#//& he's barreling forwards to hold onto them so tight; voice breaking into sobs as he shakily murmurs I love you's into their shoulder

[dutybcrne]

No thoughts, just Kaeya outright crying in front of his partner bc they secretly went and learned Khaenri'ahn, even through the painstaking research and sheer effort it would take

[ashintheairlikesnow]

🔢 for Kauri Jake and Antoni? I absolutely relate so much to Ant’s feelings regarding physical touch both platonic and sexual. Just interested to see what you would come up with! Obviously if you’re not comfortable with that then a comf piece would be amazing 🥺❤️

(the prompt was a 3-or-moresome. Antoni isn't going to be about that, so I am choosing the comf option! @winedark-whump asked how Kauri would handle being stuck in an elevator...)

-

CW: Claustrophobia, panic attack, comf, hurt/comfort, the QPR returns, traumatized whumpee

The doors open only with the maintenance man and the firefighter each pulling with their full strength at a side. The doors shriek in protest, separating inch by inch.

Antoni expects Kauri to come barreling out, but he doesn't. Instead, Antoni has to look down to realize where he even inside the small square.

Kauri lays on his side, his wild curls against cheap scratchy carpeting, his hands pressed palms against his closed eyes. Hitching breaths are shallow, hardly gasps, and the maintenance man doesn't know what he's looking at but Antoni does.

He thinks the firefighter maybe does, too, by the way his jaw tightens at the sight.

"Shit, it was only a couple hours," The maintenance man says, looking stricken. "Got it open as fast as I could."

"He fears to be closed in," Antoni says by way of explanation. The firefighter meets his eyes, briefly, with a depth of understanding that makes Antoni grateful for his silence but uneasy, too.

He steps forward, feeling the very slight dip under his feet as it accepts his weight. "Kasha? The door is open now. Let's go."

Kauri doesn't move.

"Kasha?" When Antoni crouches next to him, he can hear Kauri's whispers, thick around the tears. He reaches out and his palm rounds over the curve of Kauri's shoulder. It trembles under his touch.

"I hate the light, I h-hate, hate being alone in the light, I hate it, alone, alone in th-the light..." Kauri's voice is more whimper than whisper, really. A frightened animal. "I can't, I didn't do anything, I didn't, I was good I was good I was good-"

"Sssshhhh. I have you." Despite his prickling awareness of the watching men and his fear of what they might understand from Kauri's state, his terrified words, he doesn't try to force Kauri up. He leans forward and presses his hands over Kauri's. Lets him feel the warmth of human touch.

Kauri sobs, a broken sound that comes from so deep within him that Antoni wonders if it is Kauri that cries at all, or the remnants of Liam Harker finally making themselves fully known. Was Liam Harker frightened of small spaces? Or did that only begin when he had been wiped away?

"I have you," Antoni repeats, leaning over and pressing a kiss to his head. The florescents overhead buzz softly, all too familiar. The little box is cold - the heat isn't working in here. The walls of the elevator are a plain, flat white.

"I'm good, I'm good, I'm-... I'm good, I promise, I promise..."

"I know," He soothes, shifting to rub a hand up and down Kauri's back. His muscles shake under Antoni's light touch, and he finally leans fully over him, laying his body and his weight against Kauri's slight frame.

Kauri's shaking slows, and so does his crying. He keeps breathing in those shaking, shallow inhales, but some of the painful tension seems to break in him. He shifts, turning over onto his back and throwing his arms around Antoni's neck, weeping against his T-shirt. At first, it's a relief, until he hears Kauri cry, "I'm so sorry, I'll be good, don't leave me alone, please, please-"

"I will not. I will not leave you. I have you, Kasha, I have you..."

The fireman clears his throat, and Antoni looks up to see him speaking in a low voice to the maintenance man. Both of them look away when they see Antoni watching them.

He hopes to give them privacy. He worries it might be for other reasons.

He has to hold Kauri to get him to stand, pulling himself upright with Kauri's arms still tight around his neck. He feels half-choked but doesn't dare try to get him to let go. His skin prickles.

Then Kauri's legs wrap around him, ankles crossed, and he grunts, nearly falling himself before he manages to get his hands under Kauri's ass and thighs to hold him up. He's still weeping against Antoni's shoulders.

Antoni arms ache almost immediately, and he leans back against a wall, panting. But then...

"I've got him," Jake says, and he shifts Kauri from one set of arms to the next with an ease that shows just what all his working out has done for him - the muscles to hold a grown man like he weighs nothing.

"Jasha." For a second, Jake is holding them both, and Antoni closes his eyes. But then there is space between them again, and his breath comes easier, he feels the prickling of his skin start to fade. "The elevator broke-"

"Yeah, I saw the text. I'm sorry it took me so long, I was helping Krista out with a doctor visit." Kauri looks even smaller in Jake's arms, and buries himself against his bulk and warmth. "Let me take you both home. We'll come back for the car once Kauri's okay, yeah?"

Antoni nods, swallowing. He looks over to the fireman and maintenance man.

"Hey, look, we didn't see shit, okay?" The maintenance man offers, a little awkwardly. "I'll erase the security tapes."

The fireman nods. "Empty elevator. Good thing, too."

"Thanks," Jake says with real sincerity, and he moves back out through the empty lobby, Kauri in his arms, Antoni trailing behind him. Kauri still looks like a string pulled tight, about to snap. "You okay, Ant?"

"Yeah... Yeah. I mean, I am not, but..." Antoni sighs, taking a hand back through his messy hair. "Once our Kasha is, I will be."

[illusionsofdreaming]

would it be okay to request headcanons with the main trio from TCF who aren't in a relationship with the (fem) reader yet but they like each other, the guys get hurt or something and the reader is so scared of losing them or was so anxious that she ended up kissing them? You can edit a few parts if you'd prefer! thank you, i know you have a lot of requests but you're the only one who writes x reader for them-

Notes: It took forever+forever but I finally gave up trying to perfect it- y'all just going to have to deal with these half baked potatos as I sob in the corner for my lack of functioning writing braincells.

+ 'nonny I know you asked for Fem reader but I'm just so used to writing gender neutral nowadays I actually forgot to write Fem reader in. Uh. I mean it's gender neutral so it should work regardless?? I'msorrypleaseforgivemeforthisblunder

Ft: Cale, Alberu, Choi Han

Cale Henituse

He’s covered in blood.

Again.

He glanced down at his shirt, once white, now completely soaked and rapidly losing warmth. The icky feeling of sticky cloth stuck on skin caused goosebumps to break out all over his arms. The lethargy that weighed on him was hard to ignore, but expected after using his ancient powers-

“Cale!”

He turned just as the full force of you barrelled into him and he staggered, unbalanced and would’ve fallen had you not pulled him back. He barely had time to protest at your rough greeting when you began frantically patting him down as if scouring him for weapons.

“There’s so much- where are you hurt?” you demanded harshly, your tone pitched higher than normal. “Raon call for Saint Jack and the others, medics- anyone that can help!”

“Y-yes! I-I will! Weak hu-human you better not die or I will destroy the kingdom!”

“Wai-“ his protests were ignored as the dragon flew off, leaving Cale dumbfounded with his jaw hanging down in disbelief. “Wait you don’t have to find the others, I’m fi-“

“Cale Henituse, if I hear you say ‘I’m fine’ I’m going to sock you to kingdom fucking come.“ you seethed. His lips snapped shut obediently, swallowing the aforementioned phrase down as a foreboding chill crept down his spine.

But I am..?

“How could you..” your voice shook even as you clung onto his soaked shirt so tightly your knuckles turned white. “You’re always doing stupid things like this…”

Cale frowned, feeling a bit indignant. Sure his plans weren’t the most thought out at times, but to call them stupid…

“If you waited for us to come, then you wouldn’t have to- why do you keep sacrificing yourself like this?”

That triggered an alarm in his head. What strange things were you talking about? The act of sacrifice were done by martyrs and selfless heroes and Cale Henituse was neither of those. He wanted to correct your misunderstanding but you were worked up and hysterical and it was with horror that he realised you were crying.

“________-“

“Don’t talk! Please, just conserve your energy- I won’t let you die, I promised the kids and the others- I won’t let you-”

The alarm bells in his head rang even louder and he fought to be heard over your rambling, “_________- no one’s dying, I’m fine-” it felt as if his heart had leapt to his throat as he stopped your fist before it could make contact. You really weren’t joking when you said you’d punch him. He tightened his hold on your wrist when you tried to twist out of his grip and swallowed nervously. “I’m not hurt _________,“ he emphasised, willing you to meet his eyes.

“Stop bullshitting me Cale- how much of a fucking idiot do you take me for? How can anyone be fine after losing this much blood-“

“It’s not mine.”

You stilled in his grasp.

“…W-what?”

He frowned. Was it really that hard to believe his words? “The blood’s not mine.” he repeated and made sure to meet your disbelieving gaze head on so that you could verify the truth in his words. “They were cut down before they could harm me. None of this blood is mine. I was not hurt.“ It was a partial lie. He did cough out some blood after instinctively activating the shield for protection but he felt that that was knowledge you’d be better off not knowing.

The coiled tension in you leaked out and Cale slowly released his grip on your hand and took a cautious step back - just in case. It was a good thing he managed to deescalate the situation before the others arrived. Just convincing one person was hassle enough and from experience alone, he knew the others weren’t as merciful when it came to learning about his injuries, regardless of severity or his protests otherwise. Cale shuddered. He really didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Ron’s cold smile again. He glanced up and saw Raon’s flying figure and he waved lazily to the dragon hoping the young one would understand that the healers were no longer necessary, it had only been a false alarm.

“..ot.”

“Hm?” He looked down, hearing you mumble but didn’t quite catch what you’d said.

He was not prepared to be yanked forward and for your lips to mash against his. There was a brief sting where your teeth had caught on his lip and the uncomfortable sensation of having your teeth clack against each other, noses in the way. He froze, like a deer caught in headlights, thoughts reeling but before he could think of acting, to push or pull you in even closer-

You let him go just as abruptly and he staggered, breath stolen, mind in absolute disarray.

Then you slapped him. Which definitely cleared his thoughts. “You idiot!”

Stupefied, he watched as you stormed off, stuck in a daze as he cradled his face where his cheek and lips tingled for different reasons.

“…What..?”

Choi Han

Choi Han didn’t know what Cale saw in you back then, a complete stranger whom they saved by chance and nursed back to health with utmost care. You, who Cale insisted was the final key to their masterplan and then asked Choi Han to act as your escort.

There were many things Choi Han didn’t understand when it came to Cale-nim’s decisions. But that wasn’t so unusual and he’d never made it a habit to question Cale’s reasoning, having learned to be patient, knowing the pieces would eventually slot together in the grand picture. So although initially wary he was of your unclear history and affiliation, he stayed by your side and did his duty without question.

And perhaps after weeks of accompanying you, he’s beginning to see what Cale saw. Though powerless and weak, you were righteous and passionate, holding true to your belief even in the face of adversaries. You were the perfect replacement for the tyrannical ruler of the country, someone capable of salvaging the crumbling system of a neglected, abused society and lifting it to new heights and glory.

With the flames of revolution ignited, everything hinged on getting you safely to Cale on the final stage. While the revolutionaries fought and acted as distractions above ground, he escorted you through the abandoned waterways.

The undergrounds were dark and cramped, incredibly disadvantageous to a swordsman such as himself. When assassins leaped out in an ambush; Choi Han didn’t hesitate. Without time nor space to draw his sword, he pushed you behind him and raised his arm to block the strike.

As the momentum of the assassin’s blade stopped, it became simple matter to quickly disarm and finish them. Having checked and affirmed that there’s no forthcoming attacks, he urged you to hurry, now worried as they weren’t expected to be discovered so soon.

Something must’ve happened, we should hurry to Cale-nim’s side-

He was halted with a firm grip on his other hand and was pulled back as he was met with your stern, unwavering gaze and declaration that you will not move another step from this spot until his arm got treated first.

Which was a ridiculous request considering they were running on a tight schedule. He frowned and his fingers flexed against the hilt of his sword as you pulled him to the side.

When none of his objections were being heard, he tried reasoning with you. The wound may look horrible, but he’d assured you he’d angled his arm just so that the blade would’ve caught on his bone rather than tendons. It was a strategic move that not only blocked momentum but also kept damage to his non-dominant arm at the minimum. He would not have bled to death nor would he be crippled from it, something that barely needed the emergency care you insisted on.

“It’s not necessary, we need to get to the tower room first.”

“The room is not moving anywhere, I’d rather not risk having you develop an infection because you neglected to care for your wound.“

He flinched when alcohol was poured on the cut and Choi Han breathed out slowly, his frustration mounting as precious seconds passed. Something in his chest stirred uncomfortably. He’s not accustomed to having others care for his wounds, having spent so many years caring for them himself whilst hiding his weaknesses from monsters in the Forest of Darkness.

“I will attend to it after I’ve brought you to Master Cale’s side, we must-“

Your eyes flashed with anger as your grip tightened painfully around his arm. “So many things have been lost to reach this stage, I’d rather not lose more on the way there.”

“Cale-“

Perhaps you’ve had enough as well as the next thing he knew, your fingers dug into his arm and he found himself yanked forward and you pressing a hard, determined kiss that stole whatever he was going to say from his lips.

“Cale Henituse,” you said sternly when you parted and picked up a roll of bandages, “can afford to wait a bit longer.” you glared at him as if daring him to argue otherwise.

Not that it was necessary, considering he’d doubt he’d have the coherency to answer anything with the way all the blood in his body was rushing to his face.

Alberu Crossman

He didn’t feel anything upon the moment of impact. Only the shocking cold of metal being slid into his side and the vicious gaze of the perpetrator pressed up to his front.

The pain ripped through a moment later and he gritted his teeth, red spilling down his lips. It hurts.

Activity bursted around him, screams of fear echoed through the ballroom as guards rushed to his side. However one voice in particular caught his attention and he looked up to catch your horrified expression, lips parted in a desperate cry.

His forehead furrowed as a strange sense of guilt washed over him- he didn’t want you to see this- but he didn’t have time to explore the feeling as his hand latched firmly on the hand which still held the weapon in his side, preventing their escape.

His smile was red, “Caught you now, rat.”

═════☩══♛══☩═════

He tousled his hair dry with a towel as he read through the reports in his hand.

Alberu was exhausted, the fight to rid his side of his enemies’ spies had always been an ongoing and tedious project. His enemies were cunning and always played things safe however their impatience this time would cost them. Now that one of their own has fallen into his hands, they can start pulling in the net.

A knock sounded on his door and he didn’t bother looking up from his reports as he gave permission. “Come in.”

“Did you manage to find any new information from them?” he asked immediately as the door opened. Anything gleaned from the assassin would be beneficial to his cause. Not that he truly expected any confessions to be given this night. Any hired killer worth their salt would know not to betray the mastermind behind a hit. But there were more than one way to find credible information aside from words torn directly from the lips of a captive.

When no answer came, he looked up and immediately dropped the papers he was reading.

“___________…”

In the aftermath of the attack and the capture of the assassin he’d been immediately escorted to the healers for first aid. With the bare minimum done he’d left quickly to take control of the situation, calming the aristocrats and giving orders to assign all guests to be escorted to a room in the palace to rest from the unexpected development - the smarter ones would know this was just a way to keep all suspects in one place, stalling for time so that his trusted aides may work to narrow down the most likely suspects. He had been meaning to find you and explain once everything settled but this time you took matters into your own hands.

Your eyes glanced at the documents he dropped. “Am I disturbing your work?”

“No,” he replied instantly, fighting back the urge to shuffle the papers behind him. “No, you’re not.”

The room lapsed into silence once more as neither of you seemed keen to address the elephant in the room.

“About tonight…” he started slowly, “they had to believe I had my guards lowered.”

The truth was, though he believed you would not have been behind the attack, you had to be tested all the same. Should it be known you’ve been partial to this plan, it would’ve given the real culprits leverage to use.

You approached him and he wished you would say something. He noted the redness in your eyes and felt a stab of guilt lodge in his chest. “It had to be believable.”

You didn’t meet his eyes and your hand hovered over where his wound had been.

He lifted the edge of his shirt up to reveal the pink scar tissue underneath. It was ugly and badly healed due to the rush he had been in. “I wasn’t in any real danger.” he said softly, staying still and resisting the urge to shiver when your fingers traced the scar.

“You’re picking up bad habits from Cale.” You said so softly he would’ve missed it had he not been paying attention.

“The padded shirt under prevented the blade from going too deep.” he explained, hoping you’d understand that he hadn’t been reckless. Everything had been planned carefully. He slowly tucked his shirt back in as you withdrew your hand, already missing the warmth you brought to his skin just moments ago.

“__________…”

You leaned in and placed a small kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Don’t do that again.” you whispered against his cheek.

He could only watch in astonishment as you turned away and exited his room.

“..Okay..” he said hoarsely to the empty room.

[salty-rey]

Come Back | Bad Batch Fan Fic

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader

Words: 1748 words

Warnings: Angst. Reader gets hurt, mention of blood

A/N: I gave you romance with Fives last time. Now, time for some PAIN!!! I told yall I wanted to make a Bad Batch fan fic, I just didn’t expect my first one to be like this. 

Pretty short, I wanted to write it down before I lose any inspiration, and I have to get back to my finals. 

Hope you guys like! 

(gif courtesy of @clxnewxrs​ )

- - - - - - -

This plan has gone to crap!

It was supposed to be simple. Get into the command center, retrieve the necessary intel, and get out. Something you’ve done many times before. Piece of cake! 

