#and yet. there is a burning black void of needing to know in me. anon hate get into my dms tell me why you dislike me so

[runa-falls]

bad dreams

summary: ari comforts you after a nightmare

pairing: stepdad!ari x stepdaughter!reader 

rating: EXPLICIT (18+ only)

warnings: SMUT, stepcest, nightmare (fear of heights, falling, and dying), soft!ari, in parent's bed, tit play, grinding, slight somnophilia, fingering, dirty talk, fondling, guilty!reader

word count: 2.5k

A/N: based on this ask-- sorry this took so long anon! hope this is soft enough for you lmaoo. no. i did not read through it before posting!

likes are nice but comments/reblogs keep me going

masterlist

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You gasp out a breath and hastily push yourself against the headboard, cold sweat pricking at your forehead. The back of your throat burns as you try to hold back a sob, desperately clutching at your fluffy duvet.  

It’s a recurring nightmare: 

It feels so real, the way your muscles ache as you struggle to hang onto the edge of the cliff. How jagged pebbles pierce at your palms as your grip tightens. There’s a warm breeze brushing against your cheek and the sun beats heavily down on your shoulders. 

You’re all alone, hopelessly screaming out into an empty void. You try to avoid looking down, knowing it would ultimately send you to your demise. 

But you always end up looking anyway. 

A zip of energy rushes up your neck as your sweaty palms start to slip against the rough edge of the stone. You scramble to hold on, but your efforts are futile.

You drop. 

And that’s what jolts you awake, the spine-chilling sensation of your free fall to death. Hot tears pour down your cheeks as you recall the disturbing scene, thoroughly wetting the collar of your tank top. Your arms squeeze your shaking legs into your chest, attempting to comfort yourself and push away the memories. 

After taking a few deep breaths, you decide to push your covers off and get out of bed. Your nightmares haven’t been this intense in months, but every time you would have a bad dream, your mom would always be there to soothe your worries. You sniffle, wiping away your tears with the back of your hand. You need her.

You quietly pad out of your room, cautiously shutting the door behind you before facing the pitch-black hallway. You hold out your arms to help navigate your way through the darkness, brushing your fingertips against the wall until you hit a familiar plastic switch. Making sure the adjustable bar is at the lowest setting, you flick on the dimmed lights to lead you towards the door at the end of the hallway.

You slowly crack open the door, wincing as the hinges groan with your movements. “Mom?” You rasp out, throat tight from your crying session. 

The faint glow behind you pours into the dark room, revealing a shifting form on the bed. Ari. He lets out a soft groan as he stirs awake, reacting to your not-so-subtle whisper. Your eyes widen as he sits up. 

His bleary eyes, still draped with sleep, try to focus on your silhouette. He sits there shirtless, unaware of your blushing gaze, with only a sheet covering his body. 

“O-oh sorry…” Your sleep-hazed mind totally forgot your mom was out of town, and that Ari is the only one at home. You want to punch yourself for putting yourself in this situation. 

“No, no, it’s all good.” He rubs his eyes with his fists to wake himself up, “A-are you crying?” His weary, yet empathetic eyes bore into yours, frowning at your distressed state. 

“I, um, just had a bad dream” Your face heats with embarrassment, realizing how childish you look. 

“Aw, honey, I’m sorry. Here,” Ari’s deep voice rumbles through the room as he lifts the covers next to him, inviting you into the bed. “Why don’t you crawl in with me?”  

“Really?”

“If it would help you feel better.” 

At first, you were apprehensive about welcoming your new stepdad into the family. It wasn’t because he was mean or aggressive, he just intimidated you. 

He’s so tall you physically have to crane your neck to keep up a conversation. And it doesn’t help that his ridiculously handsome face is complemented with a lusciously thick beard, a pair of piercing blue eyes, and a deep voice that never fails to make your body tremble. 

He makes you uncomfortable– but in the best way possible. 

Through time, you learned that Ari is a genuinely sweet man. One who isn’t afraid to show how much he cares for you and your mom. He makes an effort to make you laugh, takes time to memorize your favorite foods, and listens attentively when you incessantly ramble about something you’re interested in. 

You never thought your family was missing anything–until Ari came into the picture. Now you’re more than content with the new addition, embracing every grain of affection he shows.

You are hesitant with your actions: sheepishly closing the door behind you before quietly shuffling to the other side of the bed.

“Thank you.” You softly mumble out, clutching the covers under your neck as you nuzzle into your mom’s pillow. He replies with a hum, pulling the blanket back over his body before settling back into a relaxed state. 

His deep, steady breaths are calming as he finds his way back to unconsciousness. His presence warms your skin, reminding you of your closeness.  You try to follow suit, aggressively squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to force yourself to sleep, but you can’t seem to get comfortable, your nerves are practically buzzing. 

There’s a sudden ache between your legs. You feel restless.

You didn’t want to disrupt his sleep by shuffling around a bunch, but it only gets worse as the seconds pass by. So you give in, slowly pushing against the mattress to shift onto your side away from him, hoping it would relieve the issue. 

It doesn’t. If anything, laying on your left side makes it more noticeable. How does that work?

You quietly let out a frustrated sigh as you prepare yourself to move again. The ruffling of the blanket is deafening through the silence of the night as you roll over once more, wincing with every small movement you make. But it’s worth it in the end, the mattress comfortably supports your body as you finally relax your muscles. 

You mentally groan at yourself, He must be so annoyed. 

Now facing him, you peek open an eye, hoping to find him still sleeping. The muted light of the moon glows through the sheer curtains, softly illuminating the side of Ari’s face. He doesn’t seem to mind it as he continues to rest peacefully, blissfully unaware of your gaze. 

A pretty batch of freckles is splayed over his cheeks, resting nicely under his enviously long lashes. Your heart races as your eyes travel to his lips, perfectly framed by his beard. Bashful thoughts bloom in your head as you imagine how it would feel against your bare thighs, the marks he could leave on your skin

The throbbing sensation returns, stronger than ever. Everything on the bed shifts as you abruptly squeeze your thighs together. 

“You okay?” You freeze as opens his eyes, his body still facing the ceiling. You stay quiet, hoping he’d give up and go back to sleep. “Having a hard time forgetting your nightmare?” Great, he knows. He turns his head, eyes sleepily blinking back at you.

You just nod mutely, going along with his story while actively trying to avoid eye contact. He mirrors your nod, thinking something over in his head before considering your bashful expression. 

“Come’ere.” He doesn’t wait for your response before pulling you over to his side of the bed, eliminating the space between your bodies. He holds you securely by the waist, pulling your hips flush against his. 

Your body remains stiff in front of him, practically vibrating from being so close. Ari sighs, relaxing against you, gently tugging you closer. It’s almost like he doesn’t notice your sharp intake of breath or the harsh beating of your heart.

A warm breath brushes against the side of your ear as he whispers, “Don’t worry, you’re safe.” The comforting words are emphasized with a soft squeeze of his arms. 

Oh, he thinks your tension is a result of your bad dream.

You subtly pull yourself forward a little, trying to control yourself around the incredibly cuddly man. It should be illegal how comfortable his body feels around yours.

You shove away every discernible thought from your mind, rejecting every tempting fantasy, desperately urging your body to sleep. It’s going to be a long night.

You fall asleep excruciatingly slowly, exhausting yourself as you hold back from arching into his hold. You know the feelings you have for your mom’s husband are nothing short of shameful, but the guilt only spurs you on further. 

His deep masculine scent surrounds you, fogging your thoughts into an endless daze, influencing your every thought as the night drones on. It's magnetizing, pulling your body to lean further into Ari’s touch.

Somehow, your body eventually surrenders to a blissfully blank slumber.

–

Your mind nudges awake as calloused fingertips run against your soft skin. Is it morning already?

The soft-touch lazily glides along the length of your chest before dipping into the elastic of your tank top. Your eyes blink open as your mind struggles to wake up. The room is still dark, but you can make out the general shadow of your mom’s side table. 

A deep, breathy groan rumbles against you as the rest of the warm hand splays over your bare tit. Your heart rate spikes as everything clicks into place: You’re still in your mom’s bed. 

A familiar beard brushes against the back of your neck as he presses sweet goosebump-inducing pecks along the top of your spine. You swallow down a squeak as the hand gently squeezes at your flesh, massaging you with an eager hold. 

He moves down, cradling the weight of you as a thumb lovingly rubs circles around your rapidly hardening nub, sending jolts of excitement up your body. Your thighs tighten together as he takes his time, teasing and flicking your sensitive skin, leaning into every jolt of ecstasy that rings through your body. 

Gasps turn into heavy pants and you can feel slick beginning to coat your shorts. This is so wrong. Ari must be sleep-walking (sleep-fucking?), unaware of his unconscious actions! 

You try to subtly squirm away from him, shifting your hips to push yourself from his hold, but your movements cease as your lower back meets the obvious hardness in his boxers. You choke on a breath as he pulls you even closer, shamelessly grinding himself into you. 

His other hand moves from your waist and slides down your stomach, into the band of your shorts. You try to cease his explorations by folding your legs together, but he easily pushes them apart.

“Relax honey, I’ll make you forget all about that little nightmare…” He whispers into your shoulder as the tip of his finger drags through the folds of your cunt, sloppily spreading slick up to your clit. 

His other hand continues to massage your tits, lightly pinching at each bud until you squeal and arch your ass against him. He chuckles at your outward reactions, finding it cute how you can’t hold them back.“You’ve been wanting this for a while, hm?” 

You nervously shake your head, squeezing your thighs around his wrists as words of denial babble pathetically from your lips, “No, no, I-I would never–y-you’re married to my mom…”  He pushes himself up to lean over your reclined figure, admiring your heated face with a small smile. 

“It’s okay, baby, I’ve been wanting it too.” 

Ari stares down at your moonlit body as his hand stretches the collar of your tank under your tits, revealing your bare skin to the room. He doesn’t waste a second to touch you, immediately capturing a sensitive nub between his lips, lightly suckling as you whimper under him. 

You weave your fingers into his hair as pleasure drowns your thoughts, pulling tightly when he experimentally traces his teeth over your skin. He growls at the feeling, reveling in the slightly painful sensation before sucking even harder in response. Once he’s had his fill, he moves his hands down your body, slowly dragging his fingers in the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down. 

The bedroom air cools your heated body as he pushes himself above you, eyes focused on your glistening folds. You shudder when he spreads your petals apart with his fingers, getting a good look. 

Hungry eyes stare down at slick coated fingers, feasting on your presentation. “Look at my messy girl.” You whine, trying to close your legs in embarrassment. You’ve never been so sloppy before. A hand pushes your thighs into the mattress to keep you still as he drags a finger through the mess. 

Ari prods you open with a finger, lightly slipping into your opening before abruptly pulling away, teasing your eager cunt. Your body opens beautifully for him, gushing slick to assist the way he wants to stretch you out. 

His finger finally pushes in, excited by the way your warmth sucks him in, pathetically begging for more. He groans at how you tighten and flutter as he experimentally pushes up into the soft spot of your cunt, milking a single finger like it’s your lifeline. 

“More? Think you can take another?” The words barely push through your lust-fogged mind as he thrusts right into your sweet spot. You nod with a tight groan. 

Your thighs tense from pleasure as he carefully adds another finger, scissoring inside of you. His actions start to speed up until he’s rapidly thrusting his fingers into you, filling the room with lewd noises as he holds you down to take everything he gives you. A sob rips through your throat as you feel your stomach tighten. 

Slick runs down his wrist as he aggressively finger fucks you, pushing and prodding into your warm canal until your legs start to shake. With another swipe against your clit, you burst. Your eyes blur as you reach your high, breaths stuttering as your body warms with stimuli. Your hips cant upwards as you ride it out, helplessly pushing against his hands. 

————

The orgasmic fizzing in your brain ceases as you gasp out a breath, eyes bursting open to a blindly bright room. Your tank top sticks to your sweat-slick skin as you observe the room in front of you.

It was a dream.

Your body slowly recalibrates to the waking world as the shock starts to wear off. Shit. You just had a sex dream about your stepdad. Who was sleeping right next to you.

You snap your head to his side of the bed, letting out a relieved groan when you find it empty. Only the messy sheets remain, slightly bundled against your side. Theyre the only evidence of his prior presence next to you. 

Your ears pick up a faint sound of idle whistling coming from the kitchen. He must’ve gotten up a while ago. 

You sit up, giving yourself a moment to think about what happened and to prepare yourself for when you inevitably have to face him again.

A moment turns into several minutes of empty thoughts and hard beats of your heart, you can’t even think about what happened. Your mind literally rejects the thought. You don’t move until you start to shiver under the a/c vent, sweat effectively assisting the cooling of your heated skin. 

Maybe a shower and then a plan…?

#ari levinson #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #ari levinson fluff #stepdad!ari #chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #the red sea diving resort

[timelessbian]

Like we all saw Nicte’s face using her knowing so what if the same happened to Tally bc she’s looking for Alder after feeling her?! I mean their connection will persist in some small way right…

It’s an empty space where she used to be, and in the quiet ache you wonder, what is the point of seeing when you can’t see a way out of this unbearable ache. So you train on rooftops and try to pry pieces of her memory from the one she hurt the most between blows, and it doesn’t fill the void, but the sting of a pipe makes your body break into something that feels like atonement. Raelle will sigh later at the new bruises, but she can’t fix that empty, persistent space in your chest. Then Nicte’s next attack is coming, and you hear Alder yell, “feint left, Cadet” and you feel the hollow victory of knocking Nicte on the ground. It feels like old satisfaction and Nicte is looking at you like she’s seen a ghost.

“Where did you learn that, Red?” but you can’t answer because you feel full and then you feel nothing at all. Nicte is looking at you, but she’s above you now, and when you can hear the echo of a question, you wonder what it is like to feel okay. The next time it happens you’re looking at Nicte’s old face, but this time it’s you with the pipe, strong and unyielding, feeling like the predator and not the prey. “I see you’ve found finally found your prey drive,” Nicte bites, but after the adrenaline fades you feel cold despite your layers. The third time it happens, you feel worthy, righteous, and whole, finally whole, that you don’t care Nicte is looking at you with caution. You don’t hear her question because you are seeing, you are seeing your hands are her hands, and you finally feel alive since you died, but the euphoric vision shatters as Nicte grabs your face and shows your her true face. The empty feeling is back, but you know if you just look hard enough you can see muscles rebuilding, hear bones crack and blood flow. You know they are hers, you know they are yours, but you can’t say when yet. Despite Raelle’s fixing sessions lasting longer and longer, you can still see the contour of a shape and you look until you’re clawing at your skin, begging for a release that’s so close yet not close enough. One day you see the blood under your nails and you wonder if she’s free, but when you wash the blood, your skin is burned, the black that she left in her wake is the black hole returning inside you once more. The burned skin over your heart remains yet your smile it glows from the ashes into a kindling in your chest because you know you will see her smile you just need to follow the smoke.

"It’s an empty space where she used to be, and in the quiet ache you wonder, what is the point of seeing when you can’t see a way out of this unbearable ache. So you train on rooftops and try to pry pieces of her memory from the one she hurt the most between blows, and it doesn’t fill the void, but the sting of a pipe makes your body break into something that feels like atonement"

anon, this whole thing is so fucking good but this part literally makes me feel like i need to chew glass and i mean that as the highest compliment. the last bit in particular--"...makes your body break into something that feels like atonement"--it feels like a line you'd see in one of those posts that matches screenshots from something with poetry, like it's just viscerally powerful and i actually don't think i'll ever be able to stop thinking about it so thanks for that

also i LOVE the notion that the remnants of their connection would still work despite the mycelium (and the idea that she can sense alder's body being healed?! that's so brutal but also kind of chef's kiss in a way after everything they've been through and everything tally's seen of her). and the interplay between tally and nicte with the sarah alder of it all hanging in the air between them while they're both unaware she's alive is something i really wish the show had explored more, so even little glimpses of it are so fantastic to see

i feel like i'm just rambling here, but tl;dr i'm getting freeform on the phone i want a s3 do-over with this as the starting point dshvbhbsdhv thank you so much, anon, you're literally amazing and ilysm for this one <333

#idk what i did to deserve this but thank you so much for sharing this anon!! #talder #talder anon

[shisnhou]

is it ok if i could request a songfic dabi x reader? hold on by chord overstreet? sorry if this is triggering, i’m just going through a tough time right now and need some fluffy dabi love

hold on

pairing: dabi x reader

genre: hurt/comfort

cw: vulnerability, mental battle, too much emotions, mention of emotional overload, reader is very sensitive. do tell if i missed any!

wc: 1.6k

an: anon i’m sorry this took me a very long time to finish

“doll open the door,” how many times has dabi repeated that phrase? three? four? maybe five. he doesn’t know, can‘t be bothered to care. his mind is way too occupied to even count. a hand is buried in his black spiky hair, the other fisted and pressed against the door that separates you from him. “we can talk about this. just open the damn door, will you?”

you respond with silence. you know that dabi could easily burn down the door to the bathroom you‘ve been hiding in for the past half hour. yet somehow he still hasn’t, and you‘re thankful for that. thankful that he still has the mind to give you space and not just burst through despite everything you said earlier.

you sigh once again. pulling your knees impossibly closer to your chest and running your hands through your face. you feel so small, so tired, so sick of it.

dabi lowers his fist to his side, sighs and closes his eyes. he presses his forehead against the door and lightly bangs his head against it. he doesn’t know what to do from here. he knows you‘re probably in a tough spot right now, knows you really didn’t mean to say all those things you did earlier. he doesn’t blame you, absolutely not. he knows that you need some space, and maybe some time to think about what you had said earlier. but he can‘t leave you here. not like this.

dabi damn well knows what it‘s like to be left in a headspace that‘s nothing but an empty void ready to eat you and shred you up until you‘re nothing but a mere quarter of what you truly were. god, he‘s so familiar to that feeling and he knows how bad it can get. he doesn’t want to leave you and allow you to wallow in that wreck. all he wants to do is be there with you and let know that he‘s right here, just for you.

".. if you want to talk about here, i‘m right here y‘know." he tries to say, hoping that you‘d at least answer with a hum. but to his disappointment, not even a hitched breath disrupts your breathing. "if you‘d just let me in baby, i swear i‘ll be right there."

silence. silence so loud he can barely hear the own sounds of his thoughts. silence so loud you can‘t hear your own breathing speeding up. it‘s all pure dullness throughout the whole house you’re sure you‘d hear a pin drop.

"if i let you in dabi— would you promise me one thing?" are the first words to leave past your lips in what feels like an eternity to dabi. a breath of relief leaves past his lips, allowing his shoulders to release all the tension that built up in it.

"anything doll. fuck, anything." it‘s so honest and painful. the desperation in his voice is filled with so much emotion even he himself can barely recognize it.

"after this," you sigh shakily, wrapping your hands around yourself. "let this be the last time we‘re meeting each other, eye to eye.“

dabi swears his heart stops. suddenly a familiar ring in his ears makes noise. breathing caught up in his throat as he tries to make out a proper thought in his suddenly clogged head. all emotions coming from every direction as he tries to think of something he can say in return, yet not a single one of them seem to make its way to the tip of his tied tongue. 

it becomes still for a second, as if the world has stopped and won’t start until you say something.

“dabi are you—”

“i’m here.” he breathes. he swallows his words that were about to be thrown to you from him. words that he’s sure he will regret saying. there’s not one sane thought in his head, not a single one of them passable enough to be said to you. sure enough he knows what you mean, he heard what you said, of course he did, loud and clear. but something in him doubts it. there’s no way you meant it. had you meant it, surely you would say it right to his face, not when there’s a door between you two. 

“you heard—”

“i’m coming in.”

there’s no hesitation nor emotion brought in with his voice. it is simply vacant, words simply said with nothing placed behind it and it catches you off guard. however before you can even react, the loud echo of the door being opened takes a yelp out of your weak body. 

and right there he stands. 

dabi looks at you, but he says nothing. cerulean eyes pointed at you, looking at you so deeply. silence is what blankets over you both. yet it is not the silence where in it brings comfort, rather it is something farther than that. silence so loud it blocks out the hurricane of thoughts in your overbearing head. you’re not sure if you should say something, walk out, or even just pretend that he doesn’t exist. there is not single plausible thought in your mind, everything is so unorganized it makes the aching pain in your head unbearable by the second. 

“you don’t mean that, don’t you?” dabi takes it up in himself to break the tense silence between you both. he does not mean to be that kind of pushy person— although he tends to be sometimes— when you are in a tough situation. however, if he does not quell that lingering feeling of heartbreak in his stapled and already fragile heart, he knows it will put an insufferable weight on his shoulders. “right, (y/n)?”

uncertainty fills your body. did you really mean what you told him? sure enough you did.. right? you said it, and you’re sure you wouldn’t say anything you mean aloud. unless you truly did commit such a dumb error while being at a vulnerable moment. 

“because if you did, then i don’t know— i’ll— i’ll go.” faux confidence drips from his words. a believable lie that comes from the top of his head is directed towards you. sure enough, he doesn’t know what to do at the moment. overloaded with too much emotion at the same time, dabi is shaken up. his already slipping sanity seeping through the huge holes that he patched up with you, holes that are now re-opening. “i’ll fucking leave if that is what you want.”

swallowing the bile in his throat dabi looks at your figure that is doubled over in-front of him. head buried in your hands, your hair is the only thing that meets his eyes. you’re shaking, terribly and he sees that. as sharp words form in his head  hurtful thoughts in his mind are starting to clog him up. however, amongst that messy sea dabi hears in a such a tiny voice, in your voice, and it tells him something. something that he has been wanting to hear through this jungle. 

‘please don’t leave.’

and there, those simple words coming from that tiny voice in his head pulls the reigns of his thoughts forcing it to a halt. it forces him to open all the five senses of his tattered body, allows him to hear the silent plea coming from you. and it urges him to go to you. he doesn’t even realize that his body has moved to its own accord and bring itself to you, up until he can see his arm situating itself on the top of your head ever so delicately. 

