#... the blood was dried on the inside of it and it hurt like hell getting it off (figuratively) but ill be damned if i ever wear it again

[witch-of-many-names]

I always was masking around him

The mask was made of glass,

But he stained it in spit and blood

Because he was repulsed by what laid underneath

[crumbledcastle28]

Joel Miller: Stay Down

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (she/her; afab)

Word count: 3.2k

Summary: Joel thought he had grown accustomed to fear until he finds you covered in blood.

Excerpt: He swallowed, attempting to choose his words carefully. He had never been good with them, attributing his deficiency to a long line of likewise men before him. His brain poured for sonnets, poetry, prose that he had read in his insignificant time on this planet. Something to impress you, distract you, to take away that crestfallen look in your eye.

He couldn’t do it. He never would be. So, he used his mouth for something else.

Warnings: stitching of a wound, kissing, blood, blood loss, so much yearning, unestablished relationship, probably incorrect gun talk, Joel is scared of feelings.

A/N: This is me coping with the fact that we do not get more last of us in January. Also partially inspired by my favorite song maybe ever.

Pedro Masterlist

All my writing

Joel had found his hands becoming more and more susceptible to the cold as he got older.

They would crack and bleed, flaking dried skin within his decades-old gloves before November had even begun. This not only hurt like hell, but forced him to slow down and think about what he was doing to his body for once in his life. He had a harder time gripping the reins on a horse or fingering the trigger on a shotgun. Noticeably so. And living in a small town with a little brother foaming at the mouth to make old man jokes didn't help matters.

This is what led him to you.

He wouldn't call you a hoarder. Honestly, he would be the first to admit that you were one of the smartest people in Jackson. You had somehow become one of the most materialistically rich people in the town. You consistently managed to find the most randomly useful items on your patrols, things that people before the outbreak would never have even thought to miss.

Things like shoe insoles, ball point pens, Chapstick.

And luckily for him, lotion.

You never charged anyone for taking from what you had. Furthermore, you actively asked people if they needed anything. Even offering to scout around the area in search of specifics. Joel hadn't been around that kind of softness since...

Well, a long time.

This made him uncharacteristically nervous when he first approached your doorstep, but he knocked anyway. He had never in a million years expected to leave that house satisfied in more ways than one.

He blamed it on that stupid crinkle the skin underneath your eyes got whenever you smiled at him. He couldn't help but fall into your light.

This started a... friendship. Of sorts. He would come over when he needed you, and you would happily oblige. As time went on, the visits to yours became more and more frequent, frequent enough that the rest of the town seemed to be catching on. At least, that's what his brother had been hinting at through jabs and side comments.

"You smiled at me the other day, Joel," Tommy had said. "Actually smiled."

Joel responded with a gesture he was hoping Ellie would not pick up anytime soon.

Joel was...happy. Happy with the arrangement. He had a warm body – a fucking gorgeous warm body – to get his energy out with, and the woman inside the body seemingly had no issue with his lack of strings attached.

And yet, for some reason, this annoyed him.

There was some undetectable, bruised part of him that wanted you to…what exactly? Fight him on it? Confess your undying love for him? Pull him back into bed to cuddle?

There had to be either pheromones or crack cocaine in that honeyed floral perfume you always wore. You were beginning to drive him this insane. Unfortunately for him, the place he went when he was beginning to toe that line into insanity was always you.

Joel had checked the schedule posted in the main square, assigning every able-bodied person shifts of patrol. You had a shift earlier in the day, which usually kept you busy until noon. You would then shower, eat, and spend the rest of the afternoon doing whatever the hell you wanted.

Overtime, these mental gymnastics became muscle memory to Joel.

He huffed as he lugged his aching legs up your steps, their typical milk white now coated in an ugly muddy brown. Winter had begun, apparent by the puffs of Joel’s own breaths, and the snow in Jackson was trying desperately to keep up.

Joel balled his hands into fists as he planted both feet onto your porch, blowing into them quickly, before knocking three times. Spaced out enough, but not too much. He envisioned you smiling as you heard his signature knock, but cringed at himself internally, burying the thought instantly.

It fluttered back to the surface when he heard the pads of your footsteps somewhere in the house begin but extinguished itself when they dissipated.

He waited a few more seconds, the rational part of his brain saying that you must be in the middle of something, but the man part of his brain imagining you putting on your silky red robe he loved so much, only for him to take it off you so slowly it made his own fingers shake. He breathed in deep, the laundry detergent from his nylon coat mixed with the beginnings of December filling his nose, and cracked his neck while rocking back and forth on his heels.

His eyebrows came together when he heard another rustle, then nothing.

He knocked again.

Still, nothing,

He knew you were in there – he could hear you, clear as day, and he knew you could hear him – but for some reason, you weren’t coming to the door.

His much too weathered mind began to race, thinking of three possible explanations. One, you heard him knocking, and were ignoring him. Two, you somehow were not hearing him knock on the door. Or three, you for some reason were not able to get to the door.

Meaning, there was a possibility you weren’t alone in there, and not by choice.

“Y/N?” he asked loudly. “Y/N, are you in there?”

Nothing. A bit more rustling, maybe a slight groan, but nothing.

Joel’s fingers began to tingle, and it wasn’t from the cold. He knocked again, harder.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there,” he said loudly, “just…just tell me you’re okay.”

Silence.

He gripped the doorknob and jiggled it, hard enough for the wood to groan underneath his fingertips, but it was locked from the inside. He huffed, knocking again, his hot breaths now clouding his face. He felt an ache in his wrist.

He said your name one more time, hearing the beginnings of a voice he knew better than he should have muffled by the wood, and the door was flat in front of him before he could think twice.

He stomped his way inside, coating the ground with mud and snow, and his eyes darted around the familiar living room. His vision was tunneled, scrounging for the shape of you on the floor, draped over the couch, held at gunpoint. His heart pulsed in his ears.

You weren’t in the living room.

He stomped into the kitchen, the bathroom, the basement, nothing. All that was left was the bedroom.

There was no way in hell you were still asleep.

He practically sprinted to the room, preparing himself. He had seen what men did to women, the remnants of it anyway, and despite his state of denial, he could never in a million years handle the sight of you that way. In your own bed. In your own house. Likely one of your own friends.

He pulled open the door anyway, and was met with gold.

The room was dim except for the lamps you loved so dearly, spreading their warm, glowing, honeyed light across the room in streaks. He blinked his eyes to adjust, focusing in on your body on the bed. You were facing him, skin painted with similar golden streaks, highlighting the tears culminating under your eyes. You were sat crisscrossed, upper body totally bare, back slouched tightly, your body practically folded in on itself. Your right hand was pressed against your left shoulder blade, while your other was filled with wine-colored rags.

Blood-soaked rags.

His eyes met yours quickly, and despite their dampness, they still had that fucking crinkle.

You chuckled, your shoulders dropping up and down quickly as they always do.

“You know,” you said, voice curdled and tired, “if someone doesn’t answer the door, that’s usually them saying ‘leave me the hell alone.”

You chuckled again, this time finishing it off with a wince.

His hand slid slowly from the doorknob as he took a hesitant step towards you, his body tearing itself in half. One side begging to fold your body into him, bubbling you in a cocoon. The other, itching to tear whatever did this to you apart ligament by ligament.

Your eyes slowly drooped from humor to something like shame, like a kicked dog or a broken child, and he stepped forward again.

“Don’t,” you countered weakly. “Just…just don’t.”

You scooted away from him slightly, refusing to look at him, and applied more pressure to whatever was expelling that much blood from your shoulder. Pain was suddenly present in your face.

“You want me to leave?” he quickly countered.

You said nothing.

He walked to you, removing the hand you had pressed against your wound, and sucked in a quick breath.

“Probably the first time you’ve seen a revolver bullet in about twenty years, huh Joel?” you asked, chuckling once more.

He barely heard you.

You had gotten the bullet out, but it had sunken in deep. The skin around it was red and welting, so swollen that Joel had to guess you had already been working on it for at least an hour. He winced, imagining what kind of pain you were in, and the fact that you were dealing with it all yourself.

He swallowed grimly.

“Hand me that rag,” he said. He could tell how little strength you had left to fight him by how quickly the rag flopped into his hand.

He pressed it to the wound, and you hissed.

“Fuck Joel,” you whined, squeezing the covers of your bed so tightly your knuckles went white. He held his pressure, forcing himself to think straight.

He might as well have been feeling the pain in his own shoulder.

He finally eased his pressure, wiping away as much blood from the area as he could.

“You cleaned it pretty well,” he said softly, voice thick in his throat, so thick it was hard to speak. “But…it’s gonna need a stich or two.”

“Or seven,” you said, grabbing the first aid kit sat in the middle of the bed. You opened the bag with shaking hands, taking out the needle and thread. You attempted to begin threading the needle, but with your hands quaking so fiercely you only produced frustrated grunts and sighs. He moved to the front of the bed, the front of his body facing yours, and took the needle and thread from your hands, setting them to the side. He then held your hands in his, squeezing them slightly, before using one to tilt your chin up at him.

He sighed at the storm in your eyes.

“What happened?”

“Did you kick my fucking door down?”

“What happened?”

“I was stupid, that’s what happened.”

He sighed again. “You’ve never once been stupid.”

“Today I was.”

“How?”

“It’s how I always am.” Your voice cracked. “Thought I could pick some apples for Mrs. Lawrence down the street. She always talks about how much she loved that as a kid – a freshly picked apple. Went out too far. Felt a sudden burning in my shoulder and ended up having to take out six hunters all by myself. Six.”

A single tear dripped from your left eye, the gold from the lamps turning it to sunlight.

“I could’ve died. All for a fucking apple.”

You turned away from him again, and it took everything in him not to cup your face in his hands and turn you back to him. He had never seen you like this before. So… raw. Beaten. Trampled. Doused in self-hatred. He hated it.

And yet, he didn’t want to look away. He was slowly realizing that this was the part of you he had been desperate to see. Truth. Undercarriage. Weakness.

Human.

He swallowed, attempting to choose his words carefully. He had never been good with them, attributing his deficiency to a long line of likewise men before him. His brain poured for sonnets, poetry, prose that he had read in his insignificant time on this planet. Something to impress you, distract you, to take away that crestfallen look in your eye.

He couldn’t do it. He never would be. So, he used his mouth for something else.

Slowly, gentler than he ever had in his life, he brought his mouth to your cheekbone. You exhaled a prolonged breath, the heat of it cascading down the left side of his neck. It only prompted him to kiss you more, and more, and more. His lips traveling up into your hairline, across your forehead, down your nose, and finally onto your lips. His kiss there was tongueless, rather a soft press, and yet it meant more to him than any other one you had ever shared.

He could tell by your breathing that you agreed.

He pressed his forehead against yours, swallowing thickly. “I’m glad you didn’t. I don’t know…I don’t know what I would do if you did.”

Your stormy eyes turned into a sunrise, and Joel straightened his aching back to slowly remove his coat and boots. He placed them on the floor beside your bed, keeping his eyes on you the entire time. You watched him just the same, mouth propped open slightly.

He smirked as he set his things down. He then picked up the needle and thread while using his free hand to frame your face.

“I’ll be gentle,” he said, his thumb stroking your chin. “I promise.”

You nodded. “I know you will.”

His lips wanted to meet yours so badly it hurt, but he needed to stitch you. Quickly. For a wound as deep as the one you had, it should have been closed up hours ago.

He wouldn’t think about that now. He couldn’t.

He walked to the edge of the bed and turned you around, leaning you into him slightly to give your pretzeled back some support, and began.  

You were surprisingly unreactive when he first inserted the needle, taking it as delicately as he possibly could. It wasn’t until he began to tug the skin together that your body showed signs of pain.

“You’re going too slow,” you mumbled softly after he finished the second stitch. “Please go faster.”

His hands began to shake at your request. He didn’t blame you. Speed would make it hurt worse, but be over with quicker. He squeezed the top of your shoulder in response, threading the needle quickly and stitching over the center of the wound.

You let out a high-pitched whine, gripping onto the comforter at your side, and he couldn’t help but kiss the back of your neck.

He let your breathing steady, then stitched again, this time kissing your shoulder blade.

Another stitch, a kiss across your shoulders.

Another stitch, a kiss down your spine.

Another stitch, a kiss on your lower back.

After every stitch, he planted one. Something in him couldn’t help it.

He made his final stitch and cut the thread quickly, sealing it with a kiss on the side of your face. He tasted a mix of salty tears and heat from your skin. He watched your throat bobble as he moved away, finishing off the wound with a final cleaning. Alcohol and blood filled the air, along with undertones of sweat.

He had a feeling that last aroma came mostly from him.

He threw the needle and thread away into the small garbage can you kept near your bed before turning back to face you. You rested on the balls of your palms, leaning back to look at him as he walked back towards you. There was pain visible behind your eyes, he could see it, but they were coated in something else. Something somehow rawer than before.

“You should rest now,” he said, scruff evident in his voice from lack of use. He cleared it quickly. “You took a hell of a hit.”

You didn’t move. Joel moved to the first aid kit still sitting in the middle of the bed and used the (what had to be decades old) wet wipes on his hands. He tossed those as well, but you still hadn’t moved.

“There somethin’ on my face?”

You cracked a small smile. “Thank you, Joel,” you said quietly.

He hummed. “Don’t mention it.” He then leaned forward and scooped your body into his arms. You involuntarily rested against him, eyes fluttering already, but he set you down beneath your sheets and swiftly pulled them over you.

He laughed at your fight against your own exhaustion, pushing stray hairs away from your forehead. He pulled away from you, beginning to walk out of the room. A fierce grip pulled him backwards.

“Stay,” you mumbled weakly. “Please stay.”

He inhaled deeply. The sweet cocktail of your voice mixed with those words fucking inebriating him, so much so he was surprised he was still standing up straight. He felt physically winded.

He squeezed your hand. “I’ll be right back. Stay down.”

You smiled, loosening your grip, letting your hand fall back into the bed.

Joel walked quietly out of the room but would be the last to admit how he practically sprinted to your kitchen and scoured your cabinets like a man being chased. He found your pain meds, pouring two into his hand, and filling up a small glass of water. He gave a slow, silent jog back to your room.

He felt equally as winded when he caught the view of the setting sun between your windows, glazing over you like a statue in Rome he had once seen on a traveling magazine. The streaks of leftover tears were highlighted in the light, as well as a small crease in your brow.

That is what told him you were not quite yet out cold.

He brought the meds and water to you, tucking your hair behind your ear to alert you of his presence. You opened your eyes and practically inhaled the medicine before laying back down on your side.

Joel removed his shirt in a blink and tucked himself in behind you, ensuring your stitches were not firmly pressed against him, but pressed just enough to ease soreness. You curved into him perfectly, as he did to you. He wrapped his arm around your frame, taking your hands in his and massaging them gently.

You hummed. “Promise you’ll stay?”

He knew your voice like that better than any man in the world.

He pressed a final kiss to your shoulder. “I’m stayin.’”

Tag List: (if you would like to be added please let me know!)

@untitledarea @avengersfan25 @lexloon @daphne-turner @leeeesahhh

[nadvs]

keep thinking about having a sneaky link and or fwb situation with rafe and one night he calls you and hes like ‘can i come over i need you’ and youre like dude im asleep but hes already standing at your place and when you open the door hes all dishevelled and bloody and beat up and drunk or high or whatever and close to passing out so you patch him up and eventually get into some freaky stuff and maybe he even ends up confessing hes falling for you……. is that anything

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

content warning blood/injury

You’re used to Rafe’s name flashing on your phone late at night. He’s usually drunk or high after a party, desperate to fuck and knowing you’re almost always up for it.

You know he’s not interested in nor capable of having sex with any strings attached. It’s just a friends with benefits situation, and you’ll take what you can get, loving how perfectly his body fits into yours.

But it hasn’t stopped you from developing feelings for the complex, hardened man who’s seen you naked dozens of times.

Tonight, you’re already dozing off when your phone starts buzzing. You tiredly pick it up to see he’s calling. He never calls. Only texts.

You figure it’s another booty call and let it go to voicemail.

But he calls again. And again.

“What?” you say groggily.

“Can I come over?” he rasps.

“I’m sleeping,” you say. “Another night, ‘kay?”

“Please. I need you.”

“What?” you ask. You’ve never heard his voice like this. Sad. Empty.

“I’m outside your building. I… I need you,” he repeats.

You agree even though you’re exhausted, hearing desperation in his voice. When you open your door, Rafe’s head is hanging, his messy hair falling over his forehead, his lips parted.

When he finally looks up, you notice blood spattered over his nose.

“What the hell happened?” you ask, eyes widening.

“Can you help me?” he says. Rafe doesn’t have anywhere else to go. He realizes how pathetic it is that a girl he fucks casually is the closest person he has to him. And how pathetic is that you don’t even know it.

He’s leaning against your bathroom sink as you dab a wet tissue over the dried blood, his lids heavy. He feels like he’s about to pass out, but he wants to keep looking at you.

Even through the fog, gazing at you and feeling the way you take care of him gets him hard. As you clean him up, you notice the bulge in his jeans.

“Really?” you say with a breathy laugh.

“You’re hot,” he drawls, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

After tossing out the bloodied tissue, you brush Rafe’s bangs out of his face and study his tired features. He doesn’t get many moments like this with you. These soft, quiet moments of concern and care.

It makes him wonder, like always, if you feel the way he does.

“What happened?” you ask.

“Fight,” he says with a shrug.

“Ever considered just walking away?”

“That’s stupid.”

You chuckle and step back, but he pulls you in by your wrist and kisses you, fighting through the pain radiating on his face. You purposely kiss gently so not to hurt him, arousal twisting inside of you. You don’t care about how tired you are anymore.

He stands, pushing you back, following your footsteps into your room. He grinds into you once you’re on your bed, feeling himself throbbing already.

“I thought you were hurt,” you tease.

“I am,” Rafe whispers. “Make me feel better.”

He knows your body by now, knows where to touch to get you wet. He kisses down your neck as he pulls your pajamas off, rubbing you over your panties.

You strip him down to his boxers, dipping your hand into them and stroking his hard, smooth cock. He lets out a groan, loving the feeling of your fingers wrapped around him.

Once you’re naked, you sit on him, slowly sinking onto him, letting him bury into you. Rafe throws his head back in pleasure. He never gets used to how nicely you squeeze around him.

As you start to rock, your hands on his firm chest, he watches you on top of him in awe. He grips your hips, letting you take full control, loving how you writhe and move and breathe.

“You take it so fucking good,” he praises, revelling in how hot and wet you are.

You lean down so your clit rubs against his base, whimpering at the sensation, arching your back. Rafe’s hands rest on your ass as you move on top of him, reaching your peak with shallow breaths.

He cums quickly after you, emptying himself inside you in hard and fast spurts, groaning through his climax.

You clean up and settle beside him, sure he’ll head out soon. He never stays the night. But he’s not getting up.

He turns to kiss you again, cradling your face. You figure he wants to go for a second round. He continues to run his tongue over yours, languidly and without the speed and urgency you’re used to.

