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spooky-luvur · 11 months

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OPEN 24/7

(Ghostface x Reader)

(Summary: Working at a gas station at two in the morning was sooo boring- until a strange customer changes that)

The bell rings for the umpteenth time. As part of your game, you make a guess in your head. Another old beer-belly? Bud Light, but maybe Modelo. Maybe a kid, reeking of weed and you’re gonna need to ask them for ID. Those are more common than you’d like to think about.

You listen to the squeak of leather shoes against the floor, not bothering to look up from your phone until the footsteps stop in front of you.

“How can I help you?”

“Something more interesting than me?”

The tone of the man causes you to finally avert your attention. He’s neither fat and bald nor young enough to require questions, if the shadow on his face is any indication. He's giving you a look, hands nonchalantly tucked into the pockets of his jacket. Not a mean look- you’ve gotten enough of those working at this crummy gas station to know the difference. The smooth brow and twinkling eyes is enough to tell you he isn’t mad and isn’t about to yell at you about the pumps not working. Not yet at least.

You flush a bit at the call out, awkwardly slipping the device in your pocket. Thankfully it’s just you tonight, so there’s no annoying coworker to rat you out for this.

“Sorry,” you tell him, trying to sound at least a tidbit professional. “Slow night, I guess.”

The man’s lips quirk but he’s not quite smiling. You wonder if he’s actually upset about it before he nods to the shelf behind you.

“Some reds. Gotta look cool and mysterious for all the people flinging themselves at me.”

You let out a ‘ha’ at his joke and he grins. You turn to grab a pack of smokes, placing it on the counter and he pulls out some cash to pay for it. Not unusual, but usually people his age love to flaunt their fancy credit cards to prove they have them or some other bullshit reason to flash the shiny hunk of plastic at you. Normally a shitty pick-up line follows it.

“Not very good for you,” you attempt to joke. The man raises his brow and you immediately wish you kept a gun behind the counter to shoot yourself with.

“I know,” he says. “Ever found yourself hooked on something, though? Can be tough as hell to break away.” He gives a kind of wry smile that leaves you fidgeting where you stand.

“No. Not- nothing like that, no.”

The man deftly tucks the smokes into his pocket.

"Right. Well, have a nice night," he says before turning on his heel and swiftly exiting the store, the encounter happening so quickly that it leaves your head spinning.

“Alright,” you mutter to yourself, a bit too stiff to go back to your casual leaning against the counter pose.

You’re still absentmindedly staring at the glass doors when the phone rings. The blaring noise makes you jump but you snatch it up nonetheless, stuttering out a hello.

“Heya, just checking in.”

The voice of your boss makes your shoulders relax. You suddenly can’t remember what they were tense for.

“Hey Jimmy, I’m doing fine.”

“Yeah? No robbers?”

“If there was, I wouldn’t be talking to you. I’d be crying in the freezer.”

“Ha. Never gonna happen, kid. Not when they know Big Jim’s the one that owns the place.”

“Course not.”

He reminds you to restock the drinks before he hangs up, leaving you sighing against the phone. A couple seconds after you set it down it rings again and you pick it up fully expecting for Jimmy to answer saying ‘and another thing-‘

But it isn’t Jimmy who responds to your hello this time. A peculiar voice echoes the word back to you. It makes you pause, and a short silence follows.

“…Hello?”

Snapping out of it, you instinctively adjust your posture as though the person on the other end could discern your lackluster demeanor and reprimand you for it.

“How can I help you?”

”Who is this?”

“…Jimmy’s Station. Do you need a pizza, or…”

“No, no. Was hoping you could help me with something else.”

“Okay…what is it?” You naw your lip, nervous for some reason. Your gut twists like you’ve eaten something bad.

“You got any knives?”

“Ah…”

You glance over at the rack of colorful blades on the other side of the counter. All shapes and sizes, all dangerously sharp.

“Yes, we do.”

“Perfect. You got any pink ones?”

“Buying one for your wife?”

Seriously, curse you and your automatic attempts to desperately avoid weird conversations. The voice on the other end laughs a bit. Or scoffs.

”Maybe. Think she’ll like it?”

“I mean, probably.”

“Hm…what about blue? You got any blue ones?”

“Yes, we have blue knives.” You answer, simply exasperated now. Part of you thinks this guy is just messing with you, but these seem like regular questions well enough. It’s not like there’s a lack of strange people out there that could be asking them.

“Well, that’s just great. Hey, could you do me a favor?”

Knowing he’s probably gonna say something stupid, you reply with a ‘sure, whatever.’

”Take one of those pretty, shiny knives- one of the really nice ones, you know? Pick your favorite color, even. Take it, really feel the weight- and shove it in your gut till you bleed like a stuck fucking pig.”

The phone is suddenly a block of ice in your hand.

“W-What?”

”What?” It mocks you. “You think it’ll hurt? I bet you’d like that.”

You shake. Why the hell haven’t you hung up yet? The sick freak on the other end laughs tauntingly. Like he’s actually having fun with this.

”You would wouldn’t you? I’d take your damn guts and string them up on the wall- really spice the place up a bit, it’s so dreary. Then I’d-“

You finally rip the phone away from your ear and slam it down onto the receiver. Gulping in a breath, you rub your hands down your face to steady yourself. Stupid prank callers.

Deciding you need to get the hell up and do something with your hands you leave the counter and head toward the back of the store behind the freezers. Upon entering you shiver, considering going back out to your car to retrieve your jacket.

You haul a box of beers onto a table and begin unpacking them, the repetitive motion allowing you to lose yourself in your thoughts. For a few minutes it’s a good distraction from the voice you keep replaying in your head.

Then your phone rings. Not the store phone still on the front counter- your personal cell resting in your back pocket.

‘Ugh,’ you think. ‘What is it now, spam?’

Thinking that, you ignore call and let it continue ringing until it stops. But then it happens again, and you’re annoyed enough to whip it out and answer it.

“Listen-“

”You’re being really fucking bad.”

The can you’d been holding slips out of your grip and explodes on the floor, wetting your feet. You curse loudly and fling your phone onto the table.

“What the fuck!”

The device slides off the table and clatters onto the stone floor. All you can do for several moments is stand there and stare as if the voice would reach through the device and grab you, carrying out the acts it had told you to perform on yourself only minutes prior.

Thinking quickly you hurry over to the freezer door and lock it from the inside. Great, now the only people that can get in and get you are people that work here. You can just stay in here till morning, right? Or maybe Jim will call again and you won’t pick up and he’ll get worried and he’ll call for someone to help you and-

“Saved me the trouble.”

A pair of arms wind around your waist and you’re ripped away from the door and tossed onto the ground like a sack of food. The concrete scratches your skin painfully as you gasp for breath, glancing up to see a kind of black shroud. It’s all you allow yourself before you’re scrambling to your feet and further into the room.

Only, as you stop in front of the back door that leads to basically the woods, you realize you don’t have the one think that opens it on your person. Your mind thinks back to the key ring in the office as you hear the shrouded attacker approaching.

“Please,” you’re saying before you even turn around. Once you do you’re met with a stark white face twisted in a dramatic scream. The figure is tall, you notice as it stalks closer.

“Already begging?” It teases you in a warped voice. The same one on the phone, you realize.

“What the hell?” The fearful tears in your eyes sting angrily. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Want do you want? I’ll call the fucking cops!”

He’s laughing before you can finish.

“Really? Who am I to stop you, then?”

He steps to the side and waves his arm to the doorway behind him.

“Phones just over there. Go ahead.”

Surely. Surely he’s messing with you. You’re not that stupid, and neither is he. And he knows that you know that, if the silent laughter that makes his shoulders shake is any indication.

“Fuck you,” you hiss at him as you press your back to the locked door. Your hands splay across the cold metal as if searching for a blackhole to swallow you completely.

“Such a dirty mouth! Think it’s good for anything other than cussing me out?”

“Get fucked.”

“Are you offering?”

You find yourself paralyzed with fear as he reaches into a concealed pocket, retrieving a knife. The silver gleams in the shitty light of the freezer.

“What do you want?” You take pride in lack of tremble in your voice.

“You were so rude earlier,” the masked man says. He slides a finger down the blade of the knife tauntingly. “Hanging up, and then ignoring me? Didn’t your mother teach you any better?”

“You deserved it, freak.”

“Oh!” He laughs. “You think so? Mm, maybe I was a bit forward…” He playfully taps a gloved finger against the plastic mask like a cartoon villain.

Your heart beats painfully in your chest but you force yourself to steady your breathing and consider your options. Right now you’re stuck between this obviously intelligent freak of a man and a locked door you have no hope of opening unless you suddenly get super strength.

“I see you thinking, doll. Wanna share with the class?” By now he’s standing mere inches away and you flinch as he brings up the gutting knife to trace the tip of it along the vulnerable skin of your exposed collar.

You steel yourself, tilting your head so you’re not looking up at him like a frightened child. “Get away from me.”

The knife pauses in its path up your throat and you nearly shiver at the sharp chill.

“Away? From you?”

A hand tangles in your hair and shoves you harder against the door, making you groan in pain.

“Go ahead and have an attitude again, I dare you. Double dare, even.” He hisses, bringing his mask closer to your face. You can’t see his eyes behind the cloth. Just a black void.

“I’m sorry…” you mutter, having to come up with something quick. Maybe if you convince this guy you’re totally giving up he’ll slip somehow and you can get away. Or he’ll see right though it and you’ll end up with your insides strewn about like party streamers. That’ll be fun for the next shift.

Your breathy tone causes him to pause. After a moment his chest rumbles like a happy purr.

“Oh, that’s good. I like that. Say it again, won’t you?”

You can feel his knife poking your belly- thinly veiled threat.

“I’m sorry.” You grow bold enough to slide your hand from the wall and onto his waist. You touch the man lightly as if he was a bomb you could set off at any moment. Which he is.

“I’m just scared. Please.”

“Of course you are. But it’s gonna be okay,” he brings his other hand from your hair down to your face to traces your lips with his finger. It would have made your stomach flutter if he wasn’t holding a knife against it.

“I’m not gonna hurt you too bad. I just wanna have some fun, but you’re being such a brat.”

“I…”

Your eyes slide past him to the open doorway. Your phone still rests on the floor in that room, but doesn’t he know about that? No way he’d let you anywhere near it. You’d have to think of something, fast.

A hand under your chin forces you to look back at the screaming mask.

“I hope you’re not thinking of it. I don’t know if I can handle anymore of that tonight.”

“No…no, of course not.”

“Good. Good boy.” His hand moves from your chin to curl around your throat as if simply admiring the flesh there.

“Please,” you push yourself off the wall and further against him, straight up pressing your chest to his at this point. His hand stutters against you and you don’t feel the sharp press of the knife anymore. “You’re…making me feel so-“

“Yeah? How am I making you feel, baby?”

You smooth your hands up his arms, having to mentally scream at yourself to keep you from fawning over the firm muscle there.

Maybe he’s too desperate to get his hands on you, or maybe he’s distracted by your hands on him, but he’s loose enough to not notice the not so subtle tightening of your grasp all of a sudden.

“So…urgh!”

You don’t know where you got the strength but you throw your entire body weight at the guy in order to shove him away and pretty much fling him toward a metal rack stacked full of boxes. He yelps in pain as he crashes into it, bottles spilling out and exploding. If the bitter smell of strong alcohol doesn’t suffocate him, his now drenched mask surely will. You use his momentary stun to turn and sprint to the other room, nearly slipping on the liquid covering the floor.

Your hands are shaking from adrenaline so badly you almost lose your balance once you crawl under the table to retrieve your phone. Breathing a sigh of relief once you have it you swipe to your contacts and click on the first one you see, the scream for help on the tip of your tongue. You don’t remember if your finger hit the call button or not before you’re suddenly grabbed by the ankle and dragged out from under the table shrieking.

You don’t have time to prepare yourself to meet the terrible mask once again before you’re flipped onto your back, but that doesn’t matter. A gasp gets stuck in your throat at the bare face that greets you.

“You…”

The man’s hair is damp as it falls over his eyes and he reeks of fancy beer. He’s breathing heavily as he sits on your legs to keep you still.

“Hey, doll. Funny seeing you here.”

A brief exchange- a single purchase was all it took to become a victim? He must see the realization on your face because he grins like a bully.

“I know, I know. I did good, didn’t I? Had to stop myself from jumping over the counter then and there. Knew the wait would be worth it, though.”

“You fucking prick!” Squirming within the man's unyielding hold, he maintains a smug grin while firmly clasping your wrists. You can tell someone like him is simply reveling in his sense of control. “I hope you choke on your damn cigarettes!”

He throws his head back and laughs. If he wasn’t currently holding you captive you probably would have blushed at this man’s boyish charm.

“That’s good, I might use that. You mind if I use that?”

You attempt to kick him off before there’s a hand on your throat and squeezing. You sputter, grasping at it. The man brings his face down to yours to hiss angrily, but before he can get a word out-

“Hello? Please answer me…”

The room fills with a thick silence as both of you freeze. You both pivot your heads in unison, eyes landing upon the phone which is nearly concealed beneath the table's shadow. The screen is lit up in a call, the name of your friend that lives just down the road splayed across it. You’d laugh in pure relief if you weren’t still face to face with the man in the shrouded costume.

The man on top of you faces you with a blank look and brings his finger up to his mouth in a shushing motion. As if you’re dumb enough to yell out for help now.

“The cops are on their way, I called them a few minutes ago. Maybe everything is fine but I just wanted to make sure-“

The man quietly seethes with anger and scrambles off you to snatch up the device, ending the call. He leaves you on the ground, breathing heavily and staring up at him.

“I know where you live. I know where you work.”

He crouches beside you and there’s that stupid fucking grin again, like a child that just stole another kids candy.

“I know where you go to eat, I know what roads you take, I know where you piss in the morning. I know everything about you, doll. So please, tell them everything and give me a fucking reason.”

You hadn’t noticed his knife was back in his gloved hand until it’s being dragged down your leg, catching the fabric of your pants. You suck in a breath and look back up to meet his eye, shaking your head.

“Good. I know you’ll behave.”

He stands back up and makes to leave through the back door, swinging the ring of the key on his finger casually. He winks at you before he slips away.

“Until next time, baby.”

Thirty minutes later you’ll be seated in your friends car as they drive you home, remembering the feeling of the masked man’s hands on your skin, on your body, around your throat- until it’s seared in your consciousness. It isn’t until you’re laying in bed that night that a shiver of fear, or maybe even sick excitement runs through you when you remember he still has the key.

——————————————————————————

(chat gpt fr saved my ass on some of this 🤫)

#ghostface #ghostface x reader #ghostface x male reader #x male reader #slasher x male reader #slashers #slashers x reader

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unseededtoast · 1 month

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Shadow of Obsession | Spencer Reid x Reader

Finale

Series summary: In which you find that love is an obsession that can quickly spiral out of control.

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Finale

And now you know that love is an obsession that can quickly spiral into something all consuming.

Spencer runs point in clearing out the warehouse. His gun is drawn and he's laser-focused on making sure nobody escapes from inside. The team had split up to cover the entrances, each moving swiftly. And once Spencer hears through his earpiece that everyone is into position, he makes his move.

"FBI hands in the air." He demands as he enters the warehouse. His voice reverberates off the metal walls as he swivels his head to locate Valentine.

But the warehouse is dark and empty. There's nobody here. Spencer holsters his gun and looks around the property to see if maybe Valentine is trying to hide somewhere. The rest of the team searches as well but an uneasy feeling settles within Spencer.

"It's clear." JJ states as the team convenes in the middle of the warehouse. Adrenaline still pumps through Spencer's veins as he tries to work out what this means for the case.

But no matter how logically he tries to think all his mind focuses on is you. Spencer knows that Valentine's absence here means that you're still in danger. He finds his phone tucked in his pocket and dials your number. But it goes to voicemail.

He tries not to panic, he really tries. So he calls again, hoping that maybe you were preoccupied with something else, maybe you had taken a walk or something. But it goes to voicemail again. Spencer calls for a third time, but this time he doesn't let it go to voicemail.

"Something's wrong." He tries to keep his strained voice level, but he can hear the tension in his words as they leave his mouth.

"What are you thinking?" Hotch asks, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Someone try to reach Garcia. I think we've been set up." Spencer says as he turns to run back to the SUVs.

As he runs his fingers fumble to call Penelope. Her phone rings and rings and rings. But nobody picks up. With shaking hands Spencer gets into the SUV and is about to turn the key to start it when someone opens the door.

"Get out kid, I'll drive." Derek says, motioning for Spencer to step out.

"We don't have time." Spencer practically shouts. Derek reaches over to still Spencer's hand clutching the keys.

"We don't. And you're in no right mind to drive. Get over there and let me get us back to the office." Derek's voice carries a sense of authority with it. And so Spencer hands over the keys before clumsily climbing over the middle console to the passenger seat.

While Derek speeds off back towards the office with sirens blaring, Spencer keeps trying to reach you or Penelope. His leg is bouncing up and down rapidly and he wishes that the car could drive at the speed of the jet. He just needs to know you're okay. He needs to know you're safe.

Finally, after the thousandth time, Penelope finally picks up.

"Your wish is my comm-"

"Penelope there's no time. I need you to go to the bullpen and see if she's okay. I can't reach her and Valentine wasn't at the warehouse." Spencer cuts Penelope off with rushed words.

"What? What do you mean he wasn't there his car clearly showed that he was." The panic in her voice is palpable and Spencer hears movement on the other line.

"I need you to go check on her now please." Spencer struggles to keep his cool. He hears Penelope's office door open and close and he faintly hears her heels clicking on the floor.

"The lights are all off." Penelope says.

"What do you mean the lights are off?" Spencer's mind feels like it could start smoking at any second with the amount of scenarios playing themselves out at the same time.

"I can't open the doors. The doors are stuck. I can't, I can't get in." The panic in Penelope's voice escalates and Spencer hears her pushing on the door.

"Do you see her?" Derek glances at Spencer momentarily before focusing back on the road. Spencer can tell that Derek's accelerated more as the car seems to scream down the road.

"No, I don't- wait. Oh my God. Spencer. You guys need to get back here now." Penelope's voice turns gravely serious before the line cuts off completely.

"Penelope? Garcia? Hello?" Spencer practically shouts. But all he's met with is silence. His hands grip his phone so tightly he thinks it might shatter under the pressure. A wave of nausea washes over him but he wills himself to not get sick. You need him, he doesn't have time to spiral.

"What did Garcia say?" Derek finally asks, no longer able to take not knowing. Spencer takes a shaky breath before looking over to Derek.

"The doors are locked. The lights are off. Garcia said we needed to get back immediately." Is all he can say without getting sick all over the car.

Spencer's mind starts playing cruel tricks on him. He sees you as the face of countless other victims. Some had been shot, others stabbed, a few dismembered, but they're all victims of stalking cases the team has worked in the past. He can't bear the thought of anyone harming a hair on your perfect head.

"We'll get there." Derek says with determination. Spencer can only hope he's right.

———

Valentine's voice echoes through the empty bullpen as you spin around in the dark office, trying to see where he is. Your heart thumps heavily in your chest and your knees feel weak.

"Oh don't look so frightened dear." His voice booms out of the intercom. You're acutely aware that he's actively surveilling you but there's nothing you can even do about it.

The cameras in the corners of the room track your every move. Every inch you move, they move. Your brain is going haywire, wrestling between logical profiler thinking and terrified victim mentality. Thousands of thoughts race through your mind at once to try and form a plan, but no matter how many thoughts cross your mind, it all just sounds like a jumbled mess. You're freezing.

It feels as if your feet have been cemented to the ground. It's almost like your vocal cords have been cut as well, seeing as how you can't find it within you to form a sentence.

"I'm almost there. Don't worry." Valentine's voice cuts through the silence again.

You're too scared to move. He's going to be here soon. Deep down you know it's a threat. Valentines has you right where he wants you; like a caged animal. There's no way for you to get out or warn others. All you have with you is your service weapon. As you reach for your gun it's like your heart stops; you must've forgotten it in your bag you packed earlier, the one you left in the empty office Hotch is letting you use.

You're all alone in here and Valentine is on his way.

Time moves slowly but too quickly all at once. As if everything were suddenly in slow motion, you watch as Valentine unlocks the doors with his phone and steps into the bullpen with you. Instantly, all the cameras turn off.

Your breaths are shaky, your heart pounds and your chest hurts from fear. Adrenaline tingles the tips of your fingers.

But though you're afraid, there's a tiny voice in the back of your mind reminding you that you've dealt with people like this before. You've worked several similar cases. Deep down, you know how to navigate this situation. But when you're the victim, it's like your training has vanished and you're reduced to nothing but a scared little girl. You don't want to be a scared girl, you want to be strong and brave and smart.

Valentine smiles sickly at you, his white teeth shine like fangs in the dim light. The glint of something shiny in his pocket distracts you from this face. It seems he's brought a knife with him.

You try your hardest to level out your breathing and to think with a clear mind, with a profiler's mind. After all, you've been trained and conditioned for high stress scenarios. You can only hope you don't crumble when it matters.

"Well, aren't you happy to see me?" Valentine asks, taking several steps towards you. Instinctively you want to reach your hands out to maximize the distance between the two of you, but you keep your hands to your sides.

"I am." Your voice falters only slightly, hopefully he doesn't notice. Valentine looks you up and down, licking his lips as he does so.

"You know, you are so much more beautiful up close like this." He takes another step closer.

"Thank you." You accept his compliment, swallowing the sickness threatening to rise.

Valentine steps right in front of you, his tall figure looms over you. He stares down at you and you feel like a gazelle in the middle of an open field, and Valentine is a starved lion. His hand reaches out and touches your face. You flinch.

"Do you think I'd hurt you?" He sounds offended by your reaction to his touch. Thinking quickly, you answer.

"No, never. It's just- your hands are cold. That's all." You try to play it off convincingly. He looks down at his hands and rubs them together to warm them up. His fingers trace over your cheekbone once more.

