, but you wanted to seek out the source, and he was not allowing you. 

You open your mouth, fully intending to chomp down on his thigh in revenge, but he grabs onto your braid and yanks you back before you get the chance. 

Jake pulls you upwards by your hair, making it so that you are straddling his clothed cock again. You growl your protests but after all that biting he isn’t listening. His hand comes down hard across your cheek, making that side of your face tingle and your mouth close up. 

“Shut up,” he hisses at you, shaking you by your hair. 

A wave of arousal washes over your body at his rough treatment. This is how many of you mated, fighting for dominance till the woman was stuffed full of seed. You had not expected Jake to have it in him, but perhaps you had been wrong.

He sits up slightly to bring his mouth to your breasts, sucking and biting at your hardened nipples. You allow him to do so for a bit, moaning at his touch. A yelp leaves you when he bites down harder on one of your nipples. His amber eyes shoot up to look at you, taking in your pleasured face as his tongue flicks out to lick at the now sore bud. You looked so beautiful like this. 

“Is that all you have, Jake Sooly?” 

But god does he wish you would shut up. 

Jake turns his attention to his next target, this time biting your nipple harder till you start squirming and trying to push him away. Your chest rises and falls rapidly against his face as he laps at your breast afterwards, admiring the slight shades of purple that your nipples have blossomed into. 

Your hand finds his braid and you tug at it, making him groan lowly against your flesh. He feels how sensitive it is now, any pulling quickly turning painful, and so he does it to you some more. You hiss at him like an angry cat as he continues his assault on your nipples, biting and sucking till you cry out in protest. 

Your core throbs as he pulls away from your chest. His eyes are glazed over with lust and a smug smile adorns his face. But once again, he’s getting too cocky, wrongly assuming that you’ll just sit prettily while he basks in the moment. 

“Repxìsu does it better,” you purr meanly, snapping your teeth at Jake’s arm and making him let go in reflex. You roll yourself off of him and turn your back to him, wishing for it to appear as if you got bored. 

Repxìsu? Jake grits his teeth. That lean shit that always hangs around you at the village. Yeah, Jake remembers him. 

In a flash, Jake is on you, pressing down on your back till you are on hands and knees for him. Content with his reaction, you turn your head to look back, but are shocked to find him moving in on your shoulder. He bites down on it harshly, unable to control his own strength yet. You cry out in pain underneath him but don’t move. It feels so good. You can feel your wetness start to drip down your thighs as he holds you down, his large body staying put on top of you. 

His fangs finally leave your skin, thin smears of blood staining it. 

“Does that Repxí cunt do that to you, huh?” Jake questions and you shake your head wildly. 

His hand finds the base of your tail, grabbing onto it harshly as he starts tearing off both of your loincloths. You can hear the fabric ripping, Jake far too impatient to properly take them off. Your tail coils around his arm like a vice, your ass pressing into his now bare crotch eagerly. His thick cock slides past your cunt, sending a shiver down your spine. 

“What happened to ‘no female will want me’?” he asks, a smirk playing at his lips as his fingers seek out your dripping core. 

He prods at your entrance before quickly sliding two fingers into it, groaning at your wetness. 

You glance back at him with sharp eyes. “I do not want you,” you look him over with an unimpressed look. “I just want your cock.”

His smirk drops and he curls his fingers up into your cunt, stroking your insides at a hard pace. Unbelievable. He is convinced that no matter what he does you’ll always disapprove of it. He could be taking a shit and you would still tell him he’s doing it wrong. 

You cooed underneath him, eager to take more of his fingers inside of you as if you had not just insulted him. Why did he even want your approval? You are insufferable, your only redeeming quality being your body. 

“Fuck,” Jake curses angrily as he spreads his fingers, the slick walls of your cunt easily giving way. “Why am I even preparing you? Slut like you don't need it.”

After a few more harsh strokes from his fingers, he pulls them out of you and presses your body further down into the grass. He leans in over you, licking past the shell of your ear as he tugs on your tail. 