Rafe isn’t touching you anywhere else. His palms are on your cheeks, his lips gently sucking yours. He eventually pulls back, forehead against yours.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he mutters.

“Doing what?”

“Pretending.” He swallows hard. “Pretending like this is just fucking.”

“What?” Your heart is racing. Your stomach is numb. You look at him in the dimness of your room.

“This no strings attached thing is bullshit,” he says. “You’re all I fucking think about.”

He kisses you again, soft and shy for the first time.

“Is it just me?” he asks. He’s hurting all over, in pain from simply imagining you rejecting him.

You’re worried he’s just fucked up from whatever he was drinking or inhaling earlier tonight, but you take the opportunity to get your feelings off your chest, no matter the risk.

“It’s not just you,” you finally say.

He breaths a short sigh of relief, kissing you again, thumb stroking your temple.

Rafe isn’t sure when you went from an amazing hook-up to a girl who’s slowly taking his heart piece by piece, but it’s been agony keeping it from you.

He’s glad that he doesn’t have to pretend anymore, but mostly, he’s elated that you feel the same.

[strwbmei]

summary: what could've happened if angell chose to be selfish for once

contains: desperate/emotional sex, transfem!angell, fem!reader, angell tops, marking, creampie, cunnilingus, fingering, angst no comfort, whatever the opposite of reunion sex is, parting sex???, mentions of crying but not in a sexy way, mentions of blood (also not in a sexy way), tw kidnapping, but you kind of learn to live with it, whatever the hell is going on in angell's event, everything is consensual and soft despite the alarming tags, mentions of drugs but it's unrelated to the smut, unresolved feelings on both sides, tw murder unrelated to smut, devirginifying sex i forgot what it was called, set in between Ditty Nightsong and Angell's interrogation

pairing(s): angell x chief!reader

a/n: I HAD to write this after finishing her event. Seeing Angell and the chief slowly get along despite their circumstances was such a treat. Also, first PTN fic!

You're tidying Angell's room up, careful to not make any noise since you don't want to wake her. Seeing the piles of pillows and clothes on the floor, you can't help but sigh. How has she lived like this for so long?

A faint song plays in the background. It's obvious the record player has seen better days—it's one of the more used appliances in this house. The song playing is the one Angell listens to while on the job. Huh.

Days are passing by, living this lie,

Not knowing what we're looking for,

As you dust off the furniture, you can't help but smile faintly. A change of pace like this is nice once in a while. Your only worries are preparing meals and doing maintenance around the house, which Angell doesn't even require you to do. Just something to keep you busy, you suppose.

It helps that she isn't a picky eater. Despite your lackluster culinary skills, Angell finishes each meal without complaint. She's even made a few positive comments lately. Maybe you should try making a meal for the sinners once you return to the MBCC.

Oh. Right. You're returning to the MBCC.

Gray, these walls are gray and there's no sky.

There is no hope, there is no soar.

I know somewhere there must be more.

It feels... weird to admit, but you've grown fond of this lifestyle. A domestic life with Angell like this is comforting, as long as you don't consider the fact that she'll definitely hand you over to her client as soon as she gets in contact with them.

Maybe you're just like the goldfish in her apartment, swimming blissfully in their tank as they stay oblivious to the outside world. You doubt Angell would be able to take care of them if she moves houses again.

You gather the clothes from the floor, catching a whiff of dried blood and sweat. Yikes. You wouldn't be surprised if the tank top you were holding had a whole ecosystem inside of it. It wouldn't hurt to wash these later, you think to yourself.

Just as you're about to finish putting the clothes away, you feel someone suddenly pull you into a tight hug, as if you'd escape from their grasp otherwise. It's Angell. You can hear how shaky her breathing is. It seems she had a bad dream.

"Don't go,"

The words Angell had been holding herself back so desperately not to say inevitably leave her, like a clock knowingly marching towards the hour of its death. She's glad that you can't see her right now with how her lips are quivering. You can still feel her hands trembling around you, though.

It's all so stupid. Angell is so stupid. She let herself get used to you, your warmth, and your kindness akin to sunlight so bright it hurt her eyes. And where has that gotten her? Naive; borderline delusional. Possibly dead, too. What have you done to this assassin, Chief of the MBCC?

"Please."

You feel as if you're meeting Angell for the first time when she says this. She has never acted like a dangerous hitman at home, but she has never acted so... desperate, either. You don't mind seeing another side of her, but the sudden change in demeanor is perplexing.

"Angell?" You call out. The woman's grip on you gets ever so slightly tighter in response. "Everything's okay. I'm here." You're not going anywhere—or so you'd like to say. Your relationship with her, if you could even call it that, is already far too filled with lies for you to add one more.

You can feel Angell's muscles tense around you. She holds her strength back, protecting you as if you were but a candle flickering in the wind. You feel safe. "Sorry. Did I wake you up?" Although most of Angell's actions are obscured from your vision, you can feel her shake her head.

"Don't leave me."

The two of you are captive and captor. Not roommates, and most certainly not lovers for Angell to say such things. She could end your life at this very moment if she so wished. So why is it that Angell is the one who finds herself powerless in your grasp?

You stay silent. If you were being honest, you don't want to leave her either. But the world doesn't work that way. You have responsibilities; the both of you. There are more pressing matters for you to handle than adjusting the hands of a clock and feeding goldfish.

Angell knows this. She values professionalism and credibility far more than her personal preferences. That's the only reason why she kept you here in the first place. Which is why you don't understand what exactly has gotten into Angell; what has pushed her to give up her creed like this.

Sensing the mutual hesitation in the air, Angell pushes you down onto the bed. Her eyes are slightly swollen and red, as if she had just been crying. You wonder what she had been dreaming about. You want to comfort her.

In this state, she'll listen to whatever you say, whatever falsehoods you feed her. Tell Angell everything will be alright and that your time together won't end. She'll believe you this once, even if it leads to her death.

You're pinned under Angell's weight, but you aren't afraid. There's something about her that ironically makes you feel safe, despite how aloof she can be. Angell doesn't shy away from your touch, either, even if she knows that you could use your shackles on her. "Angell..." Your hand reaches up to cup her cheek. She instinctively leans into it. "You're not alone anymore."

Angell's eyes widen uncharacteristically from your words. She tries to act unaffected, but you feel her breath hitch. Is it true? The walls she had built around herself to shield herself from others had eventually turned into a prison isolating her from the rest of the world. Could Angell... really break them down?

She does what feels most natural and leans in to seal your lips in a passionate kiss. It's desperate like a symphony of sorrow, yet as gentle as if she were handling a delicate flower. Angell's inexperience is clear.

How unfair. A kiss is something that you should only share with someone that you love.

And still, you return it just the same. You mirror her fervor as you chase after her lips, your elbows propped on the mattress to hold you up. Its softness and warmth is a pleasant surprise. Most likely because Angell only used to sleep on the couch before you came into her life.

She detaches herself from your lips after what felt like forever and a day. Angell's brows are furrowed, and her eyes are hesitant. She gazes at you as if to ask, is this really okay?

Whether she's asking if this is okay with you or if it's okay for her to indulge in her desires for once, you have no idea. It doesn't matter. The answer to both questions remains the same.

This time, you're the one to pull her into a passionate make-out. Angell groans, eagerly savoring each kiss as if it'll be her last. You brush her hair away from her face.

"Everything will be alright." You promise, both to yourself and the to woman in front of you. But you're wrong. How could Angell ever be fine without you?

She can abandon this house, her pride, or even her life if need be. But you? Oh, god, not you. How could you get Angell used to your warmth and kindness, just to rip it all away from her?

It'd be less cruel to treat her with mockery and disdain. It's what Angell is used to and it's what she believes she deserves.

"No," she says firmly. She buries her face into your chest, her arms wrapped around your waist. "Don't go." For some unknown reason, Angell is convinced that you're going to leave.

There are still a few days until the "gig" she took expires, and even then, she can choose what she wants to do with you afterward. Angell could keep you locked up here for as long as she wants, and you wouldn't be able to do a thing.

But she isn't that kind of person.

Angell doesn't belong with those scum on the dark web. Her heart is unadulterated by the filth surrounding her, and despite how she acts, you know Angell loves helping people deep down.

"I'm here." You comfort her. Once again, you have to stop yourself from telling her that you'll stay. It seems you accidentally said that out loud, though. "...Liar." Angell mumbles, lips now trailing along your jaw and neck.

Sighing in bliss, you remove your coat to give her more space to work with. You toss it to a corner of the room. You'll clean it up again later. Her hands roam around your torso, exploring to find the buttons of your shirt.

Frantically, Angell works to remove them. She rushes as if she's going to lose you any moment now, not even bothering to remove her own clothes yet. "Don't go..." Angell pleads again before her mouth bites softly from your collarbone to your breasts. She unclasps and removes your bra as she goes.

"Angell..." You sigh her name as she fondles one of your breasts. She touches you with a gentleness she's never shown anyone else. When Angell looks up at you, her eyes reflect an emotion that you can't identify.

Longing? Regret? Lust? You can't tell. Honestly, you don't know how you feel about her either. You thought that Angell was weird at first, but you always believed that she had a good heart. You've grown fond of her as time passed—too fond. Angell isn't the only one wearing her heart on her sleeve, apparently.

For the first time, she calls your name. Not "Chief," but your name. God, it's stupid how such a simple thing has your heart racing when you're literally about to fuck. Since when has your kidnapper gotten you so smitten?

Angell's hands, strong albeit a bit slim, map out every plane on your body. She savors the feeling of each curve and dip and takes her time etching it into her memory. Lips work to kiss every inch of your now exposed skin, occasionally leaving small bite marks.

Not once has Angell treated you like the Chief of the MBCC. She knows of your identity and the good deeds you've done, yet she treats you like any other person. It's one of the many qualities you've grown to love about Angell.

The atmosphere in the room gets warmer, and you use it as an excuse to take off her leather jacket. The other woman is left in her tank top and pants. The prominence of her collarbones sadden you, although it's gotten better since the first day you were brought to this safehouse. You wish she'd take care of herself more.

Angell's hands stop at your belt. You enjoy the few seconds of her struggling with herself before she speaks up. "Can I...?" You smile at her consideration for you, making sure that you're fine with what she's doing. "Yeah. Go ahead."

Office wear is such a hassle to take off, you think to yourself as you help Angell take off your pants. Are all those layers really necessary? Again, the piece of clothing is tossed away to god-knows-where.

Immediately, the woman pounces back on you, now leaving kisses along your stomach as she holds onto your hips. You trace her scars softly with your fingers. You can't imagine the hardships that Angell has been through. You're happy to provide any sort of respite to her.

In the moment Angell stops to look up at you, there is an undeniable air of sadness and guilt. In an attempt to cheer the woman up, you tuck her hair behind her ears and attempt to tease her. "Don't miss me too much."

As you expected, Angell stays silent. You can feel her relax a bit, though—that's a win in your book. She finds comfort in how you never change. Angell slowly dips the pad of one of her fingers into your folds, careful not to hurt you. "Mm... Angell..." You bite back a moan.

"You can go faster. I can take it." You reassure the woman through heavy breaths. It's honestly embarrassing how wet you are, but Angell takes it as a sign that she's doing good. She's become more confident; now thrusting her finger inside of you all the way, albeit still at a gentle pace.

Angell is observant. She looks for what motions earn the most positive reaction from you with an almost deadpan look on her face as if she's not literally fingerfucking you into the mattress. It shows how focused she is on making you feel good.

"Is this your first time?" Angell asks suddenly. She doesn't look at you. "Yeah... Why?" You respond. Angell stays quiet, continuing the movement of her fingers. The question caught you a bit off guard. She didn't seem like the type to refuse to mess with virgins or care about the status of anyone's virginity in general.

Just when you let out a moan from her grazing your g-spot, a realization hits you. This is Angell's first time, too. You doubt she's ever had any real romantic experience before, much less sexual. It's no wonder she seems so nervous. You make a mental note to reassure and praise her.

Angell takes notice of how you let out a sound whenever she grinds against a specific place and abuses the same location with each thrust of her fingers. When she sees you trying to grind against her hand, (because of how good it feels, but she doesn't know that) she takes it as a sign that you need more.

"I'm going to add another finger," Angell says more like a statement than a question, but she waits for your approval before doing so anyway. You've never felt so full. Her years of experience using a sword have calloused her hands ever so slightly, and although you feel bad for what led her to a life of crime, damn did it feel good rubbing against your walls.

Angell loves the way you moan her name. She can't get enough of it; she wants to hear it roll off your tongue like a starving wolf longing for prey in the dead of winter. She listens to the sound of each letter eagerly, as if engraving it into the very essence of her soul. She wants you to say her name over and over again, and only hers. As is in the present and as will be in the future.

Angell's own selfishness surprises her. Maybe she's just like the greedy criminals she has both killed and worked for. Angell has never denied the possibility—she's not the saint that you think she is. There is blood on her hands, and not even the purest of oceans can wash it away. She has long since come to terms with her fate of isolation.

You arch your back into her touch, your arms wrapped around her back. If not for the tank top she was wearing, you're sure you would've left some claw marks along it's broadness already. You have to stop your legs from closing on their own, the overwhelming pleasure proving to be too much. Soft moans and the scent of sex fill the room. "Feels so good, Angell..."

She takes a deep breath, the only things filling her senses being your sweet voice and the feeling of your warm pussy stretching to accommodate her fingers. You have no idea how long Angell has wanted to touch you like this. You do things to her that she can't explain.

Your moans increase in frequency, getting higher pitched as you feel yourself nearing release. It seems Angell is a natural at using her fingers, seeing how she's about to make you cum quicker than you could ever get yourself to. "Angell... I'm-"

Before you can warn her, your legs tremble and you cream all over her hand. After continuing her movements to help you come down from your high, Angell pulls her digits out, fascinated by the string of cum connecting them. Much to your surprise, she puts both fingers into her mouth.

"...I've never tasted anything like this before." Angell remarks. Her sense of taste is dull—she isn't exaggerating when she says she can't tell apart food that's edible from food that's spoiled, or raw from burnt. But you? Your taste is as distinct as it can be to her tongue. You've ignited a dangerous fire in the woman.

"More." Angell demands, positioning her head between your legs. Just as you're about to protest that you're still sensitive, she speaks up again. "Can I?" Angell tilts her head as she asks for permission. Fuck it. You know you wouldn't be able to refuse her and her annoyingly adorable personality anyway.

You sigh at your lack of self discipline when it comes to Angell. "Yes, you can." Those words are all it takes for her to dive headfirst into your dripping sex. Angell's tongue explores your warmth with a newfound confidence, using what she's learned from fingering you to eat you out as skillfully as possible.

God, she's absolutely addicted to your taste—to you. Angell can't get enough of how you squirm under her touch; how you moan her name so wantonly. She'd stay in between your legs for forever if she could, but forever is not a luxury that the two of you have.

Angell wishes that life would be as easy as adjusting the hands of the clock. She wishes she could turn everything back to how it used to be. Angell would hold on to every passing moment with you like a painter desperately trying to capture the perfect sunset before it fades.

Each wet lick up your slit is greedier and hungrier than the last. She's gentle with you, yes, but you can feel the weight of the underlying desire that's been building up in the pit of her stomach for god knows how long. What Angell feels for you is akin to a devouring darkness: once you get entwined, there's no going back. Whether that applies to you, her, or both of you remains unknown. Maybe you know the answer but choose to ignore it.

Body still awash in the aftermath of your previous orgasm, it doesn't take long for you to feel that familiar coil in your belly building up once again. It takes all of your strength to resist pushing Angell's head down between your legs. Well, not that she could go any further. Too busy moaning Angell's name to warn her with words, you hope that she'll get the message with how your legs are trembling.

Sure enough, you cum with a breathless gasp soon after. She eats you out through your high, careful to lap up all of your fluids without overstimulating you. Angell is a quick learner, after all. You're left panting for breath after two consecutive earth-shattering orgasms, yet Angell hasn't even gotten undressed. That won't do. Aside from the damage your pride would take, you want to return the favor.

"Angell, lay down for me, will you?" You ask of her through your heavy breathing. Although Angell has her doubts, she immediately follows your command. "I'm not tired yet." You chuckle at her words but shudder to think about its implications. The stability of your legs would not survive after getting eaten out by Angell again. Though, the same might be said for what you're going to do next. "I want to make you feel good too."

You sit with your thighs on either side of Angell's legs, already working on removing her clothes. Once they're off, you're quick to capture her lips in a chain of soft, yet lustful kisses. She gives in to you more easily than you expected. You had the impression that Angell would be the type to want to be in control of everything at any time, but she lets you lead this dance.

Although the woman is probably unaware, the size of her boner is huge. Seven inches at the very least. You bite your lip at its sheer girth. You'd be lying if you said that you never had any doubts about it fitting inside of you, but it's nothing you can't handle... probably. As if reading your thoughts, Angell speaks. "...I don't have any lube."

Your eyes wander to the bottle of lotion you put on her bedside table, (which was the only surface available for it at the time,) but you eventually decide against using it since it's most likely expired. "It's fine. We'll start out slow."

Angell likes the insinuation that you'll go faster once you're more comfortable. She helps you align yourself with her cock, gently holding you by your hips. Although Angell has her hands on you, she lets you control the pace and only tries to assist when necessary.

With bated breath, you sink onto the tip. Her length feels endless, filling you up completely inch after inch. Angell relishes in how your eyes almost roll into the back of your head and the moan you let out when you finally take her inside entirely. Still, she places your comfort and pleasure above everything else. "Are you sure about this?"

Your chest heaves as you get used to the sensation of feeling so... full. It takes you a few seconds to reply. "This is nothing that the Chief of the MBCC can't handle," Angell smiles at your reply. Your act of false bravado isn't fooling anyone. It gives the woman a sense of pride to have such an important figure of society in her hands like this.

Just being inside of you has Angell biting her lip. She'd never imagine in her life that she'd be able to sleep with anyone, much less someone as kind and beautiful as you are. The intimacy of it all makes everything that much more pleasurable, and Angell hopes you feel the same way.

The two of you stay like this. Both of you are aware that you don't have much time left, but you're not in a rush. Rather, you take the opportunity to enjoy this moment thoroughly. It takes a while for you to get used to Angell's sheer size, and it also takes her a while to get used to these unfamiliar sensations.

Angell is barely able to conceal the pure ecstasy she feels when you start moving. Your pussy is just so tight. She's not one to masturbate often, but she can say with confidence that being inside of you feels miles better and much more personal than rutting into her hand just to get rid of her morning wood.

You take Angell down to the base, albeit with much difficulty at first, and start off by grinding. You roll your hips back and forth, the tip of her cock almost kissing the entrance of your cervix. Angell grips your waist harder, but still lets you control the pace of your lovemaking. Her trust in you makes your heart flutter.

With Angell's hair splayed like flowing rivers on the sheets, her eyes fluttered shut, and soft moans escaping her mouth now and then, you aren't able to resist the desire to kiss her. It starts with a small smooch on her neck, then two. And then these kisses turn into hickeys one after another.