"I've waited so long for this, for you." He whispers as he looks over your face. You can only hope you're masking your fear well enough.

"If only you hadn't let him touch you like that." Valentine's voice turns from sweet to sinister in the blink of an eye. Your eyes meet his and you see malice and hatred within them. He looms over you and takes his fingers away from your face, like your skin suddenly burned him.

"What do you mean?" You decide to play dumb, maybe there's a chance you can talk your way out of this. Valentine snarls and takes a step back.

"You know what I'm talking about. Spencer. Fucking. Reid." He enunciates his words in an exaggerated manner. Your mouth is dry and your brain can't keep up and decide how you should play your cards.

"I, I don't-"

"Save it. I'm not stupid." He cuts you off and begins pacing back and forth in front of you. Valentine pushes his hand through his hair and you see his face turn red.

"I saw. I saw it all. You let him put his hands all over you. You let him put his lips on your skin. You even let him into your bedroom. How could you? How could you do that to me after I went out of my way for you?" He practically yells at you. The vein in his neck pops and you see his hand drift to his back pocket.

You put your hands out towards him, palms facing him and try to de-escalate the situation. There have been several cases where you've had to talk down unsubs in this exact frame of mind.

"I only let him do it because I was imagining it was you and not him." It's a long shot but you hope he buys it. You also wonder how long you can stall before someone finally comes back.

Valentine stops pacing for just a fraction of a second. He stares at you intensely. His jaw clenches.

"You understand why I have a hard time believing that, right?" His voice has returned to being unsettlingly calm.

"I know. But it's the truth." You say, letting your hands fall back down to your side.

You and Valentine stare at each other, a tense silence filling the room. It looks like he's trying to rationalize your words. And after what feels like a small eternity, he speaks up again.

"If that were true, you would've let me stay that day I came to your apartment. Instead, you dismissed me and let him stay." Valentine's hand reaches for something in his back pocket.

He rushes at you and swings, a silver blade in his hand. You barely dodge it before he's swinging at you again. Valentine is a trained FBI agent, you both went through the same hand to hand combat training. He's fast, he's strong. And you struggle to dodge his attacks.

In an attempt to put as much space between you as possible, you back away and tip chairs and files into the floor to hopefully trip him. But eventually he lunges forward and the blade cuts your abdomen.

The pain temporarily freezes you, allowing Valentine to grab you and shove you to the floor. He stands over top of you and smiles widely down at you. You feel the warm blood start soaking through your shirt but you can't look away to see how bad it is.

Valentine drops to his knees and straddles your torso, he drags the blade across your cheekbone and down your throat. He presses ever so slightly and creates small cuts on your cheek. The blood streams down your face and onto the floor in thin streams.

"Please." You resort to begging. At this point you know he's got nothing to lose and therefore he likely has no boundaries or care in the world.

"Shhh. It's my turn, and I earned this." He says and drops the blade. His hands wrap around your throat and he presses down hard in the center, cutting off your air supply.

You thrash and kick and hit to try and get him off of you. But he's simply too strong. He's twice your size and deranged. You dig your nails into his skin and claw at his hands. But all he does is smile. And you feel your lungs burning and you're starting to panic.

You try to get air into your lungs and your body shakes from lack of oxygen. Your efforts to free yourself are only making you run out of air quicker. Valentine presses his thumbs into the column of your throat.

"We could've been great. You and I. We could've been so happy together. But you had to go and give yourself to him. No, he doesn't deserve you. He couldn't make you feel good like I could. How could you do this?" Valentine spits down at you as your limbs become too heavy to move.

The edge of your vision starts to become staticky and dotted. But you can see tears streaming down Valentine's face and you feel them drip onto your face. But you're too tired to wipe them away. Your eyelids feel like they weigh 20 pounds each.

It's just so much easier to close them.

———

"Garcia did you get the door locks back online?" Hotch authoritatively asks as the team rushes into the building. Penelope tries her best to keep up with Hotch, tears stream down her face.

"Sir I tried. I tried but I didn't have enough time." Her words are broken up by sobs.

Spencer doesn't have time for this. He shoves past everyone else and reaches the glass doors. His eyes scan the dark office and he sees you laying still on the floor. Motionless. Valentine is hunched overtop of you, his hands wrapped around your throat.

Without thinking, Spencer reaches for his gun and shoots through the door. The glass shatters and falls to the floor in a billion pieces. But he doesn't care. All he can see is red as he steps over the glass and into the bullpen.

Spencer reaches Valentine in record time and he wastes no time to kick Valentine off of you. He lands a solid kick to the side of Valentine's face and when Valentine loses his balance and falls from overtop of you, Spencer pushes him on to his back.

When Valentine rolls over onto his back Spencer grabs his shirt in one hand and punches Valentine's face with the other. He hits him again. And again. And again. Everything that Valentine has done to you replays in his head each time his fist connects with Valentine's face.

"Spencer, stop. Stop you can't do this here." He hears someone say as he's forcefully pulled away from Valentine's beaten body.

Spencer pays no attention to who pulled him off of Valentine because he sees you still laying still on the floor next to him. Your eyes are closed and he sees bruising begin to form on your throat.

"No, no come on. Come on baby. Come on." Spencer says as he kneels by your side. His bloody knuckles sting but his chest hurts worse, seized with anxiety and fear because you're not waking up. And those bruises are becoming way too dark way too quickly.

Spencer feels for your pulse on your neck, below your jaw. There's a pulse. But it's faint. Too faint.

"We need a medic. We need a medic right now." Spencer rushes his words as he tilts your head back to allow for maximum airflow into your lungs.

He faintly hears commotion behind him but all he can see is you. And he can hear are your shallow breaths.

Pure, genuine fear paralyzes Spencer.

———

"Derek, stay with him. Don't let him get to Valentine just yet. We're going to do pull some overtime today and get everything sorted. I'll keep you updated. Let me know how she's doing and how Spencer's doing." Hotch speaks authoritatively before hanging up the phone.

He sets the phone on the table and looks at the rest of his team, who have assembled at the round table. He sees their faces full of fear and guilt. And he knows that the team will collectively have to go through the process of acceptance, but not now. Not when there's work to do.

He sees your face in his mind and it launches him into action.

"Penelope. I'm going to need every bit of his equipment seized and searched. I'm talking in his office and at his residence. Document everything." He looks pointedly at Penelope, who eagerly nods her head.

"On it, sir." She affirms and he moves on to his next task.

"JJ, Emily, I need you to document every other piece of physical evidence from her residence and his. Construct a timeline of events. Try to pinpoint what caused this." The women look to each other before nodding. Hotch then looks to Rossi, who's been staring at the table the entire time.

"And Dave, you'll work with me to strategize questioning." Rossi looks up from the table and gives one concise nod.

Content with everyone's willingness to do overtime for your case, he dismisses them. Hotch waits for everyone to leave before addressing Rossi again.

"What are you thinking?" He asks, and Rossi scrunches his eyebrows together before meeting Hotch's gaze. There's a sadness residing in his eyes.

"I just can't believe it took us so long to take it seriously. I mean really, we see these cases all the time but when it comes to one of our own? We completely dropped the ball. And now she's in the hospital. We're supposed to be the most capable team, but we can't even protect our own." He articulates slowly so the point isn't lost on Hotch.

"We never could've known it would escalate this quickly." Hotch says, taking a seat across from Dave, who shakes his head.

"But we could have. The signs were all there. The flowers, the altering of footage. There were indicators present." Hotch is lost for words as the reality of the situation truly sinks in.

Hotch sighs and looks down at his hands that are folded on the table.

"You're right. We should've seen this before it even happened. But it did, and now we have to make sure Valentine never sees the light of day again." Hotch says, hoping that by seeking justice is makes up for a lack of action.

"Yeah we'll lock him away. But do you think she's going to come back? I mean after all this, how could she trust us again?" Rossi asks, exasperation replacing the sadness.

"I don't know." Hotch answers truthfully. He knows that when you recover and are released from the hospital that there's some chance you'll retire from the team. And he couldn't blame you.

"And the kid. You saw how much she means to him. I've never seen him act like that before. During any of it. You saw that picture too, and you saw how he shot through that door, you know exactly what I mean." Rossi says and stands from the table. Hotch rises as well, and he nods.

"I know Dave." Is all he can come up with. Rossi claps a hand on Hotch's shoulder.

"Just have to take this one day at a time." Rossi says before leaving the room, leaving Hotch alone.

Rossi's words repeat in Hotch's mind. What if you decide to not come back? Do you blame the team for what happened? Will Spencer blame the team? Will he leave too? Will you be okay? Will they be able to ensure Valentine's life sentence?

Question after question swirls in his mind until it becomes overwhelming. He closes his eyes and clenches his fists in frustration. He can't help but to blame himself for the team's lack of action. After all, he knew weird things were happening and there was more he could've done sooner that might've prevented this from ever happening.

And he knows the truth, the truth is that Spencer is the only one who took you seriously from the very beginning. And it's because of that bond the two of you share that Hotch knows deep down, that if you leave then Spencer will leave too. Maybe not right away, but soon after.

Hotch can see clear as day that you two love each other deeply. And he knows that Spencer is not prepared to lose you. Not to Valentine and certainly not to this job.

But he has no control over your decision. And he shouldn't stress about things that are out of his control. So instead, he walks out of the room and begins to stress about things he can control, like the compilation of evidence against Valentine.

And so he joins the team and gets to work.

———

Your mind is alive before you can even muster the strength to open your eyes. You hear squeaking shoes on tiled floors, the beep of a monitor somewhere near your head. Whispered voices come and go. But you can't seem to focus on one thing at a time, the sounds blur together.

And you don't know how long you're suspended in this state of mind. All you know is that your eyes are heavy and your throat burns. But you can't move to get a drink, you can't even open your eyes no matter how hard you try.

So you succumb to sleep once again.

And then you awake once more, much like the last time. But now you hear voices and they're closer. They sound like they're near the beeping machine behind you. The tone and cadence sound familiar but you can't make out their words.

You feel trapped within your own body and you begin to panic because you can't open your eyes. You're here and you're awake but you can't open your eyes and you can't move.

You hear the beeping sound behind you grow louder and the voices you heard are now gone, replaced with squeaking shoes against tile. And before you know it you feel people's hands on your arms and on your forehead. It feels like they're trying to soothe you, and it's working.

The beeping behind you calms and voices are heard once more. And this time, you try your hardest to listen in. You really want to know who's here and what they're saying.

"Hotch wants updates on her. I'm going to give him a call. Will you be okay here for a while?" A deep voice says.

"Yeah, yeah I'll be fine." Another voice says, and this one you recognize. You'd recognize his voice anywhere, that's Spencer. You feel his hand on yours and you desperately try to open your eyes, but you can't, you're still stuck.

"I think you can hear me. At least I hope you can." Spencer talks again, his hand gently squeezing yours. You hear him sigh before continuing,

"I want you to know that we got him. We got him and he's never going to hurt you again. I'm so, so sorry that I wasn't there to protect you. I should've been there. I should've seen the signs that we were being set up but instead I was blinded. I was so focused on catching him that I didn't slow down and think rationally about it. I am so sorry." He raises your hand and places a delicate kiss to the back of it. And you feel something wet drip onto your skin too.

His words make your heart ache and you want to open your eyes and let him know that none of this is his fault. He shouldn't blame himself one bit. You hear him sniffle and it ignites a fire of determination within you. With all your might, you try to at least wiggle your fingers. You just need to show him that you hear him.

And so with all of your might and strength you can muster, you feel the tips of your fingers twitch. And then you do it again. You hear Spencer take a sharp inhale and you know that you're message reached him. He knows.

"Do that again if you can hear me." He whispers. And so you try your best to do it again.

It must've worked because the next thing you feel is Spencer's lips on your forehead. The feeling of his hand holding yours and his lips on your skin sends a warm sensation through your body. And you hear the monitor beep louder again.

But then the moment is interrupted as someone enters the room, apparent from the sound of their shoes.

"Pretty boy I think she likes you too, look at that heart rate." The voice is undeniably Derek's. His voice is clearer now and you know that nobody else calls Spencer "Pretty Boy".

"What did the doctors say?" Spencer asks him.

"They said it shouldn't be too much longer. Her vitals have stabilized." Derek answers.

The room falls back into a silence, the only sound to be heard is the monitor behind you. Spencer's hand stays on yours and you feel yourself being lulled back into sleep by the rhythmic monitor.

———

Spencer looks down at your sleeping face and wishes there was something he could do to nurse you back to health in an instant. He thinks it's his fault you're laying in this bed in the first place. Out of everyone on the team, he should've been able to see that Valentine was setting everyone up. That was his hail Mary; to get everyone out of the office on a goose chase so that he could get to you.

And Spencer knows that if the team had arrived even one minute later that there may not have been a chance to save you. It's a miracle you're alive, even more of a miracle that your hyoid bone didn't break or that nothing internally was severely damaged. The deep bruises were superficial the doctors had said.

Spencer isn't sure how long he's been standing by your bedside with your small hand enveloped in his. And truthfully, he doesn't care. He would stand there for an eternity if it meant you would be okay.

"Hotch just texted. They're planning to question him tomorrow, time constraints of the arrest and all." Derek says, showing Spencer the screen.

With a sigh, Spencer knows that questioning Valentine tomorrow is cutting it close. The team will be strapped for time trying to piece everything together without him there. But he can't fathom the thought of leaving you, not now.

"They'll be able to pull it off." Spencer says, less than confident that everything will be concisely and plainly compiled.

"Spencer, we both know that you know exactly what happened, beat for beat. They need you back there. She's okay. I'll stay here with her. You go help the team secure the arrest." Derek says, walking over and putting a hand on Spencer's shoulder.

Spencer looks back at your peaceful face littered in dark blue bruises and it makes his stomach turn. While he would rather pull his own teeth than leave you here, he knows that he can leave no room for error when it comes to Valentine. And he knows that besides you, he's the only one who knows the depth of everything that happened. His eyes drift from you to Derek and he sighs.

"I'll go help them. But if anything changes here, let me know right away." Spencer lets go of your hand and forces himself to walk away.

"I will." Derek answers as Spencer exits the room and heads back to the office. Each step he takes he feels like high-force winds are pushing against him, making it difficult to keep going forward.

When he arrives at the office, everyone regards him quietly. There's a tension between him and the team, one that likely won't go addressed until this is all over with. But Spencer knows it's about that picture, about him shooting the door, about him crying as the EMTs took your body away in an ambulance.

But he can't afford to dwell on that, not now. He pushes his sleeves to his elbows and finds Hotch, ready to get to work and do it quickly. There's no room for error here.

———

You hear the beeping monitor again and feel the blankets had been pulled up higher on your body. You don't even remember going back to sleep. But you do remember that Spencer is here. But you don't feel his hand on yours anymore, his warmth is gone.

Panicking slightly, you wonder where he is and what happened. Is he okay? The monitor picks up frequency and you feel someone touch your arm. But it's not Spencer, no the skin is too rough, the fingers too big.

"Hey, hey it's me. I'm here and you're okay." Derek says to you.

And you're thankful he's here but you need to know where Spencer is, you need to know he's not in trouble. What if Valentine got to him? What if Valentine has his hands wrapped around Spencer's throat, draining the life from him slowly? The thought of Valentine hurting Spencer like he hurt you sends a rush of adrenaline so severe through you, that you think for a split second you had been struck by lightning.

Suddenly, the room isn't dark anymore. No, it's blindingly bright. The white light burns. But eventually, it calms into something more manageable. And then you see Derek standing right next to you, his mouth open, his eyes full of worry and then joy.

"I knew you could do it. I knew you could." He says and smiles.

You go to say something but your throat burns and is too dry so instead you end up choking and coughing.

"Here, here you go." Derek holds a cup of water to your lips. Your shaky hands land atop of his and you help him tip the cup so you can get a drink. Every swallow feels like you're consuming liquid sandpaper.

"Spencer." You whisper, trying to ignore the sharp, stinging pain.

"He's okay. He left a few hours ago to help the others." Derek says, pulling a chair over to your bedside. You make eye contact with him.

"Valentine?" You ask, needing to know if he's still in custody.

"We got him. Spencer's filling in the others about what happened. He's never going to see the light of day again for what he did to you." Derek says and you can hear the clear conviction in his voice.

There's a tiny part of you that becomes angry at his words. If they had believed you sooner, this wouldn't have happened. But instead they chose to believe you were fabricating evidence to make yourself look better. And for what? To gain clout over a case that happened months ago? To make yourself look better overall? To prove you're just as good as the rest?

You opt to say nothing back. Because one, your throat feels like it's made of molten lava, and two, because you really can't find anything positive to say to him. You almost died because they didn't believe you were in any real danger, not until it was too late.

Staring down at the water cup in your hands, you wonder if you can go back to the team after this. Would you be able to trust them and rely on them in the field? Would they take you more seriously? Would they treat you the same? Or would their guilt cause them to treat you differently?

There's too many questions racing through your head and you feel a headache coming on. You wish Spencer was the one who stayed with you, but you know that he's the best equipped in briefing the team. But then again, so are you.

"When can I leave?" You ask Derek.

"I'll go find someone and ask." He offers a tight smile and leaves the room.

If you can get out of here then you can find your way back to Spencer. You would be able to help the team, maybe for the last time.

———

"Are you sure that you're well enough for this?" Hotch asks you with crossed arms. You give him a nod, knowing that you're more than capable of doing this.

Hotch simply nods and looks down at the folder in his hand. You stare through the one-way glass at the man who tried to kill you. He's sitting there, chained to the table, looking like a pathetic coward. All of his confidence he had when he was strangling you had been washed away, revealing his true self; an insecure excuse of a man.

You hear someone else walk in behind you and turn to see Spencer. His hair is disheveled and the stubble on his jaw is prominent, evidence of his lack of sleep. You meet him halfway and he welcomes you into his arms. He holds you like he may never again, his arms wrapped around you securely.

Hotch is obviously ignoring what you two are doing and is immersing himself in the file folder that you helped them complete yesterday.

The hospital staff had been reluctant to let you go, but you were determined to get out of there. You pushed through the pain and told them that because your injuries are superficial, that there's no reason to stay any longer. And sure, they tried to persuade you to get more imaging done, but you denied. All you cared about was getting back to Spencer.

"Are you ready for this?" You ask him, your voice weak and scratchy. Spencer's jaw tightens and he nods, looking through the glass.

"More than ready." His tone is flat and you know that he's trying to get himself into the right mindset.

Hotch didn't want to let Spencer participate in the questioning, but Spencer was unrelenting. Spencer told Hotch that Valentine has a personal prejudice against him and that they could use his anger against him. And Spencer was banking on the fact that Valentine hates him to secure an airtight confession. And eventually, Hotch agreed once he saw that Spencer could control his own anger.

"Spencer." Hotch says, causing the two of you to step away from one another.

"I'm ready." Spencer answers, face void of emotion. Hotch nods and you watch as they step into the interrogation room together. You take a seat on the other side of the glass and feel your heart beat heavily, anxious for what's about to happen.

Hotch and Spencer take their seats opposite of Valentine and you see Valentine's eyes lock onto Spencer immediately with malice. You lean forward in your seat.

"You've been read your charges and your rights, do you understand them?" Hotch begins the questioning. Valentine nods,

"I do." And you know that's the all clear needed to dig into the interrogation.

Hotch lays out the altered documents on the table, taking his time to spread them out. Valentine looks over each paper, his eyes scanning over the words. He says nothing.

"These are documents you altered under the credentials of another agent." Hotch states, not breaking eye contact. He doesn't frame it as a question, because if it's presented as a known statement, it gives further incentive for someone to want to defend themselves and provide alternate facts.

"How do you know she wasn't the one to make those changes herself?" Valentine asks and a small smirk breaks out across your face. He just admitted that he knew the credentials used belonged to a woman and that there were in fact changes made.

"We know because I personally review each and every one of her case reports. Hers are not nearly as detailed as these, and there are phrasings included that are not conducive to our report writing policy." Hotch fires back flawlessly. You see Valentine clench his hands on the table; he's getting flustered.

"And in addition to these documents, you were able to spoof credentials to make entry into our office and retag evidence and alter the footage." Hotch says, his tone indicative of being impressed. This is to build Valentine's confidence back up and stroke his ego. When people are overly confident in their abilities, they tend to slip up more by trying to prove themselves.

"You can't prove that." Valentine resists. Hotch takes a moment before responding.

"You chose to wait until the cameras were being replaced to send the flowers. You wanted to remain anonymous. You wanted her to work as hard for you as you were working for her. So you used your knowledge and expertise to your advantage." Hotch says, trying to further inflate Valentine's self confidence.

"She just needed to see the lengths I would go for her." Valentine slips up again.

"And you didn't stop there to show her that did you? You orchestrated a false cellphone ping at an abandoned location so the rest of the team would go there and leave her in the office. You knew we wouldn't bring her along, so you created an opportunity for yourself." Hotch doubles down again, knowing that Valentine can't help but to brag about his perceived accomplishments.

"It wasn't that hard. I knew with him around I wouldn't have another chance. So I did what I had to do." Valentine glares at Spencer as he speaks.

And you know this signals for Spencer to take over the questioning. They've got under his skin, they've got him flustered, and they've got him overly confident. Valentine has so much conflicting thoughts in his head right now that he likely can't think straight or have the foresight to see what's happening.

"And you hated seeing her with me so much that you entered her home and placed a camera." Spencer states. Valentine crosses his arms. Spencer licks his lips and leans forward, continuing his approach.

"But before that you entered her home while she wasn't there and took her sweater. That was a shame, that was my favorite one she wore." Spencer then leaned back and sighed, acting as if he could only think of you in that sweater in that moment.

Valentine's fists clench on the tabletop once more, the vein in his neck starts bulging. He's close to cracking and losing it all. And it's all being done in record time. No matter how smart Valentine thinks he is, the BAU is smarter.

"You don't deserve to have her like that." Valentine growls through gnashing teeth. Spencer tilts his head to the side.

"Have her like what?" Spencer provokes him further. Valentine takes a measured breath.