But last time you remembered, you did not have a child following you around. Omega insists on coming along, even going against Hunter’s orders. Because of her disregard of orders, she had tripped an alarm, alerting the guards to your position. But you couldn’t blame her. Even if she didn’t came along, something wasn’t going to go according to plan. She’s not a soldier and wasn’t trained like you and the rest of the Bad Batch. There were some tasks or missions that were fine for the young clone to come along, but this mission was more dangerous. 

One good reason why; Crosshair had finally tracked you down.

The Batch had split up during the mission, aiming to complete your objectives. Before you can all regroup, that is when Crosshair and his Elite Squad Trooper caught up to the group. And you had the unfortunate case of protecting Omega from the sniper, who was now standing in front of you. With the only exit blocked by your former comrade, the only way to escape was to shoot your way out or leap out an 80 storied building. 

“Crosshair, please! Don’t do this,” you pleaded, body shielding Omega as the young girl cowered behind you.

“I can bring you back alive,” The grey-haired clone spoke, raising his handheld blaster to your chest without hesitation. “Or in a body bag. Your choice, Freckles.”

You tense, staring down the barrel of the blaster, wondering for a second if it was put on lethal or stun mode. You felt Omega gripping your arm, sparing a glance at the child before looking back at Crosshair. His eyes held no remorse. There was no more warmth in those honey-brown eyes. Your heart shattered at the sight of him, your fists clenching to keep yourself composed. 

“This isn’t you, Crosshair. That damn chip is manipulating you!” You snapped, keeping your stance and hoping to buy some time for Hunter and the others to assist you. 

“You would have never shot Wrecker before, no matter how much he annoyed you. And you would never point a gun at me. Come back to us. We can find a way to free you from that chip. We know it’s not your fault, and we don’t blame you for your actions. Please,” you begged, your voice breaking a little as you reached your hand towards him. 

The clone stared hard at your hand, his shoulders tensed before locking eyes with yours. He can see the desperation in them, unshed tears causing your eyes to glisten. This was a familiar sight. Not too long ago, when all of you were imprisoned back on Kamino, you had the same expression. 

Crosshair was being taken away from the rest of the group for unknown reasons. Hunter, in his attempt to keep everyone together, received a harsh hit on his gut. The sergeant doubled over in pain, but no one dare moved to aid him as blasters were pointed at everyone. The clone shook his head at the sight of his sergeant before standing up. As he took one step forward, he felt a tug, keeping him in place. Looking back, he saw you gripping his hand with all the strength you have. 

You were looking up at him, silently begging him not to go. The corner of your eyes shedding small tears, your hand squeezing his ever so tighter. 

“Let’s go!” The clone guard exclaimed, his patience wearing thin. 

Crosshair felt something foreign in him, telling him to obey. He knows that he should stay. He knows that he should fight against these mindless regs. He’s not like them. He belongs here with his brothers, and with you. 

But, fighting the regs unarmed will just cause unnecessary casualties. And he can’t stand the idea of having his brothers’ blood on his hands. Especially a kid that is apparently a little sister. And you. 

The thought of losing you caused him to shiver in fear. An emotion that he rarely felt, until you joined the team. 

The sniper looked back at you once more, squeezing your hand in return. He gave you a reassuring look that was also apologetic and sorrowful. 

You knew that there was no getting out of this. That there was no way in saving him. With a heavy sob, you let go of his hand, allowing him to be taken by the guards. 

His hands were now trembling, causing the blaster to become unsteady. “Crosshair?” You said with uncertainty. The sniper’s eyes snapped back at you, having lost focus for a few seconds. 

“So, you miss me? How sweet,” he sneered, but his hands continued to shake. 

You relaxed your posture for a second, pulling your hand back before pressing it against your chest, right over your heart. “I have. So very much.”

Something must have snapped inside of the clone because his eyes became unfocused, and his hands were trembling harder. He was in pain, his free hand gripping the side of his head, eyes squeezing shut as the blaster fell from his hand. You watched as Crosshair internally fought against the inhibitor chip, hope slowly rising inside of you. 

As you slowly approached him, you failed to hear the thundering sound of boots approaching you. The only indication that you got was hearing Omega gasping before shouting, “Look out!”

The moment you spotted the Elite Squad Trooper raising his blaster, you felt the searing hot pain piercing your side, and a blood-curling scream echoed throughout the room. You fell to your knees, clutching your left side, where the blaster shot hit you. 

Luckily, you were wearing the specialized armor that the Bad Batch wear, so the blast wasn’t able to pierce the other side. But you can feel blood pooling out, and if you don’t get any aid soon, you’re going to die. 

Before the trooper can shoot you again, he let out a shout of pain as Crosshair’s fist collided with his buckethead before punching his gut. “I told you to stun the woman and to shoot the men!” He snarled before kicking the hunched-over trooper. 

As Crosshair’s attention was on the reg, Omega rushed to your side. Panting heavily, you grabbed a tool from your utility belt and wrapped an arm around the girl’s midsection. “Hold on...tight...and whatever...you do...don’t let go.”

“What are you---whoa!” Omega cried out as you picked her up and charged at the window. The girl screamed when your shoulder crashed into the window, both of you plummeting over the edge. Neither Crosshair nor the troopers reacted quick enough to catch you, watching the both of you fall to what appears to be your death. 

You reached out your arm, pointing your modified grappling gun, and pulled the trigger. The claw-like end soar shot through the air, piercing the closes building, secured in place. The pair of you swing through the cold night air, Omega’s arms and legs wrapped around your neck and waist. 

Before you could crash into another building, you released the trigger, the grapple unhooking from your end. You rolled onto the rooftop of a building, shielding Omega in the progress. Wincing, you got back on your feet, still holding onto the child, and continued to run away, troopers now shooting at you. 

“Tech! I need a pickup, NOW!” You exclaimed into your communicator. 

“We’re reaching your location!” His voice came through, and without another second to waste, you heard the engines of the Havoc Marauder. The ramp was open and both Hunter and Wrecker were there. 

Despite the searing pain, your adrenaline forced you to pick up the pace. Blaster shots were flying past you, and if you move any slower, you were going to get hit again. But you weren’t scared of being hit by the Elite Squad trooper again. No. You were afraid of a certain sniper. Deep down though, you had hope that he wasn’t going to pull the trigger on you. He had several chances to do so, but he didn’t. 

“Jump!” Hunter shouted as you reached the edge of the building. Mustering whatever strength you had left, you leaped from the edge, Omega’s arms reaching towards the Sergeant and larger clone. You collapsed into their arms, letting them pull you both inside as blasters were now hitting your ship. 

“She’s been shot!” Omega cried. Hunter and Wrecker saw your bleeding side, and with a nod from their leader, Wrecker picked you up as carefully as possible and carried you to your cot. “Echo, get over here now!” Hunter shouted before grabbing whatever medical items that they need.

Your armor was removed and Wrecker ripped the fabric of your blacks to expose your wound, allowing the boys to stop the bleeding. You cried out in pain, legs kicking and your hand gripping the first thing that came into contact, which was Hunter’s hand. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” Echo reassured as they pierced a needle into your wound before spraying it with bacta. Omega stood at the doorway, hands covering her mouth, silently crying as the boys managed to stop the bleeding. Despite being their combat medic, the Bad Batch knew a good amount of medical aid before you arrived, but learned more when you became part of their team. 

“I can’t believe Crosshair shot her!” Wrecker growled as Echo placed a bacta patch to help quicken the healing progress. 

“I don’t want to believe either. But he shot you, didn’t he?” Echo countered.

“He...he didn’t shot me,” you groaned, your hand squeezing Hunter’s. 

“Whoa whoa whoa, no more talking. You need your rest, Freckles,” the Sergeant said, using his free hand to gently wipe off any sweat forming on your forehead. 

You ignored Hunter’s order and took in a deep breath before continuing. “It was a...trooper. Crosshair said...only to stun me and Omega...” You then looked back at Hunter, body feeling weak and vision getting blurry. “He’s still in there...fighting to come back....we can’t lose hope.” You managed to say that last bit before darkness consumed you. You slumped against the pillow, a familiar scent comforting you as you slept. 

The group watched you sleep, ensuring that you were okay before relaxing. Hunter slowly slipping his hand from your grasp before covering you with a blanket, Crosshair’s scent continued to engulf you. 

“We will bring him home. I promise.”

[littlefreya]

Easy Prey

Summary: Direct sequel to Jerk. Ring or not, August promised himself that he will make you his, in whatever mean possible and he kept that promise. 

Pairing: August Walker x Reader (2nd person pov)

Word count: 1.6K

Warnings: 18+, dark, kidnapping, bondage, dubious consent, teasing, dirty talk, gunplay (yeah add this to the list of kinks I gave you), sweet degradation and praise.

A/N: You thought August is going to sweet talk this one, didn’t you? Surprise! This was a short drabble brought by a prompt, turned into a one-shot and then my beta @agniavateira suggested this as a sequel to Jerk before I posted. Since most of you may be in a thanksgiving dinner tomorrow, enjoy my own early b-day gift to you! Many thanks to @wondersofdreaming and @sapphirescrolls who convinced me to post this. 

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed. Your feedback is my fuel. ����

Easy Prey

August Walker lived his life swinging between the two sharp edges of a sword; but then, how could he not? He had to maintain a handsome prime-alpha male reputation while hiding his true cruel nature masked beneath mist and shadows.

It took everyone by surprise once it was revealed that the slick, charming agent was a vicious, Armani-wearing monster. A hard-to-swallow pill for most, but these two diverse entities were always one and the same: 

August Walker was John Lark the way darkness followed light. 

And how unfortunate it was of you to be lured into the spider’s web, stunned by the beauty of the pearly silk; you’ve gotten too close and had your limbs caught in the sticky threads. Now captured, you’ve earned yourself a taste of August’s sweet toxin yourself. 

Fear wasn’t even close to the sensation that was gnawing in your gut.

The suite was cosy; a sleepy fire crackled in the mantle, shy beams of maple light kissed your bare breasts while you laid upon the softest pillows. It felt like a sinister joke compared to the ropes charring the supple flesh of your wrists. August had you stripped of any remnants of protection of course, save for the little jewellery circling your finger which he eyed with a blank stare that screamed in its contained silence.

Fully clothed, he stood at the fore of the bed, wearing a blue three-piece suit as if he was attending a royal wedding. A magnum was clutched in his right hand and a dagger in the other. The calmness and elegance of his appearance only made you arch and grunt in your fruitless attempts to set yourself free.

“Ropes too tight, angel?” He hummed, his voice so pleasant it felt like your lungs were floating in a void. His crystal-pale gaze dawdled upon you, invading beneath the skin, penetrating the warm crease between your legs which you fought to keep shut. 

He felt it, or maybe even smelled the arousal that wafted at his direction and chanted his name.

“I’d save my strength if I were you. We’ve already proven that no one can hear your screams and we have a long night ahead of us.”

His words covered the bones of your spine with a thick layer of frost and in your searing throat, a bitter substance reemerged. Screwing your eyes shut, you wished more than anything for this to be a nightmare; but every time the binds twisted about your hands, you remembered the dreadful meaning behind the pain. 

It was there to remind you of the harsh slap that was reality.  

August tilted his head, a smile beginning to spread from each corner of his mouth: all pleasant and  charming as if this was nothing but a couple’s naughty getaway. 

“You can’t wake up from this, this is not a dream… or a nightmare, depends on your disobedience,” he assured, boding a sudden hollow in your chest. “Now, which one do you prefer? The knife or the gun?”

“Fuck you!” 

Defiant, you gathered yourself to scream a trembling cry, sending your legs to kick the mattress in a hopeless fight. Only it made things worse as August was able to spot the little dew-kissed orchid between your legs, glistening-wet with invitation. 

Flicking a tongue over his upper lip, he crept close. His broad shoulders strained, his posture that of an elegant predator; as you saw the large outlines of his heavy cock stretching his navy-blue trousers, even hatred and horror couldn’t mask the pang of need that shot through your core.

Despite the panic, the traitorous instinct of life whispered of undisclosed, primal lust. You wished so badly you could fight or hide it, but alas there was no hiding from August. He could sense it, see it, and even taste it on his wicked tongue. 

“Gun then,” he answered and slid the knife back into the holster in his belt.

Your breath hitched as the mattress dipped beneath his weight, and you watched paralysed as he aimed the gun between your legs. Strong tremors coursed along your skin and your knees buckled and wobbled as the cold metal touched you; and yet, in that very moment, you did the impossible and moaned.

“Has it been that long since you had a dick inside you?” August observed with a vicious grin crisping his lips. It made his moustache twitch almost comically. 

“Don’t worry sweet angel, we’ll fix that soon.”

Pushing the gun between your kneecaps, he forced them open and ran the barrel feverishly down your inner thighs. The metal was freezing against your flesh, eliciting little tingles to spiral beneath the tender brush. Gasping, you looked away from him ashamed. You were terrified, not just of him, but from how much the wanton centre of your sex clenched from his ministrations.

You were bound and kidnapped by a dangerous man, and yet in your mind played the sick fantasies of him unbuckling his belt and giving you his full girth hard and wild. 

“You will soon have me in every hole,” August continued with a promise on his honeyed lips while lowering the brim of the weapon perilously close to your radiating heat and toying with the sensitive area teasingly. “I will make it hurt real bad, you’ll feel me there for days if not more,” he hummed and swerved the barrel between your engorged lips. 

“Please!” You gasped and writhed away slightly, tugging on the binds that began chafing your delicate skin. August raised his glare to meet your pleading eyes and leaned forward, his shadow looming over you entirely. Reaching one hand to your nape, he clutched you forcefully while his icy glare pierced right through your skull.

Slow and sensual he began to run the gun between your soft petals, gingerly grazing the hard shaft at the plump peak of flesh that made you cry out with both pleasure and despair. 

“Aww...” He keened and groaned. Never stopping his coaxing of your cunt with the still object, his breath huffed hot upon your cheek as he rounded his beautiful lips in faux pity. “Poor helpless little butterfly.”

Crying and dazed, you stared directly into his eyes. Words of plea kept running caged inside your head, unable to make their way out while you watched August’s large shoulder move back and forth. The movement resulting in the unwanted pleasure. Back and forth, he stroked you, gradually increasing the pace, and not without style even. Ruthless, August was keen on making you come.

You weren’t even sure what it was that you begged for at that point.

Grunts and sobs escaped your throat unwillingly. You squirmed and pushed against it, your body craving for more: not just for the rough friction that tingled at your cunt but also at the large bulge visible at his groin. The more rapture began to creep through your flowing tendons, the further you sank into delirium, wondering how he would feel like buried deep between your tight walls, fucking you the way only someone who has no boundaries would.

“Fuck!” You screamed, grinding against the metal while August leaned even closer and kissed the corner of your mouth before groaning and moaning at your lips. His hand worked hard between your thighs, the cold barrel now warm, the hollow edge coated with your elixir. 

The wall of your protests crumbled as the simmering surge of climax began pushing itself down your belly, leaving you teetering between self-loathing and ecstasy. 

“That’s right my beautiful butterfly, I’ll pluck your wings,” August promised in a husky whisper, watching you as you coiled and cried louder, your walls convulsing tightly around a sad, empty space as you came. If only you didn’t wish it was August choked between them instead.

As you slumped down, sweaty and breathless, he drawled a growl of content and slowly withdrew the gun to hold it next to your shivering face.

“I swear, Sloan’s assistants keep getting sluttier every year; the last one I fucked had a thing for me choking her,” he mocked while grazing the wet barrel against your cheek, “do you think you’d be into that too, sweetling? My hand around your throat?”  

Rounding your eyes in utter fear, you swallowed the dryness in your throat. August sighed with a malicious little grin while twisted awe danced between the blue, sparkling sapphires that examined you ecstatically, so fascinated by how easily he managed to break and bend you to his will.

Still holding the neck of the gun pressed next to your cheek, he reached the other hand above your head. A part of you was relieved for a moment, thinking he was about to untie the bind. 

But your hope quickly died as you felt his fingers rolling the ring that decorated your finger.

The diamond reflected onto the deep blue of his eyes as he examined it closely before throwing it directly into the fireplace.

“No!” You cried out brokenly, as the last memory of your old life disappeared in flames.

“Save your tears beautiful,” August retorted, his voice once again so soft it chilled your very core. He shifted his entire weight between your straddled thighs, and leaned in to kiss the wetness below your eye, “you won’t be needing it anymore.”

His tongue slipped out to collect the briny liquid that gathered on your cheek, and another hum of delight rumbled in his chest as his covered cock unmistakably ground against your mound, “I am your man from now on, might as well accept it and let me do whatever I want.”

Shivering under him, you took a deep breath, your body already swaying in demand as you felt him throbbing beneath the soft fabric of his pants. To your own horror, your head fell into a slow nod of shameful consent. 

It wasn’t just August you were afraid of, but also for yourself.    

[thedelusionreaderbitch]

Little did you know - Kaz Brekker/platonic! Crows x fem! reader

A/n: I don't know where this came from... It's a mess but its like- whatever I guess

Warnings: GORE, DEATH, TORTURE, questionable sanity, this could be disturbing to some people so don't say I didn't warn you!

I do not own six of crows or shadow and bone or it's characters

Summary: The Crows make a vital mistake when trying to get information not knowing that it would cost them everything...

(Gif not mine)

Her hair flows in the wind the only part of her moving the rest still as a serpent creeping up on its prey. Slowly, she starts to move forward as she spots her victims, some pretty little birdy's, just some unusually remarkable crows. If anything went right today the only thing that would be remarkable about them would be their downfall.

She almost yells out in excitement and joy when they wander right into her trap. They walk into her house - a dead merchant's house and go to loot what's left of it.