The feeling is weird and alien to Angell, but she surrenders herself to you all the same, even tilting her head to make it easier for you. You feel bad about leaving them in such obvious places, but knowing her, she wouldn't bother to hide them. And you'd be right, because if anything, Angell would wear them as a badge of honor. Who cares what other people think of her sex life?

Up, and down. Up, and down. You move your hips at a steady pace once you get the hang of it. You relish in the way the sides of her cockhead rub against your walls so deliciously. As you're straddling Angell and leaving more hickeys wherever you can access, she gets an idea to play with your clit while you ride her. You seemed to like having it stimulated earlier.

Soon after, the both of you are a moaning mess. This small gesture makes everything feel a hundred times better for you, and in turn, you move faster. You lift yourself enough so her tip is barely inside of you, and immediately bring yourself down again.

Angell curses under her breath. She holds onto you as if you'll disappear otherwise, chanting your name like a mantra; like a sinner begging for forgiveness. The sight of you bouncing up and down on her cock while looking down at her so lovingly is enough to make the inexperienced woman swoon.

"I'm close..." Angell warns. You don't care. In fact, you seem to be riding her harder; trying to milk her for all she's worth. "Want you inside." You lean forward to kiss her. Angell chases after your lips fervently, her hands holding you close as you continue to move your hips while her thumb presses down on your clitoris.

You swallow each other's muffled moans. The only thing that matters to the both of you in this moment is one another. You'd freeze time and stay like this with Angell for eternity if you could. She cums with a strained groan, and you feel her seed filling you up. It's oddly comforting to know that Angell has left a mark inside of you.

You continue your ministrations slowly, and yoi have an orgasm of your own soon after. The mixture of you and Angell's fluids form a white ring on the base of her cock. It doesn't take long until the two of you collapse next to each other, breathing heavily as sweat runs down both of your bodies.

Although you feel refreshed, you have no idea how to handle this. Your relationship with Angell, your return to the MBCC, everything. The confusion is understandable considering you literally just slept with your kidnapper who's been holding you captive. You'll cross that bridge when you get there, you suppose.

Seeing Angell stare at you, most likely with no idea how to proceed either, you feel like you should say something. "That was great, Angell. Thank you." She smiles at your words before pulling you into a cuddle. Angell really is just like a cat, you think to yourself.

With these thoughts in mind, your impulse to scratch her behind the ears just like you would to a stray cat on the side of the road win. Before you can retract your hand to apologize, Angell leans into your touch, sighing contently. You swear you hear her purr, even.

"You really... don't want to stay at the Bureau?" You ask. You regret letting those words leave your mouth, but you can't bring yourself to care now that you're running out of time. You're more than willing to fight for her. "You'll be safe. You can have my red bean soup any time you want."

Angell knows that you mean each word that you say. You won't let anyone from the dark web bother her, and even though you have responsibilities, she knows that you'll fulfill your promise. That's why it hurts.

"Tomorrow. I'll give you my answer tomorrow." Angell speaks up, just as you start to fear that you might've ruined this intimate moment. Her words give you hope. It's faint, but it's there. You'd like to say that you wouldn't, but you'd cling to any chance to spend more time with Angell; have her by your side even if only for a second more.

However, the woman has already made an irreversible decision: one that she fears has consequences that she'll be carrying for the rest of her life. For now, both of you are content with your current state.

"Stay with me," Angell mumbles, trying to enjoy your scent and affection the best her tired body can manage. A thought passes both of your minds as you're entangled in each other's embrace: it'd be nice if we could stay like this forever. It saddens Angell to know that that thought would only be left as an 'if.' "Just for a bit longer."

"Tomorrow" never comes. Tomorrow will never come without you by her side.

Angell wakes up. The bag containing her trusted blade is held near her body. She finds that she hasn't been able to let go of it ever since you've left her—or rather, ever since she left you. It's the only thing left of the time you spent together. It's the only thing that assures Angell that you were real, not just an illusion.

A lot of things have changed. She finds herself sleeping more. Angell clings to her memories with you through dreams, even trying to "make" new ones whenever the chance presents itself. She's also taken less assassination jobs lately, instead picking odd jobs that you'd be likely to choose for her.

Angell remembers the last one she took. The man was a leader of a drug cartel, infamous for getting young sinners addicted and using them to transport goods. The world would be better off without him, and Angell was no different. He had a wife and a toddler son. He called for his wife's name before he drew his final breath. Perhaps he too was but another victim of the cruelty of this side of the world—perhaps he too wanted to escape the void of the dark oceans and live under the sun's warmth.

Angell is too far gone. A shark cannot start living on land, no matter how much it wishes. She belongs in a bottomless abyss where the sun must not pierce through, while you belong on the other side of this fucked up world, risking your life to save everyone that can be saved. Angell is not a part of that group. She feels your sunlight faintly, but as much as she wants to bask in it, it cannot pierce through the deep waters of her heart. It must not.

Maybe things could've turned out differently if she met you earlier.

Angell stands up from the dusty couch. She is the only one in this desolate home. You're not there to scold her for sleeping on the sofa when she has a clean bed. Not even her goldfish keeps her company on these cold nights—but she trusts that you've taken good care of them. You've always taken care of everyone around you, but who's going to do the same for you?

Particles of dust float in her apartment. She finds that there's no reason to clean it up. Once again, her fridge is full of nearly expired, barely edible "food." As Angell gets ready to head out, she sees her reflection in the shards of broken glass on the floor. It was from a vase that came with the safehouse that she knocked over and forgot to clean. Huh. It looks like she's been crying.

You wake up in a cold sweat. The coolness of your desk against your cheek is unpleasant. The arm you've been using as a pillow is numb. You scramble to sit up straight and look at the time: 2:48AM. Most of the Bureau is asleep. A blanket that you didn't even realize was resting on your shoulders falls off of you, most likely Adjutant Nightingale trying to make sure you don't catch a cold.

On a tray set apart from the paperwork you had been working on, there is a note, a sandwich, and a cup of iced coffee. You assume the perpetrator is the same as the person who wrapped a blanket around you, and as it seems from reading the note, you were right. The contents are a mix of Nightingale's concern for you and scolding you for not taking care of your well-being.

You feel bad for worrying her all the time. Honestly, you're surprised she hasn't resigned yet with how often you get kidnapped. It's not just Nightingale either, even some sinners have noticed the bags under your eyes and how distant you've been acting ever since you came back. You should really pull yourself together. If not for yourself, then for the sinners who rely on you, the Chief of the MBCC.

Why do you keep dreaming about Angell? You've been betrayed many times before, and although you'll never get used to it, you've always gotten back up each time quicker than the last. What is it about her that's so different? Why does she affect you so much?

You open your laptop with a newfound sense of determination, but this time, it's not for work. If you want to stop a problem, you should tackle the source of it, right? Or maybe that's just an excuse. You're going to find her, and along with her, answers. After you press the 'enter' key, the simple yet eerie screen you've grown familiar with welcomes you back:

"Welcome to DisMyth"

[pepperyduck]

breakin' dishes - shiu kong

synopsis: shiu comes back after a night of too much fun, to find his unhappy fiancée, who's only out for blood.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: hurt/no comfort, angst, cheating, reader is a little cray, fighting, throwing breakables at shiu, brief gun mention, getting arrested, female reader.

notes: prob offensive. will prob delete later. will prob make a part 2.

who the hell does he think you are?

that is the only question that runs through your mind as the clock hits 3 a.m. leg bouncing slightly with anticipation of his arrival.

and who the hell does shiu think he is?

you look at your phone again at the message from toji.

‘your boy just hooked up with my girl’s friend. sorry.’

the image attached had caused you a great deal of pain a few hours ago. it contained your beloved shiu, shed of his blazer with his tie messed up, a hot bombshell sitting on his lap. straddling him, more like. her tongue shoved down his throat. but all the tears were dried now, and only sheer rage was left towards your fiancé.

“fucking idiot,” you mumble, clicking your phone off and tossing it next to you on the couch.

speak of the devil and he shall appear.

the door to your home squeaks open, shiu appearing in the doorway, an unlit cigarette hanging lazily from his lips. you allow him to come inside and greet his usual, “hey doll, why are you still up?” before you stand up.

shiu can see it instantly. the anger. why was toji such a snitch? why was shiu such a moron?

“who the hell do you think i am, shiu?” you shout, grabbing an empty beer bottle from a few nights ago and tossing it at your fiancé. it breaks with an ear-piercing shatter, right next to his head, and his eyes widen in surprise. the cigarette drops from his mouth.

“listen, doll-,” shiu begins, raising his hands up to try and wave you off.

but you weren’t stopping. no; you were only seeing red.

“shut the fuck up, bastard!” you yell, grabbing the only picture frame off of the side table – a picture of you and him at your favorite restaurant – and hurdling it right towards his eyes. he quickly dodged it, allowing the frame to crack against the door and clatter against the ground.

he darts into the kitchen to his right, disappearing behind the wall for only a second. you’re too quick. you follow him, and the instant he senses your eyes on him again he freezes in place and turns around, beginning to back away slowly. now, shiu is a normally calm and composed man, not shaken by many things. however, with his soon-to-be wife on a rampage because of a stupid mistake he made – he was terrified.

“didn’t think i’d find out, huh?” you step towards him, efficiently backing him against the counter – even though you were practically the whole distance of the kitchen away from him. “think you can go off and do whatever-the-fuck you want?” you interrogate him, watching him with intent as his shaky hands crept behind him to balance himself on the cold marble of the counter. you reach for the stack of glass plates you washed earlier – their placement convenient as ever right next to you – and you toss it at shiu stronger than before. “answer me!”

he barely dodges the dish, allowing it to shatter against the cabinets next to him.  as he goes to look at the aftermath of the plate breaking, another one is hurled at him, knocking him in the shoulder and falling down against the counter, fracturing as soon as it hits the surface. shiu rushes himself to look at you again, only to see another plate flying towards him. he swiftly ducks down, the dish shatters against the counter and the fragments rain atop him, shallowly scraping the skin of his face.

“we can talk- please, baby, we can talk-,” shiu pleads, slowly stepping in the direction of the closest exit – inching away from you. you can hear the cracks of the ceramic under his dress shoes. “baby, listen to me-,”

“did you fucking forget i’m an assassin, too? did it just slip your mind i’m just as capable of killing you as toji?” you cut him off, voice raising louder and louder the more you speak, and yet another plate weighs itself at shiu’s face forcefully.

shiu runs for it again, leaping out of the kitchen, attempting to go around the kitchen and out the door. but there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell you’re letting him out so easy. your senses had kicked in, the intuition so proficiently built over your tenure as an assassin proving to help you –

even when it came to the man you loved.

shiu needed to be scared shitless by you – you knew it was the only way he was going to behave. he had his chance to fuck around, he should’ve known that he would find out if he tried to do anything when it came to you. he did know that. he was just stupid, and drunk. and the influence of one toji ze’nin – the most infamous bachelor out of your whole organization – wasn’t easy to overcome.

you hastily counter his movements, grabbing your .22 out of the drawer closest to the door and rushing to block the door so he couldn’t leave. the moment shiu sees the matte black pistol in your hand, he runs up the stairs, and you chase after him, dropping the gun on your way up behind him.

that threat was eliminated, but the threat known as you was nowhere near done.

shiu dashes through the upstairs hallway into your shared bedroom, closing the door behind him before you push it back open with strength fueled by anger, sending him stumbling to the floor. he turns over and scoots away as best he can, backing into the wall.

“what the fuck shiu?” you scream, wrapping your hands around the vase that kept this week’s bouquet shiu bought you and throwing it at him. this time, you didn’t aim for him, just at the windowsill to scare him. “how the fuck could you do this to me?”

a few bangs on the door could be heard downstairs, but you couldn’t think about that – only about your fiancé in front of you. your mind drowned out the sounds of your door breaking open and the rush of footsteps downstairs as you continue to yell.

“i’m gonna kill that bastard toji – what the hell were you thinking?”

“calm down- calm down, doll, please,” shiu mumbles, paying mind to the voices growing louder downstairs. however shiu’s urging falls to deaf ears as you resume your berating.

“you dumb bastard! i love you, you asshole!”

inevitably, you make the grave mistake of grabbing another picture frame – this time, a picture of yourself shiu took a while ago – and hauling it at him – just in time for the cops to show up behind you and start to yell for you to put your hands up. your eyes widen, finally grasping the reality of the situation as you look at your fiancé, terrified. tears well up in your eyes when forceful hands grab your wrists, quickly locking handcuffs around your limbs in an uncomfortable way.

“wait, wait!” shiu shouts, rushing over to the cops, “it’s okay, we just had an argument- let her go!” his pleas are barely audible to the officers, as they drag you out of your room and downstairs, and you hesitantly comply.

“shiu!” you cry, whipping your head around to see your man quickly following behind you.

for the first time, shiu sees real tears of fear roll down your face. he isn’t quite sure why you’re so terrified – but he doesn’t care.

“hey, stop!” shiu demands, pulling on the shoulder of one of the officers that held you. he is quickly shrugged off, told to ‘stand back’ in a rough tone by the cop.

your unrelenting love for shiu bounces back in a second, you felt stupid for being so angry…but you had a reason. shiu understood you. you know he did. this situation was a whole screw up – you just hoped it was able to be fixed; shiu did, too. he would make sure it was fixed. although yes, he had severely messed up, he was going to fix everything with you like always.

shiu hears your sobs as you’re dragged out to the patrol car, the further away you get the more you begin to resist. you kick your feet and sob out for your fiancé, and the officers become rougher with you the more you fight against them. it’s a sight shiu never wants to see again.

“shiu, please,” you cry, a mess of so many emotions because of all you’ve been through in the past hours.

your fiancé tries his best to console you as the police haul you away, forcing you into the back seat of the car, “i’ll get you out, doll, just don’t say anything,” shiu commands, in a tone that he always used after fights – the tone that comforts you, “i’ll be there soon, i promise! i love you, baby!” he yells as the door is slammed by an officer, and shiu is knocked out of the way as the cop quickly slides into the driver’s door.

shiu stumbles back, the moment of you being driven away in the back of a cop car turning itself into a blur in his mind. he stands there for a good 27 minutes, head turned in the direction the cop car took you. guilt forced its way into shiu’s chest.

he said he would come soon…but he couldn’t make himself do it just yet.

so, shiu walks to the curb, pulling a pack of his favorite cigarettes out of his pocket, habitually sticking one in the side of his mouth and lighting it. his lighter was a gift from you, from an overseas job you had. he would never get rid of it; he would only refill the fluid in it every time it ran out.

“shit, baby.”

shiu mumbles to himself as he allows the pained feeling of someone who’s soon-to-be wife found out he was cheating. it was a dreadful feeling, to have all that guilt laid on his shoulders – he didn’t chase after you yet because he knew he couldn’t bare to see you so upset. shiu takes a few more drags of the tobacco before throwing his head back and mumbling some more about how crazy you are.

but he loves it.

and shiu was going to come for you, soon.

[moonstruckme]

Hii!! I had an idea for soft!eddie x reader… I hope you like it!

So what about soft!eddie x reader that watch a horror movie before bed because Eddie wanted to and reader said yes… but then reader wakes up from a nightmare and gets a little bit paranoid? Like she wants to go get a glass of water, but she’s so scared that she’ll see a creepy face appear out of no where? Or she doesn’t want to look at the windows and that kind of stuff? (When I wake up in the middle of the night, I get so paranoid/scared, I wish Eddie was there 😭) and she finally gets up to get a glass of water and then (in between all of that Eddie woke up) Eddie says something like ‘why are you awake at 2am’ and she has a jump scare, and drops her glass, and basically the adrenaline kicks in and she starts to cry because it’s too much and she was so scared? And Eddie just hugs her and comforts her and he helps her falls back asleep?

I hope all of that made sense… if not… I’m so sorry😭😭

I’m sending lots of love!! Have a good day/night!! 💗💗🫶

- ☀️

Thanks for requesting lovely <3

Eddie Munson x fem!reader ♡ 750 words

It’s a while before you can convince yourself to set one foot on the floor, but the inside of your mouth feels like it’s made of wool and something needs to be done about this. When no clawed hand reaches out to yank you underneath the bed, you take it as a sign of good faith. 

Your footsteps are featherlight and cautious, every dark corner and unshuttered window a threat. An empty threat, you remind yourself, but even the voice in your head is shaky. 

The Munsons don’t have glasses, but they do have an array of things picked up from here and there, plastic cups from restaurants and old containers and one plain mug for Wayne’s coffee. You grab a cleaned-out jam jar from the top shelf, filling it with cold water from the tap. It does the trick, sweet and refreshing on your tongue. You feel instantly better. 

You pad back towards Eddie’s room with a clearer head. It was just a movie. There’s no creeping shadows here, no cloud so thick it blots out the moon. There’s fluorescent light from the street coming in through Eddie’s windows, and families sleeping in the trailers on either side of you. Nothing bad could happen to you here. 

You slow as you get to Eddie’s room, trying to be quiet. 

“Hey.” 

Your gasp is so sharp it hurts a little in your chest. Your body stiffens, the condensation on the glass making it slip from your hand. It shatters on the floor. 

“Shit, what the hell?” 

You turn, and it’s Eddie—of course it’s Eddie, who else would it be?—standing behind you in the dark hallway, a pillow crease imprinted on his cheek. 

“Oh my god.” Your voice comes out breathless, and you press your hands over your eyes. 

“Babe, what—shit, are you crying? Are you hurt?” You shake your head, and Eddie’s hands come around your arms, pulling you towards him. “Careful, don’t step on the glass. I scared you, huh?” 

You nod as he folds you into his chest, scrubbing up and down between your shoulder blades. 

“Yeah? Well fuck, don’t to cry about that,” he says, panic melding back into sleepiness as his voice takes on a fond bent. “I wouldn’t’a hurt ya.” 

“I thought you were the ghost,” you mumble sheepishly into his chest. 

Eddie pauses for a moment. Your face feels ten degrees hotter. 

“Me?” He sounds like he’s smiling. Then he lets go of you, taking your face between his hands, and you know he is. It’s giant and goofy, its own sort of light to combat the dark corners. “Shit, sweetheart, I’m flattered. But no dice.” Eddie shrugs like this is something he can’t help. “All flesh and blood in here, baby. The gross stuff.” 

“Yeah,” you say quietly, embarrassed. Those couple of quick tears have already mostly dried, but Eddie swipes at them with his thumbs anyway, grinning like you’re silly. “I’m sorry I broke your glass.” 

“It happens all the time,” he reassures you. “Don’t sweat it, I’ll clean it up in the morning.” He takes a big step over the glass shards, offering you a hand to help you do the same. Doesn’t let go of it even when you’re on the other side. “Should I be worried that you’re up at 2 in the morning looking for ghosts?” 

“I was getting water,” you mumble, letting him sit you down on the edge of the bed. Eddie gives you a look. “I also don’t really do well with scary movies.” 