"You were in her room, I saw you. You were in her house and you had your hands on her. I just needed a small part of her." Valentine now starts to sound unhinged. His voice rises in volume, and Spencer keeps pressing on. He stands from his seat and leans forward on the table.

"I was there because she wanted me there. In fact she begged for me. It was nice of you to send her those flowers, it just made it more easy for me to take credit for it all." Spencer makes eye contact with Valentine, and refuses to get back into his seat, instead opting to stay leaned forward. Valentine's face is red, his veins popping, his jaw tight and his teeth clenched.

"Those were for her to see how much she means to me. You couldn't let me have that, you couldn't even let me speak to her that night at the bar. You put those curtains up so I couldn't see her anymore. No you took her all for yourself. What was I supposed to do? I couldn't sit around and do nothing while you got every part of her to yourself. I tried to forgive her, I really did. But she wasn't grateful for what I was doing for her. I was trying to give her the credit she's due and the love she deserves. I did it all for her! And you just swooped in and took it all for your fucking self!" Valentine screams in one breath. His chest is heaving and his face is as red as a tomato.

And after a minute of silence, Spencer stands back to his full height.

"Thank you." He says and walks out of the room without another word. But Hotch stays.

Once Spencer walks out Valentine loses his composure again. But Hotch is there for more, they're going to take everything they can get from him.

"And what were your plans for the photos in your basement?" Hotch's voice starkly contrasts Valentine's delirium.

"Those were for myself. I needed to see her any time I wanted. But I had to cut him out of the picture." He answers, glaring at Hotch.

"And so you loved her that much that you were willing to kill her?" Hotch's voice is soft. This causes Valentine to look down at the table where he stares at his hands.

"I didn't want to. But I couldn't live knowing he was with her. If she were to die I would've killed myself right after, so that we could be together in another life." Valentine answers and it sends a chill through your body.

"And how did you plan to kill her and yourself?" Hotch's head tilts to the side.

"I brought the knives. I wasn't going to cut her skin with those blades, I would never. But once she was gone I was going to stab myself in the neck." He answers casually, as if Hotch had asked him about the weather.

"I see." Hotch closes the folder and stares at Valentine. You had one request of Hotch, and you know he's about to fulfill it.

"Well, you succeeded in one step of that plan." Hotch prefaces, piquing Valentine's interest once again.

"What do you mean?" Valentine asks, eyes wide.

"I mean you were successful in strangling her. She passed away hours after she was transported to the hospital." Hotch tells him.

Valentine lets out a loud sob and hits the table with his fists over and over again.

"No! No I couldn't have! No!" He screams until his face begins to turn purple. Hotch then stands from his seat and adjusts his tie, unphased by the drama of Valentine.

"Thank you for your time." He says without emotion and walks out of the room to join you and Spencer.

Valentine carries on with his screaming and crying, the three of you watch him from the other side. But you can only look for so long before it starts disturbing you.

You stand from your seat and leave, content with how things ended. Valentine will live the rest of his days thinking you're dead. And that's exactly how you wanted it to be.

———

Rain drops pelt your window and thunder rolls above in the sky. Your apartment is empty and the sounds echo off the walls. It had taken you about two weeks to get everything packed up and moved out. It would've taken longer, but you had some wonderful help.

Spencer enters the empty apartment, his hair wet from the rain outside. He sighs as he stands beside you, taking in the emptiness. It's odd to see your apartment like this, but you know it's necessary if you want to move on with your life. You couldn't stay here any more, all you could think about was Valentine. And if you're dead to him, you want him to be dead to you as well.

Valentine had been sentenced to two consecutive life sentences without the possibility of parole. Hotch had some connections to the judge and was able to secure the maximum sentence. And for that you're grateful.

"You ready?" Spencer asks you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

You take one last look around the empty apartment and remember the good times shared here. The happiness you felt when you first moved in, the giddiness of Spencer staying over, and how you two made this like your own haven for a short while. Some of those memories stay untainted, but the most recent ones leave a sour taste in your mouth. And you don't want your memories with Spencer to be distorted any more.

"I'm ready." You answer and the two of you leave. You hear the door click shut behind you and you keep moving forward, refusing to look back.

The two of you arrive at Spencer's apartment about ten minutes later. Or, you should say you arrived at the apartment you now share with Spencer ten minutes later. He opens the door for you and you smile, feeling over the moon.

Your furniture now complements his, your photos hang on the wall next to his, and your clothes now occupy the space beside his. The two of you had made this your sanctuary, your own personal utopia where you two blend perfectly with one another.

Every night you're able to fall asleep in his arms and wake to his perfect face every morning. You still love the way his eyes squint when he first wakes up and how he insists that you make pancakes every Saturday morning.

There's no pressure or threat looming over the two of you any more and you're able to grow closer and closer naturally and without stress. Truthfully, you had never loved anyone like you love Spencer. The love you have for him is rooted deep within your soul and blooms higher and higher each and every day.

The two of you sit on the couch together, Spencer's leaned up against the arm and you've fitted yourself between his legs, leaning your head back on his chest. His arms wrap around you and you sigh, feeling nothing but pure peace and contentment.

After Valentine was sentenced and everything started going back to normal, you and Spencer had discussed what the future held. You had told him the truth, that you didn't want a future without him in it, you didn't want to live in a world without him in your life. And thankfully, he felt the same way.

You took an extended leave of absence from the team, just until you figure out if you want to go back or not. Spencer supports your decision either way. But you can't seem to make up your mind. Hotch had given you all the time you need, and you're taking full advantage of it. Spencer had taken a month off as well, the two of you using this time to focus on nothing but each other.

You tilt your head back and look up at him through your lashes and he smiles down at you.

"Hi there pretty girl." His smile widens, revealing his perfect teeth. Adoration fills your heart.

"I love you." You tell him, and he leans down and kisses your forehead gently.

"And I love you more, much more than you could ever know, with all my heart." He answers and hugs you tightly to his body.

You melt into his touch and take in his intoxicating smell. You'll never get over the way he holds you, the way his hands map out every curve of your body, how his kisses you like his life depends on it. How he looks at you as if you had personally painted the night sky.

And now you know that love is an obsession that can quickly spiral into something all consuming.

But this love is tender, this love is kind. This love you and Spencer share is pure and true. And you will happily live with this love for the rest of your days.

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

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eccentricwritingbaby · 11 months

Text

i miss you, i love you

daniel ricciardo x fem!reader

summary - danny gets back from the mexican gp and realizes just how badly he missed his wife and kids. that all leads to many questions about his future.

masterlist

quick author’s note! the kids are named because that's just easier for me but i do apologize if that’s annoying :/ oldest is joey (10) middle is austin (7) and youngest is delaney (4).

the sun poured in through the curtains that were left just a bit too wide open last night, causing you to blink heavily and finally open your eyes.

the best part of your wake up was the lovely tattooed arm that lay across your stomach and the man whom it belonged to warm and comforting pressed up right against your back. daniel had arrived home only a day prior from the mexico gp; therefore, having him there in the morning made your smile grow so much wider as you stretched and began to wake up.

the sun was entirely still too bright for your fresh eyes, causing you to roll over and into the warmth of your husband. he caught on quick, wrapping his arm tightly around your back, tucking you into him further.

“g’morning, love,” his voice scratches out into a mumble.

“morning, baby,” you mumble back to him.

daniel’s face tugs a small smile as he relishes being home with his family. as much as he loved the adrenaline pump in racing, the fans, the tracks, the travels and so on, he continuously is bogged down due to his family being unable to travel with him. his wandering thoughts are abruptly stopped as he feels his lovely wife begin her trail of morning kisses spread over his chest, neck, and now his graciously awaiting lips.

“mmh i missed this,” he hummed into the kiss you gave him. you smiled up at him while whispering a quick ‘so did i, baby’ against his lips.

you both had been together for so long and yet your spark was shining and sparkling bright as ever. daniel had joked before that it was because you both simply just lived in your own bubble, therefore there were no ‘exterior forces’ to get in the way. but everyone knew by just the way you looked at each other that you two were just in love, therefore your prosperity was inevitable.

you both were just simply enjoying each others presence and basking in the loving exchanges of kisses and cuddles the morning brought, “d’ya reckon the rascals are up?” daniel questions in between your light make out session.

him saying that led you to reach over his body towards his nightstand and tap his phone in order to check the time, “8 am? on a day off school? no way joey or austin would even be able to open their eyes at this time,” you joked about your two older boys. as you both laughed about your sons and their aggressive hostility towards mornings, the sweet little footsteps were beginning to draw near. daniel quickly shushed you when noticing the little outline of feet shadows peeking from underneath the crack of the door.

“princess? are you spying on mommy and daddy?” daniel called out towards said feet. you both then heard the loud echoing of giggles produced by your youngest as your husband made his way to the door. he quickly opened it and scooped her into his arms yelling out a ‘gotcha!’ making her giggle even louder.

you proceeded to get out of bed and head over to where your youngest was now reaching out for you, “hi lovebug, how did you sleep?” you ask her while taking her from your husband's arms and into your own.

“vewy good, mommy,” you and your husband smile at her little mispronunciation and continue to move out of your room and down the stairs. your daughter continues to cuddle into your arms before daniel is itching to get her back.

you always joked that he had separation anxiety from the children due to his persistence to be with them 24/7 whenever he was home. of course, you held sympathy for his situation and let him steal the kids whenever he could. the older two were beginning to be too ‘old’ and ‘cool’ to be with their dad as often but his precious youngest was still attached to his hip. she reached right out for him as he got her out of your grasp.

“miss me, laney?” he asks the young girl.

“of couwse, daddy!” she giggles out and he continues to kiss her all over her face.

“alright, alright both of you children, i need some breakfast orders,” you say with a chuckle as you squeeze behind the both of them in order to get behind your kitchen counter.

on your way daniel gives you a playful swat to the bum, “oi, darling i can fix breakfast just give me a minute,”

“don’t even think about it, dan,” you give him a small smile and drop your voice closer to a whisper so only your husband can hear your next line, “the kids have missed you way more than they care to admit, just spend all your time with them i can handle this stuff,”

daniel looks down at you and gives you a fast kiss before hearing another couple pairs of footsteps bellowing down the stairs and into the kitchen. “hello boys,” you smile as your two older sons approach their family.

“hi momma, hi dad,” austin says through a yawn. austin - ever the mommas boy - then shuffles right over to you and begins to lean into you for a hug. you wrap your arms around him and gesture for joey to join as well to which he does.

daniel stands with his babygirl in his arms and admires the view of his wife and sons. he basks in the feeling of being home with his family, as he attempts to suppress the emotion in his gut of guilt in needing to leave again soon for the next race.

it was a struggle every time he had to leave, he wanted to head back to the days when the children were so young that you and him would bring them everywhere. his family was still together with him, although now it just felt lonely. he debated bringing them with, to hell with school, fuck an education - actually, well, no. they have to go to school, but still maybe a year off they would enjoy, its only middle school? he makes a quick mental note to bring it up later - there was no way he'd last the season without you and your kids by his side.

when he brings himself back to reality, delaney is wiggling out of his arms as the boys are helping you mix up some pancakes. you then let the boys help delaney mix all of the batter as you take a moment to drink in your husband's emotional state. throughout your many years of knowing him and loving him, you were always able to read him like a book.

sauntering over towards daniel, you slowly step in front of him, hands landing gently on his waist in order to bring his focus onto you, “what’s going on in that head of yours, handsome?”

“i really miss you guys when i’m away,” he sighs.

“we miss you too,” you push on gently. daniel rubs one hand over his face as his other leans over your shoulder and around your neck, pulling you closer.

“i’m just still debating if i made the right decision to get back into all of this, i mean lawson is doing really well maybe i should just-”

“hey, hey, hey - none of that,” you interrupt, “dan we talked about all of this when you accepted the seat. you wanted to do this, you want to do this. racing is your life, if you have an opportunity to do it, you’re taking it and loving it,”

“i know but i can’t help but feel like it would be so much better here with you and the kids,” he replies while his arm begins to slowly rub gentle circles on your shoulder.

you give his nose a small peck before sighing,”the kids and i have been talking briefly about homeschooling,” with that daniel’s eyes light up and a smile breaks out on his face, “baby don’t tease me,” he laughs.

you softly turn around to your lively group of children before yelling out, “who here agreed they missed dad and wanted to homeschool for his season?” the kids all swiftly pick their heads up with crazed smiles and began a chorus of ‘i did!’ ‘me! me! me!’ ‘yes meee!’ while you just laughed and daniel stood with a tight grip on you and a beginning line of tears in his waterline.

he quickly shook off his emotions, picking you up and spinning you around while continuing to yell about bags being packed and calling the school to get his kids the hell outta there and with him to brazil. the house began to turn to chaos as all the kids were running around chanting and cheering about no school while daniel made his way over to you.

“now, mister, you know this cannot be a permanent thing. i really want to value some normalcy in our kids lives and education is very important along with their social health-” but your rant was quickly cut off by dan’s searing lips on yours.

“thank you,” he whispered. “always,” you whisper back, “y’know, i missed following you around too,” you giggled into the whisper.

“god, i love you. I love all of you guys so much,” daniel says back.

“trust me honey, we know,” you reassure him. and you did know, all of you.

559 notes · View notes

reveluving · 11 months

Text

the bump in the night ; rick flag x reader

summary: someone made Mrs Flag cry, and her family is not having it.

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, shadow-magic f!reader, reverse comfort & humour!

a/n: this AU is based on this piece I made a while back, 'cause you already know I can't do this special without hubby Rick and the kids! hope you enjoy it & don’t forget to leave some sugar! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

» wanna know what I have in store this fall? come & check out my m.list for 'reve's quirky reverie 🕷️'!

'For now, they had a plan, hoping it could bring a smile to your face.' ;

Coming home to his daughter's hugs had become an everyday thing if Rick didn't have to work overtime, but if the flicker of sadness in her eyes was anything to go by, something had to have happened while he was away.

“Mrs Bedford was saying bad stuff to mama while we were at the park.”

It was the same thing she told her brothers when they got home from school, and just like them, it was enough for Rick to get the whole picture.

Ah, Mrs Bedford. Or as the neighbourhood youngsters, children and teenagers alike, like to call her 'the modern witch of the road', and not in the cool way. Her husband was no better, always bugging you at any given opportunity. The worst part was Mrs Bedford always antagonized you for it, even if she knew you didn’t entertain her husband’s behaviour. It was also extremely hypocritical of her, considering she herself has tried to make her move on Rick. A lot. Only to be met with disappointment each time.

Her children were just as bad, too, to put it lightly.

“What did she say?” It was the green light Irene needed before she explained what had happened to a T, courtesy of her father’s eagle eye. Unlike most days, it was just you and Irene visiting the park since your sons had football practice.

The two of you were feeding the ducks when Mrs Bedford came up to you.

“You on your own?” Was the first thing she asked you before you questionably said ‘yes’, despite Irene being there too, and the little girl realized Mrs Bedford wouldn’t have gone off on a tangent about you and your ‘possibly tainted history’ if her father or brothers were around in the first place.

“I don’t know what you did but I can see it in your eyes, Flag. You’re no saint. You can fool the others with your little flower shop and your so-called angelic kids, but not me.”

Though Mrs Bedford knew nothing about your powers or your time in Belle Reve, instead, spewing hate out of jealousy and hatred for you for being the favourable neighbour, she wasn’t completely wrong. You have hurt people, you’ve even killed some, but they were for the greater good. Since your freedom from hell on earth, you’ve barely used your umbrakineses. It wasn’t until the birth of your children, to which all three of them gained your abilities did you realized you couldn’t run from who you really were—it wasn’t right nor fair to them.

Then, telling them your story as a criminal and how their dad was once your enemy was another thing. You weren’t sure what reaction you were expecting, but it was certainly not amazement and sparkles in their eyes. As they grew older, they began to make sense of how their parents somehow knew people like Aunt Harley, Uncle Robert and hell, even Nanaue.

And at that point in time, Mrs Bedford reminded you of Waller, turning you into submission as you could do nothing but listen to her make a mockery out of you for turning over a new leaf. Irene had to watch your face drop as the woman insulted you, and she knew she had to tell her family about it.

Irene insisted that she was fine about heading home early, even if you tried to convince her otherwise. She wanted nothing more than to do something about that glazed look in your eyes.

As soon as you stepped foot into the living room, a tear rolled down your cheek. You couldn't help but apologize to her, to everyone if they were with you then. You weren’t entirely sure if it was because you seemed weak over a bunch of words or their fate of ending up with you as the wife and a mother of their family.

Irene shook her head, hugging you with her face in your tummy.

"You're not a mean person, mama. You're the nicest and coolest mama we could ever ask for, and we love you."

It was simple, something you've heard of thousands of times in your lifetime, but you very much needed it today.

Ever the sweet girl, she accompanied you as you lay in your bed, telling you random stories about what she painted during art class or what she ate at lunch, anything but the time Mrs Bedford’s son, Kyle pushed her off the swing while his older brother, Blake laughed and praised him for doing so. You didn’t need to know that.

Not yet.

You listened with a warm smile, embarrassed but nonetheless thankful for how observant she was of your feelings before eventually dozing off.

Irene was careful yet quick to jump off the bed, running downstairs to shush Richie and Ethan as they returned home.

The more she explained, the brighter their eyes unnaturally glowed. Richie was starting to look like their father as he crossed his arms, listening to her like a police officer, while Ethan seemed like he was already thinking of ways to counter the Bedford’s undignified acts.

Basically, the Bedfords were not the greatest people. Each and every one of them.

Though they had a myriad of ideas, they weren’t sure how much their father would appreciate it, even if it was for your sake. Still, they thanked Irene for being there for you, promising that something would be done, no matter what it would be.

For now, they had a plan, hoping it could bring a smile to your face.

After an unexpected nap, you came down to find your kids huddled on the couch, whispering and hushing each other. Curious, you approached them.

Ethan was the first to notice you, offering you a grin before showing you what was in their hands, “Look, ma, I think we got it.”

You leaned in to take a closer look, only for your breath to hitch at the sight of life on their palms. There, they showed you the differing mass of shadows they conjured, a tougher one you just taught them about a week ago. You have always loved this trick as a kid, and it only aided your sanity when you were by your lonesome in the penitentiary. In a way, you were replacing what life truly was by making your own, even if they were temporary because there was no telling when or if you’d ever be free.

Yet, here they were, prompting joy and pride as they held the wispy animals of their choice; Richie with what seemed to be an adorable little puppy, Ethan creatively emulated a bioluminescent jellyfish and Irene…

Oh, Irene.

She scarcely remembered how much you loved making her laugh by conjuring butterflies when she was still very little if not for the twins confirming it.

The butterfly was as small as her hand, but the wings were majestic, idly flapping before flying over to you, leaving cloudy black trails and landing on your outstretched finger.

You stared at their creations ever so lovingly, already on the brink of tears. You were just as mad at yourself for doubting your worth, and your potential, just because of the things you had to do in the past, for the sake of the person you were now.

You embraced Irene in a tight hug before pulling your boys in as well. You sniffled, absolutely joyous and blessed to be surrounded by the most loving people. Nothing could deter you from this, not even as the shadow puppy yipped and chased the jellyfish and butterfly in excitement. Your cat, Tofu, must’ve heard the commotion, too, as she came from the kitchen to check, only to be frightened and jump on the couch with you as the puppy came running to her.

Rick finally arrived about two hours later, coming home to hear laughter before he saw Irene running across the room, followed by Tofu and the shadow puppy in tow. The jellyfish laid on Richie’s head like a nest whereas the butterfly decided to make Ethan’s shoulder its home as they hung out with you on the couch.

“Daddy!” Irene greeted him before running over to him. He didn’t question the questioning look she gave him just yet and instead, hoisted her up, laughing as Tofu and the puppy pawed at his bootlaces.

“What’s going on here?” He raised his brows, amused by what could be described as a fever dream of a sight.

“The kids learnt how to make little lives.” You giggled, allowing Rick to sit next to you as you scooted over.

“And I got a new hat,” Richie gestured to the jellyfish, who he has now dubbed as Jelly. As if it understood, Jelly immediately floated away, leaving Richie’s hair flattened, “Never mind.”

You shared a laugh as he deadpanned before you turned to Rick, “Was work okay?”

“Yeah, the usual. Decorated the place today, actually.” He took his phone out of his pocket, opening his gallery and showing you and the kids the spookily tacky decor that furnished his workplace.

“Did you really paint ‘dead inside, don’t open’ on the entrance door?” The twins gawked.

“Fitting, ain't it?” Rick joked, prompting smiles and chuckles from you once more before falling back on the couch, “But at least I’m off tomorrow, so I was thinking we could eat out for dinner.”

“Oh! We should head to Pop’s since they’re also offering their apple betty.” Ethan suggested.

“Well, I think that’s a good idea, so,” Richie trailed off, raising anticipation from the rest of you before jumping off the couch and running up the stairs. Ethan and Irene simultaneously gasped before the former took his sister out of Rick’s arms to chase their brother together. You and Rick could only watch with delight as Tofu and the shadow creatures followed them too.

“Everything okay?” He wanted to know, but he wouldn’t pry if you weren’t ready to tell him.

“Yeah,” You nodded, gazing down for a moment before continuing, “Something happened earlier but…”

“Richie! You better not lock the door or I swear to God!” Ethan’s voice rang out from upstairs, followed by Irene’s ‘language!’, and you couldn’t help but shake your head in amusement.

“It’s all good now.” You reassured him. You knew you could’ve told him, but it wasn’t worth dwelling on. You had children to nurture and a husband to take on the world with.

“The Bedfords?” He guessed. If it wasn’t them, then it had to be Mr Walker.

“The Bedfords,” You confirmed with a tight smile, “I’m just more upset that Irene was there to hear it.”

You didn’t explain any further and Rick took it as a sign to drop it. If they were able to make you this upset, then it was best to ask the kids instead.