“i’m here.” is what he can hear himself say. it’s quite the opposite to what he said earlier, and so is the intention to his words. earlier, he had lied to you, lied all because that’s what he’s good at. he’s so good at lying and being hurtful, but this time, he’s being honest. this is what comes from his heart, not from his calculated mind. “i’m not going to leave.”

and then all of a sudden, he can feel you look up. dabi’s eyes meet with yours and he feels you tug him down. and down he goes, kneeling to the ground, body before yours. then, without even saying anything at all, he can feel your arms loop around his neck. then the dam breaks. a loud cry comes from you as your tears fall on his grafted skin, holding unto him so tightly, afraid that if your hold was anymore loose than now he’d make up his mind and leave you for good.

“don’t leave. please. you’re all i have.” you beg. plead even. and dabi’s sure he has never heard someone beg him like this. for his whole life, pleads that were directed towards him were always pleads of mercy, life, leaving them alone. not once was it ever like this. in an instance where someone has begged of him to stay with him and not leave. 

dabi doesn’t know how to react mentally. but his body, once again, moves on its own. in a way that dabi approves. his hands wrap themselves around you, holding you so tight you can feel the squeeze of his hold that brings nothing but comfort to your unorganized mind. it brings peace to your mind, halting the the internal war that keeps your mind in a tangle. 

“i won’t leave. okay? i won’t.” he assures you and he can feel you nod against his skin.

dabi never expected this. in his whole entire life that he would be holding someone this close. comforting someone in a such a way that he can feel his own heart beating loudly against his ears. he has never felt like this, felt so wanted, so needed to the point where it urges him to stay and not leave like he always does. and it feels so good. so good to the point where he feels like he can stay like this forever. so good that he knows he will never let this go. so good to the point where he, a man like himself, knows that this is the love he has been deprived of. 

content belongs to @shisnhou on tumblr! do not repost, copy, use, or modify!

#shin; [requests] #shin; [anonymous] #dabi x reader #dabi x self insert #dabi x y/n #dabi x gender neutral reader #dabi x you #dabi x gn!reader #dabi angst #dabi fluff #dabi smut #bnha dabi #dabi imagine #touya x reader #Touya x You #touya smut #touya fluff #touya angst #touya x gender neutral reader #touya x y/n #touya x gn!reader #touya todoroki #mha x gn!reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha x y/n #mha x gender neutral reader #mha x you #bnha x gender neutral reader #bnha x poc!reader

[dr3amofagame]

i think that although the theories/aus of puffy's son dream and wil's brother dream are interesting to think about, especially the implications, the (probably) canon statement that he really has no family to me hits the hardest. because it's just dream, you know. his friends hate him, he has none (p relatable), but i can't really imagine,, both not having friends and not having a family. that's kind of what keeps a lot of us sane and okay ( - quill anon (same anon from the c!tubbo c!wil ask) )

ouch quill anon ,, this ask Hurt. it’s true - usually, it’s our family and friends that keep us going, that are the ones that we fight for and live for and love for. c!dream’s “family” was his reasoning behind ,, a lot of the stuff he did, good or bad, and even now you can hear his desperation in getting someone, anyone to visit sometimes, in wanting to know how people are doing outside the cell. 

at the same time, he’s a character very much defined by his solitude, by his isolation, by all of the time he has spent,, alone. by the alliances that had been broken, betrayed, forgotten. by how- at the end of the day - he sits for hours on end in an obsidian box with nothing but his thoughts to accompany him. it’s awfully ,, sad, despite everything he’s done. through it all, he’s alone. he survives the horrors of the vault (until this current arc) alone. nobody’s there to hear his thoughts. nobody knows his mindset, or feelings, or wants, or anything that really makes him human. for someone so driven by people, he spends so much time completely isolated - and it’s. honestly really, really tragic. 

anyway, this is a sad little drabble set pre-roommates arc abt c!dream in the prison, alone, bc he makes me Sad. 

tw: mentioned torture, abuse, violence, broken bones, blood, injuries, mental deterioration, isolation, panic attacks, self-deprecation, trauma, memory loss, death, contemplations of death, dark content, dark imagery

The blank book in his hand stares at him stubbornly, the stark white of the untouched pages nearly burning his eyes, used to the dark walls and floor of the cell. Dream’s hand shakes around his quill, ink splotches marring the pages from where his too-unsteady hand had let the nib brush against the paper and left freckles of black spots behind. He pulls his thumb back from the bottom left corner, hissing slightly when it leaves a dull red fingerprint behind, a smudge of half-dried blood further dirtying the paper.

He’d pulled out one of the books for some reason, probably on a whim, letting his hands run over the leather spine and along the thread of the binding absentmindedly after Quackity left for the day. He hadn’t touched them in a while - he liked to save them, at the beginning, just in case visitors came and he wanted to thank them or if he needed to communicate (though he hadn’t gone silent since Sapnap left, ‘cause Sapnap wanted him to talk and he doesn’t know why he still clings to that visit when it’s been months and he still hasn’t come back, but he promised that if Dream behaved he’d visit again and - it’s stupid to hope, but Dream can’t give up, not yet) and then he kept them because he would need them for the revive book and the Warden would confiscate them, anyway, so it was better not to get attached. Regardless, he’d stubbornly ignored the chest of books for a long time, let the remain closed and the clasp go unlatched as he wasted his days away watching the walls drip bright purple and pretend he didn’t miss his clock.

Until now.

He runs his fingers along the surface of the paper again, ignoring the red and black smudges they leave in their wakes, ruining the previously unblemished pages. The paper is smooth, bearing a very slight grain, and smells clean and woody - this book must’ve been a newer one the Warden replaced into the chest. He’d counted the pages a few times, front and back - there are fifty sheets, so a hundred pages to use as he sees fit, completely empty and untouched. The quill shakes in his hand, the tip pressed against the paper, unmoving.

What is there to write?

He’s forgotten why he pulled out the book in the first place, already - his head keeps getting fuzzier, memory impossibly fragmented and seemingly worsening with every passing day. He knows he had a reason because he’d been very determined about it, had spent what must have been hours dragging himself along the obsidian floor with a broken shinbone jutting out of his right leg and a dislocated left shoulder that he’d taken an extra few minutes to jam back in place by pressing it against the floor. Something had come into his head, probably in the middle of Quackity’s daily session, and he’d found himself desperate to write it down before he forgot despite the throbbing of his head and the pain in his chest making it impossible to take a full breath.

(He must have talked back, or acted defiant, or something - he doesn’t remember much besides the look Quackity had given him after, dark and angry and tight with rage. There had been a hand tangled in his hair, a blade jammed right up against his throat, curses and screams in his ears dying into a singular ringing echo as the blade was pushed deeper and deeper. It wasn’t until a few minutes later when Quackity realized that he’d gone too deep and that Dream was choking on his own blood - his memories shatter, and there’s nothing but more screaming, red and black and blood everywhere, warm against his skin, the sweet-sour taste of glistening melon on his tongue, a healing pot desperately stitching his skin together and bringing him back from the darkness that he’d swelled in the corners of his vision - mostly, he remembers everything going cold and numb and he’d realized, halfway into the Void, that he would never leave the Vault alive.)

His hands tighten on the book as he breathes a shallow, harsh breath through his teeth, because - oh. Oh. He looks back at the trembling white plume in his hand, at his shaking fingers clenched tightly near the end, and he swallows the thick, heavy feeling in his throat. Quackity had- and he had- and then-

Right.

He forces air into his lungs steadily, counting the seconds off in his head. He’d learned how to stave off panic attacks on his own ages ago, and the knowledge had come to full use in the Vault - the struggle to stay calm seems harder with every passing day, but he can’t exactly risk himself passing out every three seconds when he’s inevitably set off by the smell of blood or a twinge of pain or any of the million other triggers crammed into this tiny box that’s been the source of all of his torment for months. He keeps up the slow, steady breathing for another few minutes, just enough time to pull back the darkness creeping in from the edges of his vision, and looks back down at the blank paper.

It stares back at him, almost judgmental of his hesitancy. You opened me up, it seems to challenge him, why aren’t you writing? The quill still shakes in his hand. He doesn’t know if it’ll ever stop shaking again.

Dear, he begins, almost in defiance, proof that he Is Going To Write Something, thank you very much, he isn’t just going to chicken out and leave it a blank book (like you have before?) but the quill tip digs into the paper as he grinds to a sudden halt, the empty space next to the first word nearly taunting. He feels his mouth dry, heat rising behind his eyes - the book, silent and blank as ever, stays imprinted in his vision even as he squeezes them shut.

Dear, what a stupid, sentimental way to start a letter. He can’t even fool himself into thinking of it as a business venture, turn it into an elaborate plan to escape and address it to either Techno or Wilbur (who would never receive his message anyway), not without admitting his regard for the two edged past his pretense of professional interested and owed favors. He can hardly write it to Ranboo, not without compromising their already fragile alliance (if it even exists, anymore. The enderman hybrid had yet to visit for months - and sure, it was probably for the best, who knows how Quackity would react if he found out about the nature of their relationship, but that didn’t make it sting any less.)

In the back of his minds, name rise from where he’d kept them carefully buried despite his best efforts. Punz. Bad. Puffy. Sapnap. George. He shakes his head, trying to wave away them from his thoughts, but the effort is as fruitless as it has always been - he stares at the first word angrily, like it has betrayed him, and receives no response. The words are messy, shaking, his script overly looping and rounded like a child’s. He hates it, hates how cheery it looks, even on the bloodstained page - it looks like the beginning of a birthday card, or a perhaps a particularly dedicated Halloween party invite. Like he’s some sort of lovesick teen, writing letters to crushes that would never pay him a second glance. He laughed a little, without any real humor - minus the romance, that description isn’t all that far off.

Because- well. His memories might be shot to all hell, but he doubts he’ll ever forget the hatred on Sapnap’s face, a loaded crossbow pointed between his eyes, George’s expression set in disinterested apathy - “George, you can give the word.” Bad’s face, twisted in pity and resignation, voice carefully measured as he looks away and gestures at the cell, “you did do some pretty bad stuff to get put in here though, Dream,” the hidden “you deserve it” that he’d heard, just as clearly behind the words. Punz - “you should’ve paid me more” - jaw set stiffly as people poured through the portal, watching, wordless, as Dream bled out twice on that blackstone floor. Puffy, poorly hidden disgust flickering over her face as she looks away from him being dragged away in chains, sword held steady in her hands. Sapnap, that same fiercely determined expression on his face so familiar that thinking of it aches, even now, “it’s gonna be me, who takes your final life.” Months and months and months and months, alone.

Always, always, alone.

The page makes a quiet, complaining groan under his pen - he looks down to see it torn under the tip of his quill, the word completely unreadable under line after line of black ink scratched over it, each one deeper than the last. He stares blankly at it for a few minutes longer, the brief flash of anger that had seared through his body settling into numbness once more.

To whoever may find this: he scratches the words on the page slowly, keeping his print deliberately blocky and neat. The heavy feeling in his throat returns, stronger than ever, and he ignores it as he pushes on.

He pauses for a moment, wondering what more to write. Apologies? Accusations? He could detail every second that he remembers from Quackity’s visits, describe every inch of pain that had been pulled from his aching lungs, every line etched into his skin. He could apologize for every act of cruelty that had ever been caused by his hands, every bridge he’d ever torched to light the path to a better future. He could explain - everything, every tortured thought that had circled his head for hours on end and every night that had passed without any sleep and every time he’d pushed on without complaint or hesitancy because it would be worth it, even if he was the only one who saw it, it would be worth it because he’d sacrifice too much for it to be anything but. He could- he could, he could write and write until he’d filled every page of every book back and front, and would they even believe him? Would it even matter?

Goodbye, he writes at last. It feels strangely final. (He won’t be leaving this Vault alive. He knows this as surely as he knows that he will leave this world uncared for, unheard. As surely as he knows that he’ll always be alone.) With a quick snap of magic following the signing of his name, the book is preserved, shining slightly with a purple glow as he sets it back down in the chest. He looks around, the cell once again stiflingly quiet without the book to busy him, Dream once again completely alone as he’s been for - well.

(Pandas, eyebrows drawn in uncharacteristic seriousness from the usually painfully spirited eight-year-old, pinkie raised between the two of them, solemnity belied by the gap in his front teeth poking out between his lips.

“We’ll be together forever,” he whispered with the volume control you’d expect from a kid that age, which is to say that it wasn’t much of a whisper at all, but Dream, newly ten years old, remembers being particularly moved by the gesture anyway, moving to hesitantly hook his own pinkie in the other’s.

“And we’ll never be alone ever again,” he’d replied, voice faraway with a disbelieving sort of awe.”

“Never,” Pandas’ voice had been just as firm as his first statement, twisting his wrist to tighten the grip of their linked fingers further. “Best friends for ever and ever, right?”

“For ever and ever.”)

“For ever and ever,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut as he slumps down against the floor, and only the lava bubbles in reply.

#tw torture #tw abuse #tw violence #tw broken bones #tw injuries #tw mental deterioration #tw isolation #tw panic attack #tw self deprecation #tw trauma #tw memory loss #tw death #tw dark content #tw dark imagery #-> my writing #my writing :D #my asks !! #-> my asks #quill anon !

[ficsnroses]

Ultrasound; - John Wick x Reader

4.3k words

summary : you’re 4 months pregnant, and your husband john is everything you’ve ever wanted. however, he misses your ultrasound appointment, leading to you being upset with him.

warnings : pregnant reader. angst, but also lots of fluff! x f! reader. 

notes : requested by lovely anon! I really hope you enjoy this, lovie. I know you had asked for a heated argument, however, I just couldn’t bring myself to write John being angry at his s/o. he’s too much of a softie :) as always, please do leave comments and feedback, it means so much! I’m a little nervous for this one aH be kind pls ily xx

At the glass paned, brittle white front door, you stand, a cautious hand placed to the swell of your growing belly, a stray strand of hair falling to your eye as your husband John, kisses a gentle goodbye to your cheek.

“Are you sure you have to go?” You ask, off put, shining eyes with your lip bitten, as if you’d wanted to say more. John had been leaving on early mornings such as today often, far more frequent as of late; you’d be lying if you’d projected it didn’t chip off a small shard of your heart each time he’d leave you for the day.

He’d be back, later. In the evening perhaps, after you’d settled into the cozy depths of the living room couch, a sickly dessert in hand and your preferred 90’s sitcom portrayed in reruns on the blue TV screen, or as you’d retire to bed, awaiting his body to come occupy the vacant spot beside.

“Yeah.” John heavily sighs, briefly announcing his downcast glare to the floor, before reverting those much familiar, chocolate eyes to yours. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. But I really do.” Subtle guilt pinched at his darkened features, beard groomed fresh to a handsome trim. His hand smoothes over the small of your back, quietly waiting,

for you to end your farewell.

“It’s just…” You trickle, eyes focusing anywhere, but on his. You didn’t mean to press; you’d reminded him of today’s upcoming events much in the last week. “We have the appointment later this afternoon.” You allow, a final time, blinking back guilt for perhaps, over doing it with the constant reminders. “Are you sure you’ll make it in time?”

-an exchange for the true feelings that had been brewing inside, as of late. On the tip of your tongue they twirled, bubbling, bubbling, boiling, and you’d known, perhaps to the slightest mishap, they’d spill over.

But for now, as your husband holds you, tentatively sure he’d return in time, you bite your tongue, choosing to trust him.

Trust. It was the band that held your marriage together.

John softly smiles, offering a squeeze to your palm. “Promise.” Assuring, his Mustang 69’ keys fish out of his pocket with a jingle, equipped to his stockier fingers. “You’re still okay to meet at the doctor’s office?” With every cell in his being, John would have preferred to stay home, with you, awaiting the appointment time.

Yet, odds never worked in his favour. He’d have to go, he’d have to be reminded of the dark that wouldn’t let its best man go easy, even on the most joyful days, such as today. A day that should have been reserved for his loving wife, who meant the world to him and more, and their baby, who would come into the world in a mere 5 months. When nimble fingers reach for the collar of his brown leather jacket, his love nods, faking her best executed smile in return.

John knew you, well as the back of his hand. He knew you weren’t pleased with the idea of him leaving, wherever he was off to today. Yet, he knew you’d often

bite your tongue,

for him. John knew he’d struck gold when he’d found you, when you’d fell in love with him, and him, immensely with you. In your relationship, there had been much darkness. Much obscurity, much ambiguity to the life John lived separate from the one you shared together. You know about John’s profession, and the hurt he’d caused to many wretched souls. When he was home, with you, your John is a daydream, in human form.

Soft, gentle, caring. Words fall short of the mountain that is your man.

Yet the day he’d told you, of the culpability, the shame that resides within him; claws through each regret ridden seam, each sorrow droned bone in his body,

nothing changed within you.

You didn’t fall out of love. You didn’t fall less. The same hands that held yours, held knives and guns, slaughtered the lives of many. But they’d given life to you. The day your John told you he’d lost count of the souls he’d taken, you’d vowed to love him regardless. To accept him with whatever baggage he came with. He kept the details of his whereabouts, and the deeds he’d succumb to scare.

Mixing you with the life he so desperately wanted to escape was the last thing he’d wanted to do. So you let him, you let him keep mum on scattered details and fine points of who the famed Boogyman was,

You promised to see in him, just John.

John Wick, your husband, who deserves more than anyone the life you’ve built together. A beautiful home in a secure neighbourhood, a house filled with love, a house feels warm, painted with white crisp walls that hold no dark, enveloped in the anticipation of tiny feet sputtering down the open halls someday soon.

“I’ll meet you there, then. Drive safe, and call me if you change your mind, I’ll send a taxi your way.” He quietly reminds, still holding the hand that had painted colour to his black and white guarded walls. You’d opened long drawn curtains that closed to all that came; you were the first to let sunlight in, allow it to kiss his skin for the first time, in a long, long time.

“I love you.” John smiles. “So much. Stay safe, okay? I’ll call you.” He adds, a final time, before instilling a soft kiss to your plump stained lips, your own hand smoothing a wrinkle off his shirt clad chest.

“Love you too.” You quietly smile, holding your bump as you gaze him out the white paned front door, off to somewhere you’d never asked.

You’d bit your tongue, for him,

Yet again.

The doctor’s office air proves cold, chilled to an icy, unsympathetic hail. With a hand to your bump, and a much growing pierce to your now aching temple, your brows frown and an uneased anger surfaces inside.

John promised.

One minute to appointment time.

       ‘He’ll come. He’d walk through the door any second,’ muses your heart.

       ‘He won’t. He hasn’t responded to any calls, or messages.’ Punctuates your mind.

He didn’t forget. Something must have come up. He wanted to be here.

Thoughts, ponderings, half attempted assurances to your own worn out mind.

He shouldn’t have gone. He shouldn’t have left. He shouldn’t have let anything come up. That was his job as the father of this child.

He needed to be here today. He knew how much this means to you.

It should have meant enough to him to be here.

You, your baby,

       should have meant enough.

“Mrs. Y/N Wick?” The call of your name disrupts your whirlwind of destructive thoughts. Perhaps it was your emotions that had been working overtime as of late, perhaps it was the distance between you and John.

Perhaps it was the scars burned into your tongue. The toxins that burned being bitten down.

Gnawed, bitten,

concealed,

covered.

Sat in the cold leathered office bed chair, your OB-GYN spins you a warm smile, and you smile back best as you can, although reluctantly so. Masquerading joy had proven tough, when the hand that should have been holding yours right now proves absent. You sink further into the bed, hem of your top rolled up just below your breasts to allow the doctor access.

“How are you today, Y/N?” She shines, layering on a pair of blue latex gloves, prior to smearing a cold, frigid gel to your tummy. The chill of the balm had always sent shivers peppering down your spine, you’d clenched John’s hand firmer to the feel at your previous check ups. “I’m doing well.” You lie, you bite the truth. Wispy fingers thread together, placed on your lap.

“John’s not here today?” She wonders, preoccupied with the transducer probe equipped in her left grip, her right still smearing the cold gel to your bump. The sound of the radiology machine powering echoes your ears, and you relieve a soft exhale, sure not to cast your dreary emotions too much.

The last thing you needed right now, was to spill your long shielded, buried emotions to your OB-GYN, who was solely trying to do her job. “No, he’s not.” You dryly return, swallowing thickly in declaration more to yourself, than to anyone else.

Her eyes gloss over your features, eyes focused on the beige office walls, fingers twiddling in your enclosed grip. “Everything alright?” She wonders, to your half lost execution, a noticeable dread on your mind, weighing.

“Of course.” You lie, you smile with an emptiness void of usual warmth, through untruthful teeth. “I would appreciate it if we could get started as soon as possible.” You request, wanting none more than to be left alone.

To sift through long pent up feelings, frustrations and worries that brewed inside; to allow hostage feelings pleading to be let free, overtake your mind.

The couch feels colder than normal; or perhaps it was the room.

A room, that fell cold, longing for someone else to be in it.

John.

The appointment concluded a little over an hour ago, a full pot of mint tea sits brewing on the coffee table as you await his arrival. The clock ticks in the distance, your mind shuffling a million thoughts a minute.

He’s not home. He hasn’t been home.

You’d bit your tongue, far too long.

He’d seared a cut. He’d butchered into a part of you, and you wonder when you’d forgotten the way you used to be.

You ponder; when you’d started to settle for his absence. A fire boils inside, lathers, toils. The scorch of long concealed feelings pent up, brewing in secret. Had the sound of a heavy door closing shut not broke your contemplation, you’d perhaps shed a few warm tears, unannounced. Unwelcomed dew that may have just glided off your cheeks, the weight of a million bricks released.

You’d heard his heavy footsteps on their way in, the sound of Dog’s excited paws trotting along the floor as he runs towards his bestest friend.

John-

the one person you’d thought you could share anything with. Count on for anything, had left you deserted. He’d been building a wall around, leaving you left all alone, in the grey dark. Shackled with dread, the conversation that you knew would follow tonight, is something you’d prayed would never rehearse between you and your John.

Yet, perhaps that was the problem. Your John, seemed to be lost. The man you fell in love with, would leave the world behind if you’d asked him to.

He’d made it clear; you and him against the world.

Nothing was larger, nothing was sweeter than what he’d made with you. He’d been ecstatic when you’d found out you were pregnant, promised to never leave your hand the entire way through.

You yearn for that John again;

Beg.

Hope.

Plead.

