#*bite off an arm and kick in the shin*

[money-and-dandellions]

someone: calls Lester an idiot.

meg "he is an idiot but he is MY idiot" mccaffrey: *proceeds to blow a raspberry and to plant the person in the ground, putting a dandelion onto the it afterwards*.

———

meg:

meg: *whistles and walks away, calling for Lester* Dummy!

[witherby]

I need anything and everything of jason being Mouses favourite. (The Littlest Wayne AU)

They get a snack/ meal - Jay Jay has to take a bite first before they eat

They have a new toy- Jay Jay has to see and play

I’ll take anything you can think of.

I am obsessed. The AU is amazing

-🤍💜

Say less! I love Jason Todd and so does Flittermouse! By the way the word count is 3100+ lol oops

The Littlest Wayne: Fist Bumps

Masterlist is Here!

"This is stupid."

"Shut up, you're just mad you won't get picked."

Tim kicks Damian in the shin, who retaliates by kicking him back much, much harder in the ankle. Tim cries out, about to start a fight, but one stern look from Alfred settles them both down. They continue to sit beside each other without fuss, and soon everyone is all neatly lined in a row while Hal uses his ring to keep you safely suspended in a bubble, playing with a little rattle.

"Alright," Dick says excitedly, "we're going over the rules one more time! No jingling any shiny objects for Flitty to chase after, no getting out of line to get closer to them, and Bruce, no bare skin! We're gonna have Hal set them down and see who they come to first."

"This isn't gonna go the way you think it's gonna go," Bruce says, endlessly amused. "Please, none of you get your feelings hurt."

"Nobody's gonna start cryin', relax," Jason says, lounging on the floor between Damian and Hal. "Kay, we ready?"

A chorus of agreement follows, and Hal gently lowers you to the floor. They all immediately call your name, or variations of your nickname, waving their hands and patting their laps to get you to come to them. Your eyes widen, startled by the sudden rush of noise, and turn your head to assess everyone across the room.

You lock on to the man you want, the binky in your mouth bopping up and down excitedly, and you start speedily crawling to Jason.

"I KNOW that's fuckin' right!" He yells, scooping you into his arms and gently tossing you in the air a couple inches, then peppering your face with kisses. "I'm the favorite you little freaks. Kiss my ass."

"Okay, whatever, we knew that already," Dick says, "now it's time to see who the second favorite is. Put them down and go away so we can play again."

"Be nice to your brother," Bruce says. Dick flicks Bruce in the ear and he scowls. "Ow. Be nice to me."

"Fine. Gotta know who my competition is for the number one spot in Mousey's heart, even if I'm winning by a landslide." Jason carries you across the room and sets you back down. "You stay for a sec, kay? Pound it." He picks up your chubby arm and makes you give him a fist bump, then walks away from you.

Before they can even start a second round of the game, you're shuffling after him again. Christ, it's adorable.

"It's because they can still see you, Todd," Damian says, scooping you up to put back in starting position. "Duck behind the couch."

Jason rolls his eyes but complies, bending down until he's out of sight. When the rest of the family calls for you again, you shuffle forward like you're going to crawl to Hal, but you veer past him and around to the back of the couch to get to Jason again.

"Oh my god, they've developed object permanence already," Tim says. Jason's triumphant laughter fills the room as he lifts you up to give you more kisses. His endless delight and your happy squealing softens the blow to everyone else's egos.

"This game sucks anyway," Dick mumbles, crossing his arms in defeat. "What idiot even came up with it in the first place..."

--

"You ask."

"Uh, no? You ask? I don't care."

"Yeah but he tolerates your questions. I don't wanna get my jaw blown off."

"Then don't ask, dumbass. It's so easy."

Jason clears his throat, causing the two goons to stiffen up and turn to face him. One of them looks upset that he was caught unaware, and the other looks one wrong move away from pissing himself.

"Hi, boss," they both greet.

"Whatcha talkin' about?" Jason asks, taking a half-step closer. "Cause last I checked, I sent you both over here to do quality control on our newest drug shipment. And I'm not seeing a lot of that gettin' done."

He turns to the more frightened man. If he didn't have his helmet on, he would've sneered at him.

"So what's the hold up? Need me to sew some mouths shut? Hmm? Want me t'cut out your fuckin' tongue? That'll motivate you real fast, I bet."

"We'll get right on it, boss," the other, clearly smarter, henchman states. "We were just. Uh. Wondering why there's... why there's a baby strapped to your chest."

Jason looks down at you. You stare right back at him, making a soft cooing noise around your Red Hood-themed binky, and reach up for his mask. He gently takes your hand instead, feeling your tiny fingers curl around the leather of his gloved pointer. He's smiling sweetly at you, despite no one being able to see it.

"This is M," he says by way of an answer. "Won't be an everyday occurrence — couldn't find another babysitter so I assured the dad I'd keep 'em safe for the night."

He doesn't mention that your dad is also his dad, and that when Jason tried to leave to do his vigilante work, you screamed the house down and would only calm down in his arms, therefore he had no choice. So here you are, strapped to his chest in a onesie padded with kevlar and vital-tracking tech, while your favorite brother carries your diapers and formula around in the same duffel he stashes his guns.

And because you're his favorite, too, he secretly hopes you throw more fits so he gets to hoard you all to himself again. Taking a few minutes to tickle your tummy or gently rock you in his arms stops him from losing his patience and blowing out the brains of several subordinates tonight — which his men clearly catch onto, because they all start telling him how nice it is to see such a cute and perfect and pleasant, life-saving baby hanging around.

Fuck yeah it's nice. S'cause you're the coolest baby ever. Jason gently makes you fist bump him.

--

"AHHH!"

Jason is out of his chair and bolting across the Manor before his brain fully registers your screaming through the baby monitor. There's surprised exclamations and footfalls not far from him as his thunderous steps stir up a commotion, but he doesn't care about that.

There are very few times in his life when he's moved this fast. Large, expansive rooms fly by him in a blur of color. He takes the stairs six at a time. If a door he needs to get through is closed, he's breaking it down with a well-placed hit with his shoulder and moving on.

When he gets to your room, he stops to yank the door open because he doesn't know if you're near it, and darts inside with a sharp shout of your name.

"What's wrong!?" He pants, zeroing in on you immediately. You've rushed into your wardrobe and climbed inside it, red-faced and crying as a crow flaps haphazardly around the bedroom. The shattered glass on the floor gives him the missing context, and he snatches the bird out of the air with more force than necessary while the adrenaline spike is still scrambling his nervous system.

Bruce is the second person to rush into your room just moments after, crouching by your hiding spot with furrowed brows and a soft, slightly winded voice.

"Are you hurt?" He asks. You whimper but shake your head, fat tears rolling down your little cheeks, and lift your hands. Bruce picks you up without hesitation and stands up.

"Jaylad?" He says, still in that gentle tone. "You alright?"

Jason doesn't answer. He's not alright, not really. The rage he'd built up thinking someone was in here hurting you is still burning through his veins, and with no outlet for it, he's struggling a bit.

Bruce doesn't take offense to his lack of response. He just offers you a small, reassuring smile and bounces you a bit in his arms.

"Let's go find Grandpa and snuggle up with some hot chocolate," he murmurs. "Jay-Jay will hang back and make sure your bedroom is safe for you."

"No!" You sob, leaning around your father's broad shoulders to reach for Jason. "Want Jay-Jay!"

"You can spend time with him in a little while, Mouse," Bruce says, starting to carry you out of the room. Your protests get louder and more frantic, pushing against him to no avail.

"Want Jay!" You repeat, sobbing openly. "Jay-Jay! Want, p'ease!! Jay-Jay!"

"Bruce," Jason utters through grit teeth. His father stops, only a few steps down the hallway, and turns back to him. "It's fine. I'll take 'em, you clean up the mess."

"...are you sure?" Bruce frowns, visibly cautious. He looks down at the bird still flapping helplessly as Jason holds it by the neck, firmer than strictly necessary.

Jason takes a step towards the broken window and tosses the crow out. After a second of frantic flapping, it straightens itself out and flies away with panicked sqawking.

He turns to you and holds out his arms. They're only trembling a little bit, but the edges of his vision are still tinged with green. Bruce hesitates to pass you over.

"I've got it," Jason murmurs, "I'm calm enough. Gimme my fuckin' sibling before you piss me off worse, B."

Bruce nods slowly. He brings you back into the room and hands you off to Jason. Your arms circle his neck and cling on tight, and you bury your face in his chest as you cry. It breaks his heart that you had such a bad scare. He can see the half-completed Lego build you were playing with on the floor in front of the window and hopes Bruce can get all the glass shards out between the bricks and carpet.

Jason carries you out of your bedroom and down the corridor to his. He leaves his door cracked open and flicks on lights as he goes, then brings you to the en-suite bathroom.

"Okay, Mousey," he mumbles, trying to set you on the sink's vanity. You clutch him tighter and whimper, and it drives a spear right through his chest. "Kid, I'm not goin' nowhere. Jay-Jay's right here, I just wanna make sure there's no glass on you."

A little more prodding and the compromise of you holding one of his hands gets you to relent. You sit miserably on the counter as your sobs slowly die down, and Jason tediously checks your hair and clothes for any bits of glass that may have landed on you when the crow crashed into the window. The slow, repetitive motions help quiet the last of his anger until he's just tired and concerned for you. He finds a couple tiny pieces, but your skin is unblemished and when he asks if you're hurt, you shake your head, which then calms him entirely.

"Alright, great job," he murmurs. "Come here, we'll go bother Alfie t'give us an icecream sammy before dinner and then cuddle in the main living room. Good plan?"

You sniffle, wiping the last of your tears away. Your cheeks are flushed and puffy. "Yeah, good pwan..."

Jason kisses the top of your head and offers you his fist. You gently bump yours against his, then lift your arms again to be picked back up. He obliges, refusing to put you back down for the rest of the day. When it's time for bed, you don't wanna go back into your room, so he spends the evening reading his current novel with a dim book light while you snooze away on his chest.

--

He's livid. Jason's got a hole in his leg and he can't run away from the rival gang leader pointing a gun at his head, and he's fucking livid.

"My first death was way cooler," he mutters. "Got blown up and everything."

"What the fuck are you saying?" The other man scowls. "I never could understand you through that thick-ass helmet."

"I'm saying, if you're gonna go down as the guy that killed the Red Hood, at least make the execution something fuckin' noteworthy," Jason rants, the pain making him bitchier than usual. He waves his hands for emphasis, pointing at the gunman much like a mother scolding her child. "Ohh I shot him and watched his brain splatter everywhere! So has every single marksman ever. I'm worth more than a bullet in an alleyway. The fuck do I look like, Bruce Wayne's folks?"

"Whoa, man," the shooter says, lifting his free hand to scratch the back of his head. "Let me get this straight. You're not mad I'm gonna kill you. You're that mad I'm not gonna kill you...in a cooler way?"

"Excellent listening ears, bucko! Gold star!" Jason coos, clapping. "Immolation, decapitation, tossin' me in an acid pit — fuck me, I'll take a stab wound over a bullet! D'you know how skilled you gotta be to get close enough to stab Red Hood to death!? If not for me, do somethin' that'll raise your own paltry street cred, shit. You're so fucking boring."

The man doesn't get another chance to weigh his options. The darkness of the alleyway pounces on him, sucking him into the void while he shrieks like an animal. Jason slumps against the wall and watches the shapeless darkness warp and twist, the gun abandoned on the ground in the gunman's initial panic. He feels his heart rate slow when you step out after a minute, wearing a thick jacket over your pajamas and a domino mask over your eyes as you hurry towards him. A flash of irritation makes him scowl as he realizes one of the others woke you up for this, when you aren't even a vigilante to begin with. The culprit's gonna get their ass beat as soon as he recovers enough to track them down.

"Okay," you stammer, kneeling next to him on the ground with a first aid kit. "Okay okay okay...Alf — umm, Agent A? I'm here, what do I do?"

"Remain calm, Flittermouse. All will be well," Alfred soothes you over the comms. Jason feels the adrenaline steadily exiting his body now that he's registered that he's safe. Now, it's a fight to stay conscious so you don't freak out even more than you're currently doing. He's so proud of you for coming out here despite the blatant fear.

Your hands shake as you pop the kit open and pull out the field tourniquet. Alfred instructs you on how to set it up, and Jason gently adjusts it when you wrap it a little too close to the bullet wound in his thigh. He grits his teeth as you tighten it, refusing to make a peep, and gives you a quick thumbs up when you tie it off.

"Okay, I stopped the bleeding. Do I bring him home, now?" You ask.

"As long as he has no other injuries, the medical bay is ready for you to transport him back to the cave."

"M'good, Mousey," Jason says, lifting his fist. "Sorry you had to come rescue your cool big bro. S'not your job."

"I was the one who could get here the fastest," you reply. After a moment's hesitation, you bump his fist with your own. "You're gonna be okay."

"M'gonna be okay," he echoes, knowing you need that confirmation. "Saved my life, kid. I'll do all your chores for the next week."

That gets a wet laugh out of you. You hug Jason tight and the shadows of the alley pool underneath your bodies. Jason closes his eyes and hugs you back, a steady anchor in the free-falling sensation entering your darkness gives him.

"My heroics are only worth a week of chores?"

"S'better than the rest get," he says. "They get one chore. Not even a whole day, just one chore."

You bury your face in his shoulder as the void swallows you and him up.

"You're my favorite, too, Jay-Jay," you mumble. Jason smiles as he loses the battle for consciousness.

--

"Good afternoon; welcome to Truce Juice. Would you like a moment with a menu or are you ready to order?"

Jason leans his hip against the counter and takes a menu off the small, laminated stack you've got sitting there, glancing over the options. Behind the helmet, he smiles as he remembers all the late nights you pulled him and your other brothers into the kitchen to taste test these drinks and snacks, desperate to make things that would appeal to many people. He remembers how proud you were to graduate from your culinary courses and the victory cry you let out when you found insurance willing to cover the building.

You smile warmly at him, waiting patiently for him to choose something off the menu for the first time in your brand new business.

"Black coffee," he says, voice warped by the modulator in the helmet, "two sugars."

"What size?" You ask, tapping it into the screen in front of you.

"Large. And a turkey panini, with avocado and pesto."

"Toasted?"

"What other fuckin' way would anybody get a panini?" He muses aloud. To strangers, he would sound angry, but you can tell he's genuinely asking. You just shrug and keep the soft smile on your face.

"You'd be surprised. Your total's on the screen; will that be cash or card?"

Jason reaches a gloved hand down. It glides past the pistol strapped to his thigh, eliciting nervous gasps from bystanders in the cafe, and into the pocket underneath, drawing out a plain, tri-fold wallet. He pulls out two hundred-dollar bills and huffs at you to keep the change, then saunters over to the pick-up counter to wait.

He crosses his arms and watches you scuttle around behind the counter, genuinely happy to make food and drinks for anybody that comes in. So far, you're uninjured and you've been able to stop any rising conflicts in seconds, which he's endlessly thankful for.

When his order is ready, you hand it to him with another bright smile.

"Alright, mister Hood, here you go. Have a great day!"

Jason nods, about to turn away, when he sees you hold your fist out in his periphery.

He grins, heart fit to burst, and bumps it back.

[acid-ixx]

(name), life is horrible after leaving the manor, malnourished, dehydrated 24/7, fueled by sodium packed noodles and the desire for human connection, hasn't had a lick of proper sleep in decades, in debt, almost died, BUT still away from their family: this is ok :)

(name), kidnapped and forced back in the manor: I'M SO COOKED bROOO NOOOOOOOOOO *screams like a banshee*

this scenario wouldn't stop festering in my brain like a parasite. have a nice day <3

— masterlist !

you, clearly pissed off that your latest escape attempt hasn't been executed according to plan, and now you're back to square one, trapped between a couch and your eldest brother, almost being suffocated by one of dick's tight hugs: *chokes* MOTHERFUCKER, GET OFF OF ME!!! THIS WASN'T PART OF BRUCE'S READJUSTMENT PLAN—

dick, busy smothering his face in your scalp, clearly dismissing your statement, grinning from right above your head: and what part of bruce's plans restrict me from cuddling my own beloved sibling as a punishment, then?

you, about to kick his shins if not for his quick hands redirecting your legs elsewhere:

you: THIS IS WHY LIVING ALONE IS BETTER, YOU HOE! DAMN IT BITCH, I SAID LET GO—!

damian, arms crossed by the doorway, rolling his eyes as he watches the scene unfold (jealous, probably, but he disguises his seethe with a click of his tongue): *tsk* language, sibling. and you never learn, do you not? anything is better than that garbage bin you call your old apartment. there is nothing even sentimental about it at best.

pausing from your struggle, you can only release a sharp breath when you feel dick's clamoring hands hold you tighter than a boa constrictor. you: *turns your head to damian, glaring* at least in my old apartment, i have a sense of agency, personal space — nobody choking me from hugging all the time, and no whiny ass demon scolding me every second i live in this hellhole—!

tim, suddenly appearing right behind the couch, rolling his eyes as he smirks at your obvious demise: *ruffles your hair, dodging your awaiting teeth about to bite his fingers off* but does that constitute for the packs of dollar store ramen you've been surviving off of, the unpaid bills, overdue rent, and constant break-ins, then?

dick, nodding at tim as you punch his biceps: see, baby bird? i agree. you're only gaining more than you are losing. over there, you're fighting for your life. over here, the only thing you lose is your freedom. but you know that still can be earned, right? that's if only you're only willing to cooperate with us.

you: ...

you: have you forgotten that i also lost my privacy and sense of autonomy within this household?! i can't even brush my teeth without one of you in the same room as me—!

tim: but—

you: and don't you dare try to even defend yourself, you freak! i see you try to match the pace of me brushing my own hair! and don't forget that you're the prime suspect for another one of my missing hoodies!

jason, popping up from the windows, platform boots scrunching above the carpet: hah, what's going on here again?

you, almost about to be released from his grasp, kicking harder against dick's thighs: I WANT TO BREAK FREE—!

damian: do not help them out, todd. they're long overdue for some exposure therapy.

jason: and nobody told me? c'mon, who says it has to be dickhead that has to hold my angel?

jason, about to rip you away from dick's hug:

bruce, watching the entire scene unfold, appearing from the shadows: *calmly* jason, no. dick, calm down, their limbs are still sore from dropping down two stories.

bruce: and (name)... tim is right, i don't get why you insist on living inside that unsanitary box when you could have anything you could possibly want in here, with us.

damian, nodding: and i agree with tim for once.

you, shooting a glare at damian, then to your supposed "father": NO, SHUT UP DAMIAN! AND BRUCE, GO TO HELL, I HATE YOU!!!

bruce, so close to a migraine, patting your head: it's father to you, dear. and don't say that again or else i might just extend your quarantine period inside the manor— that means no garden visits or even stepping outside the front porch anymore.

you, on the verge of crashing out even further when you felt dick kiss your forehead: THIS IS WHY I'D RATHER DIE IN MY APARTMENT!!!

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

33 / 1.8k / shark mermen Gaz and Soap for mermay :)

...

You emerge from the cold saltwater with a gasp and cling to the only thing you can—a metal buoy, just as freezing as the ocean.

Something brushes your leg. Again. Then you feel a jolt of pain.

A moment later, he surfaces—the mer who cut you off from the boat and pursued you here. He looms closer, curious eyes fixed on you.

"Don't come any closer!" you tell him, half-strangled by seawater. You wish you sounded stronger. Your throat burns raw and your voice is choked. You press yourself up closer to the tower-shaped navigation buoy in a vain attempt to pull yourself away from him.

Gaz cocks his head to the side at the command, his black eyes flickering to your mouth in recognition. He treads the rough water effortlessly, lazily, the shape of his body under the water rolling.

He understands you perfectly. Then he moves closer anyway.

You sputter, fingers slipping as you scrabble for a better hold to—you're not sure, pull yourself to safety? There's nowhere to go.

He looms over you. You turn your face away and press into the buoy as tightly as you can. He rests his hand against the metal near your head, claws digging into the rust. His eyes rake over your body. You’re cold. Wet. Scared. Gaz can’t keep his eyes from moving all over you. From your wild, dripping wet hair down to where you disappear into the sea, thin human skin flat against curved metal. All the soft, exposed flesh in between.

Tentatively—when he doesn’t grab you—you steal a glance at him. His broad shoulders are bare, skin dark and smooth. Scars mark the sculpted muscles of his chest and forearms. Saltwater in the open cuts on your arm force your attention back to the situation at hand. He spots the bloody rivulets running down your forearm at the same time you do. It’s not just a series of cuts—it’s a bite mark. He bit you.

Then something big brushes your leg. You jolt, kicking, your shin banging hard against the base of your safe buoy. You nearly jump out of your skin when a second mer surfaces right behind you.

Gaz follows your stare back to the second mer. It’s Soap.

Soap grins, razor-sharp teeth flashing in the dim light. His dark hair is drenched, swept back from his face and away from his eerie all-blue eyes. When you don’t react immediately, freezing up instead, his hands crawl up your waist. You shriek. Soap laughs at your reaction. He tightens his hands on your waist and pulls you so easily from the buoy into the cage of his arms.

You struggle to keep yourself aloft without anything to hold on to. Soap seems blasé about keeping you high enough above the surface to breathe. He's more interested in your peculiar human features—your gilless ears, your flat teeth, the soft skin that extends well past your waist and hips. Even Gaz moves closer, enthralled with the sight of you wrapped up in Soap’s arms, your comparatively tiny human hands gripping and splashing around in a way they’d consider rather cute. Like a kitten curling its paws around a toy rather than someone fighting just to stay afloat.

Your lungs still burn with salt and your sparse clothes cling to you as you twist in the waves. Desperate to escape, you shove your left hand against Gaz's chest and your right elbow against Soap's, trying to make room for yourself between them and lift yourself away from Soap's curious, clawed hands. But there isn't much you can do.

Gaz stares down at your hand lingering on his chest. You have such short, blunt, thin claws. How are humans supposed to protect themselves with those? He looks up to see Soap attempting to wrestle your squirming, slippery little human body more securely into his arms.

"I had her," Gaz says in their mer language.