“Yeah. I figured that one out when you wouldn’t go to sleep until I closed the blinds.” He grins. You smile back bashfully, and he makes a dramatic groaning sound, hauling you into a hug. “You should’a told me you didn’t want to watch it. I wouldn’t have picked it if I’d known you’d get all freaked.” 

“I didn’t want to be a wuss,” you say. You can practically feel Eddie rolling his eyes over the top of your head. 

“You can’t fight your true nature, babe. But it’s cool.” He flops the both of you over so you’re laying down between him and the wall. “This way, anything that wants to get you will have to go through me.” 

You turn in his arms, pouting. “I don’t want anything to have to go through you.” 

“Then let's go back to there are no ghosts, ‘kay?” He plants a kiss between your brows, snuggling you close. “Sleep tight, scaredy cat.” 

[charliehoennam]

forever home

a/n: i rewatched the office and it was that episode where jim buys pam a house 🥰

pairing: william miller x f!reader

warnings: none (i think. i suck with tags, sorry), just fluff, not proofread so sorry for any typos

It's almost 11 p.m.

You're sat on the couch, trying to keep your tired eyes open as you watch a rerun of Hell's Kitchen.

With Gordon Ramsey's yelling and cursing in the background, you lift your phone once more to check for any new messages but there aren't any. You open up the chat with Will on the messaging app and reread his last text.

"Having one for the road. Be home in 20. Love you 💚"

You don't want to be one of those nagging fianceés, but the urge to text or call him is just bubbling inside. That was almost an hour ago and you're starting to get worried.

What if something happened to him on the drive home? What if he got into a fight at the bar?

It would be a surprise, but it wouldn't be the first time. Despite the progress he's had through therapy, you know how he can be impatient at times and a little hot-headed too. And maybe a little cocky too, although he would only let that side shine through at Benny's matches.

The trust you have in each other is the one of the main foundations that you've built your relationship on. Opportunities like these are essential to remind, not only you, but also himself of how far he's come.

You remind yourself of that when you hear a car pulling into the condo's parking lot downstairs. It takes all of your willpower to refrain from racing to the window to make sure it's really him. Truthfully, you just want to know if he's alright.

Will's tired legs slowly his heavy body up the single flight of stairs that led up to your small and shared condo apartment. His arms are so sore that he can barely hold the keys in his hand as he unlocks the door. He's never felt so tired, even on his deployments.

For the past 3 months, Will and his team have been working on a new house. He'd gotten into the business of buying and flipping houses which has been working out really well for him.

He loved being able to work with his hands and there is something just so gratifying to him about seeing something come together so beautifully after lots of sweat, work and a little bit of blood whenever he's accidently hurt himself. Will was usually very cautious, but accidents can happen to anyone.

You always supported him and his career since he'd expressed his desire to get into the business. You're thankful he did. Will's really good at what he does and he genuinely loves being so handy.

One of the other perks is getting to watch him in action. There's something so attractive about watching your fiancé slam a sledgehammer to a wall. Will knows you like watching him too, so he'll flaunt his muscles off whenever you come around to bring him some materials or sweet treats for the team.

However, this specific project has really been taking up most of his time and you just cannot wait until it's done and sold.

As usual, Will and the guys get together every Friday night to catch up, watch a game and shoot the shit. It's their own way of making sure everyone - particularly Tom ever since the divorce - are still hanging in there.

Opening the front door to the apartment, he steps inside and locks the door with a tired sigh before near the open plan kitchen to set his wallet and keys on the breakfast counter.

"Hey, baby. Sorry I'm late. Tom got a little carried away with the beers and I had to give him a ride."

"It's alright, honey," you yawn. "Did the guys get home alright?"

You look over the back of the couch and watch him kick off his dusty work boots at the door. His work jeans are tattered, splattered with dried old paint and wood varnish. The faded tan jacket is peeled off his body and hung up on a hook.

A mental note is made in your mind to convince him to buy new clothes when you go out the next time, although you know that'd be a bit of hassle since he's too stubborn to waste money on himself. It's nothing a batting of eyelashes can't handle.

"Yeah, sweetheart. The other guys just had a couple beers, but you know Tom," he struts over as he shares with you, bending down to kiss you hello and plops himself on the couch beside you, manspreading his legs as a arm drapes of your lap, hand stroking your thigh. "He's really going through it."

"I can imagine. You been talking to him?"

"I have, yeah. Invited him to the support group, but you know how he can be."

You nod adjusting to lean closer and thread your fingers through his hair. His blonde eyelashes flutter as he closes his eyes, instantly melting under your touch.

"Yeah, I know, baby. But don't give up. You never know. He might just show up one day."

"I know, sweetheart," he smiles before opening his eyes as his head turns to face you with a gentle squeeze to your thigh. "How was your day, beautiful?"

"Just the same ol'. Made your favorite for dinner though" you smile watching the exhaustion in his eyes slowly fade.

"Pesto chicken alfredo pasta?"

His blue gleam with hope. His pretty pink lips stretch into a wide smile behind the golden whiskers of his beard. You chuckle at how happy he gets when it comes to food.

You know it stems from the lack of indulgence during his deployments. Will's no fussy eater, but when he's home, he indulges when he can to make up for the barely edible chow he and the guys had to eat. Although tasteless and sometimes expired, Will never had any problems with it because he knew the purpose wasn't to be good, but to keep him alive.

That's why he quickly back up on his feet and striding towards the kitchen to heat a plate up for himself, leaving you to snicker at his excitement. If there's one thing that the Miller brothers share, it's their appetite for food.

"How's the house coming along?"

"We finally fucking finished, babe," he grins plating the cold food. "It looks so good though. I cannot wait for you to see it. You are going to love it." Of course. He built it with you and your tastes in mind. "Tomorrow, I'm taking you to see it."

"Really?" you grin.

Your opinion is very important to Will and he always comes to you when he's got doubts and is in need of a feminine point of view, so it's not exactly uncommon for him to bring you to his projects for a look-around.

The next morning, you find yourself in his car listening to No Excuses by Alice In Chains.

With nothing else to do, you sing along to the song as Will drives steadily

“Can I please take this thing off?” you ask adjusting the blindfold he’s got on you. “I don’t want cops pulling us over thinking you’re kidnapping me.”

“Baby, no one’s gonna pull us over” he chuckles at the thought. “We’re almost there.”

You try to focus on the sounds beyond the car in an attempt to locate where you are, but the catchy tune playing from the stereo makes it impossible. The only thing you know for certain is that you’re not in the city. The familiar salty scent strikes you as clear as day.

“Are we at the beach?” your voice fills with excitement.

“You’ll see soon enough. We’re here. I’m gonna help you out of the car, hold on.”

You can hear the smile he’s got plastered on his face. Will finds it cleverly adorable how you figured part of his surprise out already. it's not enough to ruin it though.

Just as promised, he opens the car door and takes your hand to carefully help you out of the car with kind instructions. You hold onto his hand as you settle on the stony driveway. Although from a distance, you can still hear the ocean waves quietly splashing on the shore.

"Take a look," he grins anxiously untying your blindfold.

Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the bright light of the blue sky but, once it does, you freeze in awe of the house before you.

The mediterranean-style house is simple but large and elegant. Red Italian tiles and cream-colored paint exude a rustic and mysteriously familiar feeling that makes you feel at home.

Colorful flowers strategically planted grow in the grassy front lawn. Behind it, potted flowers sit on the low wall that encloses the small garden along the gated pathway to the door.

You and Will had talked about buying a house for a long time. Little did you know, Will had made a list in his precise mind of every little detail that you desired in your forever home.

"Will, this house is beautiful. You might have finally outdone yourself!"

He chuckles filled with relief and joy as he listens to you swoon over every small and carefully thought out detail of the exterior.

"C'mon, let's take a look."

He takes your hand and leads you up the pathwalk to unlock the door. You step inside the empty home and marvel at the space.

"Wow... It looks small from outside, but it's pretty big huh?"

"I thought so too. I kinda liked that about it."

"I love it! It's like a little illusion and then, you come in and it's just so much space," you grin roaming around each room slowly to take everything in.

"Do you like the windows?"

"Yeah, they're lovely. They really add to the mediterranean/contemporary vibe you got going on here. Can we see the kitchen? You know how much I love kitchens," you giggle excitedly.

"Of course. It's right over here."

"The floorplan is really nice and open too, huh? Oh, the sink! You installed the farmhouse sink! Undermount, too! The owners will love that."

Will smiles as he gazes at you, watching your reaction lovingly as you wander around the house and notice every tiny detail that Will spent countless hours pondering over to ensure you would have the house of your dreams.

The project cost him a pretty penny, but every single cent and drop of sweat he had spent investing into this home was certainly worth to see your eyes light up with every nook and cranny.

He led you to the backyard compete with a pool and beautiful stones and bright green plants that made it feel like your own little personal lagoon, with a wooden pathway that leads to a private gateway to the beach behind the house.

In truth, you feel like you're in paradise. You could spend every day in this house without the urge to leave it.

"So? What do you think?" he smiles holding your hips.

"I think this is your masterpiece, babe" you grin holding his strong biceps. "Do you have any buyers yet? I bet this will be the most expensive house you've sold yet."

"Actually, someone's already bought the place... This is ours."

You stare up at him in shock.

"A-Are you serious? You bought this place for us?"

"Mhm," he nods with a shit-eating grin. "The farmhouse sink, the red italian rooftop tiles, the little garden... It's everything that was on your list."

As tears fill your eyes, you hug him tightly and sniffle as your arms tighten around him. You want to thank him, but you're too speechless to say anything although your reaction says everything he needs to know.

You think back to all the long pillow talks you've had, where he'd casually asked you about little bits and pieces he should add to the project. You would have never guessed the project he'd been working on was your new home together.

The mere fact that Will had gone through so much trouble to make this house perfect to every desire makes your swell. Being designed by the love of your life is the finaal cherry on top.

"Thank you, Will," you mumble still stunned as you stare at your new backyard.

"Welcome home, babe."

[lumibuns-blog]

Gojo gojo gojo gojo gojo gojo gojo gojo

I'm obsessed with him

Gojo x reader

~Your friend Gojo comes home after a mission in your second year at jujutsu tech, bloodied and tired, but the one person he wants to see now is you~

You hear a knock at your door, 'who the hell is knocking at 3am' you think, knowing you shouldn't be either but the show was just too good.

You go to open the door "this better be import-"

Gojo's head immediately falls to rest on your chest, he's bent at the waist and his arms hang limply downwards, you can see dried blood staining his white hair.

"Toru are you ok, what happened?!?" You ask in a panic.

"I'm ok now that you're here..." he responds weakly

At least he's still well enough to make a joke you think, "ok let's get you inside and I'll call Shoko" you say leaning him against you

"No...don't call her...I came here...to not get yelled at....just you...you're enough" he huffed

You couldn't help but blush slightly at his comment, turning away so he wouldn't tease you later. You decide to take him to your bathroom as he's already dripping some blood onto your floor.

You set him on your toilet and kneel in front of him "alright let's see what we got here" you smile, trying to lighten the mood

"Sorry I got cocky" he said surprisingly sounding upset

"I can believe that" you chuckled, noticing his shoulders sink you continue "but hey it's ok it happens to everyone" you say while standing to get your first aid kit "and if it makes you feel any better, I still think your the strongest" you had a feeling he needed to hear something like that

"Of course I'm the strongest" he beamed putting his hands on his hips, he got his confidence back you guessed

"Let's see what's wrong"

"I'm mostly just hurt on my neck and face, but I'm sore everywhere else" he whines

"Stop complaining and unzip your shirt" you huff

He gasps "no dinner first?" Taking his jacket in his teeth he unzips it with one hand

"Shhhhhhhh"

You get close to him using you hand to to push his hair out of his face, suddenly making eyes contact with his watercolor eyes that seemed to shine a bit more when he looked into yours

"Wh-wh-what are you doing" he sputters moving back slamming into the back of your toilet, a cute blush spreads across his face.

"Oh come on toru! I'm just trying to bandage your cut"

"Yeah yeah of course you just...startled me"

"Sure sure" you said wondering why he would be blushing then

You continue to wipe the blood from his face bandaging his cuts. When you finish you help him stand again moving towards your living room.

"I'm assuming you don't want to go to your place and face Geto" you tease.

"I'll take the couch" he retorts

You set him down there and he begins to make himself comfortable and snuggle into you pillows in the most obnoxious way possible because of course he is.

"Alright go to bed it's lat-"

You're cut off as his arms wrap around your waist and pull you towards him so you fall on top of him.

"Just stay a bit longerrrrrr, we could watch a show or something...I'm just not tired yettt"

You roll eyes and oblige him, how could you not with those puppy eyes.

You shift closer to him and he puts his arm around you, looking down with a cheeky smile,

"Geto and Shoko were right! Mannnnn we really should just go out already!"

"WHAT?"

Your "friend" never fails to surprise you.

Hehehhe gojo is love gojo is life🙇‍♀️



[astroboots]

EYEM #13

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You meet another version of the man you love and finally find out why the Universe is trying to kill you.

Word count: 5,800

Warning: violence, pain hurt and angst. Be prepared.

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

Everything hurts. You don’t know where you are, you’re disorientated and queasy.

The first sight that greets you is the glow of scarlet eyes so piercing they cut through the blurriness of your vision.

They're familiar, but also different. Even though they’re identical to his, you know this is not your Miguel.

It takes you a while to make sense of your surroundings. Long moments for the nausea to dissipate enough that you can take in the dark moody blues of the space and recognize that you’re in the same sparse room as before.

Takes a few longer moments still before you register that your wrists and arms are restrained by strange threads made of an unknown material that glow up in an alarming neon red and you’re strung up and suspended in an intricate web from the ceiling.

You try to pull against your restraints, but it’s useless, your body won’t listen to you. You can’t even get your little finger to budge. You can’t fucking move.

“You’re alright,” The man who looks exactly like your Miguel says. “Try not to move. It’ll be better that way.”

You don’t listen to him, because why the hell would you. This is not your Miguel. You try again and pain sears through your muscles.

Shit! He bit you and now you’re paralyzed.

Panic races through your spine. You need to get out of this situation, now. Need to get out. Need to get to Miguel. Even if you can’t move, there has to be a solution somehow.

Lyla is meant to protect you right? She was built for that purpose. If you summon her then surely, “Ly–”

You can't get the second syllable out. Sharp pain stings inside your throat as you try to speak.

“Lyla’s not going to attack me," he says as if he can read your mind and knows what you were planning to do. "It’s a safety feature built in to make sure she doesn’t go rogue. The only time that gets overridden is if I’m a threat to your life."

Irritation crawls under your skin.

Fuck’s sake Lyla. Does this not count as a threat? Do fangs poised against your throat and taking a chomp out of you not qualify? The man bit and paralyzed you!

Despite two failed attempts, you try to move again, straining against the impossible heaviness of your numb limbs. Another jolt of pain shoots through your limbs as you do.

Miguel flinches at the sight of you as if there was an invisible thread connecting your body to his and he was able to feel every ounce of your pain.

His hand reaches up to cup your cheek to stop you.

“Don’t move,” he tells you again. “My toxins have paralyzed you and it will hurt you if you try to move. Stay still, nena. Please. You’re safe.”

If this was your Miguel, he would have been curt and snappy with you for being so stupid to move when it hurts. But this Miguel says it like a plea. Soft and gentle all at once.

His other hand comes to your collarbone, thumb gently wiping away the dried blood that’s pooled there. There’s an unreadable expression on his face as he stares at the dark stain of red on his fingers.

“This is the last time you’ll be hurt. You’re not going to die this time. I know how to fix this so you won’t die ever again."

Fix...it? What does he mean? Like make the universe stop trying to kill you for good?

You blink up at the man, unsure of what to make of his words. You don't trust this version of Miguel any further than you can throw him. The man knocked you out and tied you up...

But if he can fix it, even if the chance is small and far-fetched, what would be the harm in listening?

Your tongue is heavy and dry in your mouth and it feels like you’ve swallowed fistfuls of sand when you try to speak again. “Ho-how?”

“I just have to eliminate the root cause of why the Universe keeps trying to kill you.”

You prepare yourself for the pain that’s going to come again to ask him what he means. But luckily you don’t have to, this Miguel spares you of that.

“You’ve encountered another me in your dimension, right?” he asks.

You don’t answer him. But it doesn't seem to matter, because he already seems to have decided on the answer as he continues.

“It’s his fault,” he says with anger, his red eyes burn with an unnatural glow that sets your teeth on edge. “It’s his fault that this keeps happening to you. He’s the reason the universe keeps trying to kill you.”

No. No that’s not– You don’t know what he’s getting at. Don’t know what has happened to this version of Miguel that makes him believe this.

But you do know one thing. You don't need to listen to the rest of it to know. He is wrong.

Your Miguel has saved you. Protected you again and again. Put himself in harm’s way and nearly died to keep you safe. He would never hurt you.

“No,” you ignore the spasm of pain across your diaphragm as you speak. “He s-saved me.”

His mouth furls into a feral snarl, flashing the corner of his fangs. “You wouldn’t need to be saved if it wasn’t for him.”

“That’s not–”

“He’s an anomaly! Every Miguel O’Hara is!”

You blink up at him at loss for words. You don’t understand what he’s trying to tell you.

In front of you, this Miguel visibly grits his teeth, grinding down on his jaw, as he continues to speak in that low tone that simmers with fury.

“Humans are not meant to travel between dimensions. When I invented inter-dimensional travel, I violated that natural order without knowing it. Everyone I come across, everyone I saved, I’ve doomed, because that event was never supposed to take place.”

“You– you don’t know–”

He cuts you off before you can finish, “I’ve seen it!” he shouts. His hands curl into agitated fists at his sides. “After I lost you, I–I...”

He looks back at you and the words seem to die on his tongue.

As you hold his gaze you begin to see what you missed before. You were too focused on this Miguel’s anger to notice the grief pouring out of every inch of him.

“I lost myself,” he says, quieter now. “Lyla showed me a version of us in another dimension and it was the only thing that kept me going. We had a life together there. A daughter. You were happy there... Then that version of me died.”

He pauses again, lost in some memory that you are not a part of. Shame sinks into the hollowness of his sunken eyes and he looks away from you again.

“... And I replaced him. I thought it was harmless, that I was just replacing a version of me and the universe wouldn’t know any better. But I was wrong. He was never supposed to be in that dimension either. That whole universe collapsed because of me and our daughter and you died with it.”

Making a broad gesture through the empty air, amber light brightens up the space.

From behind him, a myriad of holographic screens flicker into existence, and you see images of yourself repeated and illuminated in all of them. You with pink hair. Another you with piercings. A you with tattoos and shaved cuts. Hundreds of variants of you wearing pieces of clothing that you’ve never owned. All of them, a different you, living their everyday life.

“Since then I’ve observed hundreds and thousands of versions of you in every dimension,” this Miguel tells you, as he gazes longingly at the screens that float above.