Yearn. You yearn for your husband, again. Burn, crash, crumble, the feelings become too much, the anger pounds inside. Indignant, blue, muddled, hurting, hurting, hurting-

“Y/N,”

His voice. A confliction at it’s finest. To fall into his arms and pour out your heart, or to fight. To make him feel the ache he’d doused your heart in.

The toxins on your lips threaten to burn; they’ll sear your cheeks, drip a dark tar with each syllable, each vowel that falls. The sharp edges will only cut further. A faint frown lingers the planes of your face, and you shake your head, gaze downcast when he inches further into the room, stance preparing to kneel in front of you on the hardwooden floor. He smells faintly of the air outside; crisp, winter auburns and sharp wind. Yet there’s that familiar, warmer spice. Something that kisses his skin, reminds you of home.

You don’t remember when you started looking at him, and seeing home. It’s been far too long, and now, it’s all you know.

        It’s tough being angry at someone, who loves so deep;

John loves with his entirety. John feels with each inch of his battered skin; his bones remember the chill of feeling null.

Stare melting into the crackling fireplace, you avoid his gaze, ignore his touch when a heavy hand rests to your thigh. Warm, comforting, a reminder of the way his touch had the ability to stitch each ripping seam inside you; to mend, and adorn flowers all over.

But his touch, holds no triumph today.

The flowers didn’t bloom,

the slits only gushed.

“Baby, I’m sorry-”

It comes in flashes. Bold, like a lightening bolt.

       Boom

               Boom.

“Don’t.” You whisper a grit, jaw tightening with a pounding ache to your temple protruding. “Do not try and explain yourself.”

Firm; like a lightening bolt. Much to your dismay, his cocoa kissed hair falters in hues; long, curtained along the frame of his face. Coffee eyes show repulse, a certain sadness you remember from long, long ago.

A sorrow you hadn’t seen often since you’d given him your heart, for his in return. “You don’t get to explain yourself.” You speak; firm, assertive, tears pricking in watery jewels in the corners of your orbs. Perhaps it was the high of pregnancy hormones, or the dire of the situation. For the first time, with John, today marked the start of something you’d never felt before.

You felt forgotten. Less than.

“I told you how much I wanted you with me. I told you how important today was to me.” Tone dreary, John’s heart practically sliced into a million pieces, at mercy of the dagger that was your wounded voice.

Grim, an aching pound stings his nerves, crinkled lines of stress embroidered to his forehead, and his spine unravels in a lean into your skin, his hands coming to engulf around yours in a tender hold. “Baby, I know and I’m-”

Lightening. Swift; sharp.

“No!” You almost shout, hands pulled out of his larger, rougher ones. “You do not get to explain yourself.” The words had come out harsher than intended, the cuts had been deeper than thought. They pour, and a river streams. A flood of built up emotion, a cry your tears won’t bear hold.

“Baby, don’t yell.” A quiet John speaks lowly, barely heard with a gaze avoidant of yours. “It’s not good for our baby girl.” He seems tense. He feels, he feels with each inch of his bones. Still, his hand never leaves your thigh, resting, reminding you that he’s there now. And he will be.

He will be, for good.

Yet, his words only pierce into you further; the blade twists in your skin. Huffing a sneered chuckle, your eyes blink away unwanted tears, the moment needing your assertion more than a wave of vulnerable grief. “Our baby?” Veins course with something so icy, so frozen; an agonizing burn claws away at your temples, features far from forgiving. You knew the words that threatened to brew up on your tongue were far from the truth. You knew they held far more weight than he deserved to bear.

“Because I feel almost as if she’s just my baby with how absent you’ve been, John.”

After thunder, after lightening, comes rain. Perhaps the worst, of them all. Cold, condescending, long pouring rain; it pelts in darkness, loud, leaving its mark on the drought terrain. It pours quietly, yet stridently all at once. It seeps, and it seeps, and it seeps, until it stops.

       Only, no one knows. When it’ll stop.

“I’ve been alone. I’ve been feeling alone. You’ve made me feel alone.”

Rain. Pelting, and pelting, and pelting.

This stream of misery, these awful words, declarations. You know he’s hurting. You’re hurting him. You’re doing the one thing, you promised you’d never do to him. His breathe remains calm, collected, his eyes seldom avoid yours. His hand leaves your thigh, allowing, respecting your space. Those cocoa kissed eyes hold a weight heavier than the sear of a million burns.

You almost want, plead for him to say something back; to anguish the fire.

       It’s hard getting mad at someone who doesn’t raise their voice. Its tough being angry at someone,

       like your John.

You’ve knew you were lying. You knew your words held zero truth. He hadn’t been making you feel alone. He’d been waking up curled into your skin, holding your hand through the dreadful nights. He’d been sacrificing sleep, putting himself second to make sure you were alright.

To make sure his baby was alright. Yet, his efforts had proved unsuccessful, nonetheless. Because as of late, he had been coming home later. He had been leaving earlier, he had been away. He had left you alone.

Quiet, filled with regret, his voice carries a burden; the burden of hurting the only person that had ever truly mattered to him. Of hurting the women who he loves, adores, more than the stars adore the moon. “I’ll make it up to you, sweetheart. I promise.” John speaks, eyes insistent with guilt.

Make it up. He’ll make it up. Another broken promise, your mind threatens, yet your heart whispers. It whispers, that he will. John had a way, John has an inherent kindness. Your lips pursue, the words needing to come out. You needed to be heard today. You needed to know he understood.

Laced with aggravation, your voice flows off your lips in rougher tides than intended. “I don’t need you to make it up, John.” You explain, calmer, collected. Firm. “I just need you to be here. And if that’s something you can’t do, I need you to tell me now.” Twisted with agony, your heart feels heavy in your chest. “My child needs a father who will be there.”

“Our child.” John interrupts, correcting, quietly, respectfully.

He knew better than to argue with his pregnant, hormone loaded wife. Nonetheless, that didn’t mean he would let her abdicate the fact that he is the father of their child. Although they hadn’t met yet, John knew. He could feel it in his bones. She would be the payoff. His baby would hold his entire heart, along with her mommy.

Each part of John yearns for nothing but his wife and child. They are all that matters. They are the payoff; the decades of grim sin that conjure on his fingertips would finally, at last lay to rest because of them. For them.

Quietly, a muffled sigh, heavy, tense, leaves your mauve stained lips. A faint frown lingers the depths of your face, something filled with melancholy confession. A heaviness fills the silent room still, occupied with nothing but your two worn out souls, desperately longing for nothing more, than for this nightmare to be over.

John and you don’t argue. Despite small disputes over shoes left at the front door, or a towel left discarded without care to the bathroom floor, this isn’t something John and you do. It isn’t something small. It isn’t something you can brush off, forget about a minute thereafter.

John and you, complete each other. You compliment each other. You fight for each other.

         His heart and yours, are old, old friends.

The water rises, a river flows from your mouth. Steeping thoughts the stitched seams even, cannot bear hold. With a lingering sadness peppered to your tenor, you sigh heavily, head falling downcast to gaze the floor below. John watches you, in a drown of his own guilt; sadness of his own.

He longs to hold you; it had been far too long without.

“You’re always away in the day as of late, and I hate that the only time I really see you is when you come home to sleep.” You begin, voice cut with sorrow. “Sometimes I lay awake in the late of night, savouring the feeling of you just holding me. Touching me. Because I’ve began to get comfortable with knowing moments like that only happen during the night.” Deeper and deeper, each cut wounds into your skin. “I hate it John.” You confess, longing for those strong, toned arms to scoop you up and assure you everything would be okay. That he would tell you what’s been going on, let you in. “I don’t want to be comfortable in knowing you’re not around.”

A slight chuckle shines through your raspy throat, yet the utter sorrow never fails to paint each feature as the words continue to fall. There’s a certain vulnerability in your tone, a certain weakness you wish you could hide. “My body is changing, and I’ve been feeling low. I’m scared of not being what she deserves when she comes.” You barely whisper, tears pricking, a hand resting on your growing belly. A small drop falls, the pent up weight of a billion timid thoughts. “Feeling like you’re maybe not all in anymore makes me feel,” If a word, could even portray the density, the sheer torment of the thought of life with John being anything less than what you hoped. “..Awful.” You cease, a lip quivering. “I feel so awful, John.”

Downcast, your eyes scan the floor, heart pounding, the stillness killing you. John watches you, eyes doused with remorse. Quietly, he’d barely heard your words, strung together. A pair of beautiful eyes dilate with nothing, but blue, as they search his dark orbs.

“John, are you falling out of love with me?”

       Sharp.

       Shrill.

You swore something inside him broke. Something twisted and turned, left a deep puncture; wounded him for good.

       Like a lightening bolt. You’d sunk the needles where it hurts the most.

Weary of his silence, you continue. Unsure of the outcome, yet allowing the river that falls your lips, to flow free, full, at last. “I just…I miss you so much. I don’t need anything but you right now.” Bitten to your lip, a choked sob threatens to surface, although you manage to keep yourself collected. “I don’t want anything but you; I never have.”

And with those words, John’s weary limbs resist the hold no more. Kneeling in front of you as you sit still on the grey couch, John pulls your frame close, so close, that you hear the steady rhythm of his heart. His body is warm, brimmed with love; you feel the soak of a few strayed tears from his eyes seep into the supple skin of your neck.

       He holds you so close.

       And you hold him; the way it was always meant to be.

With your arms firmly wrapped around his body, you sink into his skin, melting in the touch of the man you love most. Eyes closed, you breathe in his scent, and he threads his fingers in tender strokes to your hair. Honey drenched kisses press to your shoulder, your neck, the side of your head as he quietly finds the right words to surface; nevertheless, feeling as if anything at all would fall short for what he felt in this moment.

John Wick, sees nothing in this world, but you. As a few more moments of silent relish pass, he pulls his head back a mere few inches, still holding your body so close. With his callous thumb brushing a gentle stroke just under your eye, his thin taut lips kiss a tender, soft peck to where a tear had once fell from your cheek, his eyes still soaking in gloom. With his voice, deep, rich as butter, yet rasped, he speaks softly, silked into your ears, never breaking eye contact.

“I’ve been trying to get out.” Velvet. He speaks, as if the finest of velvet. “And I did, I left that part of me behind today.” Swallowing thick, John inches in closer, kissing a soft, gentle kiss to your eye, that had been haven to nothing but drifted tears earlier. “For you, and for our baby girl.”

Close, proximate, he holds you. His touch alone, fixes everything. “You are all I want. Here, is where I want to be. I’m so sorry I made you feel that way.” He whispers, his forehead resting to yours as you cup his perfectly groomed, bearded cheek. “I didn’t want you worrying; I needed you to stay happy. You’re carrying our baby, I wanted you to be carefree, and nothing else. I never wanted to hurt you.” His heart pours, his heart sears. “I will never hurt you, or our child.” Looking down at your belly, his hand rests to your bump as his lips press a gentle kiss to the top.

And with his lips, holding the only remedy you’d ever need, he kisses you with all the love he holds, all the love he feels for no one, but you. “You are my everything. Please believe me when I say it. I wanted you then, I want you now, and I will until we take our last breath.” His words hold sincerity, something reserved for no one but you.

“From today on, baby, I’m all in. I’m all yours, and hers. I’ll be here for it all, the sleepless nights, the cravings, the aches, everything.” He pours his heart to you, never letting go, as if he’d been scared you’d disappear. “You are it for me, Y/N. I love you more than I could ever tell. Please believe me when I say it.”

And with your eyes, shining into his, you keep his cheek cupped, and your foreheads locked. You stare, and you stare, and you stare, into the eyes of your world. Into the eyes of the man who you knew would become the best father; perhaps greater of a father to your child than he is a husband, if only it was possible.

Your husband, deserves the stars. And if you could, you’d pick them out of the sky like apple blossoms in summer, and decorate them in his hair. And with every ounce in your being, you smile, and you kiss him tender, you hold him so close, so near.

“I do.” You smile, holding on.

       “I believe you. I trust you.”

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

My taglist will be posted in reblogs, let me know if you want to be added or removed! :)

#john wick x reader #keanu reeves x reader #john wick imagine #john wick fanfiction #john wick x y/n

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

a Ghost: Elijah Mikaelson x reader

Requested by anon // Summary: You’re Elijah’s first love and close to the rest of the Mikaelson’s. You move to New Orleans with a friend and Rebekah spots you out in town, shocked because you’re supposed to be dead, or thought to be dead. Elijah had moved on and tried to forget about his first love so doesn’t know what to think and when he sees you again, all his feelings and memories come back to him.

A/N: Wow so i am so sorry for taking so long to get this out. However, I actually really love how this turned out and I’m pretty proud. I hope you guys like it!! xx 

Tag list is at the end. Let me know if you want to be added xx

**MASTERLIST**

Requests: OPEN {CLOSED}

** Who I Write For **

********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS

how is this man so freaking SEXY ugh 

“Can you believe we’re here!” You hold your hands out, spinning in a circle in the middle of bourbon street; a smile plastered on your face. The lights flashed all around you and the music from multiple bars and restaurants echoed through the streets.

“It was our dream.” Your best friend, y/bf/n, wraps her arm around your shoulder as the two of you continue down the street. You two had met in college and instantly became friends. It turns out the two of you were hiding a secret; both of you were vampires. After graduating with yet another degree, you two decided to take your life down south to the Big Easy; New Orleans.

“And look at us living it!” You wrap your arm around her waist, squeezing her side.

Rebekah watches from her balcony when a woman spins around in the middle of the street. There was a certain thing about her that seemed familiar. The way she carried herself, the laugh and smile on her face. It was one she hadn’t seen in years; over 150 years to be exact. There was no way. You had burned in the church before Elijah could save you. When he’d received word of your arrest, he’d headed straight for the church but when he’d arrived, the place was up in flames. The council had rounded up various vampires around town and you somehow made it into the church. The thing he hadn’t understood; you were human. Why were you put into the church?

There was no way that was you. You were human and died in that church that day. Rebekah’s hands gripped the railing as she watched the two of you head into a bar. Maybe she was wrong. She shakes the image out of her head and heads back inside to her room, putting you out of her mind. You, her best friend, and Elijah’s love, was dead, burned to a crisp 150 years ago. That was not you.

“What seems to be bothering you, sister?” Elijah asks as they all have sat down for dinner. Rebekah had been awfully quiet for her usual self and it raised suspicions. The woman next to Elijah kisses his cheek as she sits next to him.

Rebekah vomited on the inside a little at the sight. It was a woman who years and years ago, had once been something with Elijah, was now back in their life again. He’d come home to New Orleans with her on his arm. He said they were in love once again; which Rebekah knew was a lie.

Elijah cried for years to Rebekah about the one love of his life, y/n; the one he’d lost in a fire. The only love of his life. He’d never find someone like her or find a love like they once had. Rebekah knew this was her brother’s way of coping once again. Before this one, there’d been other women who Elijah used to fill the void in his heart. None of them ever amounted to his y/n. Within 2 weeks the women were dead or had left in the night.

Rebekah didn’t want to get her brother’s hopes up. There was no way it was you… unless someone on the inside turned you. Unless you had vampire blood in your system.

“Nothing, dear Elijah. Just bored of life is all.” Rebekah answers.

~

You’d been with the woman who was identified as a vampire and because you were standing next to her, they assumed you were one as well. Especially when you tried to defend her and fight them off. It’d been a mistake on their part.

They’d knocked you out and carried you to the church with the rest of them. The sounds of screams and burning flesh encircled you and you coughed at the smoke as it filled your lungs. You looked around for an exit but there was none. All were blocked or tied off. Your hand went to your necklace, one given to you by Elijah. You held it up to the fire and noticed there was red inside; You opened it and instantly the iron smell of blood filled your nostrils. He wouldn’t… would he? You brought the necklace to your lips before the smoke took your life.

You’d awoke later by the creek side and a not so familiar face by your side. One of the Salvatore brothers had pulled you from the fire before the building collapsed.

~

As if it was fate, Rebekah stood at her balcony a few days later and the same woman showed up at the street below. It was then, she finally managed to get a good look. A gasp escaped her mouth; It was you alive and well.

She quickly left her place at the balcony and headed to the courtyard where Klaus sat at the table. Elijah was seated at the other end, a cup of tea in hand and the so-called woman he loved seated next to him. “Ah sister, you care to join us for tea?” Elijah asks, motioning to the tray of tea in front of him.

Rebekah shook her head, “No..” She didn’t know how to tell them. How to explain what she saw. They’d never believe her; they’d call her crazy for thinking such a thing. She needed to have proof. So she quickly left for the streets and found you standing on the corner, looking at a map. Rebekah was not a normal woman of course. So, as quickly as she could, she ran to your side, broke your neck and carried you back to the compound. You never knew what had hit you.

~

Rebekah was carrying you over her shoulder as she walked back into the courtyard. Both brother’s stood as their sister walked in, a woman on her shoulder.

“What in the hell?” Klaus asks.

Rebekah walks to the nearest couch, “Brace yourself… This might be a shock.” Rebekah gently lays your body on the couch. Klaus’ eyes go wide at the sight.

“There’s no… that can’t be.” He breaths, stepping closer for a better look.

Rebekah looks up at Elijah who’s eyes are staring at your body, as if he’s seeing a ghost. He slowly pushes the chair back. The woman next to him stands as well, “Elijah? Who is that?”

Elijah’s eyes has filled with tears as he steps closer, “Rebekah, this must be a joke.” Elijah speaks as looks at his sister.

Rebekah shakes her head, “it is her brother.. I don’t know how but it’s her. Check the left wrist.”

Elijah gulps and slowly drops to your side. As soon as his hand grasps your wrist, it’s as if an electric shock runs through his body. The memories, the woman, he’d wished to forget is brought back to life, like a ghost.

He blinks back tears as he checks the left wrist. There faded is the black ink of his initials. It wasn’t appropriate for woman to get tattoos but a witch nearby did a spell. The only person to see the tattoo would be Elijah, the love of your life. It was the same for him. He pulled the left cuff sleeve up, there on his left wrist in black ink was your initials. Something only you, the love of his life would see.

“It’s her.” He breaths out in shock. His hand hovers over your cheek as if he’s to touch you, you’d disappear, like a ghost. “Oh, my sweet darling y/n…”

As soon as his hand touches your cheek, you’re awake, gasping for air. the Mikaelson’s step back in shock. You woke up quicker than expected. “Where the hell… what the hell…” You quickly sit up, your body going into fight mode. You look around the room and your eyes fall on a familiar pair next to you, “Elijah…” Your hand reaches out to touch his cheek and when you feel flesh, you let out a sob. It wasn’t a dream this time. You’d dreamed of this moment for years and years and it’d finally come true.

The Vampire Diaries / The Originals tag list: @thefandomplace​ , @taylordrunkonwhiskey , @somewhatasoftbaddie , @toomuchtv​ , @losers-club6​ , @daddydobrockk , @akshi8278​

*if your name is crossed out, tumblr will not let me tag you 

All my works tag list:  @blossomreed​ , @mggstyles​  , @simonsbluee​

#elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson fanfic #elijah mikaelson #Elijah Mikaelson fanfiction #elijah mikaelson x you #elijah mikaelson fic #elijah mikaelson imagines #elijah mikaelson x #elijah mikaelson x female!reader #elijah mikaelson x y/n #the originals #the originals fanfiction #the originals imagines #the originals imagine #the originals fic #the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries imagines #the vampire diaries fanfiction #imagines #imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #fic

[aslitheryprinx]

These are from song titles, but I think these are poggers (I hope, at least)

* And there was life inside "it"

* Can it really be called "Cinderella" ?

* Love inside an empty box

* World is full of wonders (Or "Full of wonders!!!!")

* Near

* Angel's clover

Don't worry anon, they are most definitely poggers! (Both of my current ao3 published works have names based on song lyrics, so that really fits my vibe haha.)

There are so many good prompts here! I couldn't help but write like.... A lot lmao.

CW: dehumanization, themes of child abuse, themes of death. Be safe!

____

And there was life inside "it"

They called it RNB-00. It was the first in a generation of experimental life production using DNA from one of the most volatile creatures in the worlds: endermen. There were no endermen hybrids. The children could not survive, and the birth was volatile, tearing the parents and anyone near them apart with the violent magic.

They would perform the experiment anyways.

An unfinished human embryo, carefully extracted from someone who would be written in the paperwork as a volunteer. An enderpearl, freshly taken from a creature they didn't consider "human" enough to need even dubious content. DNA, taken directly from the brain of the enderman.

They spliced together the three ingredients, cheering when the chimera of enderman and embryo inside its tubes showed signs of life.

But some things are not meant to be done.

Nature is not meant to be tampered with.

The experiment turned south quickly. The specimen convulsed in its tube, growing at a rapid rate. Vibrant purple magic lashed out, dancing through the lab with a vengeance. There were the cries of a newborn mixed with the shrieks of an enderman- then, an explosion.

RNB-00 fell to the ground, the magic pulsing from it too bright to be looked at by the naked eye. A second explosion rocked the lab, this time all-encompassing and final. The building turned to ash and dust and settled around a new crater.

There would never be a RNB-01.

A shape rose from the center of the crater. It was a child from one angle, maybe two or three, with pure white hair, scarred cheeks, and a red eye.

From the other angle, it was a monster. Something not quite enderman or human. Jet black hair, and velvety black fur covered the left half of it. It's eye glowed an unnatural green, not the color of humans or endermen.

It toddled slowly away from the epicenter of the explosion, no memory of what had happened. As it walked, it noticed a mark, a brand, on it's right arm: RNB-00. The child stared, and blinked at the word.

And he named himself Ranboo.

Can it really be called "Cinderella"?

When Tubbo was young, he saw Cinderella, once. Even with how young he was, the story resonated with him. He wished all his stepfather did was give him chores, but he knew exactly how it felt to be unloved, unwanted, forced to stay on the sidelines. He just hoped his fairy godmother would come soon.

When he was a little older, he looked back on the story of Cinderella with nothing but bitterness. He was old enough now that he knew fairy tales didn't happen. There was no "fairy godmother" coming to save him; there never had been, there never would be. All he had was himself and his shitty situation. He wanted to forget the story that had given him such a bittersweet lie, but it was burned into his memory.