You can't understand it. To you, it sounds strange and half-muted, but you can feel the depth of the vocalizations in Gaz's chest and snatch your hand away as if burned.

“And now I have her,” Soap says.

"You shouldn't have grabbed her. She’s riled up now."

 “You just want to be the only one to see her up close. You can share." Not to mention he knows how Gaz can be. If Gaz were to get his hands on you first, Soap would be lucky to see a damn thing, much less touch you. Soap, on the other hand, knows how to share. “Have a look at the skin. Like an eel’s, but with little hairs.”

Gaz glares at him but obliges, dipping under the waves as he moves closer. He can’t resist the temptation of that soft flesh, so different from his own. Especially when Soap’s already got his hands on you and is feeling you up as much as he likes.

He circles you slowly as his eyes adjust to see you better in the low light. The rest of you is just as interesting as what's above water, if not more. You've got knees. Feet, even. He skims a claw from your ankle to your thigh. You kick in response, and Soap's long tail twists in the water to keep hold of you. Your feet, your legs—they’re so tiny. All flesh, no fins at all. Even when you kick, they just slide through the water so uselessly.

Above the water, you cry out at the sudden feeling. Cold dread settles into your gut as you recognize these two for what they are—not just mer, but sharks. Their size and sharp teeth give them away. Not to mention their skin. It looks like human skin, but it's smooth when rubbed in one direction and sandpaper-rough in the other. Exactly like the skin of the creatures they mimic.

You push blindly against Soap's chest, ignoring the bite of his claws as he holds on to you. You're certain they're about to pull you underwater and drown you. Maybe eat you. You've already been bitten.

Then, over the roar of blood in your ears, you hear the distant sound of a boat's bell. You swivel your head to see a small rescue boat. Someone must have noticed you were snatched overboard. Instantly, energy pulses into your limbs again. You push yourself up as far as you can, nails digging into Soap's shoulder, and you wave your arms and shout for all you’re worth to get the rescue boat's attention.

Soap whips his head around to follow the sound of the boat. He knows exactly what it is, and he doesn't like it one bit. The more he tries to hold you still, though, the louder and shriller your cries get. There's no chance the boat will miss you like this. Humans have really good eyesight even without their little lights. He could just let you go. He wanted to see you up close, and he did. But with Gaz circling below the water, and with every little touch reinforcing his curiosity about you, and with the smell of your blood filling his senses, he decides he and Gaz haven't had nearly enough time to study you.

With a beat of his tail, Soap pushes away from you.

You sink instantly, gasping in a mouthful of saltwater as you struggle to right yourself. You break the surface of the water one more time, but all that comes out when you try to call for help again is a watery choke.

A clawed hand wraps around your ankle and pulls you down. Your head submerges. Everything goes muffled besides the sharp stinging in your nose, eyes, and the bite on your arm. Soap's grip is like steel, pulling you down, down, down until the surface is just a glittering ripple far away. Your wild thrashing just tires you out, which makes keeping you under easier. He can only imagine the kind of panic that’s taking hold. Humans are notoriously poor swimmers.

Your vision spots as you struggle. Soap knows exactly what he's doing. His blood sings in his veins, the thrill of the hunt overriding everything. The moment is perfect: you under his control even as you fight like good prey.

The pressure of the water grows immense. It presses in on your eardrums and your chest cavity. You fight against the urge to breathe, but you are well and truly running out of oxygen.

Soap feels your struggling grow weaker. There's no way you're getting away now. You’re all his.

Suspended in the water above you both, Gaz understands exactly what Soap's instincts are telling him to do. His are saying the same thing: to strike while you're vulnerable, disoriented, desperate.

Instead, he dives to Soap and stops him.

"What are you doing?" he snaps. "Humans can't survive in the water."

Soap blinks like he’s turning his brain back on. "Aye. Am only hiding her."

"For how long?"

"Til the boat leaves. Morning, maybe."

Gaz grits his teeth. Before Soap can protest, Gaz darts up and grabs you with a burst of speed, ripping you right out of Soap’s grasp. The way he hooks you into the inside of his elbow knocks the last of the air out of you.

Your head spins. Your body is wracked by a dry, painful cough, and your mouth opens as your body instinctively tries to find air. Water fills your lungs. Gaz feels you convulse. He clamps his hand around your mouth. But it doesn't do you any good.

He propels you both up toward the surface. But instead of breaking through, he swims parallel, leaving the rescue boat behind.

You’re clinging to the final frayed threads of consciousness when you finally break the surface of the water. Your back hits sand. The impact forces your diaphragm to push a mouthful of water loose. That gets you coughing again. You flip over and cough what feels like an unsurvivable volume of seawater out of your lungs.

You cough until every muscle in your stomach hurts. You keep coughing as you get to your hands and knees and drag yourself up the rocky beach. Gravel cuts and burrows into your hands and knees. You don't have the capacity to notice anything besides the air you're desperately swallowing.

As soon as you're not completely convinced you'll die here, you collapse onto your side, curling into a fetal position. You don't notice the two lambent pairs of eyes watching you from the shallows.

...

[part 1] / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

more Gaz / more Soap / more mer au / masterlist tag

[oceantornadoo]

ch12 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: shepherd gets tortured. reader has ptsd. violence and gore. everyone's a little feral.

masterlist | next

“John.” You breathe.

He’s there at the top of the stairwell, haloed by light like an avenging angel. Before you can reach out, someone yanks you backward.

You fall back in a tangle of limbs, you and Shepherd hurtling down the wooden stairs. The proximity disgusts you more than the hurt of falling as you try valiantly to push him off. He’s got  a vice-like grip on your arms, holding you from the back when you settle at the bottom of the stairs. What he doesn’t expect is your bite, sinking your teeth into the hand closest to your mouth. Shepherd releases you only slightly but it’s enough for you to land a kick to his shin and crawl away. 

You’re almost free when you feel his hand on your ankle. He’s like a parasite you can’t shake. You gather your strength to turn as his nails dig in, but you feel them release with a sharp crack. It’s John.

He stepped on Shepherd’s elbow with his heel, and you’re pretty sure it’s broken by the way the General lays on the floor in shock. John’s better than those instincts though, grabbing the man by the collar and throwing him far away from you. It’s a flurry of activity after that. Flashes of Simon cradling your face, Gaz checking you for wounds, John securing Shepherd. When you finally process that you’re safe, you wiggle out of Simon’s arms to find John. He’s standing over Shepherd with a gun in hand. The villain himself is tied down to the chair you were kept in. Each leg is tied to a leg of the chair, and his arms tied to the arms of it as well. There’s rope in his mouth, gagging him from spewing more violence.

“John.” He doesn’t turn to you, eyes on your kidnapper. “You okay?” He murmurs out of the corner of his mouth. You nod, then whisper a small ‘yes’ when you realize John can’t see you. “He hurt you?” You take stock of your injuries. A bruise tailbone and hips from where you were tugged down the stairs. Your arms ache from thrashing against your restraints. “Yes.” You whisper. There’s a sound of metal on metal, and the gun in his hand is replaced by a switchblade. On a closer look, you realize it’s not John’s but Simon’s. When you turn back to your brother, all he does is nod, no regret on his face.

“Got some question f’ ya ‘fore ya die, Shepherd.” Shepherd tries to spit at John, but the gag stops him. “Who’s the rat?” Shepherd stays silent, eyes glaring. “When I pull down this rope, all y’r sayin’ is a name. You’ll pay f’r anythin’ else.” John tugs the gag down, away from the man’s teeth. Shepherd sucks in a breath, then spits near John’s shoe. “Fuck you and your bastard. Bet she’s loose like a slut anyway.”

John starts with Shepherd’s fingers, the ones that pulled you down the stairs. The switchblade is sharp but small, so it takes a minute for Shepherd’s left ring finger to separate from his hand. You watch with detached interest as he bucks against the confines of his own rope, legs kicking out violently. Gaz walks behind the chair to hold it down, his muscles flexing with effort. Finally, John cuts the finger off. Shepherd wails behind the gag, but you flinch only when the tip of his finger rolls towards you on the carpet. Before it can reach you, John kicks it away and repeats the process with Shepherd’s right finger. The man is starting to pale, white and ashy with blood loss. You don’t care.

“Next question. Where are my weapons?” Shepherd shakes his head, but you can’t tell if it’s from shock or a refusal to answer. “Last chance, General.” John rips down the gag again. “You’ll never find ‘em. Every day you’ll wake up thinking this will be-” John pulls the gag back up, cutting him off. “Christ, he’s a piece of work.” Gaz mutters from behind you. 

“He called ya a bastard and a slut, tha’ righ’?” You can practically hear Simon flinch at John’s words. “And a brat.” You answer. John nods to Gaz, who tears the gag off of Shepherd. “You’re gonna fuckin’ pay for this, John Price. My men are loyal, they’ll avenge-” Avenge what, you’re not exactly sure, as a gloved hand grabs Shepherd’s tongue. It’s Simon’s. His grip is sure, securing Shepherd’s slimy mouth even as he moves his head from right to left. It quickly stops when John pierces the middle with his knife, enough to go all the way through. You inch closer to watch, wrapping your hands around your waist as you watch the torture continue. John rips the knife to one end, the metal slicing easily through muscle. He comes back to finish the job on the other side, Simon taking the tongue as a souvenir. Shepherd tries to talk, but both the blood and lack of tongue limit his speech.

“Anythin’ else, sweetheart?” You think back to your body. Of how it felt to be knocked out for who knows how long, waking up in an unfamiliar location and not knowing who transported you there. Of wearing clothes that weren’t yours. “His dick.” You murmur. John might be smiling, it’s hard to tell underneath the shadows of the room and his beard. Simon unzips Shepherd’s pants, yanking them down forcefully so the friction burns. “You goin’ t’ watch, baby?” John asks. You nod. It’s the first step of healing, you think, in some fucked up way. John doesn’t care to wipe the blood off the knife, sliding it down Shepherd's cheekbone in a violent caress. “Because my wife is watchin’, I’ll make this quick. You can thank ‘er f’r that mercy when you’re rottin’ in hell.” John slices Shepherd’s flaccid dick off easily, making sure the only time you see it is once it’s detached. Blood is everywhere now, matching the blood red carpet. A part of you muses that there will be no need to clean.

“We good?” It’s the first time John has really looked at you, turning his body all the way. Your avenging angel with dark circles under his eyes and another man’s blood on his hands. You nod eagerly, wanting to go home.

When John slices Shepherd's throat, it’s like cutting through butter. A release.

John wraps you in his arms when the tears you’ve been holding in finally fall. Your legs around his waist, your face in the crook of your neck. Neither of you care about the blood on his body. “I’m sorry.” It’s like both of you say it, words meshing with tears. He maneuvers you to a nearby couch, some piece of furniture you hadn’t noticed in the corner. All of the movement in the background washes over you: the men moving the body, Gaz asking about Phil, footsteps up the stairs. You want to tell John that you’re crying because of the past few days and not because of his actions right now, but the words get caught in your throat. John tucks his own head into the crook of your neck at what must be an uncomfortable angle. He’s crying too, soaking through the shirt you’re wearing without your consent. The realization jolts you: there’s a t-shirt and pair of joggers on your body that you did not put on. 

He feels the switch instantly. John pulls back, red eyes matching yours, concern etched into his forehead. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” You pull at the fabric, hiccupping before answering. “They- they changed me when I was knocked out. I don’t know who…” You trail off, caught in a nightmare. John barks an order at Simon, and your brother takes it, hustling up the stairs like his life depends on it. It would make you laugh if you weren’t so raw, the realities of the past days hitting you. Rough thumbs brush the soft skin under your eyes, capturing tears you didn’t even know were falling. It just makes you cry harder. 

Simon appears holding a sweatshirt and sweatpants out, all black. “Here, love.” It’s directed towards you but John takes them instead, thanking your brother in low tones. Everyone in the room leaves, closing the door at the top for some privacy. 

“You want my help?” You nod. John pulls you off his lap and into a standing position. Your body is shutting down and he knows, those blue eyes of his all seeing. He peels off the shirt and exhales a breath when he sees they kept you in your bra. “Up we go, baby.” He helps you raise your arms into the sleeves, tugging the sweatshirt down. His hands feel safer than your own because you know he’d stop if you asked. You don’t know what your own hands would do. He tugs down the old pants, stiffening when he sees your underwear. “Did they…?” He asks firmly. You shake your head no. “Phil kept making me drink water without a bathroom.” John nods, sliding down the underwear and pulling up the new sweatpants so fast that you don’t even feel exposed. “My brave girl.” He kisses your forehead and it’s the end of everything.

Exhaustion hits you like a train. You can finally relax, having been in survival mode for the past two days. When John gathers you in his lap again, you fall into a dreamless sleep.

-

“Simon.” John grunts. He’s holding your sleeping body in his arms at the top of the stairs, letting Simon know to open the door. It creaks open and you whimper at the sound, burrowing yourself further into him. The ground floor of the church is bright, sun streaming through the broken windows like a holy trick. Shepherd picked an abandoned church near the library John gifted you. It scares him to think about how much information Phil fed him, how much information you gave freely in the name of what you thought was friendship. Guilt is sickly sweet in his heart, candycoated with relief that he found you. That he kept his promise to keep you.

“She’s dead asleep.” John whispers. They don’t acknowledge that this is the first time he’s called Simon by his name, or that Simon even let him. They’re true brother’s-in-law now, bound to their duty to you. He doesn’t think about what would have happened if they hadn’t trusted each other. “You takin’ her t’ the library?” John doesn’t ask how Simon knows about it, only shaking his head. “Could be compromised. ‘M takin’ her home.” Home. Manchester no longer. 

“Gaz.” He appears in an instant. “Sir?” Gaz’s eyes flick to your body wrapped around John, filled with concern. “I want everyone out of the Castle except the guards. Don’t care where you put ‘em. Johnny found the rat yet?” Gaz shakes his head frustratedly. “Not for lack of trying, sir.” Before John can respond, Simon pipes up. “Let me at ‘em.” John nods his affirmation and starts moving to the car. Before he gets all the way back, he turns to face Gaz and Simon, conferring like they’re always been on the same team. “No survivors. Shepherd's or rats.” They nod without question. 

It’s a worrisome ride home. John checks your pulse twice, just to make sure this isn’t a trick. There’s blood on your cheeks, in the roots of your hair, on your fingers. It’s all Shepherd’s, but when John squints, it looks like yours. Like this was all a dream and he’s going to wake up to Gaz telling him they found your corpse. John Price does not deserve to have his wife in his arms. He’s spilled too much blood, split up families and killed men while staring into their eyes. You deserve so much more than a man who tortured your kidnapper in front of you. 

You let out a soft moan, waking in his arms. “John?” You whisper, afraid. He tightens his grip on you, stroking your soft cheeks until your eyes flutter open. “‘S me, baby.” You give him a smile, easy and big like you’re drunk. “I thought this was a dream.” He kisses your forehead. “I did too. Back t’ sleep now.” You comply, closing your eyes and nuzzling into him sweetly. He vows to never let you out of his sight again.

-

When you wake, it’s to an unfamiliar ceiling and the night sky bleeding through the window to paint the walls. You jolt, panting as you sit up. “Hey, hey, you’re okay, sweetheart. You’re home.” When you blink a few times, you realize you’re in the Castle’s sitting room, lying prone on a couch. John’s in front of you, showered and clean, sitting on a footrest near you. He has his hands out like he’s calming a horse and you want to laugh at the absurdity, but he might think you’re crazy. Instead, you nod, turning your gaze to your hands. They’re clean but feel dirty, like they were wiped down instead of scrubbed. “Why am I here?” You ask. “Didn’t want t’ wake ya or bring blood into our bedroom. Wanted to make sure I undressed ya with y’r permission.” You nod, biting your lip. He’s so goddamn sweet, even after mutilating a man in front of you. The urge to shower shakes through your core, leaving your body shuddering.

“I need to- need to get clean.” You’re already taking unsteady steps off the couch and towards the bedroom. John puts his hand on your back and you don’t see it until you feel it. You flinch at the contact and your heart clenches as his hand drops. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect that.” He nods, eyes filled with understanding. “Why don’t ya drop y’r clothes in the hamper an’ put it outside the bathroom. I’ll heat some food up f’ ya.” Your stomach grumbles in response. “Thanks, John.” He flinches. It’s minute but there. You both watch it happen, eyes catching each other. “Didn’t think I’d ever hear that again.” Tears well in your eyes but you blink them back resolutely. “Get me some food, John.” He nods at the order, walking backwards to the door until the last possible second where he has to turn. When he’s gone, there’s a hole in your chest.

You follow his instructions, leaving the bloody clothes in a hamper outside the door. You’re in the shower for an hour. Exfoliate, scrub, repeat. Your fingers are pruney and your skin is raw but it doesn’t feel like enough. You can still feel the piss running down your leg, the hands grabbing your skin, the needle in your arm. You’re about to scrub again but your stomach rumbles. Finally, you turn off the water, running through the rest of your routine and grabbing a robe to keep you warm. When you open the door, John’s standing in front of it like he was listening the whole time. “When you turned off the water an’ got quiet, I almost knocked down the door.” You’re starting to realize he’s been affected by this too. 

Instead of responding, you press your forehead into his sternum. He pulls you in closer by the back of your neck, threading his fingers through your wet hair. That’s the only two points of contact, your arms dangling at your sides. It’s proof of life: he’s here, warm and alive. You’re no longer in a chair, being questioned or fed water. Tears soak his shirt a little and he only pulls away when you start sniffling. “Let’s get some food in ya.”

There’s a small table by the window that you use sometime when you’re reading. Tonight, John sits on one side and watches you spoon liquid into your mouth. “Water?” He nudges the cup towards you. You shake your head. The thought of water disgusts you, memories of Phil’s grimy hands wrenching your mouth open. John just nods, brushing his knuckle over your cheek before pulling back.

When you’re full and sleepy, another creeping feeling overtakes your skin. You’re in your robe and you need to change into pajamas, but John is there. Something you’d never think twice about is suddenly the only thought in your head. When you turn back to him, clutching a t-shirt to your chest with wet eyes, he just gets you and it breaks your heart a little. “Goin’ to check with the night guards. I’ll be back soon, sweetheart.” You change quickly, feeling exposed even in the safety of your own room. The shorts you’re wearing feel indecent, so you shuffle under the covers before you can overthink them.

John knocks before entering. He’s carrying a pillow and blanket, which makes you sit up in confusion. “You ok-” “What are you holding?” He looks down at his hands like he expected the items to suddenly change shape. “Thought I’d sleep in the spare room downstairs, give you some space.” There’s a weight in your throat, too big to swallow. “Stay. I can’t- can’t sleep alone, John. Not after-” He doesn’t let you finish in favor of smothering you in a hug. You’re too dehydrated to cry, simply sniffling into the crook of his neck. He’s on his knees on the floor of the room, propping you up. 

“I hate this.” You murmur. He squeezes your waist. “It’ll get better, baby. We’ll figure it out.” You sigh, then pull yourself back. A burst of affection rolls through your veins, causing you to thread your fingers through his beard. “What if I’m never back to normal?” He shakes his head, his hands covering yours. “I’m this close t’ chipping ya, sweetheart. Think we got t’ make a new normal.” He kisses the palm of your hand, then gets up. “Lock the door?” You whisper as he makes his way around the door. He nods, locking it and testing the handle for your benefit. When he climbs into bed and turns off the light, you immediately slide into his arms. 

“You kept your promise.”

“Can’t live without ya. You know that.”

The nightmares come in a sequence of your worst fears. 

A gloved hand muffling your mouth with a rag, except this time John watches you get dragged away. 

In an interrogation room, Simon watches from behind the window, eyes blinking slowly as he analyzes your answers. 

Trekking to your father’s grave with Shepherd’s gun at your back. When you get there, your father stands half-rotted, a key in his hands. 

Gaz and Johnny fight over you, but when you try to calm them, there’s a gag of rope in your mouth. You scream and no one can hear you.

Your mother is standing over your grave. You’re next to her but she can’t see you, no matter how you try to cling to her shoulders.

When you wake up screaming, John’s there, holding your face in his hands and telling you you’re going to be okay. All you can do is trust him.

-

this was lowkey hard to write. reader is a girl who will be ok.

-

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[gurugirl]

Daddy's Pretty Girl | dom!daddy!h

Summary: Harry just wants to make his princess happy OR The story of you and Harry, how you met, and all the rest.

A/n: Requested! This was previously posted on Patreon!

Word Count: 4,385

Warning: Smut, cock warming, exhibition kink (public), daddy kink, DDlg (consented and role play understood), dom/sub dynamic

 🌸 🌸 🌸

“Princess? What are you doing?” Harry spoke calmly as he placed his hands on your hips while you balanced yourself on the counter to reach the tallest cupboard.

“I can’t reach this high so I had to climb up here to get something.”

“And why didn’t you ask me for help? Hmm?” He gripped you in his hands and pulled you down to the floor safely.

You’d been caught red-handed. Well, sort of. You hadn’t quite found what you were looking for before Harry noticed you climbing on the counter. It was the package of butter shortbread cookies with the strawberry jam and cream in the center that you were trying to find. Harry hid them from you because every time he brought home your little treats you’d ruin your appetite for dinner and so it was just easier for him to put them somewhere you couldn’t find them.

Pouting you kicked your bare foot against your shin, “Just didn’t want to bother you.”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his bottom into the counter as he smirked at you, “Oh is that so? And what were you looking for then?”

You shrugged and looked up at him with your sweetest softest eyes as you bit your lip. He knew what you were looking for. He didn’t even need to ask.

Harry sighed and walked past you to the pantry and reached to the tall shelf pulling down your treats. You smiled widely and clasped your hands together, waiting patiently for him to dole out a few of them to you.

“You don’t have to sneak around, Princess. If you want a little treat I’ll give you a little treat. Just ask. But tell Daddy why he hides these from you. Want to make sure you remember.”

Nodding you responded, “Cause I’ll eat the whole box. Then I won’t eat my dinner. And my tummy always hurts after.”

“That’s right. Because you’re like a little puppy with no off switch when it comes to your treats. You’d inhale the whole package if given the chance.”