From her vantage point in the ceiling, she can see everything, from Nina's hands out ready to Matthias beside her. She sees Jesper's darting eyes and Wylan's uneasiness. Moreover, she can even see Inej Ghafa in the shadows high on alert ready to strike at any moment, just in case.

Then her eyes find Kaz and she almost kills him there and then.

He's in his normal attire and he hadn't changed his atrocious haircut either. Yet he's different still, it's the way he's holding himself. Like he feels accomplished.

And even though he has his neutral 'I'm bored' face on Y/n can see through him. She's always been able too and right now he's happy for an easy run. Not a trace of him is guilty or mourning and it's only been one week.

Now that she thinks about it there's not a trace of mourning in anyone.

Balling her hands into fits she nearly screams in agony, they thought she had died and they didn't even care. If she had any doubts before they're gone with just some simple observation.

Yet Y/n still waits and as soon as the Crows get into the trap completely she starts moving.

They had killed her loving parents who worked at a bakery, they had done nothing, nothing wrong. But now they were still six feet under, and she knew it was not just some casualties. Kaz was too precise for that.

She creeps up behind Inej and knocks her out cold before she can even cry out, Y/n catches her body before it can hit the floor and she carefully lays Inej to the said knowing she'll have to tie her up later.

Next is Jesper and Wylan.

For Jesper, she shoots him with a sleeping dart made out of a massively hard metal to control for fabricators and blinds Wylan before doing the same thing to him as well.

Taking out a bomb from Wylan's bag she sets it off. Running towards Nina and before she can use her heartrender abilities, Y/n headbutts her causing her figure to fall to the floor. Unconscious.

Matthias starts sprinting towards her but she simply grabs his shoulder and hits him on a pressure point on his neck and he's out with the rest of them.

It's funny because he taught her that manoeuvre.

"Kaz!" She yells in a shrill voice beckoning him downstairs, did he really leave his little itty bitty Crows alone? Ah, just like he did to her, what they all did to her.

The Crows and Y/n were on a mission and something went wrong, she was shot and they left her to die. She could have been easily saved but they left her and while they did that she remembers - the thing that she remembers most about that night. Kaz leaned down into her ear and said;

'Thanks for the information little snake.'

They had used her to get information, everything she had with them was fake. Everything with Kaz was fake. Every little touch, every little moment, their entire (established) relationship was fake.

"Come down Kazzy I helped you! Now you help me!" She runs up the stairs knowing that there's only one exit, the window. That was extremely high off the ground he would hopefully try to bargain with her first.

Even if he didn't Y/n had brought some rope because he would definitely break his legs at that height.

But Y/n wasn't a little snake now she was a majestic serpent that wielded the screeches of revenge in her venom.

She runs into the room with the window and there he was there in a chair in the shadows looking smug, but the serpent knew it was all just a facade - fake confidence.

Smiling at him she pulls out a second chair from a broken-down desk and places it right in front of him. 'Bang.' It's a simple sound but it echos throughout the room bouncing off the walls into the depths of madness.

"Oh Kazzy, have you come to help me?" She takes her lip in between her teeth and fake trembles.

"Have you come to save me?" Her voice is tiny and it's nothing like it used to be around him, yet he still flinches. He knows she's putting on an act but it still hurts him. And she wants to hurt him over, and over again.

"Y/n... We needed that information, lots of the Dregs' lives were on the line. There is so much more you wouldn't don't understand."

Laughing into the open she secretly pulls out a syringe from her back pocket readying it in her hand.

Instantly her voice changes from the scarce poor girl's voice to a very dark voice. Vengeance was held there and it was like burning your ears in the pits of hell listening to it. The sins and revenge sounded melodic but the torture that laid underneath was horrific.

"Really Rietveld? Did you think I would forgive so easily?"

Kaz's face morphs into surprise at hearing his real last name, Y/n jumps at the chance and she plunges the syringe deep into his neck.

"See you in hell."

___________________TIME SKIP A COUPLE OF HOURS__

All the Crows are tied up to some chairs in the secret basement of the house. The woman waits for what looks like patiently but really she's boiling with excitement.

This is going to be fun.

Finally, the last Crows wakes up and the Serpent takes out her playthings. Just a couple of knives and guns, but those were just her toys the real weapons are the emotional and mental pain she would cause everyone including herself.

"You know why you are here, don't you?" She walks around the room watching every one of The Crows' snarling faces but perhaps some of them held remorse.

Although Y/n was past their pity now. None of the damage could be undone, what's done is done. An eye for an eye.

"Nina darling, this may hurt a bit." Quicker than Jesper's sharpshooter's eye could catch she stabs Nina in the stomach as she yells out in pain Y/n twists the knife back and forth.

Matthias screams out for his lover and after what feels like an internity the serpent pulls the dagger out knowing that she'll just eventually die from blood loss.

Taking a quick look around the room she notices some of the terrified faces and how everyone is on edge. Good, just how she wants it.

"Mörd demjin," Matthias mutters under his breath and Y/n takes his throat in her hand and holds tight enough to choke him.

"Don't call me by the little nickname you gave Kazzy!" She yells furiously holding onto him tighter and tighter. His face starts to become purple and she can hear the yells and screams of the birdy's in the background.

'No! Let go! Matthias! Matthias! Let him go!'

"Any last words?" She jets out her lip before holding onto him tighter and she sees the fury of the ice in his eyes before there's nothing. His eyes roll back lifeless.

"No Matthias! Matthias!" Nina shrieks trying to desperately get out of her chair.

Rolling her eyes with a huff Y/n pulls out a gun and shoots Nina twice in the head.

"Now you're with your lover." She drawls on the word lover and turns to Inej. She didn't really want to do this but she had to cause him all the pain that she could. Even if Inej tried to stop them.

Swiftly she pulls out the knife Inej gave her and kindly kills her with a hard blow to the heart. She doesn't suffer, she just solely died, it's the only kindness the Serpent can afford to give her.

At this point, Jesper and Wylan are openly sobbing and screaming for their friends and for Y/n to please stop. But she doesn't, with blood all over her clothes she makes her path towards her next fool.

"If you were wondering why you couldn't control the bullets, Jesper." She drawls on in a monotone voice. She can see and hear Wylan screaming and it pains her but she doesn't let it show. She lets the Serpent take over or else this will never get done.

Fully becoming the Serpent Y/n places the barrel of her gun up to his heart and she just shoots, no emotion on her face whatsoever.

"A special venom of mine for Grisha. Had some fun testing it."

Going over to Wylan she quickly slits his throat not wanting the little merchling to suffer more than he already has.

She looks at Kaz blankly, he's shaking and he's beyond trying not to show any emotion. Tears are streaming down his face and he's gasping for air. Trembles roll off his body and the agony on his face pierces her hurt.

"Why?" Rietveld finally manages to rasp out. "WHY!" He screams ultimately reaching his breaking point.

"Because Kaz," She whispers in a sickeningly sweet voice lifting his chin with the tip of her pointer finger.

"Everything comes with a price." She pauses letting it sink in.

"And little did you know the price it would cost you."

And that's the story of Sankta Serpentina and Sankt Dirtyhands.

Words 1634

-thedelusionreaderbitch

Shadow and bone taglist: @kaqua @rika90 @thefandomplace @musical-theatre-obsessed-dumbass @gallysonegoodlung @navs-bhat @sumsebien @dontjudgeabookbythecover

(if you would like to be added leave a comment!)

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

The Fight - Little Sparrow Series Oneshot

A/N: I took a much looser approach with the prompt for Writer Wednesday. :) Thank you for reading, reblogging, and commenting. 

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x F! Reader x Ellaria Sand 

Warnings: 18 + for language, canon typical violence, mentions of depression, wanting to die, angst with a resolution. 

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

“You are an absolute FOOL!” Ellaria shouts from the entrance to the training yards. Men and women scattered in all directions at the fire in her eyes. Ellaria is a fearsome woman to behold on an average day but when she is angry, beware.

Oberyn scoffs and stabs his spear into the ground, leaning on it gently. “What have I done now?” Ellaria stomps the rest of the way towards him and grabs onto his jaw harshly. 

“What have you done now?! Think, you always claim to be the smartest man in the room, the most cunning, the red viper,” her words dripping with sarcasm. 

“I truly do not know,” he pushes her hand away, but the viper is not quick enough, and her hand smacks across his face. The spear clatters the ground, and Oberyn reaches for his cheek, holding it and staring at her with wide eyes. 

“How dare you?” she growls, “I should have hit you harder! Maybe then you would remember what you have done to our Sparrow.” 

Oberyn furrows his brow for a moment before realization slowly dawns on his face. Memories of a conversation with you from the night before. His belly was still full of wine, his head a bit hazy as he spared with a newer soldier. 

**********

“Oberyn, please,” you begged, standing outside the ring used for fighters. His moves were sloppy; he was going to get himself hurt. “Please, my love, come to bed.” 

“Go!” he barks at you, narrowly missing a blow to the head from the other wooden sword of his opponent. “Is that all you got?!” he shouts, edging the other man on. His expression hardens, and his sword moves quicker, slashing left and right against Oberyn. 

You know what day it is—the reason for his drinking to excess, calling upon everyone for a fight. The children and Ellaria had been sent away for the evening, and you wished for her soft touch around your shoulders. Oberyn had begged you to stay, claiming only to need your body to suppress the grief he wishes to drown in. “Oberyn,” you call again, quieter, the tears beginning to swell in your eyes. 

He turns towards you, and that’s all the distraction his opponent needed. The other man strikes him in the chest, knocking him off balance, the spear toppling from his hand. He barrels, rolls around your prince, and picks up the spear pointing the sharp blade against his neck. “Yield,” he growls, eyes hard, and Oberyn just watches his chest panting, the steel prick of his spear against his throat. 

The red viper does not lose. 

“Yield,” he repeats, pressing the blade tighter to the prince’s throat, drawing a drop of blood, staining the golden robes. 

Oberyn lifts his head, and more blood trickles down his neck, “never,” he growls, voice dripping with venom. “Kill me,” he orders, “strike me down, live in infamy as the man who killed the Red Viper.” 

“NO!” you step forward, reaching a hand out to wrap around the spear with one hand and pushing your lover down with the other. “That is quite enough for one night.” His opponent drops the spear to the ground and stands above you, bowing his head. 

“My apologies, my Lady, my Prince,” he bows to you both before turning to leave the training yard. All others have left for the night, and it’s as silent as the grave as you turn back to Oberyn. 

You can feel his eyes burning on yours, and you avoid them, instead choosing to focus on the golden robe. “You’re covered in blood, my Prince,” you go to unbutton the cinch at the top, but his hand tightens around your own. 

“Don’t touch me,” his voice is stern, and he throws your hand aside, standing up. You remain kneeling before him, head down; he’s never used that tone with you. The anger and malice slicing through your heart like a dagger. “How dare you.” 

Your head snaps up, and you feel the strength returning as you stand, hands trembling with your anger. “How could I? Do you expect me to just stand on the sidelines and watch you die?! Hurt yourself?!” 

“I had it under control,” he takes a threatening step towards you, his finger coming up to your face, “you disgraced me.” 

You take a shuddering breath, “I disgraced you because I love you? Explain that to me, Oberyn. I love you with my entire heart, my soul.” 

He scoffs and takes a shaky step away, his fingers fumbled with the buttons of his robe, throwing it towards you. It bounces off your chest, and you catch it in your hands, the blood staining your fingers. “You’re not my wife,” he tosses over his shoulder as he reaches for the goblet of wine, filling up his cup, “why don’t you find some other cock to fuck you tonight.” 

You ball the fabric up in your hand and feel your heart shatter in two, “I don’t take other lovers beside you and Ellaria; you know that.” 

He laughs, “well, it is not my cock that will fill your cunt tonight. I’ll go to the brothel and find another woman who won’t disgrace me in battle and will keep her mouth filled with my cock instead of nagging me about what I do.” 

You watch him walk away out towards the front of the Palace, each step putting another nail in the coffin of your heart. Oberyn did not visit the brothels since you joined his little harem, Ellaria, and you being more than enough for him. Ellaria had warned this could happen tonight, on this day when the memory of his sister, Elia, and her children’s deaths are reawoken like gaping wounds.

“Daemon,” you call into the shadows knowing the Prince’s guard is never far, “follow him, please,” you whisper, and he nods. His footsteps retreating after Oberyn. 

You walk through the quiet halls of the Water Gardens and towards the washing room near the river. And there you stay until the morning light streams through. Your hands scrubbed raw with the force you used to remove the blood from the Golden robes. The fabric still scrunched between your fingers as you lay your head in a basket of blankets ready to be washed. 

“My lady,” one of the servants presses her hand gently on your arm, and you blink, sitting up suddenly, “are you alright?” 

“Where’s Oberyn?” you ask, almost frightened to know. 

“The Prince returned only a few hours ago; the Maester gave him something to make him sleep. He should be up in a few hours right as rain.” The young woman smiles at you, and you cringe at the kink in your neck. “My Lady, please beg pardon, but you don’t look so well, should we call the Maester?” 

“No,” you reply quickly, “no, please don’t. I just need to rest.” You move towards the door, planning to lock yourself in your private room for the rest of the day.

“What about the Prince’s robe?” she probes gently, and you stiffen, glancing down at the fabric still clutched between your hands. “Would you like us to wash them?” You nod, feeling hollow, memories of the night before flashing before your eyes. She gasps when you hand the robe over and looks at your hands, clutching them. “My Lady, your hands….” 

You grab them back and clutch them to your chest, “please,” you close your eyes, feeling the tears ready to flow, “please just forget about them.” When you open, she looks sad but nods. 

“Your secret is safe with me,” she whispers back, and you give her a slight nod, going off to your room to rest. 

The rest of the day passes uneventful, many come with offers of food and a bath, but you ignore their calls. With the last of your strength, you’d pushed the dresser against the door so no one could enter. “Sparrow?” Ellaria’s voice chimes from the other side and you tremble at the concern in her voice, “they said you had not eaten all day; what is the matter?” She tries to turn the handle, but the door is locked, and you hear her shouting orders at someone, probably to unlock it. 

She twists the nob, and it turns, but the door doesn’t budge. “Sparrow! Come to the door, are you alright?!” she sounds frantic, and you want to get up, but your energy is gone. The Prince’s words playing over and over in your head doubts swimming over everything you’ve built with him. 

The curtains towards the balcony sway in the breeze, and you hear footsteps coming from the window. “She’s bared the door, Mother!” Nym shouts, pushing the dresser out of the way and coming back to sit beside you, putting her hand on your cheek, “mama? Are you alright?” 

“Nym, leave us,” Ellaria commands, and Nym nods, leaning down to kiss your forehead before standing and leaving quickly, pulling the door shut behind her. Ellaria lays down on the bed beside you and puts her hand to your cheek, kissing you softly. “What’s the matter, Little Sparrow?” You break down and cry, her pushing you tight to her breast and running her hand over your head as you tell her everything. 

“He told me I’m not his wife. That, it’s not his cock that will fill my cunt. He’ll go to the brothel and find another woman who won’t disgrace him in battle and will keep her mouth filled with his cock instead of nagging him about what he does.” 

Her hand stills, and her voice is tight, “he said that to you?” You nod, letting out a hiccup from your sobs. “Has he come and spoke to you today?” You shake your head no, and her voice drops lower, almost deadlier, “I’ll be back.” She disentangles herself from your arms, and you watch her straighten her spine, her hands clenched into fists at her side. 

**********

Oberyn clutches his head and looks ashamed at the ground. “Ah, now he remembers,” Ellaria taunts, “you are lucky she is even still here! I would have let you rot before I let you talk to me that way. Now, go and make this right before you make the biggest mistake of your life.” 

“I wouldn’t blame her if she never forgave me.” 

“Oh no, you do not get to feel sorry for yourself.” Ellaria waggles a finger at him as he lifts his eyes to meet the fire in her gaze. “Do you love her?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you want her to stay? To warm your bed? Give you children, and take care of you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then go talk to her,” Ellaria crosses her arms over her chest and glares down at him, “or you will lose two paramours today.” 

He stands and moves past her to your chambers, where he idles outside the door. Shame filling him at the words he hurled at you, like verbal daggers. He knocks on the door, unsurprised not to hear an answer. He twists the knob and walks inside. “Little Sparrow,” he calls out to you, hating how your body tenses up turned away from him on the bed. He closes the door behind him and comes to sit behind you on the bed, reaching a hand out to your waist. 

You push his hand away, and he gasps at the rough touch of your palm. He is quickly reaching across you to pull your hands into his own. “What happened? Who did this to you?” He would kill them. 

“You did,” you whisper broken, “I tried to get the blood out of your robe you threw at me,” you raise your eyes to meet his. The warmth is missing from his brown eyes as he stares down hard at your hands. 

“You washed my robe?” 

“What else was I supposed to do? Find another cock to fill my cunt,” the words taste bitter on your tongue, and you rip your hands from his own, clutching them to your chest. “How was the brothel?” 

“I don’t know. I woke up fully clothed there this morning, Daemon guarding the door. He said I demanded whores to be brought to me, but I sent them all away.” 

“Why?” 

“Because no one is you, my love.” He reaches his hand out, and you fall to your back as he hovers over you. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, “I begged you to stay, and then I...I didn’t mean any of it. I was angry and sad.” 

“You wanted to die, Oberyn.” Your words hanging in the air between you. 

“I always wish I had died instead of her,” he whispers, “Every day I see Elia in my head, her voice begging me to move forward. This is the first time in two years I felt that way. It used to be every day.” 

“What changed two years ago?” 

“I met you.” Your heart pounds, and he moves closer, laying some of his weight down on you, “I met a Little Sparrow that took my heart and made it soar to the heavens where she flew. You,” his voice cracks with emotion, “are the love of my life. My reason for living. I’m sorry I lost my way.” 