“I’m sorry,” He pulled you to his chest, planting a slow and gentle kiss on your forehead. He rubbed your back, sighing at the very mention of that family. Rick loathed that they were influential enough to be one of the higher-ups of the school’s PTA, though he was confident that money was involved in it too. He hated that they were reasons why you’d come home ranting about how Mrs Bedford bugged you again, or when he had to make sure Mr Bedford knew he was making a promise and not an empty threat whenever it involved their kids and his, "You know I can talk to them."

It would do no good, but it was worth trying.

"No, you know how the Bedfords are. Don’t worry, okay? Not now,” You kissed the inside of his palm before pressing your lips against his, soft, sensual and safe. Rick moved forward, deepening the kiss as held the nape of your neck. You pulled away but not before nuzzling his nose, “We should be celebrating.”

He nodded, though he knew it would only linger in his mind for a while. Still, he adhered to your wishes, standing up before offering you his hand to get ready, “Right, right. Shall we?”

You snorted, placing your hand in his the way a princess would when a prince asks for a dance. Unexpectedly, he twirled you around, wrapping his arms around you he pulled you in, chest to chest. You playfully smacked him, though it did very little to wipe off the pleased look on his face as the two of you headed to your room.

You and the boys were the first to head out to the front yard, chatting and evaluating the decors of the houses while waiting for Rick and Irene.

“What happened today?” He asked his daughter quietly as they stood at the front door, helping with her shoes while she slid on a jacket.

“Mrs Bedford was saying bad stuff to mama while we were at the park.” She whispered back, swinging her arms as she watched her father tie her shoelace, “Like, really mean stuff. No one was around except us so she was kinda loud, too.”

Rick fumed, clenching his jaw as he could already hear and picture whatever nonsense she loved to spit out.

“Mama got kinda quiet when we came home, and then she started crying. About how she’s sorry she was a criminal and how we’re ‘stuck’ with her powers.” She added. If anything, she and the boys thought your abilities were the coolest thing to have ever happened to them.

He shook his head—who wouldn't crack after being subjected to their ways for so long? He hummed, hiding the seething resentment by ruffling Irene's hair.

"Can you help me distract your mother while I talk to the boys for a bit?" She nodded diligently, skipping over to you before Rick called out to his sons, "Need some help, boys."

They rushed over, glancing at you before Ethan spoke up first, "She told you?"

"Yeah." Rick replied as he locked the door.

"Can't we do something about it?" Richie asked with a frown.

"You boys are not punching Blake again." Rick reminded them with a small smile.

"You didn't seem to mind it," Ethan mirrored his father's amusement, "He was yelling at our teammate and encouraged his troll brother to push Irene off a swing."

"I'm mad, too," Rick was more than mad, but he couldn't let his emotions run wild, "Look, we'll think of something, alright? For now, just make sure she's happy."

That's all they ever wanted.

The drive to Pop's was a lively one, and so was the dinner itself. Though you knew you'd be thinking about Mrs Bedford's words every once in a while, the smiles and laughter of your family were already a welcoming distraction as it is.

Midnight rolled around, and everyone had returned to their rooms with sore cheeks and a full stomach. You were the first to slip under the covers after a shower, hoping you wouldn't be too tired as you waited for Rick, though it didn't work.

By the time Rick got out of the bathroom, you were peacefully asleep, your face just a breath away from your husband's pillow as his scent soothed you like no other.

Rick smiled to himself, changing into his PJs before sitting on your side of the bed. The dip roused you from your slumber just a little.

"Rick?" You murmured, fluttering your lashes tiredly.

"Forgot to get some water," He caressed your cheek before bending down to kiss it, "I'll be back."

You mustered a closed-eye smile and before you knew it, you drifted off once again, lulled by the way he patted your back.

Once the coast was clear, he moved off the bed, silently slipping out and closing the door before heading over to the twins' room. He knocked on the door, just enough for them to hear before doing the same with Irene's door and headed downstairs.

Rick sat down at the dining table with a glass of cold water, arms crossed and lost in his own thoughts before hearing light footsteps approaching.

Richie, Ethan and Irene carefully pulled their chairs back before taking a seat, and just like that, the discussion began.

But it didn't seem like they were getting anywhere and at some point, they just started shit-talking.

"Man, I wish coach would just kick Blake out." Ethan groaned, his head falling back.

"Tell me about it. He's shit at quarterback." Richie clicked his tongue.

"Boys." Rick warned them, partially because his youngest was listening.

"Sorry." They apologized but Irene didn't seem to mind.

"How about…" She chimed in, tapping her finger on her chin, "We scare them?"

"Like…?" Richie cocked his head, hoping she'd say more than just that.

"I don't know, I just thought it'd be cool since it's Halloween and stuff. And, well, maybe we could use our powers, but I know mama and daddy wouldn't want that." She shrugged, pouting because she hadn't thought it far enough.

"It would be a miracle to scare them without using our powers in the first place," Richie sighed, looking over to his father, "What do you think, dad?"

No reply.

"Dad?" Ethan followed suit as the three of them raised their brows.

“How far are you in your shadow puppet practice?” Rick asked out of the blue, staring ahead as though imagining whatever idea he had played out.

“Uh, pretty far, I think? Ma taught us how to merge our shadows into one if we wanted to make a bigger animal.” Richie answered, earning affirmative nods from his siblings.

“How big?”

“Like, this big!” Irene opened her arms wide to let him know just how big of a monster they would be able to make if they wanted to. They haven’t, there was no reason to, but the more their father asked, the more it piqued their interest.

Rick thought it through for a moment. It has been a while since he has seen you make that one particular lifeform, but it was worth a shot. If it were able to render Waller speechless, then it’ll definitely make the Bedfords piss their pants.

No actual attacks, and definitely no killings. But he’ll make sure they shudder at the mere thought of Halloween. Put the fear of God in them. They had it coming, too, stomping on other neighbours’ happiness for years just for the fun of it.

He just had to play it safe.

He slowly broke into a sinister smile.

“You three ever heard of a hellhound?”

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

» a/n: ahh hubby rick <3 ;; gorgeous rose divider by @firefly-graphics ♡

#reve's quirky reverie 🕷#— reve's reverie 🌹#rick flag #rick flag x reader #rick flag x female reader #rick flag x f!reader #rick flag x you #rick flag imagine #rick flag fanfiction #colonel flag #colonel rick flag #colonel rick flag x reader #tss 2021 #tss #joel kinnaman #husband rick #hubby rick

515 notes · View notes

silkscream · 9 months

Text

CHAPTER 1: I'LL BE YOUR PLASTIC TOY

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

Satoru Gojo was a lot of things, but he would never be yours. Sleeping with him in his bed as a child didn’t grant you that kind of closeness anymore. Within these halls, you walk past each other like strangers.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: angst, suggestiveness, making out, light bullying

ੈ✩ wc: 5.5k

ੈ✩ a/n: i am here to ruin everyone's lives. apologies in advance

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

March, 2008

“Hey, Twigs. Wanna see something cool?”

His honeyed voice chills your spine, his breath warm right by your ear. You roll your eyes as you turn to face Satoru, grinning with all his teeth as he tugs at your wrist.

“What is it, Satoru?” you sigh.

“You have to follow meee,” he sings, pulling you away from the table you’re setting and towards the side of the porch. It’s secluded. Private. “Bring the spoon.”

With furrowed brows, you oblige. It isn’t like you have a choice. You had followed him around like a puppy ever since you’d met him as a child. You continue to, regardless of your determination to separate yourself from him.

His favorite shadow. His little pet.

The two of you aren’t as close as you were when you were children, but it’s still impossible to refuse him when he has a request. You blame it on your mother and her professionalism. You figure you had inherited it from her. That hyper-politeness. You find that you blame the ocean blue of his eyes more often. Always sparkling.

He walks a few feet away from you, still grinning. You blink at his tall figure. He's currently dressed in a baby blue dress shirt (sleeves rolled up, of course) and black slacks. His Sunday best for the fancy brunch at the Gojo Estate. Every April, your mother summons you to help set up, then rewards you with a plate and time to play with the other kids. She would continue her work, serving the family and their guests. You would pretend that you weren’t part of the staff.

There hadn’t been a point in you staying for the afternoon in years. Only if Satoru begged you to, and even then, he hadn’t bothered to do so since junior high.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” you huff, crossing your arms. You wipe your sweaty hands on your smock.

“I’d never let you get in trouble, you know that,” he smirks. “Now, throw the spoon at me.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

“I want to throw way more than a spoon at you right now.”

“Relax, Twigs. Do this for me. Please?” he pouts. You can see his bright blue eyes peeking out of his black sunglasses, framed by snow-white lashes. It was unfair how pretty he was. How easily he could persuade you.

Sighing, you throw the spoon in his direction. It stops right in front of his face as if there’s an invisible wall. He laughs in victory when he sees your confused expression.

“What was that?”

“My Infinity. I’ve perfected it so that it’s automatic. Took me a lot of willpower before but now it’s as easy as breathing.”

“Congratulations,” you reply dryly.

It was typical of Satoru to be invincible. Untouchable. It had been a quality of his since birth, now manifested into a literal power to aid him against threats. You’d been on the outskirts of such threats when you were younger, but Satoru would always spare you the details.

Watching him grow in his adolescence had been like watching a sprout bloom. It shot toward the sky exponentially until it became a tree in record time. You, meanwhile, were still a sprout. A window, they’d called it. Able to see the horrors produced by human nature but unable to do anything about it.

Your head snaps up, alert when you hear your mother yelling your name from the porch. She points a hard gaze at you, then softens it when she sees Satoru.

“Satoru-kun, do you mind if I steal her for a minute? I need some extra hands for the tamagoyaki.”

Satoru nods, expressing his courtesy to your mother in his usual charming poise. It used to work on you before, but it often irks you now. The way he dazzles people to get what he wants. You would rather die than admit it was a characteristic of his that you envied.

He tugs at your braid before you walk away.

“See you later, Twigs,” he calls after you. A playful lilt to his voice.

“You won’t.”

Satoru has you memorized. Since the two of you were five years old, he considered you his mirror image, though you never believed him.

Often, when he sees you now, his heart leaps the tiniest bit in his chest the same way it did when he was thirteen. He’s gotten better at ignoring it. He’s perfected the art of ignoring you ever since high school started.

He likes to indulge during times when you’re not looking. At the moment, you’re concentrated on a flower arrangement, a blush painted on your cheeks from the heat. He’d watch you do this when you were kids, too. Your face would be in a concentrated frown, tongue peeking out. Nimble fingers perfecting an ikebana arrangement.

Sometimes he missed it. He decided long ago that it would be better if he didn’t.

You two had been inseparable since the day the Gojos' hired your mother as a maid. He remembered you hiding behind your mother’s legs, chewing on the end of one of your braids. You would stay in the guest house of the Gojo estate with your mother, and you would become Satoru’s best companion.

Both of your mothers would arrange playdates. Satoru’s mother wanted him out of her hair. Your mother wanted to work without your constant interruptions. You were needy, an only child, but Satoru would always please you with his company. It was why you adored him.

He’d show you all his toys and teach you all the games that his extended family would show him to make you feel included. He’d have you sleep in his bed, which would go under the radar until the two of you were fourteen. It would be innocent and wholesome. Satoru would show you the stars he’d learned about and you would look at him as if he’d hung them in the sky himself.

Satoru often reminisces about the shape of your body to this day. Sometimes, he misses it when he’s alone in his king-sized bed in the winter. Even with the heat on, there’s still something missing, and then he thinks of you.

When you were kids, you’d sleep together, legs and arms intertwined. Drool on the same pillow. Wake up to an abundance of pancakes from your mother.

You had been half a friend, half a plaything. Satoru’s counterpart. Feet kicking each other under the breakfast table.

At age five, you’d seen the same curse together. A harmless thing, chameleon-like, with eight legs on each side. It had a nasty face, one that you had recognized from your nightmares. It had been exciting at first, knowing that you shared the same ability as your best friend. You believed that you would grow with him and become as talented as him.

But that was an exaggeration. Satoru's parents knew how isolating it would be for their son to be the strongest. Your technique never came.

Satoru acted as your protector, then. Expelled the small, vicious curses in the corners of your room like they were bugs. You’d watch him train, his body overgrowing with knobby knees as you sat on the sidelines. And while you grew up with him, you only got smaller in his periphery. Always lesser. Always weaker.

It’s the reason you’d grown apart. At least that’s what he tells himself.

Satoru had grown into a tall, arrogant child. He treated school as a hobby and still made the highest marks, which angered you to no end. It didn’t matter to him, anyway, knowing that he’d become a company's CEO or the best jujutsu sorcerer in the world. He had his future in the palm of his hands. You were not a part of that. You weren’t even sure of a future of your own.

Sometimes he would have nightmares of you dying in his arms at the hands of a curse too big for him to control. During adolescence, he experienced many threats to his safety. He knew he couldn't live with himself. He couldn’t bear to see you endure the same.

So, without explanation, Satoru Gojo pretended you didn’t exist. He exchanged the necessary niceties in school and when you'd come over with your mother, though he'd never ask you to stay the same way he had when you were kids. He was often occupied with new friends, anyway. Often busy working on his technique. Nothing that was your business, of course.

You resented him for it.

Now, you’re enduring your last year of high school with him, and you are trying so badly to be good. You should aim to make good enough marks to attend a decent university on a decent scholarship. God knows you aren’t fit for the world of jujutsu sorcery.

In a way, you’re okay with the mundanity of your life. Satoru’s absence in your heart convinced you of that.

Satoru’s attendance at school is only an illusion of normalcy for his parents. His mother insists on it. Barely a sorcerer herself, she had wanted to give her son the option of living a normal life. With his grades and wit, she knew that he could easily be successful as a businessman or a doctor.

Despite this, Satoru knew he would enroll in Tokyo’s Jujutsu Technical College with Suguru. He had met Suguru when he was fifteen, trying to exorcise a curse that only got snatched by a dark-haired thief, one who would end up as his best friend.

Satoru saw Suguru as his only equal. He had no one else to relate to about jujutsu sorcery.

Certainly not you.

But still, he was closing another year of high school, his last. Then he could be free from his parents’ restraints. It was easy for him to be the best and make the most friends. It was a shame that he’d have to leave them all behind.

You’re a ghost in Satoru’s wake. Always near, never faltering yet never consuming too much space. As the school year progresses, he ignores you like a mosquito bite. Harmless but still itching his skin. Always reminded of your presence even when you do nothing to draw attention to yourself.

And then there are times that you do.

“I’m sorry, sensei,” you mumble, stunned in the doorway of the classroom.

It’s a nondescript weekday in May, one that’s wet with rain, which explains your damp hair and clothes. Your appearance conjures a succession of snickers. The sound of low laughter taunting you and whispers gossiping about you.

You’re too tired for it. You don’t want to be here at all.

“I’m disappointed,” your teacher relays. “You’re usually never tardy.”

“It won’t happen again,” you muster.

You hear more whispers. It hangs on your shoulders as you sit in your seat, still and heavy as you attempt to take notes.

Should’ve worn something more sheer, than she’d get the attention she wants, huh?

Nah, not like her tits are even good enough to be seen like that.

Bet she’s hiding something from all of us. Maybe we can get her to strip in the girls’ locker room and give us a show later.

“Shut the fuck up,” a voice growls. You hear it, turning your head, and your eyes fall on Satoru’s fiery blues.

You wonder if the feeling of his gaze searing into the back of your head is worth mentioning. It makes your face hotter, the flush of humiliation warming your neck as your peers snicker at you.

You manage to get through class without crying. Haru, a boy you were closer with in previous years, offers his sweatshirt to you as you collect your things.

“She’s good,” Satoru interrupts as you strip off your damp sweater. Within seconds, he has you under his arm. He ushers you out the classroom door. His oversized jacket drapes over your shoulders.

“Gojo,” you hiss. “He was just being nice.”

“Or he wanted to see you in a wet t-shirt. I don’t think white was the best move for today, by the way.”

Your face heats up when you look down. You realize the extent of skin that’s visible from the sheerness of your damp white shirt. It mortifies you more when you realize that Satoru had caught it first.

“Right. Thanks,” you mumble, hiking up your bookbag tighter on your shoulder.

“So helpless sometimes,” Satoru sighs. He shoots you a devilish smile that combats your scowling frown. “Why don’t you call me by my first name here?”

“Because we’re in school and it’s polite.”

"Twigs, are you scared of being associated with me?"

He blocks the door of your locker, leaning against it and towering over you. Satoru had always taken up as much space as possible without a care in the world. You were the opposite -– always compartmentalizing yourself to be smaller. Malleable. Amicable.

He’s too close for comfort, nearly breathing down your neck. He only moves when you kick him pathetically in the shin.

Satoru’s smile only grows bigger as you ignore him. He wonders if he could get your fuse to blow in front of him right now. This place is usually where you’re composed, regal, and expedient. One of the school’s top students.

He knew you had an edge to you, wild as you were when he had known you as a child. But you had only grown to be responsible and sensible. He thinks that his mother would be relieved if he acted more like you.

“Coming home with me or what?” Satoru quips. The way he says it makes your stomach stir. It's an almost salacious suggestion despite its innocence. Satoru always made everything sound more exciting than it was.

“Why would I?” you raise a brow.

“My mother would like to see you. She told me she had some hand-me-downs for you to try on." You know I’d love nothing more than to see you parade around my house dressed like my mother in the 70s.” He grins in amusement.

“Okay, sure, whatever.”

“Yo, Satoru!”

His head whips around to see one of his buddies, crowded around other jocks. Satoru is quick to leave you without so much as a goodbye.

July, 2008

After your semester, you end up second to Satoru. It’s no surprise to you despite how much it infuriates you. You are never anything more or less.

"Congratulations, Twigs," Satoru murmurs to you. He startles you from your thoughts. You slam your locker closed.

“Why are you still calling me that?”

“Because you’re my Twigs,” he pouts.

Yours. It’s a funny lie. Satoru Gojo was a lot of things, but he would never be yours. Sleeping with him in his bed as a child didn’t grant you that kind of closeness anymore. Within these halls, you walk past each other like strangers.

He pouts childishly like he always does. There’s a devilish spark in his blue eyes underneath his sunglasses, though you can barely make out his irises from his height. Satoru’s growth spurt had him at over six feet tall by the time he was sixteen. It was obvious that he’d only grow taller.

You scoff, rolling your eyes at the nickname. If you were in middle school again, the notion would warm your heart. It had been a stupid nickname he’d tease you with ever since you were both ten. You had been angry at him for reasons that escaped you, climbing up the tree in the backyard of his estate as high as you could until he begged you to come down.

You wouldn’t, of course. You were always stubborn like that, and Satoru loved it.

You were also much clumsier when you were ten, slipping your foot as you attempted to climb a different branch and falling into Satoru’s arms. It had been a miracle you didn’t break any bones, but thanks to Satoru’s freakish strength, you were unharmed. Only disheveled with leaves and twigs stuck in your frizzy hair. He had called you Twigs ever since.

“I’m not your anything. Even if my mother is still your fucking maid.”

“Aren’t you my maid, too? My little servant?” he teases.

You wonder if he knows how cruel it is, even if it’s a little joke.

“I’m nothing to you,” you mumble. You attempt to hold a faster stride on your walk home. Maybe you’d advance enough to leave him in the dust. You could be the best runner on the track team if you managed that.

But you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t leave him, couldn’t. Not a chance.

“What was that?” Satoru calls after you.

“Nothing!”

“Slow down,” he whines, running fast enough to follow your stride, much to your annoyance. Him and his stupid, long legs. His taunting smile. “Don’t you wanna come over?”

“Why would I?”

“Your mom’s probably there. And we can celebrate the end of exams.”

“I have… stuff to do,” you stammer.

“No, you don’t,” Satoru chuckles. “The semester’s over. Summer’s here, baby.”

“Don’t call me that!”

He laughs again, the sound twinkling in your ears like a beloved song. It makes your cheeks warm. You don’t want him to see it.

Yet, he wraps his arms around you, chin nestled to your collarbone as if you were joined together. In a blink, the two of you are in his kitchen, with whiplash only an after-effect. You still hadn’t gotten used to his ability to warp.

“I hate when you do that.”

“You like it, I know you do,” Satoru taunts. “It excites you. I can tell because your cheeks get all flushed.”

“They do not!”

“Sure, they don’t, Twigs.”

“You’re annoying,” you huff, dropping your school bag on a chair.

Satoru greets your mother with a kiss on the cheek as you follow behind him. She has tea prepared in the sitting room for you and him, along with dorayaki and matcha Swiss rolls.

“Your mom’s the fucking best,” he muses as he gobbles down a third roll. You watch him in feigned disgust. Sipping your tea, you mumble something unintelligible in agreement.

“What, you aren’t hungry?”

“No.”

“Try this.”

“I have. She’s my mom.”

“C’mon, Twigs, open up.”

Satoru leans over the table with a Swiss roll between his fingers, waving it in front of your face. There’s no point in protesting -– he’d probably knock something over from his eagerness to annoy you. You part your lips to take a bite, and at the same time, he shoves it into your mouth.

“Satoru!” you groan.

“Stay still.”

You swallow your bite and he wipes his fingertips on the corner of your mouth. He’s close enough to feel your breath on his face, licking up the frosting on his thumb nonchalantly. He chuckles at the flustered look painting your face into a scowl.

“I’m done. I’m going to do the dishes.”

You excuse yourself to retreat to the kitchen before you can so much as make eye contact with Satoru again. He has to be teasing you with his small touches. It’s something he would’ve done when you were twelve, yet the notion now would be different.

The two of you were in completely different social spheres. He had separated himself from you years prior. It would be a rare sight for him to be so touchy with you in public, acting as if you were like him.

Someone who had a big kitchen. Someone who didn’t have to think about expenses.

It’s a miracle that he leaves you alone as you clean the kitchen, washing dishes to keep your mind occupied. After you’re done, you decide to cut up a bowl of strawberries. You knew they were Satoru’s favorite. Knowing him, he’d still crave something sweet after demolishing all the desserts.