“All of them get to live full and healthy long lives. Do you know what every one of those versions of you have in common?”

He turns back towards you, closing the distance between you. “We never met. The reason you keep dying is because you meet me.”

His face is so close that a lock of his curl falls on your temple. Had this been your Miguel, you’d been tingling with warmth and excitement, now all you feel is a cold shiver.

“Every time we meet is because something I did inadvertently puts you in danger, and then I save you from it, starting the chain of events.”

Your mind flashes to that first moment you fell out of the Chrysler building. The blur of blue and red that came crashing into your life in pursuit of a villain and knocked you out of a skyscraper window.

“The universe is trying to erase your existence because of me. To try to correct the balance.”

Your face feels numb. Your mind is reeling from the revelation.

The question that you’ve had since this all began has finally been answered. Why this universe seemingly has it out for you. Why it has repeatedly tried to kill you. Why your world literally was about to end after you kissed him… It all makes a tragic sense now.

It’s because of Miguel.

You don’t know how long you remain frozen, crushed under the weight of the realization, before the sound of footfall joins the room, echoing in this empty space.

You hear him before you see him. Your Miguel. He calls your name and the familiar tone of it sends warm shivers through your spine.

Searching the space, your eyes land on his familiar silhouette in the dim light.

Miguel is struggling to walk, hunched over and limping forward despite his injuries. He looks so much smaller than what you are used to. There's blood dripping down his face and ugly red gashes ripping into his protective suit where one arm is clutching to the gaping raw wound.

Parting your mouth, you desperately try to warn him and scream that he needs to run. But the noise is garbled and choked. Nothing remotely close to a word comes out of your mouth. Even if it did, it wouldn’t have helped.

Miguel is too distracted by the sight of you. Too focused on reaching you that he barely registers the sight of his other self standing beside you, and then it’s too late.

It happens so fast, your eyes aren’t able to register it. One second his cosmic Doppelgänger is beside you. The next he is gone.

He leaps into the air with a ferocity that chills your bones. His claws slashes through the air and he pounces on Miguel with the entirety of his body weight.

Miguel doesn’t stand a chance. He’s already wounded and weakened. There’s been no time to heal. He’s still heavily bleeding from his abdomen and the bone-deep wounds where the damage meant for you had torn through him instead.

His body lands on the floor with a painful heavy thud. Even from this distance, you can hear the air rush out of his lungs with a pained and choked wheeze.

“Do you know what you have done?” His voice drips with venom as he fists his hand into Miguel’s hair, yanking his head upwards, level with his. “Why couldn’t you just have left her alone?”

Miguel snarls with an ugly grimace as he tries to wrangle himself free to no avail, pinned as he is on the ground. He meets the man’s stare without cowering even as he is unable to stand upright, wounded and bleeding out.

“The fuck are you on about?” Miguel spits out. He surges forward, ramming his forehead into the other man.

The blow of it sends the Doppelgänger reeling back. But it doesn’t last. He snarls in anger before he lunges forward, grabbing for Miguel’s head to slam it back down into the ground.

All you can do is helplessly watch the scene unfold before you.

“You still don’t get it do you?” he growls, raising his arm in the air to deliver another forceful blow.

There’s a nauseating bone-crushing sound that makes you sick to your stomach when his fist connects to Miguel’s jaw.

“You should never have gone to her world. You didn’t belong!”

He clasps around Miguel’s throat in a painfully hard hold, pinning him there against the ground.

Miguel’s tanned skin bleeds white around the dented imprints of that talon grip, cutting off blood circulation until you’re sure he can no longer breathe.

“She died because of you!”

The words make Miguel freeze. The whole of his back stiffening.

A fisted hand hammers down on Miguel’s face and you squeeze your eyes shut before you see it connect. All you hear behind your closed eyelids is a sickening crack that you know means something is broken.

Silence follows, and you barely dare to squint your eyes open, terrified of what you will see. Even though you’re bracing yourself, you’re still not prepared at the sight that greets you.

Miguel's body is slumped and motionless on the ground. The other him towers over his defeated form. There’s an eerie calm to his movements as he gets up and steps back.

On the ground, Miguel looks so much smaller than when he's lying in bed next to you under the covers and your heart beats painfully fast in your chest, unable to intervene.

The other man raises one leg above Miguel’s still form, poised like a sledge-hammer and holds there.

His foot comes down, delivering a shattering stomp that reverberates through the space. You swear you can feel the suspended webs holding you, shake and tremble against your skin from the after shock.

The air thins in your lungs. Hot, wet tears spill down your cheeks. For a long and dreadful second, you’re not sure if Miguel is still alive.

Then you hear a tiny, pained whimper, from the ground.

You don’t know what you feel anymore. Fear. Sadness. Anger. Relief. Everything inside you is drawn in a tight knot and aches at the pitiful sound of how much pain Miguel must be in. But there’s also the tiniest of hope, because as doomed as this all may seem, at the very least he’s still alive.

That's all you care about right now.

In front of you, his other self cocks his head to the side. He narrows his eyes as he looks down at the defenseless body on the ground with a disdain that you've never seen on those features before.

“You disrupted the canon when you jumped into her dimension. Do you understand?” he says with a quiet barely contained anger. “The universe keeps trying to kill her, because you, an anomaly, entered into the picture and altered the course of her life."

Something sharp protrudes from the back of his arms, as he speaks.

"But I can make it right," he says and you see the sharp long appendages extend from both sides of his upper arms.

You stare at them with a growing fear, as they grow sharp and menacing, into blades that glow ominously red.

No. Nononono.

This can't be happening. This can't be real.

You wrench against the restraints around your limbs and pain sears through every single cell of your body. But right now it doesn't matter. You have to move. Because you know what’s going to happen if you don’t.

"I can save her. If you die, she gets to live. All you need to do is stay down,” he says.

To your horror Miguel does. Miguel doesn’t move. Doesn’t resist. Doesn’t fight back. The tight tension in his muscles go slack, and his arms drop at his sides.

The most stubborn man in the universe has stopped fighting. He’s given up.

That man is going to kill Miguel. You can’t stay still and let it happen. You have to move. God, please please, you need to–

“I have to do this to keep her safe,” the Doppelgänger says, “You want that too. It’s all we ever wanted.”

Pain tears at the seams of your skin, sharp and fractured like broken shards and glass splitting through your skull until you’re sure you are going to vomit. You ignore it.

In front of you, he raises his arm above Miguel’s head until it looms over him like a reaper's scythe.

Ripping through the last of the hindrance holding you down, adrenaline and pain mix into a sickening concoction until you lose sense of your surroundings.

It's only a few feet away.

You can’t stop, even if it hurts. Can’t stop even though your vision flickers white with bright dotted spots. Can’t stop, because if you do– you’ll lose him.

You leap, throwing yourself in front of Miguel's slumped form on the floor.

Everything hurts. Pain sears through your insides, scraping every inch of our flesh. It burns and crackles in the marrow of your bones.

You spread your arms out in an attempt to make yourself bigger, trying to shield as much of your Miguel as you are physically capable of.

“Nena��” the man above stares down at you, wide-eyed and frozen.

He's stopped, the sharp blade protruding from his arm suspended inches from your face.

“Cielo! Move,” Miguel barks from under you.

“No!”

There’s no fear in this moment as you say the word. Even with the honed blade looming over your head. Even though all it’d take is one swift downward movement to end it all, you’ve never felt surer of your safety.

Because this close, you can see it now.

This other Miguel, different as he may be, is still Miguel. If there’s one thing you learnt in these last few months it's that more than anything, no matter how hard-headed and wrong he might go about it in his methods. This man will always choose your safety over everything else. Your survival. Your life.

That’s why Lyla still hasn’t overridden her safety protocol. Because your life is not in danger, not by his hands.

If he has to go through you to get to Miguel… He wouldn’t. You can tell that much.

And if your life is the only shield you have to offer the man you love, then you’d gladly lay it down under the guillotine.

“I won’t let you lay another finger on him,” you say as you stare up at the other Miguel defiantly. “Not as long as I’m alive.”

The man narrows his eyes, seething with an anger that radiates from every inch of his body as he spits out the syllables.

“He is killing you.”

His lips quiver, hands trembling as he looks down at you. You recognize that expression. It's the same one Miguel held when he was looming over you, vowing to eliminate the Avengers in order to protect you.

The same pain in his eyes, whenever he fears for your survival... because he's already lost you once.

That's what this is...

You see this for what it is now.

Despite the fact that he’s a stranger, in spite of all the differences, you see him for who he is. The anger, the blame on his own other self, on your Miguel. The haunting guilt he has towards himself.

When he says, ‘he,’ he's not just referring to the man behind you. He's talking about himself.

Kneeling upwards, you move towards this man, ignoring the burning pain that shudders through your trembling arms as you reach up to cup those all too familiar sharp cheeks. He flinches at the touch, as if he didn’t expect it.

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t know. You didn’t kill me,” you tell him.

His eyes widen and he turns his face the tiniest fraction into the palm of your hand, chasing after your touch.

“Maybe you and him are the reason the universe tries to kill me. But I’m still glad I was able to meet you."

At your words, you can see the determination in his eyes waver. The way something in him cracks open and falls apart at your words.

"I'm sorry," he says, and the words bleed with guilt. "I'm so sorry. It's all my fault."

“It's not your fault," you tell him again. "It’s okay, Miguel, I don't blame you. Even with all the near deaths and the end of the world, meeting you is the best thing that happened to me."

He’s not your Miguel. You know that. But despite everything that preceded this moment, your heart still hurts for this man.

All you know is that you want to make him feel better. You just want to make his hurt a little bit less painful.

“If it was my choice. If it were for me to decide. I would still want us to meet. I’m going to choose that every time. And I think that’s what she would’ve done too."

A glossy wetness shines over his scarlet eyes that threatens to spill and you ache for him.

Even if the man in front of you is not your Miguel. He’s still Miguel.

You will always recognize him, not in the identical physical features of his face. Not the stubborn angle of his ridiculously sharp jaw. Nor his obscenely large build.

No. It’s in the sadness of his eyes. The longing that he holds for you whenever he looks at you. The love you can plainly see there, no matter how hard he tries to hide it from you.

You are the woman he loves above all else. In every universe.

You can see that now.

“I think that’s what I’d always choose, Miguel. There are many versions of me but I know that every me will love every you in every universe if given the chance.”

His shoulders slump, the burning anger in him dims as his chest visibly deflates in front of you. Then he stands there, staring down at you with that aching defeat etched into the corners of his weary eyes.

“If I let you go,” he starts, voice so quiet it almost sounds like a whisper. “Where would you go from here?”

You stop to consider his question.

If you leave here with Miguel, your life as you know it is never going to be the same.

The comforts of your everyday life in New York will be lost. No more Netflix, or fancy lemony cupcakes, or the barista that knows your order before you open your mouth.

You will never know what your life will look like from one day to the next. What the world itself is going to be, jumping from one foreign universe to another. That should be terrifying to you.

But somehow it isn't.

What's scary is the thought of going back to the life you had without Miguel there. The life that was so painfully mundane and ordinary that you had no moments of importance worth remembering seconds before falling to your death. The life you spent that was trapped in the machinery of habit, without a speck of color and excitement in your life.

As confusing and downright scary every day has been since you met him, you’ve never felt more alive. Never felt safer than when Miguel is by your side. You wouldn't give it up for anything.

In your mind, there’s only one choice you want to make.

“I am going to leave my dimension with him,” you say. “The world won't have to end and we’d be together.”

He shakes his head, disbelieving. Those sad eyes, still pinned on yours.

“No matter where you run to, it would start up all over again," he says, biting down on his bottom lip with worry. "The universe will eventually try to erase you because it thinks you're an anomaly. That would be the rest of your life, running from dimension to dimension.”

He throws a look behind you where Miguel is lying on the ground, the disdain and anger coming to life again, before he continues. “If he dies, if I kill him, then that connection is severed, you could go back to your normal life.”

You turn behind to look at your Miguel. He has an expression on his face that mirrors his other self. One of defeat and sadness and disbelief.

“I don’t want that. I don’t want a life he’s not a part of.” You turn back to the other him, squarely meeting his eyes. “Please.”

Other Miguel looks like his world is ending as he looks at you. For the longest moment he doesn't say anything, and you aren't sure what his answer is going to be or what he is going to do. If he's going to hold you here against your will and kill Miguel despite your pleas.

Then he drops his gaze to the floor and you can see that he’s holding back tears.

“Go,” he whispers.

He steps back from you, retreating step by step to widen the physical distance between yourself and him, and turns away with his back towards you.

You immediately scramble towards your Miguel, arms reaching for him. It’s not graceful, your limbs still hurt and your movements are clumsy. But you try to ignore it so you can loop Miguel’s arm over your shoulder and try to haul him up on his feet.

Predictably, Miguel is already starting to protest and scold you, “Cielo, you can’t–”

“Not now, Miguel,” you cut him off, and for once he listens.

His mouth presses into a firm line as he strains to stand upright, trying not to lean on you for support to get up, but failing to do so, leg buckling under his own weight.

Your hand shoots out around his waist to hold him steady, the slick blood from his wounds painting your fingers a bright red. You swallow down the worry, prioritizing getting away above all else for now.

“Let’s go,” you tell him, and he gives you a curt, almost compliant nod as the two of you move together with clumsy steps and rely on each other for support.

Behind you, the other Miguel is still standing turned away from you. You stare at his wide back as you walk away.

With each step that broadness looks smaller and smaller in the distance. The lonely and grief-struck silhouette of another version of the man that you love, that so clearly loves you, disappears out of sight as you leave him behind.

Miguel is quiet. He won’t look you in the eye as both of you try to hobble your way to the corridor you had landed in when you first came to this dimension.

It takes you both an eternity. It's nothing short of a miracle Miguel is still alive and even though the toxin is wearing off in your system, you still feel sore. Every muscle in your body is cramping, worse than any time of the month you’ve had to endure so far in your life.

You gain an entirely new appreciation of what Wong must’ve gone through and if there is a way to send interdimensional gift baskets, you remind yourself you should get one for him as an apology.

“This should be safe enough,” Miguel tells you as you reach the secluded space.

You both slump down to the ground, catching your breath with your backs leaning against the wall behind to hold you upright.

“Are you okay?” you ask him, which is a silly question for a man that probably has at least half a dozen broken ribs, internal bleeding, and a fractured jaw from the looks of it.

Despite all those bodily injuries though, Miguel is acting unbothered.

“Yeah, give me a minute and I’ll get us out of here.”

He wastes no time as he reaches over for your wrist and fiddles with the dials on your watch,

A hologram appears above, but there’s no sighting of Lyla. He hasn’t summoned her and as far as you can see it’s all just gibberish coding that he’s inputting. You have no idea what he’s doing but if you had to take a guess, it looks like he’s manually inserting the programming of the next jump to ensure it’s the right location this time.

He’s quiet and concentrated like always, eyebrows furrowed, as he works. Then out of nowhere, without looking up from what he’s doing, he speaks.

“What do you want to do once you get out of here?”

"Sleep,” is your immediate answer and Miguel laughs quietly at that as you continue. “Recover, just... rest, for a while, I guess"

"Sounds nice.” He shuts down the illuminated screen, presumably already done.

Then he’s quiet for a long moment, just sitting there next to you.

“...and after that?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“I guess since I’m going to be traveling different dimensions now for the rest of my life, I’d want to go to all the cool places? Like one where there’s talking raccoons. Or a dimension where we all have sausages for fingers, or one where all life forms are rock based.”

He pays close attention to you, face resting in the palm of his hand, as you tell him of these made up otherworldly dimensions.

“If we happen to jump into another dimension that’s similar to my old one I wouldn’t turn down Beyoncé tickets, provided Lyla could get them or we could just have her hack into restaurant booking systems and get us into all the exclusive places.”

There’s a small smile on his face as you speak, and your chest feels warm at the sight of it. Somehow after the day you have had, barely escaping the end of the world, going through an assassination attempt by the Avengers, being ambushed by another version of Miguel, you both made it through.

That tiny smile of his feels like a prize at the finishing line.

You slide your fingers across the space between you, until you find his knuckles, interlacing his fingers with yours.

"Anything would be okay, really. As long as I get to be with you," you tell him.

His smile turns wistful, as he nods back at you, squeezing your fingers back between his. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

There’s a lingering moment that you share in the comfortable silence. It’s unlike him. The Miguel you know would have wanted to make the jump five minutes ago, but you figure he must be tired.

He’s been shot at, thrown off buildings and beaten half to death by his own Doppelgänger today. He’s more than earned a minute or two of rest.

His head tips up staring into the moody blue ceiling above. “I love you,” he says.

It’s sudden and a bit out of nowhere but your face tingles. Warmth fills your chest until there's so much of it you're not sure you can contain it inside you. Then he continues.

“If there was any doubt. I love you, this you. Even if I find you to be absolutely batshit insane sometimes.”

You can’t help the silly grin tugging at your lips. The dopey feeling that buzzes bright in your veins. You feel slightly lightheaded and you aren’t sure if it’s a side effect of the toxins or just his words.

“Miguel, I lov–” you start, but he cuts you off.

“I know,” he says, turning his gaze to you, as he squeezes your hand gently in his. “You don’t have to say anything. Let’s just stay here for a while. Just like this.”

He doesn’t say anything after that.

The two of you stay like that in the moody darkness, his thumb smoothing over the front of your hand in soothing motions, as he looks down at you like he doesn’t want to take his eyes off of you. It’s a while longer still, before finally Miguel seems ready. He takes your hand that he’s holding and brings it close.

“Lyla,” he summons. “Take us to the next location.”

At the command, there's a bright burst of strobed colored lights surrounding you. It’s blinding your vision as it throws you into motion even as you’re sitting still.

Then before you know it they fade into a bright sterile whiteness. You wait for your surroundings to reform. To see a skyline and buildings and city lights.

But there’s nothing.

“Wait, where are we?” you ask.

Everything is blank and white and endless here. Empty space as far as the eye can see. Dread seizes you. You’re in the void again.

Why are you here?

How… Is the watch broken? Did the two of you fail? But it worked before. You shouldn’t be here, how–fuck, your vision starts to flatten. The ground underneath you is unsteady. Everything blurs. You can’t breathe.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” Miguel says, taking your hand in his as he squeezes down. “I sent us here.”

He says it so casually, your brain doesn't quite register the meaning. What does he mean he sent you here? On purpose, why would he–

“What do you mean? I don’t understand, Miguel, why would you–”

He hushes you soothingly. One hand comes to cup the back of your head, stopping you mid-sentence. “You’re not going to stay here. We’re just doing a drop off.”

“Miguel, what–”

He leans down, forehead pressing intimately against yours, there’s a sad smile on his face as he meets your eyes. They’re soft and gentle, and your chest squeezes painfully tight just looking at him.

“I already told you, didn't I?” he tells you, both hands coming to cup your cheeks. “I’m not going to let you die.”

Without missing a beat, he’s already moving on before you even have a chance to retort.