As he reached his teens, the anger turned into weariness. It wasn't Cinderella's fault his stepfather was a piece of shit. It wasn't the character's fault that she had help to break free while he didn't. And how miserable he was wasn't Tubbo's fault either, no matter how much his stepfather screamed it.

When he was 16, feeling ancient yet younger than he had ever been, he stopped comparing himself to Cinderella. Cinderella hadn't stood over her stepparent's body with a bat. Cinderella hadn't called the police on herself, showing them what she'd done and then the reason why, covering his skin beneath his clothes. Cinderella had been freed, but she hadn't paid such a heavy price for that freedom.

Tubbo had. Tubbo was far from a Cinderella story.

Love inside an empty box

Tommy's love was dangerous. He learned that at a very young age. Love for him wasn't just a feeling, it was a physical thing, at least to his eyes. He could feel every last drop of care, of love gathering around him like a storm. And just like a storm, when the feeling touched down, it was deadly. People, animals, anything that was touched by the love he couldn't stop feeling crumbled under the weight of something that shouldn't exist.

Tommy couldn't stop himself from caring. But he could stop himself from hurting. Hurting others, at least. Tommy commissioned a solution from a witch with a terrible reputation for cruelty, but a renowned skill with magical crafting. It cost him everything he owned, and some of who he was, but he walked away with an empty box made to hold what he couldn't afford to keep.

For years after that, every time he felt love building up in his chest- his care for friends, the people he considered family, even for strangers- he tore it off of himself and flung it into the box. Over time, the box grew full, bursting at the seams with his love. He learned to discard all but the most precious feelings, keeping those in his overstuffed box that weighed nothing and locking them inside.

But no lock lasts forever. Nothing lasts an eternity.

Tommy was alone with nothing but his thoughts, his box, and the ghost of a brother who was only really that in the privacy of his mind. He let his eyes shut, the box held loosely in one hand. The ghost, not knowing the consequences, touched the box.

And the seams of magic holding it together shattered and the love Tommy had stored away broke free, as powerful and terrible as a hurricane.

If it had been Wilbur, the man would've died as surely as he had when a blade was thrust through his heart. But this was Ghostbur, and you cannot kill what is already dead.

Still, such power has consequences. All the love in the box, far too powerful to be contained for long, spilled over, pouring over and around the ghost and the boy.

Yes, such power has consequences. The boy with too much love and his brother that never was would face those consequences together.

(world is) full of wonders

Wilbur is a simple musician. He travels alone, playing an ode to all of the world around him. He sings to the trees, the sky, the river, the sun, anything he pleases.

Though he knows it's silly, he can't help but imagine they sing back. He tries to match the harmony he hears in his mind, tries to play along with the symphony of nature. He can never keep up, but likes to imagine the world is fond of his efforts.

But even musicians can stumble into trouble. Too caught up in the ballad he played to the tune of the wind, he didn't hear the rattle of bones, the drawing of a bow. He heard only the twang as an arrow released before it pierced through his skull and everything went black.

But Wilbur wasn't gone. He didn't cease to exist, like he always assumed. He felt the cool caress of the void, the gentle brush of the universe against his mind and he gasped. Clearer than he'd ever heard it, he heard the song of the world, in perfect harmony and tune. This time, it sang along to him, to the pulsing of his soul.

Wilbur had no body, but if he did he would weep. He had no lungs, no mouth, no voice, but his soul took up the melody he longed to sing anyways. He sang with the universe until the song became more and more impossible to replicate and he could only listen in awe.

He woke up painlessly, laying on a gentle green field. His guitar was by his side, and his sweater was cleaner than it had ever been. He knew instinctually that he was not in the world he'd came from. This was a new world, a universe untouched, a new song to add his voice to.

Near

It hit him, one day, as he absently peeled a potato over the sink. That he didn't remember if he'd ever touched another person.

Techno had froze for a moment. It was quite the revelation to have out of nowhere. He dismissed it a moment later, memories of how he and Phil would bump shoulders as they walked and talked fresh in his mind.

But all too soon his thoughts turned back to the uncomfortable topic. Sure he'd touched Phil before, but that was through layers of armor and clothing. Had he ever had skin to skin contact with another person? Anything, as simple as a handshake? Hell, even something during battle would count.

He came up empty, and it was driving him crazy.

He didn't need to touch people. He didn't. Having someone he cared about liked close to him was good enough. He didn't need physical contact to reassure him. He never had, not even as a child.

Though that may have had something to do with the chorus of voices he'd had in his head that had kept him on the brink of insanity for most of his childhood. His voices were always there, always with him, so what need did he have for another person's company?

Except he did like company, Phil's especially. And he had it, plenty of it, more than he could ever possibly need. So why did he suddenly feel so off balance?

He asked Phil about it next time he saw his friend. He kept it casual. It wasn't a big deal, he didn't need to worry Phil by letting how much this had bothered him show.

"Hey, Phil, have we ever touched?" He asked. Phil gave him a weird look, then bumped his shoulder.

"Like that?" He asked, unimpressed. "Mate, maybe you should check your own memory before you call me old man again."

"Nah," Techno dismissed, "I meant like... skin to skin. Like a handshake or something."

This actually gave Phil pause. He thought for a moment, then laughed.

"I guess we haven't. Weird. Why?"

"I... Don't think I've ever touched anyone like that," Techno said. He tried to keep his voice steady, but his heart was pounding as he poured out his weakness in front of Phil.

The other man was silent for a long time. Techno could practically hear the shouts of ever??? running through his mind.

Suddenly Phil turned towards him, pulling off a glove.

"Handshake?" He offered with a smile, something sad beyond the amusement in his eyes. Techno rolled his eyes, but he hesitated taking his glove off. Slowly reaching out, as if Phil's hand was a snake that might strike at any sudden movements, he placed his hand in Phil's.

The sensation was like a fire roaring to life on his hand. It didn't hurt, not like a real fire, but it somehow burned. He froze, his brain having trouble processing the bizarre feeling. It was overwhelming, and the best thing he'd ever felt, and yet it was almost a relief when Phil gently pulled his hand away.

"We'll take it slow, alright mate?" He said, nudging Techno with an elbow. The piglin's brain began to work again and he snorted, pulling the glove on again and falling back into step.

"Of course. We can't overwork your old man brain," Techno said dryly, earning him a sharper nudge. He grinned, the amusement softening to fondness as Phil walked just a little closer, letting their arms stay pressed together as they went.

It was strange how you didn't notice you were missing something until you had it. Bare contact was a little too overwhelming right now. So he was right. For now, this was enough. Having his best friend near him was all he needed.

Angel's Clover

There is a special plant that only grows in the land of celestials. An ethereal clover that sprouts from the weary souls that come to rest on the soils of heaven. The souls and the clover flourish in time with one another, tended to by the celestials that walk the lands. It is only a rumor, in the eyes of mortals, but one who walks among them knows it to be true. He is the Angel of Death, and his presence can never touch the sacred halls of the celestial lands, lest they wither and die.

But souls do not always complete the journey, to find their final rest above. Some souls are too broken, too hurt to reach the peace of the celestial lands. It is the duty of the Angel of Death to guide the souls, and it is his duty to heal them so that they may be guided.

In the land of the mortals, there is one place where the clover grows. It is in the humble garden of a plain looking man, who wears a large hat to block his eyes from the sun, and keeps his unearthly wings folded beneath his cloak.

In his garden, the Angel of Death nurtures the precious remnants of life.

#dsmp #dsmp au #prinx fake title game #ranboo #tommy #techno #tubbo #wilbur #phil #aslitheryanswers

[widowsofchaos]

98,101,66 please. 👉👈

❝Kindred Spirits

98. “Can you just…hold me? Just for tonight.”

101. “(Name), please…you’re scaring me.”

66. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x black!reader

soulmate au // requested from this prompt list

A/N: angst and smut, what else is new? After this one, there would be a mix bag of light and dark fics of the 200 ways to say masterlist will be filled with dark fics, for dark fics is why I created this blog in the first place. I’m just trying to get my lighter ones out first. Requested from this prompt.

Oof anon, you one angsty bitch, aren’t you?

Do Not Repost My Works!

It’s okay, I’m here for you.

That’s how it started. Sweet whispers, warm on his clammy skin -- a balm rash. On his flesh forearm, words of adoration carving, itching, and burning -- kismet.

A moment’s breath of happiness reared its head a 180, unveiling a twisted putrid beast; foaming at the fangs shouting “You don’t deserve her.”

Legend has been told for generations that if you reject your destined soulmate, physical illness overwhelms the body. An heart-wrenching pain injects itself into the soul — as if death itself manifests within you.

Those sadden eyes when Bucky shifted away from you that night made him want to bite down on his fist, and scream till his throat went raw. You slightly flinched when he curled in himself, snagging his flesh arm away from you.

It was another restless night for Bucky, waking up screaming bloody murder from an intense nightmare -- images of Hydra murdering you sent him into a spiraling panic attack.

Shouts of your name laced in despair echoed throughout the floor, fists clenching the bed sheets. Knuckles ghosted white, nearly ripping the fabric at the stitched seams. Hot tears stream down his red cheeks like waterfalls. Like a guardian angel, you flew to his aid.

Trembling hands seek a tender soul -- a better soul. Aching bones, and aching heart grasping for your touch, despite the gnawing guilt of how undeserving he felt of your presence.

To breathe the same air as you, there’s nothing tender in his jagged edges, or in his filthy hands. Bitter clouds brew and storm above him -- not fit to feel your pure flesh.

The light in your eyes, the feathery pads of your fingers soothing him -- it reminds him of his mother. Lately, he’s been missing her even more these days; the more deeper he wallows within him, serene memories of himself being dumb and fourteen.

The sly slip of ale on the tip of his tongue, fumbling apologies, she just shushed him, and tucked him into bed. Told him he was a good boy, and that he could never do anything bad. Taught him how to be tough, and yet connected with his sensitivity -- how to be a man.

He clung onto his mother’s sweet words, wise advice -- even a century later.

“Did I do something wrong?” Those words burned in his brain, how your chin wobbles a bit. Shifting on his side, his back facing you, he mumbled, “No. Just leave.” Bucky bit back a sob, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. His face contorting in a pitiful display.

A hiss escaped through his teeth, “Bucky, what’s wrong?” You whimpered. That tug -- all too familiar in your heart to scoop him up, and tend to his wounds. On instinct, you hugged him, your chest squeezed onto the muscular planes of his slick back.

Shivers crawled through the crevices of his spine at the feel of your skin.

Bucky wiggled in your grasp, the heat of your engraved words began throbbing as Bucky refused to accept the tie between you two.

Bucky slithered out of your hands as if it pained him to be near you. Tears brimmed at your eyes -- never once -- has he ever refused a hug from you.

The closest of the Avengers; Bucky was timid in your presence. You didn’t force yourself in his bubble, a comfortable distance. Friendly approach of kind greetings, inviting him to movie nights of just you two or suggesting reading material to him.

Helping Bucky adjust to modern culture through advanced technology. Spoiling him with your cooking -- no longer does tube-fed mush, or boiled food lingers on his palate.

It was easy to trust you, it was -- second nature to ingrain yourselves in each other’s bubbles.

Eventually -- Bucky sought out your company, and kind words. Old language of affection -- fluttering lashes, and tiny grazes of her knuckles. Soft hugs at night, his ear laid against your beating heart to tame his late-night terrors.

Now a year later, finally the acknowledgement of deeper layers of love that were sunk in each other now surfaces from the soul to the skin -- a permanent tattoo.

“Bucky, what’s wrong with your arm?” You asked, terrified that he might be in unbearable pain, your strong hands grab his forearm. Tumbling to see what’s eating at him, Bucky jolted with a pained yelp, eyes shut; tears now soaking his face, clutching his arm.

A burning rash simmers on your chest, like a hot blade. A hidden promise prickling above your heart.

A quick graze of your fingers against his skin, sore skin incised. The carving sent electric zaps, the tug in your chest pulling harder and harder; breathless.

You gasped, “Bucky, let me see.” Your words hushed, uncertain.

Hopeful, if it’s finally time. The universe has connected you two together. It’s meant to be.

“No.” Stern, and hardened. “Now leave.” Watery eyes cloud his vision, the taste of anger lingers on his tongue -- rage at himself. His chest cavity felt as if it shattered, “Don’t do this.” You pleaded, it felt as if God himself stabbed your soul.

“Don’t push me away. Not after this.” Your voice trailed into silence, and a sniffle; wiping your wet nose with the back of your hand. “Please, show me your arm.” You begged again.

Fresh tears trail down your cheeks, Bucky remained silent -- the only cadence was his heavy breathing, curling into a fetal position at near the edge of the bed. “Bucky, please don’t do this. Don’t you know what this means? Don’t deny your -- our fate.”

A beat of silence, Bucky refusing to meet your eyes. Your weak fists pounded on Bucky’s back. A few seconds past, even at the brink of offense, and rejection bubbling, you just couldn't bear to physically hurt him. You love that steel-eyed bastard too much.

“Is this what you want?! To end this?!” You shrill, hiding your face against his bicep, softly weeping on his arm, but with every contact -- the words itched even more. Eventually, you stopped, slumping on his body, full bodily sobbing; Bucky kept his metal hand on his arm.

Dying, and yearning to cradle you as droplets flood his eyes, nose scrunching. Losing you will surely kill him.

His words, void of any emotion, “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

-

Gingerly, his teeth sinking into his lip, gripping onto the metal tray in both his hands. On the tray, was a bowl of tomato soup, crackers, and a bottle of water. It’s been three days since Bucky sent you away, rejecting you -- despite the universe’s revelation.

Standing at your door, sighing as he peers at Bucky’s door -- shut closed away. Steve dropped off a platter of food, but he doubts Bucky even acknowledged it. Three days, fearing that it would tip into a week of radio silence, and festering ill in your own respective rooms.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you please open Y/n’s door?”

“Of course, Captain Rogers.”

The lock clicked, a faint groan can be heard. A humorless laugh exhaled through his nose, maneuvering the tray on his hand, the other twisting the handle. Steve entered the room, the stuffy atmosphere almost made him cough.

The blinds and windows were shut -- pitch black darkness shrouding, causing Steve to nearly squint. The lightning emitting from the hallway, revealing the thrashed living space.

Furniture throttled across the room, the sofa up-turned, the glass table nearly shattered; no doubt, your fist colliding against the coffee table, visible blood splatter are still drying on the cracks. Steve shakes his head, sighing.

Strolling quietly towards your bedroom, Steve’s chest tightens at the sight of you crumbling into a ball, surrounded by wrinkled sheets.

“Please, Steve … I’m tired.” You mumbled, too exhausted, too sick to open your eyes -- too lethargic to send a glare in Steve’s direction.

“This needs to end.” Steve murmured under his breath, hesitant to ask the question that it is just edging at the tip of his tongue, but how else is he going to address the rabid elephant in the room?

“Have you talked to Bucky?” Steve whispered, his words dying into silence. Brows pinched sorrowfully, hurt that not only is he witnessing the deterioration of a close friendship -- the only person Bucky fully heatedly trusts besides Steve -- along with the distress in not only you, but Bucky as well.

“No -- he doesn’t want me. So why should I?” You weakly snarled, but it was a pitiful attempt to mask your heart-ache, and yearning for him.

Barely glancing at Steve, as you sat solemnly on the edge of your bed; staring out at the window. Limbs aching deeply, muscles tensing as you clung onto the blanket. Slowly, your body is going to give out.

“This can’t keep going on. You’re getting sick and so is he.” Steve walked to the dresser, placing the tray down.

“And who’s fault is that?” You choked back a sob,

“I’ve been sick my whole life. Sick and fucking tired. All my years, everyone rejected me. My parents, being bullied as a kid -- and now the very soul that the universe connected me with doesn’t even fucking want me! My existence is a fucking joke.” Your arms failing, sloppily crawling under your bed sheets to hide away once again, and pray to finally die.

“You’re not a joke. We all were born for a reason, and destined for the right one.” Steve sat beside your sniffling form, balled into an infant position. His palm cups your shoulder, rubbing it through the stitched cloth.

Pity swells in his cavity. “Oh Stevie --”, you sighed. What a romantic he was, still the old soul of the hopeful bird-boned boy under the shield of a praised golden god; ever so the gentleman clinging onto fantasies of true love.

“--Bless your heart. With your sweet soul, I hope you find the one meant for you.” You croaked, a bit hesitant at first, mixture of regret -- Steve stills hold onto the mourning of Peggy.

Muffled in the back of his mind, insistent that she was the one; but never got the chance to find out if his skin would be graced with her serene words.

Steve silently clung onto your hand through the blanket, squeezing a bit tightly. Grounding himself so he won’t slip into the painful nostalgic haze once again.

“You both need to address this. I’m worried about yours and Bucky’s health. I’m scared.” Steve whimpered, shell-shocked to hear him crumble -- you peer over the blanket.

Steve’s face is pinched, pruning into a pitiful kicked puppy, his chin leaning against his chest -- eyes shut, failing to prevent tears from falling.

Caving in you crawl out of the sheets, hugging onto his muscular back -- a picture worthy of a laugh, how much you resemble a koala bear clinging onto a teddy bear.

“Please -- just talk. Please.” Steve’s stuttering over water-logged words, sniffling as his eyes leveled with yours; never once have you thought ever in your life-time that you would see the mighty Captain America shrivel into a shaking boy.

Petrified that Steve can lose two great friends -- due to years deep of insecurities, and lack of communication.

“Okay --” Defeated, you sink your chin on his shoulder, “--I’ll talk to him.”

Your knuckles grazed his cheek, “Don’t cry, Stevie.” Wiping his fallen tears gently, Steve twisted his body to engulf you in his arms.

Steve’s rubs your back soothingly, “Now, please eat.” You huffed a chuckle, you mumbled a low sweet okay.

- Guts churning, as if the devil himself was playing jump-rope with your intestines. Nausea bile rising at the back of your esophagus.

Why will I say to him? What if he turns me away again?

The possibility of once more rejection will kill you. Trapping your lip between the cages of your teeth, the hesitant fist hovering over the door finally rains down.

Unanswered knocks engulfed in silence rings in your ears. It’s well past midnight, the entire compound is fast asleep, but you know Bucky -- like the back of your hand. Insomnia is a tricky bastard that haunts Bucky, you sighed.

Thankfully, Steve permitted you access in FRIDAY’s system to unlock his door despite Bucky’s request to remain locked in.

Timid steps waltz inside, the air thick, and stuffy -- like your room, barren, and shut out from the outside world. Hovering fingers mindlessly fiddle in the air, trying to grasp any solid surface; cautious from bumping, and falling.

Gliding open-palms against the wall pavements, walking in the correct direction in darkness due to muscle memory; your chest heaving slightly from unbridled anxiety.

Shaky fingers clutch the knob, twisting it carefully -- although, you have a hunch, Bucky is aware of your presence.

“I thought I told you to stay away.” A hoarse, harsh disembodied voice looms from the beyond the door, simmering rage now rises in fiery flames at the pit of your stomach. You push the hinges of the door wide open, your eyes swirl from soft brown to carmine fury.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, chestnut tresses cling against his cheeks -- tear soaked strands sticky against his stubble cheeks.

Hunched over, eyes stuck on the carpeting -- as if the blue rug was so damn fucking interesting. He doesn’t have the nerve to look you in the eyes -- how could he?

“Look at me.” You demanded, tone hardened; despite your congestive throat. “I said fucking look at me.” You stomped your foot on the floor, emphasizing your hurt.

Watery blues peek through brown strands, wincing at your nose flaring, fists coiled, “Stay away?!” You shouted.

Bucky grimaced, shutting his eyes, his face pruning -- resembling a pitiful baby. “Stay away? Like I don’t mean anything to you! Like I’m trash?!” Your voice cracked, tears pooling in your eyes.

“I’m not like everybody else -- it’s you and me. I -- I don’t understand -- these past days, I’ve been having these dreams -- whenever I do get some sleep!” Your eyes zero on him, daggers into his soul; your arms flailing.

Your heart is beating wildly against your chest, tight fists weakly beating onto your cavity. Twirling like an unhinged rag-doll, Bucky crying slightly, his body shaking a bit, from small tremors of sobs.

“Y/n, please … you’re scaring me.” Bucky scared you’re going to hurt yourself, itching to cease your hands hitting yourself. Fingers clinging onto the sewed fabric, “Dreams of you --” breathless, eyes hazy. Bucky gasped a bit, dreams of him?

You quietened down, glaring at him, “I’ve never got to show you.”

You quickly unbutton your blouse, frustrated fingers fumbling over the stitched buttons, “Y/n, what are you doing?” A pained whimper laced with curiosity, Bucky’s hands reached out to halt you. “No!” You shouted -- a watery bite -- he flinched.

Gripping the flap of your shirt, you tugged it down -- a soft gasp left Bucky, harshly swallowing back a sob. Imprinted above your heart is his own words, “I won’t let anyone hurt you, doll.” Cerulean lettering gleaming against scarred sepia.

You scoffed, then a sniffle, “Funny, when it’s you who ended up hurting me, instead.” Irkingly you released your snag, hugging your torso with your arms, a weak attempt to distance yourself -- succumb into your shell.

‘I won’t let anyone hurt you, doll.’ Those words weigh so heavily, creamy bronze snicked on brown skin back three months past.

It was a mission gone hay-wire, five Hydra agents bombarding you -- Bucky heard your screams in his comms; screams that would haunt him forever.

As a speeding bullet, Bucky ran like a mad-man for you -- slaughtering agents, snarling as his knife punctured clean through the necks; gliding his blades slicing down the spines. No mercy. If you ever get hurt, it would be the end of him.

Drenched in blood, ichor coating his strands -- sticking against his maw, and neck. Sitting on the floor, crazed eyes, black cat-suit shines with splotches of red, curls now limp with plasma, plump brown cheeks now covered in a blood mask.

Big doe eyes beam underneath coated heavy droplets -- Bucky sweet strawberry kiss upon your hairline, his lips printing against the red sheen-- his blood-splattered angel.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you, doll.” Forehead pinned against forehead, Bucky’s palm gripping the nape of your neck. Passive eyes with a small smile masking a burning hot-white sensation right above your heart plate.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky mumbled under his breath, tiny droplets of tears falling down his bearded cheeks. “You deserve the world.” His chin fell to his chest, little sobs huffing.