You nick yourself. A careless act — you aren’t paying attention, mistaking the sharp side of the knife for the dull one. It slices the inside of your thumb. Cursing under your breath, you hover your hand over the wound. You heal it within milliseconds without so much as a second thought.

This is when Satoru kicks at something. The wall or a potted plant, you don’t know. But it’s a plea for attention and it brings your focus to him, your head snapping up to meet his gaze and his childish pout.

“I saw that,” he says, lowly.

You freeze under his scrutiny. You don’t say anything.

“So you’ve been lying to me.” It’s a seething accusation instead of a question.

He gets so close to you without you even noticing. He towers over you again, swallowed by the whole of his shadow, and his betrayed frown is petulant like a child’s.

“Satoru—”

“You said you didn’t have a cursed technique.”

“I—I didn’t. Not until later—”

“When?”

Your eyes are wide as you look up at him, hands trembling. He takes a step forward, taking up more space. It reminds you of your worth. The mere fact of him belittles you in that way.

“When I was thirteen. My kitten, Aki. The stray. You remember him, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“He got hit by a car one day, and I couldn’t stop sobbing. And I was holding him in my hands all bloody. And then, I brought him back to life. It just happened.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You search Satoru’s face. There’s a bit of betrayal in it, mostly surprise. It boils your blood in the slightest bit — because why is it so shocking that you ended up with a cursed technique? You may have hidden it from him for a few years, but was it something so unimagined for you?

You assumed that you would always be a plaything in Satoru’s eyes. Something so easy, so useless.

“It wasn’t enough,” you exasperate.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It doesn’t matter. None of it does, Satoru. It’s so—”

Insignificant. Small compared to you.

He waits, swallowing the lump in his throat. Eyes flaring like comets.

“It doesn’t matter,” you repeat. “I don’t even want to be a sorcerer, and even if I wanted to be, I could never keep up with you. I don’t see the point in pursuing this if I’m better off just studying at a normal university—”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Your technique is amazing. It’s like Shoko’s! You could’ve —”

“Satoru,” you emphasize. Your tone shuts him up, your hardened gaze, the lightning in your eyes bright and sharp. Menacing, even. You can sense the sound of him swallowing, a lump lodged in his throat loud enough for you to hear.

White lashes flutter. A frown is still displayed on his face. It’s now that he notices the slight bags under your eyes. Evidence of burden, of nights spent awake under the unforgiving moonlight.

You look at him in a way that feels damning — like you’re coaxing something from him. He knows better — knows that his anger is misplaced, that you’re right.

You having a healing technique is nothing compared to him. Even then, he knows that you probably aren’t interested in combat or the world of jujutsu sorcery in general. It doesn’t affect him so negatively. So what is he so angry about?

The question is in your eyes, pleading. He already knows the answer despite not admitting it to himself. He knows that the prospect of you having a cursed technique doesn’t mean you’re stronger than him. He assumes you wouldn’t surpass him, and wouldn’t think you to be someone who would even think about it.

Satoru knows he’s angry because he feels very close to you. He had at least thought he was close enough with you to know about your cursed technique. It was finding out that you were hiding it from him that made him angry. Learning that you had it manifest in front of you and didn’t bother to fucking tell him about it.

He can’t voice any of these frustrations. He knows you’d yell at him, and criticize him for thinking he’s entitled to you. It’s inappropriate and unfair, but in his younger years, he often felt that he was entitled to you. He’d known you since you were so very little, so vulnerable. He had protected you from all those curses, hadn’t he? He held you in his arms in his bed for years. That had to have meant something to you. It certainly meant something to him.

“Sorry. I just wish you told me earlier,” he says softly.

You apologize. Meek beneath him, eyes avoiding him.

“I know,” you sigh. “I have to go. I’ll see you later, Satoru.”

You don’t see him for a week and a half. It should be typical to you. It’s not like him to reach out or go out of his way to see you. He’d always been like that, giving you no expectations. And yet, his radio silence had crawled under your skin.

It’s stupid to expect him, anyway. There’s no reason for him to show up at yours, much more of a reason for you to show up at his, but you don’t need to. Your mother does that for her job and it has nothing to do with you.

There’s a Tuesday that’s so quiet, so plain that even the rain falters after two hours to only grant the town wet pavement. You’re curled up with a book in your living room when you hear a succession of knocks on your door. An erratic rhythm, the same as the special knock you would use with Satoru.

It’s him, of course. He smirks at you, an oversized t-shirt loose off of his lanky figure. You try not to fixate on the sweat of his exposed collarbone. You look him straight in the eyes through his pitch-black sunglasses.

He has a large bouquet in his hands. He grins at you. For the first time in a little while, you feel brave.

“Confessing your love to me this afternoon, are you?” you pester, a brow raised.

Something like that, Satoru thinks.

“You wish.”

He walks past you, brushing your shoulders much to your annoyance. He sets the bouquet on your kitchen table in its little jar, peonies drooping despite how hard he tries to fix them.

“It’s from my mom to yours. As a thank you and a birthday wish and stuff.”

“Thanks,” you murmur. “That’s very sweet of her.”

He hums in agreement, rocking his heels back and forth as his eyes roam your house. It isn’t his first time here, but he acts the part, hands buried in his pockets as he observes you like a wild animal.

“Will that be all?”

“Dunno,” Satoru shrugs. “What were you up to before I showed up?”

You shrug, too, attempting to mirror his nonchalance. You had long ago buried your paperback in a drawer, promising to return to it by the time Satoru left. But still, he lingers, in front of you, taking up unnecessary space in your childhood home. Too tall and too pretty.

“Just cleaning my room,” you lie.

“Can I see it?”

“Why?”

“Been a while,” he shrugs. “I’m just curious.”

“Well, it’s a mess right now. I didn’t get very far.”

“Like I care,” Satoru chuckles.

He stares at you for a bit, heartbeats passing the time in your head. Fuck, he’s serious. He’s already leaning towards the staircase.

“Okay.”

You’re hyper-aware of him behind you, eyes exploring the length of your body. If you had known that he would show up unannounced, you would’ve changed into one of your long dresses or a pair of jeans. At the moment, you feel too bare in your tank top and corduroy shorts. You feel like a child outgrown.

Satoru takes up as much space as usual, long limbs splayed over your tiny twin bed. You don’t permit him to sit on your bed, but he does it anyway. He looks at the pictures on your wall, takes in the sweet smell of your sheets. It’s similar to your clothes, your flesh. Your hair. He’d live in it if he could.

“How cute.” He gestures to a cat plushie by the head of your bed.

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not!” Satoru laughs. “It is cute. It’s so you.”

A certain fervor blossoms in your gut at that. The image of him stretched out on your little bed. Despite your closeness with him when you were younger, he had never spent much time at your house. It took you a few years to understand why.

“You should invite me over more often.”

“I don’t invite you over ever.”

“Well, you could start.”

“Why?” You stand by the wall, shifting your weight towards it as you lean backward. You cross your arms in defense, even though he hasn’t said anything to provoke you yet.

“It’s comfy here. I like it.”

“Thanks?”

He sings your name, beckoning you to him. You take three steps at most, holding your breath. Standing in front of his knees.

“Come sit, Twigs.”

“Told you not to call me that,” you breathe.

“Don’t care,” he grins.

He reaches out to you, pulling you between his knees with a hand on your waist. He smirks at the sound of your gasp as he tugs at your wrist.

“In my lap. C’mere.”

It’s difficult to refuse Satoru Gojo. His eyes drink you in, ocean blues glimmering and reflecting the afternoon sunlight. You’re still between his thighs. He tugs you without much effort, making you stumble into him. Your hands hold onto his shoulders as you settle into his lap. He holds the small of your back as you straddle him.

“Wanna try something.”

You say nothing. Your eyes flutter closed when you feel his fingertips grazing your jaw.

There’s a softness against your mouth. You don’t dare open your eyes.

You sense a sharp inhale behind the lips that kiss you, but they stay. Wetting between your mouth with the slight of a tongue. Tasting sweet like honeysuckle.

You whine, opening your mouth a bit more. You swallow down divinity. It's misguided affection that you had wished for when you were so much smaller. It might mean something bigger to you now if you thought about it for longer. You don’t want to. You refuse to.

But Satoru kisses you hard, excited and eager. His tongue peeks into your mouth and you taste strawberries. Lips soft and supple and melting against yours.

He groans, fisting your hair in his hand as he deepens the kiss, falling more and more into you. He smiles against your mouth as he coaxes a small sound out of you. It crawls out of your throat for him to taste with satisfaction. He’s always dreamed of you in his lap, but he could never tell you that.

You’re breathless, weak, and melting into him as he wraps his arms around you. Caging you in so that you can’t escape. So fucking warm in his embrace.

It takes a second for you to notice the hardness growing underneath you. It prods your center as you mindlessly grind into Satoru’s lap. When you realize, you squeak in embarrassment, and he clutches you harder.

You sigh into each other, eating the other up. Heat surges through you, from your forehead down to your core, to your weak, sensitive legs. Hot from the feeling of him in your mouth. Hot from the proximity of your core to his.

You pull away, exhaling unevenly as you try to catch your breath. You’re shy under his gaze, unwrapping yourself and covering your body as if you’re naked.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re so cute,” he chuckles. “Acting like that was your first kiss.”

“What if it was?”

He raises a brow as you look away with flushed cheeks. You’re still on his lap and he takes the opportunity to remind you of this, shifting you in his lap and causing friction. Your eyes are wide as you quickly attempt to untangle your limbs with his.

“That was your first kiss?”

“Yeah.”

You roll your eyes at the sight of his leering smile. God, you knew this would happen. Satoru would never let you live it down.

“I’m going to kick you out—”

“No.”

He grasps your wrist in his hand. It’s small compared to his palm, engulfing you. His other hand grips your hip firmly but softly. He only moves it to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin.

“How was it? Tell me.”

“Good,” you breathe. “Felt good.”

For the first time in a long time, he looks at you like you have invented something new. There’s a bit of astonishment. Wonder and admiration. Maybe you were getting ahead of yourself. You were easily deluding yourself with the expression of his sapphire blue eyes.

“Felt good for me, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why did you do that?” you ask, giggling nervously.

“Just wanted to.”

“I want you to kiss me again,” you whisper.

“I want to do more than that,” Satoru mumbles. But he knows better. It’s the best decision for him to get you off his lap right now before he loses composure.

You both hear the sound of your front door opening as if it’s timed -- your mother.

“I’ll kiss you later, okay?” Satoru murmurs.

“You will?”

“My parents will be gone this weekend. To Okinawa. You should come over on Saturday.”

“Okay. I will.”

#gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #juijutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you

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cosmerelists · 5 months

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The Other Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse But Make It Cosmere

As requested by @round-hatches-are-terrifying. :)

In the Good Omens novel, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (War, Famine, Pollution, and Death), who are bikers, are followed by four other biker dudes who chose their own names to be, uh, equally ominous:

Grievous Bodily Harm, Cruelty to Animals, Really Cool People, and Treading In Dogshit (formerly All Foreigners Especially The French, formerly Things Not Working Properly Even After You’ve Given Them A Good Thumping, never actually No Alcohol Lager, briefly Embarrassing Personal Problems, and finally People Covered in Fish)

So let's say we had other Horsemen on various Cosmere planets. What would they be named?

1. Roshar (Stormlight Archive)

The Main Horsemen: War, Famine, Desolation, and Death

The Other Horsemen: Man-Eating Giant Crabs, Running Out Of Stormlight Right In The Middle of the Weeping, Ill-Conceived Boons, and Reified Gender Norms (formerly Men Reading, formerly Predicting the Future But Not Like Storm Wardens Do Because That's Just Math Basically, briefly just Predicting the Future)

2. Scadrial (Era 1) (Mistborn)

The Main Horsemen: Famine, Pestilence, Ash, and Death

The Other Horsemen: Child Abuse, Dangerous Piercings, Trying to Keep Literally Anything Clean, and Getting Hit in The Head With A Coin Like Every Night Because of Those Blasted Mistborn Flying About Everywhere

3. Scadrial (Era 2) (Mistborn)

The Main Horsemen: War, Famine, Pestilence, and Death

The Other Horsemen: Social Unrest, Rich Bastards, ACAB, and Getting Hit in The Head With A Coin Like Every Night Because of Those Blasted Coinshots Flying About Everywhere

4. Nalthis (Warbreaker)

The Main Horsemen: War, Famine, Death, and Second Death

The Other Horsemen: Undead Squirrel Attacks, Being Out of Breath, The Haunting Realization that the Gods Who Live Among Us Are Actually Pretty Daft, and All Foreigners But Especially the Idrians

5. Threnody (Shadows for Silence)

The Main Horsemen: Fire, Blood, Running, and Death

The Other Horsemen: Fortfolk-Acting-Too-Big-For-Their-Britches, Withering-That-Does-Not-Kill-You-But-Does-Make-Life-Just-That-Much-Harder-Forever, Ghost-Grandmother, and Adonalsium-May-Remember-Our-Plight-Eventually-But-For-Now-It-Is-Pretty-Bleak-Out-Here-Guys

6. Komashi (Yumi and the Nightmare Painter)

The Main Horsemen: Nightmares, Famine, Pestilence, and Death

The Other Horsemen: Artist's Block, Being Straight on a Planet Where Even the Lighting is Bisexual, AI Art, and A Stiff Breeze Coming At Exactly The Wrong Time Noooo My Rock Stacks

7. First of the Sun (Sixth of Dusk)

The Main Horsemen: Bad Death, Worst Death, Quick Death, and Slow Death

The Other Horsemen: Mainlanders, Mainlander Capitalism, Kids These Days, and Suspicious Invaders (?) From Outer Space

8. Sel (Elantris)

The Main Horsemen: War, Famine, the Shaod, and Death

The Other Horsemen: Aggressive Proselytizers, Stubbing your Toe, People Who Do Not Accept The Word of Shu-Dereth And So Seal For Themselves Their Own Inevitable Doom, and I'm With The First Guy Who Said Proselytizers (formerly People Covered in Slime)

#cosmere #cosmerelists #Stormlight Archive #Mistborn #Warbreaker #Elantris #Yumi and the Nightmare Painter #Sixth of Dusk #Shadows for Silence

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yarmiko-art · 2 months

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Watch out, kids, there's a man eating butterfly over there--!

Really wanted to make something like this with them for a while. I care for them so much. Wholeheartedly believe that those kids have a really deep bond

There's a lil tidbit down the post with me trying to do the character study on Gooey.

"I can't do it right," Gooey mutters quietly with clear sadness in their voice, looking at the crumpled wad of paper under their fingers. Whatever this thing was, it definitely wasn't a paper plane he worked so hard on for the ten minutes, sticking out his tongue with diligence.

The boy raises his head up, looking at a white speck among the green leaves. Kirby's planes flew easily and far without effort. One of them soared so high up that it got stuck in the crown of a tree, which stretched a huge pleasant shadow above them. A pretty orange butterfly perched itself on a white wing. Even it likes Kirby's plane better.

Kirby's paper frogs were better, too. They jumped on the grass as if they were alive - the boys just needed to lightly poke their flattened heads. Origami cranes gracefully positioned themselves in the shade with their wings spread out. Waiting for the wind to pick them up in the air. The doves were made of regular, even lines.

And Gooey couldn't even make a simple paper plane. Maybe the wings were too short to allow them to fly forward rather than fall, driven down by the force of the impact. Or maybe he was making too many bends on the sheet, constantly forgetting which corners to bend inwards. But it suppose to be so easy. Kirby made it look so easy.

Gooey looks at their hands in disappointment. Palm. Five splayed child fingers with a couple of scratches from carelessness. No different from a human one. Gooey grabs Kirby's wrist and puts his palm against his own, carefully comparing them. Frustrated eyes run from one hand to the other. Kirby doesn't mind. His free hand ruffles the blue dreadlocks on other's head in a soothing manner.

"Don't be upset. I didn't do it right the first time either."

Gooey unclenches the fingers, closing his eyes. He wouldn't be so upset about the first time. But this was the third one! Something was clearly wrong! He obviously did something wrong while morphing these hands—Huh?

The look of big dark eyes attracts something new. Kirby takes out a new sheet from the pile of paper pinned down by the picnic basket. He smoothes it out on the grass and lures Gooey closer.

"Fold it in half first," the boy draws an imaginary fold line across the sheet before Gooey hesitantly follows the instructions, "Neat! And now one more time. And then open it."

Fold the corners to the inside. Fold up the bottom. Corners again... Following Kirby's words was much easier than frantically trying to remember the next step in fear of ruining the sheet. Turn it on its side and in half again. Huh, Gooey doesn't remember such a step in the plane making. Although, maybe that's why they didn't couldn't do it right.

The sheet goes tightly under the fingers, bending unevenly. "It won't fly this time either," the boy tells himself, but completes the last instruction - pull the corners to the sides. He expects the paper to tear, but instead the origami in his hands opens up in--

"A boat?" Gooey blinks a little puzzled, and Kirby tugs at his elbow in the direction of the pond. The water was right next to them, splashing the knees, covered with herbal juice Two hands sink into the cool pool, allowing the boat to gently stand on the shiny surface. Gooey leans forward, hanging over the pond at a dangerous angle, about to fall into the water. But the boat is not sinking. Kirby takes a deep breath and blows - the light paper gives in, and moves forward, leaving a small ripple on the blue surface.

Gooey blinks again and their face breaks into a happy smile. It's strange, he can't remember what he was so upset about.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a reflection in the pond below him. Two little children - one in a white overalls, and the other in a blue robe. He raises his hand and the child from the pond waves back at him. Palm. Five children's fingers. Quite human.

#I love Gooey with all my heart but I have this crippling fear that I'm infantilizing him in the writing.#Since lil fella is Dark Matter and I hc them all as shapeshifters--#I'll need to make another post for that #A lil heads up for the text piece - Gooey and Kirby both pretty agender in my mind so they go with any pronoun really #Kirby fanart #Kirby series #Kirby gijinka #Kirby Gooey #Gooey Gijinka #Kirby #Gooey #YarArt

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pink-bandana-writes · 1 year

Text

Glimpse of Us

Raphael x Reader

Summary: While closing at work, a group of familiar faces appears behind the dumpster: younger, alternate versions of your boyfriend and his brothers.

Note: Super, super excited for Mutant Mayhem in August and every time I see one of those trailers, all I can think about is how fatherly the Bayverse boys would be towards them, so have this. I’ve been wanting to write some soft Raphael.

Warnings: Swears, alludes to sex, talks about having kids

Word Count: 2.5k

Reader is: 23, half-alien, feminine

It was shaping up to be a slow night at work. You laughed, reading over the last text Raphael had sent you. He always texted you back and forth when it was slow in an attempt to keep you occupied. It worked most of the time.

You were closing. It was just after midnight. You didn’t have much left to do, just to wipe down some of the counters, count the registers, and take out the trash. Seeing as the trash was pretty full, you elected to do that first, taking the bags out of the trash cans and tying them up real tight before hauling them out the back door and into the little area by the dumpsters, the empty parking lot just beyond it.

You chucked the trash bags in one by one and turned back towards the back door when you heard something rustling behind the dumpsters. Something big.

“Raph?” You whispered, looking into the shadows. The rustling stopped.

“Dude, how does she know your name?”

“How does she know my name?” A voice whispered. A young-sounding voice.

“Guys?” You asked. “It’s okay, you can come out.”

“Splinter will kill us if we expose ourselves to a human! We can’t just go out there!” Said a squeaky voice.

“But how does she know Raph’s name?”

“Either you come out or I’ll turn on my flashlight. Listen, I promise, I…you can trust me.”

They argued amongst themselves for a while longer and then, slowly, Raph stepped into the light, both of his hands forward. But this wasn’t your Raph. No, this Raph was much smaller than your Raph, much younger and…scared of you.

“Oh shit.”

“See, I told you this was a bad idea!” Another voice chimed. Leo, no doubt, confirmed when he too stepped out of the shadows.

“Oh my GOD.” You stared at them. “H-how did you get here? You know what, nevermind. You’ve gotta stay out of sight. Um…” You thought for a moment, spotting your car out in the parking lot. “These are my keys. Where’s Donnie?”

“How does she know your name?” Mikey asked.

“Dude, how would I know?” The high-pitch voice asked again as Donnie and Mikey emerged next.

You tossed Donnie your keys. “That’s my car. Go in there and stay in there. Lock the doors and don’t unlock them for anyone but me. Stay out of sight. I have to lock up real quick and then I’ll be right out, okay?”

“Why should we trust you?” little Leo asked, wavering as he did.

“I’ll explain everything when I get back.” You met his eyes and then Raph’s. “I promise.”

Leo hesitated for a long moment before nodding, leading the others to your car and scurrying inside.

You went back in, counting the registers, wiping the counters, and locking everything up at record speed. You logged into the computer and hesitated, but went into the security footage, wiping those ten minutes from the record, and then walked out to your car, knocking on the window.

The door unlocked and you hopped in, locking the doors behind you again. You looked down at the back seats, where all four boys were crouched down out of sight of the windows.

“You can pull those little curtains down.” You told them, pointing to the rolling curtains Donnie had mounted for you in case any of your boys needed to lay low for a bit.

“Oh. Cool.” Little Mikey moved first, pulling down the one on the window closest to him and the others did the same.

“I’m gonna pull the car over where the cameras don’t reach, alright? And then I’m gonna make a call.”

Donnie handed you the keys and you did what you promised, pulling the car into the overpass of the mall you worked at, beneath the theater. It was darker there and, like you’d said, the cameras didn’t work.

You put the car in park, sighed, and then fished your phone out of your purse, pressing Leo’s contact before holding it up to your ear.

“Hey, (Y/N)! Everything alright?”

“Yeah, kinda. Um, can you guys come here? Like now? The usual spot in the underpass. And bring the big truck, the van doesn’t have enough seats.”

“Wanna clue me in on what’s going on?” He asked.

You glanced back at the four little versions of your boyfriend and his brothers sitting in your back seats. “Uhhhh, I think it’s just gonna be easier for you to see when you get here. I’m not in any imminent danger.”