“Lyla,” he calls, and you hear the ping from your wrist. Can feel the slight vibration as the hologram takes form. “Run the updated protocol."

There’s a bright glow that forms all around you. Bright light crackles at the edges of your vision and there’s a delayed reaction in your brain as you try to process everything that’s happening around you.

He lets you go, taking a step back. “I love you, Cielito. I will always love you.”

Shit! He wouldn’t. Why?

“Take her home for me,” he orders.

You step forward trying to grab hold of him but it’s already too late. Your fingers grasp for him, but it sinks into nothingness, Miguel is already gone and so are you.

You find yourself inside a small studio apartment.

There’s no one besides you.

There’s a sole window sill where the view of New York City is entirely obscured by the neighboring building and its ugly brick wall. Not an inch of the skyline is visible.

You’re surrounded by clutter and second hand furniture that is all too familiar. A cheap IKEA Ingatorp dining table. Laundry still piled up on the bed. Dirty dishes stacked up in a tower over the sink.

You know this place.

You’re home.

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: To my favorite moose @thirstworldproblemss. Thank you as always for listen to my insane ramblings and machinations, even though you literally do not even go here.

To @guruan who I have been dying to share this chapter with for so long! Thank you for all the amazing art, thank you for your help looking through dialogues to make sure the Spanish used reads right. Thank you for crying about this man with me.

And last but not least big hug loves and smooches to @djarinsbeskar who gave this a second pair of eyes in the eleventh minute when I was freaking out about the copious use of Doppelganger, her advice was invaluable to me and without her I probably would've put this on ice over the weekend. Please send her all the loves! cause she is amazing and beautiful and gorgeous. Also do you know that she has her DEBUT NOVEL SENSUAL SUMMONING coming out soon? please check it out and sign up to her newsletter.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[swifty-fox]

“it’s just me now. you don’t have to be brave anymore.” BUCK PATCHING BUCKY UP AT THE STALAG AFTER HE ARRIVES WITH A BUSTED EYE SOCKET

ooo lets go

cw: hurt comfort, semi graphic depictions of a head injury

Gale smiles for John. Skin pricking cold on wire fencing, body still sore from his own crash, dirty and hungry and very very far from home. He smiles for John because John is alive and John is here and he's so goddamn beautiful it sets the insides of Gale squishy and vulnerable.

If only they had known, if only the guards had known what they could leverage against him. If they threatened to hurt John Gale would have given them everything.

He smiles for John, because they're all smiling and cheering and whooping and bowing the fence with the force of their impending reunification. Because Benny beside him mutters quietly under his breath, "Jesus, look at his face," in quiet horror.

Head wounds bleed a lot. They all knew this, had seen it plenty.

It still looked bad.

The boys watch John Egan stand for processing, pacing the fenceline like dogs waiting for their leader. Their missing Major doesn't sway or falter, but the moment he's through those gates and extracted from the delighted clutch of their boys Gale sees it, the slightest misstep as John approaches him.

Gale regards him, takes in the dark curls pressed to a helmet of gore around his face, the dried creek of blood from his nose. The messy pulsing devastation of his eye socket, the blue of his iris turned brilliant cobalt by the blood in the whites. He soaks it all in and John's looking him over right back and then the taller man is making a quiet noise in the back of his throat and Gale's arms are opening and they're crashing into each other like two stars across the night sky.

"You look like Hell, Bucky," Gale says.

"Been better," John laughs into his shoulder.

--

The showers are blessedly empty and Gale gets John set up on a stool against the wall and takes a moment to double-check the door. Brady and DeMarco were standing guard outside, passing Brady's pipe back nd forth while making sure nobody would disturb their Majors, but Gale didn't want them hearing anything either.

He has his shower kit made up of a barely functional razor, a couple rags, and most preciously; a chunk of soap.

Together they drag the stool beside the barebones sinks, Gale deciding that it would be more trouble than it was worth to try to get John under the spray of a showerhead. He can feel john's strength flagging, leaning his large body back against Gale's thigh as he helps him strip out of his jacket and overshirt.

"What happened to the sheepskin, Bucky?" Gale asks quietly as he folds the clothing, placing it away from where it might get wet.

John shrugs, heavy-limbed and wincing, "Kidd was looking cold."

"Awful nice of you," Gale says, voice barely above a whisper as he returns to John's side, getting the water as warm as it will go before using one rag to slowly sponge at John's caked hair. He can feel a swollen lump somewhere behind the larger man's ear but there's too many layers of grime in the way. It streams down John's face and shoulders in thick streaks of brown and red and some in-between rust.

John is mostly silent, every now and again making a soft wounded noise when Gale gets too close to what slowly is revealed to be a tremendous gash in his hair, maybe an inch long but wide and deep enough that Gale can make out the layers of pink and blessedly healthy tissue. With a murmured apology, he pries apart the edges of the injury just slightly to flush out any stuck debris. John cries out softly, fingers vicing on his thigh but bears it.

"Gonna need the doc to stitch that up," Gale says when he's happy the wound is clean, cups his hand over the hurt spot and rubs his thumb against John's ear until by inches and increments he relaxes. His fists stay clenched however, as Gale pivots around to begin cleaning his face. And his eyes are vacant, staring somewhere over Gale's shoulder stubbornly.

Gale doesn't mind, he's still reeling from the shock of John being here, from the shock at the state of him. Of the relief and grief and anger dancing a threeway battle across his ribcage. He cups John's chin in a tender mirror of the other man's own habitual caresses and dabs the blood and sweat from his hairline, swipes it from his cheeks and around his mouth and under his beautiful distant eyes that flicker with something like emotion for a moment before being viciously cut off at the knees.

"Bucky," Gale sighs, begins dabbing at the obviously broken bone around John's eye.

The skin feels hot and spongy under his touch, swollen but with too much give and it sends nausea teasing across Gale's throat. John's jaw clenches tight, Gale can feel the tick of his muscles under his thumb and he puts the rag down to brush through his now blessedly clean hair.

"Hon."

John flinches, squeezing his eyes shut even though it must hurt, and shaking his head sharply just once.

"You don't have to tell me anything, John. But it's just me now. You don't have to be brave anymore."

It's not immediate, happening more in increments than the sudden burst of emotion one might expect from John Egan.

First his broad shoulders draw up to his endearly large ears, fall back down heavily. Bottom lip trembling, face screwing up tighter and body slowly bowing in half in a slow movement like landing gear folding up. A ragged breath, exhaling on a whine and then a second one on a dry sob. Gale puts a hand on the back of John's neck and draws him close, rocks his man's body slowly as John sobs his relief into a bloody smear of emotion on Gale's neck.

[loverspeak01]

Jotaro x F! Reader

Started your period with your BF

Rating : soft

You and Jotaro were both sleeping on your shared bed, wrapped around each other’s arms. You had laid your head on the crock of his neck, as you are peacefully asleep. Though, jotaro was already awake. he just refused to move, not wanting you to wake from your slumber. Jotaro drew gentle circles on your back as he let you sleep.

Acting like he’s annoyed about it but he really doesn’t mind you clinging to him. Jotaro then hear a groan coming from your sleepy self.

“Something wrong?” He ask, worrying for your sake.

“My stomach hurts… “ You mumble out, you buried your head against the crock of his neck. As you start waking from your slumber, you felt something wet and sticky coming from your cat.

You then got confused, until it all came together. Your eyes widened and pulled your head from jotaro’s neck. Jotaro quickly noticed this, trying to figure what happened.

You lifted the blanket that was covering you two and check behind your ass and saw blood. Js as you thought.

Jotaro followed your gaze as saw the spot underneath you bloody. He grabbed your waist and checked your pants and saw dots of blood from it. “Good grief, Y/N, are you alright??”

“Yea, js wait here. I’ll be back..” you replied, letting him go and jumping off the bed and rushing to the bathroom. Jotaro follows you, not caring if you told him to wait.

He walked over to the bathroom door and pushed it open, leaning onto the doorway. “The hell are you looking for?”

“A fuck pad, or a tampon, Jesus I don’t care. I just got my damn period, and I’m not happy with it either. God I need to change my clothes… “ you told him, deadpanning as you couldn’t find anything to stop your bleeding.

He shock his head frowning, “good grief, you could’ve just said that instead of running off. I’ll go to the pharmacy and get you some pads.”

You smiled at his stubborn yet caring self. “ thank you so much, I’ll probably be in the shower till you come back, just leave it next to the sink for me.” You got up and kissed him on the cheek, then on the lips.

Jotaro blushed, he grabbed his jacket and hat, “ok, I’ll be back. Love you.” He said before closing the door behind him.

You nodded, going to your closet to grabbed a new pair of clean of panties and a clean towel. You placed the items next the sink, and tossed the towel over the towel rack.

After a few minutes, jotaro had came back with the pads and a few extra items. He placed the pads next to the sink as you requested.

Js as he was about to leave the bathroom, you turned off the shower, and grabbed the towel from the rack and wrapped your body with before opening the curtains.

“Need anything else?” He asked, still inside the bathroom. You dried your legs before sitting down on the toilet.

“No, I got it, but thank you.” I responded as I grabbed the panties from the counter and slid them. I then grabbed a pad from the bag and unwrapped them and sticked in the pantie before standing up and wrap myself with the towel again.

Jotaro who was leaning against the door frame watching you lifted himself up. “I’ll go warm up some hot chocolate” “that will be nice, thank you.” He nodded and walked off to the kitchen.

While he was doing that you went over to your guys walk in closet and put on dark sweat pants and one of Jotaros T-shirts. I then proceeded to brush my hair and wash my face before hearing jotaro come back in.

“Is there anything I could get you?” He asked, I walked back into the room to see him place the cup of hot chocolate on my bed side table.

“Uhm.. not really, but.. maybe we can cuddle” I shyly suggested. Surprisingly he agreed, “Of course.” He started laying of the bed and opened his arms for you to come.

You walked over to him and joined him in the bed and wrapped your arms around him as he does to you also.

“Thank you, I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” You said as you laid your head on the crock of his neck, as you gave him a little peck kiss on his neck.

Jotaro’s heart skipped a beat at the kiss as he had his arms wrapped around your waist, as he figured that you were already falling back to sleep. “Goodnight, baby..” he whispered before kissing the top of your head.

[tulipps-maehem]

TW- reader is former Slave, Eustass is an ass. Not much for this one but there will be explicit content going forward. Eustass x Skypian!Reader x Killer NOT PROOFREAD fuck it we ball

A looming smell of damp wood washed over your senses, the smell no longer pleasant as the petrichor of rain back home.

this scent was dank and salty, almost sickening as the smell of dried blood on your clothing.

your head was fuzzy and wrists heavy from the broken shackles that adorned them, bruises and cuts ached throughout your body. You had snuck onto the most intimidating ship that wasn’t the marines nor a slaver and were currently in the hull of said vessel.

the events of Sabaody were still clear in your mind. Gunshot. Punch. Pirates, one crew that you recognized as the man who saved your village Meer months ago along with the warlord and the man in the fur and his masked friend. Their names the only clear ones in your mind Captain Eustass Kid and his little blonde friend Killer.

they had seemed most likely to survive, most were dressed in leather and bold colors and furs.. something you gawked at when you had seen a few of them in the crowd of the auction that had been taking place. unfortunately you had been one of the few who hadn’t received the curtesy of getting your shackles taken off or cut, so you had used some guys attack to cut the chain. It worked then but now as you attempted to move all you could hear was the clank of the metal.

‘well shit, i didn’t wanna fucking try but… some of the others dislocated their thumbs to get out so maybe.. I can try?’

you sighed then steadied your breath, wincing as you pressed until a soft pop was heard. it didn’t hurt to bad as you slid you hand out of the heap of metal. After you’d popped your thumb back in you did the other hand.

you rubbed the metal rash on your wrists to soothe the ache, it’d been a month or so since the blonde hyena like bastard had stolen you away from your home leaving a trail of fire and death in his wake. The tattoo etched into your back will never let you forget the horrors that man did. You were going to find him and rain fire from the sky and watch him burn.

The thunks of footsteps snapped you out of your daydreams, you assumed you were in the hull of the ship. You stood, very quietly made your way over to where the crates were stacked. An idea coming to your mind…

it had been a week or so after fleeing Sabaody and the Kid Pirates were set out for the new world, but the last week had been hell. A few had been wounded, and Kidd had been in a constant state of paranoia leaving his poor partner more stressed then ever.

Just this morning Killer had chewed Kidd out for eating the rest of the spaghetti he had made last night. In retaliation to these events the Captain had Locked himself inside his workshop for the day.

He had been in there for a while now tinkering away at something as an apology for Killer even though ‘he didn’t do shit’. Suddenly Eustass groaned in frustration, whipping his head around and throwing a dagger into the wall of his workshop.

although.. this time a small squeak came fourth and red slowly stained the wall in a small patch

“I gotcha now little mouse come on out now eh?”

he chuckled low as he stalked towards the wall almost silently before smirking devilishly and in a see less moment connected his fist with the wall next to the patch.

Alas, it was only a rat. He huffed and turned to the kitten asleep bin the porthole shelf he made her

“Gizmo, the fuck ya doin if it’s not catchin the bleedin rats ya Eeijit!”

he lectured the kitten while holding its scruff at face height. She mewed at him in return to which he chuckled and shifted to hold her as if she were a newborn child . Smiling at the way she nibbled his fingers and batted at his arm.

that damn shuffling sound was back again. But this time he sighed and brushed it off as more rats before going to alert killer of the problem. The tortie kitten. But the strange thing was he could hear the vibrations of small metal pieces, maybe he was just getting paranoid? No one could be on his ship without him knowing right? The rat probably just swallowed one of the girls earrings or other piercings..

as you heard Footsteps wander away you let out a sigh of relief, frowning at the hole next to your face. This was the 5th time you’d almost gotten pulverized by the hands of Eustass Kid. To be fair, he didn’t exactly mean to.. but you just had to wait a few more days until they docked then you could escape.

you felt bad in all honesty, your presence seemed to have been messing with the crew. The crew mates whisper ghost stories to each other, some being paranoid others finding it childish. But the captain was the big problem, he heard something and what does the big bastard do? He chucks a knife- or better yet punches the source of the sound.

the crews been noticing the missing food as well, but it always made you giggle seeing the blonde- “Killer” you remembered, accusing his captain of stealing the leftovers

you actually had yourself a decent spot on the ship, you’d wiggled your way into a tiny space under the kitchen that went up to behind the pantry, and some other parts of the ship. But in the larger area closest to the bottom of the hull you even had a small straw bed. (Why they had straw you had no idea in the slightest)

Currently you were watching the crew tell stories around a fire from the peephole in the pantry one of the rookies you’d noticed looked li’e they were about three minutes from shitting their pants hearing about the torture that Eustass Kid would subject on his victims.

you on the other hand found his tales fascinating, you had no idea people with such similar ideals of freedom to your own people had lived in the blue seas

you smiled to yourself as you watched them, until the growl of your stomach pulled you out of your trance. You saw some apples on the shelf across from the punch-made peephole and quickly stuck your arm through. you couldn’t see so you had your head pressed to the wall trying to hear but the rhythmic thump of your quickening up was making that quite difficult.

You felt around until your hand landed on something soft, fabric like almost, but still firm. It took a moment until you felt the same rhythmic thumps.. of a heart beat..and an unfamiliar voice spoke out with venom.

“what. the. fuck.”

[astralnymphh]

god knows she tried.

ellie williams⊱.

“the monster inside her was baying for blood, it had to come out some day.”

⤹𓍢ִ໋listening to; lacrimosa and sour

𖤐.an; I present to you, my proudest piece. wowowoww I really enjoyed writing an emotional piece like this. I hope it suffices and gets enough recognition cause this surely won't be my last angst piece!! inspired by lacy, oh lacy by @coeurify

𓍢ִ໋-cw; ellie pov focus leaning, large analysis of ellie throughout tlou2, loser-esque jackson ellie, angst, heavy feelings, depictions of death + wanting death + blood + guts + sharp objects + nausea/vomit + self hatred + jealousy + starvation, mild glimpses of happiness, reader replaces dina, reader isn't pregnant, poetic writing

⋆.ೃ;wc; 5k+

masterlist ୨୧

the sun was shrouded in gloom. the water did not glisten, but her tears did. droplets of gray guilt pour in slow motion down her bloodied cheeks. tears glistening with hurt.

washed up like a sea carcass, phantom fingers pounding in pain. made into a husk by her own self-corrosion. her mind would have been bare, except, you're there. a figment of time, standing there, suffocating in your blank stare. why are you staring like that? it's not even you. ellie can't grasp that truth. it's only her subconscious. projecting an apparition of your mortal flesh and briny blood. salty like the sea she's sitting in.

would you echo that figment in real time?

the past figments she saw had character. one shaking their head, one like a beacon of comfort caressing her shoulder, and never dead. you're not dead, why is she crying?

she cries for everything.

her limbs calcified of stone. nothings' moving. lungs that felt dried up from all the tears leaving her eyes. a throat that strains and tugs with each dense swallow, reminding her of the atmosphere that appeared so devoid of air, thinking, how could she breathe right now? the insoluble pain of self-destruction. the hunger for revenge, snuffed like a breeze to flames. it was all in her head. the choking. her lungs begged for air, and she could not breathe it.

ellie cusps the hand that gushes with beady red blood that drips into the dark murky water, pressurizing the exposed throbbing knuckle. it hurt like hell, an unlivable hell. yet, not a wail is heard by the ocean. only the whimpers and sniffles graze the ears of her highness, the sea, the only one physically there to listen.

behind her, feet are hung at head-level. wooden pillars that scarcely mimicked crucifixion. this place was dark, in all dimensions.

just minutes ago, her skin was forming bruises and jaw nearly caved in from the force of abby's struggled hits. knuckles praying to live. not even the mass of a gun tucked in her jeans had her awareness. no, she didn't use it. she wanted to feel abby fucking dying in her hands. her hands that have siphoned the lives of many before. but, when she realized someone was actually dying in her hands, when she could feel that through her skin, it was over. the flashes of joel in her head beckoned her to stop, without uttering any words. the same mental imagery that motioned her to break skin in the first place.

joel was always there.

soaping up the harshly served reality that projected on the foggy thalassic horizon and toxified the surrounding waters, her mind sails to different times. supposed simplistic times that, by fate, turned rotten.

the day you two met. a mere four years ago. the town was a busy winterscape. you both were the golden age of sixteen, well, not that golden admist the post-apocalypse. steady clanking hoofsteps that striked the concrete track streaming into jackson, mounted on your midnight coat steed that trailed behind tommy's. heads turned at the sounds of large rusty hinges twisting, including hers, watching from beyond the stable's fencing.

goddess above and below, you're were so stunning.

she remembers she was gearing up for group patrol that day when you arrived, the saddles' horn nearly slipping from her bay leather grasp. thoughts of interest and curiosity had slowly piled up from that point. her pupils picking up on each hoofprint left as you pass the open paddock and stroll into the connecting stable. her browlines furrowed, wondering if you we're some backpacker hauled over for a spell, or a new resident.

she's lucky it would be the latter.

the veil of frigid air that seeped her skin and snapped her focus out of a daydream by the echo of dina's voice, calling her,

"earth to ellie?"

and it tethers her back on earth, turning her face to dina. she thought back to how her gloved fingers snapped in her face, asking for her focus, there and then.