“You need someone who isn’t broken.” Bucky cried, sniveling — staring at his trembling hands in his lap.

“Not someone who’s going to wake up screaming in the middle of the night from fucking night terrors!” His hands harshly gripping his sweatpants.

“Who’s clingy, and needy cause doll –” Bucky lifted his wet gaze to you, “I miss you when you leave to the next room. I need you all the time.” He croaked. You cautiously stepped to him, cupping his puffy face.

Bucky instinctively leaned into your touch, tranquility washing over him. A calm sigh slipped from him, “Bucky, I need you. I’ve always needed you.”

Bucky’s eyes opened, “I’ve needed you before I was born.” You bent forward, the tip of your nose flick against his, he solemnly chuckled.

His timid smile fell just a tad bit, “For so many years, I thought the universe was playing a cruel joke on me. For decades I saw you in my dreams – I thought maybe it was a hallucination.” Bucky’s released the bundled fabric, his hands finding its home on your body. Bucky pulled you to his lap, grasping onto your thighs like a life-line.

“I thought you were a figment of my imagination—it gave me peace knowing that you didn’t leave me even when I was getting my brains fried.” You choked back a sob, kissing his forehead. A lingering kiss; you lips were so soft— soft soft soft— like a feather grazing him.

“You see, I was always there with you.”  You mumbled against his hairline, nimble kisses in your wake.

Littering kisses on his tear-soaked face: on his fluttering eye-lids, between his brows, the creases on the edge of his eyes, and his chin.

Bucky reciprocated, emotional sloppy kisses. Limbs entangled like a pretzel. On your temples, a trail of pecks on the slope of your nose, your eye-lids, and your chin too. A little nibble like a sappy puppy.

“For decades, I’ve dreamt of you. Didn’t know if you were real or not — soulmates are destined, right? Everything happens for a reason.” You tearfully nodded at his words.

“If I have to go through years of brain-washing to be with you again, I would do it in a heartbeat.” You cried, furiously smashing your lips on his, cupping his cheeks in your hands.

“I love you in a place, where there is no space or time.” At that moment, you felt like your heart would stop at Bucky’s words, glassy eyes meet each other.

Foreheads connect, Bucky’s hands slowly graze your smooth skin, glossy oceanic hues never waver from yours, his calloused fingers slither underneath your shirt, rubbing circles at the nape of your back.

Keening leisure desperate touches, your fingers intertwining, and soft tugs of his tresses. Lips hairs-away from each other, a bit hesitant at first, hitched breaths fanning; a quick flick of your upper lip against his.

“Can you just ...hold me? Just for tonight.” Bucky asked, his voice on the cusp of shy, still paranoia hovers in his mind that you may be gone tomorrow.

“I want to hold you every night.” You mewl, a feather-light kiss. Open palms travel the muscular planes of blood, bone, and metal -- nails lightly scrape his skin. Bucky’s lips smashes against yours.

Decades ago -- what feels like a distant lifetime ago -- dim mere of his own past, Bucky would’ve cupped your face in the warm curve of his hands; once soft, now calloused with bitter memories.

He would press his lips to yours, tenderly. Like a poem, simple but yet passionate.

Taste of smeared lipstick, sticky like honey, and faint mint -- now, it’s fumbling. Sloppy, desperate. But it’s all the same; he’s no longer the fresh baby-face of his past. Eyes sparkle with wonder, he’s older -- wise beyond his years.

Years of hurtful baggage weighs on his heart, but -- you. You remind him how to feel alive again, he feels like the care-free pubescent misfit he once was running around Brooklyn, saving Stevie from another fight, and chasing skirts, being a heartbreaker.

But the only skirt he wants to chase is yours only; and keep your heart in his safe grasp.

His heart unfettered, you came to him bare -- as if you peeled your skin inch by inch, no secrets barricading your love.

Soaking in your essence, unfiltered groans against molding mouths -- coveting pink lips slip from your swollen lips to your jaw to your weak-spot; you squeal as Bucky suckles on your pulse-point.

Marking what is his -- the gift that the universe personally bestowed for him, and him only. From an outside party, you’re younger than him, but not in flesh and not in soul.

A vision that followed him everywhere in his mind, even in the darkest years, you were the light.

Kindred spirits before birth.

Bucky grunts, his palm tenderly clutches the nape of your neck -- steadying your shakiness, eyes blissfully closed as he devoured you.

“I love you. God -- I love you.” Mumbling against your flushed skin, his warm tongue licks against his love-bites, parted lips fanning tantalizing pants.

Your eyelids fluttered, pupils rolling in the back of your skull, “I love you too.” A declaration, the truth. Spidery brown fingers rubbing against his scalp, he gasps, it’s a cooling sensation soothing his senses.

“Make love to me.” You coo, you relish the way Bucky squirms underneath you.

Desperate, inpatient -- Bucky grabs your waist, lifts you off his lap momentarily. Seated with Bucky nestled between your legs, thick tone thighs ripple a bit underneath your soft plush.

Choppy pants exuding from both of you, Bucky tugs the hem of your shirt upward -- braless, breasts heave free, ready to be explored with his mouth.

His teeth caging your nipple, nibbling, and pulling -- you hiss, ensnaring Bucky’s head in your arms. Cradling his dome against your chest, as he suckled upon your breasts.

Muffled groans, and moans -- grinding your clothed pussy against his bulging crotch. Leisure thrusts, dry-humping -- your lavender panties turning into a wet silky grape.

“I need to feel you.” You mumble lowly, a whining lover. Bucky’s hands glide down the slope of your spine, sweetly rubbing the nape of your back to then cupping your soft globes.

Squeezing, molding into his palms, you lean into his neck, and lick a long stride. He mewls, his fingers sneak beneath the hem of your panties, calloused against smooth flesh.

Sneaky fingers travel between your cheeks, as if it’s muscle memory, toying with your gaping asshole to your clenching cunt. A raw groan vibrates in your throat, “Bucky --”  He shushes you, lips trailing your jaw. “You’re so fucking wet.” Back and forth glides in your velvet folds, to your supple cheeks.

“Nhhh -- uh--” Stunned stuttering, your entire body vibrating in shivers as the cooling metal infiltrates your blazing heat. “Hmm … needs a little bit more.” Bucky removed his fingers ever so slowly, a quick spat on his fingers; diving right back in.

His thumb plunging and curving inside your glistening ass, and his two fingers pistoning in your moist pussy.

“I need you dripping … so I can slide nice and deep.” Like a feline, you mewl and your back arches in his grasp, manhandling you by the clutch of your holes.

Untying his sweatpants strings, in a frenzy as your ass jiggles in his unrelenting metal appendage. With his flesh hand, with ease and precision, Bucky snaps your underwear off.

Your thighs shake as if an earthquake was erupting within your body. Harsh tugs at his pants -- God, you can tap-dance if you could -- he goes commando. Slapping against his abs, his cock swollen -- gleeful fingers wrap around his cock like a vice. Tight, and ruthless.

“Fuck doll --” Bucky’s voice is cracked, he growls lowly, “Don’t stop. Never fucking stop.” Swiveling fist from the base to the tip, twirling around his tip -- Bucky’s swallows thickly, “You fucking minx.”

It’s all too much yet liberating. Cheekily you twirl the tip of his cock against your throbbing clit, you shudder against his lips, “You’re mine.” You spoke in a hush, maneuvering his dick upward, skidding against your humming labia.

Bucky releases your holes, “Enough! I need you.” Bruising grip on your waist, lifting you upward, hovering over his dick, and swift fall of grace -- you scream, so thick, so full.

“Shit, you’re so big. So damn big.” Eyes shut close, “Wait Bucky --” A frail hand lays flat on his abdomen, “Wait nothing!” A guttural noise leaves his throat, like a beast. And fucks you like one.

Your head leaning backwards, curls bouncing and yourself jolting up and down in his hold as he snaps his hips against. A menace.

Time ceases to exist, gravity crushing, bones aching yet it’s a pleasure burn -- no longer pains of despair, but delicious pain as Bucky thrusts in you.

He’s selfish -- and with every right, his heart thumping against his cavity, he thinks it would stop. Can you hear it? How it beats like a hummingbird for you?

Fast, and snarling, “No -- no -- no.” Latching on your jaw with his thick fingers, “Look at us.” Aiding your head downward, you groaned at the sight of his cock hurtling like a mad man. How perfectly you clench him -- a perfect fit.

“So perfect, like a warm wet hug.” A hoist of his hips off the bed, a curve of his dick, you shriek, “Ah -- there it is. The sweet spot.” Your fingernails create craters in his bicep, and scrape against metal.

Squelching skin on skin pounds in your ears, abrupt jerk down on him, balls deep -- it was brutal. Swirling his hips, along with you following his teasing motions, muffled sticky cadence of your juices coating him.

Slow fall, asterning with your hands on his knees. Skull hanging, raspy small fucks, and yes Bucky leave your lips.

With the support of his hand on your back, short but hard thrusts, and his flesh hand slapping your tits. Bent forward, Bucky sucks on your breast, his hair tickling your bare breasts -- the one with his imprintment. Gawking at it as he sucks, it brings tears to his eyes.

“I’m --- uggnh -- I’m gonna cum.” A broken whisper, Bucky pulls back to him, nearly his bare back colliding to the bed, “Do it, doll. Soak me. Cum with me.” Possessively, you wanna coat his flushed pink skin with your cum, have your scent on him -- like an omega for her Alpha.

It’s divine will. A burst of an eruption of the milky way in his eyes. Unwavering brown meets cosmic blue. Space dust clouding your visions, satellites whirling -- Bucky and yourself nourishing your needs’; crawling in each other's fibers, and sinews, make-shifting into a womb.

As one.

The horizon of the galaxy is painted in glittering pinks, neon green, and blues. Stars shine like uncut diamonds, the hand of God commemorates the two soulmates.

Time and space disoriented, shouts of the other’s name bounce against the walls, but speaking each other’s names is like a prayer, salvation. Hot waves of fluid paint your wet walls, spurts of your essence sprays his flexing abs, and groin. Droplets falling from his happy trail.

It's blinding -- cumming so hard has Bucky and yourself levitating at the toes, then begin collapsing and twisting in each other’s limbs, clinging onto each other, shattered breaths, chests heaving. Loss for words.

Bucky came hard, yet gentle and sweet deep inside of you, his words dying in a slurring breathy whisper. It’s so much -- suffocating, but both of you don’t mind drowning. To lose only a sense of the world; just feel each other. In body, and soul.

The smell of him -- hot musk, flushed warm skin, sweaty skin on skin. Love-bites litter his neck like on yours. Bucky’s ego flares, you smell of him. Branded by every sense of the word.

Lust still lingering in the air, on yours and his flesh. Sepia melanin coated in a sheen, candied with saliva and sweat. He smells like a natural aroma of lavender. How Bucky internally gushes at how your baby hairs cling on your forehead, your kind hands sway the chestnut ringlets that curtain your favorite burning blues.

Shy lips dance a bashful tango. Barely touching, but sensual. Tempering with aching pining, ever-lasting yearning that can be only satiated with touch. Always, always, always, always starving, and everlasting.

“I want more.” A crooked grin forms at Bucky’s face, so insatiable he mutters under his breath. His smirk falters a bit, “All of me?” Depth to a simple question with a complicated meaning. A double-edged sword wielding in the distance, but you know both ends are worth it.

So you’ll take it straight to the heart -- the journey will be sweet -- dear God, yes sweet sweet agony. “All of you. For all eternity. Even in the after-life.”

A kiss soft, and slow. Not sure to rush in, can feel his heart. Bucky grips your curls to look you in the eye, a quick glare, his eyes glistening, Are you sure?

You smirk, grabbing the nape of his neck, smashing your lips, forehead to forehead. Nose to nose, face closer, searching for any shadow of doubt but he only saw a twinkle of pouring affection.

A short chuckle, Bucky leans in for a kiss but you tease him with only a second of it, pulling your face away. A huff of a laugh at his darkening eyes. Grumbling, by the power of his metal fingers, forces you on his lips.

The echo of the smooch is wet, and enticing. Flinging you on the bed , trapping you under his weight -- a giggle, and a low timbre of a raspy snicker.

“I want those legs high on my shoulders, doll.”

Smack.

“Hmph --”  Biting down on your lip, reveling in his dominance. “-- And you call me insatiable.” You jabbed, a shit-eating grin.

Crack.

And another brisk one, heat blooming on your cheeks.

A high-pitched moan is Bucky’s only answer.

- Pungent fragrance of coitus thickens the air. It’s delicious. Hours of non-stop love making. The sunset is sneaking from the distance, a soft tangerine hue illuminating the room.

Bucky’s fingers rubbing circles on your shoulders, lulling you to a blissful freshly fucked state.

Hazy eye-lids, you want him -- he’s still in disbelief, how can someone like you -- a goddess incarnate -- love someone like him. Is the universe really forgiving him for his sins?

Your small frame engulfed in his massive frame, legs entangled, his arms hugging you tightly. His fingers finding refuge in your hair, his water-logged eyes trail to your chest.

It’s okay, I’m here for you.

A beautiful reminder of your dying commitment. The pads of his fingers trace his marking above your breast, ‘I won’t let anyone hurt you, doll.’

Savoring your small sleepy pout that edges into a smile. A smile curls at the corner of his mouth, leaning forward to peck the letters -- and he’ll always be there for you too.

Forever and always.

#buckybarnesplumwhore wrote this #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes #marvel #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader smut

[i-write-sometimes-blog]

You matter to me (Empress!Rey x Reader)

Request: Can you do a Empress!Rey x reader? It starts off as the reader being Rey’s prisoner and later on, Rey starts having feelings towards her and later on, grants the reader a small amount of freedom. She begins falling for Rey, too. Neither of them share their feelings until one day, something happened that put her in a bad mood and she lashes out at the reader when she was trying to ask her what happened, wanting to help her feel better. After lashing out, it brought back the reader’s fear of her and she started to keep her distance from Rey. Rey doesn’t take notice of this at first until when she needed something from the reader a couple days later. She had her back towards Rey and flinched when Rey put a hand on her shoulder to get her attention. When she took a step back from Rey in fear, it made her feel bad and she apologizes for it and in the end, she felt she needed to be more protective of the reader. By anon

Words: 2,315

A/N: ngl this took me forever, I literally wrote like five different drafts for this, bc the request was awesome and I just couldn't find a way to make it justice. So here it is.

They had captured you.

This was bad, very bad. Even worse than the wounds in your body but they didn’t matter, dead would be better than being held in this immense dark palace. You had heard what she did to the rebels she captured and it was worse than dead.

The stormtroopers dragged you to her place, but didn’t feel the real terror until you saw her sitting impsing in her throne, the Empress herself a few feets away from you. Her bare presence made you shivered as an urged to scream built in the back of your throat. She seemed so dangerous.

And when she spoke damn, you were terrified.

“I’m keeping this one” she said “take her to the infirmary and then bring her to a cell.” she order to the troopers who followed as soon as she went silent.

You passed a time in a very small cell with nothing except a small and hard bed, looking at the four walls until she visited you. The first time you were beyond afraid unsure of her intentions, but she spoke in a surprisingly calm and kind way.

“How’s the wound?” she asked looking at your bandaged leg.

“B-better?” you mumbled nervous. A reassuring smile formed in her lips as rose her voice again.

“Don’t be afraid, I’m not going to hurt you.” she said “I need your help. You have a name?"

"Y/N" you told her.

"Well, Y/N, I need you to tell me everything you know about the the Resistance, can you do that?" Gulping hard you thought for a moment, you weren't going to betray your friends, not put them in danger. But there was no much useful information so you slowly nodded.

"Excellent" she said smiling.

She kept coming every day, ask you the same questions about where was the Resistance, how many were there and how to defeat them. And you kept your word, you told her everything you knew and it was not a lie when you told her you had absolutely no idea where they were.

But that didn't stop her from visiting you every day making sure your leg was fine. The questions became deeper, she started to ask more about you than about the Resistance and allowed you to ask her things.

Rey, her name was Rey. You found out one day and immediately like it, it was a soft name, a gentle and sweet one that matched her features, so you started to call her that, not Empress anymore.

With the time she moved you from the cell to your own personal room, she said it was a reward for your cooperation though the way she looked at you made you think it was because she was falling for you and the idea curved your lips into a bright smile.

You started falling for her too, for the way she sat imposing on her throne, for the confident way she talked, for the smile she gave you every time her gaze crossed yours. You started to get closer, more than you probably should considering she was the enemy. Wherever she went you followed, at first as a command but you enjoyed being with her.

And then one day she opened up with you sitting in a balcony looking at the way the stars painted the night sky. She told you about her past, her life in the desert planet. A single tear rolled down her cheek with the memories.

You looked at her long and detailed, but all you saw was a girl broken by years of tragedy and pain. By seas of tears, false hopes and broken promises, forced to do terrible things to find peace only finding more pain and a void inside her. Not the monster everyone said she was.

Maybe that was the moment you truly fell for her, seeing her so vulnerable, so afraid. You wanted to comfort her, hold her in your arms and assure her she was more than that, to find a way to bring back that confident smile to her lips you loved. You carefully took her hand in yours, a simple yet very intimate gesture that made her smile just enough to melt your heart once again.

****

Loud screams rumbled down the hall as you walked closer to the room they came from, the voice made stronger with every new step you took. Rey’s angry voice traveled to your ears and made a shiver run down your spine and almost freeze as you finally stood in the doorframe.

There she was standing next to the holographic table that displayed a blue recording of a battlefield, she looked so upset murmuring things nonstop as she walked from side to side in the small room, her voice cracking let you know she would break down in the matter of a second so you got closer to her talking softly.

“Hey, you okay?” you said and she looked at you.

“Rebels again” she told you “They keep getting in my way and then disappearing again.” you nodded and she turned her back to you, she knew how much you worried for your friends in the Resistance. “No matter how hard I try to find them they just keep moving, and some planets are starting to stand against me, they don’t respect me. I am the Empress, they should fear even think about doing something like that without consequences..”

“It’s going to be fine” you told her placing your hand on her shoulders trying your best to comfort her.

“No it’s not, Y/N!” she yelled before she abruptly turned around making you flinch a bit apart as she continued, you looked now right into her eyes filled with all kind of negative emotions “Nothing is fine, nothing is great and surely nothing is gonna get better!”

“You can make this better, just calm down, please.” you begged her “We can solve this, it’s gonna be fine, I’ve seen you do it before. I know you will find a solution” you told her hoping to cheer her up a bit.

“No, you don’t understand, Y/N!” she exploded in anger “Nothing is gonna be fine until I destroy the Resistance! Not until I make sure every single one of them is gone!”

“Rey…” you murmured.

“Save it, Y/N. You there’s nothing you can do for me, I don’t even know why do I keep you around when you’re one of them! After all this time, all the things I’ve done for you, you still hoping they will win someday ” she hissed leaning closer to your face, the words leaving her mouth in a rush, desperate to be heard.

Rey stared at you furiously and you felt your heart racing as fast as a ship flying through lightspeed, beating fastly against your chest, with every new word a intense pain grew in your heart.

“I saved you, I healed you when you were left behind to die! They abandoned you, Y/N! They didn’t even looked back, your precious Resistance let you hurt in the ground like garbage so they could escape!” she stormed and you felt a lump forming in your throat.

“I was willing to die for them.” you murmured.

“See? You keep defending them. Tell me what have they done for you?” she stay silenced for a moment waiting for your answer “Tell me!!” she screamed sending a shiver down your spine as you closed your eyes in terror.

“What? Are you going to cry now?” she asked serious and you did your best to contain the tears pooling in your eyes. “I should have kill you when I found out you were useless, you have no information for me, I have a whole lot of engineers who could do your work with ease, you have no purpose here.” she added placing on of her hands around your neck digging her black nails in the side of it. A rush of panic invaded your body bringing back memories from the day you met this woman and thought that was the last day of your life. You gulped thickly before you rose your voice.

“Please, don’t hurt me.” you said as firm as your weak voice allowed you. The Empress just glanced at you for a few seconds that felt like an eternity for you. Then she slowly let go of your neck.

“Get out of my sight.” she whispered in a dangerous and threaten tone that you obeyed immediately.

Once you were in the hall you allowed the tears to fall down your face as your heart ached, after all this time you forgot how dangerous the Empress was, how imposing and deadly she really was, maybe she was a bit different in the inside, she was soft and you had witnessed she had a good heart, but at the same time she would always be the evil ruler that sat imposing in her throne with a burning desire to conquer the whole galaxy. She could kill you if she wanted to, she would do it without blinking and you knew it. The thought invaded your head as you kept walking, filling your body with terror.

As the days went by you tried to keep your distance from the woman in dark long dress that ruled over the palace, it was a survival instinct maybe, to hide from that we know can kill us, from what we fear and you were once again terribly afraid of what she could do to you.

Staying as much time as you could in the room she had gave you, wasting your time in insignificant motor designs, fixing broken things, anything you could to be far from her. But there were times you were obligated to be around her, in meetings to discuss improvements in ships, weapons, whatever. She was there, you kept your eyes away from her, answer her questions as fast as you could but not in a warm way as before. Rey didn’t seem to notice your cold words nor the distance you built between you, she was too busy destroying cities and searching for the Resistance and it relieved you a bit but also hurt you knowing she didn’t care about you.

“Y/N?” you hear her voice as she stepped into your room, you thanked you had your back turned to the door otherwise she would had seen your face tensing as the fear slowly spread through your body. “There you are” you heard her said in a calm way, even a bit of happiness lying in her voice. “I’ve been searching for you, I thought you were somewhere else. I need your help, I don’t know this system and I don’t trust those commanders. I need to find a new base, maybe a prettier one and well, you know every planet so I want you to tell me which one’s better” she said. You kept your glance in the tiny metal item on your desk.

“Are you even listening me?” she said a bit less enthusiastic “Y/N” she repeated as you felt her warm hand on your shoulder, feeling her touch elicited goosebumps all over your skin and by a reflex you moved away from her as you stood up from the chair you were sitting finally meeting her concerned gaze.

“Y/N, what’s going on?” she asked worried taking a step closer unconsciously you took a step back.