You cup his cheek and brush the stray tears, “have you found your way home to me?” 

“I always know which way to fly home, Little Sparrow; you light the way.” 

“I love you, Oberyn Martell. I forgive you, but please don’t leave me alone in this world.” 

“Never, my love, never.” 

[necros-writing-stuff]

Do you thing you can write noncon/dubcon with Bailey? I am VERY MUCH simping for the man who may or may not be a gangster

totesBruh's art of him had me a little feral ngl. Very nice work.

This is longer than I thought it would be.

NSFW below (noncon, virgin gn reader, anal)

It was impressive, really. £4000 due weekly, and somehow you always made it. Bailey had been glad to let you take on Robin's debt, maybe then you'd miss. Maybe then you'd give him an excuse to have you bent over his desk so he can show you that he's still in control.

Walking through the park, Bailey has to stop and readjust his pants at the thought. His mind had been jumping to that more and more lately. Especially when he's stressed. Just now he'd had a meeting with one of his guys, disappointed that no information had turned up on some upcoming fucker that could prove a threat if they weren't dealt with now.

It had been lovely and warm, so Bailey had walked to the park. Now it was pissing it down, drenching his nice clothes. His dry-cleaner would be getting a visit, then.

Bailey stops in his tracks when he passes the fountain. You're there. You're there, wrapped around the arm of some blond pretty thing under a tree. And now Bailey's agitated. Do you let this little fucker touch you? Do you spread your legs for them without his permission? Part of him was glad it wasn't Robin, made it less concerning how much time you spent together.

He doesn't know how long he stared, but eventually you kiss the other person on the cheek and begin walking towards some bushes. You end up disappearing into them, so confused and angry, Bailey moves to follow. Surprisingly, there's a narrow passage behind the foliage, one that leads to a hole in a fence.

When he emerges, its just in time to see you opening the rear doors to the school building he's been led to. It was a weekend, what are you doing in school? Are you that much of a fucking goody-two-shoes that you're here to study on a Saturday? Bailey yet again rushes after you.

Walking through the empty halls, he has to try and ignore memories of being here. He wonders if the kids these days were as rabid as they were back then? He even has to stiffle a laugh at a scorch mark on the wall, half hidden by faculty posters. That was his doing, years and years ago. Leighton had ratted him out, fucker. Makes sense they'd end up in charge of this place the way they'd patrol the halls like they owned them back then.

He follows wet footprints to the library, amused when he here's shuffling. You must have heard him coming and were attempting to hide. Yanking the door open, he steps inside to find out that you're just trying to gather the books up in a rushed mess. What, you're not even going to attempt to hide?

"I'm sorry! I know I shouldn't be in here, but I really need to keep my grades up, I-I have a spare £200, please just let me study," you beg, eyes pointedly stating at your feet. The brat has enough spare money that you're offering to bribe people? Well shit. He might have to up your rent.

"Who's the blond?" Bailey asks, revelling in the panic on your face when you hear his voice, how your spine goes straight and you look him straight in the eye.

You shuffle in discomfort, a hand rubbing against your forearm to help soothe yourself. "It's just Whitney, they're a friend-"

"A friend? You kiss all of your friends?" Bailey steps closer and you step back.

"It was only a kiss on the cheek, that's not bad, is it?" You're on the verge of tears, voice trembling.

Bailey takes another step towards you, backing you up more into the bookcase behind. "Oh it's a fucking problem, brat. You see, I think you've forgotten who owns you."

He's quick as he darts forwards and closes the gap, a large, callused hand wrapping around your bicep to pin you to the bookcase, the other wrapping around your neck.

"Bailey, please, I've been so good, please just let me go," you beg, hot salty tears making their own paths down your cheeks.

He licks his lips as he takes in all of the fear in your face. Then he covers your mouth with his, shoving his tongue in when you gasp in suprise.

You wiggle against him, trying to escape, but only succeeding in teasing the semi he's had on since picturing you naked on his cock. The little whimpers you let out are addicting, but you won't fight back. You would have bitten him by now if you were going to fight.

The hand grasping your bicep let's go to shove your damp t-shirt up, revealing the lovely nipples beneath. They're hard and sensitive when Bailey pinches them, making you go still for a second before your hands go back to weakly pushing on his abdomen. If this is how you fought, it was a wonder you weren't getting gangbanged in the streets - or maybe you were and noone had been kind enough to take pictures.

A small 'ahhh' comes from your mouth when Bailey starts rolling the little bud between his fingers, rather than just pinching it, and you shudder against his body. God, you're so responsive. You'd be worth so much, you know? Only his best clients could have you. The other brats could go to the highest bidder, but for you he'd make sure only those he vetted as worthy would see you like this.

You don't struggle anymore than you already are when his hand ducks beneath your shorts, and he immediately knows why. Pulling back, his grip on your throat tightens. Urgently, Bailey jerks your shorts down your legs, followed by your underwear and he wants to punch something.

A fucking chastity belt. Red clouds his vision.

"Please let me go," you cry out, hands tugging on his still clamped around your throat. Bailey does just the opposite, turning you around and shoving you face first into the bookshelf, ignoring the pained cry you give out. He smiles in victory at what he sees.

Your sweet little ass is still exposed. Still free for the taking. Bailey wastes little time in getting his cock out, the thing painfully hard at this point, the head flushed red and pre oozing from the tip.

As soon as you feel it pressing against your asshole you break down sobbing. "Bailey I'll stop seeing them, I promise! Just stop! Stop!"

You may as well be begging a snake to speak, because you're going to get no sympathy from your carer as they sink into your dry, unprepared hole. Your screams go right to his length, the control he has over you in this moment feels addicting. He grabs your hip in one hand and a fistful of hair in another to pull it and make you arch your back in a way that gets just the perfect angle.

His cock is squeezed so tight by your insides he might not last long, but at least the insides feel wet. Might just be blood though.

You won't stop saying that you're sorry, trying to hold yourself perfectly still. Are you trying to make yourself unappealing by not fucking yourself on his cock, or are you just being a good little brat and letting him use you how he wants?

"You're so pretty like this," he praises, eyes taking in your flushed cheeks. Your lips were swollen from your teeth digging into the thin flesh. Your hair a mess in his grasp. He'll have to have you again, at some point. Will have to get this belt off so he can have all of you.

His hips slap against your ass in a steady but brutal pace, you just whimper with every thrust now, knowing that it doesn't matter how sorry you say you are, Bailey won't stop till he's done. Your insides fit perfectly around his length, caressing him in a way that has him barrelling towards an orgasm quicker than he thought.

It's not long before he's shooting his seed right into your gut, pulling you back onto his length so that he's as deep as he can be as he does so. The silence in the library is deafening in those few brief moments as his balls empty themselves, Bailey letting his head rest against your shoulder until its done.

When he pulls out, the liquid is a mixture of red, white and pink, the results of his sperm and your blood. He sits on the table the textbooks are on and watches you fix your clothes for a few brief moments before taking out a cigarette and lighting it. You don't look his way, just stand awkwardly, sniffling and wiping at your face.

"Where did you get the chastity belt fitted?" he interrogates, taking a drag.

You wince when you move all of your weight onto your left leg. "The temple on Wolf Street," you whisper.

Bailey nods, standing up and fixing his own clothes, cig held between his lips as he does so.

"Right then. Let's go get it removed."

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (8) || atz

“Shit.”

It takes you a few seconds to register the words leaving Seonghwa’s mouth, but before you can even think about what you should do, the pair spring into action.

Yeosang downs his captain’s noodles in a single gulp, tosses the bowl aside and grabs you by the forearm, hauling you up the stairs the main deck, Seonghwa’s footsteps thundering behind you.

The god awful sound of the bell is still ringing in your ears, but it’s nothing compared to the chaos of the main deck. Pirates sprint back and forth, powder monkeys dashing to and fro carrying bags of gunpowder. You watch as the pirates at the gunwales move like the cogs of a well oiled machine, cleaning the long barrels of the cannons with a dry rammer, before charging them with bags of gunpowder. Other pirates start arming themselves with weapons and donning armour, putting out the torches on the main deck and plunging the entire ship into darkness.

But you already see it.

It must have slipped here, under the cover of night, a massive three masted frigate that almost towers above the Treasure. With snowy white sails and the royal emblem of the Crown, a single red rose, painted on its main sail, there is no doubt to you what this is.

A Royal Navy ship.

You turn to Seonghwa in horror, but you can barely make out his face in the pitch darkness, the only light coming from the half moon in the sky. Yeosang’s hand is still gripping yours tight, but otherwise from that, he is merely a dark shape silhouetted against the night.

Terror almost consumes you whole.

“Hyung, what do I-” You try to ask Yeosang, but the navigator shushes you urgently, pressing his lips against your ear. You can feel his heart pounding against your arm as he whispers to you in sharp, calm tone.

“Don’t make a sound. When it starts, I want you to run for the sickbay. San won’t be there, but don’t worry about him, he’s just getting to the wounded. Bolt the door and don’t open it till San comes back for you. If the enemy breaks down the door, don’t fight back. You don’t have the experience yet.”

You nod, your breaths coming out in near hysterical pants. The Royal Navy is here. They’re armed with cannons. They’re going to kill you, and probably destroy the whole ship too. They’ve already hit the ship. By now, water must be pouring into the bilge and in a matter of minutes the ship is going to sink-

Seonghwa envelops you in a tight hug.

“Don’t worry.” His voice is comforting, soft and gentle in contrast to the way your mind is screaming at you to escape somehow, to bolt before the Navy can fire the next cannon. You want to ask him how on earth he wants you to not worry, but then he strokes you on the head like he does after your cooking lessons for a job well done and the screaming in your mind fades to white noise. “We have Hongjoong’s blessing on our side. Trust us.”

You try to say something, but it comes out as a choked whimper. Your hands are trembling, but Yeosang squeezes them gently. You clear your throat and try again.

“What about the two of you?” You manage against the dry sobs. “What are you going to-”

“Fire!” Mingi’s voice rings out across the silence of the night.

This time, you almost forget to clap your hands over your ears again and all at once, a series of cracks threaten to split your eardrums and from the right the sound of wood splintering like twigs rings across the sea, acrid smoke filling your lungs. Coughing furiously, you barely hear Yeosang shouting for you to run over the screams of agony from the enemy ship which you realize is already a looming shape in front of you, his hand ripping apart from yours.

You try to reach for him, but he’s gone.

You’re completely alone.

“Starboard battery, fire!”

The entire ship rocks to one side as the iron projectiles smash into the side of the Treasure. There’s the sound of wood smashing, the cries of the wounded filling the air, and the smell of gunpowder forcing violent coughs from your lungs and your eyes to water. You stumble forward almost blindly with your hands in front of you, feeling the deck of the ship pitching and rolling violently beneath your feet as you rush to the sickbay.

You’re almost there when disaster strikes.

All of a sudden, the ship heels to the left and your fingers slip from the latch, you’re thrown violently across the deck only to smash into the barrels kept at the port side of the ship.

Something whistles above your head and by some form of sheer dumb luck you dive to the ground, rolling to the side as the barrels you have been crouching behind burst into splinters. Your hands instinctively fly up to protect your face, but the flying wood chips tear into the material of your shirt and graze your skin.

You can’t help yourself from looking back at the wreckage. There are two iron balls, connected by a thick chain lying amidst destroyed barrels and some shredded rope. Your heart pounds like you’ve just run thousands of miles. You can only gulp at what would have happened if you had been a fraction too slow.

“Hold tight, they’re about to hit us!” You hear Mingi scream over the chaos and you turn to stare at the rapidly approaching ship in horror. Then the quartermaster’s words finally register in your head and you’re diving for one of ropes of the mizzen mast’s rigging before you can even think about what you’re doing.

And not a second too late, because the moment your hands clamp around the rope in a vice grip, there is a grating sound of wood against wood that makes your very bones shudder, the entire ship groaning as the Royal Navy ship pulls up along the starboard. You’re thrown literally head over heels by the insane force, rolling over the ground of the main deck. For a moment, you’re straining against the rope as your fingers desperately try to hold on.

There’s screaming all around you, and then the ship tilts back the same way it came from, back towards the starboard, and you’re sent tumbling back across the deck once more like a limp rag doll. Every inch of your body shrieks in protest at the repeated battering and bruising, but then the rope lengthens and you find yourself very nearly thrown over the gunwales of the ship.

Then you scream. Very loudly. Because the upper half of your body is dangling over the bulwarks and your grip on the rope is slipping.

Beneath you is the inky black, bottomless expanse of the ocean. Once you fall in, it will consume you like it has so many others, slowly depriving you of the air you breathe until you finally give up, sinking to the bottom of the seabed where crabs climb over your dead and bloated corpse and pick at your lifeless eyes.

Then you see the crew of the Royal Navy ship on small skiffs and boats, armed to the teeth with muskets and sabers and grappling hooks.

One of them spots you and raises his gun.

Your heart drops in your chest as he prepares to fire.

Someone’s hand grabs you by the back of your collar and roughly yanks you back onto the deck as the wooden railing in front of you splinters from the musket ball, right where your head had been.

You turn to stare at your savior in wide eyed horror, your breaths coming out in ragged pants as you desperately try to recover from your near death experience. To your shock, it’s the younger battlemaster from earlier this day, Jongho, primed musket in hand. He gives you a questioning look and raises the firearm to point right in your face.

“Wait-” You panic but then he shoots to the left of your head, and you whip around to see a Navy officer who had been climbing over the bulwarks fall backwards with a bullet in his head. The maknae curses and draws his cutlass, shearing through the grappling hook and you hear the scream of another officer who had been climbing the rope as he plunges into the sea, never to be seen again.

“What are you doing here?” He snaps at you, as he primes his musket again, eyes locked on the enemy ship looming behind you. There’s another round of booming cannon fire and you almost shriek in alarm once more, getting ready to dive to the ground, but then you hear the screams of agony from the crew on the deck of the enemy ship.

“Grapeshot.” Jongho mutters under his breath as he holsters his musket in his belt, eyes scanning the complete mayhem around you. You don’t know what the word means. “Good job, Wooyoung-ssi.” Then he turns back to you, a hard glare on his face.

“Shouldn’t you be in the sickbay or something? How did you end up at the main mast?”

Main mast?

You glance around in shock. In the confusion and pandemonium, you’ve somehow ended up further from the sickbay than where you started. You open your mouth to reply, but your words are cut off by screaming from the stern area.

“They’ve boarded us!”

Jongho spits out another curse, grabbing a knife from his belt and sending it flying at an officer that had been aiming his rifle at you in one smooth motion. Your hands fly to your mouth and you watch with wide eyes as blood spurts from his neck, his knees buckling beneath him and his body falling to the ground with a soft thump.

You force the bile in your throat down at the sight.

The young battlemaster glances between you and the stern, where the fighting is taking place. More and more Navy soldiers have started to board and they’ve organised themselves into a wedge formation, defending the grappling hooks so more of their fellows can join them.

Grinding his teeth, he turns to the bow, only to watch the fabric of the top mainsail get shredded by a bar shot and the resulting splinters fly everywhere, showering the deck in a deadly hail. Nowhere is safe, especially not for a tiny slip of a thing like you.

Then he makes up his mind and shoves a musket into your hands. “Here.” Drawing the dagger that Yunho had given you that morning from your belt and thrusting it at you, he grabs you by the hand and yanks you forward by the wrist towards the stern. “Stay behind me and don’t get in the way.”

You open your mouth to question what exactly he intends for you to do with the musket, since you have no idea how to use it, but then the two of you are in the thick of fighting and you don’t have the brain capacity to form words anymore.

Jongho keeps one hand around your wrist as he pulls you forward through pandemonium of the main deck. Swords flash from every direction and the air is sour with smoke from the gunpowder. For a moment, you wonder if you’re going deaf from the repeated pounding of cannon shot.

Suddenly, a Navy soldier looms out of the darkness in front of you, blade drawn. You barely have time to scream and duck before Jongho jerks you to the side by the arm, his own cutlass curving down in a deadly arc, splitting the man from shoulder to hip. Your eyes and mouth close on reflex as still warm blood splatters across your face and front, but you have no time to panic as Jongho continues moving aft once more. The coppery tang of blood fills your mouth and you wipe the blood from your face, only to nearly gouge your own eyes out with the dagger you’re holding as the Treasure suddenly heels, the bow turning away from the enemy ship.

You spit the blood from your mouth.

“What’s going on-”

“Hongjoong-hyung’s trying to move away from the enemy ship so we can fire explosives instead of resorting to hand to hand combat.” Jongho grunts, flicking the blood from his sword. “I need to get you to the sickbay before I help the crew out, so get moving.”

The threatening tone in his voice kind of terrifies you.

The two of you continue your mad dash, ducking beneath swinging axes and gunfire. It reminds you of your run from the harbor, except this time the ground is rocking back and forth under your feet. And if you thought Jongho was talented, you had obviously never seen talent before, because the young battlemaster fights like an actual demon.

Somehow, with one arm on you, he still mows through the soldiers like a battering ram, scattering enemy left and right. His cutlass dances a deadly tango, flickering like a snake’s tongue, darting in and striking through his opponent’s guard. You’re left in awe of his skill, but he doesn’t really give you much time to appreciate it

.After what seems like an eternity later, you finally reach the stern. Huffing from the exertion, your fingers fumble with doorknob and to your immense relief, the door swings open. For a moment, you panic when you see that San isn’t there, but then the ship suddenly lurches to the side once more and you’re thrown against the door frame violently.

Your fingers slip over the trigger and the deafening sound of a musket shot echoes in your ears.