"sor- um, what were you saying?" her speech was floaty, stacking on each other as she stuttered.

why was her focus glued to you at that moment? you had literally just entered. fucking hell, must have been something intruding the air. it's unlike herself to be so.. enraptured.

and later that evening, after a session of controlled gunshots mowing down the rigid fungoid heads that dared to disrupt their supply run, she was tired. plain tired.

as it turns out, a sturdy bench baring wooden boards as seats was enough comfort after all that shit. legs beat down to drooping over the woods edge, feeling like jelly. her hair bathed in the dining hall's incandescent lights, rendering a mellow orange halo. lips in pure quietude, she sat as a stranger to the conversation had between joel, jesse and dina.

ellie pondered the expedition for guitar strings that happened weeks ago, still processing what joel had told her. 'there was, no cure.' was it fabrication? what really took place in her state of unconsciousness? this was the beginning of a lurk. an unabating, rough gloom that presides under and through the chamber of her stomach, telling her something wasn't right. a thing she can't exactly point a finger to. a gut hunch that anchors her heart tightly. all is not true. she must seek.

blanked inside the home of her mind, only to be yanked by the wisping holler that ran over her head.

"hey! over here!" it was dina, ushering you over with the jerks of her wrist.

you passioned your way through the meal lines, appearing before her. she recalls how you looked, you were perfect. you wore the same ebony winter jacket that gathered dust on the wall-mounted rack of your farmhouse bedroom. it had its wears and tears and excerpts of journies to tell, but it was perfect on you. it's just a plain jacket. but for her, it was the jacket.

"the house up to yer' standards?" joel asked you, the usual mug of piping hot joe whaffed a steam around the aged and cracked skin of his face. tender in the light.

your voice rang through, "yeah, nothing I could ever bargain." and it cleared a trench between her temples. that rough gloom took a rain check instantly.

a fuzzy feeling that fords neither love or hate embraced the nape of her back. she didn't realize it just then, but, between the vault of aching uncertainty in her gut and the day to day neutrality she feels, a blossoming delight would come from your arrival at jackson, should she consume its goodness.

she didn't remember much of that conversation until the spotlight beamed towards her.

"this is ellie, she jus' came back from patrol. she'll show ya how we handle things 'round here." joel had gestured your sights over to her, to consume her first impression, with a smile that would become signature.

her ears tuned to you.

"hi!" you greeted with the softest wisping of your lips. oh, it made her evening that much more animated.

from that day onward, it was like a sweet lullaby of love. waving from across the horizon for weeks, your hand splayed out flat in the air, and hers curled up a bit. another week passes, and she's inviting you to the tipsy bison on her own accord. months pass, and she's constantly slumbering on your sofa over long nights, preferring it over being alone in her garage home. at this position in your shared timeline, ellie has grown distant from joel. you swore she forgot that old mans' bowed and bearded face sometimes.

it stung to relive the memory of pushing joel away. outside that damned hospital. saint marys' piece of shit. yelling, "don't you fucking, touch me!"

the tears were scorching. they were brought up to be. and they burned. the inside of her throat felt sliced up, chewed up, and ran through with barbed wire. swallowing was too much to bear, just how it is now, sitting on that dark beach.

that same day, she returned to find you waiting at her doorstep, box in hand. worry-struck. ellie took off out of the void, it made sense you were distraught. she felt mutually the same, her wrenching heart suffering the aftermath. the dawn of day she assumed would be spent alone, was sat atop her bed. losing herself in the video game you brought in that box, laying on you while she flicks the joysticks and taps the bumpers. it was a sunny yellow haven. a light she found in the darkness, that was you.

a tightly braided friendship.

and her mind lingers on something you once uttered at the crux of night during a sleepover, entailing the words;

"i like moths now, because of you."

that made her flustered across the span of a whole week, even joel questioned why she was blanking out during patrol training.

she was your moon. someone to subdue the spines that pricked your skin every day. sharp edges that tell you, happiness wasn't meant to stay. battle it all you wanted. moons eventually dim and embellish darkness.

two years pass, and she's being led to the center of an ornamental string-lit dance floor during another peak of winter, by none other than dina.

not you. if only it had been you. or else she wouldn't have felt that specter of gloom wrench her gut in disgusting ways later at dusk.

at least her gut didn't feel as it does now. torn open for this sorrowful sea to behold, exposed to a retch colored with regret. ill aversion.

her hands guided to the small of dina's back, draping like a silk curtain. missing a flinch when her arms huddled ellie's shoulders. not a flinch. ellie didn't love dina, but they were close. pinkies-tied close. it's just dina being dina, right?

"every guy in this room is staring at you right now.." her voice croaked in a demure whisper. the blood cells in her being were fluttering, the weight of her position then and there, made her feel lit up inside a dark room. backed into a corner. she was the spotlight once more.

"maybe they're staring at you.."

they would soon.

you never resented ellie for that night. you liked her, yeah, but it wasn't her fault. it only felt like you'd gulped a clump of metal bolts, weighing like a sick burden inside you. cold and rustic. your will of steel didn't let that shatter you completely, though. bottled it up and bluffed your feelings. it was never her fault. sucked down that bitter shot and let it ferment in your sickly gut packed with a stir. a stir of pungent nausea jabbing thorns in your esophagus. it delivers a nasty taste. but you swore, you wouldn't resent ellie.

ellie was unaware of your shared adoration. what seemed like a one-sided crush, was not. nights left off with a friendly hug could have been so much more divinely satiating. she wishes her body wasn't bound to the now, wishing she could back to then. the past, and express her affection. tell you everything.

a wish brewn too late. a drunken kiss to her buds out of wills' reach binds a woolly, empty headed fizzing to her ears. tossed into a stupor. all she could do was stand still like a willow tree in the windless plains. lips unable to jerk away. then it sunk hard. you're there. you're watching. people are peering. you saw.

"fuck." was emphasized in her toneless breath, narrowly letting loose another swear in the flavor of a loud scream.

in that gloomy darkness, she saw you. illuminated like a beacon too. your face plasters an unbothered exterior, but the eyes, the eyes are a glass screen. you can understand the essence fueling a person's emotion with one meager glimpse. a new gag clots her gullet. she can't show it, but she for heaven above and hell below, could fucking feel it.

you virtually felt a crack in your heart. cracks in a porcelain antique. you're sure the two looked similar.

strung between multiple conclusions, you pondered. if ellie liked dina, you'd have to woefully accept it. and if she didn't, then she didn't. what more could you have proposed at that time. life is life.

your feet carried you with a saunter, skirting the doors brinking you from the ghostly streets of a slumbering town of jackson. a jarring contrast from the lively party howling behind you. even for someone who's experiencing confusion, you walked with a gentle gait.

pausing under the descending pearls of frozen water, casting your eyes heavenward into the starry globe above you. the stars twinkled so perfectly on such a gut-wrenching night as this one. it dawns on you. how the celestial bodies of space feel no pain, no heartbreak. how their life is lived without the mortal trials you face. it must be so easy up there, suspended in space, feeling nothing.

as the snow nestled in the beds of your hair, melting on your blue hot face, you claimed a sense of emptiness in your head amidst the vomit begging to unfurl from your throttle. please, let it be a dream.

piercing isolation.

ended suddenly.

the swinging of a door wooshes through your ears, and capers your sights to its source. and there she was. joining you in the twilight snow-shower. ellie.

she trotted up to you, lone in the wintry streets, and harvested the same pellets of opalite snow that decorated the strands of your hair like constellations hovering above. her head, too, snowflakes cling to her russet bang and lashes, framing her eyes so damn right.

oh, snowy fern eyes. the most serenic evergreen rings encapsulated behind gloss. dewey eyes sitting atop red sweltered cheeks. her lids fluttered back the tears, the tears that might wither the snow, and surely wither her soundness of mind. a quiver of the lip, bent over her teeth. frozen fucking wind that chars the lining of her lungs with ice. every single thing fucking wounded her.

you gazed into one another, emotions roaring loud. she could peer right through you. through the glass windows of your eyes. things were felt and not shown, it was evident in your expression. no words were uttered in those seconds before. before the infamous words you spoke. words that forced everything to the shore.

"do you love dina?"

fucking gag. another smother of disgust gurgling in her gut. the sheer assumption that you believed her heart to be penchant for dina, and not you, drowned her guts. a quick spurt of unease penetrates her whole esse.

here went nothing.

"I love you."

whorled away from your envy like whiplash. it added up by that point. she appeared like a puppet to that kiss on the dance floor. you recalled it then. ellie's teeth were never bared in a smile, more so, it was the true one-sided love. now, she is standing in front of you. physical, mortal, and all. retching out that confession like it was stifled beneath a tombstone.

to ellie, that tombstone represented everything she expected to fail. to be dead. a wish foreseen as ash, fled to the gales of something more worthy.

that wish sailed the breeze, and landed at your feet.

you reached that shore too.

"I love you too, ellie."

her name levitating off your tongue with a tone so soothing felt affirming. grounding. this is not a dream.

her eyes transmutated, eclipsed by a sun. what was once dewey, red and puffy, then softened to a set of almonds brazed in sweet syrup. calmer tears that were golden. joyous. lids relax and anchor her brows, straightening out like rows of a poem. after straying so long beneath the falling snow, her nose suffused a red-orangey tint, nostrils even redder.

love passioned its way through the gelid space, accompanied by the humid huffs of your breath. but nothing was as warm, not even a star, as what brought your bodies a few measly steps closer.

a kiss.

huddled in the somber streets was an effigy of igniting amour. two souls stuck together. her arms wrapped around your back like you were the only life she could clutch. reddened knuckles crumpling up the same ebony jacket you attired in the winter, holding you dear. your arms found a natural embrace, cusping her shoulders and marrying fingertips into her coppery mane that tied into her bun.

nothing beats the way you two rolled lips, tasting the skin and smacking slowly. her peachy buds that fit the open groove of your mouth so easily. her lips were formed for you. cells that build her body, are building for you. she existed solely for you. graciously drinking up the kiss like a fucking sweet milkshake.

a taste so addictive, you could die on it.

shit, she's smirking into your lips. ellie, you blasted dork. even the dimples denting her cheeks could poke you back. that's how wide her smile travels from ear to ear, even her cheeks fattened up, creasing those beautiful crinkles at the edges of her eyelines. a true smile.

and once that kiss severed, you saw those bloated, ruddy cheeks plucking the corners of her lips. too fucking adorable.

"well, there's that smile. lost her a while ago, els?" the teaser you were, and the loser she was.

her lips refine into the same toothy, adorable beam. she nearly cringed at your observation. the way you kept notation of how often her midface perks up, it was cute. her flesh bites the bitter cold, and blood that heaped her cheeks burnt so vibrant for you.

she couldn't believe you were true.

"i think you're the only person that makes me smile," she recalled this vividly, trying her darndest to uplift every waking thought about you through a cold shell she fabricated, "fuck, i'm so bad at this.." laugh it off past ellie, laugh it off.

if she pinpoints it correctly, you had said the words "i like bad." jokingly. fashioning the most proud smirk ever. pfft, she giggles every time her brain resurfaces that memory of your snowy brimmed confessions.

"tsskk- u're weird."

"you're a big dork."

"shut up.." her ardent palms pancaked against both of your cheeks, passionately pulling you in for another tangerine sweet kiss.

the ivory supermoon set on a blissful night, luckily enough. ellie ended up fleeing that street, hand in hand mingled with you, towards her home. fuck that dance. fuck those feelings flush of guilt that died right there on that street. being tangled in the sheets with you snuggled in her arms was enough. enough to submerge what galloped through her head.

"i don't need your fucking help joel."

shit.

gods above and below.

what did daylight bring?

bloodshed. blood stains her eyes to this day. she was there. she saw. the blood spilt and it splashed towards her. if joel couldn't reach his torn, bashed and narrowly mutilated hand out to her, his lifeline would. the plasma pumping his heart to sustain life, hurling out like a ribbon of crimson. a downright disrespectful invitation of rememberance abby had chucked to her fucking face.

this memory. this disease, an immoral plague. who the fuck up there in the pristine realms of divinity decides a mortal punishment like this?

that memory, lives on. it weakens the marrow in her bones. turns the tides in her head. she wanted to rip her skin off. her skin that gets to survive. disgust. again. the muscles attached to bone, felt like they didn't belong.

she stopped genuinely breathing after that day.

you saw the will to breathe drain from her eyes. etching into that lodges' oak floors. the first grave she ever dug.

"i'm so sorry, ellie."

was the first swan song she ever heard.

now that rough gloom, plummeted and shapeshifted into a dark cavern of misery. starless, desolate gloom. her room turnt cavernous too. blocking all rays of bright luminosity from injecting a disturbance in her seclusion. era of mental death.

you had been visiting her daily in her time of barren sensitivity, at the least, visiting her door. you uneasily sat on the exterior end of her door. poised aside and smushing your ear into it's solid strength. praying that you might hear any peep of life on the other side, you wait. you miss her bloodcurtiling sobs reserved for nighttime, sowing the conclusion that she, inside, was empty. a husk.

if death is so morbid, why did graves look so peaceful? so prettied up. why are the baby blue hydrangeas sitting atop his freshly cold grave, soft in their glory, delivering such a potent posion. they plant their own seed. clotting ellie's throat with a nest of hydrangeas she'll carry with her forever. roots latched to a deep spring in her spirit that navigates every little emotion. the flowers bulge from her esophagus and cough up in petals of regret, forgiveness, and rejection.

she can't accept that.

she didn't.

she heard the rainy forest calling for her.

seattle is here. seattle is waiting. the old flame lights the new wick, and so it ignites, her immortal foe. revenge.

and she brought you along.

ellie respires every soul set free from mangled bodies she creates. her hands a syphon, the weapon her postman. delivering screaming letters of justice with every pull of her finger on the trigger.

a once starless gloom was snapped in half by her own drive with spheres of guttural fire baying for blood. she wakes up a blood-gutter every sunrise. her face just might fossilize and cherish this total takeover. she was someone new. angled fuming brows, irritable red nostrils flared more than ever, and an awful intensity in her eyes. it made them scintillating, more so, grossly gleaming. irises fern green to hazardous toxin in just a few months.

enemies could read ellie's aura nimbly, if their visions should even grasp it faster than their machetes and hammers meeting a clenched palm. she wasn't just a girl. she was a threat.

miles of blood patterned in her path, splotching the diamond modeled bottoms of her converse like abstract art. she was lost in her own world. driven straight to the goal.

you promised you'd be there every damn sliced throat of the way, no matter what. but this scares you. slowly, the fire burning in her eyes had charred her up till she could barely give anything more.

the fire had only engulfed her when she appeared at the theater's lobby doors, banging the margin of her balled fist on the wood. the fist gloved in crescent scars, peeled cuticles, and raised callouses. when the doors waved open to you, gliding up to her and weaving yourself with her body in a relieved hug, she couldn't do it. it was too much. the torture lingering in her muscle memory stung, frozen hands jittering above the small of your back momentarily.

ellie was enervated.

it took her a second to even hug you back. that was, too kind of you. to embrace her body slathered in the lifeline of someone else. why would you even do that, she thought.

her mind looped on a cycle, processing that damned notion as you pleat the soiled shirt off her back. she couldn't even feel the salient tear in her back, the brutally severed dermis throbbing red, not a whimper soars her gullet when you tend to it. numbness riddled her. stitch her up, and she won't flinch.

then ellie croaked,

"i made her talk."

she was revolted. how could she touch you so tenderly after whacking a metal rod into a beating body 'till they coughed up the words. knackered them up for eternal sleep. the face she just wiped from this earth, blurred. does she even remember what she looked like?

it was your own arm, meshing around her blistered collarbone that prompted her to gauge the value of her life, even just for an iota of solace time.

problem being, she couldn't remain enlightened of her value- without you.

"i don't wanna lose you."

your lips kissed her pain away, pitter by patter along the scruff of her neck to her seared shoulder. every peck embedded with a melodic note that forges a song saying, 'i am here, you won't lose me' without even brushing that past your satiny lips.

won't you seal my hardships with your lips of silk? taint my lips of leather and gums of thorns with your soothing buds?

"you wont."

then that day arrived, when she almost did. a scene depicted by the ten of swords. a major disaster indicated. as the arrow speared the air suddenly, and in no time you could count, it had already paved through the plate of your shoulder and strung out blood to the planks before you. rendering you unconscious.

"please stop!" ellie pleaded, just like she did before. god forbid if she had to witness another loved one being lacerated from life. her limp body prays, prays for your safe survival, and not your safe passage. she wonders if god is even real, if any god is real. do they hear her now? we're they aware when she shrilled for mercy at every red ribbon lashed out from his body? did they welcome him, home?

and right before that cold steel nearly divided your skin, a voice erupted.

"abby!"

thank fuck you hadn't ended up a resemblance of the 'ten of swords' illustration. thank the sun gods that you were able to bask and tan under the light that fondled the rustic farmhouse with her. ellie is so lucky, for someone who doesn't believe in it.

"don't ever let me see you again."

you then retired to that old, rustic farmhouse. aging under the continuous moon phases for two years straight.

it was a strenuous journey getting to where she was supposed to be the happiest. despite all the treasures she owned on that farm property, the lagoon of corn fields and hills of verdancy that sung in spring, mighty splendors anyone might wish for, ellie still lived with a loom. ellie bore tantrums inside the confined loneliness of the farm's supply room, kicking the hilt of a rake as it clatters to the stony ground, yelling, "fuck!" when it startled her badly enough, or when it enraged her ptsd well enough.

reminiscence is woven into the scar risen on your shoulder. it reminds her. every. damn. glance.

every approaching dream was daunting to ellie. she'd wake up. cold beady sweat. go back to sleep, suffocate in her subconscious again, and surface them in a panic once more. not even braving the night with a stroll around the perimeter helped. it only sunk everything deeper.

if she was drunken in her sorrows, would you carry her?

the daylight spent with you was her only source of felicity. the mundane made it feel much more liveable. a day spent baking together, flour dappled on each other's noses, roused as she pushed up behind, and swayed you to the cordial and funky beats thrumming from the viynl player. that day, that simple day made her want to live fully for you. she wanted to be tied to your pinkie with the lusty filaments of love.

and in that humble kitchen laid a promise;

"so- this means you'll marry me?" a stupid smirk muffled ellie's voice out huskily, flowing against the shoreline of your ear.

"can't we just announce ourselves married already?"

"baabeee.." that freckled idiot whined.

"eelllssss.." you rung back.

her arms fastened you tighter, pout puffing on your shoulder, "i wann' make it feel real.." she intoned, inclining up and stuffing her nose into your neck. pretty sure she rubbed all the flour onto you, being the bear hugger she is.

no answer parts your lips.