“Please, don’t.” you shivered as she tried to take another step towards you.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” she said truly concerned about the fear in your eyes. She examined your features, your tensed body the she seemed to figure out the cause of your fear, her. Her mind went back to that day she screamed at you, she regretted the way she treated you, she knew she had fucked up but didn't think how much she had until then and damn it hurted her to see you this afraid of her.

"This is for the other day, isn't it?" She sighed as her gaze went to the ground searching for a way to start. "I was in a very bad mood, things went out of my control" she explained softy and calm. "And you were only trying to cheer me up, I didn't see it. I shouldn't have say all that, l just… shouldn't. I let my anger blind me and I hurt you, Y/N, the very last person I want to get hurt." She said sincerely gazing at you in her last words. You wanted to trust her again but her words kept echoing in the back of your head. You felt the need to get the feelings stuck in your chest out of you.

"You threatened to kill me" you protested remembering her nails digging in your skin.

"We both know I wouldn't" she said "I can't and I regret that day, all I said and did, I didn't mean it… I'm sorry" she stopped for a moment and took a new insecure step towards you that you didn't stop. She glimpsed at you. "You matter to me, Y/N"

You glanced at her as your heart raced softly with her words.

"You matter to me a whole lot. I'm sorry I was such an idiot back there. Please, Y/N, forgive me." she said and went quiet waiting for an answer.

Doubting for a second you stepped closer to her and placed her arms around her bringing her into a warm hug. A forgiveness hug.

"I'm sorry." She repeated as her voice cracked a little.

"We're going to be fine, Rey." you murmured caressing her back. "Just please don't try to kill me again" you chuckled trying to erase the tension in the room. And it actually worked as you heard Rey's soft giggles.

"Won't happen again, promise."

#rey of jakku #rey star wars #rey x reader #rey x y/n #i-write-sometimes-blog #rey of nowhere #rey x you #star wars imagine #star wars #rey #dark rey imagine #rey imagine #dark rey x you #darkrey x reader #darkrey #dark rey x reader #dark rey #empress Palpatine #rey palpatine #Empress!rey #tros #star wars tlj #tlj

[browneyedhimbo]

Together

Pairing: FinnPoe

Anon asked: heyyyy I dunno if you are taking requests rn and it’s fine if you’re not but i figured you would write this really well... so basically had this idea for a finnpoe fic where basically someone calls Finn a stormtrooper or something and Poe loses his shit and tries to fight them (or does you choose😉) and Finn has drag him away cause poe is really trying to end this dude and then when poe calms down he confesses? I’m sorry this is all over the place but it’s my first time doin a request😅

Warnings: language, very light angst if you squint, mentions of blood, mutual pining, tooth rotting fluff

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: Thank you to the anon who requested!! My requests are always open, though it does take me some time. I absolutely adored this idea and loved writing it! I’m going to be editing my tag lists soon so please let me know if you would like to be tagged in anything! 《MASTERLIST 》

“You’re an idiot.”

“Are not,” he scoffed

“And a scaredy cat.”

“No I’m not.”

“Why don’t you tell him then,” Rey smirked as her eyebrows raised, clearly enjoying this little banter.

“Because, you know...” his sentence trailed off as a hand went to rub the back of his neck.

“No I don’t know,” she smiled, a small chuckle escaping past her lips. Poe let out a long sigh before leaning against the door to his quarters. 

“I just, he’s my best friend! And he probably, more than likely, doesn’t feel the same.” He grunted, kicking at the dirt. 

“My point still stands,” he looked up, a tired yet curious expression on his face. She patted a hand on his shoulder, “You’re an idiot.” 

“You’re no help, you know that.” He chuckled, turning his head to look at her, knowing she was completely right. He’s being a fool. He should just tell Finn how he feels but doubt and fear linger in the back of  his head.

“Well, maybe all you need is a push.” She gave him one last smile as she turned around, heading to another part of the base.

He stood there, pondering over her words. What kind of push though? He groaned in frustration again before heading over to the mechanics area to work on his x-wing.

++++

“You and Commander Dameron are close,” one of the mechanics said as she was working on a droid.

“Yeah uh, you could say that.” He chuckled nervously. 

“You like him don’t you.” She looked up, a soft gaze in her eyes. 

“I put up with him, if that counts.” He shifted on his feet, not looking directly at her. 

“Sure you do,” she clicked her tongue, looking back down at the droid. Finn’s brows furrowed; he licked his lips, curiosity filling him inside.

“And that means…” he quirked an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” she smiled sweetly at him. “It’s just,” she waved a wrench around, “you two seem like you’d make a cute couple is all,” she said nonchalantly. If Finn had water he would’ve choked. Couple? Sure he liked Poe, but being a couple never really crossed his mind.

“I uh -” A blush started creeping up his neck and to his cheeks. “I-I I mean-”

“Finn? Buddy, what are you doing here?” Poe cut him off, throwing an arm around his shoulder pulling him into a side hug. 

“Just uh, chatting,” Finn looked at Poe briefly before dropping his gaze to the ground, his blush growing more intense.

“You okay?” Poe hummed, scanning his soft brown eyes over Finn’s facial features. “You look flush.” Concern washed over Poe and in an instant he removed his arm from Finn’s shoulder and pressed the back of his hand to Finn’s forehead. “Comin down with something? Need water? Maybe you should-”

“Poe,” Finn chuckled, “I’m fine. It’s just hot in here.” He shifted on his feet. Poe’s hand dropped from his forehead to his shoulder, just by his neck.

“Probably this jacket of yours then,” Poe chuckled as he tugged on the leather material.

“Yeah, probably.” Finn smiled, looking up at him. Your jacket, echoing in the back of his mind. Their eyes locked and Finn felt his heart leap from his chest. Poe’s gaze was soft yet concern still lingered. His eyes filled with adoration and his lips curved into a gentle smile. 

Finn didn’t know it but Poe felt the exact same way. Looking into Finn’s eyes, Poe felt himself fall even more in love. Love? Poe licked his lips as he cleared his throat, his face suddenly feeling hot. 

“I uh, I gotta go work on my uh, x-wing,” Poe stuttered, eyes never wavering from Finn’s. 

“Y-yeah, I uh, got to um…” Both men chuckled nervously as they spun in a circle around each other.

“You’re going to the cantina later right?” Poe asked, a slight tremor in his voice.

“Oh, y-yeah yeah yeah. Uh, see you then Poe,” Finn waved, a goofy smile on his face. Poe nodded as he was walking backwards.

“See you later babe-BUD! Bud,” Poe flashed him a smile before turning around and started speed walking toward his x-wing. “Kriff, I hope he didn’t hear that.” he mumbled to himself.

Finn stared at Poe’s retreating form until he turned a corner and was out of sight. His face was still burning as was his shoulder where Poe had his hand. He sighed for the millionth time that day and looked at the mechanic, a huge smile plastered on her face.

“Told ya!” She winked and Finn couldn’t help but shake his head. Hands on his hips, he looked up at the ceiling, thoughts just racing around in his head, all revolving around a certain pilot. 

“We’ll see about that,” he finally decided. He started walking out when she hollered three letters that made him pause. 

“OTP!” He was definitely going to have to look that up later.

++++

“That should do it.” Throwing the wrench with a huff, Poe wiped a hand over his forehead leaving slight greece smudges. “What do you think beebs?” The droid beeped in approval before picking up the wrench and putting it in the toolbox.

“Cantina time, right?” He clapped his hands as he grabbed his jacket. Loud concerned beeping made him stop and look at the little white and orange droid. “What do you mean I look bad?” BB-8 shook its head. 

“Buddy I’m - oh,” Poe looked down at his clothes, the white tank top and black pants were covered in oil. “Yeah I know, I need to change.” He chuckled, making his way towards his quarters, bb-8 following close to his side. “Yes, and take a shower.”

After getting ready and approval from BeeBee, Poe finally headed to the cantina. He felt his stomach churn as his heart thumped a little faster. It wasn’t a date but they were still hanging out, laughing together. Together. Oh how a word can break and mend his heart at once. 

Taking a deep breath to try and calm his nerves, Poe opened the door and was greeted with a slight crowd, everybody talking and laughing, arguing and drinking. Scanning the area, Poe couldn’t find Finn or the rest of his friends. 

“There you are!” Rose grabbed his arm, “You’ve gotta do something!” Tugging him to a different part of the cantina, Poe was filled with confusion. It wasn’t until Rose pointed to a certain area that he felt his heart hammering away in his chest. “They’ve been at for like ten minutes. We tried shutting them up but they won’t listen.”

“Where’s Rey?” 

“Said she’ll be here later.”

“What exactly happened?” Poe faced her, a serious expression on his face. 

“At first we were having fun and talking, waiting for you and Rey when those guys showed up.” She started, jutting her chin in the direction where Finn and the three other men were at. “They seemed nice at first, had a decent conversation when they started picking on Finn for being quiet. I told them to shut up but Maker, they kept on going. They had just started teasing him about being a stormtrooper when I saw you walk in.” She finished with a huff. 

Poe’s blood was boiling. Searing anger bubbling from the inside out, making him stare at the three dudes who were still teasing Finn. If looks could kill, they would be not 6ft, but 12ft under. His jaw was set, teeth clenched, and he felt his hands starting to shake. All he saw was red and he wanted to go in for the kill. Walking up to the group of four, Poe grabbed the nearest one and slammed him against the wall.

“So you think it’s funny to make fun of him huh?!” Poe’s eyes were like daggers, as his voice went deep and was void of emotion. “Think you talk shit about his past?” His fist collided with the guy’s jaw, a loud pop made the whole cantina turn to look at the scene; but Poe could care less. 

He grabbed the same guy and punched his face again and again, efficiently breaking his nose. He raised his fist to land another blow when he felt someone grab it and wrap an arm around his waist. 

“Poe stop!” Finn pleaded, trying to pull Poe off the guy.

“No, No! They each need an ass beating.” He snarled, “Or, or maybe...maybe I’ll just blast them with my x-wing a few times!” He struggled against Finn’s hold to lunge at the other two guys.

“Poe!” Finn held on tighter, like his life depended on it. Well, more like the other three guy’s. 

Poe grunted as he tried to pry Finn’s arm from his waist but Finn wouldn’t let up. Poe turned his head to look at Finn and he felt all his anger dissipate. The cold look turned warm under Finn’s gaze and he huffed, falling limp; letting go of the struggle. 

“Thank you.” Finn helped him stand, but Poe mistakenly looked at the three guys again and he felt his anger rise. Finn grabbed at his waist and shoulder before Poe could take a step.

“If I see you three ever again you’re dead.” Poe jabbed a finger in their direction before looking at Finn and giving a curt nod, silently telling him he was finished.

“I’ll clean up here, you two need to talk, now.” Rose said, pushing them towards the exit. They left and Finn guided them towards the tarmac, knowing Poe likes to look out at the stars as he cools down from a fight. 

The whole way was quiet, neither saying what they really wanted to. Poe’s eyes were trained to the floor, not daring to look at Finn. He felt guilty, but he also felt something else. Something burning in his chest. He couldn’t really put his finger on it. He was pulled out of his thoughts when he felt them stop. Tentatively, he lifts his gaze up, looking at Finn who is already watching him.

Finn retracts his arm from around Poe’s waist and they both feel a little empty with the loss of contact. Finn swallows thickly and sighs, still not believing what just happened. Poe literally came out of nowhere and beat a guy to a pulp. 

“Rose told me what happened, that’s why I uh, you know.” It was like he read his mind. Poe went to put his hands in his pant pockets but when the material rubbed on his right fist he felt a sharp pain shoot from his knuckles to the rest of his hand. A slight whimper escaped as he cupped it with his other hand. 

“Dammit Dameron,” Finn whispered, reaching for Poe’s injured hand. “What would possess you to beat the life out of them?” He pressed the bottom of his shirt to Poe’s lightly bleeding fast bruising knuckles. 

“You know what they said-”

“But that doesn’t mean you can kill them Poe.” Finn looked up from their hands to Poe’s face, guilt very evident across his beautiful features. 

“I-” Poe started, he felt his throat closing in on him as tears started clouding his vision. “I-You, it’s just, ugh!” He pulled his hands away and started tugging at his curls. “You! It’s you! You’re fault,” he sighed in frustration. The words wouldn’t come out the way he wanted them too.

“My fault?! How the-”

“Not the fight, the feeling - THIS feeling,” he motioned towards his heart, his hand shaking rather violently. “That feeling. Whenever I see you, Finn, my heart feels like it’s going to kriffing explode! I can be down all day and then I see you, and you care and you want to help me.” He paused trying to get air into his lungs. He didn't even feel the tears falling down until Finn reached out and pressed a hand to his cheek, the pad of his thumb gently rubbing the tears away.

“When Rose said they were making fun of how you used to be a stormtrooper, I-I thought I was going to melt on the spot of how heated I got.” He cracked a smile, trying to conceal the aggravation he felt at the thought. “Finn, w-what I’m, you know, trying to uh to to say, is uh,” he tripped over his words and Finn had to bite his lip so as to not laugh at Poe’s new state of nervousness. 

“You got it,” Finn encouraged, hand still pressed to Poe’s cheek, the other hand holding Poe’s injured one. There was a beat of silence. No one spoke, everything around them was quiet as they stared into each other's eyes, the stars above them illuminating them perfectly.

“I love you.” As soon as the words left him, Poe panicked. Scanning Finn’s face for any sign of disappointment or wariness, he was met with something completely different, something he wasn’t expecting. Finn had the brightest smile Poe’s ever seen, his eyes shone with pure awe and warmth, and the hand on his cheek moved to his neck.

“I know.” Finn winked at him and Poe felt his face get hot as his heart froze. “That’s a little taste of your own medicine you cocky bastard.” He laughed before bringing both his hands to cup Poe’s cheeks and bring him in for a long awaited kiss. 

The kiss was soft and sweet. Both of them pouring all their emotions into it, all the love they felt for each other. Poe felt fireworks go off in his belly as he drowned himself in Finn’s smell, the way their lips curved perfectly against each other. Breaking apart for air, they leaned their foreheads together, bumping noses, little laughs turned into small pecks and their hearts soared high to the skies. 

“I love you too, babe.” Finn chuckled, kissing the tip of Poe’s nose.

“So you did hear it,” Poe felt his face get hot of slight embarrassment and tucked his nose into Finn’s shoulder. 

“Everybody heard it.” The mechanic from earlier stated making them jump. Both men looked over and saw she wasn’t standing alone, but with BB-8, Rose, and Rey. BeeeBee rolls up in between them and beeps, as if scolding Poe.

“What do you mean it’s about damn time?” He questioned the droid.

“It’s got a point,” Rey said, turning to the other three ladies, gaining an eruption of laughter from the whole group. 

Poe looked at Finn who shook his head at them, a smile blossoming across his face. That laughter made his stomach do backflips and his heart throb in his chest, but now he didn’t have to hide it anymore. Their eyes met and he extended his uninjured hand, Finn gladly taking it, intertwining their fingers. 

Finn glanced at Poe’s other hand, the blood dried and the bruise was getting worse. He gave Poe a look but the other man shook his head, tugging him close and pressing a kiss to his temple. A silent way of saying we’ll handle it tomorrow. A promise they’ll handle anything together now. As they always have.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Permanent tags: @becausewhyknotme @katbtracy @imma-new-soul​ @justmebeingtheweirdmeiam @officialtonystarkprotectionsquad @theladyoffangorn @itsunclebucky @mushyjellybeans @writingforhoursonend @agentpeggybarnes @fangirl-introvert @ninjabucky @cosmicbucky @yougottakeeponkeepinon @this-kitten-is-smitten

[also tagging] @kittyofalltrades @writefightandflightclub @damerondjarin @damndamer0n @poe-damnnn-eron​ @spider-starry @kayte-wren​ @merthurians-prat-and-idiot​ [please let me know if you want me to stop tagging you or if it’s becoming annoying]

#finnpoe #stormpilot #poe dameron #finn #rey #rose #poe #bb8droid #bb8 #poe and bb8 #star wars #poe dameron fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #sw

[a-student-out-of-time]

Twisted Sister Aftermath Review Part 2

And we are back! Sorry the last part was a bit meaty; I couldn’t really cut bits out and most of the relationship stuff could be covered in the first part. And with this part we move onto the more plot relevant sections. So, seeing as we are going to start on a bad note (you will soon see what I mean by that) let’s hop right in!

Plotly Plot Stuff

Unfortunately, we cannot go one Arc without going back to Mr. Polarising himself, Yasuke. If A Student Out of Time ever gets its own TV Tropes page, Yasuke will definitely get the ‘Base-Breaking Character’ trope to him, because yikes has this guy been debated among Anons. Heck even my original review of Yasuke caused some tension! And to address some of the criticisms I’m been getting about Yasuke being nothing like Byakuya…what I meant was that he is a good ‘Rival/Antagonistic’ character. The villains aren’t going to challenge the Quantum Crew’s views, they know they are bad and they are going to get punished. Tsurugi despite being touted as Hajime’s rival isn’t going to challenge him from a moral standpoint, it’s basically like Sae towards the Phantom Thieves, when one riles up society, the law is going to oppose, and as we know the law is evil, it kinda dampens Tsurugi’s viewpoint. Yasuke though, can challenge Hajime as he’s made Hajime think whether going a Pacifist playthrough is really the best way forward. Given how irredeemable some of the villains are, and that simply imprisoning them might not be good enough, it’s going to be a real test to see if the Quantum Crew can go forward without spilling any blood. Granted Yasuke’s morality is twisted as his only friend is Junko…who isn’t the best of influences, and he is narrow minded in thinking that because his girlfriend is invincible, not helped by how much of a Villain Sue she was in Despair Arc, which is another among many reasons why the anime was a piling hot piece of crap. I used Byakuya as a comparison because really the other rival characters are nothing like Yasuke, and I needed something to get my point across. But the best part about his appearance was the savage beatdown Umeko gave him for thinking that the Many Worlds theory is valid. See this is what I love about this blog, the Mod could just go the lazy option when it comes to time travel, but no they take the time to research a plethora of topics and all the research into quantum physics is so good, it’s like reading a better version of Game Theory. Again, the whole Yasuke Multiverse thing could have easily been avoided if the Mod decided to take a break and not write when they were tried, as it seems to be when the most questionable story choices come from, and used their revised idea of having Umeko toss some ideas to Hajime, Hajime thinking about the Many Worlds Theory and heck even using the fact he played the Zero Escape franchise to get a better idea of time travel so he thought he was SHIFTing, and then when he found out he was wrong, for Umeko to chew him out. Anyway, that’s enough talking about Yasuke, I hope I don’t have to touch this jackarse again in a while, I don’t like him, you don’t like him, the Mod doesn’t like him and pretty sure 95% of Anons reading this don’t like him and just talking about him stresses me out.

Umeko wasn’t the only person to throw punches at Yasuke though because Chiaki had a few choice words to say to him as well. And while Umeko is more of ‘Your knowledge of quantum physics is BS’ Chiaki is more from a morality standpoint that she is very sus about Yasuke’s role in the mess. And think about it, he’s been sus of Hajime and co for a while now, we only have his word that Junko doesn’t know, and that ain’t good enough, and it seems the only reason why Yasuke wants to ‘help’ the Quantum Crew out is because they claim his original plan with Junko fails and he wants to ensure there is no chance that the Mindwipe process once he perfects it on Kanade can be done flawlessly with Junko. And again, Yasuke could be secretly involved in the whole plan because the one thing that for many of us is a concern regarding Kanade’s kit to start a school massacre is the BCI containing intel on Class 77-B. You can make an argument about Junko being involved with the other stuff, her analytic talent would have allowed her to create the complicated chemical formula for the addictive, as a model Junko is loaded so she has plenty of money to spend on stuff such as experimental armour on the black market, and her darling sister could have provided the combat data. Yasuke was in Hope’s Peak and would have known that Hibiki came to Hope’s Peak after Kanade was arrested and bonded with Class 77-B. Bear in mind as soon as Junko saw the news that Kanade was arrested, her first response was to call Juu and said she has plans for Kanade but they can wait for now. Obviously, Junko was waiting to see what was going on regarding Kasugano and wanted to test him by seeing how easy or hard he is to break. People often debate why Junko converted Class 77-B and not her own class but I think the reason why she went after them is because of how unified Class 77-B are. As we learn more about other Hope’s Peak classes it becomes clear just how much of an anomaly Class 77-B are in the regards that they are all friends with each other, and have a high level of hope, which of course Junko due to her desire of a challenge went to break them as sending that class into despair would give her the ultimate satisfaction, even more so than her own class. I think Yasuke isn’t going to be talked about for a while because his very presence stresses people out and after how much the Mod was savaged from their last usage of him, they are going to have to seriously rethink how to use Yasuke in a way that doesn’t cause a scrum debate among us Anons.

Still Yasuke did raise a fair point that against someone with no morals like Junko, the Quatern Crew are going to be hard pressed to keep their ‘Thou shall not Kill’ policy. While Hajime claims he has beaten Junko before in the OG timeline and will do so again in the various times Junko has lost, she has played by her own rules and allows room for failure in her plans, because due to how much of a despair fetish she has, the prospect of losing and tasting the despair of losing is too tempting for her. But if Junko realises that Hajime is hell-bend on standing against her, and that the very laws of time are against her, Junko might just go ‘fuck it’ and forgo that prospect of failure and become, much, much more dangerous as a result. Chiaki’s response to this is simple, they just need to expand their ranks and hire more people. In other words, it’s time for the entirety of Class 77-B to know. To some this is a case of ‘about time!’ But there was a reason why Hajime didn’t want to involve the class. He wasn’t aware on how much history can be changed, and as soon as he discovered he can change the timeline, he also became aware that fate is actively working against him, and the more he fights against it, the bigger the backlash. The last thing Hajime wants is his only friends, Class 77-B, to be hurt due to ripple effects of the Ankle Effect. While half of Class 77-B knew, Hajime didn’t go out of his way to tell them, they either forced Hajime to tell them, or they got caught up in one of Hajime’s plans and he had no choice but to tell them. Chiaki got sus of Hajime when he saved Natsumi and Sato and thus he had to spill, Mikan overheard Hajime and Chiaki talking to Umeko about the future, and the only reason Hajime told her is because he knew there was a risk that Umeko could accidently expose Hajime. Sonia and Gundham went to the Melody Rhythm Concert on their own separate investigation because Koroko and Yoruko was talking about serial killers in order to help get intel into Kanade’s mindset, Sonia got sus about all the mysterious deaths around the Otonokoji Twins, and thus got caught up in Hajime’s plan to save Hibiki and stop Kanade. Mahiru and Hiyoko were investigating Kasugano when they got kidnapped by Junya and Haiji, and Fuyuhiko and Peko were the only ones brought in because Hajime needed extra muscle to deal with the traffickers. And it is becoming apparent that changing the future is a task too large for one person as without the help of his fellow time travellers, his classmates that know, Void, and other allies, Hajime wouldn’t have achieved all the victories that the Quantum Crew have enjoyed. And given that Kanade tried to kill them all, its something they cannot hide from their friends anymore and thus its time to spill the truth.