Your head whips backwards in horror, only to find the lead shot embedded in the chest of a Navy soldier who’d been engaged in a fight with Jongho. The man crumples to the ground, a pool of red spreading beneath his body, but then you see the blood seeping from Jongho’s shoulder where your bullet has grazed him.

The maknae turns to give you a deadly stare.

“I’m so sorry.” You gulp, honestly starting to fear for your life.

“You troublesome-” Jongho begins, but you never get to hear what he was saying as Mingi’s shout tears through the bedlam on board. “We’re pulling away! Clear the deck! Starboard battery, switch to explosives!”

When you glance back at the starboard, the Royal Navy ship has indeed gotten further, much to the relief sagging in your chest. Captain must have managed to outrun the enemy.

You see Yunho rally a team of pirates and they bear down on the soldiers in a pincer formation, forcing them overboard. Other officers, seeing their advantage rapidly being lost, throw themselves over the side rather than face the tall warrior in a berserker’s rage.

“Starboard battery, fire!”

The deck of the Royal Navy ship is bombarded with shot that burst into flames the moment they make contact with the wood. But a single cannon ball slams into the hull right above the waterline, punching a hole in the side of the ship.

Your mouth falls open. That’s where the storage hold of the ship is, where the stocks of gunpowder are kept.

Then the ship is engulfed in flame, a mass of burning wreckage in the distance as the Treasure pulls away, leaving the sinking ship and its dying crew in its wake.

[your-eternal-muse]

Home

Summery: After months of being held against your will, you escape into the world, and await for the moment when you can return home.

Warnings: Mentions of abduction, vague mentions of abuse, talk of injury, thoughts of giving up, mentions of weight loss

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Words: 2.5k

Authors Note: Wow. It’s been a hot fucking minute huh? Sorry for taking so long. I was moving and unpacking, and getting situated and than I got a new job and so many other things. This is the piece that got me back into the writing flow, so that's fun. I am still working on requests, and while they may not be posted in the order that I received them, they still will be posted. I will also be posting little one shots in between them as well, because my brain doesn’t know when to fucking stop. I missed you guys. I hope you’re all doing well. Also I’m at 950 followers??? That’s insane. I don’t believe it. Anyway, enjoy!

I run.

I run through gaps in between trees, stepping on sticks, ducking under branches.

Every muscle, every bone in my body is screaming at me to stop. To give up, fall to the ground and curl up at the base of a tree and give in to the darkness.

But I can’t.

I can’t stop running, not until I know I’m safe.

Not until I’m home.

The air is brisk, and the leaves crunching underneath my bare feet are different shades of decay.

The sunlight breaking through the canopy does little to tell me what time of day it is, or even what direction I’m going. 

So I just run.

Away from the little wooden house where I’ve been beaten almost everyday for who knows how long.

I’ve lost count of the days.

But I got lucky.

He’s always gone during the day, and I’ve lost enough weight so I could slip my wrists through the zip tie that had me bound.

I’m losing stamina, but I keep pushing forward.

Please, god, give me something, anything.

I stumble through a wall of brush, falling to the gravel ground of the side of the road.

A road.

I push myself up, my steps stuttering as I gain my back my balance.

I turn my head, looking both ways down the seemingly deserted road, and I now believe in a mighty being above because I see gas pumps not even a half a mile down the road from where I’m standing.

I start running as fast as I can, limping every other step, trying to pick up a speed my body has forgotten.

My heart is pounding in my chest, and every breath feels like it’s being ripped out of me, but I couldn’t stop now even if I wanted to.

I turn into the gravel driveway of the station speeding towards the front door, barreling inside, heaving for air as I turn and lock the deadbolt on the door.

I flip the sign from open to closed for good measure, before slipping down to the floor in a heap.

“Oh sweet baby jesus above, darling what happened to you?” A woman runs out from behind the counter, crouching down next to me pushing dirty matted hair out of my face, hands running gently over my exposed skin.

My voice is hoarse, and my throat burns when I speak.

“I’m Supervisory Special Agent y/n y/l/n of the Behavioral Analysis unit of the F.B.I.” I let my head fall back against the glass of the door. “I don’t, I don’t have my badge otherwise I would show you.”

Her eyes are deep green, and kind. Worry creases her already wrinkled face, and her skin looks soft and loose.

“Oh honey, it’s okay. I believe you. Can you tell me what happened?”

Tears start to form in my eyes and I can’t seem to move anymore. “I was abducted by someone we were chasing in May, and I just escaped.” 

A hand comes to cover her mouth. 

“I really need to use your phone to contact my team.” 

She couldn’t be older than 50, with long dirty blonde hair starting to gray at the roots.

I couldn’t help but feel the trust swarm my chest, too tired to put up walls anymore.

“Oh of course, honey. Let me help you behind the counter, and we’ll get you all set.”

She gingerly helped me back to my feet, wrapping my arm over her shoulders to help me sit on a stool behind the counter. 

She makes sure I’m set sturdy on the seat, before handing me a landline from beside the till.

“You use that to call however many people you want, and I’m gonna go get you some water and something to eat.”

She starts to walk away but she snaps her fingers and turns around, grabbing something from the counter and draping it over my shoulders.

It was a fuzzy winter jacket.

“It’s almost November, you’re probably freezing too.”

Her accent is a gentle southern, like a grandma who makes peach cobbler and gives the best hugs. 

I shove my arms through the sleeves, zipping it up to my chin. 

Almost November.

It’s October.

I’ve been gone for five months.

October, and I’m wearing shorts and a ripped tank top.

I look down at the landline and take a breath to steady my trembling hands before dialing the number I know by heart.

Three rings, and he picks up.

“This is Doctor Spencer Reid.”

I start to sob at the sound of his voice, a voice I never thought I’d be able to hear again.

I start to collapse within on myself.

“Hello?”

I haven’t said anything.

I take a breath, wiping my nose on the back of my hand before speaking.

“Hey, Spence.”

It’s silent, and I can faintly hear the sound of something crashing to the floor.

“Y-Y/n?”

“Jesus, I never thought I’d get to hear your voice again.”

“Where are you? Are you safe? Is he there?” He’s frantic, his voice rushed and high.

“I don’t know where I am, but I’m safe. I’m at some gas station. A nice woman is helping me.”

I lick my lips and I can taste the saltiness of my snot. “I got out.” 

“Penelope, I need you to trace this call right now.”

“What? Why? What happened?”

He has it on speaker, and I openly sob at the twinkle of her voice.

“Penelope…” is all I can muster, but it’s enough to hear her gasp, and then her own sob.

“Hold on tight sweet girl! We’re coming!”

I hear typing, and background voices getting louder.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Derek?” I gasp, bringing a hand to the center of my chest and grasping the fabric tight in my hands.

I lean back against the wall as the woman comes up with bottles of water, and bags of different foods.

Tears stream down my face, and the woman pushes hair out of my face, pinning it back with clips from her own hair.

“Is that you stud muffin?” I hope he hears the small smile in my voice.

I hear a shaky breath. “Yeah it’s me sweetheart.”

“I got her! She's a few miles outside of Chattanooga Tennessee!”

Tennessee? How the hell did I get to Tennessee?

“Derek, go tell the others. We’ll meet you at the jet.”

I hear shuffling on the other end as I break the seal on the water, before taking a long, much needed gulp.

“Are you still there y/n?” His voice is laced with concern, and I can picture the crease above his brows, the shakiness of his hands. 

“I’m here.”

“You stay right there, okay? Don’t move. We're on our way.”

The woman hands me a box of tissues, and I take a few wiping my eyes, but my cheeks stay wet.

“God, I missed your voice.”

A moment of silence, and I know he’s trying to collect himself on the other end of the phone, trying to stay strong for me.

“I missed yours too. I called your phone every day just to listen to your voice. I probably left a thousand voicemails.”

The woman opens a bag of chips for me, before kneeling and pulling out a first aid kit from below the counter.

“I thought about you every day. About your voice. Your smile. I just wanted you to walk through the door and say some weird statistic and we’d fly off into the sunset.”

I can hear him choke back tears and all I want to do is hold him, like his pain is somehow my own.

“I tried. I tried so hard, but you had disappeared without a trace. But I never stopped. I would never stop looking for you.”

“I know, Spence. It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you, and I never will.”

Muffled voices in the background and he sniffles. “I have to hang up, baby. We’re taking off. We’ll be there in a little under two hours okay?”

Two hours.

“Okay. Please hurry.” I close my eyes, picturing his smile in my mind. “I miss you.”

“We will. I love you. See you soon. Hang on.”

The line goes dead, and I bring the phone slowly back down from my ear, hanging up.

I take a chip and pop it in my mouth. 

The woman stands in front of me, and with a cotton pad with alcohol, starts to clean at the cuts on my face.

“What’s your name?” I ask, feeling bad, that in the 20 minutes I’ve been here already, I hadn’t even stopped to ask.

“Luanne, sweetpea. It seems like you got a lot of people that care about you.”

I nod my head, popping another chip into my mouth. “My team. They’re my family. We were on a case in Chicago in May when…”

Bile starts to form at the back of my throat, but I shove it back down with another swig of water. 

I lick my lips, trying to get rid of the sting of the salt in the cracks. “Thank you. For helping me. I know you didn’t have to but-”

“Sweetpea,” she holds my face in her hands, wiping away the tears that are still falling. “You have been through hell and back again. You deserve all the kindness in the world.” She pulls me into herself, and I nuzzle my face into the fabric of her shirt. 

It smells like lavender.

“You’re safe now. Any bastard that tries to come in is going to have to go through me first.”

I clutch onto her shirt, basking in the first kind human touch I’ve had in months. 

She smooths down my hair, soft and slow, and I listen to the heartbeat in her chest.

“You know, you remind me so much of my daughter. She looks soft on the outside, but she’s one hell of a fighter. I think you’d both get along rather swell.”

She stands, and just holds me, running her fingers through my hair, as I soak her shirt with my tears. 

I’m never going to forget her, forget this. 

I will spend every day of the rest of my life trying to repay this woman's kindness anyway I can. 

Thank you, will never be thanks enough.