“Roger that. We’ll be there in ten.”

“See ya.” You hung up, looking back at the boys. “There are snacks behind the passenger seat. Help yourselves to whatever.”

“Was that the police?” little Leo asked.

“No! No. No it wasn’t.” You chuckled, shaking your head. Ironic.

Ten minutes later on the dot, the infamous Tartaruga Brothers truck rolled up, parking next to your car. You exhaled a sigh of relief.

“Alright, they’re here. You can put the shades down.”

“Tartaruga Brothers?” Raph read.

“That means…turtle in Italian.” Donnie noted.

You nodded and opened the door getting out of the car. Raph was the first one out, looking you over for any signs of injury. He searched your eyes.

“You alright, shorty?”

“I’m fine. Good, actually.” You nodded, looking up at him.

“What’s goin’ on?”

“Yeah, what is going on?” Leo asked, coming out after his brother, Mikey and Donnie not far behind.

“Something weird.” You replied, motioning for their smaller counterparts to exit your vehicle. They did, one by one, filing out of your car and looking up, up, up at your boyfriend and his brothers.

“Woahhhhh,” little Raph murmured, staring up at your Raph. “You’re…”

“Me.” Your Raph whispered, looking down at him. He looked at you, too, eyes wide.

“When…” Donnie asked, the words dying in his throat.

“Like thirty minutes ago. I erased the camera footage.”

“Thank you.” Leo said, nodding.

“No problem.”

“Wait, so you’re…You know us? You’re…” little Leo looked between you and Raph, eyes wide.

“She’s cool, guys, I promise.” Mikey grinned. “Now, get in the truck. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

“(Y/N) and I will follow. We’ll meet you in the Lair.” Raph said, making eye contact with Leo, who nodded his approval.

“Oh my god, you guys have a lair too?” little Donnie asked, eyes lighting up as he followed his older counterpart into the truck.

“I’ll order pizza!” Mikey volunteered, sending all the younger boys into cheers.

Little Raph hesitated, looking between you and your Raph before getting dragged into the truck by Leo.

You hopped into your car, Raph getting in the back seat and putting the curtains back down. You turned the car back on and started driving down the backroads.

“Thanks for bein’ so cool about this. Keepin’ ‘em calm and stuff.” Raph said, making eye contact with you in the rearview mirror. “You drop the alien bomb on ‘em yet?”

“You think they’d be that calm if I did?” You chuckled.

He smirked. “Fair point.”

“So Donnie was right about the multiverse stuff, then.”

“Guess so. They say much about how they got here?”

“No. Little Leo thought I was gonna call the cops on them.” You told him, earning a laugh.

“Typical.” He paused.

“It’s weird. They’re like you guys, but they’re so young.”

“We were once.” Raph said.

“Don’t remind me.” You chuckled. You’d met Raph six years before when both of you were seventeen, shortly after he and his brothers had saved the world for the second time. Even now, it seemed lifetimes ago that you were that naïve.

You pulled into your designated parking spot next to the truck and the heavy garage door slid down behind it, closing you in. You and Raph walked out into the living room, where the others were all congregated, a very confused Splinter listening to Leo and Donnie as they talked to him. They perked up when you walked in.

“Ah, (Y/N), there you are. Come, sit.” Splinter invited you.

Mikey took it upon himself to entertain the younger set of brothers while the rest of you spoke with Splinter in one of the alcoves. Raph’s thick arm settled around your shoulders, your curled legs resting against his thigh.

You explained to him exactly what had happened. You’d found them behind the dumpsters, earned their trust, erased the footage, and got them to the Lair. The rest, you had no clue about. How they’d gotten there, where they were from, how Donnie was going to get them back home…

“Thank you.” Splinter said, his paw resting against your hand for a moment. “For taking care of them.”

“Of course, Splinter.” You nodded.

“I’ll start running diagnostics.” Donnie volunteered, walking over towards his lab.

“I’ll ask Little Leo what he remembers.” Leo said, nodding before heading off to where the boys were playing video games with Mikey.

That left you and Raph in the alcove, his arm tugging you closer. Before he made a move, his eyes settled on Little Raph, making his way over. He looked…shyer than your Raph, you decided.

“Can I talk to you guys for a sec?” He asked.

“Sure. What’s on yer mind?” Raph leaned back against the couch, eyeing his double in amusement.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.” Raph replied. “I’m a few months older than her.”

“Oh. Cool. How’d you two meet?”

“Long story.” You chuckled.

“Little more original than Tinder.” Raph quipped. “Found her at a meteor crash site. Thought it was Kraang tech.”

“What’s a Kraang?” Little Raph asked.

“I’m sure you’ll meet him later.”

“And she’s…you’re…you’re cool with him being…like this?” Little Raph asked, shattering your heart into a million pieces.

“Yeah, of course I am, hon.” You told him, your voice sincere. “More than cool, I would say. And uh, I’m not exactly normal myself.”

“What are you, an alien?” Little Raph quipped. His eyes widened when you and Raph looked at each other.

“Half. On my mother’s side.” You shrugged. “I know I don’t look it, though.”

“Wait, you’re serious.”

“She is.” Raph nodded. He glanced over at you, grinning. “I’m kinda into it, though.”

You elbowed him. “You better be, at this point.”

“Raph! Pizza’s here!” Both of the Mikeys called out in sync, looking at each other with wide eyes and then high-fiving, buzzing about twin telepathy or something.

“Pizza.” Raph motioned towards the other room, standing up and helping you to your feet, Little Raph going ahead of the two of you. The way Raph looked at him…a glimmer in his green, green eyes you’d never seen before.

***

The little turtles were staying the night and into the foreseeable future, crashing on the couches in the living room. You decided to stay too, since it was like four in the morning. Raph undressed and got into bed with you, just in his sweatpants. All of his gear on the floor, bandana dangling from the bedpost.

He crawled on top of you, head resting on your chest. You gently scratched his shell, causing him to churr softly, nuzzling further into you, a peaceful expression taking over his face. You loved when he got like this, all comfortable and blissed out. The expression faded, though and he tilted his head to look up to you.

“Hey, uh, can we talk about something? Something kinda…serious, I guess.”

“Yeah, of course.” You nodded.

He got off of you and laid on his side so he could look at you while he spoke. You took one of his hands, kissing it softly.

“What’s going on, big guy?”

“I just, uh…I don’t know, him bein’ here today…All of ‘em, really…Got me thinking about stuff.”

“Thinking about what?”

“Kids.” He replied, inhaling when the word came out of his mouth, almost like he wasn’t expecting it.

“Oh.”

“He…He just…He reminds me of…like our son, I guess. What I think our son would turn out like. And I…I ain’t ever realized I wanted that before. And…and the way you handled ‘em, keepin’ em safe, gettin’ em here…” He sighed, a tentative smile looming on his handsome features. “I want that with you. And it scares me, but…I don’t know, maybe I’m bein’ silly.”

“You’re not being silly.” You told him.

“And I know that any…any kid we brought into this world would never…never get ta be normal and I…I don’t even know if it’s possible or if you want that too, or…Please say somethin’, baby.”

“If it is scientifically possible for us then, yeah. Yeah I absolutely want that someday, Raph.” You reassured him, a hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “I want that with you.”

He exhaled, grinning, tears welling in his eyes. “Ya mean it?”

“I’ve never meant anything more.” You promised him, kissing his snout before he rolled on top of you again, peppering a million kisses to your cheek and neck, causing you to giggle.

He shushed you. “Gotta keep quiet, baby, remember? Our kid’s sleepin’ in the other room.”

“Right. Forgot.” You rolled your eyes, settling down again as he snuggled into you.

“Ya know I love ya, right?”

“I might have picked up on that, yeah.”

“Night.”

“Goodnight, Red. I love you, too.”

***

It was later the following afternoon Donnie and Donnie Jr. cracked interdimensional travel and opened a portal to the younger boys’ lair.

“You guys stay safe, alright? Stay out of trouble.” Leo advised.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Mikey chuckled.

“Well that just leaves their options wide open, doesn’t it?” Raph chuckled, giving Mikey’s head a shove.

“Thank you guys. All of you.” Little Leo said, looking around the room. He made eye contact with you. “And I’m sorry for not trusting you.”

“You don’t have to be sorry for that. This one didn’t trust me either when we met.” You elbowed your Leo, earning a friendly chuckle from him.

“Hey, I came around.”

“Yeah, two months later.” Donnie quipped, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Was it really two whole months?” Leo asked in disbelief.

“I knew she was alright. I’m a good judge of character.” Mikey bragged.

“You would take candy from a man in a van.” Raph joked, earning laughs from the other guys.

“Name one time that’s happened, Raph!” Mikey huffed.

The bickering went on for a while longer before the boys finally decided it was time to leave.

“Hey Raph, can we talk for a sec?” Your Raph asked, motioning his younger self over to the side.

The two of them spoke for a bit, you couldn’t hear about what, and then, out of nowhere, Little Raph hugged Big Raph before following his brothers through the portal. It closed shortly after, leaving the five of you standing there in shock for a while.

“What was that about?” You asked.

“Had to give him some pointers. How else is he supposed to find ya? Well, his you, if there is one.”

“Raph, I promise you, in every reality, there’s a you and a me that falls in love.”

“You’re a sap.” He chuckled.

“You’re into it.” He pressed a long kiss to your lips, grinning. “Guilty as charged.”

Tags: @thelaundrybitch, @turtle-babe83, @dilucsflame33, @happymoonangel, @scholastic-dragon, @manduse, @towomatos, @sketchy-loo6195, @rae-iin, @leleouwu

#tmnt aged up #tmnt imagine #tmnt #bayverse #raph x reader #raph #raphael #raphael x reader #tmntagedup #tmnt imagines

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im-totally-not-an-alien-2 · 2 years

Text

"Do you require assistance?" Phantom perked up at the mans voice. Red Robin was the guy multiple ghosts had recommended to him even though he was still alive. Okay, so they kinda did it in a half joking manner, but Phantom was desperate!

The nine year old came out from the shadows and could immediately feel the man in front of him cataloging everything about his appearance. Wierd. But he had dealt with Weirder. Besides, he was glowing, so he guessed the human had a right to be curious. "I heard you were really good with machines."

Red Robin looked somewhat tense, like he was ready to fight if need be. Why does everyone wanna fight him? He's nine!

Phantom quickly brought out a little silver sphere with an OwO face from his bag and quickly began speaking, "This is my friend Livvi, she started acting wierd a while back and I haven't been able to fix her."

To his credit, Red didn't attack him. He just looked gobsmacked. "You came out to Gotham, in the middle of the night and tracked down a vigilante to ask for tech support?"

"Livvi is different!" He fumed, "She's my friend!"

A sigh escaped from the mans lips and Phantom looked up to see him pinching the bridge of his nose, "Okay, you're probably not going to go away until I fix her. Just promise me you'll try to be safer."

Phantom hummed as if contemplating, "I'll try."

With that, the vigilante took Livvi from him and began working on her from the blanket Phantom had laid out. Red Robin began to look more and more curious about Livvi as he worked on her. He even took out one of Livvis ectoplasm powerbanks to examine it more thoroughly. "Can you explain to me what problems she's been having?"

The kid bit his lower lip, clearly worried about the little robot, "Shes having trouble maintaining flight and producing shields. Her speech sometimes comes out glitch or warped despite me not finding anything wrong with her voice box or programming. A few times she's just turned off mid flight and dropped."

The man looked thoughtful for a few seconds before asking, "Have you ever heard of the Lazarus Pit?"

"I've heard of Lazarus, but I don't know what it is. I've only ever heard of it in passing. Why?" The ghost was genuinely confused by the change in topic

"Can I text a friend about this?"

"I don't see why not. The more help Livvi gets the faster she'll get better right?" The bird wasted no time activating his coms and whispering into it telling some unknown people about "an unknown glowing meta child with futuristic tech that runs on Lazarus water"

Within the next ten minutes a guy dressed as a bat landed on the rooftop alongside a boy around his age dressed like a trafic light and scowling as if he had just been told that he was grounded from ever having ice cream again. The big goth dude introduced himself as batman and offered him a lollipop. "I'm not supposed to take candy from strangers." Phantom said seriously, "Unless its Halloween."

Batman...well he didn't smile exactly but he didn't seem angry. "Do you know where you're parents are?"

"No. But thats okay. They don't like me."

Batman maintained a cool pokerface, "why don't they like you?"

"I don't remember. I think I knew when I was older-"

"Older?" The other boy interrupted, "Is this not your true age?"

Phantom pouted at him, any hopes he had of making a friend he didn't construct himself were flung out the window, "Yeah, but I don't remember it. Appearently I ate a time god and lost six-ish years from absorbing his powers."

There was a beat silence, then: "You ate a time god?!" Red Robin looked horrifed

"In my defense, I have no memory of what was happening at the time. All I know is that the place i used to live is in ruins and I'm dead."

#fanfiction prompts #prompts #dp x dc #batpham #danny phantom #danny fenton #batman #robin #damian wayne #tim drake #red robin #bruce wayne #danny literally made a friend huh #damian is mad he had to cut patrol short to deal with this #long post #danny ate clockwork and gained his powers #why?#you decide #i like the theory that clockwork was evil this whole time and danny would never escape clockwork #unless he ate or absorbed him cause if he didnt than clocky would just respawn after a bit #so munch munch #bruce: hes glowing but i still must adopt #danny: you realize im dead right?#batman and his birds: wat #danny: im from an elderich undead horror dimension owo #dannys old rouges saw him as a kid and thought they could beat him up while hes small and weak #only to find out little baby danny does not have morals exe properly installed #they got shredded #tw: cannibalism #tw: murder

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answer2jeff · 8 months

Text

fixer-upper. // lip gallagher

lip x biker-girl!OC

warnings : public sex, oral (m!receiving), praise kink, light to rough hair-pulling, unestablished relationship, intense and obvious flirting, porn with plot and detail, mentions of smoking (tobacco), cursing, OC is just as full of herself as Lip, knows she's a bitch, kinda has a weird sense of possessiveness over him?? clunky and overly detailed writing with a journaling/diary style.

authors note : trying something a little different! using the first person POV with an original character. first time writing this way—still getting the hang of it <3 this is REALLY long...sorry.

song : beauty school.

disclaimer : you can picture the OC however you like! her name is really just used for aesthetic purposes. there isn't much description on her appearance other than the fact that her hair is long enough to put it in a ponytail. enjoy!

Great. Fucking great.

One of my tires is punctured. The visor in my helmet is cracked. My elbows are etched with surface level scratches and dried blood. And the engine cover of my bike has finally snapped off. I had it coming. It was an old piece of rusty junk from my cousins garage sale from 2012, anyway. But it had charm. I knew I was gonna miss that bike for the good couple of hours, possibly days, I would reluctantly end up leaving it in a repair shop down the street from my apartment.

I can hear the squelch of skin, the seal between my hot breath and sweaty skin breaking as lift my helmet from my head. I hope to feel a rush of cool air, but the humidity tells me to go fuck myself. I'm pulled over onto the curb. I can't totally remember how I got there; being in the middle of the street on a scorching summer day wearing denim shorts that chafe up my inner thighs and rub my skin until it is raw and red and unbearably itchy, was not my vision for today. My handlebars are loose. That would explain it.

If I just take it to Born Free Cycles, leave it overnight, and come back in the morning, I can act like this whole thing never happened, and I'm not horribly irresponsible.

40th West View Ave.

Oh. I'm close actually. Barely a block away. I should go there now. I can call Mikey and have him drop me and the bike off at the garage. I'll see that kid with the grown out buzz-cut and black motor grease on his knuckles that somehow always transfers and blots on his face. Specifically on his strong jaw and right before the peak of his hairline. I wonder if he notices. Maybe he doesn't clean it off because it gives him edge that he doesn't need. Like the nickname on his name tag on a black uniform hadn't given his thirst for trouble away already. And the circles under his eyes are almost the same shade of smudged charcoal grey.

I wonder if he notices.

—

"So the engine cover popped? Just—" he shrugs, looking up at me as if I can't understand him "clean off?"

The sunlight bleeds in through the open garage door. It shines behind Lip, casting a shadow that makes his face hard to see perfectly. But I know the look he's conveying. His eyebrows are raised but drawn slightly closer together, his teeth are gnawing at the inside of his cheek so he can stifle a smile and the laugh that will follow soon after, and his blinks remain slow. I try not to smile too. But I fail.

I've only been here about 3 times, really. The first time was to get handlebar grips from Eddie. That was when I saw Lip. I chose not to make any kind of move, but it ate at my insides until the second time. That time was with Mikey. I was preoccupied with the blue-eyed kid, propped up on a workbench and throwing mindless flirty implications at him while he took long drags from a cigarette, to remember why Mikey was even doing there and why he dragged me along with him. His laugh, the playful eye-roll after I complimented his sweat-laden blonde curls weighed down by heat humidity, told me he was on board.

But I wasn't done.

I knew this time I'd pounce for what was mine.

"Yeah," I breathe out, crossing my arms and peering down at him, "And I mighta' been redlining the RPM a little too much. Probably fried the fucking thing."

Lip nods, the corner of his mouth curling up just a bit. He beckons his hand toward himself, telling me to kneel down beside him to inspect the bike. "This things kinda old, huh?" He teases, turning his head to me and finally letting a real smile break. It warms something in me. I shrug. He glances at my white tank-top, covered in black stains of dirt and oil.

"It's not great, no. It's a piece of shit. But it's cute!" I play along with him, taking the hairband on my wrist and twisting my hair into a high ponytail. Lip huffs though his nose, shaking his head and laughing again.

The next couple of minutes are filled with him telling me things I already know. Things I was too exhausted to manage on my own, defeating the whole purpose of why I was here. Fuck the bike. I know what's wrong with the bike. I know it's an old piece of junk and it's barely salvageable. You should know why I'm here. And maybe you do. But you should do something about it.

Lip has this way of speaking to me that feels ridiculously sweet and overly 'cool.' I know it's just his cadence and his cockiness, but I like it. I like that he thinks it makes me swoon. Partially because he's right, but mostly because I've mastered hiding it. He doesn't see my heart pound or the rising heat in my abdomen when he cracks his knuckles or puts a hand on my shoulder and let's it travel down to the small of my back when I crouch down beside him to look at another motorcycle he's trying to save. I'm almost certain he convinces himself that my gestures are nothing more than a meaningless flirt. I simply find him attractive, as does everyone. Nothing more.

But he's got it all wrong.

He knows my intentions somewhat well enough to the point where he can't not flirt back, though. He knows I haven't stopped him from letting his eyes travel from mine to my lips whenever I speak. He likes that I let him light my cigarettes for me. But he doesn't know this isn't just for fun. I'm so hyper-aware that it isn't out of the kindness of his heart. And neither are his compliments and lame jokes he makes to impress me. He treats my attraction to him as fact, but my genuine interest as a possibility.

Again, he's wrong.

I can't wrap my head around how he could reciprocate my efforts without ever pushing the envelope and asking to exchange numbers, or if I had a boyfriend, or maybe he had one of his own. No, no. He'd tell me if he had a girlfriend. He is, above all else, loyal.

Lip's what I want. I meant when I said his hair looked nice. I meant when I gave him a 20-dollar gratuity and a peck on his cheek just for giving me a repair cost estimate on my shattered headlight. I smile any time he says my name: Maeve.

Hey Maeve, back so soon, huh?

Hand me that box, Maeve.

Y'alright, Maeve?

Yo, Maeve, wanna bum one?

Maeve, Maeve, Maeve.

—

"Think you'll be back tomorrow to pick it up? No rush, though. I can keep it 'till you're ready," Lip asks me, leaning against the wooden workbench littered with microfiber towels and tools. His swell arms are crossed to his chest. I nod, coating my fingertips with a thin film of spin while I fish out some cash from my beat up faux leather wallet.

"A-huh. Thanks," I hand him 6 twenties before glancing at the opening of his button-down uniform.

The corner of my mouth lifts itself into a knowing smirk, my hand on my hip as I shift my weight to it, making my chest stick out and my spine bend correspondingly. My lips hang open a measly centimeter apart before I draw the bottom one between my teeth. I watch him sort through the cash, biting down harder on the flesh of my lip when he freezes.

"Looks like you're a good 15 short," he barely mumbles, looking up at me through his eyelashes. His brows narrow down to me again. I click my tongue coyly. I step closer to him, my hand, with fingernails painted black, pushing the cash in his palms down and his arms down with it.

"About that..." I pause, tilting my head with a look of naivety and not bothering to push away the strand of hair that has fallen from my ponytail and over my eye. Instead, I wait and let Lip set the pile of cash down and draw the curtain of my hair open to reveal my face. My stomach twists on itself, and I can practically feel his chest rising and falling with every anxious breath in my own lungs.

I beg to whatever higher power lies above us in this garage that a kiss will work. Not that it usually doesn't, but my form isn't as confident as it typically would be. The guys I wrap around my finger aren't as driven as Lip is. And God, none of them are part of my tantalizing daydreams nearly as often as he is. I picture his rough hands exploring me, squeezing and rubbing over the valleys of my skin. I imagine his breath is hot with the taste of mint and cigarettes. Every part of me wants to know if my predictions are accurate. If he's the type to sink his teeth into my neck and shoulder blades just to apologize to the reddening skin with open-mouthed kisses. The anticipation kills me. It's enough to swallow me whole.

"...Maybe I can pay you back a different way?"

I barely whisper and Lip scoffs, glancing away from my gaze, scanning the area just for it to be completely empty. He comes back to me. His eyes go a little wider than before. Almost to say, 'oh shit, you're serious?' I stick my tongue between my teeth and tug on his uniform, feeling the fabric rub between my sweaty fingertips. My eyes watch Lip's adam's apple bob as he swallows a breath.

"Yeah?" He thumbs my bottom lip and pulls it down, his free hand traveling down to my hip and pulling me closer to him, "what were y'thinking, Maeve?"