This of course means that the rest of Class 77-B (Teruteru, Imposter, Ibuki, Nekomaru, Nagito, Kazuichi and the Canon Akane) get to meet Void, Another Akane and Sora for the first time. The interactions between them are both sweet and bitter. Sweet because all the Class 77-B interactions are wholesome, Nekomaru and Maku are developing a bromance similar to what Maku enjoyed with Shinji in SDAR2, Akane is done to have a scrap with Maku, Kazuichi is simping for Emma, I hope that doesn’t last, Iroha is fawning over the Imposter, Taira and Teruteru dosed Pornhub, and Kazuichi and Chisa are amazed that Sora exists. But also, bitter because if you noticed, I didn’t mention Nikei. And that’s for a good reason as Nikei didn’t really interact with the rest of Class 77-B, his only interaction is helping Mahiru getting the two horny members (you know who they are) away from each other. We could have had at least an interaction between him and Ibuki as those two actually met before, but nope. This is a clear example on how the other Void members have become comfortable around Class 77-B and warmly welcomed the other class members with open arms and yet Nikei is still gated off. Clearly our Reporter friend here is going for a slow burn character development but one that hopefully will pay off in the end because I will cry rivers of joy when Nikei finally becomes comfortable around Class 77-B. Oh yeah forgot to mention, Chisa and Juzo are in the truth meeting as well. I was wondering if they would be told but it makes sense to tell them as they alongside Kyousuke are doing an internal investigation into the dark under dealings of Hope’s Peak and in Despair Arc came the closest to foiling Junko’s plans to despair bomb the planet. They failed because A) it’s a shitty prequel anime and Junko is a Villain Sue in this and B) she brainwashed Chisa and blackmailed Juzo with his feelings towards Kyousuke dosed with a lot of homophobia, because we didn’t need any more reasons to hate Junko already. Once all the fuzzy feelings are done, the truth is spilled and everyone is horrified, as you would if you found out that in a couple of years’ time the world would end, you are the reason the world ended and you were basically turned into some Anarchist Model’s mind slaves. Naturally some are a little hesitant to accept it, but at the end of the day, its their friends at the end of the day, they didn’t tell them not because they didn’t trust them but because they didn’t need to know and they didn’t want themselves to be hurt by the forces they are up against. Its unclear how many are official Quantum Crew members or just allies, as knowing the truth about the future and being a Quantum Crew member are two different things. Natsumi, Sato, Fuyuhiko, Peko and Mahiru were all offered the chance of membership and they refused for their own reasons, but they didn’t rule out helping the Quantum Crew out if they need their help. Koroko and Kyoji aren’t official Quantum Crew members and yet they pull some serious weight in regards to the various missions the Quantum Crew go on. Chisa and Juzo agree to help as well, and Kyousuke is being left in the dark because he would go and try to kill Junko and we know from experience how well THAT would go. Spoilers: Not very well, just ask OG Juzo and OG Nagito.

Speaking of Kanye West Sans from Undertale on the Nintendo DS, Iroha started to chat up to him as she’s dating Makoto and he’s going to be Class 78’s Lucky Student if nothing changes about his Worst Day Ever, and Nagito drops a bombshell that Kanata is being upgraded from Class 79 student, to Class 78 student! Ever since Toko was sent to the mental hospital and thus means she could never become a member of Class 78, which was already a small class, debate ranged on who would replace Toko, if it was going only be 15 students, or if someone like Hibiki or one of the Voids would replace Toko. Welp the answer is that Kanata is replacing Toko. That’s going to be interesting because I would love to see how Kanata interacts with the rest of Class 78, especially those like Chihiro and Aoi. Obviously, she would be at great risk because she would be in the same class as the Despair Twins but that cannot be helped. But Kanata moving to Class 78 means there is a gap in Class 79. Now this obviously depends if there ever IS a Class 79 because ideally the school will be open as long as Junko is at large but once she is caught and defeated, the next step would be to expose Hope’s Peak, which would be easy because here’s a hint, what did Hajime promise to Nikei to get him on board with helping him in the first place? But call me pessimistic but someone like Junko, the main villain of Danganronpa isn’t going to be caught in a year, and depending how long it takes to defeat Junko, Class 79 might get formed before Junko is defeated. We obviously have a gap, and it depends if say Hibiki goes back to high school and gets scouted for Class 79 because I doubt while all the Voids would be eligible then for Class 79 (Reason why not all would be eligible for Class 78 is because Iroha is a year younger then the other Voids. The Voids as a whole are the same age as the Trigger-Happy Havoc cast, so Iroha is basically similar age to Class 79) That’s something to be tackled another time though.

One last thing before the Arc concludes and it’s the biggest bombshell of them all. So, one might ask, what is bigger than Kanata being part of Class 78? Here’s a simple answer; how about that being a time traveller isn’t the only way to remember the future? Remember when Mikako came to visit her mother? Turned out it wasn’t just a curtsy visit as ever since Mikako had her brain surgery, she’s been having recurring nightmares and the worrying thing about those nightmares is…they are memories of the OG timeline. She drew a picture of Monokuma, which is something that shouldn’t be possible as Junko didn’t come up with the design of Monokuma until she arrived at Hope’s Peak, and the robot version of Monokuma was only made by Junko influencing Monaca, which given that Monaca is more under the influence of the Quantum Crew, means that the Dis Bear more or less is non-existent in this universe. The nightmares are only the start though as before Mikako had her surgery, she met Kanata because Kanata’s adoptive father is the one who did the surgery to remove Mikako’s brain implant, and Mikako noted that Kanata felt familiar, which if Mikako was getting memories of the OG timeline, she should as Kanata was a classmate of hers. Now that Kanata is part of Class 78, she would no longer be a classmate and Mikako also remembered the Massacre timeline as she thanked Koroko before leaving with Yamato for saving her life, which again she shouldn’t have known as that only happened in the Massacre timeline which no longer exists. Mikako didn’t recognize anyone in the nightmares expect for Yamato obviously, but when shown pictures of future Class 79 members like Akane Taira, she noted of them being familiar. So, WTF is going on? I’ll be clear, I don’t think Mikako is a time traveller or a time traveller in the making. If she was, Umeko would have detected that and she didn’t. But what is clear is somehow Mikako is getting memories of other timelines. My best theory is a few factors. Firstly, being the future Ultimate Exorcist, Mikako possesses spiritual powers and maybe said powers provide some immunity to resets, which means that if Hajime has to go up against an enemy who has supernatural abilities, he has to be careful with resetting as its not just time travellers who can remember. Secondly, in the OG timeline, Yamato managed to develop a solution to reserve the memory wiping that Junko and Yasuke invented, and he used it on himself and Mikako. Granted, said machine wasn’t perfect and it did have side effects, Mikako’s emotions got supressed and she had difficulty expressing them and Yamato’s speech patterns got fucked up, but Yamato isn’t experiencing the nightmares like Mikako is. This obviously requires some investigating and probably another goal for the QC to explore in the next arc, but if other characters aside from time travellers can remember the other timelines, it can be both a boon as it means more allies and a bane because all we need is one villainous character to have this ability and then shit will hit the fan. Bonus points if it happens to be Junko. My big worry for Mikako though is that in DRA Mikako gets framed for Yamato’s murder by Monokuma, and he rigged the trial so that Mikako would be executed, forcing her to take poison so that Monokuma won’t get the pleasure of killing her himself, didn’t stop a spiteful Monokuma from executing her corpse though. Her death was on her terms but still recalling being poisoned to death, as Hajime can tell you is very unpleasant and something that Mikako is going to not enjoy dreaming in the slightest.

And with that we have finished Twisted Sister Aftermath! It was lengthier than I wanted but coming off from a plot heavy arc and being basically the spill over from that, it cannot be helped. I will give this a C overall. Normally I would give it a B because it’s not as intense as the previous Arc but the mere presence of Yasuke and the fact that I could see that most of this Arc was the Mod try to remedy their terrible inclusion of him from the previous Arc knocked it down a few points. At least the Mod learnt that you do not write plot when sleep deprived or lacking in energy, as its when the worser aspects of the story tend to be manifested from. Next Arc should be much chiller in tone and I just hope I can cram everything into one submission there. Nikei’s bemoaning that his article about Kanade’s death being too long speaks to me on a personal level. I hope you enjoy this review everyone and see you next time when we hopefully finish with a chiller Arc, and happy Holidays because I believe by the time the next Arc finishes, Christmas would be behind us! -Review Anon

#mod talks #a student out of time #review-anon #these are super long but I appreciate the time put into them #submission

[fly-sky-high-bug-games]

The Drop: Part 3/3

There was suppose to be silence but upon turning around, Taka saw a large ghostly figure, radiating a bit of soul while the shape merged with the blackness of the void.

It’s not like he could move away. There was no where to go and the figure was overwhelming.

“Who--”

“You dare come in here and start shouting at these poor children just because you’re mind if collapsing under the pressure of their thoughts! How do you think they feel? Don’t you ever shout at these children again!”

“M-Ma’am...”

“That’s Lady Primrose to you! Show some respect. I’m still young.”

Taka had to recollect his thoughts. He had no need to but he still cleared his throat. “Lady Primrose... You... you seem to be only content person here...”

“I don’t come here often. Only when some fallen idiots like you decide to yell at the poor vessels while I’m asleep.”

“The vessels...”

Oddly enough, this shouting snapped his thoughts into right direction and he was able to focus right. He almost felt embarrassed for not noticing before. After all, this was...

“The sea of void?”

“How cleaver~” Primrose acted impressed. “Not exactly but you’re close. It’s a dream, after all but yes, you have fallen deep. Why are you here? You’re not like the rest that came here to suffer. And you... linger to exist. Why not just accept the void and merge with it?”

“I’ll pass.”

“Then, what do you plan to do here aside from giving the children more trauma?”

Taka looked around but the large shade of the moth circles around him. “... I need to leave. Back to the dream realm above.”

“HA! Ambitious, I like it~ Kind of cute too.”

“I’m serious... there has to be a way out.”

“Accepting the void would--”

“I have to get back!”

Taka lost patience again. He would glare up at the moth and clench all four of his fists.

“You don’t have to understand. You don’t have to help either. But I have to go back no matter what or I’ll let someone important down yet again!”

Primrose paused and stared at the small figure. Taka was eyeing her as if challenging her large shade form. She only grew a smirk and begun to laugh.

“Alright! Smart guy! I want to see you leave this place when many haven’t! What’s your brilliant idea? I just can’t wait to hear it!”

Taka was at least being himself again. He wasn’t going to admit he had no plans or ways to return home yet. It seemed like Primrose sensed it so she started circling around him in the vast blackness some more.

Taka’s silence was eating him up but he had to think. It wasn’t like Primrose was to allow much of that because she suddenly started taking interest in him.

“You know, this place isn’t so bad. You get use to the pitch darkness and the voices become more in tuned the more you spend time here. Soon, you can isolate them as you wish but be careful~ It’s easy to tune yourself out when the other frequency is playing~”

“I figured as much.”

“Aren’t you a smart one~ Say, are you really dead? Maybe if you get out of here, we could go on a date~ I find you rather handsome.”

“...” Taka felt his thoughts melt like a sugared syrup.

Still, he had no idea how to leave this place yet. Instead, he tried to understand this giant moth he never saw before. There was something unique about her and he might know how to use that to leave if he was to learn more.

“So... what are you?”

“Now you’re chatty? I suppose you need to keep sanity here somehow. I’m an acolyte of void. The shamanic soul and void spells are my specialty and so is forever youth~ I also know a bit of necromancy. Would you go out on a date if I revive your dead body?”

“I burned it to ash so I can spread my essence.”

“Oh, how cleaver of you~! Securing your ghost status by thinning it with an ash spread. My father would have loved this idea!”

“Lady Primrose.”

“Yes...?”

“Taka. Would you mind pulling me out through your sleep?”

“That’s not how this works, dear. Especially not with a bug like me. You’d lose yourself to the ever so draining souls I need to keep myself alive with.”

“Fair point... so you don’t know which way is up?”

“No up. No down. Just “here”.” she chuckled.

Taka sighed. He was losing that fake confidence again.

Primrose partially started to feel sorry. He was obviously determine but the situation was rather helpless.

“... Why not ask around?”

“You said they can’t leave.”

“Doesn’t mean they don’t know. Besides, you HAVE to speak to stay “alive”. At least until you figure something out.”

“... why do you care?”

“You’re interesting. Also... I’d like some company myself~”

-----

The Drop: EVENT START

(ends: TBA or when I say so sdfhdjfg)

What’s the event about?

-Taka is stuck in the void for some time in no ways of leaving just yet. He can chat with voices to kill time and keep himself sane, since he doesn’t know how long he’ll be in here with Primrose.

How does the event work?

-ANONS AND VESSELS/VOID BEINGS ONLY!!! -Currently, Taka has no means to interact with anyone else. Anons will be counted as passing thoughts and questions Taka will reply as if speaking to one of the voices echoing in the void. -Vessels or Void beings can be as Shades only and interact with gestures, voices or sounds. I won’t draw much answers to the event but I might draw few. -TRY NOT TO SPAM WITH YOUR OC’s: While I love interactions, I’d rather give everyone a chance to interact with Taka and Primrose rather than focus on multiple single ones so do keep that in mind~ All in moderation!

When will you do replies?

When ever I can since I work every day cept one during the week and they will be brief and in character for both Taka and Primrose. Note that I choose what I reply to so if asks aren’t appropriate or event related, I will reply to them differently.

Will you update the event?

Yes, but sometime near the end.

THE EVENT TAG WILL BE ‘Event: The Drop’ IN CASE SOMEONE WANTS TO BLOCK IT SO IT IF NOT INTERESTED! :3

Now go bug Taka and have fun I guess!

#muse: Taka #muse: Primrose #Event: The Drop #event start #I'm sorry the quality of the parts varies I kind of burned out by the end #have the event anyways!

[pizza-draws-n-writes]

"One At A Knife" Chapter 1 (Part 2)

Summary: Seán finds himself in another plain of existence, just to be haunted by his worst nightmare, literally.

Warnings: Tw stabbing (not graphic but still) Tw strangling

For anyone who is confused about this story, here you have an introduction to One At A Knife.

LAST HOUR EDIT: i forgot to put a self comment. I don't like this one as much as i like the first one. I mean, my writing still needs to improve. But i don't know... maybe it's because i don't like the cringy drawings on this one as well XD

Anyway, enjoy the cringy drawings 🤷‍♀️

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

The sound abruptly stopped.

Seán opened his eyes, just to notice his surroundings changed. His house was no longer there. Instead, a labyrinth of rooms, walls, and halls replaced it.

The strange realm was completely bathed in red light. It was almost hard for him to see. Like being in another dimension. Or in a dream.

Suddenly, his body went stiff. There was a black silhouette watching him from outside the room he was in.

He couldn't move. Didn't dare. He was just staring with horror at the entity between red walls.

His fear and panic rising up as the glitchy silhouette started approaching him. His entire being, internally screaming at the terrifying scene, as if this was the perfect nightmare for him.

.... then the entity disappeared.

"S̫̄e̿͢á̱̥̎̀n"

Oh no, that voice came from right behind his ear.

Oh no, oh no, he's panicking, he's panicking-

A black hand suddenly touching his shoulder-

"AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!" Seán screamed bloody murder, moving so fast from his spot, that he almost tripped. He shivered at the several chills that were on his back.

And of course, he HAD TO see what was behind him. At turning his head around, his eyes widened in shock.

.... It was... Himself?.... No... No way...

"... A-... Anti??..." Those were the only words that could escape from his lips.

He was literally staring at his Fictional Alter-ego.

'This has to be a dream'. He thought in deep confusion.

Even though the face of the glitchy entity was familiar, he couldn't shake off the suffocating feeling of something being wrong.

The glitch himself stood still, right in front of him. The one with a signature bloody neck. The one with black eyes likes voids. The same one that was blank-staring at him right now. It was disturbing.

'How can this look so real??' Seán thought to himself. He is aware this is a dream. If he is aware.... why couldn't he just wake up.

Maybe he should just slap himself on the face and wake-

Without finishing his thought, Anti glitched in front of him, making him jump and scream in terror. This caused him to fall to the floor. The glitch summoned his infamous knife in his hand and then smiled at Séan in the most sinister way.

'Dammit'

In complete panic, the youtuber immediately stood up and ran away from the room, not even daring to turn around. He didn't care anymore. He was too scared to stop.

This place was freaky. Endless walls, endless rooms. Voices that whispered and whispered, desperately trying to invade his ears with negative thoughts.

Unironically, a strong question popped in his head: How did he get here?

He didn't know the answer to that.... he was too terrified and wasn't sure if he was dreaming or not anymore. Everything felt too real.

He kept running until he found himself at the beginning of a narrow aisle.

Its lights above were green, contrasting the blinding red.

Could this be an exit?

He didn't have time to think about that, as he had a monster following him.

He ran deeper through the mysterious passage when suddenly, the lights above started to blow out one by one, from the start of the aisle, leaving a trail of darkness behind. It was coming closer towards him at a fast pace.

An eerie laugh could be heard not so far from him and the sound of static was getting louder.

The beast was following closely ... chasing.... hunting.

What could he do??

What could he do??

He ran as fast as he could. When he finally turned a corner and collided with someone.

It was none other than the glitch himself.

"How fun..." said the glitchy entity after pushing Seán to the wall so hard, that he fell to the ground like a rag doll. "... to see you running away like a rat"

The youtuber cried and tried to crawl back in fear, but he was cornered. As if new walls had appeared out of nowhere, right behind him.

He couldn't do anything else. Only drown in panic, while he kept staring at Anti's inky black eyes.

This has to be a dream.

This has to be a dream!!!

He kept repeating to himself in his mind. Yet...

"Though, I have to say I was so excited to meet you for the very first time ." The glitch smirked viciously. "Since..." The previous expression of joy on his face, quickly changed into a sneer of disgust"... the other times were a l̼̎i̬̐e͉͊...... weren't they?" He said with hatred.

For a second, Seán felt something weird. A mix of awe and fear. As if those words meant something more sinister. Not only that, but he also could see a bizarre picture of himself in that face. It was scary.

"Now... where was I?" Without warning, Anti kicked Seán in the stomach, leaving him almost without breath and gasping for it.

Then, the glitch grabbed him by the throat and started squeezing.

His legs kicking, as the air in his lungs was running out fast.

That damned smile... Anti was waiting for this.... and was enjoying every second of it.

"And I thought you would put a stronger fight" He chuckled. There was a bit of static and electricity emanating from the glitch that was burning the other's skin.

Seán kept struggling. He couldn't breathe and was beginning to panic. His heart was racing with adrenaline. But that couldn't last forever.

He saw a knife being drawn next to his ribs.

"Ṕ̮ḁ͋t̢͋hẽ̗t̬͊i̫͑c̳̃!" Anti cackled, forcing the knife into the other's ribs.

The next thing Seán felt was an awfully sharp pain in his side.

He wanted to scream, but he couldn't. There wasn't strength nor air in his lungs to even cry in pain.

"Guess your life ends like this..." The glitch said "...like a w͔͝EÀ̰Ǩ̠. P̧̥̆̒Ȧ̼T̬͐̃͢h̛̞e̫͛͗͢T̪̍Ỉ̖͚͂C̘̪͛̚. B̩͍̭͒̆́U̒̋G͔̥̔̋ i̛̘N M̚Y͚̙͒̀ g̭̃́rẢ̜SP͎̱̏̄!" He growled while his body jerked, glitching into different versions of himself.

At this point, the poor youtuber entered in shock and was beginning to lose consciousness. His eyes starting to roll back.

While the world around him disappeared, another voice could be heard shouting in the distance.

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

" NOT ON MY WATCH!!!!"

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

@n-anon @joodlez-doodlez @spxced-oxt @delphionix

If someone else wants to be tagged.... just tell me :)

#one at a knife #jacksepticeye #antisepticeye #jse fanfiction

[bowieandqueen11]

Afraid/ Barry Berkman Angst

Request: hello i love ur barry stories and I was wondering if I could request one where the reader finds out of Barry’s true job and barry tries to get her to stay by saying that he’s a good person and some angst ensues 🤭 thank u keep up the good work 

Hey lovely anon, why you got to make me cry like this??

If Barry Berkman were to tell you when he was ten years old how his life would turn out, he would have guessed he’s be riding a dragon before he guessed this.

Standing in the cold kitchen, he couldn’t fault it for its sleek, methodically planned design; every detail was intricate, every granite counter spotless and stainless with its steel appliances. A clean folded tea towel swished against his hip, nearly falling out of the back pocket of his jeans as his shoes tapped against the tiled floor, enjoying the slight heat that radiated with each movement. His mind was far away, allowing himself to relax for a moment and hum a gentle tune as his fingers went on autopilot with the knife, expertly dicing the garlic cloves, hoping you’d be hungry on this fine evening once you woke up from your nap. 

He smiles softly to himself, imagining the soft snores of you on your pillow, the way your face smooshes down like a marshmallow, the way he wanted to kiss every inch of your cheek but decided instead you needed the rest, and he really needed to make dinner. Turning his back away from the counter to stir the tomato sauce, he doesn’t hear you patter into the kitchen.

He doesn’t see what’s in your hand.

‘B-Barry...why is there a gun under our mattress?’