“But I just wanted one this time. Promise.”

“You never just want one, Y/n,” he took your chin in his hand, “How many do you want?”

“Can I have three?”

Harry smiled and let go of your chin as he reached into the package and pulled out four of your cookies, handing them to you. He always gave you an extra.

“Thank you, Daddy!” You bit into the first one, the buttery crust of the cookie crumbling into the tart strawberry jam with the cream coating your tongue. “Mmmm…”

“You’re welcome, Princess,” he leaned down to kiss your forehead, “Don’t climb up on the counters like that anymore. Okay? Can’t have you getting hurt over a $5 box of biscuits.”

You sighed and nodded as you chewed your next bite and then followed Harry up to his office where he was finishing work. When he sat down in his chair you sat in his lap and popped the next cookie into your mouth. Harry was used to you interrupting his work and sitting in his lap. He didn’t mind it. In fact, he preferred having you in his lap as often as possible.

“Don’t forget we’re going out tonight. I want you to wear that yellow dress I laid out for you on the bed. Okay?”

You crunched your bite and nodded as you leaned back into Harry’s chest and watched his computer screen as he did whatever it was. You didn’t really even know exactly what he did for work. Something about trading money and buying and selling things or funds or… he tried explaining it to you a few times but it went over your head. All you knew was that he got to work from home and he made a lot of money.

Life was good with Harry. You never imagined you’d have it so good. You didn’t have it easy when you were growing up. When you graduated high school you worked full-time so you could pay rent and buy food. You moved away from your dad the moment you had the chance. He was abusive and mean and he scared you.

So you didn’t go to college because your priority was to get away from your dad which meant you’d need to pay rent for a place to live. But you struggled for a long time. You only made minimum wage and you had no friends or any other family to ask for help. Your dad saw to it that any friends you made didn’t stick around.

And back then, even as hard as it had been working menial jobs and living in a rundown apartment barely scraping by, you were free from your dad. Sure things were expensive and you couldn’t always buy groceries, but you could sleep at night knowing you were safe.

But everything changed for you when you got a job as a waitress at a swanky little downtown joint. High rollers wearing expensive watches and Italian shoes would come in with large wads of cash. And the best part was that the tips they left were very very generous.

In a way, it was your lucky break. You started making a living wage when tips were included in your check and you bought yourself a used car with cash. You were able to afford health insurance, a few nice outfits, and could finally have a refrigerator full of food.

It felt like you were living in the lap of luxury. You weren’t, but you’d never felt such freedom in your life. Waitressing was a good gig for you. You were bubbly and nice and often remembered the names of your usuals. They loved it when you remembered their names.

One night, it was an extra busy shift and you’d been struggling to keep up a bit since two people had called in and you were running around every which way trying to make sure all your tables were well taken care of.

A group of four men were seated in your section and you greeted them but one of them could tell you were flustered. Taking their drink orders you scribbled on your notepad what they wanted when one of the men reached out to pull at your apron, “Take a breath, Y/n.”

You squinted your eyes at him when he said your name. You had a nametag of course, so it wasn’t like some crazy thing that he’d know your name, but your guests didn’t normally say your name to you unless they were regulars. And this man was not a regular.

“I’m serious. Take a deep breath, with me,” he kept his dazzling green eyes pinned to yours as he inhaled and you followed his lead, inhaling and then he exhaled, his breath falling from his pink lips. “See? That wasn’t bad, was it? Now, remember to keep breathing. Inhale, exhale.”

You smiled at the handsome man, “Thank you.”

“My name’s Harry.”

You giggled pointed at your name tag, “Y/n. As you know.”

“Beautiful name.”

Somehow Harry had made your busy and hectic night one of the best nights you’d ever had at the restaurant. He was so thoughtful and gentle with you. And he was handsome as hell. Tall and well built, nice hair, big hands…

So when he showed up a week later you were out of your mind giddy because he was in your section. And his genuine warmth had you flushing hot and made you all exasperated and blubbering your words.

Only that second night, instead of just paying the tab and leaving with a wave goodbye he walked up to you and handed you his card as he softly dragged his fingers over your wrist, “When’s your next day off?”

“Tomorrow,” you inhaled as you looked up at him.

“Call me tomorrow.”

So you did, obviously. And really the rest is history. Harry swept you off your feet and took such good care of you that now here you were two years later and still just as smitten with him as the day you met him.

. . .

You loved getting dressed up and going out with Harry, your big strong man who treated you like a princess. You were spoiled and doted on by him and when he took you out he was always so protective of you. Keeping your hand in his or his arm over your shoulder to hold you close.

He normally helped you pick your outfits too. You usually went with whatever he chose to make him happy. He liked having access to your skin so he could squeeze you and touch you which meant he liked you in short dresses and skirts the most. And anything that kept your shoulders bare so he could kiss them.

And depending on what kind of outing it was, he’d let you know if you were allowed to wear your panties or not. That was one decision you were not allowed to make.

Harry pulled out a pair of cotton panties with little hearts all over. Something that covered your bum in case the flimsy material of your short dress rose up.

“Gotta keep your tush covered tonight, Princess,” he said as he pointed at the bed, gesturing for you to sit down so he could help you put your panties on.

“Okay, Daddy,” you bit your lip as Harry knelt down on the floor in front of you and lifted up one of your bare feet, sliding the opening upward and then repeating on your other leg.

He liked to make a show of how he did it. Slow and teasing. He brought the fabric up to just below your knees and ran his hands up your thighs as he kept his eyes on yours, “Doesn’t mean Daddy won’t want to play with you, though. Pussy’s so good for me s’hard to resist. Maybe we’ll have you in my lap again. Let you sit on my cock right in front of all your friends. And you’ll be a good girl just like last time and keep quiet and not shift all around. How’s that sound? Wanna warm Daddy’s cock tonight when the time is right?”

You nodded and grinned, “Oh my god… I loved it when we did that so much. Love that no one knew except you, Daddy.”

By the time Harry had helped you into your panties, you were already slick from the dirty things he was saying to you and the way he was running his thumbs so close to your pussylips but just missing where you wanted to be touched.

You were meeting friends out for trivia night at the little pub that served the best pizza in town. Harry had his hand wrapped around yours as you both greeted everyone and sat at the booth with them all.

You weren’t sure how it would be possible to cock warm Harry given how many people were smushed into the booth with you both but when he pulled you into his lap, grunting, “S’not enough room, get up in m’lap,” you understood he wasn’t going to let you worry about all that. Harry was in charge. He would figure out how it would work. All you had to do was sit there, perched on his lap looking pretty.

He didn’t make a move to undo his pants or adjust you at all, first just feeling everyone out as you sat with your plush bottom over his thighs and ordered your vodka lemonade.

When the cards were all passed out and the trivia questions began to pop up on the screen everyone had their teams ready. All your friends knew better than to ask which team you wanted to be on because they already knew your answer would be that you were on whatever team Harry was on.

Maybe it was a little pathetic but you honestly didn’t care. He was the love of your life and your best friend. He loved you so much and treated you like you were the best thing that’d ever happened to him and so of course you were going to choose to be with Harry. Even if it was just for a trivia game at a bar.

His big palm splayed across your bare thigh as he whispered into your ear, “I love you.” You wiggled into him and turned to whisper back, “Love you, Daddy.”

It was sickening to everyone around you but also kind of cute in a way. You two were that couple. PDA was part of the package deal if they wanted to hang out with you. The first six months everyone kind of laughed it off. They said you two would chill out once the honeymoon phase was over. But here you were nearly 2 years later and if anything you two were even more touchy-feely.

Trivia nights were once a month. Harry liked to make sure you were spending time with other people and not just him. He wanted you to have friends and get out as much as you could.

When the game started and the pizza was plated you felt Harry’s arm slide around the front of your waist as you wrote down the answer that was discussed between your team. You were always the one in charge of writing down the answers.

“Take it easy on that vodka lemonade, Princess. Need you to have your wits about you when we get home. Okay?”

You nodded and turned to whisper in his ear, cupping around the back of it so no one could read your lips, “When are you gonna stuff me with your big cock, Daddy? Want you inside of me.”

Harry grunted and pinched your thigh shushing at you before he gulped down the last of his water. Harry didn’t drink when you two went out if he was driving. He let you drink but he didn’t like to have any alcohol in his system if he was going to be behind the wheel.

When the game was nearly coming to an end and your team was winning the final round the final category was music, as usual. 30 seconds of a song you had to guess was played for 10 songs. You could double your points if you knew both the name of the artist and the name of the song.

This was the part of the night when the people were boozed up and laughing.

Mel, who was sitting to Harry’s left tapped his arm, “Gotta go take a leak, mind if I scooch out?”

You and Harry had to move to let Mel out but when you both got back into the booth you scooted further in and realized Harry’s cock was solid under your bum. You leaned forward, putting your elbows onto the table, and felt Harry spread your skirt over his lap before he lifted his hips and the next song to guess came over the speakers.

You were distracted by Harry’s movements so you weren’t taking note of the song at all until Gessie poked your wrist with her finger, “So I think that was Bruce Springsteen. But what’s the song?” She snapped her fingers and looked at the other person who was on your team. As the pair were discussing which song it could be you felt the warm, stiff flesh of Harry’s dick under your thigh and you lifted just a bit to blurt out the name of a song you thought of off the top of your head, “Glory Days?”

Your panties were pulled to the side before you felt Harry’s fingers slip through your puffy, wet folds and then he pulled at your hips to draw you back toward him, only this time instead of sitting on his lap, you slowly, slowly slid over his cock. Your skirt was covering him and everything happening underneath.

You sighed when you had him stuffed inside of you and he panted softly into your ear, “Don’t wiggle around too much. Just sit still like a good girl.”

See, wiggling too much might have Harry coming. It’d happened before. The first time you cock warmed him in public (yes, there were multiple occurrences) you were so turned on and flustered that you kept swaying back and forth and squeezing around him. And he tried holding you in place but the whole experience of doing something like that in public was new for both of you. You were both excited and it didn’t help that you were pulsing around him and softly moaning.

When he came he had to act like you’d elbowed him in the gut when someone asked if he was okay. His pained expression and groan were easily played off as something rather innocent.

But Harry preferred coming inside of you only when it was an appropriate time. Usually in private but sometimes in the sex club you both frequented. You did have an exhibitionism kink so fucking at the sex club while others watched was welcome. But not at a local bar during trivia night.

When Mel returned you and Harry didn’t need to move as he sat at the end. You struggled to write down the last few answers as you began to pant softly and felt the liquid from your pussy dribble down.

“I’m gonna get your pants all messy, Daddy. I’m sorry.”

Harry rocked his hips up and you gasped as he adjusted your seating and pulled you closer, “It’s fine baby. You’re doing so good for me.”

And as much as you loved the thrill of secretly cock warming Harry like you were, there was always the issue of parting. If anyone was sat too close they’d see Harry’s cock in all its glory once you removed yourself from him. So you had to be careful about how it was done. Normally you’d order one last drink just as everyone else was paying their bill and getting ready to leave, that way when you two were the last to leave no one really wondered why since you still had a full drink to get through.

And that’s what you did this time as well. Mel hung around for a bit and you just hoped he couldn’t tell you were practically trembling from the way Harry’s cock was splitting you in half right in front of the guy as he yammered on about his job with Harry.

Your skin was hot and you were nearly drooling into your vodka lemonade at the way it felt.

You could tell Harry was at his wits end as well. You’d feel him throb every now and then. The small grunts he’d let out were also a good signal that he was struggling just as much as you were.

The moment Mel slid out of the booth and waved goodbye Harry’s hand was up, motioning to the waiter to ask for the bill for you two. He held your hips and rocked upward a couple of times before he began to pull out of you, “Nice and easy. Oop, stop right there,” he tightened a hand on your hip to keep you steady as he slid his pants up and kept your skirt covering the action.

You were a wobbly, sighing mess of a girl as he got you into his car and took you home.

“Daddy’s gonna take care of you baby. Gonna take away that achiness inside, yeah?” He spoke to you as you were pulled into the house before he lifted you up and carried you to the bed.

You were in a hurry. You needed him right then as you whined and began to pull at your panties but Harry swatted at your thigh, “Let Daddy do it. You just lie there and look pretty for me. My little Princess doesn’t need to lift a finger.”

That was the norm. He preferred you to lay comfortably all spread out underneath him while he did all the work.

He loved the sight of you. Your skin was hot and your limbs were already shaking with need by the time he finally began to lick your pussy. Soft strokes with his tongue only got you even more worked up and had you whimpering and fussing about, “P… please! Daddy!!”

Harry grinned into your pussy, pushing his briefs down his muscled thighs, lips wrapped around your clit as you bucked up into him and pulled at his hair. You were a mess. You needed one thing and one thing only.

“Daddy I need your cock, now!! I’m gonna die if I don’t get it! Oh my god, you’re so mean!”

You felt puffs of air against your wet slit as he laughed and looked up at you, “You’re going to die are you? Wow. That sounds like it’s bad, baby. Tell Daddy what he did that was mean,” he leaned over you, his strong arm reaching over your body to knead at your tits.

You pouted and lifted your head to look at him. You hadn’t even realized he’d already removed his briefs so he was fully naked, cock thick and hard between his thighs, “You… you’re not giving me your dick. And I need it.”

Another breathy laugh fell from his lips, “But I was licking your pussy. Making sure you were ready for me, Princess. Can’t just fuck my pretty girl without her little pussy hole being ready first now can I?”

You sniffled and kept the sad pout on your face so he knew you meant business.

Harry moved his hand up to your chin and squeezed your cheeks, “Don’t pout. Daddy always gives his pretty girl exactly what she wants. Doesn’t he?”

You nodded with a whine.

“That’s right. So don’t be a dramatic bellyaching brat with me. I’m just loving on you, Princess. Trying to take care of you the best I can. You’re hard to please sometimes.”

“Am not!” You countered, your words smushed together as you said them.

Harry let go of your cheeks and you felt him knee up between your legs, his thick masculine thighs pushed against the insides of your thighs as he smoothed his thumb over your mound and down to your clit, “You are. But that’s okay. Because you’re my little princess, aren’t you? She needs her Daddy to take good care of her.”

You began to take shallow breaths into your lungs as you watched him wrap his big hand around his cock and look into your eyes as he reared back, “And Daddy always gives his pretty girl what she wants. Do you know why, baby?”

You sighed as you felt the tip of him press against your empty hole. You wanted it so bad you could taste it, “Because I’m a good girl. Cause you love me, Daddy.”

“Fucking right, Princess. Daddy loves you,” he pressed into you, the girth of him opening your channel in one satisfyingly agonizing plunge. He didn’t snap his hips, but he drove into you until he was finally surrounded, encased fully in your pussy. And as he pulled you close to his chest he continued rocking into you with slow, languid strokes. Full length. He’d pull out to his tip and fuck back into you without pause until he met your cervix and he’d do it again. Nothing hard or fast. Just strong, deep, and teasingly slow.

His breath was on your face as he looked down into your eyes, “God… how’d I get so lucky, huh? Someone who needs me just as much as I need her.” He rolled into you slowly, the sopping mess between your legs just proving his point.

He fucked you dumb most nights. But some nights he was tender and warm. Sometimes he liked to take it slow and gaze into your eyes as he slid himself in and out of you, calling you his princess, his pretty girl, baby…

“Mm… me too!” You breathed out, “So lucky, Daddy. I love you…”

He dropped his lips to your neck as he continued fucking into you at the same pace he had been. Dripping wet, sticky, deep thrusts as you both panted.

You began to buck your hips upward to meet each of his thrusts. You couldn’t help the motion your hips were making as you moaned when Harry took your breast into his mouth.

He sucked on your nipple and felt your cunt squeezing him tight. You were so close already, like he knew you would be. You’d gotten all worked up cock warming him earlier and now you were gagging for it.

“You’re like a little slip-and-slide, pretty girl. Pussy all slippery and soaking wet just for my cock.”

“Uhnnnghh…” you groaned as you felt your insides begin to tingle and sparkle.

“You can come, Princess. Come on Daddy’s cock. I know you want to,” he panted, his own orgasm about to burst, “Easy there…”

You began to shake, your tummy tensed and your pussy clamped down as you sputtered out your words, “Coming! C… ffffuuu… Daaaaady!”

The beautiful spiral of your orgasm wiped you out as Harry continued fucking into you, his cock spreading your walls apart as you spasmed over him, “Pretty girl… so fucking good for Daddy…”

But he could only last so long himself until he was pinning you to the bed with his hips, cock buried deep as he dumped his fertile come into your pulsing hole, “Fuck! Fuck… oh shit…” his face twisted up in bliss.

It had been a bit of a quickie. But who could blame you? After suffering through what you had to during trivia, you both needed relief.

You ran your fingers into his hair and he nuzzled into your neck with a sigh. You both needed a minute to gather your bearings.

When you felt Harry shifting and pulling back so he could look down at you he slid a hand around to your bottom, “Let’s go get your cookies, baby,” he squeezed at your bum as you sat up.

“How many can I have?” You bounced on your bottom before you began to scoot to the end of the bed to hop off.

“As many you want, Princess.”

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this! 2nd part is a Patreon exclusive and is already on Patreon now! Consider joining if you'd like to see more!

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[g0dlyunsub]

stitch me.

you were assigned to negotiate with an unsub keeping a group of females hostage, or so you thought. turns out he has a partner and he’s determined to destroy you, all in front of spencer.

pairing :: spencer x fem!reader

warnings :: lots of physical violence, blood, mentions of murder, knife threats, biting, general criminal minds themes.

word count :: 1.8k

author’s note :: so… this is my first post, like ever. sorry if it’s poorly written, but i’m all for slightly (?) protective reid and just wanted to write about him :3 accompanying song :: savior by novulent

you knew something was more than just off the moment you were violently thrown into the room. the hostages were huddled near the left corner of the room, their eyes locked onto you as their shoulders shook in panic.

but the hostages were all supposed to be women. brunettes. young women in their twenties. so why was there a young man among them? there was no mention of a young man reported missing in the case files or when garcia had compiled the final list of hostages, so who was he?

must’ve been a gap in the reports, you shook your head and tried to get up, but your left cheek met the cold concrete ground once again.

“don’t move, sweetheart.” his knife was positioned at the nape of your throat, and you felt your breaths become more jagged, more erratic.

“listen, i swear i’ll make it up to you i never-“ your breath gets caught in your throat when the blade presses ever so slightly into your skin.

“shut your pretty little mouth. i know who you are, an undercover cop. if you think you’re so smart coming in here without your wire and gun, you should be prepared for the consequences.” he spits the words with a nasty drawl.

you barely have any time to respond as he lifts you up by the back of your shirt and drags you to an adjacent room. he grabs a fistful of your hair and throws you to the ground forcefully.

“all the other girls in there, they’re nothing compared to you. i’ll take my time with you, sweetheart”. he approaches you while cracking his knuckles and waving his knife around menacingly.

“who’s the boy?” your voice comes out with a slight quiver, but you’re determined not to sound scared. the man lets out a bellowing laugh in response, examining his knife in one hand.

“that’s my buddy jack. you cops surely would have done your research, right?” his hand is now gloved around your throat, and you struggle to loosen his grip with your arms.

this killer had a partner sitting right between the hostages and you and your team had completely missed the signs.

but the adrenaline must have kicked in at the right timing, since you manage to knock your head back into his face and quickly swivel to deliver a kick into his shins and bring him to his knees before he has any time to react with his knife. then you strike him unconscious with a swift elbow to his temple.

you barely have any time to recover, however, when a blow hits the back of your head and your world comes spinning down. before your eyelids slowly close, you manage to steal a glance at the perpetrator — the male hostage had knocked you with a bat and was now trying to shake his unconscious partner awake.

when you open your eyes, you can’t move. your arms are tied behind your back, and your legs are tightly trapped behind the legs of the chair with knots of rope. you were in the main room now with all of the other hostages, and the former hostage was on the ground, still trying to shake his partner awake.

“look what you’ve done, you stupid brat. i swear if you’ve killed him i'm going to SLIT YOUR THR-“ the crescendo of his voice halts with the abrupt ring of the telephone hanging on the wall. he huffs and makes his way to the phone, never losing his eye contact with you. you try to wrestle against the ropes, but your efforts are useless and your energy is at an all time low.

it was your team on the other end. they must have figured out that it was a team of two and not just one.

“your stupid cop knocked samuel cold and split his skin open. send me a medic and maybe i won’t kill all of them here”. jack’s tone is agitated, threatening, and also lost. now that his commander wasn’t in charge, he didn’t know what to do with the hostages, let alone you.

you can barely decipher hotch’s words as they filter through the noise of the phone. “release the women, and i’ll send you all the medical attention you need. we’ll make sure samuel gets the stitches.” his voice is level and controlled. you’ve always trusted hotch and you’ve always trusted your team, but you couldn’t help but let a sliver of anxiousness cloud your thoughts.

and oh god, spencer. how would he cope when you were gone? how would he react at the sight of your cold body, drowned in the blood of the other hostages? tears fill your eyes and you make a poor attempt to swallow them back.

just as you think of your boyfriend, you hear his name through the phone.

“we're going to send in doctor spencer reid to have a look at samuel, alright jack? i want you to let the women go first. the sooner you do this, the sooner samuel gets his help”.

no. no, no, no. NO.

you squirm in your seat, trying to divert jack’s attention.

“wait-“ you try to shout, before jack cuts you off: “SHUT UP! this is all your fault!” he rolls his eyes before he turns around. jack’s knuckles had turned white, maintaining a deathly grip on the telephone.

“fine. but the cop stays with me.” he slams the phone before he rushes back to check on samuel.

the women are released one by one, each frantically making their way out, and you can hear cops outside ushering them and retreating.

it’s only a few minutes later when you hear the familiar sounds of the leather shoes make their way inside of the room. it’s spencer, and he has no wire, no gun, no vest. he’s carrying a medical first aid kit and making his way toward samuel, but not before taking a glance at you.

your world collapses, right there and then. he’s made the same mistake you had by entering without his gun and vest, and you had to give him a signal somehow. if luck was on your side, spencer would make it out alive. but you? your chances are slim.