"Mmmm," I hum while pressing my hand against his chest while the other cups his cheek, and I let the pad of my thumb graze over the grove of his defined cheekbones. "Dunno yet."

My teasing is much to Lip's dismay, but he handles it quite well. It's sobering to see a guy as seemingly self-involved and easily impressed play into my mind games. It only pushes me further, and he knows it. I crash my lips into his, my hands anchoring themselves on his shoulders for support. He sighs into me, a hand reaching down to hook a finger through the belt loop of my shorts and drag me closer to him. His hand cups my cheek and pulls me into his mouth to let his tongue slip past my own. And he tastes just as I expected. Minty, smoky, and mine. I practically grind my self onto him in complete desperation, feeling him harden under me. Every roll of his hips threatens to send me over the edge. And fuck, his muffled groans of pleasure against my mouth that ring in my ears are hypnotic. But even with his sturdy, growing buldge forcing the fabric of my shorts to press roughly on my clit, I need this to last.

Blissfully and ever so slowly.

I finally pull away to catch my breath, the buck of our waists slowing down. My head feels fuzzy and heat rises in my cheeks when I open my eyes to see how flushed Lip's face is. Even the tips of his ears have turned a little red. I smile, giggling like a teenager who just kissed her crush in a closet at a house party as a dare. He laughs back in a way that asks 'what are we even doing?'

"Thought you had a boyfriend."

I pause, my eyebrows knitted. I try to think of who he could possibly be referring to.

Ah.

"Who? Mikey?" I try not to laugh, looking around to the imaginary audience to check if they're really hearing this nonsense too, "ew, no. He's like my brother."

Lip lets out a breath of relief he almost didn't realize he'd been holding. It surprises me. Probably a lot more than it should. But hey, for the other 3 times I've been here, I kept asking myself why his flirting was just as intense as mine, but he never asked for my number or made a true move on me. To think that my friend had been unintentionally cockblocking me with his ridiculous height and horrid American traditional tattoos all over his arms, and it wasn't because the guy had a girlfriend...it's almost funny.

"Oh," he replies, his eyebrows raising. Now both of his hands rest at my hips.

"What? Is that why you left me hangin' when I did this?" I press a kiss against his cheek, my palm rubbing over his shoulder to pull a chuckle out of him.

"I guess so, yeah. Just didn't want him to kill me for getting to close t'you," he kisses my cheek, smiling again.

"Geez. Mikey wouldn't hurt a fucking fly. He just...looks scary. Plus, nobody tells me what to do."

"Noted. Glad to hear that, actually."

"Mikey is—" I pause, biting the inside of my cheek "a sweet guy."

"Uh-huh."

"Too sweet. And I hate the aftershave he uses. He's—he's entirely too much."

"Mm."

"Whatever. Shut up."

"Didn't say anything," he shrugs, trying and failing to act clueless.

Fuck. He's fucking glad. He's glad I don't have a stupid-waste-of-my-time-cockblocking-boyfriend on my hip who's constantly watching my every move and stopping me from giving all of myself to Lip. Hell, I'm glad too. Very glad. With one swift movement, I take matters into my own hands again. I undo every last plastic button on his uniform, snaking down his chest and abdomen. I latch onto his neck, biting the skin and sucking a bruising hickey. He shivers beneath me and wraps his hand around my ponytail, huffing breathless chuckles and slowly getting more and more frustrated with my agonizingly slow, torturing pace for foreplay.

I bend my knees to begin my descend to the ground, kissing down his torso. My hands travel down his sides. Lip gently lets go of my hair to lean back into the workbench, never letting his head reel back so he can carefully watch me tenderly adhere to his needs while anchoring his hands behind him for support. I giggle to myself, relishing in the affect I have on him.

Shit. This is risky. Screw it. Pretty girl without a boyfriend who tips in 20 dollar bills and blowjobs? How could I say no? No part of me wants to back out, Lip's mind races, his grip tightening on the wooden slab as he clenches his jaw.

I wonder if he's nervous. Or maybe he's done this time and time again: fucking a girl right in this garage. Possibly bent over this very work bench. Those girls must've been so easy. I can bet on my life that they were never as fun, never as wet, never as needy as me. This would be different. I wouldn't give him everything he wanted and more that quickly. A girl deserves to have her fun. She deserves to watch the overly confident guy she's fancied for weeks, who continues to play hard to get, squirm and writhe with every slight of hand she gives him.

And that's exactly what I'm doing.

"Y'having fun down there?" Lip chastises me, chuckling lightly to himself as he tilts his head down to get a better look at my face.

My kisses stop right above the waistband of his jogger pants. I look up at him pleadingly through my lashes, my eyes big with lust and cunning seduction. I pull the middle of the waistband down just so I can drag my tongue across the exposed skin just centimeters away from his cock. The curls of his happy trail tickle my chin, but the full body shiver and the shaky exhale of "fuck," as he tries to keep his composure, makes it so worth it. He finally shuts his eyes, head reeling back. I lick my lips and smile, cupping his groin before he can even think about looking back down and feeling the blood rush to his cock again. His twitching dick underneath my palm sends me sitting on my heel, ready to slowly rock my hips down into it to fill my desperate need for friction. My cotton panties are definitely soaked.

I can't waste any more time.

I remove my hand from his crotch and quickly pull his pants and his boxers down with them. They pool at his ankles, and his cock strains hard and leaking sticky, crystal clear pre-cum from the thick and aching tip. My mouth nearly drops. I admire every vein, letting my hand wrap around the base of his cock once I've spit into it as makeshift lubricant. I'm so lost that I don't even register Lip peering down at me, swallowing impatiently.

"My, you're so worked up, Lip. And I haven't even started." I don't bother to look up at him as I rub my hand up and down his shaft, worried his pretty face will distract me. But I can picture him perfectly.

"Fuck you," he huffs through a struggled laugh, covering his mouth as he groans in pleasure at the feeling of my hand squeezing his cock every once and a while as I slowly pump him up and down.

"Later," I retort. I bite down on my bottom lip, looking up at him again for permission. He nods, almost as if he's able to read my mind. My eyes shut and my stomach flutters. Soft lips cover the head, swirling my tongue over the slit. His tip leaves my mouth with a loud pop, and I lick a bold stripe along the thickets vein I can find.

"Jesus, fuck, Maeve!" He writhes, his breath hitched in his throat by me hollowing out my cheeks and taking nearly 3/4 of his total length into my mouth. Moans of pure bliss at the feeling of his cock enveloped by the wet warmth of my mouth echo through the garage. I fear he's too loud, but I decide not to care. Not now.

My hand pumps the rest of his cock that I don't fit into my mouth at the moment, while my free hand reaches for his. My eyes remain closed and my sucking maintains a steady pace as I bob my head up and down his cock. I grab his hand and set it on the top of my head, but he hesitates.

"W—you sure, Maeve? I don't wanna hurt you," he swallows, accidentally bucking his hips into my mouth and running his unoccupied hand through his sweaty curls. I detach myself from him, wiping the mixture of pre and spit from the corner of my mouth and finally looking up at him.

"You won't," I take a deep breath, "I won't let you. I'll tell you if 's too much, kay?"

"Okay. Maybe just—" he clears his throat "tap my leg 3 times? And I'll...uh—I'll let go? Yeah?" He looks beautiful. Flushed, bare, and oh so needy for my touch. I wish I could keep him like this forever. He's so compliant, so understanding. But part of me knows that once I let him do this, it'll show me the side of him I've really been praying to see.

I nod, smiling contently and feeling myself blush when he twirls his fingers around my ponytail again. He bends over just the smallest bit to cup my chin and smile back. The pad of his thumb grazes over my skin before he lets go. I take it as my sign to go back, pressing my hands against either of his thighs and feeling clit jump with excitement when Lip tugs at my hair the moment I take his cock into my mouth again. I bob my head up and down, my eyes rolling back when his tip hits the back of my throat. Tears prick at my waterline as I struggle not to cough.

I grow even more desperate. My hand dives into my shorts and I slide two of my fingers inside of me, unfortunately never living up to the potential size and feeling of Lip's. The continuous ram into my gummy and tender spot causes me to fall apart, whining with his dick occupying the space in my mouth.

"Oh my God," Lip nearly whines, his grip tightening as he guides my head up and down his dick, but it's so gentle it never startles me, "so fuckin' good, baby. Jesus, fu—ah..keep doin' that. Yes, fuck.."

My tongue swishes over and under his cock in mind-numbing patterns, and I can't help but let little muffled moans escape my throat and vibrate against him. He almost can't contain himself: bucking his hips and practically fucking my throat. I do my best to cancel out the occasional gag so quickly he won't feel guilty and possibly stop.

Use me, I think.

Usually, I'd take the lead, never letting a head pusher take the role. But not this time. Lip's so pent up, so stressed with the complexities of his life. This is a kind gesture. One that involves tears of struggle spilling out of my eyes and streaming down ky cheeks. But fuck, I love it. It's filthy. It's nasty the way I nearly suck him dry. I can't remember the last time a blowjob was this fun.

"Such a good girl. Y'know that?" He looks down at me, biting his lip as his eyebrows knit in pleasure and desperate need to cum down my pretty little throat, "how'd you get so fuckin...so fuckin' good at this, baby? Shit—feels so good."

He babbles over and over again, and I'm taking strategic breaths through my nose and speeding the pace of my fingers as they thrust in and out of me so I don't stop him from releasing the way he absolutely deserves. Finally, he pulls my ponytail tighter than he ever has, warning me that he's about to cum, but by the time he tells me, it sends down my throat. He groans out, releasing my hair and going limp. I swallow the salty substance, blinking out the last few tears in my eyes and sliding my fingers out of me.

—

Lip: 1 message.

Hey. 11:47pm

Hey. Miss me already? 11:52pm

Something like that, yeah. 11:56pm

What's up 11:58pm

I get off early tomorrow. Just wondering if you wanted to come by the shop and hang out for a bit? 11:59pm

Sure. See you then. xoxo 12:03am.

—

current taglist : @lemmejustpulloutmylightsaber @sexyyounglatinoboy @febris-amatoria

#lip gallagher x oc #lip gallagher #lip gallagher smut #shameless x OC #lip gallagher x reader smut #lip gallagher x oc smut #shameless #shameless x reader #jeremy allen white #i hope you guys like this!!!#tried really hard with this new style

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

Text

All the Good Girls Go To Hell 19

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, power imbalance, injury, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You come home for the summer but your break is not as relaxing as you expect.

Character: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Note: Friday!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

"Is it berries?" Bucky asks as you cradle your head and the phone.

You shake your head, hunched over your knees, still sat on the cold tarmac. "There aren't any berries here," you sniffle, "just flowers."

"Oh, well, is it a flower?" He continues to guess.

His coolness, his light tone, it makes your own world seem less dire. You hear a car door, a noise that seems to echo speaker rustles. You sigh and tell him no again. He's been trying to guess this whole time and it's starting to get frustrating.

"Alright, game's over, doll. What was it?"

You look up as a shadow strides up the driveway. You get to your knees as Bucky comes closer. You lower the phone as you stare at him dumbly.

"How did you find me?" You blubber.

"You said you were with Naomi... I can track her phone. I bought it. Plus she always ends up with that kid," he shrugs as he offers his hand, "come on, let's get you off the ground."

"Why?" You stare at his thick fingers.

"Why what?"

"Why are you helping me?"

"Doll, let's not get into those feelings right now," he sighs, "please, you can't stay here. I can't leave a sweet thing like you out in the dark all night. Not like she did."

"Alright," you croak and take his hand. He hauls you up easily and lets you lean on him,.

"So, what was it?" He asks.

"What was what?" You murmur.

"The red thing."

"Oh, uh," you swing around and point, nearly toppling as he catches you, "the gnome's hat."

"Huh, never would've guessed," he clucks as he clings to you, "come on, doll, we really should get you out of here."

You let him lead you down the driveway. You feel very week as you let more of your weight lean on him. Your head lolls as your eyes threaten to close on their own. You open them as you approach the car and he opens the door. He sits you down in the seat and bends to get you in straight. His rough palms graze your knees and thighs before he pulls back, putting a hand on the roof.

"You good? Get your belt done up."

You nod and do as he says. He watches, looming over you, moonlight limning his figure.

"Good girl," he growls and his timbre sends a shiver through you, "I want you to stay awake for me, can you do that?"

"Yes, Bucky," you lean your head back and focus through the windshield, vision glazing.

"I know you can, baby," he caresses your shoulder and closes the car door. He gets in the driver's side as you hug yourself and chatter. "Cold?"

You nod and he reaches into the back seat. He pulls forward a grey hoodie and offers it to you. You take it and spread it across your shoulders. It smells like him. It's almost comforting.

"Right," he hits the button and the engine rolls over, "some music will help."

He turns on the stereo and flips to a pop station. You doubt it's his kind of music. He shifts into gear, giving you a long look before he pulls out.

"Doll, why don't you tell me what happened?" Bucky prompts as he keeps a hand on the bottom of the steering wheel, his other on the corner of your seat.

"I..." you sniff and take a deep breath, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Ah," he hums and nods, "did Naomi do something?"

You shrug and look out the window. He exhales as he slows at the stop sign.

"Did she hurt you?" His voice is gravelly.

"Not exactly," you lean into the door and cover your face with your hands, "it's not just what happened at the party... it's-- it's-- my mom. And Steve. And everyone!"

Your babbling. You can feel it but you can't stop it. The alcohol has you under its spell and fuels your distress. You just want to explode.

"Oh, your mother?"

"Yeah," you whine and pulls your hands away from your face, "her and Steve– and I can’t even go home–”

"Your mom and Steve?" He asks.

You snap your mouth shut. You shouldn't have told him that.

"Oh, doll," he coos, "I'm sorry."

His fingers stray down to your shoulder and he rubs it through the fabric of the hoodie. It's soothing despite everything. Gentle. You're tired. So tired. You just want to sleep. You lean back and yawn.

He squeezes your shoulder, "doll, stay awake. Remember what I said," he retracts his hand, "I'll get us home and you can lay down there, alright?"

You nod and peel your eyes open, "okay... thank you, Bucky."

"Anything for you," he says so quietly you barely hear him, "I'm gonna keep you safe."

🏡

The world sways around you. You can hardly lift your head. You open your eyes and see Bucky above you, feel his arms around you. He carries you throughthe shadows of the house.

You shift in his arms and he peeks down. "It's alright, doll, you tried."

You kep your head on his shoulder. You can hear his heartbeat. He's warm, he smells like cedar. You blink, eyelids sticking. He takes you into the guestroom and places you on the foot of the bed.

He makes you sit up, hands on your arms as he holds onto you, bending to look you in the face. You notice the fresh sheets, no longer the crisp white but patterned with dainty pink flowers. He brings a hand under your chin and makes you meet his gaze.

"I'll get you something to wear, doll, and some water," he explains.

You murmur and nod. He lets you go and reluctantly turns away. He stalks off as you lean over your lap, elbows on your thighs as you struggle not to fold.

"Here," he surprises you as he comes in again, "there's a shirt for you."

He hands you a tidy white tee shirt, one of his. You thank him through your sticky mouth. He goes to the night table and puts down the glass of water in his other hand.

"Make sure you drink that before you lay down," he says.

"I will," you whisper.

He goes again as you tug at the dress. You slip free of the tight sheath, tits falling out as you stand in nothing but your panties. You swoop the shirt over you and struggle to poke your head through. You grab the water and gulp it down, feeling it swish into your belly.

You put the glass back and turn to the bed. You teeter and fall onto the mattress, sprawled on your stomach.

You hear a subtle creak. Bucky's footfalls lightly glance over the floor and he sets a bucket next to your bed.

"Just in case," he touches your shoulder, "try not to roll onto your back."

"Got it," you utter sleepily and close your eyes, another yawn escaping you.

He drags his hand away and you feel him tug on your tee shirt, pulling the hem to cover the edge of your panties. He then drapes the blanket over you before retreating with a soft 'good night'. The light turns off and you're left in the dark, quickly succumbing to a drunken stupour.

🏡

You feel like you’re drowning in sludge. The morning blares over you from the window as you emerge from the deep pit of alcohol-laced sleep. You groan and stiffly bend your arm, pressing a palm to your forehead as it pulses. This is why you don’t drink, it’s not worth it.

Confusion comes after the onslaught of agony. You stare at the ceiling, taking in the room little by little. Your mind pieces together how you got there. The party, Naomi grabbing you, kissing you, running out… fractured memories that lead to that very moment.

You push yourself up with aching arms. You didn’t expect to be back here. You don’t know how to do this. After all he’s done, you feel like you owe Bucky. You can at least hear him out. He can’t be as bad as Naomi claims if he’s the only one trying to take care of you.

You get up, stopping to lean on the night table. Your hand trails onto the empty glass and you pick it up. It’s as good an excuse as any.

You go out into the hall, peering up and down. You pad along towards the kitchen, an eeriness follows you knowing that it’s only you and Bucky. You’re not surprised to find him waiting in the kitchen. He always seems to be a step ahead of you.

The smell of coffee draws a rumble from your stomach. You look sheepishly at your host and show the glass, going to the sink to rinse it. As you place it in the rack, he takes down a mug and fills it, sliding it towards you. He’s the first to speak.

“Morning,” he waits, watching you as you hook your fingers through the handle of the cup.

“Morning,” you eke out, too nervous to try the coffee. You inhale and make yourself look at him, “I’m sorry–”

“I should be sorry,” he says, “I shouldn’t have let you go with Naomi. I should’ve told the truth. Way before that. I shouldn’t have gone along with any of it.”

You stare at him. His blue eyes flicker as his cheek dimples, anxiety needling in his forehead. He gestures towards your hand on the cup.

“Please, have your coffee.”

You drag the mug to the edge and lift it. You drink with a long hum. Oh, it feels good. You pull the brim away from your lips and swallow thickly. You clear your throat and peek up at him again.

“So it’s all true?” You ask, hoarsely.

“I don’t know what she told you but…” he hesitates, “I’m not her father.”

“Yeah,” you agree crisply.

“I can show you,” he turns and reaches for his phone, “everything. Right here. This is what she sent me the first time she brought you over.”

He shows you the screen, holding his thumb down to keep the chat from rolling back up. You see Naomi’s name at the top of the chat and the bubbles back and forth. You read the received message by his thumb.

‘Bringing a friend. Please say you’re my dad, don’t wanna freak her out.’

You chew your lip. It doesn't disprove anything she told you. You frown and he starts to flick through the conversation.

“Look, just tell me the truth,” you demand, though your tone is less than intimidating.

He sighs and lowers the phone, “we have an arrangement. I support her and she… supports me. In a way.” He looks down ashamed, “I’m not going to make excuses. I could say I was lonely, newly divorced, stupid. It was convenient–”

“She was vulnerable,” you suggest.

He nods, “that’s true. But I never intended… when she brought you…” He pokes his tongue out and closes his eyes, “I’m trying to just explain but there’s so much. Thing’s fizzled out.

"When she got back from college, she was just angry all the time so I gave her space. I told her that we could end things but I would help her find a place, keep paying her tuition and she could make it up to me later. When she got a job.”

He backs up and leans on the counter. He crosses his arms and raises his head. He looks tired, drawn.

“She brought you over and you’re so nice and it was– is refreshing. To have someone look at you without hate. My ex-wife, she had the same look as Naomi got. I don’t know what I did,” he sniffs, “but I’m sure I deserved it. I guess I’m needy.”

“Alright,” you mutter, unsure what else to say. Two sides of the same story. They line up, to a point.

“I know I can’t ask you to trust me. If I was you, I’d be… I’d be confused, creeped out, everything. I really don’t know what to say or do at this point. I called you over and over thinking I could explain myself out of it but there’s no excuse. And then you answered and you were drunk and crying and I came without thinking. Because I know Naomi, she’s destructive and I thought maybe she got you into trouble.

“And then you mentioned your mom and well, that broke my heart. I really can’t believe that she’d kick you out. Her own child. Even Mimi’s parents weren’t that cruel.”

You blanch and take another swig of coffee, trying to set yourself straight.

“They didn’t? Her parents didn’t kick her out?”

“No,” a stitch forms in his forehead, “no, I guess she stormed out after some argument. They suggested maybe she stay and go to school here but she didn’t like that. She was on Steve’s couch for a while and then ended up here. Wanda got a bit crowded.”

You try to hide your surprise. You put the cup back on the counter and stare into the depths. Naomi lied. Maybe not about everything but she made it seem much more sinister.

“Doll,” Bucky rasps, “you okay? You gonna be sick or something?”

You bat your lashes, fighting back tears. You’re lost. You don’t know who to believe but your best bet is the one who isn’t groping you for her friends or cornering you when you’re alone. Your lip quivers as you search for a response.

“I… I believe you,” you breathe.

#bucky barnes #steve rogers #dark bucky barnes #dark steve rogers #dark!bucky barnes #dark!steve rogers #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #all the good girls go to hell #au #marvel #mcu #avengers #captain america #winter soldier

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znitsamluv · 11 months

Text

𝕴𝖒𝖆𝖌𝖎𝖓𝖆𝖗𝖞 𝖋𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖘

Bonten's kids having ' imaginary friends ' pt 2

Something small for Halloween hehehe

Characters : Ran and Rindou

Ran

° It was a perfectly cozy lazy Friday where Ran didn't have work to attend finally, and what better thing to do than sleeping all day ?.

° However your son had other plans for his father , you could hear s/n doing sneaky moves like stomping loudly especially in front of the room where Ran is sleeping in , Faking loud sneezes and acting like he tripped and banged the door in the process.

° Ran didn't even bat an eye .

° s/n finally had enough and decided on taking a different approach, he entered the room boldly and went to his sleeping father.

° " wake up" , Ran snores grew louder making s/n sigh loudly.

° " fine! I will let Jermy take care of you!" To be honest Ran was awake all this time he just likes getting under your son's skin , but once he heard the unfamiliar name Ran opened one eye and looked at S/n.

° " yeah and who is Jeremy?"