Flashing lights appear outside the window.

~~~

I’m tired. 

My eyes burn with every blink and there’s an insistent pounding matching the beating of my heart inside my skull.

It hurts to breathe.

It hurts to move.

I’m freezing.

I tighten the blanket around me as medics move around me, getting things ready for when I’ll finally cave and agree to go to the hospital.

But I can’t leave.

I won’t leave. 

Not yet. 

The red and blue lights don’t help the migraine swimming behind my eyes, and everyone is talking too loud.

Why is everyone talking so loud?

My eyes look across the darkening parking lot, and Luanne is leaning against the hood of a cop car, her hands in her pockets, and she smiles at me, her hair blowing softly in the cold October wind.

But I hear fast paced tires on gravel, and my eyes move from her to the two black SUVS pulling into the lot.

I’m moving. 

Thoughts aren’t even processing in my brain, my neurons are stagnant. I’m moving on pure instinct. 

The car door opens before it’s even stopped, and the blanket falls from my shoulders in a heap on the floor of the ambulance.

Time is an illusion. 

It’s completely stopped as my feet meet the gravel, and I push the dirt behind me, moving towards the one person I thought about whenever I got the chance.

It’s just me and him, moving towards one another, two unstoppable forces about to test Newton's law.

My eyes start at his feet.

His pants fall over the top of his chuck taylors, and I’m positive two different socks sit below them. 

Higher.

Closer.

His hips.

He’s not wearing a belt. His holster is crooked. He was in a rush.

Higher.

Closer.

His chest. 

His vest is missing. His tie is loose, and the top couple of buttons are undone.

I can see his collar bones.

Higher.

Closer.

His neck, the bobbing adam's apple.

Higher.

Closer.

His lips, pursed.

His nose, red.

Highest.

Here.

His eyes. 

Deep hazel, honey surrounding darkened pupils, and I fly into his arms.

Ice melts.

My head clears.

I wrap my arms around his neck, shoving my face into his shoulder, inhaling like it is my first breath.

My feet aren’t on the ground anymore. 

He holds me, tightly against him, hands splayed across my back, his own face buried into my neck.

Our heart beats sync. For a moment, we're one. 

And then time seems to start again, and I pull back, eyes bleary, and I grab his face, crashing my lips to his in a desperate plea. 

He breaths into me, and I know, for certain, for the first time in months, that I am safe.

I am home.

We break, and our tears mix on cold cheeks, and I can’t stop looking at him, touching him, feeling the fabric of his jacket beneath my fingertips, the growth of his stomach beneath my own.

“I love you, I love you so much, oh my god.” His hands are all over me. My face, my neck, my arms. 

I never thought I’d get to touch him again, get to feel him, get to kiss him.

“You’re here. I love you. You’re here.” Is all I can manage as I bring his face to mine again.

I played out entire scenes where we did exactly this inside my head while that man did whatever he wanted to me.

I had all the things I wanted to say inside my head, but now that it’s real, now that it’s forged into reality, words fail. 

Nothing I can or want to say means anything at this moment. 

Nothing matters other than me and him.

A new hand is on my shoulder, and I lift my head to see Hotch. 

And so I am passed, from person to person, being held and squeezed and kissed and cried on until everyone has felt the breath leave my lungs, and I have felt the warmth of their skin. 

I return to Spencer, and he drapes his coat over my shoulders and zips it up to my chin, before the medics walk over.

They don’t say anything, and they don’t need to. 

I simply grab his hand and start moving towards the ambulance. 

“We’ll meet you at the hospital.” Hotch's voice is stern, and soft at the same time. 

I nod, and climb into the back, Spencer right behind me.

The medics get to work, and I feel my eyes droop, feeling his hand in mine.

He brings it up to his lips, pressing a kiss against each knuckle. “It’s okay. You can rest now. You’ve fought long enough.”

I smile at him, watching the tears stream down his cheeks. 

I succumb to the darkness.

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[goodgirlsfanficawards]

It’s Wednesday and today we’re featuring some classic WIPs! Check them out or give them a reread. We can’t wait for more!

A Rational Choice by fireinsideforfun

22 Aug 2020, E, 122K, 7/?

Sometimes they’re fucking, in her marital bed, just like the last time. He’s all over her, invading every sense and feeling and she’s so close to coming. But then her hands will be at his chest and her fingers will be trailing over open bloody bullet wounds and he’s giving her that look from where he rests above her, the one he gave her after the gun went off. She always wakes up in cold sweats and has to pull back the covers quickly to run to the bathroom to vomit.

Sometimes they’re back in his apartment. And he’s dying, bleeding out all over the floor, spluttering and in pain, but all his furniture is back and Marcus is running in calling for his daddy like it’s just any other day and she’s trying and failing to stop him from seeing. She has choke back sobs when she wakes from those dreams.

But then sometimes it’s just them sitting out in the backyard at her picnic table. It’s a summer’s day, he’s got his chin resting in his palm as he leans against the table watching her. They’re just talking quietly, conversations she can never remember upon waking, him occasionally teasing her and letting out that big belly laugh. It’s a pleasant dream. It’s a familiar one. And although there’s no throwing up or crying, it’s by far the worst one of all. Because there’s always a split second when she wakes, before reality can sink back in, that she finds herself smiling.

delinquents by foxmagpie / @foxmagpie​​

06 Sep 2020, T, 82K, 8/?

Elizabeth looks at him curiously. “Why are you calling me that? Everybody calls me Beth.”

“Yeah, but I know you think of yourself as Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth stares at him. “How could you possibly know that?”

“‘Cause,” Rio says simply. “It’s what you write on your papers. With a li’l heart over the i and everythin’.”

Elizabeth opens her mouth to say something, but seems to find herself speechless.

Rio leans over into her space, face coming dangerously close to hers. He can smell her shampoo—something peachy and sweet. He expects her to jerk away, but she doesn’t. She just sucks in a breath, still as can be, eyes darting back and forth wildly.

He could count her eyelashes if he wanted. He could brush his lips against her neck.

Then, just as suddenly, he straightens back up, throwing her math book that he’s dug out of her backpack onto the table.

“Ready?” he asks her.

Playing House by flashindie / @pynkhues​​

25 Oct 2021, E, 147K, 24/?

She spits out her mouthful of toothpaste, rinsing the brush and then her mouth before turning sideways to face him, pushing her hip into the basin as she bites her lip, looks up at him through her lashes. Reaching over, she hooks a finger in the belt loop of his jeans, rocking sideways and Rio looks down at her lazily, lowering his razor down to the sink and splashing some water on his face to wash off the last of his shaving cream.

“You ready for bed, mami?” he asks, voice raspy, and Beth grins, sidling a little closer to him.

“The kids are asleep,” she says, holding onto his belt loop a little tighter. She’s still not very good at this part – at touching him first, but she thinks maybe he doesn’t mind so much, seems so responsive to everything she does, and even now he tilts his hips towards her.

“Yeah?” he purrs, leaning over to push some of her hair, still damp from her shower, back behind her ear, and Beth is just starting to rise up on her tiptoes when he adds, “Don’t want to give your new friend a call first?”

Just like that, she tears her hand off his jeans, raising it instead to point a finger up at him, something hot and weirdly pleased snapping in her belly. She really does love the thought of them being on the same wavelength, but she also really, really loves being right.

“I knew it,” she says. “I knew you weren’t going to be able to let it go.”

The Space in Between by Slow_Burn_87

10 Jan 2021, E, 66K, 16/?

Bolting upright and starting around the table, Rio throws his arms wide in an exaggerated show of contrition, "Oh, I'm sorry sweetheart, I must have got you confused with that other basic bitch that tried to lock me away."

Beth chokes back a sob as he comes to a stop in front of her, the barrel of the gun resting lightly against the hard wall of his chest, beneath the soft cotton of his black t-shirt.

Up this close, she can see in detail the bloody scrapes that mar the usually even tones of his honeyed skin; evidence that her husband does in fact have more fight in him than even she expected.

But the cuts are nothing compared to the swollen mess of Dean's face and she steels herself against any hint of pity, fighting to steady her arm as, for the first time, she slips her finger into the silky steel cradle of the trigger.

The infinitesimal shift in the tense lines of Rio's jaw tells her that he has seen the movement. Even as his hooded, black gaze continues to burn heatedly into her own. The tiniest flicker of a smile curves the corner of his beautiful lips as he raises an eyebrow and challenges again, "You think you got what it takes?"

He is the beginning and end of her focus now; all other detail of their surroundings fades into obscurity as Beth frantically considers it; does she?

a song inside the halls of the dark by ms_scarlet / @mego42​​

06 Aug 2021, E, 89K, 10/12

And now the thing on the floor is at her feet, and the sputtering, coughing, choking sound is all she can hear. Her own breathing is speeding up, stuttering, breaking, and she looks down. It's Rio, of course it's Rio, lying on the floor, blood pouring from his mouth, dark shirt going darker as more blood spreads out in a pool beneath him like wings.

Beth drops to her knees and leans forward, slowly, every bone in her body aching in protest. She reaches a trembling hand towards his chest, and right before she makes contact, a bag's yanked over her head. Everything goes dark, and it's suffocating her—the musty dryness filling her nose, her mouth, creeping down her throat into her lungs and she can't breathe, she can't breathe, she can't breathe-

Beth jerks awake, fingers flying to her throat, grasping for a bag that isn't there. And it's dark, so dark, and everything's moving, and she's going to be sick, she needs-

She fumbles along the car door, rolling down the window, gulping for air. The wind rushes through the car, and she forces herself to take a long, slow breath. Then another. Then a third.

Beth can feel each muscle in her body start to unlock.

"You throw up in my car, we're gonna have problems." Beth looks over, and Rio's focused on the road, not looking at her, jaw clenched so tight she can see the muscle jumping.

If you know of anyone’s tumblr/twitter and we haven’t found it or tagged incorrectly, please send us an ask or DM to let us know.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Painted Windows 1

Warnings: violence, trauma, allusions to abuse and noncon, isolation, torture, further tags to be added.

This is dark!Bucky and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are freed from your prison but for what, you don’t know.

Note: This is a story I’ve been planning for a while. It’ll be slow at first as we introduce our characters and I hope you guys enjoy it. I always appreciate you and thanks for all your patience. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Painted windows there for me, painted windows so I can see

Gunshots came muffled from the other side of the concrete. Each bullet was punctuated by the heavy stomp of boots down the hallway. You listened, huddled between the dingy metal toilet and the rusted cot. There was chaos beyond and your cell was no longer a prison, but your only protection.

You hung your head over your crossed arms, your knees bent below as you trembled. It wasn’t unusual to hear the occasional discharge and the silence of whatever blood followed. This was different; deliberate, determined. Even so, the death of your keepers did not promise you your life. You knew that.

The footsteps got closer. The gunfire stopped and left a deathly lull in its wake. You could hear every breath that escaped you, the hypnotic pulse in your own veins. You raised your head as the boots stopped on the other side of the door. You waited, a lump in your throat. Your fate awaited you.

The handle clicked and you inhaled sharply. It didn’t budge. Slowly, steadily, the lever cracked as it was forced down and the handle was dislodged from its frame, leaving a gaping hole in the door. You flinched as the broken mechanism was tossed against the concrete. 

The shadow pulled the door open. Its broad shoulders blocked the light behind it as it loomed before the bars. The silhouette was still. He watched you and poked the muzzle of his rifle between the iron. You stared at the barrel and closed your eyes as you waited for the bang!

It never came.

You opened your eyes. The nose of the rifle slipped from the door and tapped the concrete. The stranger considered you and exhaled slowly. He shook his head and glanced down the hall. His features were indiscernible as he never fully faced the light. He turned back to you and you felt the intensity of his gaze.

Was this a new monster? Your shoulders slumped further as you thought to beg him for your release. Not from this cell, only from this existence. A bullet was your only hope of freedom. To remain was an extension of your endless torture.

He touched his ear and took a step back.

“All clear.” His voice was deep; sonorous. It filled your chest and sank deep into your bones.

He gripped the edge of the door and closed it inch by inch, never looking away. You shook your head and pushed yourself forward onto your knees. You crawled to the bars as the metal was forced back into its frame. The clank left you numb and echoed in your ears. 

You latched onto the bars as the darkness embraced you once more. You let out a brittle sob as his retreat faded down the hallway. Your eyes burned and you slipped down until your head was in your hands, concrete cold beneath you as you sprawled across it weekly.

Not like this. Anything but this.

You barely recalled dragging yourself up onto the cot. You were in a daze. You couldn’t sleep but floated in a trance. The icy chill that came with the acceptance of the inevitable. Death lived in this cell, it always had; your only companion. Since your first day in the concrete box, you’d known you would die here. 

You wondered how long it would take. Days? Weeks? Would your desperation lead you to drink from the toilet? For what? To prolong the suffering which shrouded your existence? You didn’t even know how long you’d been here. You tried to count but the numbers blurred together in your torment. It didn’t matter.

You started counting again. How many minutes, hours, until it was over? Had it been forever? It felt like it. Before was a dream; distorted and far away. It was hard to believe there was anything but this place.

Then you heard it. The squeak of a sole on the concrete. You hadn’t heard the footsteps this time. You didn’t move and waited for them to pass you by. They didn’t. They stopped outside your cell and the shadow blotted out the line of light which seeped in below the door. 

The hinges whispered as the door was pulled open. You raised your head to watch as the same figure stood in the frame. A hand in a leather glove latched onto the bar and slid down until it settled on the lock. The fingers squeezed and the metal crumpled like paper. The pieces tumbled to the floor as he let go.

The stranger pushed the door open with his boot but he didn’t come any closer. The bars clattered against the wall and you sat up. You shivered and he tilted his head as he considered you. You drew your knees up and back yourself into the corner. He might have killed your keepers, your enemies, but it did not mean he was any better.

He felt along the wall on the outside of the door and turned the switch. The light flickered on with a buzz and you flinched. It was only used during visits. When the men sought to sate themselves upon you. You cowered and shielded your eyes. 

He examined the cell and hovered his foot over the threshold. He brought it down slowly as if breaking an unseen barrier. You pressed yourself to the wall and whimpered. He blinked at you and stopped at the end of your cot. You hugged your knees tight and looked to the pistol peeking out from beneath his jacket.

“Pl--” Your voice crackled. You only ever used it to scream and you quit that long ago. You shook your head and touched your throat. You wanted him to kill you but couldn’t even beg for it.

He stepped closer and your lip quivered fearfully. He bent and touched the end of the cot. Perhaps he knew what you were. Maybe he wanted to give you one last use before you were done with. His fingers closed around the threadbare blanket and he carefully lifted it from the cot. He rubbed the rough fabric against the leather of his gloves and let it hang before him.

“You can stand?” He asked. You frowned and gaped at him. You nodded stiffly. “Walk?” You nodded again. His jaw twitched and he swallowed. “Okay. So we should go.”

Your eyes widened and you shook your head.

“You want to stay?” He arched a brow.

You lowered your head. You cleared your throat. Your voice was like a blade in your throat. “Die.” You said. “I just want to… die.”

He was silent for a moment.

“Get up.”

“Why?” You asked and coughed as the words scratched.

“I can carry you out of here. Drag you.” He said tersely. “I’m certain that isn’t your preference.”

You let your arms drop and glanced up at him. He was stern and unyielding. He still held the blanket open. You unbent your legs and shimmied to the edge of the cot. His angular jaw and icy eyes were startling. You tore your eyes from him. As you stood, he swept the blanket around you like a cape.

“No shoes?” He asked. You shook your head. “It’s snowing out. You’ll need something.”

He turned quickly and disappeared out the door. You crept to the frame and peeked out. He bent over a body in a puddle of dark blood. He tore off its boots and stood. He returned to you and dropped them at your feet.

“Better than nothing.” He said.

You blanched at the stained leather as he watched you.

“Well…” He urged.

You pushed your feet into the boots and knelt to tie them. You straightened and caught the blanket before it could slip from your shoulders. He pulled it snug across your chest and nodded. 

“It’s windy. Keep your head down and hold on tight to that.” He advised. 

He grabbed your arm and guided you down the hallway. You struggled to keep up as you clomped along in the large boots. He turned corners sharply and as good as marched down the concrete. He didn’t relent as he pulled you up the stairs and you were out of breath when you got to the top.

He stopped before another door. He looked at you and grabbed the handle. He pushed it open and the wind whistled as white flakes swirled in the air. He dragged you out into the night, the air bitter as it nipped at your bare legs.

“Not far,” He whispered as he drew you down a dark alley. “Lay across the backseat and don’t move.”

You spent the ride beneath the blanket. It was easy enough to remain still. The man didn’t talk nor did he turn on the radio. You listened to the other cars and the winter winds. You shivered against the vinyl seat and peeked out at his shoulder as he steered. The street lights disappeared and only his head lights glowed amid the night.

The pavement turned to gravel beneath the tires and you listened to the crunch of snow and stones. Your hands were balled around the corners of the blanket. You didn’t realize how terrified you truly were. If this man had any intention to save you, he wouldn’t be spiriting you away.

The car stopped and he killed the engine. He got out and his door shut with a snap. He opened the back door and a gust blew in. He tugged on your ankle and you sat up. He beckoned you out with two fingers. You pushed yourself across the seat and stepped out as he loomed over you. 

He closed the door and grabbed onto your arm again. It was almost completely dark as he pushed you through the deep snow towards the house limned in moonlight. You tripped as you climbed the steps and he kept you from falling entirely. He opened the screen door and the spring squeaked. He stirred around in his pocket for the key and unlocked the inner door.

He kicked the snow off his boots and you did the same. Inside, he let go of you and locked the door as swiftly as he closed it. He flipped a light on and you glanced around at the small entryway. A staircase faced the front door and a doorframe stood on either side of you. He shed his boots and you did the same.

“Are you hungry?” He asked. “Thirsty?”

You stared at him confused. In your cell, they served you once a day, sometimes not at all. Always the scraps of their own meals; chicken bones with fat hanging off and rotten potatoes. You shook your head as you thought of your usual fare.

“You sure?” He eyed you closely.

You shook your head again and covered your mouth as you yawned. You cleared your throat but only a wheeze came out when you tried to speak. They taught you silence; to speak often earned you a smack, if not worse.

“Tired.” He said as he unzipped his coat and hung it. “How about…” He began. “You get cleaned up and then you can lay down? We can worry about everything in the morning.”

“Everything?” You mouthed.

“If I tell you now, you won’t sleep,” He said. “Come on.”

He waved you up the stairs and followed you. He was only a step behind. You could feel his warmth. When you reached the top, he pointed to the last door on the right. You went to it and he reached around you to open it as you stared dumbly. You stepped inside and the light washed over the room as he hit the switch.

There was a large bed set against the wall, a plaid duvet over it, the pillowcases clothed in a matching shade of navy. Walnut nightstands and a matching dresser; a bookcase, an armchair, framed pictures of mountains and forests. A room not a cell.

You stared at the bed and spun around. Your breath quickened. A bed? Why? He caught you, his hands on your shoulders as you tried to push past him.

“The shower,” He said gently and gestured with his head to his right. A doorway led into a small room. “In there.”

You stopped and blinked at the open door. You pressed your lips together and slowly backed away from him. He released you as you hung your head. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

“I’ll find you something to wear.” He said. “There are clean towels in the cabinet just inside the door. Take your time.”

You nodded and turned away from him. You ambled to the bathroom door and looked back at him. He slid open the dresser drawer as his fingers tapped on the edge. You squinted and your stomach roiled. 

If he meant well, why hadn’t he taken you to the police? Why had he stormed into that compound and killed those men? Why were you here? Why had he gone back to get you?

You turned away before he could sense your observation. You scurried into the bathroom and closed the door. You found a towel from the cabinet and cranked the faucet. You dropped the blanket and paused as you saw yourself in the mirror. 

Was that really you? You didn’t remember this broken woman.