“hurry up and stitch him up. don’t fuckin look at the other cop.” jack points his knife at spencer, and you let out a hitched yelp. please don’t hurt him. hurt me instead.

spencer gets down to work quickly, examining and tending to the wounds on samuel’s face, and he doesn’t look up in your direction once. jack’s watching him the entire time, tapping his left foot in impatience.

“there. he’s all good, samuel just needs some time to recov-“ spencer raises his arms and turns his back against you, and faces jack as he speaks.

“shut- sit on that chair”. jack motions at spencer to sit down on the chair across from you. you shake your head fervently, yelling constant streams of don’t to him. but he obliges.

“put your arms behind your back,” jack orders, and spencer obliges. you make a desperate attempt and kick at jack to try and distract him. but jack only slaps you in the face with his backhand before aiming the knife at spencer. your boyfriend flinches, and his friendly facade is now masked with a deathly glare.

“don’t move.” jack grabs duct tape and moves swiftly to bind spencer’s hands together behind the chair. you hang your head down. it’s over.

“listen, let spence- let him go. it’s just between you and me, your partner said you only need me”. you shakingly drew in a deep breath as you spoke.

jack chuckles before he makes a step toward you. the next thing you know, he’s grabbed you by the hair and he’s delivering punches left and right, hurling screams of expletives and slurs. he’s lost it. and you were going to die.

he positions the knife at your chest, and you know he'll do it. you know he will drive that blade straight to your skin. straight to your heart.

“STOP. STOP! PLEASE!” you hear spencer rocking his chair forwards, and jack finally stops. you can’t breathe with all the blood pooling in your mouth, and you let the excess drawl out of your lips to land on the floor.

“jack, listen to me, please.” spencer looks at you with pleading eyes, silently signaling you to not move. to not agitate jack further.

“no. samuel said he was gonna kill her and i have to finish what he started for him”. jack leans forward and pulls the collar of your shirt outwards, and bites down on your neck. you let out a painful scream, tears running down your face just as more blood leaves the corner of your lips. spencer thrashes in his chair, trying to shift jack’s attention.

“but i stitched him up. samuel will live. let her go. you can take it out on me.” spencer’s voice is desperate, but there’s a tone of controlled execution, because his voice isn’t quivering like before.

at that instant, doors fling open and less than a millisecond later, jack drops to the ground, his knife toppling down to the floor soon after. the team of cops, along with hotch and rossi, make their way toward you and spencer, untying the knots.

between the yells of “we need a medic” and comforting words of “you’re going to be okay” being uttered left and right, you hear spencer’s voice. it’s seemingly amplified for some reason, and you can’t help but smile. your boyfriend rushes towards you, sweeping your hair and cradling you back and forth in his arms.

“you’re so brave, you’re so brave y/n.” his voice comes out stifled and hoarse, and you feel him grip your hand even tighter.

“i’m so sorry i let you go in there alone. i’m so sorry i let him do that to you, torture you and almost-“ his head buried into the crook of your neck, and he lightly kisses you right above the dried cut where jack had attacked you.

you turn your head ever so slightly to get a better look at spencer. tears coat his eyelashes and his mouth shakes as he talks. a soft groan rolls out from the back of your throat, and you snuggle deeper into spencer’s hold.

“keep… talking. i want… to hear… you.” you manage to let out, and spencer’s eyes widen.

“of course. i can do that. i’ll keep talking to you, y/n. focus on my voice, can you do that?” he asks with a slight squeeze to your palm. you give a slow nod in return.

that’s all he needs, because when the medics transfer you into the ambulance, he’s sitting right beside you, not letting go of your hand, and whispering nothing but bittersweet apologies.

his voice is the only stitch you need.

[yvesssssssss]

Hi~ *cough**cough* do you open request? Could you write sickfic where Sakamoto days boys pamper reader that fell sick? I'm catching a cold currently and need some fluff fic🤒😷if it's too much then I'll just ask for nagumo

Sick Days with the Boys

Hope you feel better soon! Get plenty of rest and take care!

Nagumo Yoichi

Nagumo dramatically gasps when he sees you curled up under layers of blankets, sniffling. "Oh no, my beloved has fallen in battle… to a common cold." He places a hand over his heart like he’s truly in mourning.

"Yoichi, shut up," you mumble, voice hoarse.

But instead of teasing further, he leans down and presses the back of his hand against your forehead, his usual playful smirk replaced with something softer. "You're burning up," he murmurs. "Don't worry, babe. The world's greatest assassin is also the world's greatest nurse."

…Which explains why he disappears for twenty minutes and then returns wearing a ridiculous nurse’s outfit. "What the hell are you wearing?"

Nagumo grins. "A uniform is key to getting into character!" He twirls a spoonful of steaming soup in front of your face. "Now, open up, sweetheart. Say 'ahh'~"

Despite your glare, you let him feed you. He’s surprisingly gentle about it, blowing on the soup to cool it down before pressing it to your lips. "Good patient," he praises, tucking the blankets around you snugly. Then, without warning, he flops beside you.

"You'll get sick, idiot," you grumble.

"Then we'll be sick together. Romantic, right?"

You groan, but when he pulls you close, warm and solid against your aching body, you can’t bring yourself to push him away.

Shin Asakura

Shin nearly has a heart attack when he hears your thoughts before even seeing you. Ugh… I feel like I’m dying…

He kicks open your door like a SWAT team member, eyes wide with panic. "Who’s dying?! What happened?!"

You peek out from under your blanket pile, looking like a pathetic, sniffling mess. "…Me."

His whole body deflates with relief, but then his worry kicks back in. "You should’ve told me you weren’t feeling well!" He rushes to your bedside, hands awkwardly hovering like he wants to help but isn’t sure how.

"Stay still, I’ll—wait, do you need medicine? Food? Water? Do you want me to read your mind so you don’t have to talk?"

You sigh. "Shin, just lie down with me."

He stiffens. "But you'll get me sick—"

"Please?" You blink up at him, miserable and exhausted.

Shin groans but immediately kicks off his shoes and climbs into bed beside you, wrapping you up in a careful but firm hug. "Fine, but if I get sick, you're nursing me back to health," he mumbles against your hair.

You hum in contentment, already drifting off. "Deal."

Natsuki Seba

Natsuki walks in, sees you half-dead in bed, and immediately goes, "Damn, that sucks. Anyway—"

"Natsuki."

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright, alright. I’ll take care of you."

You watch as he fumbles around the kitchen, somehow making tea and getting medicine without burning anything down. When he returns, he nudges you until you sit up, handing you a warm cup. "Drink. It’s not poisoned, I promise."

You raise an eyebrow. "…Was that a possibility?"

He shrugs. "Not saying yes, not saying no."

Despite his usual deadpan attitude, he sticks around, flipping through his phone while you sip your tea. At some point, he starts running his fingers through your hair absentmindedly, and when you sigh in relief, he pauses.

Then he keeps going.

"You’re weirdly good at this," you mumble.

"Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it," he grumbles, but his fingers never stop moving.

Gaku

Gaku stares at you like you’ve personally betrayed him. "How’d ya let a little cold take you out?"

"Ask my immune system," you deadpan.

Gaku huffs, crossing his arms. "Guess I gotta take care of ya, huh? Fine, but only ‘cause you look pathetic."

He disappears and comes back with an absurd amount of food—snacks, soup, even a ridiculous-looking fruit platter. "Eat," he commands, sitting next to you.

You take a bite and glance at him. "Aren’t you worried about getting sick?"

He scoffs. "Please. My immune system is built different."

Thirty-six hours later, he’s sneezing his lungs out next to you.

"You definitely got me sick," he groans.

You pat his head. "Guess it's my turn to take care of you."

"...Yeah, yeah. Just don’t tell anyone I went down this easy."

[archangeldyke-all]

MORE HIGHSCHOOL SEVIKA X READER I BEG

okay these baby butches are the only thing i can find any inspiration to write about rn lol lets do it

men and minors dni

"uhm..." sevika grabs your wrist as you start packing up your backpack. the streetlights have just flicked on, which means you have ten minutes to get home from your hideout before your mom gets mad.

"what?" you ask. sevika gulps. "sevika, what?" you ask. "you wanna come over for dinner?"

sevika huffs, then darts forward to kiss your cheek.

you bite your tongue to keep from smiling like an idiot.

you're still not used to that. it's been almost a year of you and sevika dating, and you still get butterflies when she kisses you.

"uh... y'know homecoming is coming up..." sevika whispers.

you grin. oh. sevika's trying to ask you to the dance. you laugh and grab her hand. "sevika. shut up." you say. she gasps and glares at you, and you snort, squeezing her hand. "i've got this whole stupid thing planned out to ask you. don't ruin the surprise."

sevika blinks at you, sparkles growing in her pretty eyes. "wh-- but you just ruined it!"

you giggle and shrug. "i have to get home, and i knew you'd be worrying about it all night if i didn't just tell you."

sevika tackles you to the ground, her lips pressed to yours, both of your laughs mingling as you kiss. you end up being late for dinner and lose desert privileges for the night.

it's totally worth it.

your plan is to buy her some flowers and take her to jericho's. but then you realize that the markets in zaun don't sell flowers that aren't meant for smoking, and jericho gets the flu and closes his stall down indefinitely.

sevika gets more and more anxious throughout the week, all giggly and nervous around you-- anticipating you'll ask her at any moment. it's really fucking cute. you don't want to disappoint her.

so, you do the second best thing.

you ditch school after lunch on friday and hoof it all the way up to the bridge. you spend about an hour picking the prettiest wildflowers you can find, then about twenty minutes picking thorns out of your hands.

instead of jericho's, you stop at a candy shop and get a pound of sevika's favorite candied pecans.

and then, on your walk to the hideout, you manage to snag an unattended bottle of hooch off one of the stands in the markets.

sevika's bitching at you before you can even fully climb the ladder to your hideout.

"you ditched me before physics!? what the hell is wrong with you, you're the only reason i go to that class and you--" she cuts herself off when you finally haul yourself up, one arm full of all your treasures.

you giggle at the shy smile that starts to grow on her face.

"i had some things to do." you say. sevika takes a step toward you, reaching out to grab the bouquet from your hands. "careful-- some of those have thorns."

"where did you get flowers?" sevika whispers. you giggle.

"i have my ways."

sevika rolls her eyes, then lets a grin take over her face. "so... are you gonna ask me?"

you laugh. "i don't have anything nice to wear, y'know. i'm not a very proper date."

"wear that nice black turtleneck of yours and your good jeans." sevika demands. you grin.

"you got my wardrobe memorized?"

"shut up. you haven't asked me yet." she says, kicking your shin. you giggle.

"will you go to the dance with me tomorrow night? we can get drunk and graffiti the girls' bathroom." you say, wagging the bottle of hooch in her face.

sevika grins. "alright." she agrees. "now come here and make up for abandoning me during physics." sevika demands, making grabby hands for you.

you cackle and set your presents to the side, wrapping your arms around your girlfriend and gently leaning in, trying not to crush the flowers as you kiss her.

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@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @sevikasllver

[ericshoney]

Stark's Wit~ Tony Stark

Summary: You're not the best at hand-to-hand combat, but your the second best Stark with sarcastic responses.

Warnings: Platonic nicknames, possible swearing, sarcastic humour.

Reader's Age: 18

The biting wind whipped around Y/n as she stood on the training platform, a scowl etched on her face. Sparring with super soldiers in January was not her idea of a fun Friday afternoon. Especially when all she had to defend herself was the Stark family arsenal of sarcasm.

“Alright, kid, you ready?” Steve, radiating earnest encouragement, adjusted his gloves. Beside him, Bucky simply stared, his metal arm gleaming dully in the overcast light. Sam hovered behind them, a wry grin on his face. He knew how this usually went.

"Born ready, Captain Rogers," Y/n quipped, her voice dripping with irony. "Just try not to break anything too important. Dad would have a conniption if his precious lab assistant came back in pieces."

Steve winced. He still wasn't entirely used to Y/n's… bluntness. "We'll be careful, Y/n. This is just for practice."

"Practice for what? The Super Soldier Olympics?" She rolled her eyes. "Last time I checked, my skill set leaned more towards coding and caffeine addiction, not hand-to-hand combat."

Bucky finally spoke, his voice gruff. "Everyone needs to know how to defend themselves, Stark. Especially with your… family history."

That hit a little too close to home. Y/n tightened her jaw. "Right, because I specifically asked to be born into a world of interdimensional travel, rogue AI, and sentient purple grapefruits. My bad."

Steve sighed and stepped forward. "Alright, enough talking. Let's see what you've got."

The next few minutes were, to put it mildly, humiliating. Steve, ever the gentleman, pulled his punches, but even he couldn't help but land a few glancing blows. Bucky, predictably, was less restrained. His metal arm was like a battering ram, and Y/n found herself mostly dodging and weaving, her reflexes surprisingly sharp despite her lack of formal training.

"Having fun yet?" Sam called out, leaning against the railing.

"Oh, I'm having a ball, Sam," Y/n gasped, narrowly avoiding Bucky's fist. "This is exactly how I pictured spending my Friday: getting pummeled by a century-old assassin. Living the dream, really."

She managed to duck under Steve’s arm and deliver a swift kick to his shin. It wasn’t exactly a knockout blow, but it was enough to make him stumble.

"Not bad, Y/n," Steve said, rubbing his leg. "You're getting faster."

"Years of dodging Dad's bad science puns have honed my reflexes," she retorted, then spun to face Bucky, who was advancing with a predatory gleam in his eye. "Alright, Tin Man, let's dance!"

Bucky lunged. This time, Y/n tried a different tactic. As he swung his metal arm, she sidestepped and grabbed a handful of his long hair, yanking him off balance.

"Whoa! Hey!" Bucky sputtered, momentarily disoriented.

"Sorry, Barnes! Didn't know you were so sensitive about your 'vintage chic' hairstyle," Y/n said, releasing him and darting away.

Sam burst out laughing. Even Steve cracked a smile. Bucky, however, wasn't amused. He charged again, his movements less precise, fueled by irritation.

Y/n knew she couldn't keep this up forever. She was already winded, and her sarcasm reserves were starting to run dry. As Bucky cornered her near the edge of the platform, she knew she was out of options.

"Okay, okay, I surrender!" she yelled, throwing her hands up in the air. "Uncle! Mercy! I admit defeat! You win, metal arm! You’re the best at… uh… arming metal-ly! Yeah, that’s the one.”

Bucky stopped, his expression a mixture of annoyance and begrudging amusement. “You’re impossible, Stark.”

“That’s what my therapist keeps telling me,” Y/n said, panting. She collapsed onto a nearby bench, gathering her breath.

Steve clapped her on the shoulder. "You did well, Y/n. You're quick, and you think on your feet. You just need to work on your… offensive capabilities."

"My offense is impeccable," Y/n said, gesturing to Bucky. "Just ask him. I practically incapacitated him with my devastating wit."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, well, wit doesn't exactly stop a bullet."

"True," Y/n conceded. "But it can annoy someone enough that they forget what they were going to do in the first place. That's a defense mechanism in itself, right?"

She looked up at their faces, a hopeful glimmer in her eyes. They were her dad’s friends, family even. And despite the inherent strangeness of having super soldiers trying to turn her into a miniature Avenger, she knew they cared.

Steve, ever the optimist, gave her a reassuring smile. "It's a start, Y/n. We'll keep working on it."

"Great," Y/n said, her sarcasm returning full force. "Just promise me one thing: next time, can we at least do this in a heated environment? And maybe with a pizza? I'm pretty sure I can weaponize pepperoni."

Bucky rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile playing on his lips. Even he had to admit, Y/n Stark, with her sharp tongue and Stark-brand stubbornness, was growing on him. Even if she did almost pull his hair out. He smirked, “I’d pay to see that.”

As the three men began to pack up, Y/n pulled out her phone. Time to order that pizza. And maybe send Dad a text. Something along the lines of: 'Almost got murdered by Bucky today. Send backup (and maybe a new shield design. Sarcasm-proof, preferably).

Tags:

@parkjihoonsnudes @riowritesitall @mandmilovehim @onelesslonelygirlbieber6 @lgbtq-girl

Dividers by: @issysh3ll

[demie90s]

Nah We Cousins

Phoenix Mercury x Rookie!Reader x Rookie!OC (Aaliyah Gardener)

MASTERLIST | MORE

Genre: Tension, chaos, dominance, found family aftermath

Warnings: Fistfight, blood, strong language

Vibe: You fought and won. And everyone knows it.

Word Count~ 1k

How It Started

Big-name scouts lined the sideline, clipboards out, heads down, pretending not to watch every move we made. A few reps from the Mercury were there. One from the Wings. Even some overseas coaches who didn’t speak much English but understood talent.

Everyone was calm. Then there’s us.

Me and Aaliyah. Matching energy. Matching egos. The only two names anyone was really there to see.

We didn’t speak. But everybody felt it.

They paired us on opposite teams. Dumb move. We’d been getting into it all week—eye-rolls, little bumps, passive-aggressive comments in group drills.

The assistant coach tried to be slick with it. “Let’s see some full-court man defense. Keep it clean.”

The ball tipped. Five minutes later, it was on.

She fouled me on a rebound—elbow in the back, no call. I pushed off hard, got the layup, and stared her down all the way back down court.

“You always been soft,” I muttered, jogging beside her.

She laughed. “You always been loud.”

She hit me with a screen so hard my soul damn near left my body. I bounced back up and shoved her in the chest. She shoved back.

And that’s when it happened. No words. No buildup. Just fists. Right there, in front of half the damn WNBA scouting department, we faded.

I swung first—caught her jaw. She hit back. Grabbed my jersey. We slammed into the bench. I slipped, kicked her shin. She locked my arm, flipped me over onto the floor.

The gym lost it.

Coaches yelling. Players frozen. One scout dropped his iPad. A camera guy ducked behind a cooler. We were rolling on the floor, swinging like grown men in a back alley.

“You wanna play with me?” I yelled, trying to pin her.

“I BEEN playing with you,” she snapped, flipping me and driving a knee into my thigh.

It took four people to break us up. Two of them had clipboards. We were dragged to opposite corners like boxers between rounds. Breathing hard. Lip busted. Sweat dripping. I spit into the trash. Aaliyah wiped her eye.

And then, at the same time, we both said: “I’m good.”

We stood up. Walked toward each other again. Coach looked ready to faint. But instead of swinging, we dapped up. Firm. Quick. No apologies.

“GG,” I said.

“Always,” she nodded.

Then we sat side by side on the bleachers, legs stretched out, shoulder to shoulder like we didn’t just throw hands in front of every top-tier basketball rep in North America.

“You hungry?” she asked, scrolling through her phone.

I nodded. “You still like that spot with the fried shrimp and the cornbread?”

She grinned. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

The gym was silent.

One of the Wings reps whispered, “They fought like pit bulls…and now they wanna get lunch?”

The Mercury scout just said, “We need that. Fights and all.”

And from that day forward our reputations were set.

Untouchable. Too skilled to ignore. Too wild to separate.

Because yeah—maybe we fade. Maybe we fight in front of scouts, teammates, and cameras. But we always ride together. Always recover.

Because that’s what cousins do. And nobody wants smoke with both of us.

————

How It’s Going

Everybody always asks how two girls who fight this much still claim best friends.

Easy.

We’re cousins. Not by blood, but by bond. The type of bond that forms when you’ve been hooping together since middle school and both happen to be certified demons on the court. I’m Y/N—6’0, top pick, “let’s go” in human form. Aaliyah’s 6’2, strategic, smooth with it. I bark. She bites. And if you see us in a game? Mind your business.

We got drafted a week apart—me to Phoenix, her to Dallas. And ever since, everybody’s been waiting for us to either drop a mixtape…or kill each other.

Spoiler: we don’t kill each other. We fight, sure. On sight. But it’s love. Fade and forgive. That’s the code. And today? Today was one of those days.

It was supposed to be a calm joint press session. Phoenix x Dallas. Just the teams, coaches, a few PR people, and the camera crew. Some neutral outdoor space in the back of the hotel, sun out, mics set up, everybody half-asleep sipping smoothies and talking “brand identity.”

And then Aaliyah looked at me. Didn’t say a word. Just cocked her head and raised one eyebrow.

Oh.

So that’s what we on. I stood up slow, cracked my knuckles, and dropped my phone on the bench.

BG muttered, “Oh nah.”

Lexi blinked. “Wait are they—”

Too late. We rushed each other on the concrete. No announcements. No warmup. Just violence.

She swung first—classic jab to the chest. I ducked, wrapped her waist, and took her down like we was at WrestleMania. She flipped me. I elbowed her. She punched me in the thigh. I bit her wrist. We were rolling, slamming, talking shit under our breath like two uncles at a cookout who been holding this in for years.

“She kicked her in the shin,” someone gasped.

“Is that blood?” someone else whispered.

The cameras were still rolling. Coach tried to say something, but even he knew better. BG just backed up with her hands in the air.

“I told y’all,” she said, sipping her water. “That’s between them.”

Aaliyah slammed me into a recycling bin. I pulled her by her ponytail and shoved her into a folding chair. We broke the mic stand. She got a scratch on her face. I had gravel in my elbow. Grown men on both staffs didn’t know what to do.

Then—silence. Both of us breathing heavy, sitting on opposite curbs like we just finished a boxing match.

She spat into the grass. “You good?”

I wiped my lip. “Yeah. GG.”

We stood up, brushed the dirt off, and dapped up. Tight grip. Head nod. Done. Then I sat down next to her like we ain’t just fight in front of two franchises and a live camera crew.

“So anyway—you seen that movie? The one with the kids running away? And they gotta hitchhike or whatever?”

Aaliyah blinked, already pulling out her phone. “You talkin’ about the one with the lil white boy and the bus driver?”

“Yes! That one. You gotta see it.”

Coach looked like he was gonna cry. “Do you two even care how that looked?!”

I blinked. “Like what?”

Aaliyah shrugged. “It’s family business.”

One of the PR girls whispered, “…are we still doing the interviews?”

BG answered for her. “Hell no. Y’all need to reset the chairs.” Meanwhile, me and Aaliyah were already halfway into a bag of chips, arguing over which episode to start on Netflix.