He nearly freezes for a second, placing his hand down without thinking onto the stove only to pull it away with a yelp when it burns his fingers. He’s almost afraid to turn around, shaking his hand out with a grimace and pretend shock on his face. But Barry had never seen you look this way before as your eyes met his and they dipped; your eyes had a deadness, a stillness. With one look the verdict was told. 

But it was more than that. There was a tenseness you weren’t even trying to mask. He backed away slowly until his hip bumped into the fridge, nothing about this making sense. Not your curling fists or the anger that radiated from your skin. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he was too careful for this, he couldn’t let his defences slip.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. And it broke his heart.

‘Y/n-I-I promise, I promise you, ever since I met you I just- I just.... Shit! I am not good at this-’

‘At what, being a normal, functioning person?!’

‘At feelings! Look, starting from now-’

‘No! No now, Barry! This is it! This. Is. Over. I have to- I have to call the police, Barry, this is FUCKING INSANE!’

You felt emotionally bankrupt. The was nothing left to feel, nothing left to say, nothing left but the void that enveloped your mind in swirling blackness as you dropped your arm, and the gun it held to your side, staring at Barry with a slack mouth and tears beginning to spring up in the corner of your eyes as you tried to figure out how the hell to get out of this situation. He was much broader, and taller, and stronger than you, but you still have the element of surprise, and agility in your hands. You make as if to reach for the carving knife on the counter, its glare harsh and bright in Barry’s eyes as he moves forward to stop you.

‘No, no, hey don’t do that, don’t do that. We can figure this out.’

Reaching over to you, he took the gun from your grasp, trying to ignore the familiar burn of anger that rumbled in the pit of his stomach like a wound as he gazed down at you. But the worst part, the worst bit was the fear. The colour drained from his face, unable to speak, wide eyed, the blood running into his ears as he raised his palms flat against your shoulders, as gently as possible squeezing his fingers into your muscles, trying to get you to look at him.

He kept his eyes steady, resting on your face like they were home, but just briefly, the sorrow already building.

‘I promise, y/n...I’m a good person. I’m a good person- you MADE me a good person, and look, I’m trying, okay, I’m trying to be better, but I need you to trust me, and I need you to forget-to forget, well, about that.’ He threw his head towards the gun he placed in his belt, but you just stayed rooted to the spot, your features buckling just slightly before you spoke.

‘You say that like it means anything. What is love to you? Lying? Who the hell are you, Barry Block?’

Barry had known that to love deeply meant to risk great pain, but the tears that dripped down his cheeks now were proof of how much worse the pain was than he ever expected; they were not quiet and controlled, they fell as fast as the fall rain and he sobbed to draw breath. His lungs heaved and he knew there was no cure for his heart. He slowly bowed his head, crumpling down onto his knees and nearly knocking you over by wrapping his arms around your waist. His grip was as tight as a viper’s, his thumb stroking into your skin as you felt his tears stain your shirt from where his head nestled into your stomach, his stubble itchy from where it rubbed into you. His shoulders fall from where you gingerly place your hands on them, your fingers slowly stroking patterns over their broad expanse as you feel them wobble and shake, his lips falling as he buries them further into you.

‘I love you, y/n, I love you I love you I love you I-I love you. I swear.’

#bill hader #barry #barry hbo #barry berkman #barry block #bill hader imagine #barry imagine #barry hbo imagine #barry berkman imagine #barry block imagine #barry angst #barry x reader #barry berkman angst #barry berkman x reader #barry block angst #barry block x reader #barry hbo x reader #barry hbo angst #barry hbo fanfic #barry hbo fanfiction #bill hader angst

[ourownsideimagines]

Ends of the Earth (Aziraphale x Fallen Angel!Reader)

Characters: Reader, Aziraphale

Requested: Yes 

Requested by: Anon

Point of View: Second Person

Summary: After you fall from grace, you’re afraid that Aziraphale will no longer love you. But he would go to the end of the earth to find you.

Warnings: Angst, descriptions of burned wings and burned skin. Descriptions of strong pain.

Words: 1446

A/N: I enjoyed writing this A LOT

---

You had always loved the feeling of the wind blowing through your hair, wrapping you in it’s warmth like a blanket to keep you safe from the world, your wings stretched out far as you soared over the clouds.

This heat, though, was unbearable. You could hardly keep in the screams of pain as you plummeted towards the Earth. You wings, once a magnificent white, had begun burning, turning to blackened ash.

You hadn’t meant to fall. Then again, you don’t think anyone really meant to fall. Not even those who were proud to be demons meant to fall - at least none that you were aware of.

You’d spent millennia wondering what the fall must have felt like. It wasn’t a pretty sight, that was for sure. It had pained you to watch - and now, it pained you even more to experience it.

You’d opened your wings in hope of slowing the fall, but it only seemed to make things worse. The pain had increased ten fold, and you almost seemed to drop faster.

Yet, though all that pain there was only one thing on your mind - Aziraphale. The love of your life. An Angel.

He’d been there, staring into your eyes as the void opened beneath your feet and swallowed you whole. He’d reached out to you, though the other angels had pulled him back. You wondered, if he had followed after you, would he have fallen as well? Was that how it worked - even if you weren’t meant to fall, could you do so accidentally?

If he had, you’d would have never forgiven yourself. Even now, you weren’t sure you could forgive yourself - you weren’t sure Aziraphale would forgive you.

A scream tore through your lips as the feathers on the tips of your wings began to fall away. You reached for them desperately, but to no avail. You continued to fall, continued to think. It felt like you’d been falling for years, the fire that surrounded you getting bigger and bigger until it engulfed your whole being - and then, you hit the ground. It cracked beneath you, sending up a cloud of dust. You let out a strangled cry - you were pretty sure something was broken. Maybe not bones, but definitely your heart. Everything felt as if it were still on fire, despite having been put out. Your skin was bubbled over red, and your wings were shaking, and almost bare. The feathers that did remain were a black void. Your whole being shook in agony, and you slowly shut your eyes. You focused all your energy on the idea of healing.

The normal surge of energy that you got from causing a miracle was calm. Soothing. It felt ethereal - this was something different entirely. Your eyes snapped open, and your mouth fell agape. Whatever this was, it felt as if it was digging it’s way through your veins, and trying to break through your skin. There was no stopping it now that it had started, and it left you laying there on the ground, wracked with pain. You couldn’t breath, not that you needed to. It had become a constant though, in your eternal life. It was soothing. But with each breath you took, your nerves caught fire again. So you stopped. Stopped breathing, stopped moving. Stopped hoping.

You don’t know how long you laid there before the pain turned to numbness. You don’t know how long it took for someone to come around. You knew why they were here - humans curious about what might have fallen to earth. But they didn’t notice you - they never noticed you. One good thing had remained, at least. No one would notice you if you did not want them to. And right now, you wanted nothing more than to stop existing all together.

Was this how the others felt when they fell? Had they laid on whatever patch of earth they hit for days on end?

The sun, which had gone up and come back down on more than one occasion since you’d landed, was setting again. You finally decided to move. Despite whatever healing you had done, your wings still ached. You willed them away, letting out a shaky breath as they hid away. You could still feel them - you could always feel them.

Your clothes, which had gotten singed in the fall, were still wearable. So you didn’t bother fixing them - you didn’t want to feel that power again unless it was necessary. You crawled carefully from the crater, gazing tiredly out over the scenery. In what little sunlight was left, you could see that there was almost nothing for miles. There was a long, dark road with no cars in sight. Your instincts told you to start walking. So you did.

You weren’t in Britain anymore, that you were sure of.

Maybe Australia?

No, no, not Australia, the air didn’t taste right.

America. America was much more likely.

How long had you been walking?

You had never felt so tired in you life - in fact, you’d never felt tired. It was a strange feeling. One that made you collapse on the side of the road, panting and trying not to cry out from the pain. The surrounding desert seemed to go on for miles and miles. There was no way you’d get anywhere by foot, but what other choice did you have?

By the time you could finally see the stars, you were back on your feet, trudging along. No cars passed you, which was a surprise. Maybe they’d closed off the road because of your impact, you thought. You didn’t damage the road though, so maybe it wasn’t that. Whatever it was, though, you didn’t much care.

You just wanted to go home. Wherever that might be, now.

A part of you couldn’t imagine Aziraphale would be too happy about you coming back to the book shop. You were fallen now. A Demon. 

Angels and demons, as Aziraphale put it, were hereditary enemies. Surely, that’s what he thought of you now. Aziraphale was nothing if not a being of his own beliefs.

Suddenly, you saw light up ahead. A car, you assumed. A part of you wanted to ask for help. The other didn’t want anyone to see you in this state, even if they would likely forget you. So you kept your head down, you continued on. But there was something about the light that caught your attention. It wasn’t getting much closer to you, in fact, it was as if the light itself was walking as well. 

Panic shot through your veins. It could be anyone - a demon, come to drag you to hell. An Angel sent to destroy you for good. You were prepared to make a break for it.

The light spotted you.

“(Name)?” The voice called out. You gasped despite the pain. “Is that you? Oh, lord.” The light went out, and you could finally see through the darkness. It was almost easier now than it ever had been before.

Aziraphale had begun sprinting towards you, his coat flapping behind him. All you could do was stand there, tears spilling over. He had come to find you. He was there - he was real, and he was about to be right in front of you.

You practically collapsed into his arms when he finally got to you, and he held you close. The two of you sank to your knees. You brought your arm up to grip at his coat, rounding yourself. You tried to choke back tears, but they fell anyway. Aziraphale hushed you gently, running his hand gently over your hair. He whispered gentle reminders in your ear that he was here, and that you were okay.

“I’m sorry,” You sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, my love.” He whispered. “You’re okay.”

“I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean it.” You finally said out loud. “I didn’t want to.”

“I know.” He said gently.

“I didn’t, I didn’t think you’d come f-for me.” She hiccuped.

“Oh my dear,” Aziraphale pulled away from her, cupping her cheeks between his warm hands. She brought her gaze up to his eyes, and nearly broke. “Why would you ever think that?”

“I’m a demon.” You cried. “And I know how you feel about demons.”

“Oh, (name),” He sighed, bringing his forehead down to your own. You closed your eyes, enjoying the affections, grateful that he was there.

He was there.

He still wanted you.

“Angel or demon,” Aziraphale’s words caught your attention. Your eyes snapped open. “I will follow you anywhere.”

“I love you, Aziraphale.” You murmur. Aziraphale leans in, pecking your lips.

“I love you as well, (name).”

#good omens #good omens x reader #aziraphale x reader #aziraphale x fallen angel!reader #aziraphale #aziraphale good omens #x reader #x fallen angel!reader #reader insert #good omens reader insert #angst #tw: burns #cw: burns #my writing #reese writes #the ineffable queue

[raibebe]

Tears and Anxiety

Genre: Angst Words: 2.519 Prompt: Smile for me again For anon A/N: I’m not crying, you are crying.

You were used to your boyfriend’s job and the consequences it had for your relationship. Not being able to see him in public or having to act like you were just another member of Starship staff that he was grabbing a coffee or takeout food with had been hard at the beginning but you had leaned to accept it. You two were always making up for that with date nights at your house where he would cook for you and watch movies cuddled together under a fluffy blanket, sometimes falling asleep together which got him into trouble more than once already. But Kihyun always said that it was worth it if it meant that he could wake up to your beautiful face, so peaceful when you slept.

The worst thing had always been the weeks where his schedule was so full that he needed every free second to rest his body so he could go on the next day. A small message or a personal selca just for you, the only interaction both of you could share.

Not being close to him made you uneasy. You weren’t a jealous person per se but sometimes seeing him interact with all the beautiful female dancers and idols and even flashing them his bright smile made your insides turn in both jealousy and anxiety. You just couldn’t compete with any of them if they tried to win over his heart.

Why you had started to go down the hellhole of YouTube videos of Kihyun doing exactly this, you weren’t sure yourself. But within minutes you were fighting against your tears, heart aching and clenching painfully.

One particular pretty woman kept appearing in the recent fancams and you kept replaying the part of one specific video, where she was touching your boyfriend’s naked arm which made him first smile shyly before he flexed his arm which resulted in the woman further touching his arm.

Objectively it was just in innocent touch, one person congratulating the other, but to you it seemed like to much more. Kihyun never let anyone just touch him, except for his fellow members. And he most definitely wouldn’t let a woman touch him like that if they weren’t close.

With a loud slap you slammed your laptop shut. The image was burned into your head anyways. Tears were making their way down your cheeks and your body began to shake.

You had always questioned why a man like Kihyun would be with such an ordinary woman like you when he could literally have anyone he wanted. He just needed to flash his bright smile and open his pouty lips to serenade them with his angelic voice and anyone would be lying at his feet.

Hiding deeper in the sweater Kihyun had left you the last time he had been here, you let your tears run freely down your cheeks, the sweater - which only very faintly carried the scent of your boyfriend - getting soaked.

Hiccupping you blindly grabbed your phone and opened the chat with Kihyun. The last message he had sent you was a picture of him with the last award he had won, smiling brightly. Another wave of sadness washed over you. Did he send those pictures to the other woman as well? Smiling that smile that you thought was reserved for you. Or did he send her other pictures? More intimate ones?

Was that it? You being reluctant to be intimate with him? Was he getting the intimacy somewhere else? The rational part of your mind knew that he wouldn’t do that, he had been raised rather conservative as well. But to your mind that was clouded with anxiety and sadness it made perfect sense.

Unlocking your phone again, you typed just one simple sentence with shaking fingers: ‘I’m sorry that I’m not enough.’ Pressing send and throwing the phone somewhere into the mess of blankets, you began sobbing again. It was over. He didn’t love you and you weren’t enough for him. You probably never were. And would never be.

Exhausted from all the crying, you fell asleep, not hearing the vibrations of your phone nor the familiar voice that was talking onto the answering machine with a worried voice.

~

The next morning you woke up from the sun shining merciless through the thin curtains of your windows. Barely being able to open your eyes because they were so swollen from crying all night, the memories came back to you.

Your boyfriend didn’t love you and you had ended it between you two. Fumbling to unlock your phone to see what time it was, you saw that you had multiple missed calls and messages not only from Kihyun but surprisingly also from the other members. Some more friendly than others. You left all of them on read and went over to the kitchen to open the fridge to grab something to eat. But staring at the food, you realized that you weren’t even hungry, so you just opted for a bottle of water and went to your bedroom instead.  

Closing the blinds, you lay down and stared at the ceiling. You felt weirdly empty. Not even really sad anymore. Just empty. Like your heart had been cut out and all that was left was a black void.

The sound of your phone buzzing freed you from your stupor. Without looking who actually was calling, you picked up, not saying anything. “I swear to god if she doesn’t pick up soon, I’m going to call the police”, you heard a deep voice saying. The man obviously didn’t notice that you had picked up the phone. Another voice answered him in the background, but you couldn’t make out what he was saying. “I know, we have to cheer up Kihyun-hyung somehow or he will go mad”, the first voice spoke again.

“Why would he?” you asked the voice. “Shit”, the voice cursed, sounding startled. “You actually picked up the phone, finally. What has gotten into you, noona?” “Nothing.” “Nothing?” The voice repeated what you just had said, cracking slightly. It was Changkyun. “Kihyun-hyung is sitting in the waiting room and is devastated, he barely slept last night and tried to call you about twenty times because you decided to send cryptic messages and then ghost him!”

That didn’t make any sense. Why would Kihyun feel this way? They must have misunderstood something. The voice from the background was saying something again and the next thing you heard were shuffling noises before another voice spoke to you: “Just pick up his calls and quit hurting his feelings.” It belonged to Minhyuk and he really didn’t sound like himself. “His feelings?” You were confused. He must be happy now that he didn’t have to keep up the charade with you anymore. “Yes, his feelings. He’s obviously hurt and we have to be on stage in about fifteen minutes and he’s not himself.” A quiet sob left your lips and you quickly covered your mouth. “Are you crying?” Minhyuk asked clearly confused.

Shaking your head you screwed your eyes shut, trying to hold the tears back. Why did it affect you so much? Where was the black void that was filling you minutes ago? Why was the same place inside your chest now filled with sadness and tears? Ending the call and actually shutting down your phone, you turned to silence your hiccupped sobs in your pillow, grabbing the blanket tightly and forcing your body to stop shaking like dry leaves in the wind.

When you turned around to grab some tissues from the nightstand, your eyes fell on the picture frame standing there instead. Kihyun gave it to you before he went on world tour last year. Changkyun had taken the picture where you were sleeping in Kihyun’s embrace at the dorms, his bright orange locks framing his face, smiling down on you fondly and brushing one hand through your hair. The words he had written on the frame became blurry when tears began obscuring your vision yet again.

You had never cried this much in your life. But it also had never hurt so bad in your chest. Almost every item in your apartment keeping memories you had shared with your now ex-boyfriend. It was just too much. Closing your eyes again and hiding away under your warm blanket, you prayed that sleep would take you soon so you could just stop feeling for a couple of hours.

~

The shrill sound of your doorbell ripped you from the sweet grip sleep had on you. Groaning you turned around to look at the clock on your bedside table. The neon lights flashed you an ungodly hour to have someone come over to your house. Turning around your pillow so you could keep on sleeping on the cold side, you decided to ignore whoever was at the door. You didn’t feel like talking to anybody anyways.

After some seconds of beautiful silence, the doorbell rang again and the person standing outside was knocking against your door, sound echoing through your small apartment. When you still didn’t budge, the knocking tuned into banging.

“I know you are home, stop ignoring me!” A voice travelled through the wooden door. A voice that was way too familiar. A voice that made you feel again. It sounded strained. But that could just be the distance and the obstacles between you and the voice.

“Open this goddamn door!” he screamed again and banged against the door again. If he would keep this up, the neighbours would wake up, so you forced yourself out of bed and stepped up to your front door.

“What do you want?” You asked quietly through the door, trying to fix the mess that your hair was after sleeping for almost a whole day.

The banging stopped, instead you heard shuffling in front of the door. “Please open the door and let me talk to you.” Kihyun sounded so unlike himself. Smaller. Gone was his usual confidence. “What do you want to talk about?” You asked, hand on the doorknob. “What have I done wrong?” His voice cracked. The voice of Monsta X’s main vocal cracked. Cracked. His voice never cracked.

Surprised you actually opened the door. Before you stood your ex-boyfriend. He really didn’t look good. His light brown hair was a mess, poking out from underneath the hood of an oversized black sweater, hiding his features. When he lowered the hood you could see that his whole face was puffy and his eyes were red, looking at you with an emotion you couldn’t quite place.

When he made a step towards you, reaching out to touch you, you stepped aside so he could come in. His eyes seemed hurt but he stepped in nevertheless and headed to the living room where he sat down on the couch, his body looking small and lost in his big clothes.

Your heat hurt seeing him like this, you felt how the sadness filled you again, how your lower lip started trembling and how tears began filling your eyes. “What are you doing here?” you asked him quietly, remaining standing in front of the couch. Kihyun ruffled his hair and looked up at you, dark eyes big and full of that look that you couldn’t quite place. “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t you be enough for me?”

Taken aback, your mind went blank. Didn’t he understand? Or did he want to torture you?

You felt your legs give out and your knees hit the ground. Your body was shaking with tears again. You didn’t even know why you were crying. Because this was probably the last time you would be seeing him in person? Embarrassed you hid your face in your hands.

Suddenly a pair of strong hands pushed you against a chest and Kihyun’s scent filled you senses. It was all too much. You hid further in his hoodie and began shaking.

“Why are you here Kihyun?” You spoke in between sobs. “Do you want to torture me even more? Why are you not with that other pretty woman? I’m nothing special, I understand it, if you want to leave me. Just take your things, I’ll be fine. Why won’t you just leave and be happy with her?”

You felt Kihyun take a deep breath before a laugh bubbled out of him. Why was he laughing at you? Did he think it was funny how much power he had over you?

Angry and confused you emerged from his now wet sweater and looked up at him. He cradled your face between his soft palms, kissed your forehead and gently and rubbed away your tears with his thumbs.

“But none of them make my heat jump like you do. I love you, jagiya. Even though you are so stupid sometimes”, he reassured you and smiled lovingly, his dimples showing and eyes turning into crescents. “And now forget about that and smile for me again.”

You didn’t understand and opened your mouth to argue with him, but he didn’t let you speak and closed your mouth with his soft lips instead.

“I love you and only you.” He whispered on your lips when he broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against yours, thumbs still rubbing gently over your cheeks even though you had stopped crying.

Smiling gently, he kissed you again and this time you melted into him. Arm around his neck, you pulled him flush with your body and grabbed his damp hair. Given your awkward position on the floor, he collapsed onto you, which made you both break the kiss and giggle.

Kissing the top of your head, he pulled you against his chest again. “I love you, understand?”

You nodded against him, hiding your red face in his sweater again. “Don’t let those woman touch you”, you mumbled into his chest, voice sulky. “That’s what got you all worked up?” He sounded surprised. “That stupid video that went around on Twitter yesterday?” You nodded. When he said it like that it sounded embarrassing. He laughed at you again. “Don’t laugh!” You scolded him and hit his chest.

You pouted you lips and looked up at him from under your lashes. “You looked really comfortable together.” Kihyun’s smile was soft, when he placed a quick kiss on your lips. “That’s one of the noonas who are doing our hair and make-up. She was away for a couple of months because she had a baby and was surprised to see how we all progressed in the short time. Nothing more, jagiya.”

“I’m sorry”, you mumbled, fumbling with the tassels of the hoodie. “I should be used to it by now.” He sighed and kissed your blushed cheek. “I know this relationship isn’t easy for you which is why I was so worried, jagiya. But you are the one who holds my heart in her hands, okay?” “I just can’t help it sometimes…” “Then just call me next time, okay? And don’t scare me with cryptic messages.” You nodded and placed a quick kiss on his lips.

“I love you too.”

#monsta x #kihyun #yoo kihyun #mosnta x angst #kihyun angst #monsta x requests #monsta x reader #kiyhun x reader #monsta x fanfic #monsta x fanfiction #kihyun fanfic #monsta x drabble #kihyun drabble #mine #i.m #im changkyun #monsta x minhyuk #lee minhyuk #monsta x prompt #kihyun promt #kihyun request