“Tell me you want me to breed you.” A confident high fills him at the thought of you saying those words. 

You scoff at him, tongue flicking past your bottom lip as you glance back at him. Your cunt clenches around nothing in a silent yes, but you’d never admit that. “Is that what you need to hear to feel like a man, Sooly?”

He grinds his teeth together as a darker shade flushes over his cheeks in humiliation. With a growl, he wastes no more time and lines himself up with your slick entrance, instantly thrusting his full length into you when it gives way. Your nails dig into the grass beneath you as you cry out at the overwhelming feeling of being filled. Great mother, why was a being this stupid blessed with such an amazing cock? 

Jake’s body presses down on top of yours as he starts thrusting into you wildly, harsh slaps of skin against skin resounding throughout the forest. Never had he imagined that you would feel this good. Your wet cunt sucks him in so deliciously, spurring him on to take you harder. Finally you are no longer insulting him either, slutty moans falling from your lips as you let him fuck you as he pleases.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he purrs and bites down into your shoulder once again, his cock twitching inside you as he marks you. “Good little bitch.”

His fangs biting and scraping against your skin makes your eyes squeeze shut in pleasure. Everyone would see that you had let him take you, a thought that should fill you with disgust and shame but in the moment you did not care. He had won this.

Jake pulls you back on his cock by your tail at every thrust, enjoying the way you start to hiss in a mixture of pain and pleasure at his bruising grip. His pace is relentless, fucking into you like it’s his last day alive. 

“Fucking say it,” he groans as he feels his cock hitting against your cervix, your body writhing underneath him. “Say you want me to breed you.”

Your attempt at a scoff turns into a pathetic whine as the walls of your cunt clench around him. His strokes are hitting so deep, so good. It feels like your brain is turning to mush. 

“Say it!” Jake commands and frees his hand from your tail only to bring it down onto your ass in a hard slap. 

You scream out underneath him, tears forming in the corner of your eyes. To let him do it is one thing, but to say it out loud? You shake your head weakly. That would be too much to give to that cocky asshole. 

When another hard slap against your ass still doesn’t cause you to relent, he decides to try another approach. His hand snakes around to your front so he can grip onto your throat, feeling your breath hitch underneath his fingers when he squeezes down. 

Your cunt clamps down around his length as you gasp, your hands ripping out the grass underneath you. 

“Shit,” Jake groans as he feels his thrusts starting to falter, the feeling over your walls squeezing his cock becoming too much. 

He hisses into your ear as he chokes you, making you whimper in a pathetic display of submission. “Say it.”

The tears that had gathered in your eyes fall down as it becomes harder to breathe. It causes an odd sensation inside of you, and you let out a silent scream as your body rushes towards your orgasm. 

“Breed me!” you choke out. “Do it you vonvä!”

A sick satisfaction washes over Jake at your words. God, he knows you would just fucking hate it if he actually knocked you up. You would be horrified to carry his child, and though he wouldn’t exactly be thrilled either, in the moment having your full submission gives him the last push over the edge. 

His hand around your throat squeezes tighter as he fucks into you a few more times, groaning when his release shoots into you. You desperately try to thrust yourself back against him as he cums, wanting to find your own peek as well. 

He watches with a smirk as you try so hard, lewd squelching sounds coming from your used pussy as his cum seeps out past his cock. It’s pathetic, and he releases your throat to instead flick his impatient fingers over your clit. 

You cry out as Jake gives you the last push you needed, the walls of your cunt fluttering around him as you cum. A breathless chuckle leaves him as he feels the way you suck in not only him, but also his spend. At this rate you really might get yourself knocked up, but it seems you do not care. 

A rare silence falls as both of you pant, neither moving to pull away from each other. You let your tired arms give in and fall into the grass. Wiya, you hate to admit it but that was the best fuck you’ve had in a long time, your pussy still throbbing. 

Perhaps you had finally found something Jake Sully was good at.