Because that’s just what we do. We throw hands. Shake hands. Watch TV. Don’t mess with us though. Because if we ever fight you?

We Tag Teaming.

———

Next. And totally Not Cause I forgot Where this was going.

By the time we stepped on the court, everybody knew what was about to happen.

Phoenix versus Dallas. Me in the Mercury jersey, Aaliyah across from me in that blue and green Wings fit, bouncing the ball like she wasn’t already planning to violate me for fun. The crowd was loud, but it didn’t matter. This wasn’t just a game. It was a long overdue 1v1 that just so happened to be wrapped inside a televised WNBA matchup.

She looked across the court and smiled—not sweet, not nice. That “you ready to get your ass beat?” smile she always gives me when she’s about to start something.

I smiled back, bounced on my toes, and cracked my neck. I wasn’t just ready. I’d been waiting.

From the opening tip, we locked in on each other like no one else existed. Plays were called, offenses were run, coaches shouted from the sidelines, and we both ignored every bit of it. I didn’t even hear Coach. All I saw was her—6’2, smooth footwork, locked in on me like a sniper. And me? I was in that zone. Wild. Explosive. Let’s go.

She got the first bucket, snatching a lazy pass out of the air and going coast to coast with a behind-the-back finish off the glass. The crowd roared. I clapped once and nodded, like, “Okay. Cute.”

Next possession, I called iso. Didn’t even pass half court before pointing at her.

“Come here.”

She grinned and jogged up, waving everyone else away. “Don’t embarrass yourself.”

I dropped her off with a stepback crossover so nasty she hit the stutter, then drained a three in her face. The gym exploded.

That’s how it went—back and forth, blow for blow. Elbows, body contact, snatching rebounds straight out each other’s hands. Every time I scored, she answered. Every time she clowned me with a move, I clowned back harder. We weren’t even talking to teammates. They knew to clear out and let it happen. This wasn’t team basketball anymore. This was personal.

On the bench, BG just shook her head and leaned back like she was watching a street fight. “Nah. This ain’t even about the game anymore. This family business.”

Meanwhile, the fans were out of their minds. Clips started going viral mid-game. Commentators couldn’t keep up. One of them said, “We’re witnessing the most intense 1v1 matchup inside a team game I’ve ever seen.”

The other one laughed. “This isn’t a rivalry. This is a ritual.”

We were guarding each other full-court like it was a damn championship. There were scratches. There were bruises. She fouled me twice—I didn’t care. I pushed her mid-jumper—she smiled.

Fourth quarter hit and the score was tied, but we were too deep into our battle to care.

She came down the court with the ball, and I clapped twice, crouched into position. “Do something with it.”

She drove right, spun left, bumped me in the chest and rose for a jumper. I jumped with her, full hand in her face—and she still hit it.

Next play, I called for the rock. Clock winding down. I hit her with a hesitation that got her leaning, exploded left, and pulled up from deep—splash. We both stood at half court afterward, breathing hard, staring each other down.

We were drenched in sweat. Bruised. Smirking.

She stepped forward first. “You still slow.”

I wiped my mouth. “You still trash.”

We dapped up. Both teams were rattled. Coaches looked confused. PR teams were already whispering about trade opportunities. Fans were chanting “WE WANT BOTH” like it was a hostage negotiation.

BG just stood near the scorer’s table shaking her head. “No way they play like that against each other and still wanna ride home together.”

After the game, we walked off the court together. Didn’t even shower first. Just grabbed a couple orange slices, sat in the tunnel, and pulled out our phones.

“You seen that movie yet?” I asked, kicking my legs out.

“Hell yeah. Shit was sad.” We both laughed.

Because for all the madness, the slams, the smack talk, and the bruises, at the end of the day, we weren’t rivals. We weren’t enemies. We weren’t even just teammates in spirit. We were cousins.

And that meant no matter what the scoreboard said, no matter who got the last bucket, it was always love. Right after the fade.

@xxsnowxx213 @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog

[616ioi]

❛ #HUFF HUFF! Sakamoto days.

────────── hey google, why can't i stop thinking of my ex-sleeping buddy? .ᐟ.ᐟ

⤿ pairings. shin asakura x gn reader

⤿ contents. sub&bottom character, handj0b, mentions of wet dreams, this is mainly them coming together as one aww. this is mature content, read at your own discretion.

⤿ thoughts. shh they don't know how freaky i really am 💔😔😔

The nerve you have to look him in the eye and converse with him irked him to a sense he couldn't even describe!

How dare you act in such a way.

Shin taps away at the countertop, his apron resting so neatly against his body (not a single speck of dust on that ugly green thing). He feels frustrated.

You're staying over tonight. What if it happens again? What is he going to do then? He's been laying awake for nights on end, thinking and, as much as it hurts to admit, caressing himself.

His hands would curl into fists around his pijama pants, and he would slightly squirm before his fingers trailed over his abdomen. He would shut his eyes and imagine that night, over and over and over again.

He would never, actually do anything. After all, he was in the home of his beloved hero. With his family.

Riiinggg!

"I'm back, Shin!"

Aoi! His face lights up as he quickly runs to help her out with the groceries in her arms. He falters in his steps when he catches those eyes that have been haunting him for weeks now.

You send him a friendly wave.

The blond esper bites his bottom lip, and his gaze wavers shyly. His biceps flex as he walks up the stairs leading to their home.

His face feels hot!

He quickly sets the bags on the kitchen table and turns to the cheery woman. He refuses to meet your eyes. Rather, he hides behind his blond hair.

"Do you need any help?"

"Oh no, thank you very much, Shin!" Aoi perks up with a huge smile, like always. She carefully goes through the products of face masks that you bought. "Me, hana, Lu, and (name) are going to have a makeover night! Isn't it exciting?!"

Shin's smile visibly deflates alongside his shoulders before he pops himself back into shape.

This means you won't share a room with him!

But then, why is he sharing a room with Mr. Sakamoto?

She kicked me out. The white haired man explains. He looks like the saddest pup on the block.

"Uff.." Shin scrambles to find a response to cheer up this sad mode. "Must be tough..."

Did I do something wrong? Sakamoto trails off. The younger boy nearly replies but he's cut off. Did I say something wrong. I'm sorry. What did I do?

"Um." Shin feels sweat form at his face as he squirms uncomfortably. He nearly jolts out of bed as he finds the perfect excuse — "I needa hit the loo."

The esper sighs in relief. Only Aoi seems to get a rise out of him. As his feet softly hit the floor, his mind subconsciously wanders to you.

Have you fallen asleep yet?

...There's no sound. No dream, no image. Nothing.

He frowns before his eyes widen, catching himself. He slaps himself as hard as he can, yelping.

Was he disappointed??

He locks his jaw before rushing into the bathroom, only to jump when he runs straight into you. He stares for a heavy second before breaking out into a sweat.

"Sorry!" He squeaks out, hairs standing on end. You calmly dry your hands with a small, embarrassed grin.

"Don't worry. 'Was just washing my hands." Your reassurance calms him down, but the silence that engulfs the tiny bathroom — doesn't. You seem to think of something.

Shin does everything in his power to not read your mind.

You've been avoiding me.

Darn it.

His hair is spiked up, all messy, from the tossing and turning in his bed. He thinks he looks like a mess, but you? You think he looks adorable.

A red blush spreads across his cheeks before he parts his lips, wetting them nervously.

"I haven't been avoiding you.." You shake your head, clearly not believing him. "Well, n-not obviously."

"You won't even glance at me." Shin quickly meets your teary eyes before they fall unto the shower curtains. The little fishes on the curtain were fading away from all the water, tainting it. "See!"

"Um," you tilt your head, "well, the night you stayed over.. uh, you uhh kinda had a d-dream of-"

"Of you." A look of recognition rises across your pretty features. Shin nods, embarrassed.

I made you uncomfortable, "I'm sorry, shin."

No. Shin thinks, "That's not it.."

Whoops. He didn't mean to say that aloud.

He flushes as he steps closer to you, hands hoovering over your elbows. He was afraid to touch you.

"I've... never been the subject of admiration before." His brows knit together, fingers twitching as he drops his arms to his sides.

Much less of a dirty dream.

"Oh." You swallow nervously.

It's not the first time. You're twiddling with your shirt, eyes looking at the cute bunny slippers on your feet. They were aoi's spare ones.

"H-huh?" The room feels hot. Or is it just him?

You step closer to him until your chest is just an inch away from him. Barely. Shin grips at his pants, his heart beat spiking up.

"I've had many dreams of you," you shrug as if this information was nothing new. After all, he can read minds. It's going to come out anyway. "Many where we had sex even as just friends."

Shin gulps as blood rushes all over his body. What are you insinuating?

"That's not who you are, though." You muse, brushing back his sweaty hair. His skin is hot to the touch. "You want to make love with someone who you have feelings for. Isn't that right?"

Shin presses his lips together to hold back any embarrassed cries. He was 100% sure he wouldn't even be able to form a sentence without stumbling and stuttering.

"Do you like me, shin?" His head bows, but you're quick to cup his cheek as you force him to look at you. Your touch is so tender. He's almost tempted to move your hand even lower.

He hesitates.

I like you, Shin. His ears burn as he stares wide eye, in curiosity? Disbelief? He isn't sure.

Nonetheless — he nods. Once.

It's a confirmation.

-kiss me.. you think.

"Can I kiss you? Please?" Before you even get a proper response, Shin lunges forward. He grasps at the collar of your shirt and pulls you in to steal a kiss.

Your lips taste of cherry.

His head feels light and dizzy when you open your mouth to push your tongue against his. His hold on you loosens, legs trembling as he decides to lower himself to his knees, bringing you down with him.

He can feel you, shockingly.

Every thought, every sensation, every feeling. It's overwhelming. He feels like he's being electrocuted as his pulse quickens.

More. He tries to gasp out loud and he ends up getting frustrated when you slow down. He pulls away, tongue hanging out as he processes whats going on.

In your mind, you imagine a little puppy.

"S-shut up." Shin grunts, embarrassed, as he closes his wet, pink lips. He wipes at them with the back of his wrist, hips rocking gently. He pulls you closer by your clothes before his hands cup your jaw as he presses tender kissing to your cheek.

You smile, curious.

"What's up?"

"You really do like me." Shin breathes out. He earns a nod in return. His body relaxes into you, shivers raking down his back. You pull him into a warm hug, one leg in between his. His hips buck involuntarily as his breath hitches when his boner rubs against your thigh.

"I've never felt that before." He hiccups, stomach churning with need. You nod in understanding. Your hands trail from his back to the hem of his shirt, lifting it just enough to spot the way his muscles twitch.

"How was it?" Shin sighs in relief when you rub him through his tight pants. You can feel him pulsating.

He bites his lip, hips angling higher to find a more comfortable position. "I could - hnng, feel everything you felt, ah.."

You smile at him, "but it was just a kiss?"

He throws his head back with a groan. The door softly thuds under his weight. "C'monn, quit teasin'.."

A chuckle escapes you as you slip your nimble fingers underneath his pants yet over his boxers.

"Here?" You feather like touch dips over the wet spot, purposely missing the head.

"Noo.." He shakes his head rapidly, slapping his palm over his mouth as his ears burn. He sounds so needy.

Just like in your dream(s).

But even better. You think to yourself.

"What about this?" Your fingers trace the print of his cock slowly, as if you were trying to memorize his.. well, everything. Shin curses under his breath, rocking his hips back and forth.

He lifts his shirt up to get a better view (more like give you a better view, but he'd never admit that). You eye his body, from his pink nipples to the v-line trailing downwards. He tries his best to hide that shy grin that forms on his face.

"More, please." You lean forward to press a wet kiss to his bitten and bruised lips as a reward. He huffs out in response. You pull out your hand to, finally, free him of the clothing, only to leave his pants mid-thigh. Is this supposed to be some sort of restraint?

His chest heaves rapidly, impatiently. You leave a trail of kisses from his jaw to his chest, down his v-line and finally at the base of his cock. Shin watches eagerly with wide eyes, arching his hips into you.

You grasp at him, his twitching cock in your hand. It feels so hot, you can't help but tease him with a kiss to his leaking tip.

Mwah.

The action smears sticky, white goo against your lips, and it seems to be making more of a mess when you lick at your lips.

His mouth drops open at the lewd scene, but his heart warms up, too.

How confusing he is.

You hum in pleasure as you lay your tongue flat against his slit, licking up more of his precum. Shin whimpers softly, pushing his hips further. More, more, more.

Knockknockknock.

The sound of rapid knocks break him out of his daze as you jolt up, surprised.

Oh drats! I'm going to pee myself!

"Lu!" Shin whisper yells to you as he scrambles to fix himself. He winces painfully as he hurries to find a hiding spot.

"[Naaaammeee], hurry please!!"

Oh god. He's dead.

[curlysswirlywirly]

TAN LINES

summer in konoha rarely ever arrives gently, even the wind, when it shows up, doesn’t offer any reprieve. it’s dry and hot and only manages to move the heat sideways. insects click and rattle against the walls, fruit vendors cut their watermelons fast to keep the juices from turning sour on the spot. everywhere, people sweat and complain and tie their hair up without style. even the hokage monument looks tired. no mission scrolls come in past 9 a.m, it’s too hot to kill anything.

ino organized the beach trip because she’d had enough of it. she said she couldn’t stand another minute stuck in landlocked misery. she talked a big game about mental clarity and chakra regulation but everyone knew she just wanted to wear her high-cut one-piece and watch the boys get stupid. she was right to. everyone said yes without question.

you told naruto three days ahead so he wouldn’t claim he forgot. still, the morning of, he’d been kneeling in front of the fan with his head tilted back, trying to cool his neck, hair a little wet from the shower, watching you step into your bikini with startling focus. you didn’t perform it for him and arch or sway or pause mid-tie but he still felt like he was being rewarded for something. so completely focused. the bikini was light blue with tiny white polka dots, your toenails were already painted. you didn’t even need to ask how it looked. he was chewing too slow, swallowing all wrong, blinking the tears out of his eye.

“you can’t wear that outside,” he said, grabbing your wrist.

“too late,” you said, dragging him out by the same arm.

at the beach, everyone split off too fast. lee ran straight toward the rocks. kiba started hollering about the size of the waves. shino laid down a towel and sat quietly in his bucket hat. choji opened a cold bag full of crab meat. ino dragged sakura off toward the cliffs with a cooler. by the time you both arrived, the sand was already hot enough to jump over and everyone had picked spots. naruto flung your towels down near the center and immediately kicked off his sandals to run straight into the water.

you didn’t even notice naruto was gone until you finished pressing your palms against your thighs and realized no one had rubbed sunscreen into your back.

he was crouched near the shoreline with shikamaru, throwing something into the surf and talking with his hands. the sun was already turning his shoulders a darker bronze. you stood up, walked over, and kicked sand into his shin.

“hey. you forgot me.”

he flinched and blinked up. “forgot what?”

you dropped the sunscreen bottle into his lap. “my back.”

he groaned and looked away. “why can’t you just do it?”

“i can’t reach the middle.”

“then do half and fold forward. problem solved.”

you stared at him. “naruto.”

“what? it’s not like—”

“fine. i’ll ask shikamaru.”

“don’t you dare.” he stood up instantly, sunscreen bottle clutched like a mission scroll. “i’m doing it. i’m doing it right now.”

you walked back to your towel, sat with your legs folded sideways, and undid the knot behind your neck. he dropped down beside you with a sigh that was louder than necessary and uncapped the bottle. the lotion hit your lower back first, too cold, as always. he spread it with his full palm, too fast and not even trying to be thorough.

“you’re gonna give me patches,” you muttered.

“i’m doing my best.”

“no you’re not. you’re sulking.”

“i’m not sulking, i just—shut up.” he used both hands now. dragged them up toward your shoulder blades. he made little snorting sounds when his fingers slipped. you stayed still and let him work, biting down your grin. he groans under his breath in a tone that can only be interpreted as impatience. in retaliation, he digs his thumbs into your lower back harder than necessary, his eyes shoot open like he’s surprised when you arch away.

“ow!”

“don’t provoke me.”

you twist around and give him a look. he leans in close.

“i’m taking you into the water after this,” he says. “you don’t get to look like that and stay dry.”

you bite your lip. his fingers rest on your hips, slow.

“don’t try to drown me,” you say.

“depends how mouthy you get.”

after he finished, you didn’t offer him thanks. instead, you turned to face him and pressed your hands to his chest.

“your turn.”

“what?”

“you’re already getting pink.”

“i’m fine.”

“if you burn, you’re sleeping on your stomach for a week. and i’m not massaging anything.”

he squinted at you like he was trying to decide whether or not to argue again. “i’ll do it myself.

he squirts out too much. it drips between his fingers. he starts rubbing it into his cheeks with both palms like he’s washing his face. you wince.

“you’re doing it all wrong,” you say, getting up. “come here.”

“what—why? i got it.”

“you’re missing your ears. and your nose. and that thing you do where you just rub your forehead and call it done isn’t working.”

he doesn’t budge. you grab his chin and tilt his face toward you. his cheeks are hot. his blue eyes are narrowed, faint lines creased around them from squinting at the sun. his whisker marks darken when he’s flustered. he’s flustered now.

you squirt a little into your palm and start with his temples, pushing gently, working inward. your fingers press the lotion into the bridge of his nose and down across his jaw. his stubble’s starting to come in. not much, just enough to scrape your fingertips.

he stares at your mouth while you do it. his hand finds your thigh without thinking.

“you look good,” he says. “the blue. ‘s not fair.”

you ignore that. you drag your nails under his chin, feather-light, spreading the last of the sunscreen across his throat. his adam’s apple jumps. you squeezed more of the bottle into your palm and shoved him onto his back. he made a grunt of protest but didn’t resist.

his skin was hot already. not burned, but it would be if he stayed out like this. you straddled his thighs and started at his collarbones, rubbing the sunscreen in firm, straight motions. his skin was dense and tight from training, lined with faint scars.

“stop looking at me like that.”

“i can’t help it.”

you rolled your eyes and smoothed another layer across his stomach. his abs tensed under your fingers. everyone here had abs, it was almost comical, but naruto’s were the only ones you got to touch this closely. he tried not to react but you could feel him shift under you, breath catching.

“that tickles,” he said.

“you’re such a child.”

you leaned forward to get his shoulders, and your chest pressed into his sternum. he looked like he was holding his breath.

“you’re doing this on purpose,” he muttered.

“of course i am.”

you finished up with a slap to his side and rolled off. he lay there for a minute with his eyes shut, pretending to die.

eventually, kiba called him over again, and he bolted upright like he’d just remembered his entire identity. you let him run off this time. you laid back, crossed your ankles, and let the sun hit the same spot he’d just touched.

ino yelled something rude from down the shore. sakura laughed. shikamaru was already asleep under his towel.

you had time. and you’d make him reapply later.

[dckweed]

ROSIE!, alpha!simon riley x omega reader

in which captain price sends alpha simon on a much needed vacation to his secluded countryside cabin, but leaves out a most important detail- he has a live in omega caretaker to care for his little cabin when he’s away! and she’s the prettiest, sweetest little thing that simon ever did see..

warnings: alpha/omega universe, mentions/depictions of abuse, smut, pregnancy, kind of forced proximity?, ill add as i go...please note that i know NOTHING about COD but i am in love with the 141 guys and this has been rotting in my brain. abuse is depicted in this one right off the bat,ptsd/nightmares, panty sniffing, face sitting, over stim, biting, squirting, i think our wolf just hates us okay? because everytime i write her, she comes out so mean.

please click this link! each click helps me earn some extra money, as well as each person that clicks the link and signs up (its completely free, and takes 0 time), a completely harmless way to earn some extra cash that doesn't involve giving me any of your own!

happy new years :) feel free to send thots/ideas to my inbox for these babes (or even for the other 141 fellas)

series masterlist here.

PART THREE: hurts si’

“You dumb bitch, look what you did!” Glass clattered and a hand made contact with your face, causing something to drop from your hands as they flew to your face for protection, a whimper leaving your puckered lips as sharp shards scatter about the ground and imbed in the skin of your legs, stinging. “Are you fuckin’ dropping shit now? Huh?” Another blow, this one landing on your ear, causing it to ring and your eyes to blur for a moment as you wobbled on the balls of your feet, swaying from side to side. The man yelling at you was larger than you, older. His breath was hot and sour as he screamed in your face, his words sounding a million miles away as you tried to focus. What had you done this time? It wasn’t you that had knocked over the glass of water..you weren’t even near that side of the table..it was all your brother, all the boy who sat and watched as your father threatened to beat you black and blue again for something that you didn’t do. 

The ringing becomes too much, you fall to your knees and groan, head pounding and eyesight blurry, you barely notice the shards of whatever dish had fallen from your hands pushing further into the skin of your shins as you sink to the rough wood floor of the kitchen. 

“...OFF THE FUCKING FLOOR, OMEGA!” He screamed, your hearing seeming to come back around, or maybe he just bellowed loud enough to overpower the ringing..you shook violently, fear and pain ringing through your body as he grabbed you by the hair on your scalp, dragging you across the ground, pushing the sharp bits of glass deeper into your skin..you would have to go digging to get them out now..

“No!NO! Papa, Papa please!” Your voice was frantic, shrill eyes wide as they finally focused enough to comprehend where he was pulling you off to, the familiar dingey wooden door of your own personal hell hole coming into sight. You’d only just been allowed out after..you couldn’t even remember how long..long enough that the days blurred together and you couldn’t tell how many tomorrows had come and passed. “No! I’ll be good, i’ll be good!” You clawed at his arm above you, trying desperately to pry his alpha strength off of your head, kicking your legs in an effort to slow him down, to buy yourself enough time to talk him out of it. 

“There’s no such thing as a good Omega, you’re living proof!” He growls, throwing open the deadbolt to the door before swinging it open. The darkness awaiting you seemed thicker than usual. “You all deserve to be punished! To be hid, to be locked away and never looked at again! You deserve to be treated like the runts and vermin you fucking are! Your mother tricked me into thinking that she was sweet and innocent, that she needed me to protect her, to fill her with little alpha pups, and then she gave me you! And then you killed her when you breathed life and stole hers, and i saw you for what you are, nothing but a conniving, evil monster!” He held your hair tightly at the top of the stairs, forcing you to look up into his eyes as he ranted at you, for something that you didn’t even remember. Weren’t capable of remembering..