" My friend, he is right behind you!"

° The room fell silent as Ran tensed up and opened his eyes completely looking at s/n , he felt a shiver run his spine . He chuckled nervously seeing his s/n looking deadass serious , the room was dark , And Ran never regretted buying that thick curtain that doesn't allow light to pass through until now.

° slowly Ran turned his head to look behind him , Ran felt his heart in his throat but tried to play it cool .... Keyword 'tried'

°once Ran's eyes landed on a shadow figure in the corner of the dark room he fell off the bed letting out a scream while picking up s/n running out of the room making s/n scream with him.

°you dropped what you were doing, expecting the worst when you saw Ran's pale blown face , you have never seen him this shaken up.

° S/n was quick to explain what happened and you were quick to go inside the 'hunted room' opening the light .

° Ran expected to hear you scream or run back but he was surprised when he heard you laughing from inside.

° He went inside too and his eyes landed on the corner where he saw the shadow in earlier only to feel embarrassed seeing the suit he had hanged up yesterday late at night on the hanger rack , he closed the light switch seeing how it looked like a person in the dark .

° " I will give you my black card for a whole week if you don't bring out what happened" and you were more happy to agree on the deal , leaving Ran to go the bathroom to freshen up, you high fived s/n seeing you both got what you wanted , S/n waking up his father and you getting unlimited money for a week .

Rindou

° completely Different from his older brother, Rindou sacrificed his sleep and instead of going to sleep he stayed awake watching cartoons with your daughter as he promised her the day before.

° " Did you know that if you closed your eyes and counted to three a fairy will appear, I tried it my self and I now have fairy friend!"

°Rindou chuckled and thought it is going to be a wholesome thing to do to make his little princess happy even though he knows it can't be real .

°" Well let's try !" Rindou closed his eyes and counted to three expecting to see nothing when he opens his eyes .

° However once he opened his eyes he saw a green faced thing and immediately swung the pillow hitting it in the face while putting a protective arm around your daughter as a reflex.

° " What the -" Rindou's blood ran cold when he recognized the voice and immediately helped you up from the floor only to be met with a blow to his stomach while you scowled at him .

° " can't even put a mask in peace" Rindou heard you ramble as you left them annoyed, he followed after you to apologize but before that he turned to his daughter glaring at her playfully.

° " you are lucky your mother didn't turn us into fairies"

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atinylittlepain · 1 year

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Apothecary - chapter three

joel miller x witchy!reader

series masterlist

someone comes looking for her help that she hadn't been expecting. joel continues to grapple with what's true and what isn't. lines are crossed that they won't be able to come back from.

warnings | 18+ canon-typical violence, angst, spooky vibes as always

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She knew it was too good to be true. It always is. They always are. She shouldn’t have let herself believe him, that he wouldn’t let the people in town sway his mind. She had wanted, more than anything, for it to be true. She had wanted him. But it’s been two weeks since she’s heard from Joel Miller, and she’s finding herself having to quietly accept that he’s just like the rest of them.

The first few days after they went up into the mountains together, she managed to reason to herself that he was just busy with patrol shifts. But a few days turned into a week, and then something happened that made it clear to her that he wasn’t just busy. She had been wandering along the tables of the weekly town market, Stevie close on her heels, when she saw him a little further down the way, arms crossed over his chest and talking with Tommy. She smiled when his eyes met hers, only feeling a little dorky for the small wave she offered him, but his face had been unreadable, flat, expressionless. He didn’t so much as acknowledge her, muttering something to his brother before turning heel and walking away. Away from her. When she got back to her shop afterward, the sweet bunch of sunflowers she had traded for had all wilted and browned, crisped petals falling off the shriveled stalks.

She hadn’t felt embarrassed like that in a long time, the thick skin she had developed living in Jackson usually protecting her from it. But the way that he had ignored her, practically shunned her, had a slippery heat creeping up her throat that she never wanted to feel again. She hung a wreath of rosemary and lavender on her front door and the door to her shop that night, a protection she learned from her mother. And the next day, she took to the task of forgetting all about Joel Miller, and the man she thought he was.

It hasn’t exactly been difficult to distract herself. Afterall, it seems like there’s always someone else with some sort of affliction, needing her help. But things become complicated when, one night, someone comes knocking on the backdoor to her shop that she hadn’t been expecting.

“Um, hi– hello. My friends sent me, they told me you could help?” She squints at the girl in the dim shadows, the only light coming from inside her shop.

“You’re Ellie, right?” The girl’s face brightens at that, worry smoothing out as she nods.

“Mmhmm, yep. That’s me.” Joel’s kid. She has only seen her in passing around town, but she recognizes her right away.

“What do you need help with?” Ellie bites her lip, eyes darting around a bit before settling back on her.

“Could I– can I come in?” She hesitates, but nods, stepping aside to let the girl into the back of the shop.

“Woah, this place is so fucking cool.” She has to laugh, watching Ellie’s wide eyes roam around the back room as she shuffles inside, her head whipping around to the sound of the back door shutting.

“You said you needed some help? What’s going on?” Ellie lets out a nervous laugh, her brows scrunching up as she smiles at her.

“So, just for the record, I don’t believe what everyone says about you.” Her brows raise at that, stepping around Ellie to tend to the pot she has going on the stove.

“You don’t?”

“Nope– I mean, I know you help people. But I think it’s a little ridiculous to be calling someone a wi– I mean, unless you like being called a witch, then I think that’s cool too–” She laughs lightly at Ellie’s nervous ramble, turning away from the stove to offer her a reassuring smile.

“It’s alright, Ellie. You can call me whatever you want to, really, I don’t mind. But what I would like to hear is what you need my help with.” Ellie nods jerkily, taking a sharp inhale before responding.

“Well, um, some of my friends told me that you’ll help people with, like– relationship stuff?” She thinks she knows what the kid is referring to, but needs her to explain it herself.

“Relationship stuff?” Ellie nods.

“Yeah, like– one of my friends– he said his mom came to you for help with his dad, her husband, I guess. He said you made him love her again.” She crosses her arms over her chest, sighing deeply at Ellie’s words.

“I didn’t make anyone do anything, kid. I provide– nudges. What people make of those is up to them, though.”

“Ok! So, could you help me with a– a nudge, then?” Ellie’s eyes are wide, rimmed with hope as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth.

“How old are you, kid?” Ellie squares up her shoulders at that.

“Eighteen.” She quirks her brow, and Ellie sighs.

“Fine, I’m seventeen.” Still not buying it, she tilts her chin at the girl, whose shoulders finally slump.

“I’m fifteen, alright? But I really, really like this girl– and all I’m asking for is some help getting her to notice me, that’s all!” She sighs.

“Kid–”

“Please– I’ll do just about anything for your help– I-I can trade you for it! I could, like, help out around the shop for you, run errands for you. Just– please, will you help me?” She can already feel herself caving in to the girl’s pleas. When Stevie jumps up onto the butcher’s block and starts nuzzling at Ellie’s arm, her resolve disappears completely.

“Alright, alright, I’ll help you–” Ellie’s face splits out into a grin, clearly getting ready to let out an exclamation, but she isn’t done talking.

“But, this isn’t gonna be the strong stuff, ok? You’re way too young to be messing with that. And I’m gonna take you up on that offer– you can come and work for me after your classes in trade for it. That sound like a deal?” Ellie laughs, nodding.

“Yep, yeah, yes ma’am. You have a deal.”

…

“Wait, that’s it?” Ellie holds up the small jar, watching the honey drip slowly from one side to the other. Stevie lets out a little mrrp from where she’s sitting in Ellie’s lap, yellow eyes looking up at her.

“Not quite, here–” She gets up from her seat at the butcher’s block, quickly grabbing a scrap of paper and pencil before setting them down in front of Ellie.

“I want you to write down what– or who– it is you want to attract on that piece of paper. Keep it in your mind as you fold it up and tuck it into the jar, ok?” Ellie nods, quickly scribbling out what she thinks is a name, though she tries to keep herself from peering over the girl’s quickly moving hands. Honey jar spells remind her of her mother. One of the first times she got to see her working was on such a spell, and it had been a real lesson in the work they do.

“People believe what they want to believe, my dear. We just help them guide that belief into reality. That’s what this power really is, an ability to see what others can’t. Our eyes are just a bit more open than everyone else’s. It’s not the spells that matter, it’s the minds that believe they matter that make all the difference.”

Ellie scrunches her eyes shut as she folds up the paper, and she can’t help but smile at the girl as she tucks the scrap into the jar. Her eyes blink open, shoulders slumping a bit.

“Is that it?” She snorts at the girl’s clearly unimpressed expression.

“Well, what did you expect? That she’d be knocking down the door right away?” Ellie shrugs, huffing a little as she scratches under Stevie’s chin.

“No– I mean, maybe?”

“Kid, I told you. I deal in nudges. Not full-throttle shoves.” She screws the lid onto the jar, tilting it side to side before handing it to Ellie.

“Put that somewhere that you can look at it every day. On a nightstand works best– and when you find a moment, like when you’re going to sleep, just think on it again with that same intention in mind, alright? We have a way of attracting what we focus on, if we actually focus.” Ellie nods, tilting the jar this way and that, the honey glinting in the dim light of the shop

“Alright– thank you. Um, when do you want me to start working?” Stevie leaps out of Ellie’s lap and onto the table, sniffing at the jar in the girl’s hand.

“Why don’t you come around tomorrow after school? I’ll show you how to take care of the plants– could use an extra set of hands for that chore.”

…

Ellie’s been coming in most afternoons for a little over a week now, and she has to admit, the girl’s help has been more than welcomed. She’s good with the plants, eagerly learning about what needs watered when, and what needs moved into and out of the afternoon sun streaming in through the shop windows. And Stevie certainly likes her too. She knows that Ellie is about to come into the shop when the cat jumps down from wherever she’s been perched for most of the day and pads out to the front of the shop before the door even opens.

But one thing that she has been wondering about is what Joel thinks about this set-up. Clearly, he wants nothing to do with her, not anymore. So she reckons he must not be too happy with his kid spending every afternoon in her shop.

“Hey, Ellie?” The girl turns from where she had been trimming away dead leaves from a potted mint plant, tilting her head in response.

“Does your dad mind that you’re working here?” Ellie seems taken aback by the question, eventually letting out a snort of laughter.

“Who, Joel? He’s not my dad. He’s my– well, he’s my– Joel. But, he doesn’t tell me what to do, y’know? I’m my own person and shit.” She nods with a smile, trying not to laugh at Ellie’s crass explanation while also fitting another puzzle piece together in her mind. It makes sense now, why she had picked up on Sarah’s name and not Ellie’s. But it’s also clear to her that whatever they are to each other, they’re close.

She turns to get back to work propagating some verbena, but stops when Ellie clears her throat.

“Um, I feel like maybe I should apologize for him. I don’t know what happened between you guys, but he likes you, I swear. He’s just– he can be a little–”

“All or nothing?” Ellie sighs.

“I was gonna say asshole-y– but yeah, that too. He tends to shut down when he’s figuring something out. But he does like you! He’d probably kill me for telling you this– but he always asks about you when I get home.” That surprises her, brows raising at Ellie’s admission.

“Now who’s nudging who, huh?” That gets a light laugh out of Ellie, shaking her head as they both settle back into quietly working across the shop from one another. Her mind, however, is anything but silent, rolling over the fact that Joel has been asking about her like a sour candy that burns extra sweet.

…

With the town’s summer dance happening that night, she sends Ellie home early, guessing that the girl will be eager to see her crush at the festivities. Normally she wouldn’t go to something like this, not wanting all the eyes and whispers on her. But she’s just a little too curious to see who has won over Ellie’s affections, and begrudgingly decides to head down to see what all the fuss is about.

It seems like just about everyone in town has converged on what’s normally the mess hall, tables and chairs pushed out of the way to form a makeshift dance floor. There’s even live music, someone at an old piano and a few men with guitars making due with what they have. Even though she slips to the back of the room, leaning up against the wall, trying to blend in to the background, her ears still prick to the whispers starting to pass around the room about her. But she doesn’t care about that, not when she sees Ellie, dancing and laughing with another girl whom she’s pretty sure is named Dina. Her heart flips at the sight, and she can’t help but smile watching the pair transition into a very awkward slow dance. She doesn’t have much time to enjoy the scene, however, when a rough hand comes to her shoulder.

“Well, look who decided to grace us with her presence.”

…

Under any other circumstances, Joel wouldn’t be caught dead at something like this dance. But, with only a little grumbling, he decided to go along with Ellie after she mentioned that she had a date for it. There won’t be any funny business going on, not on his watch, though he has to admit that it’s nice to see her having a good time with Dina, the girl that has been making much more frequent appearances at their house lately.

Leaning back against one of the walls of the mess hall, his eyes wander around the crowd, stuttering stopped when he sees her across the room. There’s no two ways about it, he’s been avoiding her, trying to get his mind right before he jumped any further into something he couldn’t see the bottom of.

It felt like something clicked when Mason talked to him that night at the bar. About her meddling. Suddenly, he had to ask himself why he had fallen so quickly for her when he hadn’t been able to feel anything like that in decades. It was too good to be true. As if by– well, as if by magic. So, he’s been keeping his distance, though it’s not like that’s actually helped him resolve his feelings for her, and now, he can’t help but stare at her like a total fool, frowning when he notices the scrunch of discomfort clear on her face. That’s when he notices the man leaning next to her, his face turned down to speak directly into her ear, a hand gripping her shoulder to keep her where she is.

Joel is moving through the crowd toward them before his brain can even catch up.

…

“Can I help you, Mason?” She keeps her eyes trained forward, only catching the sneer of his smile from the corner of her vision as he crowds up next to her.

“Down, girl. Can’t a guy be nice? Just wanted to come by and say hello.” She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and jerking her chin toward him just slightly.

“Well, you’ve said hello. Now why don’t you go find some other lucky lady to bother?” He barks out a laugh, letting it fizzle into a sigh. She can’t quite twist her face away quick enough as he brings his hand - the one that isn’t gripping her shoulder - up to graze his fingers along her cheek.

“Don’t be like that, miss witch. I’m sorry for giving you and Miller a hard time. Though it seems like he couldn’t handle the heat.” She’s heard enough, shrugging out of his grip and shuffling through the crowd to get out of the mess hall and as far away from him as she can. But Mason is nothing if not persistent.

“Now, now, can’t say I mind a little chase, sweetheart. But let’s cut the bullshit, huh?” She chokes on a gasp when he grabs her from behind, a solid forearm barred across her chest as he pulls her into the shadows behind the mess hall, shoving her hard up against the exterior wall.

“Since Miller got a taste and is still standing, I figure I oughta find out what all the fuss is about myself.” His hands pin her against the wall by her shoulders, one heavy boot pressed over the top of her sneaker to keep her still. She can smell the liquor on his breath his face is so close to hers. It’s a reflex borne out of pure disgust when she rears her head back as best she can and spits in his face. Mason just laughs.

“Oh, little witch, you’re going to regret that.” With that, his grip on her shoulders tightens, slamming her hard against the wall, once, twice, three times, her ears ringing and her skull ricocheting from the impact. Everything goes a bit tilted in the aftermath, her brain fuzzy and spinning as she slumps back against the wall, barely registering Mason getting wrenched away from her. She steadies herself with a hand pressed to her forehead, finally realizing that someone has laid Mason out on the ground before her, fist rearing up again and again to rain down on the man’s face.

“J-Joel?”

…

He’d like to keep punching until he feels bone shatter beneath his knuckles, his mind alight with a pure, clear rage as he batters Mason’s face. Joel hadn’t been quick enough following them out of the mess hall, and by the time he was rounding the side of the building, he only just caught the way Mason had slammed her against the wall, her head jerking like a rag doll’s. If left to his own devices, Joel reckons that he’d just keep throwing his fist down until the bastard was no longer breathing. But her voice is enough to cut through the haze, stopping him where he’s kneeling over Mason’s limp body as he whips his head around to look at her.

Her eyes are wide, tears glinting in the fading summer light, her arms outstretched in front of her, palms open as if to reach for him. Joel’s shoulders slacken under her gaze, but before he gets up, he leans back over Mason, dragging his face up by a harsh grip on the collar of his shirt.

“If you so much as look at her again, I will know, and I won’t be feeling so generous the next time. Do you understand?” Mason’s head is crooked back on his neck, eyes drooping closed and mouth agape, blood smeared across his face. But Joel doesn’t give a shit, he just needs to hear him say it.

“Do you understand?” He punctuates his words with a harsh jerk of his hands in the man’s shirt collar, making his head jerk and loll.

“I-I understand! I understand– please– please don’t– I won’t f-f-fucking touch her, I swear!” Mason’s words come out garbled by the thick blood pooling in his mouth, but Joel has heard enough, letting go of the man’s collar and letting him slump back down onto the ground. Joel’s mind is still swimming in a hot tide of anger when he stands up, the only feeling he can really register is the smarting sting of his split knuckles. And then, a firm palm on his shoulder finally gets him to turn away from Mason’s curled-up figure.

“We should go. I can take care of that hand for you.”

…

“A lot of plants in here.”

“Mmhmm.” She absentmindedly responds to Joel’s mumbled observation, jerkily moving around her kitchen to gather what she needs to fix up his knuckles. She doesn’t let her mind linger on the fact that he’s the first other person who has been inside her house in years, instead focusing her thoughts on the clean, damp rag in her hand as she sits down across from him at her kitchen table. She hesitates to reach for him, but he willingly offers his hand to her, his eyes a weighty heat as she starts to daub away the smeared blood on his knuckles. She works quietly, keeping her head tilted down toward the task, not daring to meet his gaze, though she feels it like a force of nature sweeping over her.

“Are you– are you alright?” Her hands still where she had been working away at his injury, and she has to take a deep breath to smooth the warble in her throat before she answers him.

“I-I’m fine– just a little shaken up– um, literally.” It’s a horrible attempt at a joke to lighten the mood, she knows it the second the words leave her mouth, his hand curling into a fist on the table.

“I am fine, really. Thank you– for stopping him. I wouldn’t have been able– I couldn’t–” He stops her stuttered words, resting his palm over both of her shaking hands on the table. Her eyes finally meet his, and for a moment, there’s just sweetness. But then she remembers the reality that it took her nearly getting assaulted for Joel to stop avoiding her, and she quickly jerks her hands away from his, scrubbing harshly at her eyes with the heels of her palms.

“Why did you– how– why were you out there?” He sighs, long and low, sitting back in his chair.

“I saw him bothering you in the mess hall. Guess I followed you out.”

“Why?” She can’t look at him, not right now, or she’ll get tangled up all over again. So instead, she keeps her eyes on her hands clasped in front of her on the table, listening to the huff he lets out at her question.

“Just wanted to make sure you were alright.” She can’t help the bitter laugh that spills out at that, looking up at him, his brow furrowed at her reaction.

“I’m sorry, I guess I have a hard time believing that when you haven’t so much as looked at me in nearly a month.” Joel presses his lips in a thin line, his jaw ticking slightly as he looks at her.

“I’ll admit that I’ve been– keeping my distance–” She scoffs at his choice of words, but he continues speaking.

“But you didn’t tell me the whole truth.” That gives her pause, her fidgeting fingers going still at the stern tinge to his voice. Before she answers, she takes his hand back in hers, getting back to work on wrapping his already swelling knuckles.

“What do you mean?”

“Heard a little more about you. How you like getting involved in other people’s business.” “I thought you didn’t care what other people said about me.” He lets out a harsh sigh, pulling his now bandaged hand away and raking his fingers through his hair, tugging lightly in clear frustration.

“It’s a little hard not to when it seems like you’re not being straight with me, darlin.” She tries to tamp it down, but her chest still squeezes at the term of endearment, though she’s quick to clear her throat of the rising feeling.

“Ellie told me about your– nudges? S’what she called them, I think.” Her stomach twists at that. Though it’s not exactly a secret that she has a proclivity for helping folks, mostly women, with their troubled love lives, she had been trying to keep that away from him. She hadn’t even considered that Ellie would tell him about it, a stupid mistake, she realizes. Anyways, it’s become a lot rarer for someone to come to her for that, Ellie the first in many months, though she can admit that she used to be a lot more involved, and a lot less subtle with it.

“I just– I need you to be real honest with me right now. Did you– do something to me?” That makes her laugh, any anxiety quickly getting displaced by anger. Yep, just like the rest of them.

“Is it so hard to believe you liked me that you need to explain it away with fucking magic?” She spits out the word as if it sits sour on her tongue, her eyes narrowing at him. When he doesn’t answer, lips parted and wide eyes just staring at her, she lets out another laugh.

“Believe this, Joel. I didn’t do anything to you. I don’t do things to people, that’s not how I work, no matter what anyone tells you.” Finished talking, she slumps back in her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose as a throbbing headache settles in.

“You said liked?” She cracks one eye open, seeing him now leaning forward, his hands clasped on the table as he looks at her.

“What– what’re you talking about?”

“You said I liked you– like I don’t anymore.”

“Don’t you?” He shakes his head, eyes shimmering in the dim light of her kitchen.

“No– I mean, I never stopped– liking you, that is. Fuck– I feel so lost, darlin. You gotta understand that I haven’t felt like this in a long time. Didn’t think I ever would again. And then– then you show up and I-I feel like I’m back in highschool or some shit. You’ve got me smitten like a fucking fool and I barely know you– and it feels impossible.” She’s a bit shocked by his words, musing to herself that this might be the most she’s heard Joel say at once. And apparently he isn’t done either.

“I want this, want you, probably more than I should. But Christ, I don’t think I can do this unless you tell me the whole story, your whole story.” She sees her path forked so clearly in that moment. She could shut down and throw him out, tell Ellie that she won’t be needing her help anymore, sever these threads just as she’s gotten so good at doing. But the truth is, she feels much the way Joel does. This is uncharted territory for her, these threads that she doesn’t want to cut, but instead tug closer and closer. And so, she makes the choice to walk a path that she hasn’t ever before.

When she finally speaks, she starts at the beginning.

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