The dress you wore was shapeless and dirty. There were holes along the seam and near the collar. You looked worn and weary. Your eyes were hollow. You looked away as you pulled the dress over your head. You didn’t want to see it all; this strange body. This shell.

You stepped behind the curtain and closed your eyes as you stood beneath the torrent. Nothing could wash away the filth or ease the pain. The water could only distract you. Remind you of those fragmented memories. Allude to the before as you awaited the after, if that was to be.

[classysassy9791]

When a job goes terribly wrong, the Fairy Tail guild is left to pick up the pieces. Mourning the deaths of their guildmates, Lucy can't seem to find the strength to move forward. But she comes to realize one person understands. His madness was her mercy, and she finally began to hope that maybe he could make her heart beat again.

Fandom: Fairy Tail Genre: Adventure/Tragedy Warning: Character Death(s) Ch. 1 l Ch. 2 l

Chapter 3 Word Count: 3,100 Can also be found here

I give up on editing this anymore so here it is

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The first thing Juvia noticed upon entering the guildhall that morning was that Gray was nowhere to be found. More often than not, he arrived earlier than she, prompting a touch of concern as to where the ice-make mage could be. He had taken a job the day before, so there was a chance he could be sleeping in after arriving home late.

The second thing she noticed was the hum of electricity among her fellow guildmates. They gathered at the tables closest to the stage, everyone murmuring amidst themselves. Knitting her brows with worry, the bluenette weaved her way over to where Wendy sat.

“Good morning, Wendy,” she greeted the young girl with a small smile. “Why is everyone so lively?”

With a drained look she offered, “Hello, Juvia,” before dropping her gaze to the floor. “I-I guess you haven’t heard yet.”

Blue eyes glanced between her and Charle, who perched beside her with a hollow expression. “Hear what?”

“Well, Team Natsu went on a mission yesterday and-”

Her heart missed a beat, terrifying worst-case scenarios coming to her mind with Gray’s absence. “Where’s Gray?” Juvia demanded anxiously. “Has he returned?”

Wendy quickly nodded, setting her panic at ease. “Yeah, he came home. He’s in the infirmary right now. I’m not sure what happened, but he and Lucy were hurt pretty bad.”

Her eyes shifted distractedly over to the hallway leading to their clinic. “Maybe Juvia should go check on him.”

“Absolutely not,” a woman interrupted before she could scamper off to his side. Porlyusica suddenly appeared with her ever present scowl. “He needs to rest. Leave him be.”

“O-Oh… Ah… right,” Juvia stammered, feeling a blush come to her cheeks. She still felt anxious, but knew better than to question the elder woman’s words. “Will he be all right?”

“He’ll be fine. He’s a stubborn fool.”

The water mage breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.”

“Hey, you guys!” Levy called as she bounced over, Team Shadowgear hot on her heels.

“Oh, good morning,” Wendy greeted.

“What happened last night?” the solid-script mage asked, concerned lines creasing her brow as she took note of their medicinal advisor. “Jet told me he had to fetch Porlyusica.”

“Gray and Lucy were badly injured,” Juvia explained. “What happened is still unclear.”

“Cana didn’t offer an explanation either when she came to get me,” Jet said, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve never seen her so sober.”

Levy fiddled with the hem of her dress nervously, giving Wendy a questioning glance. “Is Lu okay?”

“She’ll be fine,” she affirmed with a small nod. “They both just need some rest for now.”

“What’s everyone buzzin’ about?” Gajeel questioned as he sauntered over, keeping his eyes peeled on the rest of the guildhall. “Ain’t like them this early in the morning.”

Panther Lily hopped onto the table next to Charle. “We’re usually never here this early,” he pointed out.

“Master wants to make an announcement.” Cana strolled over, her customary barrel of alcohol propped against her hip and a soft warmth blooming upon her cheeks. “It’s not good.”

“Why do you say that?” Levy asked.

“I saw Lucy and Gray come in last night. It was pretty bad.”

“You don’t think something terrible happened, do you?” Wendy fiddled with her hands anxiously.

Gajeel folded his arms over his chest. “Didn’t they go on a mission with Salamander?”

“Yeah, along with Erza and Happy.” Levy’s hazel eyes quickly scanned their gathered guildmates. “But I haven’t seen either of them all morning.”

“The Thunder Legion was sent out, too,” Cana mumbled. “This doesn’t sit well with me.”

The guildhall suddenly hushed as Makarov entered the room, climbing up onto the stage in order to be better seen and heard. Mirajane stood beside him, but her usual cheerful smile had been replaced by a deep frown. Her eyes were rimmed red and her cheeks were flushed, making it apparent to everyone that she had been crying. Levy exchanged an anxious glance with those beside her.

Their master cleared his throat, his eyes noticeably misty. “My heart is heavy today,” he began, his voice thick with tears. “I come to you not as your guild master, but as a member of the family we hold dear. Unfortunately, in this world, not everything can be fixed, no matter how much we wish it could.”

Dread had Levy’s stomach locked up tight and her teeth clenched together.

The room fell eerily silent. “Yesterday, our strongest team went on a mission to capture bandits in Freesia. But demons from the books of Zeref blindsided them.”

Levy swallowed against the hard lump in her throat. It became hard to breathe. Where was Erza, Natsu, and Happy? Why weren’t they there?

“It is with a broken heart that I tell you some of our family did not make it home alive.”

“N-No,” Levy whispered, her hands muffling the gasp that escaped as tears welled in her eyes. Loud murmurs of disbelief rang out across the guild, fear building in a frenzy as everyone turned wide eyes to their master.

He paused for a moment to reel in his emotions as Mirajane quietly broke down sobbing beside him. “Natsu, Erza, and Happy all died in battle. They were our beloved family and fought bravely to instill the protection of those we hold dear.”

The news passed through the guild like a hurricane. Levy’s mind was laid waste by it, the desolation she felt all consuming. She suddenly felt weak in the knees, falling backwards onto a bench. Cana dropped her alcohol, causing the contents to spill onto the floor. The room filled with hysterical crying, the screaming sobs molding together to form one.

“T-Tom Cat…?” she heard Charle whisper from beside her, a choked sob escaping Wendy’s lips.

Gajeel clenched his hands into fists, wide eyes staring as he tried to comprehend the master’s words. “S-Salamander? No way…”

Levy cried as if her brain was being shredded from the inside. From her mouth came a cry so raw that Gajeel bent down to pull her to his chest, running shaky fingers through her hair. She curled her hands around his shirt so she could find some gravity with her violent shaking. The whole world vanished for her. Now there was only pain enough to break her - to break them - pain enough to change them all beyond recognition.

“My children!” Makarov cried out above the noises of desolation.

The screams quieted to soft, choked sobs, as they all turned blurry vision toward him. Each of their expressions begged him to have the answers as to how this had happened… as to how they were supposed to endure such a loss.

He looked over each and every one of them, his own tears falling down his cheeks. “Y-You’re going to think that the pain will never end, but it will. That I can promise. But first, you have to let it all in. You can’t fight it; it’s bigger than you. You have to let yourself drown in it, but then, eventually, you’ll start to swim. And every single breath that you fight for will make you stronger. And I promise you, you’ll beat this! We all will!”

“How the hell did this happen?!” Macao called out angrily. “How?!”

Makarov shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t have all the details. Thank Mavis that Gray and Lucy were both brought back home alive. They’re in the infirmary recovering thanks to Wendy and Porlyusica.”

Levy squeezed her eyes shut, listening as Gajeel mumbled incoherent phrases, as Juvia cried for a queen, and Wendy sobbed for a fellow dragon slayer. She took in everything, feeling as if a weight pressed on her chest, and she was drowning in her own tears.

Their master wiped his hand under his nose like a child. “I have postponed any job requests for the time being. With the jewels we received from the Games, I will cover all expenses until further notice. Do not break alone, my children. We are a family, and we will get through this together - as a family.”

Within the mess of emotions surrounding her, Levy repeated Makarov’s news over and over again in her mind.

Natsu… Erza… Happy… dead…

Lucy… Gray… alive…

And then her eyes opened wide.

Lucy…!

...

Lucy felt emotionally bankrupt. There was nothing left to feel, nothing left to say, nothing left but the void that enveloped her mind in swirling blackness. She peeked out from beneath her covers and looked at Gray with eyes filled with anguish. He was sitting up, his gaze trained on the window, as he had been for the past two hours.

Reluctantly, once he had woken up and questioned what had happened, she had given him the news of their friends’ deaths. He had yelled out in denial, refusing to believe her, but as she replayed their final moments out on the battlefield as Virgo and Loke appeared, reality started to set in.

Since then, he had clammed up. He had sobbed - she had never seen him so vulnerable - and then he went silent. He now stared vacantly out at the sunrise, as if searching for something.

About an hour ago, she had heard all the commotion coming from the main hall and knew the rest of the guild had been told the news. The door creaked open, catching Lucy’s attention. She glanced over her covers to see a petite young woman with blue hair peek her head in.

“Lu…?” she whispered hesitantly.

The blonde debated if she wanted to see her friend, or if she would rather pretend to be asleep so she could be left alone. Thinking better of it, she pulled the blanket off of her face. “Hey, Levy,” she replied softly.

Levy stepped over, her hands clenched in front of her as if to keep them from trembling. Her cheeks were red and blotchy from crying. “Oh, Lucy…”

Her words were so tender and full of sympathy, that Lucy felt tears welling in her eyes all over again. “He-He’s gone,” she said, her voice cracking. “They’re all gone.”

Lucy’s body began to shake with her sobs, the sound breaking free from her throat, savage and raw. Levy pushed away the covers and slid into the bed next to her. She wrapped her arms around her friend, running her fingers through her golden-spun hair, and whispered soothing words to help calm her shattered heart.

Sometime during it all, Juvia came to Gray’s bedside, reaching out a trembling hand around his own. “Gray…?” she whispered.

His only response was to pull away, ignoring her presence completely. The desolation he felt consumed him, his mind became an icy wasteland; the wind howled in his soul and wrapped icy tentacles around his heart so tightly, it almost stopped beating.

And faintly, he realized, it had begun to rain.

...

Sitting alone at the Fairy Tail guildhall, Cana took a swig from her glass and waited for the effects to kick in. She waited. And waited. But the numb feeling inside her didn’t wane.

The quiet of the guildhall made her blood run as cold as Fiore’s winters. It was as if nature conspired against her in the dark, not daring to whisper the reassurance she craved. Echoes of boisterous voices spun through her mind, of a lively guild filled with fistfights and magic.

Now, there was only silence.

It gnawed at her insides, hanging in the air like the suspended moment before falling glass shattered on the ground. Like a gaping void. It needed to be filled with sounds, words, anything.

The main door creaked open and she heard soft footsteps echo in the empty guildhall. Mirajane walked over to Cana, giving her a weak smile, barely noticeable in the dim lighting. “I thought I’d find you here.” Her blue eyes, which were usually so bright and kind, had dulled to an opaque grey. They were puffy, but her tears had finally dried up.

The card mage tilted her head in acknowledgement, taking another long gulp. “Where else is there to be?”

Humming her agreement, the eldest Strauss sibling slipped behind the bar for a glass to fill from the tap, and joined Cana in a drink. Once the news of what had happened had sunk in, everyone had dispersed to find their own way of grieving.

“I used to complain about how loud the guild was. All the fighting and the music and the people non-stop talking,” Cana said, her voice brittle as if she were about to cry. “Now, it’s too quiet. I’d give my right arm to hear Natsu start a fight or for Erza to end it, or for Happy to make another of his snarky comments.”

Blue eyes peered wistfully over the darkened guildhall, memories of their childhood revolving through her mind. Over a decade had passed since the first of them had stumbled into Fairy Tail. Even after all they had been through at such a young age, they had still been so innocent as to what lay ahead. “It’s a frightening thought, that in one fraction of a moment, everything you hold dear can be altered forever.”

Cana gripped her glass tighter. “It all just feels like a bad joke.”

“I don’t think the universe is kidding this time.” She didn’t need to voice aloud the circumstances regarding Lisanna’s death. Her body had disappeared in a glitter of golden light. This time, there was no mistake that Natsu, Erza, and Happy were gone. Mirajane took a sip of her drink thoughtfully, swirling the alcohol around in her mouth, relishing in the burn before swallowing.

Cana raised a brow suspiciously. “Since when do you drink?”

“Since I woke up yesterday and never imagined the day would end this badly.” The barmaid shrugged, silver hair a mess and her eyes sad. “I always thought there were bad days, but not in the way most people think, you know? I think… I think really bad days happen when everything seems to be going wrong, and you just want to throw your hands up in the air and give up. Because clearly, the world is out to get you.”

Tears welling in her eyes, Cana held up her glass. “To really, really bad days, then.”

They drank quietly as the shadows grew darker and it wasn’t until after nightfall that they realized something.

As it turned out, a person couldn’t drink away the silence.

...

Every breath was an implosion.

Lucy sat on the edge of the bed with no strength to move. Her shaky fingers finally came to a stop after running restlessly through her messy hair. She bit down on her lip trying not to burst into tears. It wasn’t going to help. It wouldn’t change anything.

Night had fallen, causing everyone to leave the guild. Juvia had fallen asleep in a chair, her head resting on Gray’s bed, but Lucy had persuaded Levy to go home. Brown eyes lifted to look at her teammate, lip quivering.

“Gray…?” Her voice came out in a choked whisper.

“Don’t.” The word was deliberate, and sharper than knives. He didn’t even bother to face her, instead lying on his side with his back toward her.

Lucy glanced away, feeling as if she had been slapped. She wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders, the events of the day leaving her feeling hollow. “You don’t get to do this,” she muttered, clenching her hands into fists.

“Don’t,” he repeated. “Just don’t. I don’t want to hear you say what I think you’re gonna say.”

Gray had woken up hours ago with the bitter taste of ash in his mouth and the grit of building caked into his skin. Somehow, before Lucy had replayed the events of the battle for him, he had known it was over. A part of him really knew. People always say they thought they would know if someone close to them had died. Maybe it was true. Because something inside him had broken on that day, and he knew it was over.

Grief felt like emptiness in his heart, a sheer of nothingness that somehow took over and held his soul, threatening to kill him entirely. It gave him this heavy feeling that was like the weight of the world sat on his chest.

He knew grief very well.

He felt it when Ur looked back at him, her body becoming the infamous iced-shell, as she gave her life for his. “I want Lyon to discover the world; Gray, you too, of course. You don’t have to be sad,” she had told him with a smile. “I’m alive. I’m eternally alive as ice. Step into the future. I’ll seal your darkness.”

He felt it when Ultear had given years of her life to give him one more minute of his, changing his fate entirely - her elderly face, tilted with lips pulled up, a shake of her head, wordlessly telling him it was okay.

And he felt it when Erza turned her back to him, scarlet hair shimmering in the fire’s glow; her armor cracked, her swords drawn. “I made a promise! I told Ultear I would look after you,” she had shouted back to him, facing the demon head-on as he lay bleeding. “And I never break a promise!” Even though by then she was already dying, she fought on. She was drenched to the core in blood and yet she fought on. She fought on until she collapsed and could fight no more. And then with the crack of bones, she was gone.

Why?!

Why did every woman he had ever learned to care for decide that his life was worth more than theirs? Why was he always the one left behind to mourn, to feel the guilt of their deaths?

It wasn’t fair, dammit!

“Please… Gray…”

Lucy’s voice drew him from his thoughts and he glanced down to see he had wrapped the sheets tight in his fist, turning his knuckles white. He closed his eyes, but she somehow knew he was listening.

“We-We have their blood on our hands… Tell me it’s going to be okay. Promise me it’s going to be alright,” she cried meekly. “Tell me we have a reason to be here when they aren’t.”

He was silent for a moment, turning his hardened gaze to the dark sky outside. “I can’t.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it again, unable to come up with any response.

[capricornus-rex]

In the Face of Fear (3)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by @stellar-trinity​

Summary: Kashyyyk has its own charms and surprises, but what if one of those said surprises rear its ugly, unpleasant head right in front of you in the form of a spider that’s the size of a boulder?

Tags: Arachnophobia, Wyyyschokk, Matriarch Wyyyschokk, Kashyyyk, Arachnophobic! Reader

Also in AO3

Chapters: Part 1 | Previous: Part 2 | Next: Part 4 | Masterlist

3 of ?

Grouped with a small band of partisans, the Jedi pair stalked through the western forest where they presumed the Shadowtroopers would be deployed.

“What good is a cloaking device if they’re just gonna stand and guard a metal building, anyway?” you teased and garnered some chuckles from your companions.

While Jedi senses are keener and more human than a scanner, having both at their disposal would prove to be an advantage. The group has gotten far into the woods now, Cal was starting to pick something up, but he described it as elusive and always on the move.

“Do you think it could be a Shadowtrooper?”

“Could be, could be not,”

Even the rebels were extra alert on today’s mission. For every rustle of grass or leaves, whenever a rock would clatter against anything, even so much as the soft crunching of a twig—they would turn to its direction with all barrels of their rifles at the ready.

Cal’s ears pricked up when he heard a distant rustling—he expected an animal sound to follow after it, but there was none—then his eyes panned left and right, searching for something or perhaps nothing at all. He had already sensed something strange, the random noise he detected just amplified it.

“Please tell me I’m not the only one sensing it, [Y/N],”

“I don’t know, I… I have a strange feeling that something’s watching us. But I don’t know if it’s the Shadowtroopers or something else,”

The redhead hummed and the entire group pressed on. The sunlight’s rays selectively pierced through the trees’ canopies; the further in all of you go, your senses immediately cranked up to eleven. By instinct, your hand pats your leg in search of your lightsaber while keeping your eyes peeled in the way forward.

Still here. You thought, feeling your palm shape up to the roundness of your weapon.

As you and your group step into the part of the forest, you finally had your senses keened when the sunlight in the forest got dimmer. You know something isn’t right anymore, Cal looked at you to affirm that he too senses it.

“Wait,” you firmly said, causing everybody to stop in their tracks. “I sense them.”

“Them? How many do you think there are?” said one partisan.

“I don’t know exactly—but there’s more than one,”

“Great,” grumbled one. “Doesn’t really narrow things down but we’ll work with it.”

The rebels and Jedi press on, but their collective senses tripled, though the latter became more cautious and more sensitive to their surroundings.

“They’re close…” you mouthed, the softness of your voice only got to Cal’s earshot.

The snap of a twig, not by the foot of any of your group, set everybody’s fight-of-flight response. In the split second before that noise died down, blasters clicked and triggers were squeezed; red and green projectiles hailed back and forth.

The Shadowtroopers gave their positions, you witnessed the exact phenomenon that the scout from a few days ago described: thin air swirling as it materializes into a shapeless silhouette, until the color turn more opaque, and only then does one realize they have a Shadowtrooper standing right in front of them.

Luckily, you detected the trooper while his silhouette returns to its solid shape, a blind strike got him on the torso—creating a gash of embers on his frontal plate. Like the static of a hologram, his now-damaged cloaking device caused his entire appearance to crackle until he’s reverted to normal. On the other hand, Cal reeled in his opponent, suspending him inches above the ground and then drove his lightsaber through the black armor; the boy witnesses the same effect once the Shadowtrooper’s armor is damaged to a certain extent.

Most of the rebels were able to damage the other Shadowtroopers’ armor, rendering them incapable of using their cloaking device, thus pelting them with blaster fire with the help of the Jedi pair deflecting their shots and targeting the armor when banking it.

“Not so tough now, are ya?!” celebrated one partisan and the others followed.

However, something still doesn’t sit right with the two Jedi youngsters. How you wished you could tell off these rebels to save the celebration for later until they’re back in the hideout. In the distance, you hear a slow, rhythmic beeping until it got louder…

And louder.

Thunk.

The ball-like weapon mutely rolled over on the earthy cushion beneath your feet, but between the spaces of the grass you spotted its metallic sheen and the red dot-sized light.

“EVERYBODY RUN!!!” you screeched.

A thermal detonator had gone off. Thankfully, nobody was caught in the deadly radius of the blast and only got as little as burns and scrapes. Another wave—albeit small—of Shadowtroopers came barging through the smoke and taking advantage of your collective disoriented state. Being the one least affected by the blast, you drew their attention to you by forcefully turning one of them around from the slightly fazed rebels and then to you—in result, ruining his aim.