He raised you off of your feet and your eyes widened, a shrill plea leaving your chest “NO, NO! N-AHHGH!”

Simon lay in bed, hands balled into fists behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling, the moon dancing across it as it shined through his window, jaw clenched as he listened to you whimper and moan through the thin wall separating your room from his. His senses were on high alert, his wolf haywire in his mind. It took every ounce of self control he had not to jerk off to the smell of you, once he started he knows he probably wouldn’t ever stop, not until he’d had the real thing and not just the thought of you. He knew that his cock was probably going to be perpetually hard now, never going to go down until he’d stuffed the meaty length of it into your sweet smelling cunt, not until he’d fucked it good and stuffed it full of his pups would he even be able to think like a normal alpha again. 

The smell of you was intoxicating. It flooded his senses and over powered his mind. You were sweet smelling, decadent he could even say. He had noted it before you’d been in heat but now that you were, even in just the beginning stages, it was more powerful, more endearing and mouth watering. It was enough to make a man forget how to behave. It was enough to drive an Alpha into delirium, to trigger his own rut. 

He grit his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to think about anything other than you, shoving a knife into someone's chest, pizza and a cheap pint, johnny- no! Not that scottish prick! His wolf howled and he grunted, fisting his own hair just to feel something to keep himself grounded. Johnny wouldn’t shut his trap, his intrusive thoughts and his lack of a thought process allowing him to just blurt out how good you smelled, he could just hear his voice in his head, could hear him “Bet that lit’le cunt is nie’ n warm, wet ‘n sloppy, eh LT? Smells like a fookin’ dream..” He was just shooting up in bed with a growl at imaginary Johnny when your scream pierced his ears, his bedroom door slammed against the wall, ricocheting as he busted through yours after flying down the hallway, practically ripping it off of its hinges. He looked around wildly, looking for any sign of an intruder, ready to fight off some stray Alpha or Beta that might have followed your pheromones from town in hopes of mating and breeding you against your will in the middle of the night. 

He saw nobody, saw nothing but you thrashing wildly in the middle of the king sized bed you had built your nest upon, spotting the hoodie he’d shrugged off of his body and laid in the middle of your spot while you took a hot bath earlier in the day, satisfied that he could leave you alone with something to scent to help calm you down. He had paid enough attention in Omega anatomy class to remember that that was something that you guys craved, and just the scent of a strong Alpha could help ease the pain wrought by your heat. You were in pain, he decided, that was why you had screamed as you had, there was nothing for him to protect you from, nothing for him to keep you safe from in your vulnerable state. 

He had just wrestled his wolf back from the forefront of his mind and was slowly backing away from your bed and back towards the hallway when you let loose another scream, this one was one of pure terror. You were sat straight up in bed, his fight or flight triggered, he throws himself at you, wrapping his arms around you as he throws you back down, tucking you into his body as he looses a mean growl, baring his teeth as he looked all about, trying to find what you were so terrified of. 

“No!NO!” You screamed, thrashing and bucking under him, your eyes squeezed shut. He looks down at you, wolf going crazy. “Help her! HELP HER YOU BIG DUMB OAF CAN’T YOU SEE SHE’S SCARED?!” His wolf whimpered, howled, only making Simon’s heart race more as he tried to form a coherent thought. 

“Rosie..” He grunted, patting your face lightly,  still clutching you to his body as best as he could, legs on either side of you as he hovered over you on the bed. “Rosie, lovie, wake up-wake up, lovie..” He patted your face, again, a little harder this time and your eyes finally fluttered, looking up at him. 

“S’mon?” You whispered, hands clutching the chest of his tank top from where your arms were trapped between the both of your bodies, unable to move with his weight pressed against yours. “Had a bad dream..”

He sighs, head leaning down so his forehead is touching yours, noses brushing against each other. “I know, lovie, i know.” He says after a moment, shifting his body so that you’re laying on top of him, using his chest and shoulders as a pillow, legs entwined with his own. All thoughts of breeding you gone and out the window for now, his only thought and instinct to keep you safe. “Not goin’ anywhere okay? Gonna stay right 

‘ere an’ keep you safe..” 

And he did, letting you doze back off on top of him, his mind still reeling as he tried to imagine exactly what had happened in that head of yours to make you scream with such terror, to have you so scared that he could feel your body shaking. He wanted, no he needed to know so that he could make sure you were never scared of it again. So he could take it and obliterate it for ever making you feel anything but safe under the same roof as him. 

Eventually, his wolf and his mind calmed down and he was able to lull himself into a light sleep of his own, his arms not moving from around you. 

You wake to a warmth spread from your head to your toes, a dampness to your skin that had you wriggling out of your sleep shirt with eyes closed still, not registering the soft body beneath you until you went to plop your head back down and it didn’t sink into the soft down of your pillow, but the scraggly hairs of a muscular, wide chest that was poking out of the top of a gray tank top, the kind a man would wear under his tshirt if he wanted the extra layers, or sleep in, you supposed. You knew immediately that it was Simon and as if on cue your wolf fought her way to to the front of your mind, your aching cunt clenching around nothing but your sopping panties as you realized that your mound wasn’t too far from where his cock would be, your leg thrown over his waist, held there by one of his large, meaty hands gripping your equally meaty thigh. 

“Look at him, our pretty Alpha..so handsome, so strong..” She wasn’t wrong, he was pretty. His skull mask was nowhere to be found, and to say it was strange to not see it adorned on his face would be an understatement, but it wasn’t unwelcomed. “Want to give him pretty little pups, let him fill us, please, please, please! I’ll be so good! I promise!” You groan, trying to shut her voice out, though it was hard to do. At this stage, your mind belonged to her, this was her time, and you had always let it be, but you hadn’t had an Alpha home during your heat in..awhile. 

You let your eyes roam over his face for a while, failing to notice the way his breathing changes as he fully wakes up, aware of your gaze. He has such a strong jaw, a strong, handsome face, sweet looking even, you would say, despite the scars lingering along his pale skin. Your lips quiver at the realization that someone had probably put them there and that thought alone made you want to cry because how could anyone ever want to hurt this perfect specimen of an alpha? His nose is terribly crooked, as if it had been broken on more than one occasion..you would know, yours had been broken at least three times that you remembered. You wanted to sit on it. To feel his nose brush against your aching, throbbing clit, to feel his scruff of a beard that had grown over night against the apex of your thighs, leaving beard burn as he fucks you with his wet, strong tongue. 

You don’t notice that your hips are bucking against the side of his hard stomach, don’t realize you’ve whimpered until his hand squeezes your thigh, fingers marking the skin from the way that he grips at it, brown eyes suddenly shot open and staring you down, full lips tugged into a wicked smirk. 

“Easy there, babygirl..” He grunts, voice thick and raspy after not having used it for a bit. 

You pout at his words,  wolf whimpering. The desperate noise leaves your throat and you feel no shame as your hips buck again, needing the friction. 

“Hurts Si’..” You whimper, not giving a damn to ask why he was in your bed in the first place. You remembered having a nightmare, remembered him vaguely waking you from it. You assume he had stayed to make sure you were okay. “Need you..need you to help me, Simon..please?” 

He closes his own eyes at your words, fingers digging further into the fat of your thigh, as if he’s trying to control himself. You don’t want him to, you want hm to lose control, to use you in any way he saw fit, you wouldn’t fight him, would be as pliable for him as you could possibly be, you just wanted to breathe in his scent, suck his cock into your aching pussy for a bit..like a chew toy for the wolf taking over your mind. 

You can’t help but to giggle for a second at the thought, you couldn’t help but to think that his cock was probably big enough to pose as a chew toy anyway, no way you could get your mouth all the way around it if he let suck it. 

“Rosi-”

“Simonnn” You preen, pouting at him and you can just feel the resolve break. Oh! What a good Alpha, not making us beg! “Please help me..hurts..need you so bad..please!”

A growl bubbles in his chest and you could how in excitement knowing you’ve won, “Fine!” Knowing he’s about to bully his cock into your cunt until he’s had his fill, until you’re crying and begging him for more, until he’s knocked you up good with one of his little blonde pups- “But i’m not going to fuck you,” A whine as you pout and you watch his eyes widen, watch him fight with himself for a second as he shakes his head, as if shutting up that voice that you  know he hears too. “No-don’t do that babygirl..You listen to me now.” The sternness in his voice catches your attention, your cunt pulsing at the way it radiates through you. “I want to fuck you so bad, lovie, want to sit you on my cock for fuckin’ hours, believe me, it’s all ‘ve been able to think about since I walked into that garden..but I can’t do it when you’re not all the way there, when you’re delirious in heat..” A pout that damn near breaks him, that definitely breaks the wolf in his head, howling ricocheting in his ears as he tries to talk. “I’m going to fuck you, lovie, but not until your heat is done, yeah? Don’t worry babygirl, m’still gonna help you though, know it hurts, baby, know you need my help..” 

You hadn’t realized he had bunched the waistband of your panties in his hand until then, letting go of your thigh to pull at the seam of the fabric, ripping it apart and tugging it from your mound. You watch with wide eyes as he brings the soaked cotton to his crooked nose, closing his eyes as he takes a long sniff, a deep growl radiating through the room as he opens his eyes, staring straight into yours as his fist clenches around your panties. 

“Cm’ere, babygirl.” He grunts, pulling at you so that you’re sitting directly on his chest, pussy leaving a wet swatch in his chest hairs as he squeezes both hips. “Wanna sit on my face, don’t you? Saw the way you were looking at me, know just what you were thinkin’ huh?” You nod your head, but make no move to actually do it. You’re so big? What if you suffocate him? Bitch shut the fuck up and let him eat your fucking pussy, you whiney brat! He’s a big boy, he can fucking take it! You had the random thought that your wolf might actually try and kill you if you didn’t let her enjoy this, if you didn’t swallow your self conscious thoughts and let this glorious man eat you for breakfast. “Aht-aht, stop thinking whatever it is you’re thinking-” He pulls your hips so you’re sitting just below his neck now, your hands immediately catching yourself on the headboard, preventing him from pulling you up past his chin. He narrows his eyes at you, you see him shake his head, the firm line his plus lips are set in. A warning to behave and let him be in control. “Don’t-you want this, don’t you..want me to help you? Need me to make it better?” 

“Pleas-ungh” In a show of pure strength, he has you fully sat on his face before you can finish the word, warm, thick tongue devouring you as swirls it around your clit, you can’t help the rock of your hips or the way your head throws back as you moan when his tongue teases your aching whole, nose rubbing against your clit the way you imagined it when you tilted your hips. 

He groans beneath you, hands splayed on your bare ass cheeks, holding you in place as he grips so hard you’re sure his fingerprints will be permanently indented into your skin, not that you think you’d really mind it. “That’s it lovie, ride my face..”

You didn’t have to be told twice now that you had started. The way his tongue worked you open, the way he held you in place but still let you rut your hips against his face, making a slimy, glistening mess..his stubble brushed against your inner thighs, keeping you grounded from coming on the spot, though it doesn’t last for long. He’s got you coming within moments, skilled tongue going between clit and your pulsing hole, giving you what you needed as you rocked back and forth, taking what you wanted. “Tha’s a good girl, lovie..give me one more?” 

You’re not sure how many ‘one more’s’ you give him, but by the time he’s got you on the brink of over stimulation, he’s got his whole tongue buried in your hole, his teeth nibbling at your clit as you buck and tremble, tears brimming your eyes as you grip his hair in each hand, tugging harshly. His hands pushed up your shirt, exposing your soft, pudgy belly to him as he squeezed your tits in each of his large palms, fingers playing with your nipples as he fucks you with his mouth, cries and whimpers leaving your own. 

“Si-oh-mm, please! I can-so good, feel’s so good!” You’re a babbling mess, cheeks red as your thighs shake, still clenched around his head. He’s been at it for almost an hour and you swear he’s barely come up from air, he’s barely let you move off of his face for more than a moment, his mouth leaving your cunt only to praise you or bite into meat of your thighs, leaving a harsh imprint of his mouth, a reminder that this is in fact real. You’re on the brink of another when you realize that this one feels different, feels almost painful, even. “Si-mo-n, si-ugh-umf..hur-urts…” You screech out, swatting at the top of his head, he only grunts, pulling you down farther onto his mouth, his hands going back to grip your tighs, leaving your precious tits unattended as he does, holding you there as he brings another harsh bite to your clit, sending you over the edge. “Simon!” You shout, vision going blurry as something snaps in your lower belly, a gush of fluid coming from your cunt that has your cheeks heating as Simon groans out below you, lapping it up as quickly as it comes out, slurping even as he continues to make out with your pussy as you slouch against the headboard, being sure to avoid your overly sensitive clit as he does, leaving open mouthed kisses to your mound that honestly could have had you coming again if you weren’t entirely fucked out just from his mouth. How many was that? Five? Six? 

“You okay up there babygirl?” His voice is thick and raspy, sexy as he peeks up at you from between your still shaking legs. All you can do is nod meekly, unsure of what to say, mind oddly quiet as you pant out breaths, trying to come down from such an epic high. “Squirted al’over me lovie, legs are still shakin’” He’s chuckling at you, big warm hands rubbing your thighs in an effort to soothe the shaking. 

“M’sleepy, si’” You whimper out, still sagged against the headboard, mind gone numb, legs gone soft, heat and wolf satiated for the time being. 

“Yeah?” He asks, voice soft as he sits up slowly, sliding you down his body. Your clit catches on his chest hairs and the fabric of his now soaked tank top on the way down and your hips jumps, your whimper ringing out as he shushes you, rubbing soothing circles on your lower back. “Need’ta nap baby?” 

Your eyes are already closing before you can get the words out, before you can even nod your head, you barely register the way his lips kiss the side of your head as he leans back with you in his arms, the way his scent floods your senses, easing you into an easy slumber, as if that had been his plan all along. The last thing you remember before sleep takes you completely is wondering what the hell you had gotten yourself into with him..

taglist: @wise-owl @bingoz @astrxsee @gazsluckyhat @howlerwolfmax @thisbitch-6 @littlelovebug98 @ungodlydilf @madsothree

[stevie-petey]

episode seven: the bite

“Yeah, we ended up trapped in their secret base underneath Hawkins.” Dustin further explains, to which everyone’s eyes widen at.  “It was fun. Spent my birthday in mortal danger.” At the same time the kids all wish you a belated birthday, which you salute them for. “Thanks, guys. I’m just happy I wasn’t gravely injured this time.” “And that Steve finally kissed you.” Dustin unhelpfully adds before Steve is covering his mouth to shut him up. His face reddens, embarrassed and nervous. Jonathan is standing too close to him for comfort right now.

Summary: steve and robin are your nightmare blunt rotation, you manage to escape a russian lair: mario cart style, you learn that therapy sessions are fun in public bathrooms, steve places your brother on the russian fbi most wanted list, el probably just killed a bunch of people (deserved), and reunions with jonathan are always special when one of you is gravely injured

Rating: general, cursing

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, mentions of blood, graphic depictions of blood and gore, cursing

Words: 10.1k

Before you swing in: HI IM ALIVE !!! my laptop isnt ,,,, but im trying to ignore that. sincerely apologize for the wait. my laptop shits down randomly every ten minutes and my new one is backordered so ive been fighting demons to write this. i also had a hard time with the bathroom scene with robin. i wanted to get that scene just right. it took a lot of rewriting, but i think im happy with how it ended up <3 pls enjoy this child of mine. she cost me blood, sweat, and tears lmao

-

“Boop!” Steve’s finger pokes your nose and he lets out a delirious giggle. “I booped you!”

At first it was adorable, endearing even, when he booped your nose. However, he’s done this five times now in the last minute alone. That, and you’ve been trying to give Dustin directions back to the elevator while dodging Steve’s surprisingly aggressive nose boops. All while the threat of armed Russians running after the cart looms over you. “Turn left here–would you stop it?”

“Wanna boop that pretty little nose,” Steve’s glossy eyes struggle to find yours, his motor skills delayed and concerning. His left eye has all but swollen shut and you’re still not sure if his unusual behavior is due to head trauma or something else. “C’mere, angel.”

He tries to boop you again, and before you can dodge the attack, Robin’s hand grabs his finger and she lets out a pathetic scoff. “You’re hogging the boops, dingus!”

“Nuh uh!”

“Yeah huh!”

Steve’s arm reaches over you and he bats at Robin. They start to hit one another, though their movements are slow and weak. They giggle as they fight, and you’re stuck in the middle of it. You try to push them off of you, but the two teens are too busy pinching each other and cackling to pay you any attention. It’s miserable. 

Erica, from the passenger seat of the cart, turns and winces at your predicament. “What is wrong with them?”

“I don’t know!” Dustin keeps his eyes in front of him as he drives, though he’s equally as confused and unnerved. Secretly, he’s glad he’s the one driving. Otherwise he’d be in the middle of a Steve and Robin giggle sandwich like you are.

“Whose hand is that?” You twist around. There’s a foreign body part that’s currently resting on your ass. Steve snickers and Robin puffs out her cheeks and giggles, neither one of them confessing. You’re about to start kicking shins when the cart comes to a screeching halt. The force of it throws you and the two teens back with a painful thud. “Christ!”

“You guys alright back there?” 

Somehow you wind up with Steve’s elbow in your ribcage and Robin’s head smacking into yours. Hissing in pain, you throw the two off of you and glare at your brother. You seriously fear the day he gets his license. “I want to die.”

Dustin turns back around in his seat and gulps. Steve’s and Robin’s own groans of pain can be heard from behind him. “They’re fine.”

Sneakers squeak against the tile floor and the doors to the back of the cart fly open. You’re greeted with Erica and Dustin, eyes wide as they take in the scene before them. You’re squished underneath the teens. You try shoving them off of you again, but they’re dead weight on you. 

“Wanna kiss again, Y/N? I really liked it,” Steve smacks his lips as his head rests against your stomach. “Wanted to do that for so long.”

Your cheeks burn at his words and your stomach flutters. You haven’t forgotten about the kiss earlier. God, you haven’t. It leaves you breathless every time you remember how it felt to have him so close, to smell him and taste him. A part of you wants to ask how long he’s thought about kissing you, but you know that the back of a cart while fleeing from Russians isn’t the most appropriate setting. 

Robin squirms next to you, her head also somehow on your stomach, pinning you down. “Can I get a kiss too?”

“If either one of you kisses me right now, my knives will be the last things you see.” The two teens make despaired noises, which you groan at. Meanwhile, Dustin and Erica continue to stand at the end of the cart, unmoving. You clench your teeth. “A little help here?” 

Dustin mumbles a sheepish apology and yanks Steve’s arm while Erica yanks at Robin, freeing you. As soon as you’re able to, you jump out of the cart and start clapping your hands to speed everyone along. “We gotta go!”

“We’re trying, Y/N!” Erica groans, struggling to get Robin up from the ground. 

You start to help, though you nearly fall when Dustin throws Steve against you. A complaint lingers on your lips, but when you see that your brother is now at the elevator doors with a keycard in his hand, you swallow it down.

Steve, however, is full of complaints. “This sucks.”

You blow hair out of your face and don’t bother responding to him. Instead, you watch anxiously as your brother swipes the key card he must’ve stolen earlier. When the scanner’s light flashes green and opens the elevator door, you exhale with relief. At least something has gone right today. 

After practically throwing Steve and Robin into the elevator with Erica’s help, Dustin hits a button and closes the door. As soon as it shuts, the room starts to move. You brace yourself, now familiar with how fast the damn thing can go.

The elevator ascends at a nauseating speed and there’s a crash behind you. Turning around, you find Robin holding a dolly in place as Steve gets on. He holds his hands out and starts to cheer as his friend snickers. They look like goddamn toddlers at daycare.

“Hey, no!” You feel like a parent, yanking at Steve’s arm to get him down from the dangerous position. The elevator is moving too fast to be messing around on. “This isn’t playtime–”

“He looks like he’s surfing, Y/N!” Robin squeals with excitement, rolling the dolly to the left.

Steve’s body twists and he steadies himself with a laugh. “I’m surfing!”

“Stop fucking surfing!”

You fight with the teens. Steve refuses to get down and Robin keeps rolling the dolly away from you. As you yell at them, Dustin and Erica exchange concerned looks. You overhear the girl mention how they seem drunk, and you’re about to tell her that she might be right, when Robin pulls the dolly from underneath Steve and sends him crashing into the ground. 

“Wipeout!”

You’re checking Steve for injuries as soon as he lands. Dustin kneels next to you and feels his forehead and winces. “He’s burning up.” 

Not liking the sound of that, you check Steve’s pupils. The room’s lighting is dim, but it’s obvious that his brown eyes are almost entirely taken over by the blacks of his pupils. “Holy shit, they’re scarily dilated.” 

“Ow. Thought you liked my eyes,” Steve swats at your hands sadly. He whines, trying to get you to let go of him. “Said you liked brown.”

“I do like brown, but I also like when you don’t act like a three year old.” You soothe him before turning to Dustin. “Any idea what it could mean?”

“Maybe he’s drugged?” Erica suggests.

You frown. “Could explain why he keeps trying to–” Steve reaches up and boops Dustin’s nose. He giggles and your brother looks annoyed. Sighing, you finish what you had been trying to say. “Boop people. Why he keeps trying to boop people.”

“Your turn, angel!”

Dustin intercepts Steve’s finger, which you’re grateful for. He gently smacks the teen’s face to get his attention. “Steve, are you drugged?”

“How many times, dad?” His voice drips with sarcasm and he rolls his eyes. “I don’t do drugs. It’s only marijuana.”

“Since when do you smoke?” 

“Y/N, focus.” Dustin dodges another incoming boop and swats Steve’s hand away. “This isn’t funny, okay? We need to know what they did to you.”