"babe?"

ellie felt you twirl in her caging arms, perking up to even up with your gaze in curiosity. her brows fumble and arc inwards to visibly show her interest for your next words.

"we're real, els. i don't need a ring or declaration to show that.." your tone caters to her love of soothing sounds, as she breaks into an even toothier smile that trails your words.

"you don't?"

you had leaned in, devoid of words. a quiet kiss to her brows, said so much more than she expected. that inner-loser knocked on the door of her mind and took control. blasted blush coating her cheeks. you really knew how to woo her, cradling her head in your tender cusp.

"i just need you."

"don't go."

the grounding touch of her cheeks held between your hands was not enough. the blank, void, and unnerving night was not enough. nothing was enough to keep her waiting.

what kind of songs do you play when dwindling into internal madness?

her own screams battle the wood boards of that farm too often. her screams synchronize with joels, replaying in her head. scared and unable to hold onto anything. thoughts running amok. she fucking needs you more than she thought.

"ellie- ellie.. I'm here. it's okay."

it's not okay.

it's not okay for her to play pretend and cast an ocean over those feelings 'when she can'. you told her, it's okay. to be broken. but her heart anchors towards an obligation to be picture perfect for you, for anyone. every positive cover-up felt like posion pooling from her mouth. lying til she couldn't feel her lips.

she lied to you once. for someone who despises lies and has been lied to, she lied. that fucking lie hurt. but it was too loud. the gloom that stuck with her for so long has grown into a pounding, jarring sound similar to intense whirring, but echoed. nothing had color at that point. everything was a null void, and every sound was a silence too loud.

a sentence meant to be; "i'm going to find abby." sounded a lot more like,

"i'm so tired, baby." murmured ellie, collapsed flat on the plateau of your chest and drained of energy.

you assumed it was just physical fatigue.

"it's fine, go t'sleep, we can talk later."

ellie's eyes looked so dull, so scarce of humanity. she was tired. each passing day had been vampirically sucking the motivation from her veins. some days, she didn't even catch you calling her name from the farmhouse. earth to ellie, are you still in there?

"I have to finish it." ellie's forehead bent to yours, felt so wrong.

"why didn't you tell me?"

"I can't." her voice nearly shattered into a waterfall of sobbing.

your voice cracked, however, "bullshit, els."

that was the drawing line. she finally breaks and is consumed by that hovering gloom. she lost herself.

ellie dashed every chance of losing you, and yet took it upon herself to leave you, instead.

that fucking thing that leeched off her for so many years is finally getting what it yearns for. greed of revenge to feed the darkness. starving herself as it ingests every fiber barely holding her together.

you spun away with leisure, breaching your hands from her, "I am - not, doing this again."

you couldn't save this. she was leaving. nothing blocks her way.

heart-wrenching silence dawns.

"that's up to you."

her heels unhurriedly turned in an instant, abandoning you, and her dreams born of soft blue dasies. her omens of happiness and trust, becoming a fatuous foreground. the door waving shut behind her would soon come to bite her in the heart.

now she sits. almost dying in that water. the water was her gloom all along. she was the vessel, she paid the price, it's free. now she bleeds into it. red rivers dance and make a mockery of her weeping body.

she tried.

it won.

she tried for the false clone of you haunting her mind. it's the only thing she had left of you.

she tried so hard to be strong. only she and the gods above know that.

you wouldn't though.

coming home to jackson a walking carcass, pinning her hopes on you being there. it was obvious you moved from the farmhouse. why would you live there alone?

so, she stands. inside your old jackson home, to divulge its absence of you. no, you weren't there. you weren't in jackson. all that remains are old memories crammed into boxes. motionless without a requiem.

ellie closes in on one of these.

and what she finds is painful.

that winter jacket.

she clutches it tight to her barren eyes, burrowing the trench of her nose with your lingering scent. the scenes trance her mind. visions of you tackling her in the thick mud puddle on your farm's acres, an enchanting laugh wheezing in your throat. visions of holding your stomach while you scrubbed fine china of its grub and stains, wishing you two had a real family, a child, by some miracle. recollections of you, legs sitting pretty across her lap as she thrashed a controller, casting her evil curse whenever the game ticked her off just enough and how you giggled at her. the everlasting evocation of you two, kissing under that snow-ether night, vowing a love to extend across times bounds.

the jacket smells so fucking good.

"please.." whispered ellie, with a taut countenance, "where are you.."

not a clue of where you went is in those walls.

are you dead? nobody knows.

where she left the farmhouse, you left her entirely. unknowing if it stems from love, hate, or neutrality. the guilt felt disgusting, once more. the pain stung in her lung far harsher. the air siphoning out.

in a room so devoid of air, and you, how could she breathe?

you can't pay in blood and sacrifice. ellie has learned that. she paid in loss of something that didn't have to go.

love was understanding each other's limits, and so was losing each other. she just never realized you had limits plummeting down on you, until the new moon phase had begun, and it was too late.

that figment of you is all she has left.

𓍢ִ໋-likes and reblogs appreciated, bright blessings!

[infinite-orangepeel]

Steddie accidental voyeurism and ‘Steve owes Jonathan Byers an apology because if he had a camera he’d also be tempted to immortalize Eddie in this moment for future reference’

hi anon !! omg i’m in love with this prompt 💛 thank you so much for the submission, hope you enjoy :)

warnings: this one is heavy on the perv!eddie in the beginning so if that’s not your thing, feel free to skip, accidental voyeurism, frotting

eddie knows he’s all types of fucked up for this. he knows there’s a sick place in hell for guys like him.

steve’s his roommate, his supposed ‘best friend,’ the guy who saved him from imminent death in an alternate dimension.

yet here he is—jerking himself off with steve’s favorite pair of gym shorts clutched between his dick and his fist. thrusting and dirty talking his way to the finish line as if his best friend can actually hear him:

“you’re such a cocktease, stevie. always bending over right in front of me in those tight little outfits. just love to whore yourself out for my attention, don’t you?”

“does your girlfriend know how desperate you are for my cock? does she know how dumb you get when i choke you on it?”

“so beautiful, baby. so goddamn beautiful. gonna paint your pretty face with my cum. stay still. be good and take it, baby. let me fuck you right.”

he’s wearing Steve’s cologne—doused himself in the piney scent to enhance the sensory experience. he’s got a spread of stolen polaroids laid out in front of him.

a glorious mixture of cutesy and depraved pictures that steve’s ‘girlfriend’ of the month has taken of him (pictures that she finds mysteriously missing from her wallet whenever she comes over and eddie’s home).

eddie’s gazing at his three favorites as he works himself over—a close-up of steve’s blurry tits, steve smiling with his tongue poking out between his teeth, and steve eating pussy like it’s his last fucking meal on death row.

everything about that boy—correction: his boy—is perfect.

none of the girls he brings home deserve him. he’s pure gold, the sun personified, rare.

eddie watches them. observes the ways they take advantage of his kindness. the little jabs they make at his intelligence. the quipped commentary surrounding their exits. it boils his blood, makes his skin burn, and if steve was his? he’d never let him forget how loved he is. he’d treasure him, keep him safe, worship him up and down.

it doesn’t matter. it can’t matter, because there’s nothing eddie can do to force steve to feel the same way.

he understands that. he’s not delusional. but, he has to do something about it. he has to cope with this insatiable itch somehow.

so, while steve’s at work, eddie sneaks into his best friend’s bedroom and rolls around in his sheets.

he gets stupidly high off of it, doesn’t need a joint to do the trick.

he rubs his cock over his pillow and smiles with pure love while he does it. 

he digs through steve’s hamper and finds his gym clothes from that morning—still ripe with natural musk, sweat, and salt. eddie buries his face in them. licks over the crotch. fingers himself with his ass pointed skyward, head in the sand—drowning in steve’s pretty filth. crying out and letting his unfiltered desire flood the room.

and if he’s really lucky, like today, he’ll find an old sock that steve’s used to wipe himself clean after fucking one of those careless girls. dried with wasted cum because steve’s a good boy who pulls out and never cums inside one of his hook-ups.

meanwhile, eddie dreams of cumming inside him with the gross, used cotton pressed to his lips. he loves to suckle on the fabric. pretends he’s eating steve out after pumping him full. it’s nasty and bitter and all he thinks about. can’t get enough of steve on his tongue.

“want you to sit on my face, stevie. don’t be afraid, love. you won’t hurt me. i’ll take such good care of you. don’t even need to breathe. just need to taste you,” he babbles to himself and tightens his grip, “that’s it. want you to squeeze me between your pretty thighs. so fucking perfect. jesus.”

eddie’s moments away from blowing his load when steve rounds the corner and saunters on into his bedroom. home hours early from work without any warning.

“hey man! thought i heard you in here. powers out at family video and—”

he stops in his tracks. mouth gaping wide open.

“fuck. fuck. steve,” eddie’s stuck in place like a deer in headlights. dick fully erect and leaking onto his best friend’s shorts which are still in his hand, “im so sorry. i—let me get dressed and i’ll—um—i’ll leave—”

steve approaches eddie with a curious look on his face and pink coloring his cheeks. his chest rises and falls slowly and there’s a dazed look behind his eyes. he licks over his lips once and reaches a hand out. so close, he’s almost touching eddie’s cock which doesn’t make any sense because—

“let me,” he nods emphatically and eddie realizes they’re both shaking from something other than fear, “please.”

“steve. you don’t have to. you shouldn’t. i’m—i’m the one who fucked up,” eddie says unconvincingly, because all he wants is to continue basking in the wonder of this absurd fever dream.

“eds,” steve shivers visibly and shoves down the waistband of his sweatpants to reveal his dick. “i’m so fucking hard. can i—i wanna make you feel good—make us feel good.”

eddie pinches his own arm.

he’s waiting for steve to snap out of it. he’s convinced the guy is drugged or hallucinating or both. but, then, he leans closer and ghosts his lips over the corner of eddie’s open mouth. flicks his tongue and runs it over his bottom lip.

“please. let me give you the real thing.”

“okay,” eddie agrees, as steve takes them both into one hand with obvious urgency, “anything—you can have anything you want.”

steve winks at him, ducks down to kiss his throat, and releases a weak sigh into eddie’s neck as he watches his huge hand encompass both of their dicks.

the spread of shared precum eases the sticky drag of skin on skin and creates the perfect balance of friction. steve’s cock is wider than eddie’s. it’s pinker, too. but eddie grins happily at the few inches of length he has on his friend.

“y—you don’t care that i was being a creep?” eddie moans, knowing he won’t last long. fuck steve’s even prettier this close up, “why don’t you care?”

steve pumps them faster. his hips are bumping into eddie’s as he thrusts harder. moans dripping from his throat like honey.

“because i’ve been trying to get you to fuck me for the past year and a half,” steve uses his other hand to push eddie’s head forward and kisses him fully which sends him to the goddamn moon and back.

they lick behind teeth, tangle tongues, swallow groans and filthy words.

steve bites eddie’s lip and eddie does it right back.

they mirror each other in the strangest and most stunning way—nothing and everything alike.

eddie’s hands are kneading the meat of steve’s ass. he grazes a finger over his boy’s hole and revels in the sharp gasp it coaxes out of him.

“do that again,” steve groans and eddie obliges, “no one’s ever touched me there. feels so good.”

steve is going to be the death of him. steve’s going to kill him and eddie’s going to smile the whole way through.

“steve—i’m a fucking freak,” eddie pulls away to admit as he nibbles on steve’s ears and pumps the tip of his pointer finger into his ass, “i’ve been sneaking into your room and stealing polaroids from—”

steve bites him on the shoulder to demand silence and leaves the gorgeous imprint of his teeth. eddie whines and folds instantly, breathing heavily.

“and i jerk off with your rings on whenever you go to band practice so shut the fuck up and cum for me,” steve slams their lips back together and at the sound of his words and ridiculous confession, eddie cums harder than he ever has in his entire fucking life. a minute later, steve follows suit.

later, after a quick nap in the mess they’ve made, steve wakes eddie up with his mouth stretched around his cock and whispers, “it’s time for round two, baby. go get your rings. we’re trying something.”

taglist (message me to be added or removed at any time <3): @estrellami-1, @disastardly, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @the-redthread, @asbealthgn, @bestofbucky, @vampireinthesun, @carlyv, @shrimply-a-menace, @lordrrascal, @jjoesjonas, @malachitedevil, @anxiouseds, @feraleddiekinninghours, @gay-little-bitch, @jhrc666, @pinkdaisies1998, @mcneen, @perseus-notjackson, @eiddets, @corroded-coffin-groupie, @three-possums-playing-human, @stevesbipanic, @plutoshelm, @arkenstoned, @indiearr

[blues824]

Jade leetch with the female tighnari.

🍄They are both animal hybrids that love mushrooms and love nature they are perfect together.

🍄Jade taking care of her because of a mushroom she ate but can't get mad at her mushrooms are delicious.

🍄Floyd not liking his brother talking even more about mushrooms especially whith his equally mushrooms loving s/o.

🍄Them going on hike dates and and one day during a windy day her comppaing about her ears and how she dislikes it My ears... My ears... They're going to be blown inside out! .

(Feel free to add anything you want)

🍄This may sound strange, but although the blood of a carnivore runs through my veins, mushrooms are the one food that I can't give up. There are many species of edible mushrooms. Whether fresh or dried, they all give off a unique scent. Even when stewed with meat, it's the mushrooms' aroma that comes out on top~tighnari

Jade Leech

Like you said, you are absolutely perfect together. But, you come from different backgrounds entirely. Either way, you both were fascinated with nature. You both knew a lot about mushrooms, and you even joined the Mountain Lover Club so that you could experience more nature with the one you love the most.

Floyd was happy that his brother was happy, but not happy about constantly hearing about mushrooms whenever he needed something from Jade. To the wilder tweel, you were a match made in Hell, put together just to torture him. He wishes everyday that the two of you would find another hobby, only to be disappointed… constantly.

As much as you love him, he loves to tease you even more. This could be calling you ‘foxy’, or teasing touches on your ears every once in a while. He just loved seeing them twitch a bit, as the sensation tickled you. You weren’t exactly appreciative of it, but he makes up for it in the views he shows you on the mountains you both like to hike. He wouldn’t mind giving you a piggyback ride on the way down, either.

On one of these adventures, however, you had ingested a mystery mushroom, and it ended up getting you sick. Grim was panicking, but he picked up your phone and called Jade, who ran over to Ramshackle to see you sleeping in your bed. He brought the back of his hand to rest upon your forehead before realizing that you had a very high fever. 

The eel took it upon himself to nurse you back to help, much to your dismay. You were very nitpicky about whatever he did. But, he knew what he was doing. The food he fed you was void of mushrooms, which you were not a fan of. However, once you show signs of recovery, Jade does carry you outside and set you down gently on a moss-covered rock so that you could get some fresh air.

But, there was a sudden whoosh of wind that sent a chill down the Vice Housewarden’s spine. He turned to look at you to see if you were cold, but you were instead trying to cover your ears. Through a runny nose, you were saying that your ears hurt because of the wind, and so he promptly took you back inside of Ramshackle.

To try and help with the aching, he would gently massage your ears. He loved how the feeling made you melt, and you pulled him into bed next to you and laid your head on his chest. Jade let out a soft chuckle at how clingy you were being, as it was a side of you that you did not like to show outside of closed doors.

[digenerate-trash]

Im begging for Bailey yan content please

I’m thinking about… (Let’s act that Bailey hasn’t stationed any guards around us)

We somehow end up in the underground(?) brothel where we got abducted or actually sold by Whitney?? (i’m such a dumbass, i haven’t known what goes in dol entirely)

So like, Bailey also (wink) hasn’t made any deal with Briar about not touching us (wink). Will he go apeshit on the clients? Will he go apeshit on Briar? Or will he just, drag us out?

- your beloved Bailey fucker, ty.

AMAB Bailey | GN pc

It's been a brutal week in the underground. Every fucking day is a fresh hell and no matter how much you fight or scream or complain or cry nothing seems to stop the brutal onslaught. This wasn't supposed to happen! He said you were safe...

You're slumped up against the cold concrete wall of the little cell you've practically given up. Every "client" that comes into contact with you is more violent and fucked up than the last. Your hands are covered in dried blood and bruises and your face and throat hurt from the rough treatment. You don't even want to know what's in store for you next. 

You can hear someone coming... you're considering just playing dead this time. Maybe they'll leave you alone. Or at least go easier on you... 

But when the door opens and the light hits your face it's not a client that looks over your battered body. It's Brair.

He's gentle... or at least he's trying to be. He covers you in a towel and helps you up off the floor. "It's your lucky day," he says pulling you down the cold corridors into the main building. "Someone's here to pick you up." 

You're still dazed, Confused, and a little sick as you make it to Briar's office. Standing there is the liar himself, Bailey. As stoic and unfeeling as ever.

You can barely look at him as you stand there. Face-to-face with him for the first time in a week.

"They look fucked." Bailey complains, but none of you move. 

"You didn't get here soon enough," Brair says pushing you forward a bit towards Bailey. 

Bailey's hand twitches slightly as he looks over you. You don't know whether he's more pissed at you or briar. it's not like this is your fault. But Bailey would probobly blame you anyway.

Suddenly he grabs you and runs his hands over you carefully. He pokes and examines every bruise, mark, bite, and scratch on you. Then he pulls your mouth open checking you over. You're not sure what he's looking for, but his disgruntled noises don't exactly make you feel better. 

When Bailey finally stops he grips your arm tightly before glaring back at Brair. "I want a list of every person who touched them." 

"That's not the deal. You said you wanted them back. And here they are." Brair seems bored with the conversation. He barely addresses you as he goes back to his desk.

"You used my property- You're lucky I'm not charging you!" Bailey's grip tightens around your arm and you wince. 

"You should have kept them on a tighter leash then. They were sold to me." Brair says as he rummages through his desk for a moment. 

"Sold by who?!" Bailey is on the verge of yelling as he slams his fist on Brair's desk. His nails are cutting into your skin now. 

"Why don't you ask your property they were pretty admit that my people take them instead of their little blonde. friend." 

Bailey looks over at you again in a sort of shock before he masks it with anger again and starts to shove you out of Briar's office. 

Bailey doesn't seem to want to talk as he drags you home. You pass by your room and his office. 

He unlocks the back door to his small apartment and brings you inside. His movements are methodical but harsh. He's never gentle with you but this is worse somehow... it's colder. 

He finally throws you into his bathtub and yanks the towel away from you. Bailey starts the water and rolls up his sleeves. It's an hour or so of washing you. He cleans the dirt from you carefully even digging his fingers into your hole to wash you out properly. He's still rough as ever. But it's still nice to be cared for...

The water turns a muddy Grey throughout the bath and when Bailey pulls the plug you are finally starting to feel okay again before Bailey grips your hair forcing you to look at him

"I want every detail you can remember from the people who touched you at the brothel. Including that whore at school who tried to sell you."

You whinper a bit looking up at Bailey. You can tell he's serious...