“About to shoot at a dazed, immobilized enemy?” you clicked your tongue. “Should’ve expected you’d fight dirty!”

The Shadowtrooper wriggled in your Force grip, his gun-hand struggled to break through whatever’s binding them from aiming at a straight line. Your hold onto him was so tight that even breathing was suffocating. He was denied a pull of the trigger when you flung your target to the other one on your two o’ clock side. At the last minute, another Shadowtrooper came running towards you—he was directly in your periphery—and you got caught in a melee; you were too late to fight back and got struck by the barrel of his rifle, you come rolling to the edge of a ridge—a single kick would send you plummeting to Force-knows-where.

Little did the Shadowtrooper knew that you were playing dead, timing the exact moment you’ll throw him off to the abyss. His footsteps approach you, the vibration of his approaching footsteps meets the nerves of your body against the earth; you feel his one foot lifting up from the ground—either to poke your body to see if you’re dead or to kick you off, it doesn’t matter—and you waited for that split second his boot touches you.

Hup!

You scramble on the dust, quickly grabbed the barrel of the rifle facing downward to tug him in closer, tucked your knees and planted your feet flat on his stomach and your legs sprang upward. The weight of the soles of your feet got ighter, but your success has been compromised as the Shadowtrooper grabbed onto your sleeve in a desperate attempt to literally hold on for dear life!

In the midst of the firefight, Cal scanned the area quickly and found you missing. He looked around and heard your voice in the empty end of the ridge—he immediately got the hint and booked it. He comes rushing, sliding down on his stomach and peeking over the edge to find you barely holding onto a protruding rock on the wall while fighting off the Shadowtrooper clinging on your leg.

“Get…! OFF!!!” you grunted, trying to kick the trooper in the face to make him let go.

Cal dipped his hand over the edge, palm wide open, inching closer so you could grab it.

The Shadowtrooper claws at your calf to make you stop kicking, but the more he claws at and bluntly hits your leg flimsily with his rifle, the more you kick at him.

“Come on, [Y/N], reach!”

“I…” you huffed. “I can’t!”

Eventually, you bent your leg up, gathering enough strength to release one last kick—the hard sole of your boot met the Shadowtrooper’s face—and then another stomp for good measure…

And another…

And one last.

The Shadowtrooper, now dazed from the damage his face had taken, gradually lost grip around your leg and let go, falling into the pit and disappearing into the darkness that blends well with his dark armor. Meanwhile, the rock handhold you’ve been clinging on has started to crumble underneath your fingertips. You’re running out of time.

The warble in your voice is evident. You sobbed as you spoke. Neither yourself or Cal can deny the fear.

“Cal… the rock’s about to give!”

“It’s gonna be okay,” he repeatedly told you this every time he attempts to reach further.

With the dead weight gone, Cal got a hold of you. His forearm pressing against yours as he grabs you just by the elbow line.

“I got you, [Y/N], I got you!”

Cal hauled you up and finally you’re on solid ground… for now.

The relief was short-lived.

You watched his eyes widen with horror, because he knows you heard it too—a single crack of the rock you two are on had broken off and gave!

The colossal chunk of the ridge eroded and slid on the slope, leaving a deep trail on the soil, along with its two unlikely passengers holding at the jagged edge of the rock. It bounced and collided at every corner it bumped into, it was a violent ride—both you and Cal practically dug your nails into the rock and kept your head low.

The chunk of hard earth tore a hole through the rain-soaked soil. Bioluminescent mushrooms lit up the pit that you and Cal have fallen into, dotting the walls with an orange glow, though it’s not enough to fill the entire space—however, despite the warmth they give off, it all feels like a front. Both of you got a bad feeling about this.

“This doesn’t look good,” you mutter to Cal, who was still in the midst of recomposing himself after all that wild ride of a descent.

Looking back, over his shoulder, Cal examined the crater the rock had bore during the fall: the height of hole from the ground was too high for either of you to climb up on. You had a grappling hook on your gauntlet, but looking at the same direction as Cal, you can’t find a suitable surface to secure the hook; squinting your eyes with little sunlight pooling through the crater, you can see that the surrounding wall is made up of moist soil—almost loam-like—which will definitely not hold, especially both of your weights. There were no seemingly firm handholds either.

It’s a long walk to the way out for both of you until the light at the end of the tunnel shines; and the only way through is straight ahead—if there is one.

Cal agreed, having the same queasiness in the stomach as you, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

The two of you hopped down from the rock and carefully stalked your way through the cavern, unaware what kind of creatures are lurking within its crevices. Without either of your noticing, the corpse of the Shadowtrooper that had clung to you was right behind you, though it lied in the shadows, a pair of hairy legs snaked out of the darker end and spirited the body away from the light of day.

Igniting your sabers to torch the path, it was eerily quiet, spare the coarse dirt crunching underneath your boots. The brightness of your lightsabers combined illuminated the cave at a certain range, Cal was a few paces ahead of you to extend that range.

“It’s like a maze,” he wondered out loud, slowly waving his saber left and right to study the texture of the walls.

“Wooo…” BD-1 whistled, spooked by the darkness. “Bee… t-t-trill…”

Something crunched under your shoe when you took a step—it was thin, crisp, and fragile like eggshells—you turned your foot over and saw white shards clinging on the sole. You immediately recognize the material.

“Oh no…” you groaned.

Cal paused in his tracks and glanced over to you, alarmed by the ominous tone in your voice, “What is it?”

“I know where we are… and it’s not good.”

The large holes on the cave’s wall started to hiss and click. It produced multitudes of legs that are five times thicker than an ion cannon’s barrel; and then comes out a creature with a rotund abdomen, an ironically colorful exoshell, and a pair of mandibles laced with its own bile that could paralyze once it enters one’s bloodstreams.

Your worst nightmare on eight legs.

[bijoharvelle]

It happens right after they get Jack back.

Or, it happens right after they get their luck back.

Or, it happens right after they get back from Purgatory for the second time.

Or --  no, sorry. Look, it’s been happening for over a decade, since Castiel laid a hand to Dean to raise him from Hell, and since Dean warned Castiel not to make him open a door and Castiel told him he would give anything not to. It’s been happening through Heaven and Hell and Purgatory and the Empty and fucking Maine.

But it finally happens, really, in the Bunker, after they get Jack back. 

Sam and Dean are thrilled and Castiel is too but he keeps flinching. Dean catches it in the corners of his eyes, like Castiel is looking over his shoulder for something, waiting for some attack. At first, Dean just chalks it up to the second guess of a thing too good to be true. They got Jack -- it’s enough to wonder at what price, what will come next.

It turns out to be much worse.

Sam and Jack put their heads together over the books, which leaves Castiel and Dean to beers. 

“You gotta relax, man,” Dean says as he slides a bottle to Castiel. “Just take the W -- we got Jack. Enjoy it for a minute.”

Castiel doesn’t look up, doesn’t respond, just rolls the beer bottle between his hands. And then, finally, in a broken voice, “Dean.”

It doesn’t happen until after Castiel spills the whole of the story out to Dean -- Heaven and Dumah and the Empty and the deal. The stupid fucking deal. Dread seeps cold and heavy into Dean’s stomach and, well, like he said: at what price? It’s worse than staring down the barrel of his three-hundred and sixty-five days till Hell because this has no ticker. A shoe hovering except the shoe was eternal nothingness.

There are loopholes and semantics abound that could be exploited based on what the thing said but Dean has a feeling they won’t be that lucky. He doesn’t think insisting that Castiel just never forget about the Empty, or never let himself be happy, will work.

“What if you weren’t an angel?” he tries anyway. His throat clicks and he hasn’t taken a drink from his beer in almost an hour.

Castiel doesn’t answer, just settles a look to Dean. His eyes are weathered, weary, and Dean can tell that he doesn’t want to fight this one. He doesn’t want to spend hours and days on end trying for a way out of his bargain. His shoulders hunch and his head tips forward and he never even opened his own beer so Dean pushes both bottles aside.

“What about Jack?” Dean asks in a rush. His hands clatter across the metal table, reaching for Cas’s, holding both of them between his. “He woke you up before, yeah? So when the big ugly takes you, he just… He just does it again.”

“Dean,” Castiel says again. He shifts his hands so that the fingers are hooked around Dean’s. Cas opens his mouth to say more but Dean looks away and there’s a horrible noise coming from his throat.

It’s a chewed-back sob and Dean tucks his face against his shoulder because this isn’t fair, this isn’t fair, nothing about their lives is ever fair but this-- “I’m the one supposed to make stupid, sacrifice deals here,” he says finally, voice raw. It’s a joke, a poor excuse for one, but Castiel does due diligence toward a smile.

“I’m very sorry for stepping on your toes.”

Dean laughs, something loud and wet and then he’s not laughing, he’s crying. “This fucking sucks, man.”, 

Castiel nods. And then, cradles one of Dean’s hands in both of his. “There’s time, though. I -- With Jack, with you and Sam, with…you.”

Dean looks back at that, finds Castiel’s blue, blue eyes and he’s been this strange constant for the better half of this fight. He had lost him, sure, to fights and Crowley and Naomi and Gadreel and then to Lucifer, to the Empty. That last time was the only time Dean really felt the loss, didn’t feel anything when he prayed to Cas (begged, pleaded, wept at the foot of his bed and asked for him to come back, come back, come back, please, God, Cas, please), was the only time Dean really believed that Cas was gone. And he was gone to the Empty and now that very place, thing, was holding both ends of Cas’s thread.

He wouldn’t be coming back again.

And so it happens, has been happening, finally happens.

Dean twists and rises from his seat and pitches toward Castiel. Their faces are an inch apart, less, Dean stops and just drops his forehead to Castiel’s. They close their eyes -- Castiel breathes out, Dean breathes in. “Cas?” he asks and his mouth is practically on his now so when Cas nods it both answers his question and does the job for him.

They kiss, noses nudging clumsily and Dean has one hand planted on the table and the other still tangled in both of Cas’s. They kiss and Castiel inhales like he’s drawing oxygen from their touch itself and Dean can feel the linger of tear tracks on his cheeks. Their lips part, just barely and Dean opens his eyes to find Castiel smiling, eyes still shut. “I could have sold my soul a little sooner,” he offers.

“That’s not funny,” Dean protests.

“Fine, then, you could have gotten your act together a little sooner,” Castiel says and it’s a tease but it still scoops something raw and throbbing from Dean’s chest.

“Cas,” he says, voice breaking and Cas saves him the embarrassment, kisses him again, firm and hot. Dean gives as good as he gets so this kiss is as rough and pleading as the first was soft and searching. The table between them becomes a real hindrance so Dean shoves back from it, notes the condensation print of his palm that marks the metal, and pulls Castiel to him, full-body.

Dean holds tight across the tops of Castiel’s shoulders and Cas reaches back, locking up around Dean’s back except where one hand just brushes through his hair and Dean might be crying again or he might be laughing again but he is for certain kissing Castiel again, and again, again.

Somehow, they find their way to Dean’s room, passing through the quiet murmur of Sam and Jack talking that drifts from further out in the bunker. It’s not a mad dash or a stumbling fit of pressing backs to walls and searing kisses. They just walk, steady and sure, shoulders brushing and when they turn one corner, Dean takes the cuff of Castiel’s trench coat to hold on to.

When the door is closed behind them, Dean fidgets and then blurts out, “Will this do it? Do you think…?” He trails, gesturing vaguely to the bed and then wincing at the implication.

“I don’t know,” Castiel answers without much hesitation -- like he’s parsed the question before Dean even thought to ask it. And maybe he has, maybe he’s played out all the possibilities: getting Jack back, Dean getting his shit together. Cas says he doesn’t know, but Dean is pretty sure this will be okay -- after all, there’s still that whole thing with Chuck to worry about, right?

But they are on borrowed time now so Dean steps forward and Cas does too and they meet in the middle. Carefully, Dean pushes off Castiel’s jacket, undoes his tie, slips the buttons of his shirt free. He creates a puddle of Castiel’s clothing and when he’s finished they’re both panting, with swollen lips and obvious erections and Dean has far too many clothes on, which is something Castiel begins to rectify with a low, throaty hum.

When they tumble onto Dean’s bed, it’s like the universe sighs. Like something deep within destiny finally can stop holding its breath.

The next morning, Dean takes a minute to get his bearings, to remember it all. Jack, Cas’s bargain, mouths and tongues. He reasoned with himself the night before that this wouldn’t be the thing to take Cas but now he can’t be sure and he holds his breath.

He opens his eyes and finds Castiel sprawled in the space next to him in bed. Castiel’s hair is reminiscent of when they first met, when Cas always smelled faintly of melting metal and looked just sideways of human, and his eyes are closed with faint lines of veins showing in the delicate skin there. Dean reaches out, puts a hand to the expanse of Cas’s back -- between the spaces where wings might rest -- and Castiel stirs.

His head lifts up and then he turns to Dean, eyes quizzical. “I really thought that might be it,” he says.

“I’m good but I’m not that good,” Dean teases. And then he shifts his weight, leans toward the angel and slides their mouths together. He ends up with one of Cas’s hands palming his cheek and interest stirring below the belt.

“You’re better,” Castiel says into his mouth and it only half-makes sense but then they’re kissing again and maybe they’ll find a way to kill a pre-primordial cosmic entity or maybe they won’t or maybe Cas will annoy the thing into submission again or maybe Jack’s love for his father will overcome any banal evil or maybe none of it matters, maybe tomorrows will come and memories will last and Dean will, at the very very least, have this and so will Cas.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Slide (1.3k, Dean/Cas, Sam/Eileen, post-canon fluff)

Suptober Day 9 - Electric (ao3)

           Halfway through the second chorus, between the shimmy-dip and the kick-turn, it hits Dean. Barrels him over like a runaway train that nearly makes him lose count and miss a step. He recovers, keeping time with the music. Not drawing any suspicion or undue attention. But Dean felt like all eyes should be on him, even though it wasn’t his day.

           It was his brother’s, and contemporaneously his new sister-in-law’s, too.

           Sam and Eileen wed hours ago. Near the Bunker, between two large trees with fairy lights strung on the branches. Dean stood by Sam’s side in their best suits as they both watched Mildred walk Eileen down the aisle, wearing a simple white lace dress that midway on her calves and holding a bouquet of Easter Lilies. His brother grinned wider than Dean ever saw, even though twin trails of tears ran across his face and his shoulders shook with the force of earthquakes. Continuing even when Eileen reached the make-shift pulpit, cheeks equally shiny. All throughout Bobby’s sermon Sam sobbed quietly. He warbled his vows, forgot simple phrases in sign, missed Eileen’s hand several times while putting her ring on – his emotions getting the better of him. Well inside never running dry. It made the entire affair beautiful, although the kiss was far wetter than Dean cared for.

           Thankfully Sam stopped crying during the walk back. Maybe because of how, the entire way, the newlyweds never let go of each other. Or perhaps the secret signing Eileen did the trick. Fingers pressed into the skin along the open vee of his button-down, calmed Sam enough that he could take one breath without shuttering. Whatever the case, Dean was grateful. Because Sam could sob all he wanted during the wedding, but there were no room for tears at the reception.

           Their guests gathered in the Bunker’s main room. Converted for such a special occasion. Map table blanketed by a huge, white tablecloth found in storage. It held all the food Dean and Jody spent preparing days before, as well as the three-layered wedding cake. It was surrounded by smaller tables, where groups could settle as they ate, conversed, and took breaks when their feet tired of dancing.

           Dean, despite his age, refused surrender.

           Charlie barely waited for Sam and Eileen to finish their first dance, switching the music for something upbeat. The makeshift dance floor crowded as everyone joined. Even those like Bobby and Claire overcame their gruff exterior and let the music flow through them. Weddings were a treat, especially in the hunter community. No one wasted moments like these. Where the outside world, its monsters and shadows, faded into the background. Forgotten, because nothing bad could happen during something so good.

           Dean whooped, he jumped. He krumped, sprinkled the lawn, and did the damn robot. Using a catalogue of moves better left in the past where he found them, Claire snorted into her drink. Dean heard her but didn’t care. He was enjoying himself.

           Cas was, too. Though not the best dancer, he egged Dean on. Telling him which moves he liked and laughing as Dean repeated them, exaggerating the movements. Dean tipsy on the atmosphere and the fourth glass of wine and more that he thought little of how much a fool he looked.

           Especially when the playlist changed, and an old standard came on.

           “Everyone!” he clapped, drawing attention, “Everyone, set yourselves up!”

           The few who recognized the song, like Dean, listened. Others stood around confused, mirroring their elders regardless. “What’s going on?” Patience asked, “What are we doing?”

           “The Electric Slide,” Jody said, nudging her, “it’s really easy. Just follow along!”

           Cas found Dean, tugging on his sleeve. “The Electric Slide?” he asked, “What’s that?”

           “It’s a sort of line dance,” he explained, helping Cas spread himself. Still clueless on matters of personal space. “We’re all gonna be doing the same dance, and it’s quick to pick up. Trust me.”

           He nodded, although Dean doubted he fully understood. Unfortunately, they ran out of time. The song truly started, and so did they.

           There was a learning curve. Dean noted Cas struggling in the beginning, watching Dean do the moves. Cas’s body horribly copying his. But as Dean said, it’s not that hard. With every turn, Cas gained confidence. Steps were faster, more assured, and Cas looked less thoughtful – fully present in the moment. He kept staring at Dean though, blue finding green. Cas danced with crinkled eyes and a mega-watt smile. Laughing along with everyone else, but different than the rest. In on a joke no one else knew. Beautiful. Dean wished he had his phone, to take a picture of Cas. Then, he wished this song would never end. That Cas could stay like that forever. It was the next wish, a simple prayer, that did it.

           The song fades, and the crowd breaks from the pattern. Back into the clusters they originally were in. Swaying with the slower rhythm.

           Dean stands there, frozen on the dancefloor. He couldn’t dance – couldn’t move – all other higher functions short-circuiting, systems crashing. Mind playing a constant loop of an unprompted desire, freely admitted.

           I wish he could look at me like that forever.

           He reboots, drawn back into reality by a hand on his shoulder. Cas’s expression shifted; brows drawn in worry and lips curled. “Dean?” he asks, “Are you okay? Tired?”

           Dean smiles, stepping closer. Looping his arms around Cas’s shoulders. It is a wedding, after all. “Nah,” he shrugs, “I can go all night. Dance with me?”

           Nodding, Cas slides his hands onto Dean’s waist, their weight a delightful pressure. They’re silent for a few moments, the music talking for them. Until Cas finally asks the question that marred his face with stress lines. “What were you thinking about?”

           “What was I thinking about?” he repeats, guiding Cas towards the fringes of the crowd. Voice low, his next words only for them to hear. “I was thinking how we should have the Electric Slide play during our wedding.”

           Risky, but Dean’s willing. When will he have a moment like this again? If not here, Dean would most likely confess it during a hunt while covered in monster guts, or over C-grade burgers at a highway diner surrounded by a bunch of nobodies. That’s not how he wants to tell Cas.

           What he wants is this. Cas in his arms and vice-versa, dancing. Smiling. A memory he can replay years into the future. That, when his day comes, will be waiting for him behind a white door with his and Cas’s names on it.

           Cas glances at their family, and then back to him. Blushing, lips twitching as he fights against the giddiness that bursts inside. Dean aware of it by how tight Cas’s grip on his waist became. “Oh?” he asks, feigning seriousness, “Don’t you think that’s a bit too forward?”

           “What do you mean?”

           “Talking about our wedding when we haven’t even been on a date yet.”

           “Then let me take you on a date,” Dean says, “after that we’ll go pick out matching rings. And, since everybody’s here we can do a quick little something and Electric Slide our way into marriage.”

           His composure cracks, Cas snorting at Dean’s response. He dips his head, temples pressed against each other. Mouths close enough Dean might steal a kiss, if he were inclined. Not yet. Dean waits for an answer from the other man.

           “We’re not having our anniversary be the day after your brother’s wedding,” Cas says, “I want a day that’s all our own.”

           Dean agrees. “When were you thinking?”

           “Perhaps in the fall…”

           “I like that. A fall wedding sounds wonderful.”

           “And we can have it all, the ceremony and the reception, at a barn.”

           “We could have it on a freakin’ plane for all I cared, as long as you’re standing across from me.”

           “I love you, Dean.”

           “Love you too, Cas.”