“C’mon, honey.” Your fingers run through Steve’s hair. Parts of it have dried blood. Something more than a beating happened to him and Robin, you just don’t know what. If they’re really drugged, you have no way of knowing if they’ll be okay, and a part of you is terrified. “Work with us, please. What did they give you?”

“Are you gonna die on us?” Dustin asks, concerned as well.

“I’ll tell you!” Robin shouts from the corner she’s slouched in, eager to please you. She twirls her hair around her finger and gives you an unsettling smile. “We all die, my strange little child friend. It’s just a matter of how… and when.”

Neither you nor Dustin say anything for a few moments. Both of you blink, trying to process what exactly the teen has just said. Afraid to look away from her in case she tries to possess you or something, you slowly nod. “Okay, thank you for sharing, Robin.”

She flashes you a thumbs up and proudly smiles. “Happy to help!” 

“They’re gonna be looking for us up there,” your brother redirects the attention back to the fact that you’re all still very much in danger. He starts to interrogate Steve, trying to come up with a plan. “So I need you to tell me where you parked your car.”

“Oh, can we make a pit stop at the food court?” Steve’s eyes glaze over and you know you’ve lost him again. 

Robin leans forward and starts playing with your hair. “I would kill for a hot dog on a stick!”

You snap your fingers at the two of them. They’re impossible to level with, you’re not even sure why you’re still trying. “Guys, we need to focus.”

“No! No hot dog on a stick,” Steve suddenly lifts himself up and glares at Robin. “The guy at the counter said that Y/N she has pretty eyes. He’s an asshole.”

“You mean Dave? When the hell did he say that?”

Steve scoffs at you. “Last week. Ruined my whole day.”

“Fine! We’ll get you and Robin something else to eat.” Dustin says, which Robin cheers at, though he ignores her. “But only if you tell me where your car is parked.”

Suddenly Steve’s hazy eyes fill with remorse. “Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh? I don’t like uh-oh, can we not uh-oh?” Dustin nudges you with his shoulder to shut you up and let Steve explain. You mumble an apology. “Okay, why the uh-oh?”

“They took the keys.” Steve shoves his hands into his pockets and reveals that there’s nothing in them. “The Russians, they took the keys. Like forever ago.” For some reason this is hilarious to Robin, who starts to laugh hysterically in the corner. He joins her, amused by the whole thing. “That’s a bummer, right?”

You drop your head in your hands as Dustin sighs. With no keys and no way out of the mall, you’re not sure what else you can do. The only other option would be the bus that takes commuters home, but it comes every few hours and you have no idea what time it even is right now. 

Which means you’d be left with having to hide a very drugged up Steve and Robin in a giant mall swarming with Russian undercover guards for an unforeseen amount of time.

Not ideal. 

“We’re doomed.” You sigh into your hands.

Dustin nods beside you. “Yeah. We’re doomed.”

– 

When the five of you finally reach the mall, you guide everyone through the back hallway and fling the doors open. Fresh air hits your face and you take a moment to inhale. It’s only then that you notice that it’s dark outside. The air is warm, crickets chirp faintly from far away. What day is it? How long could you have possibly been down in the lair? 

As you have a minor breakdown trying to get your bearings, Steve and Robin walk behind you. Their mouths are wide open as they greet the fresh air with glee. “Oh my God, that tastes so good! Steve, can you taste the air?”

They stick their tongues out and marvel at the world around them. “I taste it!”

You watch them with your arms crossed. If you had any suspicion before that they were drugged, seeing them try to eat the air only confirms it. 

“Shit!” Dustin screams out of nowhere and grabs your hand. He tugs at you to start running. You look up and see two Russians men now running straight towards you. 

“Come on!” You grab Erica’s hand and shove her in front of you to run alongside your brother. Then you grab Steve and Robin by their shoulders and all but throw them against the mall’s door. “Go!”

“Why are we running?” Steve mopes, tired from all the physical activity he’s been forced to endure these last few minutes. 

You don’t bother answering him and instead shove him inside the second Dustin gets the mall’s doors opened. Everyone runs, though you’re not sure if anyone has an actual plan. The guard’s footsteps can be heard behind you, and all you know is that you guys need to hide until you can figure something else out. 

“Any chance you guys know any hiding spots?” You shout behind you to the kids, nearly tripping over your feet as you do so.

“No, this mall is one giant public swamp.” Dustin responds, huffing. 

Steve stumbles next to you, still obviously drugged up, yet giggling as always. “It feels like we’re running from movie villains!” 

Turning a corner, what Steve has said floats through your mind. Running from movie villains… What are the odds the Russians know about American movie theaters? They’re dark and usually crowded with people for night showings. It could be the only safe place to hide. 

“Dustin, start heading towards the theater!” Erica and your brother start asking you questions, but you don’t have time to explain. “Just trust me.”

Somehow you all make it to the theater’s doors without being detected. Poking your head through, you make sure there isn’t anyone nearby. When you’re sure it’s safe, you open the door wider and motion for everyone to follow. “Let’s go.”

Dustin guides, dragging Robin behind him while Erica follows. You stay with Steve and start walking once the others have gone ahead. 

“Awesome, movie date!” Steve exclaims with a dopey smile. He’s about to say something else when his eyes find something. Completely forgetting that you’re holding his hand, he runs towards a nearby trash can. He pulls out a bag of popcorn that had been on top of the trash pile and quickly starts shoving the food into his mouth. 

“If you ever wanna kiss me again, stop eating trash popcorn.” You snatch the bag out of his hands with a disgusted face. “I cannot believe I have to tell you that.”

“But I’m hungry.” Steve pouts, staring down at his now empty hands with despair. 

You ignore his pathetic pouting and follow Dustin, who has now flung open the curtains to the theater’s seats. He scopes the area and starts heading right. When he stops at two open seats, he points his finger at Steve and Robin. “You two, sit.”

“But these seats are too close!” Robin complains, and Steve voices his own qualms about the seating arrangements. 

However, you have other things to worry about. Shoving the teens into their seats, you wipe away crumbs on the ground with your shoe. “I’ll sit on the floor next to them. No way I’m leaving them alone when they’re high off their asses.”

Dustin looks at you, skeptical. He doesn’t want to leave you alone with them, afraid they’ll somehow get you into trouble. “You sure?”

“Positive. I’ll take care of them.” you squeeze his arm. While you understand his concern, you can’t bring yourself to abandon Steve and Robin again. Not when Steve’s face still bleeds slightly and Robin’s cheek swells with a bruise. They got hurt because of you; the least you can do is stay with them now. “Find other seats, we’ll be fine here. Just… be careful, alright?”

A man behind you shushes you rudely, reminding you where you are. If the kids don’t leave now, they run the risk of drawing more attention. You push your brother back up the aisle of seats, and he seems to understand what you’re doing. “Fine, but whatever you guys do: Don’t. Go. Anywhere.” 

“Fine, dad.” Steve glares at the kid, which you sigh at. It’s going to be a long night. 

Dustin leaves after you’ve saluted him, and Erica follows. Once they’re gone, you do your best to keep Steve and Robin quiet. As you shush them, you look up and see Dustin standing near the exit. You tilt your head, hoping he sees your questioning, and thankfully he does. He holds his radio up and mimes making a phone call. 

He’s calling for help.

You nod at Dustin, indicating that you understand, and he leaves. After you’ve checked to make sure Erica is still in her own seat at the other end of the row, you turn back towards Steve and Robin; they’re enamored with the movie playing. They whisper to themselves, not understanding what’s happening, but at least they’re quiet and out of danger. Slowly, you start to relax. 

All you have to do is stay in this movie theater until Dustin can contact the party for help. Should be simple enough. Except you make the fatal mistake of absentmindedly mentioning that you’re thirsty. “God, I need water right now.”

“Water.” Robin exhales as if it’s a prayer. Her entire face twists into longing and she hits Steve’s shoulder. “Water. Now.”

“On it!” He nods earnestly and suddenly the two of them are scrambling out of their seats. You snap your fingers at them, hiss whispered threats, but they don’t listen. They climb over you as if you’re an inconvenient bug on the ground. 

Before you can even stand up, they’re already halfway up the aisle of seats. You barely have time to get up before they’ve left the theater itself. “I’m so over them being drugged.” You huff, running after them. There isn’t time to tell Erica where you’re going, too afraid you’ll lose them if you don’t hurry. 

Those fuckers better save you some water.

– 

Steve makes you hold the button on the water fountain because he “can’t do it himself”.

“Is my help really necessary?” You complain, arms crossed as you watch Steve messily gulp water down. His neck is bent at an awkward angle and for a brief moment you truly question whether or not you find him attractive. Water drips down his chin and his gulps are obscenely loud. 

“Yes,” Steve responds in between slurps. The cold water washes over him and he’s never felt closer to God than in this moment. “That’s amazing.”

Robin stands next to you, patiently waiting her turn. “So like, I wasn’t totally focused in there or anything, but I’m pretty sure that mom was trying to bang her son.”

“In the movie?” You hadn’t been paying much attention in the theater. Your view from the ground was shitty and you were too busy making sure the idiots didn’t somehow kill themselves. However, despite your lack of attention, you doubt that’s what the movie’s premise had been about. 

“Wait, the hot chick was Alex P. Keaton’s mom?” Your hip knocks against Steve’s, causing him to choke on the water he’d been drinking. Coughing, he clutches at his chest. “I could’ve died, Y/N!”

“Sorry,” you smile sympathetically at him, feigning pity. He lost the privilege of calling other women hot after getting you locked in a Russian elevator for twelve hours. “My hip slipped.”

“Aren’t you two going to question how the guy was able to go back in time?” Robin is still focused on the whole son being in love with his mom plotline. 

Steve inhales even more water. “Then why is it called Back to the Future?”

Robin begins explaining the complexities of the movie, but you tune her out. While you appreciate that she’s trying to make conversation, you’re uneasy about being out in the open like this. There’s no one around, but you can never be too careful. It’s only when she shoves Steve away from the water fountain that you focus again. 

“Wait, I was supposed to go after him–” Your protesting falls on deaf ears as Robin steals your turn for water. Reluctantly, you step away. She can hold her own damn water fountain button. 

You notice that Steve has wandered off a few feet away. He still stumbles as he walks, though his footsteps aren’t as unsteady as they were earlier. He stops in the middle of the walkway and you join him. 

“Wow,” he breathes out, looking up. He’s mesmerized by what he’s seeing. Curious, you look up as well, though you only see the skylights above. It’s night, no natural light flows through the panels. Yet Steve stands transfixed next to you. “The stars.”

“The stars?” You’re not sure what he means. You can’t see the stars from where you stand. Then again, you suppose he could be seeing things, given that he’s heavily drugged up. 

“The stars are pretty like you, angel.” Steve says, eyes still on the sky, yet his hand somehow finds yours. He intertwines your fingers together and is able to pull you closer, albeit weakly. “You’ve always been so beautiful… scared me when we were younger.”

Your breath catches and you look at him. He’s looking up, seemingly unaware of the effect his words have on you. An overwhelming warmth fills your chest. You want to say something, tell him you love him and that his beauty last July had terrified you. 

But you don’t say anything. Steve is still high, he wouldn’t remember what you’ve said, and you want your confessions to sit within his chest the way his sit in yours. Instead, you find yourself admiring him. You study the length of his neck. The mole that rests just below his jaw and the others that litter his pretty face. His nose, the dip of his chin. The hair tucked behind his ears. His eyes.  

Steve Harrington is beautiful. Scars and all. 

Then he starts to gag and quickly the moment is ruined. 

“Oh, God.” You quickly grab his shoulders and frantically look for the nearest bathroom. In your haste, Robin reacts to Steve’s sudden sickness by gagging as well, and you’re very afraid of what’s about to unfold. “Okay, bathroom time! For the love of God, we need to find a bathroom.”

They’re useless as you twist and turn them around as you search for a bathroom. When you see a nearby sign, you drag them behind you and pray that they make it the next fifteen feet. As soon as you barrel through the bathroom door, Steve and Robin run out from behind you and just barely make it to the toilets before spilling their guts. 

You stand near the doorway, cringing. It’s not a pretty sight. 

They puke, spit out the excess, and flush the toilet to clear it before the next round of vomiting begins. Then they do it all over again. It goes on like this for a while, and all you can do is linger in the doorway and offer halfhearted comfort from across the room. You’ve never really gotten over your slight fear of vomit, if you’re being honest. 

Eventually Steve and Robin seem to throw everything up. When they’ve flushed the last of their sickness down, you hesitantly walk towards them and stand in between the stalls. “We feeling any better?”

“The room stopped spinning for me.” Robin says, her feet propped against the stall’s wall. You have no idea how she’s laying down the bathroom’s ground so casually. “Steve, is it still spinning for you?”

He looks up for a moment, testing what will happen. When he feels perfectly fine, he exhales with relief. “Holy shit. No.”

“You probably flushed the drugs out of your system when you puked.” You observe, leaning against the stall’s divider. “What were you guys on?”

“Allegedly a truth serum.” Robin says from the floor. “Ask me something, test if it’s really all gone.” Then, because she’s trying to get you to laugh, she lowers her voice and impersonates one of the Russians. “Interrogate me.”

Though you smile at her, your stomach twists. Not only were they beaten for information, they were also injected with a goddamn truth serum. Treated like lab rats. And you left them behind, all alone; you’ll never forgive yourself for that. 

But they’re here with you now, you remind yourself. They came out the other side. So you’ll do whatever you can to make it up to them and show them that you’re here for them. Even if that means asking bizarre questions to make sure they’re no longer being controlled by truth serums. “When was the last time you peed your pants?”

“Today.”

Steve looks at you to make sure you’ve also just heard Robin’s response. “What?”

You shrug. “I can’t really judge. I peed my bed a few years ago. Watched a scary movie with Dustin and had a nightmare. Wasn’t my proudest moment.”

“What?” Steve can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“See!” Robin lifts her head up from the ground to look at you. “I was also scared. When the Russian doctor pulled out a bone saw, it was only a little bit, but holy shit.”

She starts to laugh and you join her, despite the image of the bone saw you saw burning your mind. You had seen it in the room when you were saving them. It had terrified you. Yet Robin laughs about it now, so you allow yourself to as well. 

Steve shakes his head at you both. “Yeah, it’s definitely still in her system.”

“And it’s not in yours, Harrington?”

His eyes shine when he looks at you. He’s coming back to himself, you can feel it. The knowing smirk is back. “Clean as a whistle, Henderson.”

Robin clears her throat, now uncomfortable. “Aright, my turn. I want to ask him a question.” When Steve gives her the okay, she takes a deep breath. She looks at you, a resigned look on her face. Something seems to have struck her, something that terrifies her. Her laughter is gone. “Have you… ever been in love?”

Steve doesn’t expect the question. He looks startled by it and tilts his head up at you. Your eyes meet, and you nod, giving him the permission he doesn’t truly need. You talked about it once, last year. The two of you in your room late one night, whispering confessions about love and the pain it brought. It was never a secret. 

“Yep. Nancy Wheeler. First semester, senior year.” Steve mimes a gunshot to his heart, trying to lessen the unease. He will never really feel comfortable talking about that time of his life. 

“Oh, my God.” Robin rolls her eyes. “She’s such a priss.”

You walk over to her stall and nudge her leg with your shoe. “Hey, she’s my friend, ya know.” Ignoring how dirty the bathroom floor inevitably is, you sit next to Robin. “She’s not a priss.”

“At least, not really.” Steve adds, nostalgia in his voice. 

Robin seems to hear it, too. She sits up, eyes not meeting yours. “Are you still in love with Nancy?”

Without meaning to, you hold your breath. You know Steve no longer loves her, but it’s July and somehow he still isn’t yours. There’s still trust between you, but your body tenses and your heart stutters. 

And yet Steve doesn’t hesitate. It’s immediate. He doesn’t even have to think about it. He’s known since April, though his body has known since he offered you his hand the day you almost hit his car with your bike. “No.”

“Why not?” Robin doesn’t know why she’s pushing this. You’re next to her, your thigh presses against hers. She knows that Steve is in love with you. He confessed it to her when she was teasing him about it just a few days ago. She devoted an entire whiteboard to tallying all the times he failed to ask you out. 

Steve is yours, and you’re his, but Robin can’t help but pick at scabs and expose old wounds. 

There’s a few moments of silence. Steve takes his time responding. He can almost feel your hand ghosting over his, even though you’re separated by a stall. “I think it’s because I found someone who’s a little bit better for me.”

You’re quiet. Robin is as well. 

“You know, it’s crazy.” Maybe it’s the truth serum still coursing through Steve’s veins or maybe it’s because he’s almost died a million times tonight. All he knows is that he’s tired of running. You deserve to know how he feels about you. “Ever since Dustin got home, he’s been badgering me about asking this girl out. That I need to ‘find my Suzie’. A girl he met at camp who somehow became his girlfriend, who I’m not even sure is actually real.”

He’s rambling. He knows he is, but you and Robin remain silent and patiently wait for him to keep going. Steve inhales, holds the breath for a few seconds, and exhales. All summer he’s been agonizing over this very moment. He’s spent countless sleepless nights terrified that he’d somehow ruin it. In the end, his own cowardice only hurt you; he still remembers the way your body shook in his arms while he held you as you cried last night. Steve remembers the fear on your face when you realized you couldn’t save him. That the Russians were going to take him away from you. 

It was then, seeing the terror in your eyes and hearing the desperation in your voice, that Steve Harrington finally realized you would give all of yourself to him; that is what love is. 

To love someone is to know that they deserve your love. 

And for some reason you love Steve. You see something in him that deserves your love. He’s no longer terrified that his love isn’t enough for you. He realizes now that it’s enough. His love is enough because it is his. 

You deserve love, and Steve is more than happy to give all of his to you. 

“The point is,” Steve runs a hand through his hair. He can feel you listening, waiting. “This girl, you know, the one that I love, it’s somebody that I didn’t even talk to in school… and I don’t even know why.”

A small laugh cuts through the barrier between you and Steve. The two of you spent years together in school, and not once did he ever talk to you. There was one time, early sophomore year, when he collided with you in the hallway while running to the bathroom to meet Nancy. He had apologized to you, but he continued running and hadn’t looked back.

It was two years ago, but you had only been kids, then.

Hearing your laugh emboldens Steve. He clears his throat, lifts his head. He wishes you were in the stall with him. “I think… I think I was scared. I had always watched her from afar. I mean, here was this girl who would offer help to anyone who needed it. Didn’t matter who they were, she’d help them. I just, I didn’t understand. I couldn’t understand why someone would go out of their way to help others without expecting anything in return.”

“I mean, there I was, worrying about being prom king while this girl was tutoring kids for free in the school library.” Steve scoffs at himself. He will never forgive himself for wasting all those years with you. He could’ve been your friend sooner had he not been such an asshole. “It’s stupid. I mean, Dustin’s right, it’s all just a bunch of bullshit anyways. Because when I think about it, I should’ve been friends with this girl the whole time.”

You rest your head against the wall, buzzed with warmth. “You should’ve,” you find yourself saying softly. Though you know yourself. Steve came into your life when you needed him the most, at the right time, for the right reasons. The timing had never been right before. “But I’m sure the girl is glad you ended up how you did.”

“Me, too.” Warm honey laces Steve’s voice. He can almost feel your body on his. He can see the lines and strings above him, materializing into something more solid with every word he says. “Still should’ve happened sooner, though. I mean, this girl we’re talking about is incredible. She makes me laugh more than anyone I’ve ever met. She’s witty, she always knows what to say and she’s so goddamn smart. I don’t think she knows this, but she has this way with people…”

His voice trails off. It’s what he loves the most about you. The effect you have on everyone you meet. The impact you make within a person’s life simply by smiling at them. “She has a way of making someone into a better person without even realizing it, just by being a part of their life. She… she made me a better person. Taught me to be softer, more vulnerable.”

Steve hadn’t known gentleness until he met you. 

To your left, Robin starts to close in on herself with every word he Steve says. She slouches down, drops her head into her knees almost as if in despair.

“She saw this good in me that no one else had before. For some reason, instead of using it against me like others have, she believed that I could be someone different. That I could change… It didn’t matter how long it would take me, she would wait. And I’m so goddamn lucky to be in love with someone as selfless as her.”

Guilt eats away at Robin. She’s harbored a resentment towards Steve all summer, even though she tried to swallow the feeling down. The love between you and Steve had always been obvious from the first day she met you. She watched the two of you dance around each other every day, basking in the sickly sweet young love you shared with one another. 

It’s not that Robin resented your relationship with Steve. No, she was happy for you, truly. The bitter taste in her mouth whenever she watched you gently stroke his cheek with your fingertips was remorse intermingling with resentment because she will never be able to do that. She will never be able to love someone so openly. To have someone hold her hand and call her tender names. 

You’re a beautiful girl with a boy who could adore you freely. Robin can only ever watch you from the shadows, scared to be caught.

You notice Robin’s shift in demeanor and press your body closer to hers. You’ve never seen her look so small before, so unsure of herself, and it worries you. “Hey, is everything okay?”

She shakes her head, too afraid that if she talks she’ll start to cry. The kindness that you offer her stings. She doesn’t deserve it. Not when she believes you outshine the sun. Before she can make up some excuse, Steve knocks on the stall. “Robin? Y/N? Did someone just OD over there?”

“No,” Robin’s breath is shaky, which worries you even more. “We’re still alive.”

You try to meet her eye, but she won’t look up at you. You’re not sure what’s happened, but she’s closed herself off from you; you feel like an intruder. Placing an arm on her shoulder, you’re about to offer her some more water when Steve’s body slides into the stall.

He settles himself across from you, shy with his movements. Your heart lurches when you see him, too. He confessed his love for you only moments prior, and you want nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and call him yours, but Robin looks pale. She’s scared. You just don’t know why.

“The floor’s disgusting,” she says to Steve, hoping to get the attention off of her. 

“Yeah, well, I already got a bunch of blood and puke on my shirt, so…” He looks down, cringes slightly. You remain silent, and Robin’s eyes are still downcast. Seeing this, Steve tries to lighten the mood and asks Robin a teasing question. “So, what do you think?”

“About?”

“This girl,” he turns to you, then. He looks at you with such fondness and knows that both you and Robin know he had been talking about you the entire time. He’s trying to get you to laugh, bring a smile back to your faces.

Robin tries to play along, swallowing down the remaining bitterness. You’re sitting next to her, your hand is still on her arm. “She sounds awesome.” 

“She is awesome.” Steve winks at you, hoping it’ll get you to blush the pretty pink he loves so much. When it works, he smiles. “And what about the guy?”

“I think he’s as sweet as honey in July.” You say, giving into Steve’s charm. It’s worked on you ever since the day you crashed into that ditch, even if back then you refused to admit it.

“Yeah? Well, I think he’s on drugs, and that he’s not thinking straight. That he doesn’t realize how lucky he is.” Robin interjects. She doesn’t look at you, her eyes remain on Steve. You raise your eyebrows at what she’s said. You hadn’t expected such a pessimistic response from her.

Off put by her sudden dejection, Steve becomes defensive. He doesn’t understand what Robin is doing. She was the one who kept encouraging Steve to ask you out all summer. “Really? ‘Cause I think he’s thinking a lot more clearly than usual. He knows what luck is.”

“Does he? What if there’s this other girl, one he hasn’t seen yet. I mean, really seen.” Robin swallows. Her fingers twist together nervously. “What if he one day sees her and realizes just how unlucky she is. I don’t think the guy would ever want to be her friend after that.”

“No, that’s not true. No way is that true.” Steve shifts closer to the two of you now, confused as to why Robin is saying all of this. Of course she’s his friend. “I mean, apart from the girl he’s in love with, this other girl is the guy’s only friend.”

“Listen to me, Steve.” Robin still doesn’t look at you, but you listen silently and allow her the space she seems to need. “It’s shocked me to my core, but I like you. I really like you, but I’m not lucky like you are. I think… I think you should use that luck. Go for the girl.”

Steve tilts his head, not quite following. “What does luck have to do with any of it?”

Robin sighs and you sit next to her, quiet. She seems to be trying to figure out what she wants to say, and somehow you think you know what she means by luck. It’s always fascinated you, luck and love. Two sides of the same coin. But it never occurred to you that there could be an undercurrent that cuts through the luck. A double meaning behind it. 

“Do you remember what I said about Click’s class? About me being jealous and, like, obsessed?”

“Yeah,”

Robin closes her eyes and sighs. When she opens them, there’s a resolved look in them.  “It… It isn’t because I had a crush on you. It’s because she wouldn’t stop staring at you.”

At first, you’re confused. You had missed their conversation about Mrs. Click’s class. They must’ve had it when they were being held captive, but the phrasing of what Robin has just said feels heavier than it should. Her words land on you with a force you hadn’t seen coming. 

If Robin had for some reason talked about being obsessed with Steve in a class they once shared, but not because she had a crush on him, but because a girl wouldn’t stop staring at him… 

“Mrs. Click?”

Even though you’ve done well remaining silent this entire time, you can’t help but snort at Steve’s response. He’s trying, you know he is. Robin must know this too, because she laughs softly at him as well. “No, Steve.”  Her smile dims, however. “That would’ve made things easier for me, though.”

Easier. Luckier. 

And then it all clicks. 

Robin’s insistence on always pleasing you. The subtle touches. The way her eyes would darken sometimes when you looked at Steve. How, only an hour ago, she had asked you for a kiss when she was still under the influence of the truth serum. 

You draw your hand towards hers and slowly thread your fingers together. Robin’s head spins, she finally allows herself to look at you. She finds your eyes staring into hers. They’re kind, understanding. You’re looking right through her in this very moment, and Robin Buckley has never been more afraid. 

“How long have you known?” You ask her, voice gentle.

Robin’s voice shakes. “Since Tammy Thompson…” She has to look away from you. She can’t do this with you looking at her. “She was in Mrs. Click’s class with me and Steve. I–I wanted her to look at me, but.. She couldn’t pull her eyes away from him and his stupid hair.”

She pauses, tries to compose herself, and you squeeze her hand three times. Once to tell her that you’re there, another to give her the reassurance to go on, and the final time to communicate that you understand. There isn’t a reason to be scared. Somehow, Robin knows what the gesture means. Breathing in, she looks at Steve and continues. 

“And I didn’t understand, because you would get bagel crumbs all over the floor and you asked dumb questions and you were a douchebag. And–and you didn’t even like her and I–” Her voice breaks. “I would go home… and just scream into my pillow.”

Steve looks between the two of you. It’s obvious he’s the only one not aware of the underlying layers. “But Tammy Thompson’s a girl.”

“Steve,” Robin breathes out, pleading. She doesn’t want to say it out loud. She can’t say it out loud. He needs to understand what she’s trying to say. Why she’s been giving him hell all summer. Why she feels guilty when she looks at you.

“Yeah?” But he doesn’t understand.

Robin can’t say anything. She looks at him, can feel the tears in her eyes; she’s begging now. Steve’s eyes find yours, silently begging you as well to explain this to him. He doesn’t understand what he’s doing wrong. He doesn’t want to be doing something that could hurt Robin like this. 

Your shoes squeak against the tile floors as you draw your knees into your chest. You’re not sure what else you can do. Robin has laid everything out for Steve. Your hand still holds hers and you try to quell the fear within you that maybe he’s being intentionally naive. Maybe he doesn’t want to believe it. 

“Oh.” 

It’s one word, one exhale of breath from a mouth that once used to say cruel things. Steve’s face softens, his jaw unclenches and his shoulders relax. He surprises you, showing nothing but empathy. He’s kind, he’s always been kind.

“Holy shit,” Steve doesn’t want to mess this up, but he’s never been good with words. 

Robin laughs. “Yeah, holy shit.”

He sighs and leans against the stall wall. It’s quiet between the three of you. No one really knows what to say now. Steve is still processing, Robin’s heartbeat still hasn’t quite settled, and you’re trying to figure out how to tell her that you understand more than she may know. She’s braver than you, trusted you with this secret, and it’s only fair that you offer her a part of yourself as well. 

Plus, it’s a wonderful ice breaker. 

“You have terrible taste in women, Robin.” You nudge her with your shoulder, teasing. “I mean, I’ve heard Tammy Thompson during choir rehearsal. You can totally do better.”

“She wants to be a singer, she has dreams!” Robin defends the girl, the change in conversation bizarre but welcomed. 

Steve, sensing that you’re trying to lessen the tension, gratefully plays along. “So what she has dreams? She can’t even carry a tune. But, more importantly, what do you know about taste in women, Y/N?”

“I see things,” you jut your head out, defiant. “Probably would’ve fallen in love with Nancy Wheeler had I known her instead of Jonathan.”

Their reactions are expected.

“You would’ve loved Nancy?” Steve exclaims at the same time as Robin guffaws, “You loved Byers?” 

You laugh. It’s a full, whole body laugh. One you haven’t felt in so long. “Yes,” you wheeze out, the look on their faces killing you. Steve looks unnerved while Robin looks disgusted. “At least Jonathan doesn’t sound like a muppet when he sings.”

“Tammy does not!” Robin is laughing alongside you now. It’s been a long time since she’s laughed this hard, too.

Steve rolls his eyes, his own smile overtaking his face. “She sounds like a muppet giving birth, Robin.”

“That’s what she reminds me of!” You snap your fingers and point at him. “You’re right!”

Robin clutches her stomach as she laughs. She leans into your side as you lean into her. Steve starts doing a terrible impersonation of Tammy’s awful singing, which only gets the two of you to laugh even harder. Steve gets you to sing along. He grabs the hand that isn’t holding Robin’s and swings it around as the two of you sing. Robin joins, laughing more than singing. It’s lovely. Absolutely lovely. 

And this is how Dustin finds the three of you.

He slams the bathroom door open, Erica right behind him, and stands in front of you.

“Okay,” he glares at you specifically. “What the hell, Y/N?”

You giggle at his disappointed dad stance. “I told you I’d take care of them.”

Dustin isn’t amused, which only makes your giggles turn to laughter again. The other two teens aren’t far behind you, descending into yet another fit of laughter. Hunched together, the three of you giggle breathlessly as your brother and Erica watch in disbelief. 

But you ignore their questioning stares.

With both Steve and Robin holding your hands, laughter warming your belly, you feel like a kid again.

– 

 The bus becomes your only option.

“I managed to contact the party.” Dustin had informed you after your laughter died down.

Relief washed over you. “Thank God–”

“But then my walkie died.”

“Yeah,” you had sighed and dropped your head down in defeat. “Yeah, of course it did. Why wouldn’t it die when we need it?”

Which leads you to now: peering out the bathroom door with Steve breathing down your neck and Dustin in front of you, checking to make sure it’s safe. A crowd of people flood the once empty hallway. The movie must’ve just finished. Everyone is talking excitedly, having no idea that five teenagers are currently hiding in the bathroom from Russians. 

You envy them. 

“When I say ‘blend’, we go. Okay?” Dustin asks the group, eyes still on the mass of people exiting the theater. 

“Because Steve dripping blood definitely will blend in.” You retort. It’ll be hard not to draw attention to yourselves with the way his face still oozes. It’s a long walk down to the bus station and you’re getting worried now. The mall closes in ten minutes, soon there won’t be any crowds to hide behind. 

Dustin doesn’t bother justifying your remark. Instead he studies the flow of traffic before giving his signal. “Blend.”

The five of you swiftly exit the bathroom and align your pace with everyone around you. Dustin guides in front with Erica while you stay back with Steve and Robin. Your eyes move constantly, scanning every face you pass. Thankfully, the people close to you seem innocent enough.

Erica looks around, impressed. “Well, shit. That worked.”

“Of course it worked.” Dustin is smug, which makes you wince. He’s always had a bad habit of jinxing things. You really wish he had gotten more of your mom’s humility and less of your dad’s ego. “Now we just have to get on the bus with the rest of these plebes, and home sweet home, here we come.”

You shove your brother. “Can we not taunt our inevitable bad luck?”

“We’re in the clear now, Y/N. Trust me, in just twenty minutes we’ll be back home, where our dear mother awaits with her frantic arms wide open–”

“Uh, Dustin?” Steve eyes him nervously. Already you dread whatever he’s about to say. You guys only lasted thirty seconds without any bad luck. It’s a new record, honestly.

“What?”

“Yeah, we might not wanna go to your house.”

“Why?”

“Well,” Steve winces with regret. He knows he’s about to piss both Hendersons off. “I might’ve told them your full name.”

Dustin turns to look at him, bewildered. “What is wrong with you?”

“Dude, I was drugged.” Steve argues, which. Yeah. That’s fair.

Not liking that he apparently sold your brother out to Russians, yet understanding that Steve hadn’t been the most clear headed when it happened, you grab his hand. There’s more important matters to deal with, like whether or not he sold you out as well. “Did you tell them my full name?”

“No, I kept you safe.” He says, with an air of obviousness that you smirk at. 

“Aw, thanks honey.” You kiss his cheek, not caring that Dustin is fuming in front of you. 

“Oh, so you can resist for your girlfriend but not for her brother?” Dustin struggles to keep his voice low. He has never wanted to shove Steve down a flight of stairs more. “You were supposed to tough it out. Like a man!”

You flick the kid’s hat. “Hey, he was very manly defending my honor.”

“I hate you both–”

Robin suddenly freezes, her eyes catching on something. “Guys…”

Everyone stops, alarmed by the tone in her voice, before you see them. There, standing right in front of the exit of the mall, are the two Russian men from the alley. They’re stopping people, checking their faces, looking for you. 

“Abort.” Dustin says, before one of the men makes direct eye contact with him. His face pales and you already have one hand on his shoulder, pulling at him to run. “Abort!”

Steve grabs Erica’s hand and motions for you and Dustin to run ahead as Robin guides. She pushes through the crowd of people and towards the escalators. However, when you get there, they’re roped off and blocked by plexiglass. 

You kick at the glass, frustrated. The Russians are close now. Robin, quick as ever, steps past you and places herself in the middle of the two escalators. You’re confused at first, but then you realize there’s just enough space for your bodies to fit through. Sitting down, Robin is able to use the gap as a makeshift slide.

“Let’s go,” Steve places Erica to slide down next, then Dustin. When it’s your turn, he nods at you. “Ready?”

“I’m so tired of running from these shitheads.” You say before launching yourself down the escalators. 

Robin waits for everyone at the bottom. When you’re all there, she waves for you to follow as you run again. None of you have any idea where to even hide now that the mall has emptied. There’s no one to hide behind, no corner to run into. And the goddamn Russians are fast, never trailing more than fifty feet behind you. 

Somehow you end up in the food court. It isn’t much, but there’s at least vendor’s stalls and restaurant counters nearby. Panting, you point towards the nearest counter. “There! Everyone jump over!”

No one argues, doing as they’re told. You make it there first and help Erica over while Steve and Robin help Dustin. Kneeling down, you motion for everyone to sit with a finger to your lips. The men have to be nearby, you can practically feel their presence close. Facing your friends, you grip your knives and strain your ears for any sounds. 

It’s tense. Dustin pants, he’s scared and overwhelmed and you wish you could offer him better protection. Steve glances at you, silently asking you what the next move is, and you shake your head helplessly. You’re cornered, there’s no way out of this one. 

The sound of boots falling against the mall’s ground approaches. It grows louder and louder at a maddeningly slow pace. Your knuckles are white from how tightly they grip around the hilt of your switchblade. With one flick of your wrist, you know you could at least disarm one of the men long enough to cause a distraction. You’d never kill anyone, but you know from experience that a cut to the shoulder is sufficient enough. 

You’re pulled away from your thoughts when a car alarm suddenly goes off. Its loud noise echoes within the empty mall. Everyone jumps at the unexpected sound, shuffling closer together. Deciding it’s worth the risk, you poke your head up to see what the hell is going on. 

The guards are standing around a red convertible. It shakes, vibrates almost, and they look at one another in confusion. The car continues to shriek its alarm, and while the men stand in fear, you smile. There’s static in the air.

Looking up you see El, with an arm outstretched, on the second floor. Her face is strained, her fingers clench in mid air. The look on her face is terrifying, and you’ve never been happier to see blood drip down from her nose. She twists her arm and sends the car flying into the men. You duck as it crushes them, rolls over the tables and chairs in the center, before spiraling into the counter next to you. “Shit!”

The alarm stops ringing. Everything falls silent. Slowly, you and everyone else stand up to inspect the damage. A tire rim rolls past, the Russians guards are sprawled on the ground, unmoving. There’s smoke from where the car has landed, and you let out a low whistle. “Nice one, El.”

“El?” Dustin turns around, wondering if he’s heard you right.

“She’s up there,” you point to where she had been standing, but when you see Jonathan now standing next to her with Nancy, your heart stops. “Jonathan.”

You’re the first to start running, and when he sees that it’s you, Jonathan wastes no time running either. He’s down the escalator in seconds. Your whole body buzzes as you run, adrenaline and longing coursing through you. The moment he’s close enough, you practically leap into his arms.

“Bug,” he holds onto you tightly. He buries his face in your hair and you breathe him in. It’s a familiar scent, a familiar warmth. You had been so focused on escaping the Russian base that you hadn’t even considered that he and everyone else in the party could’ve been involved. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” you tighten your arms around him, but when he makes a pained noise, you immediately pull away. It’s then that you notice the swelling in his head. The dried blood. Pressing your fingers softly to his face, you fill with concern. “What happened, are you hurt?”

Jonathan tries to shrug it off. He doesn’t care about what he’s been through. All he wants to focus on is that you’re okay, for once not covered in blood and bruises like he is. Wherever you’ve been these last few days, at least he knows you weren’t in any pain. “I’m fine, I’ll tell you everything later–”

“You flung that thing like a Hot Wheel!” Dustin exclaims to El, now joining you and Jonathan as the others gather around. 

You don’t leave Jonathan’s side as everyone starts talking at once. Lucas asks why Erica is involved, to which you wince at. “I tried stopping them.”

“It’s their fault.” Erica points at Steve and Robin, clearing your name in the process, which you appreciate her for. 

Steve stands next to you now and puts his hands on his hips. He doesn’t even try to deny that he’s the reason a ten year old girl ended up locked inside an underground Russian facility. “Yeah, true. Totally true. It’s absolutely our fault.” 

Robin asks what happened to the car and Dustin and Steve explain El to her. They quickly catch her up to speed about the girl’s power, and you feel bad for the teen. It’s a lot of information to take in at once. Erica joins, having remembered her conversation with Dustin from earlier in the vents when he had explained the Upside Down to her. 

Meanwhile, Nancy is focused on Robin. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“That’s Robin. She’s a friend.” You step between them. When Nancy sees that it’s you, she quickly looks away. She fidgets with her fingers, overwhelmed with shame and regret. She hasn’t forgotten the cruelty she showed you a few days ago. You haven’t forgotten either, but you’ve never been one to hold anger towards others. Extending a kind smile, you nod at her. “Hey, Nance.”

Nancy looks up, surprised, but smiles at you as well and it’s enough. Maybe one day you’ll sort through the tension that never seems to leave you and the girl alone. Untangle the lines and threads that haunt both of you. For now, there are other things to worry about. 

Steve has started explaining the Russians now, and quickly it becomes clear that you’ve all been dealing with vastly different situations. 

“Russians, what Russians?” Jonathan asks you with alarm. 

“See those guys laying over there?” Everyone looks at where you’re pointing, the men still knocked out on the ground. “Russians. We enjoyed twenty-four wonderful hours with them.”

“Yeah, we ended up trapped in their secret base underneath Hawkins.” Dustin further explains, to which everyone’s eyes widen at. 

“It was fun. Spent my birthday in mortal danger.” At the same time the kids all wish you a belated birthday, which you salute them for. “Thanks, guys. I’m just happy I wasn’t gravely injured this time.”

“And that Steve finally kissed you.” Dustin unhelpfully adds before Steve is covering his mouth to shut him up. His face reddens, embarrassed and nervous. Jonathan is standing too close to him for comfort right now.

Nancy looks uncomfortable with this new information, Mike makes a disgusted sound, Max high fives you, Lucas cheers, Will gasps and looks nervously towards his brother, and Jonathan chokes on his own spit. It’s truly a very wide array of reactions, all of which are expected to certain extents. 

That doesn’t stop you from hitting the back of Dustin’s head, though. “Can we focus on the Russians infiltrating Hawkins?” Dustin hits your shoulder in retaliation, but he knows you’re right. He turns to Mike, upset that he hadn’t come sooner. “Didn’t you get our code red?”

“Yeah, but I couldn’t understand half of what you were saying.”

The kids all start to argue and Steve joins in, making a remark about how he’s always bugging Dustin to watch for a low battery. More arguing follows. Lucas and the others demand to hear more about the Russians. As you try your best to explain everything, you notice from the corner of your eye El walking away from the group.

Her shoulders are drawn into her body, her breathing seems to be labored. You nudge Jonathan, pulling his attention away from the kids arguing, and point towards El. “What happened to her tonight?”

Jonathan is about to explain what they’ve been dealing with, but when El collapses onto the ground, you leave his side in a heartbeat to join her. Kneeling beside her, you’re cold with panic. She’s covered in sweat, her face is flushed. “El? Sweetheart, what’s happening?”

Mike and Jonathan are beside you now. Mike is in his own fit of panic, nearly ramming into you in his hurry to get to the girl. He turns her over onto her back, his face twisted with worry and fear. “El! What’s wrong?”

The rest of the group stands around El now, staring down at her. She manages to open her eyes, but you can tell that it pains her to do so. “My leg.” She rasps out, voice thick with tears. 

“Her leg, okay.” Jonathan takes action, swiftly unraveling a bandage on her leg. You hadn’t noticed it before. There’s a deep wound underneath the gauze, its blood has soaked through it. Nancy helps Jonathan with the bandage, and when they finally get it off, you almost throw up at the sight. 

The flesh is raised, angry and swollen. There’s a giant gash in El’s leg, deep and to the bone. The veins in her legs are dark and begin to constrict when something starts to move inside the wound; something is crawling inside her leg. It’s a nauseating sight.

Mike starts to freak out even more. He doesn’t understand what’s happening. He’s scared for the girl, his eyes fill with panic. Instinctively you pull him into your arms, tightening your hold as he fights against it. 

That’s when El begins to scream.

-

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[igetnosleep]

It’s like having a puppy

Had a thought in my head about Leon just being cuddly, also needed to get this out of my drafts

You’re at the point in your relationship where Leon practically lives with you. His apartment key jingles next to yours when he fiddles for motorcycle key. It’s bearable a sanctuary away from work away from the lonely little hovel he had the nerve to call a home.

It was barely livable his room was always a mess alcohol was in reach when he needed to drink away a hangover. Yours smelled nicer always had a candle ready from when you’d go shopping.

Glasses on when you couldn’t read the prices and hand it to him like his was any better.

Today was a hard day keys hitting the wooden door as he jiggled the old lock and managed to get it open only for him to find you sat in front of the tv laying on the couch watching a rerun of whatever movie you could quote at this point.

Toeing off his shoes and taking off his jacket he didn’t hesitate to get in pulling the blanket off of you, earning a whine from you “Leon-“ “shh no need to get crabby with me.” You felt his hand flatten on your stomach “don’t-“ you warned only for him to squish the belly fat you had earning him a kick on the shin.

Leon quickly wrapped his arms around you laughing when you tried to do the same to him hiding his face against the crook of your neck kissing sensitive skin there and playfully biting that caused you to try and wiggle away from him.

“Is this you asking for attention?” He chuckled against your neck “how’d you know?” “Just a hunch.” He laughed softly thumb circling your shoulder as he snuggled closer humming softly

“You think you’re being cute?” You asked glancing over your shoulder eyebrow raised as his hand played with the waistband of your shorts.

“I am adorable actually.” He hummed looking at you properly as you played with his shirt following the stitching easily as you kissed his nose.

“How was your day?” You asked and he huffed shaking his head. “Stupid.” He murmured, bad but it could have been worse as he settled his weight on you, your fingers carding through his hair as he peeked up at you kissing your cheek.

“Hey..I love you.”

He nudged your cheek asking you to look at him as you did he didn’t think twice as he nuzzled your neck.

You couldn’t help bur smile pressing your lips against his temple in a lingering kiss.